 
# Gods and Mortals

## S.T. Bende

## C. Gockel

## Christine Pope

## Becca Mills

## DelSheree Gladden

## Nancy Straight

## Laura Howard

## Kim Richardson

## Karen Lynch

## Pippa DaCosta

### Contents

About the Books

Love Box Sets?

THE ELSKER SAGA: ELSKER

The Prophecy of Ragnarok

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

SOUL MARKED

Foreword

1. Invisible

2. Sweet Home Chicago

3. Away in a Manger

4. Dark Matter

5. Unexpected Visitors

6. Carried Away

7. Owning It

8. Crossing the Sorrows

9. Late Cretaceous Park

10. Stranger in a Strange Land

11. Unbinding

12. A Faery Dance

13. Soulmates

14. Betrayal

15. Return of the Prodigal Son

16. How to Be a Goddess

17. Traitors and Spies

18. Lunch with the Queen

19. The House of Chaos

20. The House of Odinson

21. Cruel Twists of the Fates

22. A New Life

23. Where Will You Be for Ragnarok?

Epilogue

Also by S.T. Bende

Contact Information

CHOSEN

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

NOLANDER

Author's Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Glossary of Places, Terms, and Individuals

TWIN SOULS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

BLOOD DEBT

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

THE FORGOTTEN ONES

Pronunciation Guide

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

MARKED

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

RELENTLESS

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

HIDDEN BLADE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Excerpt - Soul Eater #2 - Witches' Bane

Also by Pippa DaCosta

About the Author

# About the Books

**_Elsker_ by S.T. Bende**

Kristia Tostenson just found out her new boyfriend is the Norse God of Winter, an immortal assassin destined to die at Ragnarok. Her orderly life just got very messy.

**_Soul Marked_ by C. Gockel**

When Tara finds a man passed out in her alley, she hopes he's just a junky... and then she sees his pointed ears.

**_Chosen_ by Christine Pope**

When a fatal fever nearly wipes out the entire world's population, the survivors of what became known as "the Dying" believe the worst is in the past. Little do they know...

**_Nolander_ by Becca Mills**

A young woman from small-town Wisconsin discovers that monsters are real — and that she might just be one herself.

**_Twin Souls_ by DelSheree Gladden**

Uriah and Claire didn't believe in their tribal stories until Claire's poisoned and those myths spring to life to test their love and unravel destiny.

**_Blood Debt_ by Nancy Straight**

A mythological romance: Camille is denied her father's identity until her mother's death. She discovers a family she never dreamed of and a world that should not exist.

**_The Forgotten Ones_ by Laura Howard**

Can the magical Tuatha de Danaan, the forgotten people of Ireland, help Allison restore her mother's sanity?

**_Marked (Soul Guardians Book #1)_ Kim Richardson**

A sixteen-year-old girl suddenly dies and finds herself in Horizon as a rookie in the Guardian Angel Legion.

**_Relentless_ by Karen Lynch**

Sara Grey lives a double life until a fateful encounter with a sadistic vampire and a fearless warrior exposes her powerful gifts and changes the course of her life forever.

**_Hidden Blade_ by Pippa DaCosta**

The once-revered ancient Egyptian gods aren't dead. They're back. And soul eater Private Investigator, Ace Dante, is in their way.
GODS AND MORTALS

Copyright © 2015

These novels are works of fiction. Names, characters, and locations are either a product of the authors' imaginations or used in a fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or people, living or dead, is strictly coincidental. No part from this book may be used or reproduced without written consent from the authors.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with another person, please have them download their FREE copy. If you are reading this book and did not download it from a digital retailer, or it was not downloaded for your use only, please return to an online book retailer and download your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

# Love Box Sets?

This box set was produced by C. Gockel and Christine Pope. C. Gockel and Christine are always looking for fresh new authors and rip-roaring house hold names to join in new box sets. Get on their mailing list and learn about new sets and great deals .

# THE ELSKER SAGA: ELSKER

**S.T. Bende**

Kristia Tostenson prefers Earl Grey to Grey Goose and book clubs to nightclubs. But when she transfers from her one-stoplight Oregon town to Cardiff University in Wales, she falls in love with Ull Myhr. Her new boyfriend isn't exactly what she was expecting. His cashmere sweaters and old world charm mask a warrior who's spent an eternity fighting for his very existence. Ull is an honest-to-goodness Norse god — an immortal assassin fated to die at Ragnarok, the battle destined to destroy Asgard and Earth. On top of being marked for death, Asgardian law prohibits Ull from tying his fate to a mortal. No matter what she feels for Ull, Kristia knows she's the one thing he can never have.

With Ragnarok on the horizon and a lunatic haunting her dreams, Kristia has to find a way to convince Ull that breaking the rules is the only way to survive; that defying the order he's sworn to uphold is their only chance to be together. And when someone starts asking the wrong questions, Kristia realizes the crazy visions she's had all her life might be the key to saving their realms... even if they end up costing her her life.

# The Prophecy of Ragnarok

With the death of Balder, the powers of darkness will burst from their tethers. Jotunheim shall crack open; a terrible frost shall suffocate all things good. The great beast will attack, the wicked ship sail, and the light of Asgard will dim evermore. Fire shall consume the earth and Darkness shall swallow the sky. No one, God or Mortal, can survive the travesty of Ragnarok.

_—Prophecy of The Norns_

# Chapter 1

_I moved faster than a salmon down a chute in bear season. It was my only option. If the giant wolf biting at my heels didn't kill me, then the tree-trunk of a snake twining between my feet was going to finish the job. I pumped my legs harder, exerting every modicum of strength I had left, and in the process, I stepped on the snake's head. It hissed, a guttural reverberation bouncing around the darkness. I pushed harder. My chest burned, but I'd managed to put a little space between my attackers and me. The wolf growled angrily, but I didn't look back. I couldn't spare the movement._

_Since it was pitch black, I couldn't see what I was running towards, and I certainly didn't see the fissures beginning to form in the dirt beneath my Nikes. My size six sneaker slid into one and I could hear the crack of my ankle breaking before I hit the damp earth. The chasm was getting bigger and soon my whole leg slipped through. My fingernails clung to the soil as it separated from itself, and I felt the chill creep over the ground as the terrible frost settled like a blanket onto everything it could reach. I started to shake – it would be death by freezing, then. But I knew chilled human wouldn't be the worst thing the wolf and snake had eaten that day_.

"Earth to Kristia! Hello? Are you even listening?" I rubbed my eyes and focused on the frowning face of my best friend since kindergarten. A sprightly brunette, Ardis was everything I wasn't – adventurous, perky, self-confident. And at the moment, highly irritated.

"Sorry." I shook off the remnants of last night's bad dream. Ardis Behrman didn't often grace our hometown of Nehalem, Oregon. Three hundred residents and a solitary stoplight didn't hold much excitement for a girl studying acting at NYU. I treasured any conversation we had that didn't require text or Skype.

"Vision?" She cocked her head.

"Hardly. Just tired. Nightmare last night."

"The weird one about the animals hunting you down?" Ardis wrinkled her nose.

"That's the one." My favorite grandmother's dark stories from the North were never far from my subconscious. I never understood how any woman in her right mind could lovingly recount the end of the mythological Norse world to an eight-year-old girl. Mormor always had a wicked sense of humor, so I liked to think her intentions were good. Or maybe she suffered from a touch of the crazy. The fact that, at eighteen, I still had vivid nightmares about Ragnarok; well, that spoke more about my own sensitivities than anything else. They were just stories.

"That dream's just creepy, Kristia."

"Tell me about it."

"So." Ardis rested her hands on the table. The metallic blue sparkles on her nails caught the light of the coffee shop where we'd had countless heart-to-hearts. "What's new in Nehalem?"

I stopped just short of rolling my eyes. "Good one Ardis." Nothing changed around here but the weather, and even that was freakishly consistent.

"And the University of the Pacific Northwest?"

"You mean High School, Part Deux?"

"C'mon, it can't be that bad."

"You do realize you're the only member of our graduating class who doesn't go there, right? The only one who isn't going to end up married to someone they've known since kindergarten. And spend eternity working in the boring log mill or tourist traps." It would be the latter for me. My parents' antique shop was popular with the summer crowd and I was expected to begin fulltime work when I graduated. Not exactly the stuff of dreams.

"If you're that bored, don't just sit around waiting for something to happen to you – go out and grab it."

"It's not that easy," I mumbled. Ardis was one of those people to whom good things came naturally. She didn't understand that life didn't just fall into place for the rest of us.

I glanced up as our waitress set two steaming mugs on our table with a little too much force. I raised my eyebrows. "Is everything all right today, Susan?" My voice strained with the effort of false nicety. In our twelve years of school together, Susan had always treated me like a social pariah. Clearly nothing had changed since graduation. I may not have been well bred, but I _was_ well raised. I pasted on my best fake smile, though after enduring a lifetime of whispers and stares I had a very low tolerance for rudeness. It was my absolute pet peeve.

I held Susan's glare with my own pleasant look until she scurried back to the kitchen, obviously uncomfortable. Well, I was used to that.

"Sorry, what were you saying? You don't think it's easy to change your life? You only think that because you've never tried." Ardis sipped impatiently at her latte, the unofficial beverage of our rain-drenched town. "Look, Kristia, you're my best friend and I think you rock. But is sitting around Nehalem for the rest of your life really going to make you happy? Really?" Score one, Behrman.

The minute she said it I was transported from the rainy-small-town coffee shop to a dreary house on the edge of Nehalem.

_Rain fell outside the thin windows, and the air was damp with the faint scent of mildew. A cleaning caddy sat at my feet – judging from the smell of the bleach, I must have just scrubbed the toilets – and I sorted laundry while the television droned in the background. When the boredom consumed me, I crossed to a coffee table where I idly fingered my one indulgence in an otherwise uneventful life: my subscription to Travel Magazine. The cover boasted an Irish castle sitting in a brilliant green field of clovers_.

My heart tugged – in my vision I was thirty years old, and I'd never even been on an airplane. I forced myself back to the coffee shop, where Ardis was watching me closely.

"What did you see?"

"Absolutely nothing." I shook my head. I was resolute. My life was not going to turn out that way. It was one vision that could never come true. I drew a breath. I was eighteen years old. Time to choose the path I wanted my life to take. There was a whole world out there – what was keeping me from living in it? From living, period? "I have three years of college left. I'm not spending it here. Not anymore."

"Awesome," Ardis nodded her approval. "So what are you gonna do?"

"I'm..." I was at a loss. I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Well..." Then it came to me. "Got it! UPN has study abroad. The deadline isn't for another two weeks. I'll spend sophomore year somewhere totally different – somewhere people don't know anything about me."

"Bravo." Ardis clapped loudly, to Susan's chagrin. She glared at us from behind the counter. "So where do you want to go?"

I had to think. Now that I'd made the decision to leave the country, where should I go? I thought about the book on my nightstand – a Jane Austen classic. Those ladies seemed to be enjoying themselves, in their own angsty way. They certainly had a good time romping through the English Countryside. There was my answer. Once I'd made up my mind, I pictured something altogether different.

_I was on a big, fancy jet, flying towards Europe. A flight attendant handed me a coke with a lemon wedge, and I stared out the window at the endless, green meadows passing beneath. The businessman to my left read the_ Wall Street Journal, _and the one across the aisle buried his nose in the_ London Times.

Oh, criminy. What had I gotten into now?

"So where are you going?" Like always, Ardis glossed right over my little mind trip. Bless her heart.

"England. No, Wales." A few miles closer to home might make it seem a little less scary. I dropped my head in my hands. Darned hallucinations. I hadn't had one in months, and I'd just had two in as many minutes. It was with no small amount of pleasure that I took the visions back.

The three hundred townsfolk of Nehalem whispered about my "handicap" when they thought I wasn't listening – actually, it was a mental problem. It was generally accepted that I was two trees short of a forest. Thanks to some glitch in my brain, I saw random flashes of the future against my will. I'd been in two minor car accidents, failed four midterm exams, and had to avoid competitive sports entirely, all because I saw stuff at lousy times. This wouldn't have been so much of a disability if I could have seen the winning lotto numbers, or even just the location of the radar-cops who hid along the 101. But to date, my premonitions had yielded zero useful tidbits. I saw the mundane, ranging from my mom doing a load of laundry to Ardis painting her toes fire-engine red. I was the world's most useless psychic.

"Wales it is then." Ardis nodded her head firmly. "Now we just have to make sure you actually get on that plane."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, let me think, Miss Art History major – because that's not the perfect degree to take over the family antique shop or anything." Ardis jabbed me with a sparkly fingernail.

"It just so happens that I like art." I did.

"True or false? You come home every weekend to study instead of staying on campus and actually having a good time."

"I have a good time at home!" My protest fell on deaf ears.

"True or false? You've literally never been more than ninety miles from the spot you were born."

"Well that's just because–"

"Buzz, time's up!" Ardis giggled. "Kristia Homebody Tostenson, you win one personal escort to the airport to make sure you actually do something exciting for once in your life!"

"Fine," I nudged her with my boot. "But you're going to miss me when I'm gone."

"You know it."

Four months and one very bumpy plane ride later, I was seriously questioning this whole big-adventure plan. I was thousands of miles from home, hurtling through the air in a bouncing box. How exactly was this a good idea?

"Fasten your seatbelts, and return your seats and tray tables to their full and upright positions as we begin our descent into London, Heathrow. Weather is a pleasant fifty-five degrees with a light rain." Thank heavens. The turbulent flight was almost over. "Seat up, Miss," tusked the flight attendant, and I adjusted my chair guiltily.

"Sorry Ma'am," I murmured to her retreating back, small-town manners a compulsive response. I leaned over to peer at the approaching countryside. Green pastures dotted with tiny sheep stretched as far as I could see, with farmhouses lining the landscape at sporadic intervals. The green was a stark contrast to the gray of the sky. I was staring down the barrel of a very soggy year.

This suited me just fine. I liked rain. The summer sun did not favor the pale. Besides, cold weather gave me an excuse to sit in my favorite reading chair with my beverage of choice – Earl Grey, one milk, two sugars. As we bounced through the sky, I tried to focus on what kinds of tea they'd have at Cardiff University in Wales, my home for the next nine months. Lots of fancy ones, I was sure. If I survived this flight, I'd get a whole year in Europe and a shot at a fresh start. Nobody knew me at Cardiff – for the first time _ever_ , I wouldn't be Crazy Kristia, the poor, weird girl who saw things. Maybe for once, I could just be another coed. It was my fervent wish to blend into the scenery.

I took a deep breath to soothe my sudden panic as the flight attendants opened the doors and my fellow passengers rose to exit the airplane. The great unknown suddenly seemed very scary.

I stood across the street from the Heathrow bus queue and glanced at the paper in my hand. According to the very detailed notes I'd written back at my desk in Nehalem, I had thirty-three hours until I boarded a train bound for Cardiff via Paddington Station. Thirty-three hours to see the British Museum, Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, and Shakespeare's Globe. To eat bangers and mash, whatever those were. To mind the gap. I jumped back onto the curb as a truck careened past, honking its horn – to avoid getting killed by the traffic driving on the other side of the road.

Oops. My cheeks flushed as I looked down, now seeing the bold letters painted on the street, directing me to LOOK RIGHT. Oh well, at least I wasn't the first tourist to make that mistake. I crossed the street with care and boarded the bus headed into town, practically pressing my nose to the window until the bus stopped three blocks from my hotel.

With thirty-two hours to go, I dropped my one suitcase in the modest hotel room and ran a brush through the tangled mess formerly known as my hair. I tied a charcoal scarf around my neck and raced downstairs into the brisk fall air. Outside, I breathed in the unfamiliar scent of exhaust fumes. It was the first new smell I could remember in a long time, and I fell instantly in love.

The buildings were so tall, the sidewalks so busy. Vendors pushed their carts, and big, black taxicabs paused to pick up passengers. The men had serious faces, and the women were so glamorous, sashaying in their stylish heels, with big handbags swinging at their sides. People rushed past the storefronts without seeing the take-out restaurants, Internet cafes, and coffee shops. The caffeine trade was thriving here, too. This tiny bit of familiarity was comforting.

With thirty-one hours and forty-five minutes to go, I climbed onto the double-decker bus touting FULL CITY TOUR in block letters. My scarf caught on the door, and I tugged until I set it free.

"Welcome, love. Ticket?" the bus driver asked. I fumbled in my purse until my fingers grasped the paper I'd printed out back home. "Excellent. Have a nice one, love." I climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the bus and sat in the open-top. The air was just cool enough that I was glad I'd worn my heavier coat. Although I tried to listen to the tour guide, I was too excited to focus. I was riding on a double-decker bus. In London. This was surreal.

My plan was to ride around the city so I could tell Ardis I'd seen it all, but when we pulled up to the British Museum, the art called to me. I all but ran down the spiral staircase, thanking the driver as I jumped out of the bus. I caught myself just before I fell face first onto the street.

"Cheers, love," called the bemused driver. I dusted myself off and waved over my shoulder.

"Cheers," I muttered amicably as I checked for damage. All limbs intact. No blood. I wasn't always that lucky. I walked as carefully as my excitement allowed and stopped inside the museum. This place held more art and artifacts than I ever could have imagined. Where to begin?

Thankfully, intuition took over. With determined steps, I strode to the Upper Level, taking in the sea of sculptures as I made my way along the corridors. Upstairs, my eye was drawn to something small and silver. It glinted in the overhead lights, a sparkling contrast to the worn pieces surrounding it. Without breaking my stride, I made a ninety-degree turn and walked toward the small case filled with coins and old jewelry. I squinted at the tiny pieces, focusing on each in turn until I came to the simplest one. The silver charm looked like it could have been worn on a necklace. It had the likeness of an eagle in the center, with curving waves making a circle along its borders. The symbol of Odin, Father of the Norse Gods – I recognized it from my grandmother's stories.

I tugged fondly at the silver hammer I wore at my neck – a replica of Mjölnir, the hammer of Odin's son, Thor. It was my most treasured hand-me-down from Mormor. She'd worn it every day and passed it to me when I graduated from high school. Right before she died. Mormor's charm was about the same size as the one in the case, and it was exactly the same shade of silver. The card beside the charm said it was found in Scandinavia and was probably made in the Viking Age.

As I stared at the case, I felt the familiar sensation that needled me day and night back in Nehalem. My gut tugged, confirming my suspicion – I was being watched. If the prickling at the back of my neck hadn't tipped me off to the stranger's presence, the positively massive shadow darkening the case would have done the trick. It only took me a second to pivot on the heel of my favorite black riding boot, but a second was plenty of time for my heart to leap soundly into my throat.

My eye-level hit at his chest where a dark sweater barely concealed the muscles of a well-defined torso. His thumbs rested casually in his pockets, and his arms strained against the sweater. I looked up, and up some more, until I finally reached his face. He stood a whole head above even the tallest visitor in the museum, and I was ashamed to admit, my jaw opened just a little as I took in his features.

A shock of tousled, blond hair rested atop an exquisitely-sculpted face. He had eyes as blue as a cloudless sky, cheekbones as chiseled as pictures I'd seen of the Alps, and lips the pale pink of my grandmother's roses. His jaw was square and strong with a hint of stubble, and his nose looked like it was lifted off a Roman statue. It was more beauty than any one person should have.

Heaven almighty, was this guy for real?

Although Mormor had done her darndest to raise a lady, right then I was entertaining some very unladylike thoughts. I struggled to mind myself, determined to do her proud. She wouldn't have fallen apart at this gooey feeling of familiarity. In my hormone-addled state, I could swear I knew this guy from somewhere.

Yeah, right. If I'd met him before, I would certainly remember it. I could pretty much guarantee that nothing this attractive had ever come through Oregon.

I waited a whole half-minute so I wouldn't be obvious, disproving Ardis' accusation that patience wasn't my strong suit; then I snuck a quick glance. The stranger stared back at me with a look so intense I wondered if he was trying to read my thoughts. Not that I could have formed any right then. I forced myself to inhale. It would be just like me to meet the man of my dreams and pass out cold before he could ask for my number.

He offered a wry smile, so brilliant even in its offhandedness that I had to remind myself to breathe again. The old Kristia, the one Nehalem had written off as the Village Crazy, would have slunk out of the museum before she could embarrass herself in front of such a hunk. But this was the new me – the me who'd moved five thousand miles from home to experience adventure for the first time ever. I was determined to see how far this newfound spirit would take me. I lifted my chin and gave him my most winning smile. What did I have to lose? My hand raised in what I hoped was a casual wave, and I managed to squeak out my greeting. "Hi."

The stranger opened his perfect, pale lips as if he were about to speak, then closed them. His eyes dropped to the hollow of my neck, where my necklace rested calmly despite my violent pulse. I touched the old-fashioned hammer self-consciously, feeling its familiar coolness. His eyes dimmed with sadness, then anger. He glared at my necklace, his gaze terrifying in its ferocity. I took a step back.

_Suddenly, I was in a forest, sprawled across the dusty earth. Pain overwhelmed me, and I had trouble focusing. Two men fought in the distance. One, dark-haired and wiry, waved his hand. Sparks shot from his open palm. They struck the broad–shouldered, blond Adonis standing ten feet away, knocking him to the ground. He stood and shook himself, charging at Sparky. His blond hair was a blur as he leaped on his opponent, fists flying in a frightening display of aggression. He was beating the thinner man senseless; any normal person would be dead by now. But the wiry man just laughed, the crazy sound filling the forest with its cruelty_.

Oh criminy, another vision. My strangest one yet.

When I came to, I eyed the handsome stranger. It was obvious he was the blond from my hallucination. I knew I should be afraid of him, but I just felt confused. If he'd noticed my quirky outtake, it hadn't done anything to lighten his mood. He turned on one designer heel and faced the exit, his body practically shaking with rage.

"I'm sorry, have I done something to offend you?" I probably should have kept quiet, but this whole interaction was beyond weird. Though I was ready with an apology for whatever wrong I'd committed, the stranger just squared his shoulders and stormed down the hallway.

"Whatever," I muttered to his back. If he wanted to be ill-mannered that was fine by me – the last thing I needed was some uncouth, European guy ruining my museum day. Even if he was beyond gorgeous.

I shook my head. Who cared what some half-baked Viking thought of me? I brushed off the feeling of being the last pumpkin left in the patch and deliberately turned for the stairs. I'd never have admitted, even to myself, that I was keeping an eye out for the stranger. I admired the original Magna Carta and snuck a glance at T.S. Elliot's poems to his godchildren – the ones that became the musical _Cats_. I don't know how long I wandered, ogling things I thought I'd only ever see in books, but when my stomach rumbled I knew it was time to go.

With a glance over my shoulder, I stepped back into the brisk London day. The smell of car exhaust snapped me out of my fog. With twenty-eight hours to go, I headed to the busy shop across the way to order my very first fish and chips. I tried not to give the ill-mannered stranger another thought, but he was very hard to forget.

# Chapter 2

_"Kristia," a keening voice **** beckoned. I sat up from my sleep, then whipped my head from side to side to place the voice. I'd appreciated the fact that my hotel room came with blackout shades when I fell asleep. But I felt differently now._

_A long finger crooked at me from the darkness. I couldn't make out the face in the shadows, and I wasn't sure I wanted to._

_"Who are you?" My voice shook, though I was going for a threatening vibe. My acting abilities couldn't have hit the broad side of a barn in full daylight._

_"Kristia," the voice repeated, now from behind me._

_"What do you want?" I jumped out of bed and inched towards the door. Any bravado was totally manufactured._

_"Kristia." Now the voice was in front of the door, and the long finger motioned again. Every instinct I had screamed for me to run, but I was frozen in place. I was trapped in a dark room with a lunatic, and my legs wouldn't move. Fabulous._

_"Leave me alone," I challenged, since running like a shrieking banshee wasn't going to be an option._

_The owner of the finger stepped from the shadows into the only sliver of light in the room. He was unnaturally tall, wiry and pale, with dark hair combed back from a handsome face, and bright eyes that glowed in the dim light. Slightly pointed ears and an angular jaw offset high cheekbones. He had a charmingly roguish look that made me want to jump into his arms at the same time that voice in my head was screaming GET OUT!_

_"Who are you?" I asked again. The man tilted his head._

_"The real question, Kristia, is who are you?" To my dismay, he halved the distance between us. I fought to step back, but my legs were still locked in place._

_"How do you know my name?" And more importantly, how could I get out of this room? My gaze darted between the window and the door. One path led to a three-story fall, the other was blocked by a freakishly-good-looking weirdo._

_"I know all about you." The oddball tilted his head the other way and squinted his glowing eyes until they were slits. "Starting with your little gift." He tapped his head with the same bony finger, and I froze. "Who are you, really? What are you trying to do to my plan?" His voice was a hiss. His eyes glowed brighter, and actual flames shot from their depths._

_Thankfully, I seized control over my petrified legs. As the fire landed at my feet, I hopped back in an inept dance, made all the more awkward by my clumsiness. Flames fanned out and quickly rose to block the man from my view. I heard a maniacal cackle that chilled me to the bone and I closed my eyes in panic. It would be death by fire this time. I wasn't sure I didn't prefer freezing_.

When I opened my eyes again, I was grasping at my bed sheets, my gaze shifting in the darkness until I found my bearings. I was in my hotel room in London, and it was not on fire. There wasn't anyone else in the room. With great effort, I slowed my breathing. I was pretty sure what just happened had been a dream, not one of my visions. My future didn't hold a giant elf-man... did it?

I walked purposefully to the window and ripped open the blackout shades, letting moonlight stream into the room. I didn't get much sleep that night.

The next day, I got off the train at Cardiff Central Railway Station and made the short journey to what would be my home for the next year. I stood on the steps of the Student Houses, holding tight to the handle of my powder blue suitcase as I tried to capture this moment in my memory. A year of adventure stood in front of me – exciting subjects to study, sophisticated students and professors to learn with, and brand new sights to see. Nobody here knew me from Eve. For the first time in my life, my future was a blank page. It was perfect. And beyond scary.

With a deep breath, I stepped across the short cobblestone walkway and into a cheerful courtyard. Lined with silvery-green trees and raised lavender beds, the stone-laid square was anchored by a central fountain. A smiling girl sat at a folding table, distributing keys and welcome packets.

This was it.

"Name?" The friendly-looking redhead asked in a clipped British accent. Her grey Cardiff t-shirt matched the cobblestones.

"Kristia Tostenson." I smiled to cover my nerves. I'd felt a lot braver when this whole trip was just a pipe dream in a coffee shop back home.

"Oh, Kristia! It's so nice to meet you!" She shook my hand before handing me a packet from the stack on her table. "I'm Emma, we're going to be flatmates." She grinned as she reached for another stack and handed over a manila envelope. From the jingling sound, I guessed my keys were inside. "Go ahead and let yourself in – we're on the first floor, just over there," she pointed. "Victoria's already home. I'll be there once everybody's checked in."

"Okay. See you inside." I shifted the envelope to my other hand, glad to have met a friendly face already. _Please don't have a vision and ruin this. Please, please, please._ My handicap could ruin my first day faster than Ardis' granny could shoot a squirrel off a fencepost. I just wanted to fit in for once.

"We were thinking of going for curries tonight," Emma called as I headed towards the flat. "Do you want to come?"

"Um, yes. That sounds great. Thanks." I fumbled with the envelope as I pulled my suitcase across the courtyard to Unit 4. My hand gripped the knob on the burgundy door – it was a pretty contrast to the dark gray of the stone façade. I walked into the small living area where a couch, dining table, and four chairs sat opposite an armoire holding a television. Two reading chairs framed a small table with a short lamp. The kitchen was off the living room, and I could see three small bedrooms and a shared bath branching off from the tiny hallway. It was small, but it was clean and comfortable.

A tall girl wearing tight fitting jeans and a stylish top came out of the bathroom, towel-drying short chestnut hair. "Oh hello," she said in a clipped British accent, more upper crust than Emma's comfortable tenor. "I'm Victoria."

"I'm Kristia." I smiled shyly.

"Oh right, the American." She nodded, motioning for me to follow her down the hall. "This room is left, it has a nice flowerbox outside the window." Pointing across the hall, she said, "I'm in there, and Emma's taken that one."

I looked into the empty room. It looked identical to the other two without the clothes and makeup. I stepped through the door, tugging my suitcase with me. The room was simple. The twin bed hugged the wall to my right, opposite an armoire that would be both dresser and closet. The desk and chair were basic.

A box outside the window held purple posies. That could be a problem – I had what Ardis affectionately called a black thumb. Poor posies.

I didn't have much to unpack, and I quickly took to task. The framed photo of Ardis and me at the Oregon Coast took the place of honor on the desk. Victoria was still drying her hair, so I grabbed the Mythology course book I'd purchased in advance and headed to the living room.

I was well into the stories of the Norse myths that Mormor told me as a child when Emma came through the door laughing. She seemed like a happy person. Victoria was harder to read, but I had hopes for her.

"Let me just pop in the shower, and we can go," Emma called over her shoulder, shedding articles of clothing on her way to the bathroom. Victoria poked her head out of her room.

"Are you ready for dinner?" She asked me. I glanced at her skinny jeans and beaded tank top, reading behind her words.

"Uh, almost. I just have to change my... um, my shirt," I guessed, jumping up so quickly I dropped my book on my toe. Dagnabbit, that stung. By the time I made it to my room, Victoria was spraying perfume on her wrists. I sensed my clothing selection would be widely different from hers. If her current outfit was any indication, Victoria was very trendy. My wardrobe was classic but functional. Slim jeans and slacks, fitted sweaters, tall boots. Proper cold-weather wear, courtesy of a lifetime in the Pacific Northwest and a grandmother who preached modesty. I rummaged through the armoire for one of my newer sweaters and changed my sneakers to a pair of brown riding boots. As I ran a brush through my wavy, dark-blonde hair, Victoria appeared with a patterned scarf.

"This will go with your eyes," she said simply.

"Thanks," I mumbled, unsure what to make of my new roommate.

"Oh, Victoria," Emma emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and running a brush through her hair. "Stop 'helping' her." Her fingers made quotes in the air. "You have all semester to give us makeovers." She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and waved us into her room. "Victoria's a fashion student. As her flatmate, you are officially her pet project, whether you want to be or not. Just accept it. I have."

"Oh, tush Emma. If I needed help with matters of mathematics, I would come to you. You know that. I can't help that my specialty is more... practical than yours." Victoria picked up a pair of earrings lying on Emma's dresser and held them up to her ears.

"Pardon me, but mathematics is highly practical. People use it every day. When was the last time you did math, huh? Actually don't answer that. I don't want to know." Emma earned a 'harrumph' from our well-dressed flatmate, who moved to the armoire. Victoria returned, bearing a flowing top and skinny jeans. Defiance in her eyes, Emma pulled out another top and started to put it on. After a moment, she ruefully held out her hand. The gleam in Victoria's eyes as she handed over her choice made me think this was not the first time they'd played this game, nor would it be the last.

"She's always right about clothes, you know," Emma muttered begrudgingly as she dressed in Victoria's chosen outfit. While I considered the pros and cons of having a live-in stylist, I decided this would be a good thing. If I wanted to blend in, Nehalem's fashions weren't going to do me any favors.

When our outfits had been approved, we locked up the flat and walked to Victoria's little car. Emma appointed herself tour guide. "So the first thing you need to know about Cardiff – the corner market up... here," she gestured, "has the best biscuits. You Americans call them cookies. They bake them fresh every morning, but the packaged ones they sell on the side have chocolate _and_ caramel. Delicious."

"Cookies are biscuits, and these are the best. Got it."

"The laundromat just behind us is less crowded than the one in our building–"

"The cutest boys are always there," Victoria finished.

"Good information." I was warming to my more reserved roommate.

"Two blocks this way is the place we get our hair cut – it's the best salon for the least money. You want to see Robyn. She's great." Emma was one of those enthusiastic people who managed the fine line between cheerful and annoying.

Victoria was eager to point out her favorite places too – designer clothing shops that were well beyond my spending limit. Emma winked as she teased our flatmate, "And for the rest of us, the good people of H&M have opened a shop at the north end of town. I think you have them in America?"

I nodded in response.

"Great clothes, but mostly, I pick up the trendy things there, unlike Victoria here who picks up her odds and ends at Harrods each season." Victoria rolled her eyes at us and I grinned at my new cohort.

My tour continued on the short drive, and by the time we parked, I felt like I might actually have my bearings. But when we walked into the restaurant, I was overwhelmed by savory smells that were completely foreign. There hadn't been a lot of new experiences in my life, and I wasn't too sure about this one. The hostess led us to our table where a basket of flat bread was waiting. I poked at it suspiciously. Bread was supposed to be fluffy.

I pointed to Emma as our waitress took our order. "I'll have what she's having." Trying to make sense of the exotic dishes listed as entrees was hopeless. "What are you having?"

"Chicken curry with rice. You'll like it." Her smile was reassuring, but I felt no relief whatsoever until the dish was in front of me and I took a tentative bite. I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either. It was richer and spicier than I'd been expecting, but still good.

"What about your classes," I asked Victoria, bravely tearing off a piece of the curious bread. "What are you taking this semester?"

"It's not about what I'm _taking_ ," Victoria emphasized. "I'm doing an internship for a very important fashion house. If I do well, they might let me stay on until I graduate; hopefully even hire me after. And then I'll be on my way to designing my own line. That," she sighed, "is everything I've ever worked for."

"Gosh, that would be incredible." I nibbled at the bread cautiously. It tasted bready enough so I dipped it in the curry.

Emma rolled her eyes. "But until then, Victoria can live quite comfortably working for her family's party-planning business. They're one of the top companies in Wales, and Victoria goes home every other weekend to help out. If we're lucky, she'll take us. Her family has an _amazing_ country house. And her mum's roasts are super."

"That's true; my mum is a fabulous cook. So is my sister. The whole family loves to cook, really. Well, my dad grills. I bake – I'm not much for the regular kind of cooking. Just the sweet stuff."

"Tell me about it. Dinners in our flat are nothing to get excited about." Emma admitted.

"I can cook," I volunteered. "I'm actually pretty good at it."

"Thank God," Victoria breathed. "You cook. I'll make desserts."

Emma laughed. "Guess that leaves me to clean up."

Well, that was settled easily enough.

"So you spend a lot of time with your family?" I asked Victoria. I'd barely seen my own parents growing up; the idea seemed foreign.

"Victoria's family does everything together," Emma explained. "It's kind of weird." Victoria rolled her eyes and Emma laughed. "I can't hate her too much, even though she's a beast of a fashion critic."

"Of course, it's still nice to get back to Uni." I liked her word for University. "Everyone needs their space, even fabulous, future fashion designers."

"Future being the key word. When are you going to give my wardrobe a break?"

"Hey, enjoy me now while you can still afford me. That goes for you too, K," Victoria winked, and I couldn't help but smile.

We finished our meal and paid the bill. We were walking the short distance to Victoria's car when I saw _him_. At least, I thought it was him. I stared at the window of the pub across the street, nearly positive I was looking at the blond from the British Museum. He sat in profile, laughing at the animated gestures of a brown-haired guy sitting across from him. He looked relaxed and happy, nothing like the cranky Viking I'd met the day before. The darker-haired guy had one arm slung around a ridiculously hot, blonde girl. Viking's side of the booth was empty. I wondered where his date was.

"Coming Kristia?" Emma and Victoria were shivering at the car.

"Sorry," I hustled to join them, "I thought I saw somebody I knew."

"Who was it?" Victoria started the car and cranked the heater up to full blast.

"Just some guy I saw in London. But it probably wasn't him. What are the odds, right?"

"Stranger things have happened." Emma shrugged. "Now how about some hot cocoa?"

Back in our flat, we said our goodnights and headed to our rooms. I lay in bed listening to the occasional car pass outside my window, too wound-up to sleep. My first day was under my belt, I was making friends, and I hadn't had an unwanted vision since yesterday. This year might just be okay. My mind drifted to the blond stranger, and my stomach flipped. Was he really here in Cardiff? What was he doing in the pub? Obviously, he was having dinner, but what did that mean? Did he go to school here? Would I see him again?

I forced myself to stop asking questions. The guy hated me on sight. He obviously had issues. And Cardiff was a huge school – we'd probably never run into each other. There was no point in barking up that tree.

Eventually, I fell asleep, and it didn't take long for my recurring nightmare to begin. It was different this time. The sun was low in the sky, and the wolf and the snake were moving across a field. I was mercifully absent. As the earth was covered in frost. As the light began to dim, a lone figure stood in a field of English lavender. He faced the onslaught without a hint of fear: my devastatingly handsome, ill-behaved, blond stranger.

# Chapter 3

My mood was jubilant when I slid into a seat near the middle of the lecture hall on Tuesday morning. It was my first day of school, and I'd always enjoyed listening to a good professor talk about the subject they'd dedicated their life to. Plus, there was nothing more satisfying than typing perfectly-outlined lecture notes – roman numerals, proper headings, the whole kit and caboodle. Today would be a good day.

I untied my scarf as the uncomfortable prickling sensation tickled the back of my neck. My hair bounced against my shoulders while I turned left and right, but nobody was looking at me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw _him_ standing in the doorway of the hall, staring right at me. It was the boorish Viking. The guy I figured I'd never see again, and whose stare was making me wish I'd been right. His eyes never left mine as they morphed from furious to confused to sad. Sad was an improvement over the fury I'd seen in London, but his reaction was still weird. I hadn't done anything to this guy, and here he was again, making me feel like I'd kicked his puppy with a steel-toed boot.

Well, two could play at that game. I met his eyes with my own determined look. I'd come to this school for a fresh start, and I wasn't about to let some guy intimidate me.

Students streamed by to take their seats, pausing to stare at the stranger's unnatural beauty. The girls snuck glances at the soft jeans and fitted sweater that failed to conceal his impressive musculature. My unladylike thoughts fluttered against my will.

The boys' looks were more resigned, tinged with barely-concealed envy. But the stranger stood still, staring at me, heartbreaking sorrow lining his features. I self-consciously tugged at the hammer of my necklace. The gesture caught his eye, and as he looked down at my neck, his features hardened in anger, nearly settling into the fury I'd seen in the museum. He stormed to take a seat in the back of the hall, never breaking his glare. I glared back until he looked away. _Take that, Viking_. I thought I'd put on a pretty good show, but when I turned back to my computer my hands were shaking.

Thankfully, Professor Carnicke took the podium and the hall fell silent as she began her lecture. "Mythology." She wrote on the board as she spoke in a clear voice. "The study of folklores." Professor Carnicke was a graceful woman in her thirties, with shoulder-length hair the color of wet sand. She stood at the front of the room with the poise of a dancer. "Early cultures used myths to make sense of a confusing world, to explain the origin of mankind, and to create a sense of history and belonging. We will be focusing on three primary mythological studies: the Norse, the Greek, and the Eastern. We begin with the Norse.

"The Norse mythology begins with a trio of prophets. The Three Sisters were the primary Norns – seers, if you will – tasked with predicting the fates of gods and mortals. Urd, Verandi and Skuld lived at the Well of Fate and gave water to the Life Tree, Yggdrasill. They supervised a team of lesser Norns who traveled the realms predicting the fates of humans, elves, and non-titled gods. It was the Three Sisters who predicted the fall of Asgard at the epic battle of Ragnarok.

"Ragnarok was Asgard's final battle. Dark elves, fire giants, and jotuns attacked together and most of the gods were slain, so mankind could prosper. This myth resonates as a common theme in many creation stories."

Despite the rugged stranger glaring in my direction, the lecture was off to a fine start. On the one hand, Professor Carnicke was one of the good teachers who spoke really passionately about what she taught. The kind I took detailed notes from. On the other hand, I didn't need to turn around to know that a very large man was boring angry beams into the back of my head from the last row of the lecture hall. The ninety-minute class seemed to go on forever as I concentrated on the feel of the keyboard under my fingers and the clarity of the professor's voice. I didn't raise my head from my computer screen until I heard Professor Carnicke close her textbook. She walked towards her briefcase and put the book inside.

"That's all for today, ladies and gentlemen. Read ahead fifty pages, and be prepared to discuss the tragedy of Ragnarok when next we meet." The room began to buzz as students made plans for lunch. I glanced at my computer. The screen was filled with well-organized notes, but I was annoyed that I couldn't recall a word Professor Carnicke had spoken. My mind had been too full of images of an angry, blond Apollo to process much else.

I packed up my bag, tied my scarf around my neck, and stood to leave. He'd gone before I made it to the back of the room. Shaking my head, I walked into the chilly, Welsh air. The stranger was nowhere to be seen. His anger made no sense. But then, I had no idea how guys operated. I was lost as a goose in a snowstorm in every possible way.

I made my way toward the Student Union to meet Emma.

"You must be talking about Ull Myhr. Tall, blond, super fit. Unbelievably gorgeous," Emma drew out each syllable, nearly salivating over the words. I was telling her about my morning, over a cup of tea.

"That's the one." Ull Myhr. What a name. I'd never met a boy named Ull in Nehalem. Then again, I'd only met about thirty boys close to my age in Nehalem, three of whom were named Mike. Emma sipped at her tea absentmindedly. "You know, I had a course with him last semester. It turned out to be my favorite subject."

"Oh? What subject?"

"Don't recall," she giggled. "He's kind of hard not to notice. But he's a senior, so he's out of here at the end of this year. Pity. He's one of Cardiff's high points, as far as I'm concerned. And I'm not alone."

"Right." My attempt at nonchalance fell completely flat.

"Not like it matters though," Emma shook her head, "He doesn't exactly mingle with the underclassmen. I've only ever seen him really talking to two people – a guy and a girl who are just as hot as he is – but I don't know their names. I've heard they all live together off campus, but that's all I know about Ull Myhr. He's half man, half myth around here. But I wouldn't mind finding out a _lot_ more, if you know what I mean." Her giggles made me smile.

"Does he seem, uh, angry, to you?" Or terrifying? Beyond irritating?

"No." Emma was surprised. "If anything he looks almost... amused. It's like this whole university experience is funny to him."

Well, maybe I could chalk his general jerkiness up to a bad week. He obviously wasn't himself.

"Do you want me to make chicken parmesan for dinner tonight?" I changed the subject.

"Ooh, yes. Please. Supper has been so much more enjoyable since you moved in with us. Thanks for taking on so much of the cooking. Victoria's dinners were okay, but we all know baking is her culinary strong suit. And I once burned noodles. Honest."

"I don't mind, really. My grandma and I always cooked together. It makes me feel at home."

"Well, I don't want you to feel like we're taking advantage of you. You're just better at it than we are."

"Not at all. I don't have to clean up, and Victoria makes dessert every night. Hey, we might want to talk about that by the way. I'm going to leave this place considerably larger if she keeps making bread pudding." I patted my stomach.

"No way!" Emma laughed. "I'm not giving up nightly goodies for the sake of your figure. Americans are too obsessed with appearances, anyway. Oh and speaking of appearances, James Percy from across the courtyard asked me about you. He thinks you're really cute."

"Who?"

"James Percy, the tall guy, super polite, with dark hair. Glasses?" Emma's eyes were big. "You haven't noticed him, either? Jeez Kristia, are you even looking at boys?"

Oh, I was looking. Just not at the nice ones who were asking about me.

"Anyway, I told him to just come over and talk to you. He's right cute; you'll definitely like him." She was obviously pleased with her role as matchmaker.

"Um, super. Thanks, Em." My cheeks were hot. Back home, I was pretty much invisible to guys. If I'd somehow caught this James guy's attention, did that mean Ull Myhr was going to stop glaring long enough to see me that way too? Not that I wanted him to – a cranky Viking was the last thing I needed to deal with right now.

Ull was definitely seeing me, all right. In Mythology a few days later, he sat in the back of the room again, staring at me from the last row. His eyes were less angry today, more resigned. I dodged his gaze as I set up my laptop, resisting the urge to turn around and stick out my tongue. If he was going to give me the evil eye during every class, this was going to be a long semester.

Before the lecture started, an unfamiliar, sandy-haired boy slid into the seat next to me. "You're Kristia, right?" The boy stuck out a hand and offered a friendly smile from thin lips. "I'm Henry. Henry Webster. I live upstairs in the Student Houses."

"Oh, right. Kristia Tostenson. Nice to meet you." We shook hands and I looked over the top of Henry's neatly-combed hair to see Ull's eyes narrow infinitesimally. That was interesting.

"Emma and I have Statistics together. She told me she had a new roommate."

"That's me." I typed the date and sat back in my chair. "So you're a math major like Emma?"

"Hardly." Henry actually looked down his nose. He was a good-looking guy and something told me he knew it. "I study business. I'm planning to go into finance."

"Ahh, got it." I glanced up again. Ull's focused stare had zeroed in on Henry.

"And what do you study, Kristia?" Henry booted up his own laptop.

"History of Art," I shifted my gaze back to Henry, trying not to laugh at the "v" forming between Ull's eyes. "But I'm mostly taking general ed. courses while I'm here. I'm an exchange student from the US."

"Very well." Henry clicked at his keyboard. He stuck out his tongue when he typed – it was cute. "Has Emma taken you to Naan Palace yet? It's one of our favorites after study group."

"The Indian restaurant?" What was it with these people and their curries? Didn't England have good old-fashioned Chinese food? Or pizza? "We went my first night here."

"Fabulous, isn't it? Let's all three go sometime. Too bad she's not in this class; she's a great study partner."

I giggled. Henry definitely saw Emma as more than a study partner. A glance at Ull showed he had misinterpreted my laughter. His eyes were thin slits now, his hands balled into fists. I forced my features into a coy smile and put my hand on Henry's arm, watching Ull's jaw set. Very interesting indeed. "That sounds fun, Henry. Let's grab dinner sometime." Maybe my voice was a teensy bit loud, but Henry didn't seem to notice. He prattled away, making plans while I snuck another look. Ull glared at me, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he clenched his teeth. I shot him a grin and turned to my computer.

When Professor Carnicke dismissed the class ninety minutes later, my gaze wandered toward Ull's seat. It was empty; he had escaped before the lecture was over. Well that was good – I didn't want to waste any more energy avoiding his mean looks. Did I?

The following Tuesday, I sat in Mythology class, third row, taking my standard copious notes. Henry was absent and I hadn't met any of the other students in class yet, so I had most of the row to myself. All around me, pens scribbled and keyboards clicked as Professor Carnicke waxed poetic about the Norse Gods.

It was easy to get wrapped up in the dramatic stories, the romance, the anguish, when the professor was so into her subject. After only a week, this had become my favorite class – it certainly wasn't because of the bizarre Ull Myhr who sat in the back making me feel an inexplicable combination of emotions. I genuinely liked both the professor and her subject matter. Like I'd written in my last e-mail to Ardis, I was getting college credit for going to story time. It was a pretty good deal.

"That's it for today folks," came Professor Carnicke's dismissal. "Read through the next seventy pages in your text and start working on an outline for your term papers. I will be available for questions during my office hours this afternoon." I bent my head to rummage through my bag as the room began to empty. When I looked up, I spotted the tousled, blond hair of the student who was occupying far too many of my thoughts. He was looking at me curiously – the anger finally gone. Well color me pink; that was a nice change. I ducked my head and jumped from my seat, rushing to leave the lecture hall. Once in the hallway, I leaned against the wall and exhaled. When I was sure I could walk, I headed to the quad to find an unusually clear sky. I relished the feel of the sun on my face. A girl could almost take off her sweater without getting goose bumps. Almost.

I sat under a tree and took out my Mythology book, planning to read ahead for the next lecture. As I turned the page, a deep voice broke my concentration. "May I join you?"

I looked up to see _him_. Ull Myhr, who never spoke to anyone, was speaking to me.

"Join me?" I looked around. "Are you serious?"

Ull chuckled, looking pointedly to the ground next to me. "May I?"

"Don't you want to glare at me for a while first? Make me feel like I stole your Granny's favorite baking sheet?"

He sighed. "Please?" It was the first nice thing he'd said to me.

"Uh... um... fine. Have a seat," I gestured feebly, shock keeping me from standing like etiquette would have dictated. His grin made my stomach flip as he sat next to me, leaning against the tree. I was instantly and immeasurably self-conscious.

"I am sorry, I should introduce myself. I am Ull Myhr. Fourth Year, majoring in Classics. I did my first two years at the University of Oslo, Norway. And you are?"

By some miracle I found my voice again. "Um... uh." I had actually forgotten my own name. "I'm, uh, Kristia. Kristia Tostenson. Sophomore, History of Art, visiting student from the U.S. – Oregon." I forced a welcoming smile on my face, but it faltered quickly. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be difficult, but this is just weird. Is there something you want?"

Ull looked surprised. "Why is this weird?"

"Um, because you've spent the last week glowering at me? And avoiding me? Why do you suddenly want to talk to me?"

"Kristia, I am sorry if I gave you the impression that I have ill feelings towards you." Ull's sincerity threw me off balance. "Nothing could be further from the truth. I do not even know you."

"I know!" I threw my hands up in frustration. "That's why I'm so confused."

Ull laughed, a hearty laugh that bounced through the trees. It was a wonderful sound. "Well I am sorry I have not been friendlier. This week has been unusually difficult for me. But it is no excuse to have made you uncomfortable." He stuck out his hand. "Can we start over?"

"Do you _want_ to start over?"

"I would not have asked if I did not."

"Oh. Okay then." I eyed his hand warily before I shook it. The instant our palms touched, an electric pulse charged my skin. It raced up my arm and into my chest, spiking my already overworked heartbeat. Every nerve ending in my body sprang to life, leaving me with the feeling of pins and needles from tip to toe. It took ten slow breaths to calm my heart.

Ull assessed my reaction with guarded eyes. Then he gently pulled his hand back. "Since we are starting fresh, may I ask you something else?"

"What?" I didn't mean to sound so suspicious.

"Well, my pen gave out mid-lecture. Would you be willing to e-mail me your notes? You type so earnestly, yours must be worth reviewing."

Okay, now this conversation made sense. He wanted my notes. I should have been offended he was using me, but he was just so good looking, I couldn't muster up the appropriate level of indignation.

"Oh. I guess." I handed him a pen and he jotted down his e-mail address. Our hands brushed as he handed me the scrap of paper, sending another jolt to my poor heart. I pulled back quickly. No point in hyperventilating again before I could tell Emma about this small miracle. The legend himself had given me his e-mail address. He wanted to talk to me again! What had changed since we met in London? Though I didn't want to destroy any good will building between us, I desperately wanted to ask him about London – he may have been having a bad week at Cardiff, but that didn't explain why he'd been so rude at the British Museum. And I was positive this was the same man – there was no way there were two god-like creatures walking around Britain. If there were, Ardis would have signed up for study abroad years ago.

Study abroad! I kicked myself. I'd totally forgotten the meeting with my advisor. I jumped up so quickly I had to grab onto a tree for support. "Sorry, I have to go. I have an appointment. I'll send my notes this afternoon."

"Of course." Ull stood gracefully, his light jacket straining against defined shoulders. "I would imagine an Oregon girl could use a good cup of coffee. What is your favorite? Soy Latte?"

I shook my head. "Earl Grey. Weird, I know. My dad says he's not sure I'm really from Oregon."

Ull smiled. "Well, I owe you a cup of tea then. It is the least I can do for imposing on your notes."

"And for spending a week glaring at me?"

"I thought we agreed to a fresh start." Blinding teeth peeked from upturned lips. "No fair bringing up my past indiscretions."

"Touché." I caught myself grinning back. This day had taken an unexpected turn.

"I hope a drink will wipe the slate clean. Where will you be at eight o'clock this evening?"

I managed to remember the name of my residence hall. Ull seemed to know it offhand. I scurried off to my meeting, only tripping once on the short walk to the administration building. I could have sworn I heard a low chuckle as I steadied myself, but when I glanced over my shoulder, Ull Myhr was gone.

# Chapter 4

I spent the rest **** of the day cleaning. I swept and mopped with manic fervor, then moved on to vacuuming the throw rugs and wiping down every cabinet. When there wasn't a speck of dust left in the flat, I hand-washed all the dishes, then scrubbed the windows with Windex and newspaper until they sparkled, like Mormor had taught me.

By then, I'd run out of things to clean, so I spent an hour obsessing over my outfit, reassuring myself I'd have done the same thing if any other boy was dropping by. This wasn't about Ull – he'd been so foul all week, I obviously didn't care what he thought of me. I'd just been raised to look my best for company; that was all.

After I'd put on my softest sweater with my favorite pair of skinny jeans and knee-high boots, I bumbled around the living room with even less grace than usual. When the bell rang at eight on the dot I ran, opening the door to reveal the silhouette of a six-foot-five-inch Nordic Adonis. Ull's blue eyes crinkled in the corners and his smile was radiant, a stark contrast to the angry man I'd gotten used to. He wore dark jeans and an ivory sweater that clung to his chest, and his accent was soft when he spoke.

" _Hei hei_ , Kristia. Nice to see you."

"Um... uh..." Oh, come on Tostenson. Find some words. "Uh..." Now! "Yes, it is. I mean, nice to see you too." I could do better than this. I _would_ do better. "Thanks for stopping by. You could have just sent an e-card or something." I held the door open inviting him to our small sitting area, and he filled the space.

"I come bearing Earl Grey." He solemnly offered a steaming travel cup. "In thanks for some _extremely_ detailed notes."

I blushed. "Right. I've got a little of the compulsive thing. Professor Carnicke is just so enthusiastic; I can't tell what the important parts are, so I type it all. And Ragnarok breaks my heart – the gods destined to fall so mortals can live in peace. Just awful." I shuddered involuntarily, thinking of Ull's mysterious presence in my recurring Ragnarok nightmare. I wondered what our professor would have made of that.

"Indeed," Ull murmured absently, and I blushed again. I was boring him. His other dates must be much more interesting. Not that this was a date. I did _not_ want to get involved with someone this moody. No, this was a business deal: tea for notes. And maybe the start of a friendship? Probably not. I usually stuck with friends who were a lot easier to read.

"So Kristia," he began as he sat on our couch, dwarfing it under his lofty form. "What do you think of Cardiff so far? What else are you taking?"

He wanted to make small talk? I could handle that. I'd spent way too many afternoons with prattling old ladies at my grandma's Bridge Club – I was an expert at small talk. I sat in the chair across from him and dutifully described my archaeology class, all the while looking for a polite way to bring up what was really on my mind.

Since there was no gracious way to do it, I jumped in with both feet. I tilted my face up to stare into his amazing eyes and found I couldn't quite open my mouth. Come on Tostenson. I'd gotten on my first airplane and traveled thousands of miles from home. I'd even stood up to Ull when I'd wanted to crawl under a desk and cry. I could do this.

"Actually," I smiled brightly. "I saw you last week. In London."

Ull froze.

"It's a shame we didn't get a chance to talk then," I tried to look morose as I studied him carefully. "It would have been nice to have a friend coming into school."

A rueful smile spread across Ull's features and he avoided my question.

"You were in London? How did you end up there?"

"My flight from Oregon landed there, so I spent a day sightseeing."

"That must have been enjoyable."

"It was." He still hadn't answered me. I stared, waiting. He didn't blink. "So what were you doing in London, anyway?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. You must be thinking of someone else. I was not in London last week."

Oh sure, there were two, hugely frustrating, Nordic supermodels walking around London. "Liar," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" Ull looked amused again.

"Oh, nothing," I coughed to cover up my indiscretion. "Throat tickle." Mormor would have been mortified at my behavior. She'd never have called someone out to their face. "It's just, I've never met anyone quite like you before, and here I meet two of you in a week." I looked him dead in the eye, but he still didn't blink.

"I do not know what to tell you, Kristia," he said gently. We stared at each other for a long minute, each willing the other to back down. Ull won.

"Well, I must've been mistaken." I smiled the too-big smile I got when I lied. I'd get the truth out of him eventually. No sense running him off before I could finish my tea.

"Tell me about yourself, Kristia. What brought you to Wales?"

Where to begin? Nothing I'd done in Nehalem could possibly be of interest, but I had to say something. I briefly told him about my hometown, my studies at UPN, and summed up my journey by saying, "I wanted an adventure before I settled back into to the life I've always known."

"I think a life you have always known, a simple life, sounds wonderful," Ull sounded almost wistful.

"It is, in a lot of ways." I wondered why I was opening up to someone who had spent so much energy antagonizing me. "But just once, I wanted to do something different. So here I am."

"How do you like it so far?"

"Aside from seniors taking advantage of my undiagnosed OCD, it's been a pretty good week."

Ull laughed, a musical sound that stopped my heart. It was beautiful, and I wanted to hear it again. "I suppose I am taking advantage. One cup of Earl Grey just doesn't seem a fair trade for such _highly_ detailed notes." He was teasing me. Ull was in my flat, teasing me. Boys did that when they liked a girl, right? I couldn't figure this guy out. Ull paused, seeming to make a decision. "Will you let me show you around town this Friday? My classes get out at three, and I can be here at four. The grand tour of Cardiff for your notes. Fair trade?"

This could not be happening. He'd spent a week being unbelievably ornery, and now he wanted to take me out?

"I don't know." I kept my face guarded. "Which Ull is going to pick me up on Friday? The nice one from tonight, or the mean one from last week? Because no offense, but I'd really rather not be alone with the mean one."

"Touché." Ull had the decency to look abashed. "You will not let me get away with much, will you, Miss Tostenson?"

"I hope not." I wasn't sure who I was trying to be firm with.

"Well, the nice Ull would like to go out with you. What do you say?"

I wasn't entirely sure. On the one hand Ull Myhr, unquestionably the most desirable student at Cardiff and hands down the most interesting guy I'd met here, was asking me on a date. On the other, the boorish Viking who'd spent a week pushing my last nerve was asking for time alone with me. My voice wavered. "I guess that could be fun."

"Try not to sound too excited."

"Sorry. I'm just not sure what to make of you yet."

"Fair enough." Ull stood, stretching his impossibly long legs. "But you are willing to give me a chance?" I nodded. "Then I shall be here at four." He reached down to pick up his cup. Taking another sip, he eyed me speculatively. His look was so intense it gave me goose bumps, and I was glad my sweater covered my arms. He took my hand in his and bent to kiss it with perfect, pale lips. A pulse shot through my fingers and up my arm, making my heart race. Nobody had ever kissed me like that before.

I stood frozen to the spot as he rose. Piercing blue eyes bored into mine as he whispered, "I will see you Friday night." He strode from the room and let himself out the front door – good idea, since I couldn't move. My feet were firmly rooted to the same patch of floor, and it was only after I was absolutely sure he had made his way beyond the earshot of our flat that I let out a small squeal. The nerves let themselves out of my body in bursts, and I jumped up and down.

It was this lovely vision that greeted Emma and Victoria when they came home, bringing their animated chatter to an abrupt halt. Victoria raised one elegant eyebrow in question, and my words came in gasps. "Ull. Myhr. Asked. Me. Out!"

Two more bodies joined in my happy dance, and we jumped around the sitting area like the schoolgirls that we were, until we fell laughing onto the various seats. It was Victoria who sat up first, asking solemnly, "What are you going to wear?"

Within an hour, we'd ransacked our collective closets and come up with what we hoped was suitable attire for a date with the most eligible and most confusing bachelor on campus. It hadn't been easy. None of us knew much about Ull, and since we'd never seen him go out with anyone, we had no idea what he liked. Emma offered her favorite dress, a summery eyelet with a pastel sash, but Victoria nixed it with authority. "Too innocent."

"Well, we don't want him to think she's easy!" Emma's retort was in line with my way of thinking, but Victoria shook her head knowingly.

"We don't want him to think she's too _anything_. Trust me ladies, a first date outfit must be ambiguous. It can't say too much. It should be sexy, but not overt – classy, but not boring. Sweet, but not too innocent." She rolled her eyes at our obvious naïveté. "You have to leave him guessing, wanting to learn more. That way, he'll have to take you out again." Emma and I had to throw in the towel. Victoria clearly knew way more than we did about this sort of thing.

Without us to sidetrack her vision, Victoria quickly paired a lace – not eyelet – A-line dress, tight in the bodice and flaring to just above the knee, with simple flats for walking. A scarf completed the look, and we added a tailored coat in case the evening was chilly. I had to admit, it looked pretty sharp. I hoped it was worthy of Cardiff's most desirable catch. And he was certainly that, even if his mood swings were considerably off-putting.

I really hoped Cranky Ull stayed home. This was already scary enough.

When Friday came, I was literally bouncing with nerves. I still wasn't positive this was a good idea. My dating experience wasn't extensive, but the handful of guys I'd been out with in Nehalem had all wanted something. Some wanted to find out what was wrong with Crazy Kristia; some had heard rumors and wanted me to tell their futures – like I had any control over what I saw. The rest just wanted to try to get on base.

Ull seemed like someone who had everything – looks, money, brains. He didn't know about my mental problem, so it wasn't like he wanted to exploit that. And there was no shortage of girls around here who would have been more than happy to give him an all-access pass. There was nothing he could possibly want out of me – except maybe my fabulous notes – that he couldn't go out and get for himself. Maybe, just maybe, he really did like _me_ , not my quirky gift, or the way I filled out my jeans – my best asset, according to a highly inappropriate comment Ardis overhead at a football game and was kind enough to repeat to me. Starting fresh and winning people over just by being myself... wasn't that what I'd been looking for when I came to Wales?

"Just relax," Emma soothed as she dusted gold eye shadow onto my lids. "He asked you out. I don't think he's ever asked anyone out here. He must be into you."

"I doubt that," I mumbled. "He probably just feels guilty for borrowing my notes." Either way, I'd been so anxious that I hadn't been able to eat all day.

"Tush," came Victoria's pert reply. She peeked from around the back of my head, where she was wielding a large-barreled curling iron through my thick mane. "Men don't do anything they don't want to do. He clearly wants to spend this evening with you. And why wouldn't he? By the time we're done with you, you'll be the most beautiful girl on campus." Her eyes set in steely determination as she curled and sprayed, creating the perfectly tousled waves I'd seen in her latest fashion magazine. When she was finished, Emma slicked gloss on my lips and handed me the tube.

"Reapply every hour, as needed. Or whenever you're done snogging!" She giggled, and I ducked my head. If only I could be so lucky!

I stood in front of the full-length mirror under the critical gazes of my flatmates. Victoria ran her fingers along the base of my hair, lifting it for good measure before administering one final spritz of hairspray. "Absolutely beautiful," she assessed.

"Stunning." Emma nodded her assent. "He won't know what hit him."

As I looked at the stranger in the mirror, even I had to admit the girls did good work. I was definitely looking, if not feeling, my best. My stomach churned in anticipation. Victoria and Emma let themselves out, heading to the ice cream shop around the corner to give me some privacy when my date arrived.

"We'll see you when you get home... if you make it home!" Victoria trilled over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her. "I wouldn't come home." I heard her mutter as she walked away.

"Me neither," came Emma's muffled reply through the door.

# Chapter 5

At four o'clock on the dot, I heard an authoritative knock. With a deep breath, I picked up my purse. My intuition told me this was a very important moment. I waited for the inevitable blackout to embarrass me, but it didn't come. For once my brain was functioning on all cylinders – I was vision free. Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn now and then.

When I opened the door, Ull's glorious figure stood on the other side. His thick, blond hair was in disarray from the Welsh wind. His perfectly-shined boots were the same black as his tight-fitting sweater, and defined forearms peeked out from pushed-up sleeves. The dark wash of his jeans highlighted the long, muscular shape of his legs. He raked a hand through his hair, brushing a piece away from his eyes, and lit up the entire flat with his radiant smile. My heart ached; no man could be so beautiful.

I smiled shyly. "Hi."

" _Hei hei_ ," Ull murmured. He reached out and took my hand. Then he raised my fingers to his lips, grazing the tips with a feather-like kiss. My skin burst into flames, waves of heat radiating toward my heart in slow pulses. The sensation was unnerving. I let out a nervous giggle as Ull guided me over the threshold and into the late afternoon sun with one hand on the small of my back. "Are you ready for the grand tour of Cardiff?"

I nodded, not quite able to speak. We walked to the street where a shiny, black Range Rover waited, bearing the license plate NORSE1. _Of course._ Ull held my hand as I climbed into the passenger seat. My stomach flipped as his gaze slowly took in my bare legs and the hem of my skirt. His eyes darted to the low cut of my neckline. My stomach fluttered as I caught him staring.

He was totally checking me out. I made a mental note to thank Emma and Victoria for their hard work on my appearance.

"Kristia," he said after he crossed to the driver's side and climbed in. "You look delightful this evening. Absolutely angelic." He clicked his seatbelt. "Are you sure you want to spend time with a rogue like me?" Beneath his smile was a serious undertone.

"Rogue, huh? I guess that explains the staring." I looked pointedly at my chest and giggled as the tops of Ull's ears turned pink. His grimace was the last dark look I saw that night. He seemed to have made a decision, though I couldn't guess at what it was.

He glanced at my dress with a wry chuckle. "So I guess ice skating is out."

I panicked, trying to remember if he'd mentioned wanting to do something sporty.

"We can go back – I can change; it's–" His laughter stopped me.

"I was teasing you, Kristia. We can skate another time. I would much rather you wear that dress." His smolder left a warm tingling in the lower half of my stomach. He reached out to hold my hand and the tingling burst into flames. Desperately hoping he couldn't hear my pulse, I took slow, deep breaths. We were two minutes into this date. I didn't want to give him any reason to go back to avoiding me.

"Right. Another time," I said lightly. Another date with Ull. I had to start the deep breathing all over again. Two and a half minutes into this and I was two for two on hyperventilation. I'd have to start pacing myself. After all, I still wasn't completely convinced that Nice Ull was the real thing. And there was no point in going all ga-ga over someone who might not even exist.

Ull drove toward the center of town, at ease in the driver's seat. I tried to focus on his words as he pointed out Cardiff's considerable highlights, but quickly got lost in the commanding tenor of his voice. I forced myself to really look at the sights, and by the time Ull pulled up in front of Cardiff Castle, I was finally able to hear him. He didn't move to get out of the car, so I re-crossed my ankles and stared at the ancient fortress from the passenger's seat.

"Cardiff has the highest concentration of castles in the world. This one dates back two thousand years, though of course, it has undergone many revisions. You just missed the Medieval Mêlée. People dress in costumes; they hold sword-fighting contests on the green, serve turkey legs, and play silly games. I went as a jester this year."

I tried to picture Ull Myhr dressed as a clown, but came up short.

"It is nice to walk the castle wall," he went on. "You can see the niches in the stone where guards used to keep their fires on cold nights. We can do that another time – too late today. The castle closes at six." As fascinating as the wall sounded, the only thing I took from this was that Ull wanted to go out again. Score one, Tostenson.

Ull eased into traffic, and his excitement grew as he pointed out Millennium Stadium. His eyes shone as he described some of his favorite matches – he was both a football and rugby regular, and he glanced wistfully at the stadium when he spoke. It was weird to imagine him doing something so ordinary as watching sports. Maybe he did have a normal side.

Ull glanced at the clock and drove purposefully toward our next destination. The sun was low in the sky as he gestured towards the docks that had made Cardiff a major port for coal transport in the 19th Century, and pointed in the direction of the Arcade, a collection of shops varying from couture to cafes. Naturally, Starbucks was well represented here, too.

My head started to spin from the light pressure of Ull's hand on mine, so I resumed my deep breathing to keep myself in check. If this kept up, I was going to have to take up yoga. Yogis were good deep breathers, weren't they?

Finally, Ull turned off the main road and parked in a small lot. Without a word, he got out of the car and retrieved something from the trunk. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to get out too – were we going for a walk or was he just checking on something back there? But it felt weird to ask, so after a minute, I unbuckled my seatbelt and swung open my door. It reverberated as it hit an obstruction.

"Ouch!" Ull dropped whatever he was carrying and grabbed his arm.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't realize you were there!" Oh my God. I'd nailed him with my door. And from the way he was rubbing his arm, I'd nailed him _really hard_. This was beyond mortifying.

"It seems I did not open your door fast enough," Ull joked as he stooped to pick up the blanket and basket I'd knocked out of his arms.

"My door? Oh." He'd wanted to open my car door. Like in a movie. How had I made it eighteen years and not realized guys actually did that? "Oh Ull." I grabbed his red forearm. "I really got you."

"All in the line of duty." He took my hand. "This way, my lady."

We stopped at the top of the small knoll. The garden easily stretched the length of two football fields, pink, yellow, and purple flowers layering the ground with their thick carpet. Trees swathed in fuchsia petals swayed softly, and a lush covering of grass wove in and out of the flowers. In the distance, a white-columned memorial evoked images of Ancient Greece. It was spectacular.

"Where are we?"

"Alexandra Gardens. Named for Alexandra of Denmark, who became the longest running Welsh Princess." Ull glanced at me from under thick lashes. "This is one of my favorite places in Cardiff."

Ull led me down the knoll and laid the blanket on a grassy spot beneath one of the fuchsia trees. He opened the picnic basket and I wanted to ask him a million questions. He beat me to it as he handed me a bottle of sparkling water.

"Are you enjoying the city so far?" He opened an assortment of tapas for my perusal and helped himself to an olive before leaning back on one elbow.

"Yes." I looked down to give myself time to think of something to say. His beautiful form stretched across the blanket had emptied my mind of all coherent thought. He was overwhelming, in the best possible way – tall, blond, muscular, attentive. The combination made it difficult to form words. "Cardiff is so much cleaner than I'd imagined." Cleaner? I struggled to recover. "I mean, London was beautiful too, but everything was so grey – grime on the buildings, you know? That was neat, and all, because it was London. But everything here is... uh... _white_." I gestured to the memorial, pristine in its place of honor. "Even the sidewalks seem white. I guess I just expected everything to be dirty because it's so big, but Cardiff's even cleaner than Nehalem was – and with only three hundred people, it doesn't get very dirty. Well, it gets dirty because it's in the forest. You know, with dirt. And stuff. But not because of litter or anything."

_Oh my God. That was all out loud. All of it._ I shoved a slice of bread in my mouth to end my prattling.

It was a testament to Ull's chivalry that he moved on without comment. "Tell me about Nehalem. What do you miss the most?" He leaned forward on his elbow, seemingly wanting to know.

"Oh gosh." I wasn't sure where to begin. When I was positive I wasn't going to start in on another babble, I told him about my own favorite place. "Well, there's this quiet spot off the main river. If you didn't know it was there, you might never find it. My best friend Ardis and I spent a lot of time there and after she left for college in New York, I used to go by myself to read. Being there made it seem like she wasn't so far away."

"What about your parents?"

"What about them?" I countered before I could catch myself.

Ull had enough sense to keep quiet.

"My grandmother raised me – Mormor was my mom's mom. My parents traveled a lot for their antique business. They were always on the lookout for new treasures for the shop." I tried to keep my voice neutral. "They didn't want a kid around to slow them down. So they passed me off to Mormor – she knew me way better than they ever did anyway. She taught me to tie my shoes, to bake cookies, to write thank you notes. Everything I know." I stared at my folded hands. "She's gone now; she passed away right after I started college."

"You miss her." It wasn't a question.

"Terribly."

Ull offered me a container with turkey, cheese, and crackers. As I made my little sandwich, he kept up his stream of questions.

"What are your favorite books?"

"Um..." I chewed, appreciating the change of subject. "I like Shakespeare."

"Romeo and Juliet?" Ull chuckled.

"Much Ado About Nothing." I blushed. "I always saw myself as an un-bitter Beatrice."

"How so?"

"She's so disillusioned with love, and doesn't think she can count on anyone – that part's not me at all. But she's really independent, and she's always looking out for her impetuous cousin. It's sort of like Ardis and me. She'd always get herself into these situations because of her heart, and I would come along and clean up after her."

"Sounds tough."

"Not really. Ardis got into the scrapes; I just had to help her out of them." I'd been busy as a stump-tailed horse in fly time, the way Ardis found trouble. "My part was much easier."

"Always a little outside of life, Miss Tostenson?"

"I guess." I felt my cheeks grow warm. It was easier to watch Ardis go through heartbreaks than to get hurt myself. But Ull didn't need to know that.

"I know the feeling." Ull's response was wry. "Favorite movies?" He continued before I could ask what he meant.

"Um... Much Ado, again. Kenneth Branagh's pretty fantastic."

"Agreed."

Ull continued as the sun set. He asked about my favorite foods, the music I listened to, and what I hoped to do after graduation. He listened patiently as I told him my dream of working as a junior curator in a museum, and leaned in as I talked about my favorite works of art. He seemed genuinely interested in the minor details of my life, and I told him a bit about the oddities of a small-town upbringing. Naturally, I omitted talk of my little mental tic – every dog had a few fleas, and mine were bound to show themselves soon enough.

By the time the sun dipped at the horizon, our picnic was mostly gone, and Ull offered me a container of brownies. He held up his sparkling water and clinked his bottle to mine.

" _Skål_ ," he said. "Cheers. To new beginnings." He winked at me with a smile so dazzling, I couldn't help but stare.

The way his pale lips curved up, with just a hint of a smirk behind the smile... could they really be as soft as they looked? What would they feel like against my cheek? My mouth? My neck? I shivered involuntarily.

"Are you cold?"

I shook my head. "Everything is wonderful. I'm just... I'm a little overwhelmed. You're –" I stumbled over the words, ducking behind my hair. "You're kind of great when you're being nice."

"Be careful, Kristia Tostenson." Ull brushed my hair behind my ear, trailing one finger along the curve of my neck. His touch was soft; the barely-there sensation of a light breeze that sent a chill down my spine. I resumed my deep, calming breaths in earnest. "You could choose much better company than me," he continued. There was a warning behind his easy smile.

"I'm not sure I could," I whispered into my water. Ull stared, deep in thought.

"I am afraid, neither could I," he confessed. My heart soared – maybe he really _did_ like me. We watched the horizon in silence as the sky turned from blue to orange to purple. As dusk settled over the garden, Ull packed up the remnants of our picnic and held out a hand to help me up. "To the next stop on our Grand Circle Tour."

When Ull pulled up to the posh nightclub, a new kind of panic swept over me. I wasn't graceful sitting still and dancing was definitely not my forte. But as he seemed to be with everything else, Ull was a natural, leading me around the club as if I'd been dancing all my life. This required that he hold me very close, and the contact was almost too much for my overworked brain. Although I'd spent the better part of the night feeling like I had a live wire tapped directly into my spine, I now felt so light-headed that thought I might float away. This combination meant I nearly fell on several occasions. If he noticed, Ull was gentlemanly enough not to say anything.

We left the nightclub much too soon, Ull's fingers twined through mine. Our hands fit together, his long fingers cradling my smallish ones. The familiar gesture made me smile, and I scooted closer as we walked, letting my shoulder brush against his arm. It was so easy to be next to him. I felt a twinge of sadness thinking our date must be nearing its end. But when Ull helped me into his car, he treated me to another dazzling smile.

"Would you care to join me for a drink at my local?"

"Maybe. What's a local?"

"Ah, Americans," Ull chuckled. "Your local is your favorite pub. Mine happens to be around the corner from your flat. Shall we go together?"

"Yes, please."

Minutes later, we sat in the dimly-lit, wood-paneled room in the quiet pub. We were tucked away in a corner booth opposite the roaring fire. Ull had slid into the seat next to me rather than across from me. His arm rested around my shoulders, so I had no choice but to lean into him in the small space. It was another familiar gesture that felt so easy, so right, it was like he'd been in my life for years instead of days. Were all first dates like this – full of anticipation, longing, and the satisfaction of feeling like you fit perfectly together? They hadn't been, in my experience, but then there wasn't a whole lot that was typical about me.

As we sipped our drinks – tea for me, an Irish Coffee for Ull – I finally got to ask him about himself. He spoke unreservedly about his home, winter days spent skiing and snowshoeing with friends, and summer afternoons swimming in the ocean and grilling out at night.

"What about your family? Do you have brothers and sisters?" He'd been so busy with his interrogation I'd stored up what felt like a thousand questions.

"Not so much," he smiled lightly, though I felt his arm tense around me. "I do have a rather sizeable extended family though, makes up for it."

"Are they in Norway?"

"Yes. They all live in the same village actually, but it is pretty remote. Not a lot of contact with the rest of the world."

"How do they feel about you being so far from home?" An innocent enough subject, but Ull's knuckles whitened around his mug before he released his hand.

"They support me as much as they can in my choices, but they do not particularly understand why I would want a life outside of... outside of our village."

At that moment, my mental problem reared its ugly head. Clearly, the night was going too well.

_I sat in a meadow, underneath what looked like a willow tree. A warm breeze blew its leaves and I looked up at the strange tinkling sound – the leaves were actually made of silver. At the bottom of the knoll, two swans paddled across a pristine pond. A majestic castle rose as if from the clouds, pink and orange in the setting sun. But it wasn't the setting that took my breath away – it was the striking blond man sitting next to me, looking at me like I was the only woman in the world. It was Ull._

It was the first vision I'd ever wanted to stay in. I brought myself back against my will.

"Must be a really nice village." I hoped he hadn't noticed me slip away. Mormor always told me my little spells were too short for anyone to pay them any mind, but I was fairly positive she'd only said that so I wouldn't be any more self-conscious than I already was.

Ardis had said pretty much the same thing when I asked her. "I dunno, about ten seconds? They're not a big deal, Kristia, seriously. You just kind of get quiet, like you're thinking about something serious. Then you're back to normal again." But she'd had to say that – your best friend probably wouldn't tell you if you were zoning out like a weirdo for minutes at a time. Still, I hoped there was a grain of truth to Mormor and Ardis' kindness. Maybe Ull wouldn't pick up on my mind trips.

"My village is nice. And my family rarely leaves it. But me." He shrugged, mercifully oblivious to my mental jaunt. "I just wanted something different, I suppose."

"And what do you want, Ull?" I glanced up, relieved I'd stayed under the radar. A slow smile spread across his face.

"I do not think anyone has ever asked me that." He thought for a long moment. "I just want to be free to do the things I love – ski, skate, play hockey. Travel. I spent a winter skiing in the Alps, and it was paradise. It was the only time I have ever felt untouchable – flying down hills, completely cut off from everything but the mountain. No emotions, no expectations. No pressure."

When he looked at me there was gratitude in his eyes. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to open up to you. I am not able to talk with many people."

"That's your choice – girls try to talk to you all the time."

Ull laughed. "Let me rephrase. I am not comfortable talking with many people. But you, Kristia..." His look made my breath hitch. "You are easy to be with. You do not let me get away with anything. I can be myself with you."

We sat in peaceful silence, and I listened to the sound of Ull's breathing. I inhaled the woodsy smell coming from his neck, a musky combination of pine and earth. For the first time in my life, I felt like I might actually be where I was meant to be. I wasn't sure if I should be excited or terrified.

But I didn't get to make up my mind. Even pubs have closing times, and with a cheery wave our waitress informed us that time had come. "Well, Miss Tostenson," Ull said with a wink. "I suppose I had better get you home."

"I had a great night," I said honestly. Stupid closing time.

"I did too." He looked into my eyes like he was searching for something. With a sigh, he started the too-short drive back to my flat. He walked me to my door, took my hands gently between both of his, and bent, kissing each hand in turn.

"Thank you Kristia, for the most enjoyable evening I have ever had." My heart thudded with such fervor, I was sure it would give me away. His eyes looked almost wistful as he raised one finger to touch my cheek. I wanted to stand right there forever.

His hand lingered at my neck, and with a whispered " _God natt_ ," he walked back to his car and drove off into the cool night. I shivered, pulled my arms around my chest, and let myself into the apartment. I had a feeling my life was about to change in a big way.

"Two dates in one weekend. You don't waste time. Where did you say he's taking you tonight?" It was Sunday afternoon, and Victoria was examining the contents of my armoire with a critical eye.

"The castle."

"Lucky wench." Emma padded in and curled up on my bed. "Another date with Ull."

"I thought the castle closed at six."

"It does. But I guess there's some dinner thing they do after?"

"The Welsh Banquet." Emma's eyes were big. "That's fancy. Step it up, Vic."

"Which of these is your sexiest dress?" Victoria stared at her options, obviously dissatisfied.

"Um, the teal one. On the right with the dresses–" I started.

"Between the green dress and the black dress. You color coded your closet?" Emma snickered.

"This is your sexiest dress? This comes practically to your knees." Victoria's irritation was growing.

"I lived with my grandmother, okay?"

"It's kind of low cut," Emma offered helpfully. "Throw on a push up bra and those four–inch, nude patent heels of Victoria's..."

"My thoughts exactly." Victoria nodded. "Emma, I'm proud of you. You've been listening to me."

"Like I had any choice." Emma stuck out her tongue.

"We'll need major hair. I'm thinking Brigitte Bardot. And a cat eye." Victoria's mind was racing.

"Ooh, can we try that navy eyeliner I got last week?" Emma bounced to her knees.

"With the nude lipstick I picked up yesterday?" I pointed to the Clinique bag on my dresser. I may have gone out and bought all new makeup when Ull called to ask me out again. Seemed prudent.

"Yes and yes." Victoria clapped her hands together. "Let's get to work, ladies."

"Are you sure you will be all right on the stairs?" Ull stood in the grand hall of Cardiff Castle, glancing at the four-inch, shiny death-traps Victoria called shoes. Since Ull's eyes practically bugged out of his face when he picked me up, I had no intention of changing into the emergency flats I'd stuck in my purse. Victoria had scored another hit.

"Probably not. Walk behind me in case I fall?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"On our right, the coats of arms," continued the tour guide. He'd been talking for a good five minutes and I couldn't remember a single word. That was because Ull had started stroking the small of my back when our tour began, and it took all my concentration just to stay upright.

"The castle is gorgeous." I admired the stonework as we made our way toward the stairs. There I shifted focus to my feet, staring at each step until I'd reached the top. "Made it."

"And I was so hoping I would get to catch you." Ull came up next to me and skimmed my hand with the pads of his fingers.

"Well, the night is young and these shoes are high. You may still get your chance."

"Tease." Ull kissed my palm.

"Um." I swayed on the heels and he chuckled.

"Come, Miss Tostenson. We are losing the group."

"Right."

We walked the long corridor framed with paintings. All of the history in these walls was kind of overwhelming. The castle was two thousand years old. The oldest thing we had back in Nehalem was probably the Homestead. Cardiff Castle had about eighteen hundred years on that farm.

"This place is huge," I whispered when we'd caught up to the tour. "I can't imagine living here. How could you ever get comfortable?"

"You get used to it," Ull shrugged. "Find little corners to make your own."

"How on earth could anyone get used to all of this?"

"When you are stuck in it every day it gets old. Trust me."

"Right." Like Ull was an authority on royal dwellings. "Living in a castle sounds _sooo_ terrible."

"Depends on the day."

"What does that mean?"

"Just that these walls did more than keep people out – they kept people in, too."

I thought about my vision from Friday night – of Ull and me in a meadow by a castle. Huh.

"Where did you say your family lived, exactly?" I probed.

But Ull bristled. I'd hit a nerve. "Come Kristia, we have lost our group again." He gently pulled me down the hall.

"You may have noticed the Animal Wall in front of the Castle. Though William Burges designed the Wall in 1866, it was not constructed until 1890 – nine years after Burges's death." The guide lifted an eyebrow as we caught up. "Please do try to stay with the tour," he admonished before turning down another corridor. The rest of the group followed closely.

"Sorry." I ducked my head.

Ull raised a corner of his mouth in a smile. "Why, Kristia, you are blushing."

"And?" I lifted my chin, and took a step back so I stood against the wall.

"It is sweet." Ull paused and lifted a finger to my cheek. My knees buckled and he grabbed my arm to steady me. The touch sent shockwaves straight to my head, leaving me with the unnerving sensation of being underwater. I lost my bearings again and Ull wrapped both hands around my waist to stop my fall.

"Sorry," I mouthed. "Must be the shoes." I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They almost looked nervous.

"Must be." He ran his finger along my jaw, stopping to grasp my chin between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes focused on my mouth and my heartbeat accelerated. He ran his thumb lightly over my lips. They parted under his touch. A wave of heat shot from my lower lip straight to my abdomen, creating a slow burn that wasn't altogether uncomfortable. I watched as his eyes slowly moved down then back up, lingering at the neckline of my dress. Victoria had been right about the push-up bra.

"Must be," I repeated.

Ull drew his eyes away from my cleavage and took a step closer. He leaned one forearm against the wall, leaving me enveloped between the cold stone and his warm chest. I was suddenly very dizzy.

"Kristia," he spoke in a whisper.

"Yes?" I whispered back. Ull was looking at me with an intensity I wasn't prepared for. He stepped in, closing the last inch between us.

"Look at me." He spoke again, lifting my chin so my lips were tilted towards his. If his body hadn't been pressed against mine, I would have collapsed in a heap that instant. Instead, I took a shaky breath as Ull dropped his head. He ran his nose along my jaw line, pausing when he reached my ear. He breathed in, the cool air sending a shiver down my neck. With painstaking slowness he drew his nose across my cheek until our lips were almost touching. Now when I looked into his eyes I saw something entirely different. He was strong. Confident. And very much in control.

I let out a small sigh and immediately he covered my mouth with his. It wasn't a gentle kiss – it was commanding, almost forceful. I melted against him as he claimed my lips, moved down my jaw to consume my neck. My insides throbbed. In that moment, I would have done absolutely anything he asked me to.

"Kristia," he whispered again.

"Mmm." It was the best I could muster by way of response.

"I think we need to stop."

_In God's name, why?_

"Will you be joining the rest of my tour, or shall I leave the two of you here?" The guide stood at the end of the corridor, literally tapping his foot. _Oops_.

Ull placed his hands around my waist to right me. I smoothed my hair and straightened my dress, my cheeks burning the whole time.

"Great timing," I muttered. Just when things were getting good.

"Do not worry Kristia." Ull winked. "We have all the time in the world."

I sure hoped so.

"Kristia, oh my sweet Kristia." The keening voice was back. I was shaken from a very pleasant dream. None too willingly, I might add. Thanks to my flat's flimsy curtains, I could see the Elf Man clearly this time. I immediately longed for the cover of darkness. Creepy Elf sat in a chair next to my bed, gently stroking my hair. I sat up, incensed, gathered my blankets, and held them up to my chin.

"Get your hands off of me! Who let you in here, anyway?" I demanded, feeling a pittance of the pluck I was trying to put off. I ducked as his hand reached out again. "For crying out loud, stop touching me!"

"Let me in? Oh, poor _human_. I can go anywhere I please. Nobody _lets_ me in." He hissed through a row of perfect, white teeth. I'd never met anyone who could be both sinister and sexy at the same time. It was disorienting.

"Why are you here?"

"To gloat."

"Excuse me?"

"You no longer threaten me. He will leave. You are not what I feared." His smile stretched from ear to ear.

"What are you talking about?" I inched farther from him on the bed, trying to get some distance. At the same time, I wanted to reach out for him. I wasn't usually this indecisive.

"Nothing of consequence, sweet Kristia," he seethed. He snapped his fingers and without warning I was on my back, staring up at his glowing face. "But if he comes for you again, if you try to join our world, you will join me instead."

"If who comes for me again? What are you even talking about?" My words fell on deaf, pointy ears. With another snap of his fingers, he was gone. I looked wildly around the room, but there was no trace of Elf Man. This time, I was only half sure it hadn't been real.

I tried desperately to go back to my happy place, to the enjoyable dream I'd been having before I was interrupted. I failed. And I didn't get much sleep that night, either.

"Oh my gosh! Tell me! What exactly happened at dinner? Don't leave anything out!" It was Monday afternoon and my Archaeology study group had just gotten out. Since I'd gotten home too late to debrief the night before, I stopped by Emma's class with a vanilla latte. Though judging by her pitch, a double shot was the last thing she needed.

"Shh." I sipped my Earl Grey. "What if he hears you?"

"Ull's not in Statistics," Emma sighed. I glanced over her shoulder and saw Henry approaching, textbooks in hand. He gazed at my flatmate with an adoring look, but Emma continued talking, oblivious. "The only guys we get in there are total dwee–"

"Hi Henry," I interrupted loudly. "How was class?"

"Good, good." Henry smiled at Emma as he walked up the path. "What do you think Emma, should we hold study group tomorrow afternoon or tomorrow evening?"

"Evening," Emma voted. "I've got heaps of problems to work through before I could even begin to analyze today's notes."

"Excellent. I'll send the e-mail. See you then."

"See you." Emma waved cheerfully and turned back to me. "So. After dinner. You. Ull. Did you go back to his place?"

"Emma! No! It was our second date!"

"Victoria would have closed the deal in one."

"She would do no such thing," I argued.

"For a guy like Ull? Are you kidding? Anyone would. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I sighed. "Okay, something I guess." A lot of somethings. What _was_ wrong with me?

"So, what happened?"

"We ate dinner. That hall is amazing by the way. All wood-paneled and hand-painted and everything."

"Serious?" Emma took another drink of her latte. "I've never been in it. It's not part of the regular tour. It's just for banquets and events."

"Oh."

"Enough about the room. Did he kiss you?"

"Yes." Thinking about it made me dizzy all over again.

"And?" Emma bounced on her toes.

"It was amazing. Everything you'd think a kiss from Ull Myhr would feel like. I literally forgot where I was. And then the tour guide came back all annoyed, and Ull said something like 'we have all the time in the world' and–"

"Oh my gosh!"

"I know, right? So after dinner, I figured we'd pick up from there and... we did. Sort of."

"What do you mean 'sort of'?"

"We drove out to this other castle that was built for one of the Marquesses that lived at the first castle."

"Castell Coch," Emma sighed. "So pretty."

"It really is."

"But it closes super early. How'd you get in there?"

"We didn't go in, we just parked on the road and walked into the park."

"But the guards?"

"I wondered the same thing," I shrugged. "But you've met Ull. People don't generally tell him no. Plus the guard was a girl, so that helped."

"Okay, so your date flirted his way into the Castell Coch grounds after hours. What did you do?" Emma tugged at my arm.

"We... well..." I blushed.

"Yes?" she grinned.

"We totally kissed again. It was fantastic. He backed me up against this tree and he just..." What should I say? That he'd grabbed me by the hair and pulled my head back so he could ravage my neck? That I'd had an uncharacteristic moment of indiscretion and let his mouth wander just south of my collar bone? That I had been strongly considering asking him to move an inch lower when another guard found us and made us leave?

"And he just what?" Emma was beside herself.

"And he just... kissed me. I can't describe it." I couldn't. Not without turning five shades of red.

"Oh, Kristia," Emma sighed.

"I know. But another guard told us we had to leave, so we got in Ull's car. And he was really sweet and held my hand on the drive home and walked me to the door and everything. But then he just kissed me on the cheek and said good night and that was it. He didn't try to come in. I didn't ask him to." I wasn't a total slut.

"Well." Emma chewed her lip. "Maybe he had an early morning. Or maybe he's a gentleman and he didn't want to steal your virtue."

"He didn't have to steal my virtue." I blushed. "But another couple of kisses would have been okay."

"I'm sure that's coming. When are you going to see him again?"

"I don't know." I shook my head. "He didn't ask me out again."

"He will." Emma finished her drink and tossed it in the trash.

"I hope so." I heard a muffled ringing and dug around in my backpack until I found my phone. I checked the screen. "It's him!"

"You still have a flip phone? Good Lord Kristia, join the twenty-first century." Emma shook her head.

"Hello?" I stuck out my tongue at my iPhone-toting flatmate and answered Ull's call.

" _Hei hei_ Kristia."

"Hi Ull," I breathed. Emma did a poor job of hiding her laughter.

"I like your sweater. That color looks nice with your hair."

I spun around and saw him across the quad. He sat on a bench, his ankle resting on a knee. One hand held his phone while the other arm stretched lightly along the back of the bench. He was the epitome of relaxed. A slow smile spread across his face as he stood and pushed a button to end the call. As he walked towards me, my insides turned soft.

"I cannot believe you got to kiss that." Emma followed my stare.

"Shh." I elbowed her in the side. "He might hear you!"

"So?" She rubbed her ribs.

"Kristia." Ull pulled me into a hug once he'd crossed the quad. "What a nice surprise."

"Hi." I tried not to throw myself at him in a desperate attempt to relive the best moment of my life. _All the time in the world, all the time in the world._ "Ull, this is my roommate Emma."

"We had a class together last year. You probably don't remember me–" Emma babbled.

"Emma. How nice to see you again. You study math, correct?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." Emma flipped her hair and stared adoringly. At least I wasn't the only one who forgot their sense around Ull.

"Emma, may I steal your flatmate for a few minutes?"

"Of course." she giggled again. "See you at home, K."

"See you." I waved. I turned to Ull. "Fancy seeing you here."

"My class just let out." Ull jutted his chin towards the humanities building. "But I did not think you had classes on Mondays."

"I don't. Archaeology study group."

"How was that?"

"Fun. I've never taken anything like it, so some of the material is a little over my head. But I'm enjoying it. Professor Copp is a great teacher."

"I've heard good things about her. I think Gunnar took one of her classes."

"Gunnar?" I sipped my tea. Great name.

"My best friend."

"Ah. How'd you guys meet?" I wanted to know everything about Ull.

"We met in primary school. My mom had just married Thor and I was the new kid. Gunnar was the first to be nice to me."

"Your stepdad's named Thor? Like God of Thunder Thor? Who names their kid that?" I shook my head.

"Uh, right." Ull became very interested in his shoe. "Crazy parents, you know."

Immediately I felt dumb. Thor had nothing on Ull in the tough name department. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. That's probably a really popular name where you're from."

"Yes, very popular," Ull spoke quickly. "There are lots of men named Thor, does not mean they have any relation to _the_ Thor. They are just normal men. Not gods at all."

"O-kay." That was a weird reaction. Either something was up or he really did have an early morning. I shifted my tea to my other hand. "So how long did you say you've known Gunnar?"

"About eight hundred years."

"Excuse me?" I paused mid sip.

"You know," Ull tugged at his sweater. "I mean it feels like eight hundred years. Because we live together, and we get on each other's nerves and all."

What was going on? "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. Feeling fine. Just tired – you kept me out late." Ull treated me to a rakish grin, and I forgot all about this strange conversation. The only thing I could think about was the way his lips curved up in a smile. And what I wanted those lips to be doing right now.

"I think you could use a cup of coffee. My treat," I offered.

"Thank you Kristia, but I have to meet a professor in five minutes." Ull checked his watch. "May I call you this evening?"

"Any time." I hoped I didn't sound too desperate.

"Excellent." He bent to kiss my cheek. My knees buckled and he caught me. "We can make plans for this weekend."

"I can't wait." I watched his denim-clad backside make its way across the quad, and I hugged myself. The weekend couldn't come fast enough.

# Chapter 6

The evening came and went, and I didn't hear from Ull. He didn't show up to Mythology on Tuesday either. At first I was worried. I tried calling him, but his voicemail was turned off – and I didn't have his home number. I didn't know where he lived, so I couldn't stop by to make sure he was okay. Not that I would have; he didn't need to know how obsessed I'd become.

But a few days passed, and I started to think Ull might not be sick at all – what if he was avoiding me? He knew how to reach me if he wanted to see me again. And my phone was silent. Ugh, I was so naïve. Ull told me what I wanted to hear to get what he wanted. He'd been a jerk for a whole week, and when he'd needed to borrow my notes, he suddenly got all nice. Then he made out with me in a couple of castles and just disappeared. How did I not see this coming?

The unavoidable truth hit me in full force on Thursday morning. Ull got to know me and he just wasn't that into me. I might not have known a whole lot about dating, but I did know he'd have called by now if he wanted to. There was no way around it. I'd opened myself up to a guy I barely knew, and he didn't like me back. Humiliation washed over me in waves.

The problem was that Ull wasn't the kind of guy you could just stop thinking about. Spending time with Nice Ull had been pretty fantastic. And now that I knew how great he could be, how was I going to go back to just ignoring him around campus?

I was going to have to cancel my pity party if I didn't want to flunk out of Cardiff. My first class of the day was Mythology, and it started in less than an hour. "Of course," I moaned, indulging in one last moment of misery.

Mythology. He would be there. I briefly contemplated staying in bed, but the semester was long and I couldn't avoid him forever. It wasn't like I'd fallen in love or anything. Besides, Mormor hadn't raised me to get all wrapped up in a guy. With a groan, I rolled out of bed and took extra care getting ready.

I used almost all of the products in my new Clinique bag, from tinted moisturizer to lash curling mascara. With great care, I utilized the big _and_ the small barreled curling irons and teased my hair into the style from the back cover of Victoria's fashion magazine. There was no point in looking as pathetic as I felt.

It took tremendous effort not to drag my feet as I walked to class, and I slunk into the lecture hall and hid behind my perfectly curled hair. I permitted myself a glance towards his usual seat, but it was empty again. With a sigh, I headed to my row. Henry was waiting.

"Kristia." He nodded.

"Henry." I nodded back, not having the energy to fake a good mood. Thankfully, he was an easy seatmate.

"You look nice today. Going somewhere after class?"

"Nope. Unless you want to get a cup of tea." I booted up my laptop.

"Rough morning?" Henry typed the date.

"You have no idea."

"Well then, tea's on me." He patted my forearm, a brotherly gesture.

"Thanks, Henry."

"Don't mention it. Hey, do you think you could e-mail me your notes from Tuesday? I accidentally deleted part of the lecture on Jotunheim."

"Sure." I tried not to think about the last guy I'd shared my notes with. Look where that had landed me.

"Good morning, class," Professor Carnicke took the podium, her sandy hair swinging behind her. "Let's begin. On Tuesday, we talked about Jotunheim. Asgard had enemies in almost every realm. These enemies worked together to defeat the gods at Ragnarok, but each realm also launched regular attacks on Asgard.

"The gods were divine – giants, dwarves, and dark elves wanted to see them fall. So Odin developed an intricate series of defenses to preserve his world. Today we're going to discuss the Warriors of Asgard and how they relate to Odin's bloodline. As heirs to the realm, Thor, Sif and their descendants played a vital role in Norse myths."

"Try to pay attention today, Henry," I whispered. "I don't want to have to tell Emma you mooched notes off me all semester."

"Hardee har har."

"Okay. Odin established several lines to defend against Ragnarok. The Valkyries of Valhalla trained the front line. This all-female army rode winged horses to collect fallen, human soldiers from the battlefield. They brought them back to Asgard, and taught them to fight for Odin.

"But Odin knew the Valkyries were not enough. While they trained soldiers for Ragnarok, someone had to handle the day-to-day attacks on the realm. The Warriors of Asgard were Odin's preemptive line. They traveled throughout the realms, eliminating threats as they arose. When Odin got word of a Fire Giant uprising, he dispatched his Warriors to Muspelheim. When the Dark Elves found a way to breach Asgard, the Warriors were sent to Svartalfheim to dispose of the conspirators. Odin was unsympathetic and unforgiving – any threat to Asgard was a capital offense, and the Warriors had orders to kill anyone involved."

"Sounds kind of harsh," I whispered to Henry.

"Not really." He shrugged. "If your death was prophesied, wouldn't you kill first, and ask questions later?"

Maybe.

"Odin's son, Thor, had a special connection to the Warriors. The God of Thunder used his hammer, Mjölnir, and his belt, Megingjörd, to literally crush his enemies. And he worked closely with the Warriors to train them for battle. That's how he came to meet a warrior named Sif, who also happened to be the Goddess of Beauty. He married her and adopted her son, Ullr." She wrote the name on the board.

Ullr. Just one letter off from Ull. Even when I wasn't thinking about him he managed to creep into my day. Jerk.

"You okay?" Henry shot me a look.

"Sure. Why?"

"You're typing _really_ loud. You're going to break your keyboard."

Oops.

"Little is known about Ullr, though based on the number of sites throughout Scandinavia bearing his name, he must have played a vital role in early Norse cultures. It is believed his father was a warrior who died in battle. And on becoming Thor's stepson, Ullr became a titled god – God of Winter."

What had she just said? I scanned my notes, reading back Professor Carnicke's words. _Thor's stepson, Ullr_... _God of Winter._ A deity with a stepdad named Thor going by the name of Ullr... or Ull.

It couldn't be possible. Could it?

I wasn't going to get an answer any time soon. Ull never did show up to class, and I didn't see him around campus the rest of the day, either. Usually, I caught a glimpse of him getting tea between classes, or heading through the east door of the library in the early afternoon. I didn't know his schedule or anything, but he stood out; it was hard not to notice him.

I did a good job of going through the motions the rest of the week without thinking too much about whether I'd kissed a real life god. I went to classes, smiled at Emma's jokes, even went out for ice cream with my flatmates. By Friday afternoon, I still hadn't seen Ull around campus, and my curiosity got the best of me.

Since pride goeth before the fall of the world's most useless psychic, I decided to swallow what little I had left and call him. The least he could do was tell me that he wasn't into me. I braced myself as I dialed his mobile. One ring, two. I could hang up now and spare myself any more embarrassment. Three rings, four. Oh, right. Stupid caller ID would out me even if I hung up now. Five rings. Then a click, as the call was forwarded to Ull's voicemail.

So he'd turned it on. My palms got all sweaty at the velvety sound of his voice. The outgoing message said he'd gone out of town for a while, and would check his messages periodically. Was the idea of a third date so awful that he'd run away?

The short beep caught me off guard. "Uh, hi Ull. I just wanted to say, um... hi, since you know, I haven't heard from you... about getting together this weekend." Oh, good heavens. Of course he knew that. "I mean, I'm sure you're busy, and I understand if you, uh, don't want to call." _Stop. Talking. NOW._ "But you weren't in class, and, well, I, uh, just wanted to make sure you're okay. I mean, I'm sure you're okay. You probably just, um... yeah. Talk to you later." I banged my head against the wall. Thankfully, I'd stopped babbling before I could tell him I really wanted to make out again. I had some dignity.

Adding insult to the injury that was my day, my Ragnarok nightmare came back that night.

_As I stood in a field of English lavender, Ull suddenly appeared at my side. He didn't acknowledge me. His eyes were focused on the horizon, waiting for attack. I was so surprised to see him that I forgot all about the snake and the wolf, who were bent on killing us._

_"What, now you decide to show up? Where have you been for the last week? You couldn't pick up the phone to let me know you were okay?"_

_Ull's eyes flickered towards mine without a hint of remorse. "I was protecting you."_

_"From what?" I glared at him while the snake wove a path through the purple field._

_"From this. All of this," Ull gestured around the field, his eyes coming to rest on the enormous wolf circling us. "You have no idea what you are getting into."_

_That was all he had to say. Everything turned red. I was so full of anger – anger at Ull for dumping me, anger at myself for caring. Anger that I was letting some guy take my focus off my amazing European adventure._

_"Well thanks a lot Viking, but you know what? I've got this covered." My rage boiled over and I grabbed a sharp stick that was sitting on the ground, clenching it in my fists and looking for something to kill. The snake came first, standing on its tail and bearing its fangs as it prepared to strike. But I was faster, slamming the stick into its body and impaling the creature that'd killed me hundreds of times before. It froze mid-strike, shock on its reptilian features before it fell limp at my feet. Ull took a step back, obviously caught off guard._

_"Not so helpless after all, am I, Mr. Perfect?" My hand twitched as the wolf circled slowly, intent on avenging its friend. It was no match for my pent up anger. The rage built again and I charged for the animal, staking its eye and making it cry out. It ran into the darkness, yelping all the way. For the first time ever, I had won. And I'd done it on my own_.

When I woke, I felt better – stronger. I still wished things had worked out differently with Ull, but I was done hoping for a call that wasn't going to come from a guy I barely even knew, who may or may not even be human. I'd come all this way for an adventure. Was I really going to waste my time mooning over some tacky guy who couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone? I didn't think so.

The next week dragged by. Ull never came back to class. Well, fine. Who needed a tortured Viking anyway? Without Ull around, I was able to relax, smiling through conversations with my new friends and even going for tea again with Henry after Mythology. He only asked me about Emma three times. I made a note to put in a good word for him.

When Friday rolled around, Victoria and Emma came home bubbling with big disco plans. A group of their friends was getting together at a local club, and the girls were determined to drag me along.

"Oh, I don't know," I demurred. "I really wanted to watch that marathon of Sports Wives tonight." I gestured to the pizza box in front of me, flanked by two packs of those caramel-chocolate McVities "biscuits" Emma had gotten me hooked on.

"No can do, missy. We know you were down about Ull, though you've been doing a fab job of _keeping calm and carrying on_ , as we say." Victoria winked at me.

"I'm not upset about Ull. Seriously," I added when Victoria frowned. "That's last week's news. I really, really want to watch Sports Wives and eat these ridiculously good cookies."

"Sorry, K. Emma promised James that you'd come out with us tonight, and he is determined to make a go of it with you."

"Who?"

"James. From across the courtyard. Kristia, we _talked_ about him." Emma tapped her foot.

"Oh, right. Where did you say you're going?" I eyed my cookies with longing.

"Dancing."

"Uh, no." I shook my head. "Not the best activity for me." I lifted my fuzzy slippers. "Two left feet. See?"

"Forget it, Kristia. You're going." Emma was firm. Victoria squared her shoulders.

"Oh, fine. But only if I can wear something of yours."

Victoria's eyes lit up. "I was hoping you'd say that!" She ran off, her eyes glossy as she dove straight into her armoire.

I regretted my words as we walked the short distance from the parking garage to the club. Victoria had outfitted me in a teensy dress and stiletto boots. What was she thinking putting me in three-inch heels to dance? Even so, it was nice to be out with the girls.

They were making me laugh with racy stories about their early years at Cardiff, and I was actually excited to meet the guy they were so insistent on setting me up with. But when we walked up to the very same nightclub I'd been to with Ull, my stomach dropped. My pining may have been over, but it didn't mean the rejection didn't still sting.

I told myself I only had to smile for a few hours, and then I could crawl into bed. Those biscuits would even still be waiting for me. Head held high and mindful of my step, I followed my giggling girlfriends into the club.

# Chapter 7

Before I took two **** wobbly steps into the nightclub, I knew I'd made a mistake. Coming here with Ull had been amazing – dancing in his arms, breathing in that smell that seemed too good to be real. The only things I smelled now were stale beer and sweaty frat-boys.

An over-eager James was waiting inside the club. He wasn't bad looking, if you were into the whole Clark Kent thing. He was tall and dark, with retro glasses that were either extremely dorky or hipster cool – Victoria could have said for sure.

"Come on, love." He tugged at me the minute I'd taken off my coat. "Let's dance!"

I tried; honestly I did. But my mind was on my last dance partner, the way he'd easily led me around the floor as if from another era. Dancing with James wasn't nearly so nice. The caramel McVities waiting for me at home were the only company I wanted.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I backed away. "My shoes, um... hurt." That wasn't exactly a lie. At the bar, I ordered a tonic water and slumped on the stool. I had a headache from the flashing lights, and runny eyes from a nearby cigarette. My flatmates were at the far end of the room, dancing their hearts out. They wouldn't miss me if I slipped out for a while. I put my drink down and turned to leave.

I hadn't made it far when a belligerent frat-boy type moved into my path. He sloshed his drink, narrowly avoiding my boots. I tried to step around him, but he slid an unwanted arm around my waist. His grip was too tight – he was stronger than he looked.

"Hey baby. Wanna dance?" It was a command, and the group behind him shouted their encouragement. I immediately regretted not checking in with my friends. If I had, maybe someone would have offered to walk me home.

"No thanks." I tried to twist out of the guy's hold, but he grabbed my arm.

"You're not going anywhere." The group closed in around me, pushing me towards the back exit. I looked frantically for Emma and Victoria. Why didn't anybody notice this was happening? Of course, with the flashing lights, we probably seemed like a group of friends dancing. I thought about kicking the one holding me – drunk as he was, I could confuse him, at best. But even if I knocked him down, I'd never get through the whole gang. It didn't matter; I had to do something. I squared my hips, preparing to fight.

"Leave me alone," I yelled, hoping that someone would hear me over the din. The boys laughed harder. As I psyched myself up to kick the one leeched on my arm, a large figure stepped from the shadows. His brow was furrowed and his eyes burned with fury. He towered over the crowd as he squared his shoulders. A lock of blond hair fell over one livid eye, and the growl that came from his throat sent a wave of alarm through the circle. I felt immediate relief. Nobody was going to mess with Ull.

"Is there a problem?" The words were a threat, and some of the fringe members stepped back involuntarily, blending into the crowd.

"Yes!" I cried, just as the boy holding my arm slurred, "Naw, man. We were just going outside." He slung a drunken arm over my shoulder, defying me to disagree.

My towering savior shook his head. "I heard the lady tell you to leave her alone." He took one menacing step into the center of the group, sending all but my attacker scattering. The boy was drunk, but not drunk enough to pick a fight with my enraged hero, and he backed away, waving his hands in surrender.

"Hey man, I didn't mean anything by it." He whipped his head back and forth looking for a way out. Ull grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground with one arm. I'd never seen anyone do that in real life. The boy dangled helplessly mid-air. He winced, anticipating the blow.

Ull leaned down to hiss into his ear. "I know exactly what you meant."

"C'mon man, she wanted it." Wrong thing to say. Ull's eyes blazed and his arm started to shake. "Can't. Breathe." The boy choked on the words. Ull's mouth twisted into a half smile and suddenly he and the boy were gone. They literally vanished into thin air. One minute they'd been standing two feet from me, and the next – poof. They were nowhere to be seen.

"Ull?" I pivoted a full circle. He wasn't there.

"Did you see that?" I turned to the couple next to me but they shook their heads. Had I imagined the whole thing? Was I even crazier than usual?

"Kristia," I heard Ull's voice before I saw him. He was coming through the back door. He crossed to me and pulled me into a hug. "Thank goodness you are all right. That cretin will not bother you again."

Okay, what was going on?

"Where did you go?" My question was muffled by Ull's chest. He was holding me really tight.

"I took the jerk outside, gave him a stern talking to."

"Right," I tried to pull away, but Ull was too strong. "Let go, Ull." He did, reluctantly. "I mean where did you go? You just disappeared like some magic trick."

"I walked outside, Kristia." Ull shook his head.

"No you didn't. You had that guy by the neck, and then he said I wanted it and you just –" I twirled my finger. "Poof. Gone."

"It has been a long night. Wait here," Ull commanded, and while I didn't appreciate taking orders, I didn't think to disobey. He had a brief talk with the barman, no doubt making sure the perps couldn't cause any more harm, and came back with our coats on his arm. I didn't ask how he had known which jacket was mine.

"Come Kristia, I am taking you home." He strode across the dance floor, still shaking, as I hastily told my roommates I would meet them at our flat. Outside, it was so cold the trout must have been tap dancing, and Ull's long legs took strides so big, I had to run to keep up. He stopped under a streetlight and his breath came out in small puffs. His body was tense, but his eyes were so soft, the grey-blue of the sky after a storm. I both adored and hated him all at once.

"Are you all right, Kristia?" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine, thanks. How did you..." My sentence trailed off.

He drew another ragged breath. "Right place, right time, I guess," he said halfheartedly. He obviously wasn't telling the whole truth. I scanned his face and he shrugged.

"That's not what I mean. Are you going to tell me about that whole disappearing act in the club?" Or explain how he and his stepdad had the same names as the gods I'd taken a quiz on this week?

"Not tonight."

"Then goodnight, Ull."

"Wait." He seemed at a loss. "I suppose we should talk."

"I don't know if I want to talk to you. You didn't call me, remember?" I sounded a lot more bitter than I meant to.

"Right. That. You deserve an explanation." Ull had the grace to look ashamed, but it only fueled my anger.

"For what? Making out with me in the middle of a castle – no, two castles – and just leaving me hanging? For lying to me about having ' _the most enjoyable evening you have ever had_ ' and then not bothering to call when you said you would?" My exaggeration of his soft accent was terrible.

But I was building steam. "It's been two weeks and I've heard nothing from you. Nothing! I actually believed you when you said Nice Ull was the real you. Was that some kind of a joke? Because clearly, you're the same jerk who spent a week giving me nasty looks for absolutely no reason."

"I would hardly say I am a jerk, Kristia."

"Really? Then what would you call making out with someone all night and then dropping off the face of the earth? You made me feel this big." I pinched my fingers together and held them just under his nose. "And where do you get off acting like that? What kind of scumbag just drops the cow once he gets a taste of the milk? Huh?"

"Would you be the cow in that scenario?"

"Don't mess with me right now, buddy," I threatened. "I called you. Because that's what nice people do when the person they like goes missing. They pick up the phone and call. I thought something awful had happened to you. I was so stupid! Was this whole thing just some ploy to see how far you could get with me?" The corner of Ull's mouth turned up in a smirk. It was infuriating. "Oh, so this is funny to you?" I winced at the shrillness in my voice. It wasn't dignified, but he had it coming.

"Nobody here has ever spoken to me like this." Now the smirk was a full-fledged smile.

"Well somebody needs to. You think because you're so superior, you can just parade around and do whatever you want? Do the rest of us even matter to you?" I was shaking, my hands balled into tight fists.

"Are you finished?"

"Hardly," I muttered, glaring into Ull's endless blue, traitor eyes.

"I did just save you," Ull reminded me.

"I had things under control." My voice was testy.

"Oh, did you?"

"I was getting there."

"Right. Well, while you were getting there, I took care of the problem. The least you can do is let me explain." I thought about what I'd have been doing right now if Ull hadn't come along in the nightclub. Guilt stepped lightly on Anger's toes.

"You know what Ull?" I sighed, too exhausted to fight anymore. "I've had a long night. I just want to go home."

"Do you want to hear my explanation?"

"Do you think it'll make any difference?"

"Maybe."

I shook my head. "Maybe's not good enough." I turned and walked toward campus.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"I told you. Home." Heavy footsteps followed me.

"This conversation is not over." Ull sounded strained.

"Yes, it is. I get it. You weren't that into me. You're lousy at dumping girls. Case closed."

"Kristia," Ull grabbed my hand, forcing me to stop. "Please. It is not what you think."

I pulled my hand back and folded my arms. "It doesn't matter, Ull. I just want to go home." As I started my brisk walk, Ull matched my pace.

"Fine. You may go home."

"Gee, thanks." Could he be any more arrogant?

"But this conversation is not over," He marched confidently beside me.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?"

"With you."

"You are not coming home with me." I didn't care how good he looked in that coat; I was a woman of substance.

"I am making sure you get home safely, whether you like it or not. We can talk tomorrow." The smugness in his voice got under my skin.

"I seriously doubt that," I muttered, picking up my pace in an effort to get away from him. At that moment, Ull was the last person I wanted to be around.

"Uh, Kristia." Emma's voice trilled through my bedroom door at an ungodly hour for a Sunday morning. "You have to get out here."

Reluctantly, I grabbed my favorite slippers and tied my ballet sweater around the thin camisole I'd worn to bed. Shuffling towards the hall, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "This better be good, Em."

"Oh, it is," Victoria grinned from the couch where she sipped at a cup of coffee. She gestured to an enormous bouquet on the table. White roses filled the room with their heady scent, and hydrangeas and foxgloves filled out the arrangement. "They're for you," Victoria finished.

"Who..." But my insides fluttered when I opened the card. ' _I am sorry. Call me. Ull. '_ I crumpled the card and chucked it into the trash bin. Letting out a word that would have earned Mormor's disapproval, I stomped back to my room. If Ull thought some stupid flowers would make me fall all over him, he had another thing coming.

"Wait! Who are they from?" Emma pleaded.

"Who do you think?" I could almost hear Victoria roll her eyes as I slammed my door. Ull was getting on my last nerve.

By the time my next Mythology class rolled around, I'd successfully avoided five of Ull's calls and one personal appearance at my flat, no thanks to the lousy acting skills of sweet Emma, who was highly unconvincing in declaring I wasn't home. I slipped into class at the last possible minute, but Ull was still waiting inside the door.

"Kristia," he greeted me with his impossibly arrogant grin.

"Ull," I acknowledged before making a beeline for the front row. He wouldn't be able to bother me under the professor's nose.

"Kristia," Ull sighed. "We can do this all year. I have nothing but time." He took the seat next to me as I focused on setting up my computer. "But trust me, you want to hear what I have to say."

"I highly doubt that," I muttered with all the civility I could manage. Use me once, shame on you. I wasn't interested in going down that road again. Thankfully, Professor Carnicke chose that moment to launch into her lecture, and for ninety blissful minutes, decorum required Ull's silence. As soon as she closed her book, I jumped up, stuffing my laptop into my bag and tripping over my feet in my rush to leave the room.

"Careful, Miss Tostenson," of course Ull was right there to catch me. I snatched my arm away.

"Listen," I countered angrily. "You aren't into me. I get it. Stop following me around! Just let me be."

"You do not mean that."

"I really do! It's embarrassing enough to have to see you every day, the last thing I want to do is listen to why you don't want to go out with me again. You don't owe me anything. Honest. Please, just leave me alone."

"Kristia, it really is not like that."

"I don't care what it's like. I have to go." I raced out of the classroom and didn't stop until I reached the Student Houses. I threw myself onto the couch and dropped my head into my hands. No wonder I'd always stayed away from guys. My life suddenly felt way too complicated.

"Uh, Kristia?" Victoria knocked on my door the next evening.

"Come in." I raised my head from the literature text I was studying. Molière was always good for a laugh, and right now I really needed one. "What's going on?"

"Well, I don't mean to bother you, but I just tried to leave the flat, and I was stopped by these." She held up a handful of white orchids. "And there are heaps more where they came from." Her glee was poorly disguised.

"You think this is funny, don't you?"

"You have to admit, most girls would be over the moon if Ull Myhr was sending them flowers."

"Stalking them, more like it."

"Whatever." Victoria shrugged. "I brought the rest into the living room. I'm not one to tell you what to do–" I snorted at her blatant lie. "In matters of the heart," Victoria continued indignantly. "But if the lad is that determined to talk to you, I'd wager he has something pretty important to say."

I rolled my eyes and made my way down the hall. "What the..." Every surface of the living area was covered in vases of white flowers. The scent was simultaneously heavenly and cloying. I picked my way through the arrangements until I found the biggest one. I opened the attached card with a resigned groan.

_'Kristia,'_ it read. _'Please hear me out. I left because my life is complicated, and I do not know if it is fair to involve you. I want to tell you everything, but if you really want nothing more to do with me, tell me in class tomorrow and I will leave you alone. Ull.'_

Oh, criminy. What was I supposed to do now?

The next morning, I hovered outside the classroom with two minutes to spare, still unsure. On the one hand, he'd dropped me once. I wasn't so stupid as to head blindly down that path again, and he was giving me an out – say the word and he'd leave me alone for good. On the other hand, I really had enjoyed our dates. And no guy had ever worked so hard to win my attention.

Heck, until recently, no guy had ever brought me flowers – and here Ull was spending the gross national debt on white blooms. A small part of me still held onto the hope that Ull might be the first guy ever who liked me just for me. While a bigger part of me was screaming ' _don't be a fool! Run!'_

I shook my head. I had no idea what I was going to do.

I kept my head high as I walked into the room. A quick scan revealed Ull in the third row, seeming relaxed as he leaned back in his seat. But a closer look showed he was gripping his pen and his shoulders were squared. He was waiting for me. And he was nervous. I made up my mind, easing my way into his row and carefully sitting two seats away. Ull turned with a tight smile, cocking his head to one side.

"What does this mean?"

"It means I'm still mad you didn't call. And it means I still don't trust you. But I'm willing to hear you out." I kept my hands balled in my lap. "Also, thank you for the flowers."

Ull's face lit up. "I am so glad." He exhaled and the tension visibly left his shoulders. "I will pick you up at eight o'clock tonight. We can talk then."

"Tonight? What's wrong with now?"

Ull tilted his head towards the podium where Professor Carnicke was opening her book. "Would not want to be rude, would we?" He gave me an infuriating wink and turned his attention to the lecture.

At eight o'clock, a firm knock interrupted my reading. I picked my way through the flower shop that our living room had become and opened the door.

"Oh good, you kept my peace offerings." Ull treated me to a rakish grin.

"Just a few of them," I muttered. "Come on in."

"Oh, no. You must come with me."

"Why?" I challenged. Ull sighed.

"Are you going to fight me at every turn?"

"Probably."

"Please come." He looked so adorable standing on my stoop, his scarf casually thrown across the grey sweater under his coat. I gave in quicker than I meant to.

"Fine." I grabbed my coat from the closet by the door and shoved my keys and wallet into the pocket. "Where are we off to?" I closed the door behind me and followed Ull into the brisk night, waiting for his promised explanation.

But he didn't say anything. Instead, he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me away from campus. I shivered, and noticed that Ull wore his jacket open, at ease in the chill. As we rounded the corner, Ull dropped his hand to clasp mine. It was so warm, so strong, and for a moment, I forgot to be mad at him. We walked in silence as he led me down the main road. After two right turns, I found myself standing in a quiet garden. Ull had brought me to a church.

# Chapter 8

"Have you been here before?" Ull's voice was soft. I looked around the courtyard, covered in flowers, with vines trailing up the sides of the charming chapel.

"No," I answered. The square was beautiful, but I'd been promised answers.

"I come here a lot. Sometimes I just walk the garden." Ull sat on a stone bench, somehow even more beautiful in the moonlight. An eternity passed before he started talking.

"This is a Norse Seaman's Church," Ull spoke quietly. "It wasn't built until the mid-twentieth century, but it blends with the town's older buildings." I wrapped my arms around my chest. I wasn't in the mood for another history lesson.

"It's very peaceful." It was all I could think of to say.

"Yes," he said calmly. We stared at the bounty of ivory roses growing in the eastern corner of the garden, and the ivy stretching up the white walls of the chapel. "When I am here I can forget..." His body tensed, his brow furrowed, and his eyes grew dark. I sighed – Angry Ull.

"Uh, you lost me." But no clarification was forthcoming. I was uncomfortable waiting. It wasn't exactly evening stroll weather.

"So are you going to give me this alleged explanation or not? Taking me to a church doesn't exactly cut it." I glanced impatiently at Ull's tense frame. I didn't know what to make of him. While I waited for a response, he kept staring at the sky.

"Seriously Ull? You dragged me out here in the cold for nothing? That's it – I'm done." I turned to walk away. This was the worst fairytale ending ever.

"Kristia." He hung his head, staring at his hands. I stopped but didn't turn. "Please come sit with me."

"Why?"

"Please."

Curious and desperate for his companionship, I sat. A shiver ran through me as a gust of wind blew through the garden. I pulled my coat tighter around me. Ull took off his scarf and wrapped it around my neck. The gesture would have been sweet two weeks ago.

"I owe you an explanation."

"We already established that."

"Kristia, let me talk!" He looked up with pleading eyes. They bored into mine, as if he could see through my pretense and right into my broken heart. He took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling with effort. He unclasped his hands, then clasped them again until his knuckles turned white. "Kristia, I had a very nice time on our dates. Those days with you were the best I have had in–" He stared at the ground. "In a long time."

"Right. Then why did you just take off?" The words were out before I could stop them.

Ull thought. "Come with me." He stood. I followed. But I hesitated when he opened the church door.

"Are we supposed to be in there?" Rule followers did not break into churches at night.

Ull laughed. "The pastor is a friend." He ushered me into the warm chapel. Row after row of chocolate-colored pews were stunning in their simplicity. The wood of the benches shone with fresh polish and the little altar at the front of the aisle held a pulpit with a carved crest – a hammer, a cross, and a figure I didn't recognize. The room was small for a church, and very plainly decorated. Only the woodwork and the crest stood out. It was enchanting.

Ull left me sitting in a pew and came back with a plate of heart shaped waffles with jam, and two cups of tea. I must have looked suspicious because he laughed. "Honest, I am a regular here. It is okay with the pastor. I told him we are in the chapel. He says ' _hei hei_ ' and ' _god natt'_. Hello and good night."

The waffles did look good, and the tea warmed my hands as I took a sip. So long as I wasn't breaking, entering, _and_ stealing food from a church, this night could still end well. A begrudging bite of the waffles proved me right. "These are really good," I mumbled around a mouthful of the savory sweet.

"Finest Norwegian waffles I have had," Ull agreed, spreading jam on a heart. "Now where was I?" He sat back, staring at the carved hammer above him. Seeming to reach a decision, he began.

"Kristia, I promised to tell you everything. But it is a lot to take in, and it will take time. I would like to give you an overview tonight, and if I do not scare you off, I will explain the rest this weekend. Does that sound fair?"

Anything was better than the big bag of nothing I knew right now. "Yes, it sounds fair. Now explain." Patience was never a virtue of mine.

"All right. I left town for a few days – I needed to spend some time with my family."

"Are they okay? Is someone ill?" Of course I had the poise to be worried about his family, but I was relieved at the possibility his absence really had nothing to do with me.

"They are well, thank you. I needed to ask them a question. You see I have a certain... role that is expected of me. There is little room for flexibility in my family. I call them The Firm." He laughed bitterly, and I wondered at this odd noise, such a stark contrast to the musical laughter I'd heard before. "Do not get me wrong, I love them very much and we all want what is best for one another. But there are certain realities that none of us can escape. And one of those realities is a very... dark future."

If I was right about what Ull really was, his future was as dark as it could get. "How do you mean?"

Ull thought for a moment. "How can I explain it? My family is very strong – some of the most influential individuals in our land. But there are those who envy us and want to see us fall."

"Is this about politics?" I was determined to coax the truth out of him.

"Well, sort of. We do have substantial power. With power comes a life of duty, and in our case, a terrible demise. We cannot hold our... positions forever. And when we fall, most of us will not survive."

I struggled to keep my face neutral. My theory would account for Ull's strange behavior – his disappearance in the club, the way he talked about his family, his stepdad's weird name. But the idea was so bizarre, I needed to hear him say it.

"Go on," I whispered.

"I do not mean to frighten you, but you have to understand what would happen if we dated. We might get sick of each other and break up next week. Or we might be perfectly suited and end up married. And if you were to become a part of my family–" He broke off. "You would suffer the same fate as the rest of us. I cannot let you die on my account." His head dropped into his hands. I could tell he wasn't upset about his own fate. He was upset that he might jeopardize mine. "So I stayed away. I did not call. It was the kindest thing to do."

I completely forgot about coaxing out a confession. My mind fixated on the _we might end up married_ part. Guys our age didn't talk about marriage. Ever. And since I wasn't ready for that kind of talk, I jumped on the other end of his speech. "You seriously think leaving me hanging like that was kind?"

"Compared to getting involved with you, yes. I have a lot of what you Americans call baggage."

"Maybe." I shrugged. "But it would have been nice to know if you'd really had a good time, or if you were just saying that to get something out of me."

"Kristia." Ull smiled. "I would never knowingly hurt you. I like you far too much."

"Hold on. So you do like me?"

Ull chuckled. "Yes. I like you."

"Oh." I looked at my fingernails. "Well, sometimes I like you too. When you're not annoying me, or smothering me, or disappearing on me, or generally driving me nuts."

"That is fair." He sighed. "But it should not matter. It is not right to bring you into my life. If we end up together, you will meet the same fate that I do."

"It's not polite to speak in nonsense."

"Maybe, but there is a lot about me that you do not know."

"I'm listening." Boy howdy, was I listening.

Ull's tousled, blond mane flopped adorably as he tilted his head. "I have not scared you off?"

I shrugged. "It takes a lot to scare me. Irritating me seems to come more naturally to you."

"Oh, Kristia." Ull lifted my hair off my neck and rested his fingers on my collarbone. I shivered. "Will you join me in the country this weekend? There is a lot I need to tell you, and it would be easier for me to get through it without interruption."

"Um... I don't think that's the best idea for us. Couldn't we just go out for dinner or something?"

"We could. But it would be best if we had more time to talk. There is much you need to know."

"Okay, two dinners then?"

"Kristia." Ull rubbed at his temples.

"Listen. You know as well as I do we haven't exactly gotten off to the greatest start. Spending a whole weekend together seems like asking for disaster, don't you think?"

"Maybe." Ull winked. "Or it might be just what we need to get on track."

_Instantly, I was in an English Garden. The cobblestones at my feet formed a smallish courtyard, and candles marked a path through the ivory roses and lavender beds to a small grassy area beneath an ancient yew dale. Twinkling lights filled the dale, and Ull stood at its base with a small jewelry box in his hand, a nervous smile on his perfect face_.

Mormor didn't raise no dummy. This was one vision I wanted to see for myself. Besides, I had to know if there was any truth to my ridiculous theory.

My heart pounded so fiercely that I thought it might break free from my ribcage. I pulled myself back to the present and stood without hesitation, putting my hand in Ull's. "You win. What do I pack?"

# Chapter 9

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked as Ull loaded my suitcase into the back of the black Range Rover.

He winked. "A place that is very special to me. Someplace I hope you will feel right at home."

I was grateful Ull had at least told me what to pack – comfortable clothes for weather much like this, and a pair of rain boots for walks. And he'd promised to have me home in time for class on Tuesday morning – I never signed up for Monday classes; Ardis taught me that trick freshman year.

"I am glad you came." Ull helped me into the front seat with a kiss on my cheek. My heart fluttered, and I tried to remember that this was the same guy who had nearly annoyed me to death yesterday, and ignored me to death last week. I couldn't get over the shock I felt at each touch or the way my vision swam in and out of focus any time I looked at him. His endless supply of fitted sweaters didn't help either. If this kept up, I was going to suffer a stroke at a tragically young age.

An hour later, Ull steered the car off the main road, heading toward a collection of row houses sheathed in ivy. We followed a winding river through the main part of town, passing a small cobbled sign that read "Welcome to Bibury." We continued past two separate fields of sheep and drove through a small drive framed by trees until we came to a cottage.

Ull parked and got out of the car. I kept my tush firmly planted in the passenger's seat until Ull came around and opened my door for me. I didn't want to knock him out. As a rule, I tried not to repeat my more mortifying mistakes.

He held out a hand as I stepped down, pausing next to a small fountain in the center of the drive. The cobblestone cottage had an aged roof and an unsteady-looking chimney. Soft lights from the windows welcomed us, and the smell of lavender mixed with moss filled the country air.

"It's beautiful," I breathed. It was from the pages of a fairy tale. I thought of my favorite childhood story, Cinderella, then snuck a glance at my sometimes Prince Charming. "Um, Ull? Everything all right?"

He rubbed his brow and let out a low chuckle. "I am happy you like it. I was afraid you might find it too..." he searched for the right word. "Quaint. It has been in my family for a long time." It seemed like he wanted to say more. "Come inside, Kristia. There is someone I want you to meet."

Ull opened the azure door and ushered me into the house. A kindly, white-haired woman in a ruffled apron flitted from the kitchen with open arms. "Ull!" A smile lit her face as she set her eyes on him. "Welcome home! Ýdalir has missed you!" Ull greeted her with a warm hug, coming back to me with a smile to match the woman's. "Ahh, I see. So this is what has kept you so busy these past few weeks. Well, let me look at you, dear."

I stepped forward shyly, feeling the woman's happy eyes on me. " _Ja, ja. Vaer så god_." Mormor had taught me enough Norwegian to figure out I had met the woman's approval. Ull laughed.

"Kristia, may I present Olaug. For all intents and purposes, my grandmother. She lives nearby and is good enough to take care of this cottage when I am away. We have her to thank for the lovely fire – is that apple wood? And for what I am sure will be a delicious supper."

I held out a hand, but Olaug laughed and pulled me in for a hug. "My dear, none of that. Come you two, sit! Eat! Everything is on the table in the garden. Ull, I do hate to be rude, but I must get home – the boys are visiting for the weekend. Please come for Sunday brunch so you can meet everyone, Kristia." With a hug for each of us, she was off into the night, humming a tune that sounded vaguely familiar.

Ull smiled and closed the front door. He took my coat from my shoulders and hung it on one of the hooks below the mirror in the entry. "Well," he questioned. "Dinner or tour?"

"Tour please." I couldn't wait to see the rest of the cottage. "So what is this place?"

"This," Ull began, taking my hand and lacing his fingers through mine, as comfortably as if he'd been doing it all his life, "is my country home, Ýdalir."

He had a country home. And it had an even crazier name than he did.

"I don't get to come here much at the moment, school being as it is this time in the term, but this is the place I feel happiest. I have much that makes me anxious, but I forget all of that when I am here." He led us down a small hallway to a study. "This is where I keep my favorite books and reading chair." He gestured to a well-worn leather loveseat and matching ottoman nestled in the corner.

"Over here," he led me to another room, containing a queen-sized four-poster bed, dresser, and writing desk, "is the guest room you will be staying in." Oh, thank God there was a guest room. I shouldn't have been surprised that Ull was the consummate gentleman, but it was still a relief to have my own room. I was already out of my element, no need to make life even scarier than it already was.

"Back here is the master suite," Ull finished simply.

Master wasn't a grand enough word. The room was huge – considering the relatively small size of the cottage – with an antique-looking, king-sized sleigh bed, padded bench, and built in closets that I suspected held a tiny sampling of Ull's exquisite wardrobe. Ull waited patiently as I made my way around the room, lightly touching everything to make sure it was real. I stopped when I reached the door to the bath. The jetted tub was as generously proportioned as the master suite. What the cottage offered in country charm, this bathroom offered in modern opulence.

"This is your room?"

Ull laughed. "Ah, the best is yet to come."

I seriously doubted that. But he opened the bedroom's French doors to reveal a charming garden, up-lighting illuminating the aged yew dale that had watched the house's activity for at least a hundred years. Pale roses and fragrant lavender surrounded the grassy courtyard from my earlier vision, and in the center a cobblestone patio held a table set with silver candlesticks and glowing tapers. Twinkle lights from another nearby tree added a degree of whimsy.

Ull held out a chair, offering me the seat. He sat opposite me and opened the baking dish to reveal a hearty meal of roast, potatoes, and carrots. We ate until we were full, Ull asking about my childhood and listening with interest as I droned about the annual field trip to the lumber yard, my time spent hiking in the forests with Ardis, and how Bryan Ash beat me in the third-grade spelling bee.

He listened as if my life had been as fascinating as his must be, and I found myself revealing more and more as the evening went on. It was only when I realized that dusk was falling that I had the good sense to stop babbling. But Ull didn't seem to mind my chatter. After a generous helping of Olaug's homemade apple pie, he led me on a stroll through the garden.

We leaned with our forearms on the low, stone fence that made up the back wall, and watched the sheep grazing in the pasture behind the house. I snuck a glance at Ull, and was surprised to see that he was tense. "You all right?"

He sighed. "Kristia, I have something to tell you. And I do not know if you will like it."

Well that killed the mood. "Okay." I steeled myself for the worst.

Ull took a deep breath. "Kristia, I want to share my world with you."

What did _that_ mean? "Come again?"

Ull smiled. "I know, kind of out of left field, right?"

"Maybe." I tugged at the wrists of my sweater nervously. "I don't understand."

"You and I together... is a very complicated situation. And you need to know something about me before I can properly court you."

"Okay," I said as he turned to me. I'd never heard anyone say 'court' outside of a Jane Austen novel.

"Kristia." He drew small circles on my palms with his thumbs. I forced myself to stay standing. "Have you noticed anything different about me?"

I held my breath. If my hunch was right, Ull was about as different as anyone could possibly be. I'd been stewing on this for a week. It was the only explanation I could come up for Ull's behavior in the nightclub, the link to his stepdad, Ull's bizarre name... If it was true, and I was almost positive it was, it was so out there nobody would ever believe me. I knew I couldn't just ask Ull about it. A secret this big wasn't the kind of thing you wanted to pry out of someone. Ull had to want to tell me for himself.

"You're a pretty different guy," I evaded. "Though you do seem to have an above-average relationship with your florist."

"I am different. I am not exactly like you. I am not from here." Ull clasped his hands. He was really anxious.

"I know," I said softly.

"No, you do not. I told you I was from Norway, but that is not exactly true."

"Where are you from, Ull?" I already knew the answer. But I needed to hear it from him.

"Asgard," he whispered.

"Asgard," I repeated. I'd pretty much accepted it, but Ull's confirmation fell like a bomb. "The Asgard, Asgard."

"Yes." Ull stood still, waiting.

I exhaled. "Sif is your mom, isn't she? The Goddess of Beauty that Professor Carnicke talked about. And Thor is your stepdad."

"Yes."

"And that makes you..."

"Ull. God of Winter. Warrior and protector of Asgard." He lifted his chin an inch higher. But his eyes betrayed his fear. He had to be wondering how I was going to react. For the briefest of moments I contemplated the impossible.

"It's okay, Ull. I figured as much." I reached over to touch his arm.

"What?"

"I figured."

"How could you possibly figure a thing like that? It should seem preposterous to a human."

"I didn't say it doesn't seem preposterous. I just said I figured it out. Yesterday, when you were talking about your family and the dark future. And in the nightclub, when you actually disappeared into thin air. I started to wonder about it that day in the quad when you let your dad's name slip. And you skipped town the day Professor Carnicke talked about you. Though I wasn't positive it was you at the time. Ull, you sit by me in Mythology class. _Mythology_. Not the best plan for a deity trying to fly under the radar." I shivered as I said what he was. Despite my nonchalance, I was freaking out on the inside. Ull was an actual god. What did that even mean?

"You are okay with what I am?" He gripped my hands tightly.

"It makes me a little nervous," I admitted. "Most of my dates haven't ended with the guy telling me he's divine."

"You must have questions." Ull still looked so tense.

I squeezed his hands back. "Do you want to talk about it? Your Excellency?"

"Kristia–" Ull's brow furrowed and his mouth turned down.

"I'm kidding. Geez. Okay, yes, I have questions. About a million of them. Here's an easy one. Why are you here? I thought gods lived in Asgard."

"They do. We do." He took a deep breath. "It is complicated."

"I'm here all weekend."

Ull nodded. "Very well. I lived in Asgard for many years. And I was destined to rule it in my grandfather's place. Doing so would have set into motion a chain of events ending in my death. So I came to Midgard."

"Midgard?"

"Our name for your realm. Earth. I traveled back and forth a lot, visited many of your countries, but duty always called me back to Asgard. A few years back, my friends and I decided to take one more trip, this time to Wales." Ull touched my cheek. "It would seem I was drawn to this realm to be with you."

There was nothing to do but blush.

"You are not afraid of what I am?"

There would never be a better time to tell him I wasn't exactly normal either, with my mental tic and all. But I was too chicken. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know what you will be getting into, if you choose to date me. I have been around for a very long time. But I never felt at home, until I met you. I realize that I have more baggage than almost any other man you could choose, and I promise to tell you about all of it so you can decide whether this is the life you want. Still... selfish as it is, I want to share my world with you. And I hope that, in time, you will decide you feel the same way."

This could not be happening. There was no way that this god-like creature – correction, this god – was declaring himself to me. I couldn't begin to process what it would mean to be with him.

"This is a lot to take in."

"I know." He hadn't let go of my hands.

"You really could have told me this over dinner in Cardiff. You didn't have to bring me all this way just to tell me you're a..." I stumbled over the word.

"A god."

"Right. That."

"And risk you running screaming from a restaurant?"

"Fair point." I held his gaze. "Well for what it's worth, I'm kind of into you too. Your Holiness."

"You have no idea how happy that makes me." His eyes crinkled, and he released his grip. In one swift motion, he wrapped an arm around my lower back and lifted me off the ground so my face was even with his. His other arm hung at his side.

With cool breath, he exhaled slowly, the sweet smell making me lean in. His eyes smoldered, and his lips brushed against mine as he whispered, "Thank you for not running away." He closed the small gap between us and kissed me with a force that knocked what air I had left from my chest.

I was completely unconcerned with my inability to breathe. I curled my fingers through Ull's thick hair, pulling him even closer. His arm tightened around my back, crushing my chest to his. My breaths came in sharp gasps as I registered the pounding of his heart against my torso; his pulse was much too slow to match my frenetic one. Kissing in general wasn't something I had heaps of experience with, but kissing like _this_... it was completely foreign to me. Inexperience aside, it was a pretty safe bet most guys didn't leave a girl feeling like she'd just been sucker punched and doused in happy dust every time his lips came within smooching distance. Ull was intense; determined; different in every conceivable way. His kisses were literally out of this world.

The stubble of his chin brushed against my lower lip as his mouth moved against mine, the follicles scraping roughly against my oversensitive skin. The sensation was overwhelming, and I pulled my head away with a gasp. Ull didn't release his one-armed hold, so I stayed inches from his face, feet dangling off the ground. My eyes were wide as he looked at me through thick lashes.

"So how does this work, you being a god and me being, well, me?" I asked once I'd caught my breath.

Ull set me gently on my feet. My knees buckled, and he helped me to the stone bench. He sat next to me, seemingly at a loss.

Ull's eyes cleared as he gave what seemed to be the best answer he could. "It means my life is a little more complicated than most. And in all likelihood, my future will have a dark ending. But no matter what happens, I want to experience it with you. I have developed a deep fondness for you, Kristia Tostenson. What I am does not change that."

My cheeks were warm. "How long will you stay here? On Earth, I mean."

"As long as I can. My two closest friends are here too, Gunnar and Inga. We came to Midgard together and have been traveling between the realms on and off, for as long as our posts will allow. We live as students so we can study at your universities. You have no idea how valuable the Environmental Studies programs have been for someone whose primary responsibility is to ensure adequate rainfall. Global warming is wreaking havoc on my job security."

"Right." I wondered if Ull knew what a poor job he was doing at blending in. "But now you're studying Classics?"

"We go for different degrees every time we enroll," Ull explained. "Keeps things interesting." I wondered how many degrees a god could wrack up. It wasn't like Ull had to worry about how long it would take to graduate. Or to pay off student loans.

"How does Olaug fit into the picture? Does she know about you?"

Ull laughed, his mood lighter now that the weight of his identity was lifted. "Do you think I would be able to live as a human without someone keeping tabs on me for The Firm? Olaug is of Asgard as well. For all intents and purposes, she is my grandmother, but she also keeps me informed of the goings on back home. She lets me know when I must personally attend to my duties there. I could not have enjoyed all of these years in your realm without her."

I could have listened to Ull talk forever, but I was exhausted. I stifled a yawn as Ull gave a knowing glance. "I am sorry Kristia, I forget myself. You must sleep."

"You, uh, mustn't sleep?" I asked, echoing the formality of his words. I should have guessed that he was more than mortal. His language gave him away – nobody in their twenties in _this_ century was so proper.

"Well, yes I must sleep sometimes. I just need far less than you do to function. Immortal bodies are exceptionally efficient." He didn't say anything else on the subject, just walked me to my room and took my face in his hands. " _God natt_ , Kristia Tostenson," he murmured. I eyed him warily, both hopeful and anxious to repeat _that kiss_ – the one that had nearly been the end of me. But he bent to kiss me chastely with the softest lips imaginable.

My disappointment must have been obvious because he chuckled. "Soon enough." He touched my cheek before he leaned to whisper into my ear. I caught a hint of the faintly woodsy smell that was so delicious, I leaned in involuntarily. "I hope you have beautiful dreams," he murmured. With that, he walked down the hall, filling the frame of his bedroom door. With one more glance over his broad shoulder, he was gone and I was left standing with the embarrassing realization that my mouth was a little bit open. Beautiful dreams... I was pretty sure I was in one.

While I lay in bed that night, the rosy mist started to clear from my mind. The realities of my day settled in, much more heavily than I expected. Ull was amazing; I'd already known that. But he was also celestial – an actual god. And while that kind of made him even more incredible, and definitely more exciting than the boys I'd known in Nehalem, it brought serious complications.

My brain, slowly lazing through its blissful fog, was beginning to grasp that this man was not meant for me. I couldn't think of any myth in which a human and a god had a successful go at a relationship. And I wasn't naïve enough to think I'd be the human to change the game.

It wasn't an ideal situation. I was falling for a man – correction, a god – who was totally and completely perfect, at the same time I was totally and completely human. That pairing was more than unnatural – it was a ticking bomb. When – and it was a matter of when, not if – _when_ Ull realized how wrong we were for each other, he would dump me faster than he could skip to the next coed or goddess or fairy princess or whoever else was lined up to date him. And then what would I do?

A worry shared is a worry halved, and there was only one person I knew with the relationship-savvy to handle this. I did the mental math. It was early evening in New York. Ardis would definitely pick up. I dialed my mobile with shaking fingers.

"Hey, Girl!" Ardis answered on the first ring. "What are you doing calling me? I know, I know, you don't have FaceTime. You have got to set up your Skype. This is going to cost you a fortune!"

I didn't care. Just hearing her voice made me feel better.

"Ardis," I said quietly. I didn't want Ull to hear me. "I'm so glad you answered."

"Did you get my e-mail about those shoes? Can you believe I got a pair of Louboutins at Odds & Ends?" The discount retailer had been one of our favorite haunts on our rare trips to Portland, and Ardis was still a frequent shopper of the chain in New York. "I mean, seriously – I was so destined to have those shoes."

It was refreshing to think about something as trivial as shoes, so I asked about Ardis' shopping trip just to give my mind a break. But I knew I'd have to bite the bullet eventually, or my phone bill would be sky high.

"Ardis," I began tentatively. "I have guy problems."

"Already? You go girl! In Wales less than a month and already you're rockin' it. Wait." Her tone turned accusing. "You haven't mentioned any guys in your letters. Spill. What's his name?"

"I just started seeing this guy. His name is Ull–"

"Ull? Wow, Kristia. I have to say; you know how to pick 'em. Seriously, his name is Ull?"

"It's not exactly like I've met a whole lot of Ardises," I pointed out. "But yeah, I thought the same thing."

"Fair enough," she conceded. "So what's going on?"

"Well, we just started dating. But I'm sort of at his country house for the weekend, and–"

Ardis' laughter rang clear across the miles. "You brazen hussy! You're spending the weekend? Who are you over there?"

"No, it's not like that. He's in his room, I'm in mine."

"Too bad." Ardis sounded disappointed. "So is that what's wrong? Not enough hanky panky?"

"Ardis!" But I hesitated. I couldn't tell Ardis the whole story. I was fairly certain Ull's... divinity – I couldn't even think the word without twitching – that his divinity wasn't something I should talk about. If I was vague, I could tell Ardis the most important parts, and I knew she would have the words to reassure me. She always did. I dove in. "This whole relationship is happening really fast. And it's all new to me – you know I don't have a lot of experience with this stuff."

"Tell me about it," came Ardis' dry reply.

"But I really, really like him. And he likes me back. It's crazy. He says he wants to be with me." I whispered the last part in awe.

"Then what's the problem?" Ardis was confused. So was I. Saying the words out loud made it sound so simple.

"The problem is... he's too good for me. He's smart, rich, and unbelievably gorgeous. He's got this totally adorable grandmother that he just dotes on. His family is really powerful, and way more important than me, and they live really far away and would never think in a million years I could possibly be good enough for Ull. I mean we come from totally different worlds." That was an understatement. Asgard and Earth were as different as a bobcat and a bunny. "In the end, he's going to have to realize that there are girls out there who are better suited for him, his equal, prettier, smarter, maybe from where he's from... I don't even know where we would live if we were together, or how his family could possibly accept me, or how I could ask him to have such a boring life with me instead of the fantastic life he has by himself... but I just... really like him." My voice trailed off.

"Shhh," Ardis soothed, all bravado gone. "Kristia, sweetie, it's going to be okay. I promise. So, let me recap. You like Ull. And he likes you. And you think you want to be together. But you're afraid you're not good enough for him. Does that sum it up?"

"Yes," I said thickly into the phone.

"Sweetheart. First of all, you have got to stop thinking so little of yourself. You are an awesome woman. This Ull guy is lucky to have you, not the other way around! Don't you ever forget it." That seemed unlikely, but Ardis pushed on like the good friend she was. "Second, there isn't going to be a problem with his family. No decent parents alive would dare to disapprove of you. Not only because you are a fantastic, kind, warm-hearted girl, but also because their son has chosen you. It's parental suicide to disapprove of the girlfriend, trust me." It was true. Ardis and her womanly charms had come between more than a few sons and their mothers. "And third, none of that matters. If you guys are really that into each other, then the rest is just details. You, the biggest prude I've ever met, are spending the weekend at this guy's house. He's clearly gotten to you."

"His country house." Nobody wants to be misleading. "If we were on campus I'd go back to my flat."

"Exactly, Grandma. If you're so comfortable with him that you're already taking a trip together, he's pretty special. Everything will work out. It will. I'm not saying it will be easy, but if you guys are really that committed to each other, it would take a lot more than the stuff you're afraid of to keep you apart. So relax."

My world had righted itself once again. Ardis always knew what to say. "Thank you Ardis. You're the best friend I've ever had." My eyes felt dewy. "I miss you."

"Aw, I miss you too, girl! I can't wait to come visit you this summer. I've never been to Europe!"

"Well we _are_ from Nehalem. We're not exactly world travelers."

"Not yet!" Ever the optimist. "Oops. I have to go – my date's here. But e-mail me when you get back to school and tell me how the weekend went. Try to have some _fun_." She emphasized the last word and I imagined her wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. The knot in my chest felt considerably looser as we got off the phone. Ardis' words always hit home. I liked Ull – a lot. And he liked me. The rest was just stuff to be handled together. But exactly how much 'stuff' came along with dating a Norse god?

# Chapter 10

By morning, my overworked brain was moving like a herd of turtles. Ardis had helped me through my hysteria, but I was still coming up with every possible reason this relationship was doomed. I was too beat to indulge in a freak-out. Mormor always said there was no point in borrowing trouble. Besides, Ull kept me too busy to worry by showing me around Bibury.

"I think I need new rainboots." I padded into the library in a fresh pair of socks. My first pair got soaked in the downpour that ended our walk.

"You think?" Ull held up a blanket and patted the couch next to him. I settled into the spot.

"Nice fire." I was impressed. He'd set it up _and_ made two cups of tea in the time it had taken me to change.

"I am God of Winter. I should be good for something."

"Glad to know you're not slacking just because you're on vacation."

"Oh Kristia, I am never on vacation. Odin can summon me at any time. Though I do consider it my duty to protect you from the elements raging outside." He pulled my legs across his lap, and gently massaged my thigh. My breath caught as I fought the impulse to pull him down on the couch. Something told me the God of Self Restraint wouldn't appreciate my hormones as much as I hoped he would.

"Well protect away, Your Holiness." My wisecrack was drowned by a clap of thunder. "Is that your family calling?"

"Funny, Kristia."

"I thought so." Laughing was easier than thinking about how absurd our situation actually was. The cutest guy on campus moonlighted as a fierce Asgardian warrior. Not exactly the hobby I'd imagined my first serious boyfriend would have.

"Can I ask you more questions?" I rested my head on his shoulder and watched the rain pelt the window.

"Ask away."

"You're a lot older than me, aren't you?"

Ull shifted beneath me. His silence spoke volumes.

"That's a yes."

"Does that make you uncomfortable, Kristia?"

"Does it make _you_ uncomfortable?" The best defense was always an offense.

"It does," he admitted. "You have been alive less than two decades. I have been alive... considerably longer. It is hard not to feel untoward when I think about my intentions for you."

"Untoward?" I covered my mouth.

"Stop laughing." The tops of his ears turned pink.

"I'm sorry. It's just sometimes the way you talk is so..." _Old? Antiquated? Out of date?_ "Proper," I finished. "My grandmother would have found you charming."

"Your grandmother would have found me inappropriate. It is not right for a man my age to want to do the kinds of things I plan to do to an eighteen-year-old."

Now it was my turn to blush.

"Does it bother you that I'm younger than you?" I bit my lip.

"It is not going to stop me from pursuing you, if that is what you are asking."

"Fair enough. Can I ask something else?" My fingers traced the lines of his chest as I settled my head back on his shoulder.

"Shoot."

"How did you end up God of Winter?" It seemed like a softball question. But when Ull froze, I realized I'd touched on a nerve. I made myself very interested in my fingernails. "Sorry, that was personal. It's none of my business."

"No, I want to tell you. I just want you to know the man I am now, not the killer I used to be." It was my turn to freeze, but I pushed the feeling down, desperate to know everything.

"I don't understand."

Ull's shoulders dropped. "I am not a particularly upstanding man, Kristia."

"I don't believe that."

"You should. I have done heinous things – things you could not imagine. I have killed thousands – not that they did not deserve it. I tortured uncooperative hostiles in the name of interrogation. And pursuing you like this when I know what my fate holds... I have no right to be with you."

"Ull, believe me. I'm not perfect either." In fact, I was all kinds of crazy, but this conversation wasn't about me and my mental problem.

"You are kind to me." Ull lifted a finger to my cheek.

"So how did you come to be this terrible guy?" My eyebrow shot up. "You seem more the puppy-dog type at the moment."

Ull blinked. "I was born to be a warrior. My mother is the most accomplished warrior goddess of all time. Not only does she hold the most kills of any female, but her accuracy is unmatched." Well butter my flapjacks, my boyfriend's mom was a trained killer. "My father died in battle before I reached school age. When my mother remarried, we moved in with Thor."

"Scary stepdad?" I turned my palms to lace my fingers through Ull's.

"At times. But he was also a tremendous resource. Before I became God of Winter, I was part of the Elite Team – Asgard's top assassins."

"How was that?"

"It was... tolerable... until a target begged for his life. Said he had children waiting at home. That was the turning point. I set the target free and asked Odin for a new post."

"What did he say?"

"He was displeased. But I became God of Winter and have served there since. I took a short break once." His face darkened. "But I came back."

"And now you're here."

Ull winked at me, and my insides suddenly felt sloshy. "I like living in your realm."

"Why?" I'd take Asgard over Nehalem in a heartbeat.

"Because I can be myself here. My pull to this realm has always been a mystery. Perhaps, all along, I was waiting for you to show up." He touched my chin and held my gaze for an endless moment. The air between us filled with the delicious build of anticipation. My hands ached to stroke the stubble along his jaw line, but I kept myself still as Ull brought his face down with agonizing slowness. He rubbed his nose along my throat, inhaling so a light chill settled along my neck. When he reached the spot just below my earlobe, he pressed his lips lightly against the delicate skin. A thick fog clouded my head and my body responded unthinkingly. My palms gripped his biceps as I pulled myself on top of him. I threw my legs on either side of his lap and turned away from his kiss so our foreheads were touching. As I moved to press against him, Ull gently pushed me away.

"We don't have to stop." My breath was uneven.

"We do. My mother raised me well."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we are only just dating. So we do have to stop."

"Seriously?" I did _not_ see that one coming.

"Mortals," Ull chuckled. "So impatient. Do you really think you know enough about me to decide whether you want to be with me?"

"I want to be with you. Honest." It wasn't just the hormones talking. I really liked him.

"You say that now." He chuckled again. "Shall we continue our discussion? I am sure you have more questions."

"Okay, fine." I waited for the blood to move back up to my brain. Apparently I didn't wait long enough, because I blurted out, "Why were you so mean to me in the British Museum?"

"I do not know what you are talking about."

"Come on, Ull. Give me some credit." I stared at him until he looked away.

"Because I knew who you were."

"You knew I was Kristia Tostenson?"

"No. I knew you were meant to be my wife." I pulled back, but Ull quickly wrapped both arms around me. "No, please. Just listen."

I slowly resumed blinking.

"Remember the first day of class, when Professor Carnicke talked about the Norns?"

"The prophets," I whispered.

"Correct. Well, you and I shared the same Norn. Her name was Elsker – the name means Love in Norwegian. She prophesied I would be a Warrior, live alone, and give my life for my people. When you were born, my future changed. Elsker said if I wanted to take a partner, I could find you at Cardiff in eighteen years."

"And... marry me."

"Eventually, yes."

"That doesn't explain why you were so mean to me. If anything, I'd think you'd be nice to the person who was supposed to spare you from what sounds like a really depressing life."

"I was not finished."

"Oh. Sorry, Your Excellency."

"Kristia," Ull growled.

"Okay, okay. Finish."

"I was mean to you because, despite Elsker's prophecy, there is an absolute ban on Asgardian-Mortal relationships. The Norns are forbidden from mingling the fates of gods and mortals. Elsker broke the rule. I would never have turned her in, but we have this... questionable figure in Asgard. Loki. He found out what Elsker did, and she was banished for her betrayal. I never got to talk to her again."

"That's terrible."

"I was mean to you because I knew that even though we were meant to be together, we never could be. Odin would never allow our relationship. Besides, I am fated to die with the rest of my family, so it is not like we could have any sort of a happy ever after. It hurt to be so close to you and to know I could not have you."

"Oh, Ull." I rested my head on his shoulder. "I had no idea."

"How could you? I did not explain."

"I know, but... I'm still sorry."

"No, I am sorry. I hurt you. But honestly, it was never my intention to do anything but protect you."

"I see that now." I squeezed his arm. "Can I ask another question?"

"Go ahead."

"What really happened during the time you were away?" He'd obviously kept a lot from me.

Ull laughed sharply at being called out. "I was telling the truth when I told you I had gone to see my family, to see whether I could be with you without endangering your life. Getting a straight answer from them was complicated."

"How do you mean?"

"Listen Kristia, I do not feel right asking you to join me in a life that I do not completely want to be a part of myself. My death is inevitable. Our enemies want to kill every Asgardian – we have certainly killed enough of their kind. It is terrible to know that you will lose the people you love – and that you will die yourself. Losing my father was hard enough; the thought of losing my friends and my mother is incomprehensible. And to lose you – it would be more than I could handle." Ull's eyes filled with pain and it struck me how sensitive he actually was.

I'd been so wrong about him. He didn't keep everyone at arm's length because he was uppity – he did it so he wouldn't get hurt. What an isolating existence.

"It has been one thing to know my death is marked, but to ask you to voluntarily give your life – I am not worth that price."

I was starting to think there were a dozen reasons he was wrong, but I bit my tongue.

"Unfortunately for you, I can be selfish. I wanted to be with you. But like I said, no god has ever been allowed to marry a mortal. Thor certainly was not going to sign off on it – he fancies another warrior for my wife, and he would never understand that I allowed myself to fall in love."

"Super." This wasn't sounding so good.

"But my mother knows how I feel about you, and she sent me to my friend Inga's father. Jens is Odin's chief advisor, and my mother thought he might be able to help us."

"I'm liking your mom." Ull smiled, and my stomach fluttered.

"I ran into Balder on my way. He serves as our judge. I asked him whether it would be wrong to invite you to join me in this existence."

"Ull," I interrupted, but he shook his head.

"I have much guilt in that, Kristia. If Balder had said it was wrong, then I would have left you alone, difficult as it would have been. But Balder was generous."

"Okay, now I'm liking this Balder guy too." Not only because I felt bad for the poor fellow whose parents had burdened him with the name of Balder.

"By the time I saw Jens, my mind was mostly made up. I would court you and see whether you would share my life with me. But no human had ever been to Asgard, and to my knowledge, no god had ever taken up permanent residence on Earth. I needed Jens to help me with some of the... eh, technical issues."

_Suddenly, I was in an unfamiliar world. I instinctively knew it was Asgard, somewhere in the past. Two robed men walked angrily down a long hallway. Columns supported the roof, the open-aired walls overlooking a pristine village._

_"It is an abomination," the taller of the men snapped. He wore an eye patch and his long white hair streamed behind his hurried pace._

_"Odin," the other man placated. He rushed to keep up. "This was bound to happen sooner or later. They are not that different from us."_

_"They are nothing like us!" Odin thundered in fury. "Asking me to admit a human to Asgard?" He practically spit the words. "It is unheard of, Jens. No human is fit to enter here. The Fates are fools to cast our lot for the betterment of Midgard."_

_Jens' robe quivered. He darted his eyes around the hallway as if someone might be watching. "You must not speak ill of the Fates. And you should not speak ill of Earth. You know the prophecy."_

_"Yes. Asgard shall fall to save Midgard – Earth, as you so lovingly call it. Perhaps you want to move there like your daughter?"_

_Jens fell silent._

_Odin inhaled. His shoulders rose with effort. "I am sorry. I should not speak against Inga. And I should not speak against the Fates. But I will never, as long as I exist, agree Asgardian lives should be lost so Midgard can prosper. When Ragnarok comes it will be a travesty – the loss of a superior race of beings for the survival of mortals should never have been prophesied so lightly."_

Oh, super. Now my visions were checking into the past too. Was there no end to the depths of my lunacy?

Ull's voice pulled me back. He didn't seem to realize I'd been somewhere else. "I would rather not go into detail, but suffice to say Odin is not mankind's biggest fan."

"I see."

"I cannot bring you back to Asgard as my mate, but that does not preclude our being together. I can stay here as yours. Another warrior once fell in love with a human. He chose to live as a mortal rather than be without her." So that was what Odin was so angry about in my apparition.

"Oh, crimeny. But you're not saying that you would–" Ull stopped my words with a finger to my lips.

"Now before you get upset, hear me out. It makes sense for me to join your world. I like living here. You will not have to give up anything to be with me. We can live a long and happy human life together, ideally passing on before Asgard's enemies ever attack. There is no downside."

"No downside?" If he'd put it any differently, I could have kept my temper.

"I had just returned from Asgard the night you were attacked. You needed me, for your own protection, if not my selfish desire. And I need you. So here we are." Ull seemed unaccountably pleased with himself.

My fuming wasn't internal for long.

"So here we are? Are you insane?" How could he think this was a good idea? "You want to give up your immortality to be with me? Absolutely not. Forget it." There was more wrong with this than a bull in a henhouse.

"Shh," Ull soothed. If he'd thought his decision would make me happy, he obviously didn't know the first thing about me. "Darling, this is not your choice to make."

"Everything is not all about you, you know. This affects me too!"

"I know it does. And for the record, my life has never been about me."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you? Because it's not going to work."

"Not much works on you, does it?"

"Nope."

"Well, I am not trying to make you feel anything. Being of Asgard requires a life of duty and service – it is just the way things are."

"So?" The sympathy card wasn't going to get him far.

"So, every choice I have ever made, everything I have ever done, right down to who I associate with, has been affected by what I am. Being with you... this is the first decision of my existence based solely on what I want. I am not giving up anything I do not want to. I need to be with you. Whether I am a god or a human is inconsequential so long as you are by my side. The rest will work itself out in time."

"I'm not going to be the reason you have to give up who you were born to be!" Leave it to me to bring down an actual god. This was all kinds of wrong.

"Please do not be upset. Everything will be all right. I have been alone as a god for a very long time. I would much rather be a human with you than ghost along without you." He held me while I buried my head in his shoulder, outraged by the unfairness of our situation. Ull might have thought he had made his decision, but I would find another way out of this. He was not going to abandon the most basic part of him. I wouldn't let him.

My Ragnarok nightmare returned that night, so vivid I couldn't be sure this one wasn't actually a vision.

_This time, I saw the battlefield as a spectator; no giant wolf or snake could reach me from whatever vantage point I'd claimed. The field was carpeted with lavender, the air filled with its subtle scent. Ull stood dead center, facing the inevitable attack. In the distance, the tree-trunk snake and the oversized predator stalked toward their prey. Their slanted eyes were filled with hatred._

_I wanted to scream at Ull to save himself, but he was as hungry for this fight as the creatures were hungry for Asgardian blood. There wasn't a trace of emotion as he dropped to a hunting crouch, tensed for the battle he was fated to lose. The monsters were fifty yards away now, picking up speed as they locked Ull in their sights. The wolf bowed his head and charged, trampling the flowers beneath his feet as he thundered towards the man who owned my heart. With twenty yards between them, Ull poised to spring at Death, determination across his brow. So this was it – I had to watch while my beloved ran headfirst to meet his end._

_Then I saw the scene from a fresh perspective. A strong, confident woman stood with Ull, poised to launch her own attack. I knew instinctively she could protect him. Her fists were clenched as she crouched to strike and she wore the long, white robes of an Asgardian warrior. She was no more concerned for her fate than Ull was for his, and she sprinted furiously towards the attackers, leaping at the open jaws to wrestle the wolf to the ground._

As I focused in on her face, I sat up with alarm, grasping at my bed sheets in the darkness. The warrior with Ull had been me.

# Chapter 11

After the weekend we'd had, going back to Cardiff was almost surreal. Of course, I was sworn to secrecy about Ull's heritage, so quick thought was required when Victoria and Emma pounced.

"Kristia," Emma teased as I walked in on Monday evening. "You left with Ull, _days_ ago." She overemphasized the word. "What on earth have you been doing all this time?"

Victoria jumped up on the couch, tucking her long legs beneath her. "Yes, do tell. What, where, how many times..." My face must have been a fine compliment to the burgundy door.

"No, no. Nothing like that. Nothing inappropriate went on. Ull is old-fashioned." Very old-fashioned. Nobody did old-fashioned like the Vikings.

"Right." Victoria raised one perfectly-groomed eyebrow at Emma.

Emma winked back. "I'm sure you had a glorious time studying together and discussing the British Economy. Where exactly did you say he took you?"

"To his family home in the Cotswolds." I jumped at the opportunity and dove into a detailed description of the garden at Ýdalir, Bibury's duck pond, and Olaug's amazing food. "But the house was the most impressive thing."

"More impressive than Ull's arms?" Emma teased.

"OK, the second most impressive thing."

"More than Ull's chest?" Victoria was quick to reply.

"OK, the house was the most impressive thing, not counting Ull himself." This stumped them momentarily, and I rushed along. "It's an amazing cottage that belongs in a fairytale. It has this long driveway, a little fountain in the middle, and the sweetest little chimney that puffs smoke like a cartoon. The garden backs up to this pasture with actual sheep, and the sitting room has big couches to watch the rain. It's like a little slice of heaven." Or a slice of Asgard, though from what Ull told me they were pretty much the same.

"It does sound... impressive," Emma begrudgingly admitted. "But you really don't have anything juicier to share? Come on, K! Spill, are you two, like, dating?"

Dating. It seemed so ordinary a word – it didn't exactly cover Ull's pledge to share his world with me, or my secret plot to circumvent Asgard's ban on humans. But dating would have to do.

"Yes. We're dating." I flushed.

"You go, girl. A month into the semester and you've snagged the most eligible bachelor on campus." Victoria sighed with satisfaction. "I told you your outfit was perfect."

Emma laughed. "Leave it to Victoria to make it all about clothes!"

Once my roommates were asleep, I closed my door and booted up my laptop. I'd left Ýdalir with more questions than answers, thanks to the discovery that my boyfriend was a god – an Asgardian assassin no less. I knew he'd given me all the information he was willing to share for now, so I felt only a little guilty turning to the Internet for answers.

The Google did not disappoint. I typed in "Norse gods" and came up with a slew of websites relaying the stories Mormor told me as a child. There was Sif, the Warrior Goddess of Beauty. And Thor, all-powerful with his mighty Mjölnir. Odin was there in his eye patch and even Balder was represented, bearing a masculine resemblance to our own Lady Justice. Each god had a story to tell, and for an hour, I lost myself in their journeys. How different this studying was, knowing these myths were about real people.

Next, I entered "Ull Myhr" and came up with nothing, so I dropped the Myhr and got a whole range of pages. I found everything from some ski festival in Breckenridge honoring the snow god, to a runic drawing of a man on old-fashioned skis – or were they skates? – crossing a river. There were academic papers detailing Ull's parentage, and even a blurb about his rumored assassination by Danes after taking over for Odin. According to the Internet everything Ull had told me about himself was true. But I'd known that much. What I didn't know was how he fared at Ragnarok.

I switched gears, searching for Ragnarok. Everything I found was pretty consistent with what Mormor and Professor Carnicke had preached. The realms would turn on Asgard, with serpents and wolves and every imaginable beast attacking the gods and destroying the earth. Nearly all the gods would die horrible deaths, with an unnamed handful either surviving or being reborn.

Well that was no help. I wanted names. I wanted to see that Ull was going to live. I clicked the next link, then the next, but nothing could tell me who might survive. Ull wasn't even mentioned in the Ragnarok articles. For the first time in my life, the Internet had failed to provide me with the information I needed.

I closed the computer and lay my cheek against its casing. None of this made any sense. According to the Internet, my highly accredited University course, and every story I'd ever been told, Ragnarok already happened. The Earth was reborn from the aftermath, and descendents of the survivors repopulated the planet. So why was Ull talking like the mythological Norse apocalypse was some looming threat, a to-be-determined gala of destruction? Wasn't it in the past? Obviously, I didn't know everything about the End of the World. And neither did the Internet. Problem was, I didn't have anyone else to ask. Ull was the only god I knew, and I wasn't about to question him on what I knew was a very sensitive issue. I crawled into bed and hoped some rest would slow the fears gnawing at my brain.

* * *

My night was quiet, but my sleep was fitful. Usually, my dreams were filled with visions of Ragnarok or creepy Elf Man or other scary things, but tonight I was replaying my last night at Ýdalir. Ull walked me to my door and declined my romantic overture, just like he had in real life. But in my dream, I tilted my head and stuck out my lower lip.

"Ull," my pout was seriously unladylike, "It's just one more kiss. What's the big deal?"

"Kristia, I cannot," Ull demurred. "You have to understand."

"Oh, I understand all right." I took a step closer, inhaling his woodsy scent. "I understand that you kissed me so thoroughly you're afraid if you do it again, you'll lose control and do something crazy. Is that right?" I trailed a finger through his thick hair, down his jaw, and along the line of his torso and rested my palm flat against his abs.

"That is right," Ull breathed softly. His eyes burned with longing.

"Good," I whispered into his ear. "I want you to do something crazy." I took a step closer, and he wrapped an arm around my waist. "Please, Ull. Just another minute. Then I swear, I'll leave you alone."

He lowered his face to mine, kissing me with such determination I lost all sense of time and space. "Do not ever leave me alone," he growled, and backed me into the guest room.

Against my will, I was sucked out of my dream, back to the tiny room where I lay tangled in my sheets. I was positive my face was so bright I could have made a living as a landing beacon. And I was equally certain my grandmother would have died all over again if she had any idea what I was capable of.

When Ull showed up to walk me to class the next morning, I had a hard time looking him in the eye. I wasn't sure what had come over me the night before, and I wondered when I'd work up the nerve to do something like that in real life.

Today wouldn't be the day. My consummate gentleman came to my door holding a single ivory rose.

"Good morning, Kristia." He handed me the stem.

"Morning." I smiled. "This is beautiful. Thanks." I ducked inside to put it in water. It brought some cheer to our tiny kitchen.

"Anything for you." He took my umbrella as I closed the door behind me. We started walking toward campus. "Speaking of which, I went ahead and ordered you a pair of Hunters. Size six, right?"

"My feet? Yes, six. What are Hunters?"

"Wellies," he clarified. I stared blankly. "Rainboots."

"Oh. Oh! Wow, thank you. That was really nice."

"It was time."

"Ha ha." I glanced at my feet. He wasn't wrong. This pair had seen better days.

"Did you get any of the Mythology reading done last night?"

I blushed. I'd read about mythology all right, but not the text Professor Carnicke had assigned. "Um, no. I was sort of hoping having a Norse god for a tutor would give me an edge."

"So you expect me to be your tutor now?"

"Among other things."

"Oh, Miss Tostenson. What am I going to do with you?" Ull took my hand and we walked to class.

"Sit with me, for starters." I slid into the third row and waved at my usual seatmate. "Henry, this is Ull Myhr. Ull, this is my friend Henry Webster."

"Cheers, Ull. Nice to meet you." Henry stuck out his hand.

"Henry." Ull's nod was curt.

"Relax," I whispered as I got out my laptop. "We're just friends."

"I know," Ull spoke a little too quickly.

"Seriously Ull, you're threatened by _him_?"

"I am nothing of the sort." Ull got out his notebook and clicked the top of his pen. He threw an arm around me with feigned nonchalance, clenching his jaw at Henry's oblivious smile.

How cute.

After class we headed to the Student Union for tea. Ull's mobile rang insistently as I poured milk in my drink. "Sorry darling," he murmured, brushing my forehead with his lips. "It is Olaug. I must take this. Meet you outside." He grabbed his cup and strode to the door, speaking in Norwegian. It was really hot when he did that – even though I could never keep up with the words.

I took my time adding the sugar and headed outside. When I got to Ull, he'd closed his mobile and was staring at the clouds.

"How is everything?"

"Hmm?" He turned to me. "Oh. Fine." In girl-speak, "fine" never meant "fine." But I wasn't fluent in Norse-god.

"'Fine' – Sunday supper might be chicken instead of roast, 'fine', or 'fine' – Ýdalir is infested with rodents and I need an Asgardian assassin here pronto to wipe them out, 'fine'?"

"Do not worry yourself, darling," Ull kissed the top of my head casually as we walked to the library. "Olaug was only giving me a status report. The Norns do not see any threats to Asgard until summer, though they are vague on _which_ summer will spark the trouble."

I had pretty much accepted that a lot of Ull's behavior was cryptic, that many things he did would be mysterious at best, unnerving at worst. I tried to be okay with this. Dating a god wasn't easy, but the way I felt about Ull was worth the uncertainty about our future. He handed me my tea, and we walked to the library, deep in our own thoughts. Ull broke the silence once we'd settled into the coveted leather chairs next to the fireplace.

"Would you like to double-date with my roommates this weekend?"

"Gunnar and Inga? Um, sure. That sounds nice." I knew it was a ploy to distract me, but it worked. I was pretty easily distracted these days. Gunnar and Inga were gods – what would we talk about? Would they be as easy to be around as Ull? Why were they here? Was it just to support their friend? That obsessive part of my brain normally devoted to school took over, and I forgot all about Ull's conversation with Olaug. He smiled as he leaned back in his chair, immersing himself in his textbook while my mind went into overdrive.

# Chapter 12

I'd never had a harder time dressing than I did the night of our double date with Gunnar and Inga. Victoria was ready to kill me by the time she finally shooed me out the door.

"No, Kristia. Listen to me! You cannot wear that blouse. It says 'I am trying too hard. I want you to like me.' You must wear this dress. It says, 'I am easygoing and fun. No high maintenance here. Oh, but oops – I'm also really cute and quite clever.'"

"The dress says all that?" Emma was dumbfounded.

"It does." Victoria nodded sagely.

"Fine." I snatched the dress from her hands and pulled off my blouse, not caring what I wore anymore. I'd tried on at least fifteen different outfits, and none of them felt good enough to wear to meet Ull's friends. This was another situation on which the etiquette police were silent.

"Do you have your conversation points ready?" With the aid of the Internet, Emma had helped me brainstorm a list of appropriate topics to discuss when meeting one's boyfriend's friends. She'd even diagrammed them onto a spreadsheet. I'd been studying it all day.

"Yes." I ticked them off from memory. "What are your classes? How did you choose Cardiff? Where are you from?" Okay, obviously that one wasn't going to make the cut. _How is the weather in Asgard this time of year, if I may ask?_ "What sports do you like? Have you ever been to Oregon? Seriously Emma, I don't know about that last one. I'm pretty sure they've never been anywhere near Nehalem."

"True." She nodded. "But it will give them the chance to ask you about your home, and if you haven't been contributing to the conversation, then you'll be able to sparkle." She winked. "You're going to do fine, Kristia."

Fine as a fish in a bear's claw. The thought of meeting Ull's friends had me wound so tight, I jumped at the knock on the door.

"Yes, fine. Bye!" Victoria all but pushed me out the door and into the surprised arms of my date.

I smiled nervously. "Let's do this."

As Ull drove me to the pub where we were meeting his friends, he explained that Gunnar and Inga were his only confidantes here. His circle of human companions was limited to me.

"Despite my choice to live in your realm, I keep your kind at arm's length – I generally try to follow Asgardian law. Gunnar and Inga were the only ones I was able to confide in here, until I met you."

My nerves melted a little bit – I was secretly pleased to be the first mortal he'd ever welcomed into his life. Ull was very guarded, and it was a big deal to be let in.

"So if our futures can't mix, then by dating you, am I making you a criminal?"

"Pretty much." He grinned.

"What do your friends think about that?" I grinned back. Kristia Tostenson, outlaw. Ardis would have been so proud. Mormor might have felt a little differently.

"They are oddly supportive."

"Tell me about them." In a matter of minutes, I'd be face to face with two more Norse gods. As my nerves had removed all memory of Emma's carefully crafted conversation points, I needed something to talk about besides the weather. Or heaven forbid, the cleanliness of Cardiff. I was _not_ going down that road again.

"Well, Gunnar is my oldest friend. He has come with me to most of the universities I have attended in Europe, and a few in the States. He is a tremendous athlete and an even better fighter." By now, we'd reached the restaurant and were walking to our table. "And here he is. Gunnar!" I recognized him from my first night at Cardiff. Gunnar was tall and muscular like Ull, with chocolate-brown hair that stood in spikes around a tanned face. He had twinkling, green eyes that made him seem mischievous, and a dimple that popped in his left cheek when he smiled. I liked him immediately.

He stood when we reached the table and met Ull with a hearty clap on the back.

"So this is the lass who's tamed our bachelor!" Gunnar reached out to grab me in a warm hug. "It's nice to finally meet you!"

"Here, here." Inga rose and reached across the table to shake my hand in welcome. She was willowy and slim, with long white-blonde hair that swayed as she moved. Her cheekbones were prominent and her enormous blue eyes managed to sparkle, even in the dim lighting. She was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen in real life – maybe even as beautiful as those girls in the fancy bra advertisements. "It's nice to meet you Kristia." She sat back down with inhuman grace. It was like watching water dance.

"Nice to meet you too." If that was what a goddess looked like, why on Earth was Ull dating me? It was hard not to feel inferior.

"It's so nice to finally get to go on a double date. Ull here has made himself quite the third wheel for way too long."

"You said it, doll." Gunnar nodded.

Ull glared at Inga, who shot him an angelic face.

_At her words, I was in a tastefully-decorated living room. The silver-framed photos on the mantel held pictures of Inga, Gunnar, and Ull in various states of amusement – laughing on top of a ski slope, straddling mountain bikes in a forest. Inga was coming out of a doorway I could only assume was a kitchen, carrying a square plate of delicious smelling pastries. She offered me one before curling up on the couch, tucking her long legs beneath her as she sat_.

My insecurities faded a little as I pulled myself out of my vision. Despite her celestial beauty, Inga and I were going to be good friends.

"Oh, Inga. You have always been so patient to put up with me." Ull rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he picked up his menu.

"I have, haven't I?" Inga winked at me. The discussion moved on to what to eat, then fell easily into the banter of old friends. When Gunnar and Inga rose to visit their respective powder rooms, I turned to Ull.

"Sorry, I know this is tacky, but I have to ask. If that's what goddesses look like what are you doing dating a human?"

"Kristia." His cool breath blew on my ear. "You are the loveliest creature I have ever laid eyes on. From the moment I saw you, nothing could have kept me from your side." His finger slid from my ear down my neck, tickling it with a feather-light touch that made my eyes roll closed. He grazed my jaw with his teeth, sending shivers up and down my back. "To think I nearly missed out on this because I was stubborn."

"You stubborn?" I teased. "Never."

"Watch it." Ull nipped at my ear and I let out a soft sigh.

_Yes, sir_.

Gunnar's deliberate cough brought me back to reality. He and Inga slid into the booth. "Sorry to interrupt, but the food's here." Gunnar graciously steered the conversation towards our classes, asking Inga about a term paper she was working on.

"It's nearly finished," her melodic voice paused, "I just need to talk to my professor about a formatting question."

"Is it Professor Krups?" Gunnar grimaced.

"That's right, you had him last term." Inga tilted her head, her blonde hair shaking softly around her shoulders. "How could I forget?"

"Great Odin, Inga. How could you forget?" Ull rolled his eyes.

"Just about drove me mad," Gunnar muttered. Turning to me he explained, "He marked me down half a grade on my final paper for using the wrong font. The wrong font. Who cares about a bloody font?"

"Professor Krups." Inga nodded knowingly. "I had the same thing happen on my first paper, so I want to make sure I've got all my I's dotted and my T's crossed."

"I'm sorry, who is this professor?"

Ull turned to me. "I have not had the privilege of studying under Professor Krups. But I have heard an earful from these two over the past year, and apparently he is a stickler for the little things."

"Just jealous because he couldn't have come up with anything so original," Gunnar grumbled to Inga's amusement.

"Still sore, babe?"

"A font," was all he replied. It was reassuring to hear gods complain about grades and teachers. Maybe this was going to be easier than I'd thought.

Though I wanted desperately to ask Ull's friends about their life outside Cardiff, talk moved to plans for the winter holiday. We only got two weeks of vacation, and Gunnar and Inga were going skiing. I'd planned to stay in town to get a head start on my reading, but Ull proposed a different idea as we drove home.

"I was wondering if you might join me at Ýdalir for Christmas. I was planning to leave after St. Lucia's Day – are you familiar with the holiday?"

"Of course." Mormor had celebrated it every year. "The Scandinavian celebration of light."

"And strength." Ull paused, no doubt thinking of the young saint. Her spirit had been so strong she overcame death.

"And strength," I agreed.

"Well, the mass at our church is beautiful. Inga is going to be this year's Lucia of course. We could head to Bibury after the service, spend the holiday in the country. What do you say?"

"Um, yes. Absolutely, yes." Two weeks alone with Ull sounded very nice. Maybe I could even channel my bolder dream-self to make a move on him. I giggled. My life was so different than it had been a few months ago.

"What is it?" Ull asked of my laugh.

"I'm just happy. For someone who spent pretty much her whole life looking for a place to belong, this is pretty great. I mean... I didn't have any siblings, I was always too shy to make a lot of friends, and as much as I like Nehalem, I didn't exactly fit in." Nothing prohibits assimilation like the whole hamlet thinking you're a loon. "I spent eighteen years feeling like I was watching my life play out without ever really living it. But then I met you, and everything just clicked into place. It's like I'm finally home." I brought my hand to my mouth, embarrassed by my honesty. When we slowed for a stoplight Ull pulled it away.

"Kristia, darling, in all my years, this is the first time I have felt I was where I was meant to be. I am so very _lucky_ that I met you." Blushing fiercely, I was the first to break eye contact. We drove the rest of the way home in silence, our intertwined fingers linking us together.

_"Hello Poppett." Oh, jumping Jezebel. I'd know that voice anywhere, though I'd only heard it twice._

_"Goodbye, Elf Man." I didn't bother opening my eyes. My previous dream had been very enjoyable, and I wasn't terribly pleased this new one interrupted it. "Kindly see yourself out of my head please." No point in being rude, even to an imaginary creature._

_"As you wish." The hissing voice was followed by a snap. I settled comfortably into my blankets, glad I hadn't wasted any energy opening my eyes. The cold wind on my face gave me pause. Unless my window was open... oh, criminy. The dream wasn't over. I wasn't in my bedroom anymore. Based on the big tree to my right, I was pretty sure my bed was now in the garden at Ýdalir. I sat up._

_"Fine, I'll play. But make it snappy Elfie, I'm really tired." My brain was obviously more messed up than I thought._

_"Oh, I can be very fast." The keening sound was to my right, and when I turned he was against me, wrapping a rope around my neck and pulling it taut. The rough fibers cut into my throat. I tried to breathe in, but the movement was painful and pointless._

_"I warned you I would come for you if you tried to join him." The pointy-eared monster sneered. "I can't have you spoiling my plan." A kick to my stomach evicted what little breath I had left, and my lungs collapsed. I clawed at the rope but the crazed man was too strong. His cackling echoed through the fog that crept across my brain. I was slipping under – it would be death by strangulation this time._

_I swatted feebly at the rope, and as I did, my finger caught on Mormor's necklace. I made a weak fist around it, something comforting to hold in my final moment. Suddenly, my hand was hot, and a bright light forced my eyelids closed. I sensed, rather than saw, that the radiance came from my hand – the silver hammer was exploding with luminosity. Beams shot directly into my attacker._

_He pulled back to save himself, dropping the rope as he did so. I gulped in cold air, filling my lungs over and over. He let out a sickening screech as he stumbled backwards, the light piercing his chest with a flood of arrows. He grabbed at the beams to pull them out, but I sensed he was losing the battle_.

I couldn't know for sure, because in the next moment I was back in my room, covered in sweat and clinging to the necklace that had saved my life. When I opened my hand, the hammer was glowing.

I didn't see the Elf Man again while I was at Cardiff. I did, however, decide I needed to see Ull again. Right away. Something really strange was happening, and I didn't want to deal with the visions on my own anymore. Ull had been forthcoming with me, and I had no reason not to trust him with my secret.

"Kristia. Are you all right?" I thought I'd waited until a decent hour to call, but I guessed normal college students weren't up at 7:00 a.m. on the weekend.

"Um, yes. No. I don't know. Can you come over?"

"Of course. I will be right there."

"You don't have to rush or anything..." I trailed off. _Please, please rush._ I needed to get this off my chest.

"I am on my way."

Twenty minutes later, Ull knocked. "I would have been here sooner, but I figured you could use breakfast."

"Earl grey." I took the cup gratefully.

"And chocolate croissants." Ull carried the bag to the coffee table and sat in the corner of the couch. I grabbed a thick blanket and curled up next to him.

"You are up early for a Sunday." Ull wasn't very good at hiding his anxiety. Well that was okay – neither was I.

"Do you remember when you told me about our Norn, Elsker?" I clutched my tea. This was scary for me. I'd never actually come out and admitted what I could do to anyone. Mormor had just always known, and she'd told Ardis for me when we were little. The rest of Nehalem could only guess at the weirdness in my head – I certainly wouldn't spell it out for them.

"I remember."

"And do you remember when you said the Norns could see things – like visions of the future and stuff?"

"Yes." Ull obviously had no idea where I was heading.

"Um, well. You don't think it's weird that they can do that? Have visions? See things?"

"No." Ull looked surprised. "Why would that be weird?"

"Because it's not normal – at least, it's not normal here."

Ull shrugged. "Things are different in Asgard, I suppose. We all have our gifts there – roles we were born to fill. I was born to be a warrior – the titled god thing just sort of happened. Norns are born with visions that will allow them to foresee the future. It is a useful gift." He paused. "It is all very structured, but it is the Asgardian way. I suppose that sounds odd to a human."

"Not really." I sipped at my tea to buy myself one more minute. Ull waited patiently, but I could see his foot jiggling under the blanket. Well, I was nervous too. "I mean, I don't think it's weird they can see things because..." I dropped my head and stared at my hands. "Because I can see things too."

# Chapter 13

"Pardon?" Ull gently lifted my chin with one finger, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"I can see things." I cringed. "The future. Sometimes the past. Apparently some deranged Elf Man who wants me dead. I see things all the time – it's like my brain just shuts down and goes into this different world, and sometimes the world looks a whole lot like your world. Last night, this insane elf dragged me to Ýdalir and tried to kill me, but my necklace shot light at him. He just disappeared, and I don't know what happened to him.

"Another time, I was standing in this field with you, and I was ready to fight these awful monsters that were coming to kill us. Wait," I added hurriedly when I saw the alarmed expression on Ull's face. "I don't just see bad stuff. Sometimes I see good things too – like this really pretty meadow and a pond with swans and a willow tree with silver leaves." Ull forced a neutral expression, but only after I caught a glimpse of fear. I covered my face. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

I expected him to say something right away, but the room was deafening in its silence. I peeked from between my fingers – Ull was sitting still as a statue, staring into the distance with that forced look of calm. "Oh my God. You're going to dump me." I knew I shouldn't have told him.

Ull shook himself. "Kristia, please. I am not going to dump you." He gently tugged my hands away from my face and pulled me into his chest. "To answer your question, no. I do not think you are crazy. I think you have a very special gift – in Asgard, sight like yours would qualify you to become a Norn."

"I don't want to be a Norn. I just want to be normal. I hate my visions – they've kept me outside of everything my whole life, and I just want them to stop."

"But they make you who you are. And who knows, maybe you were given this gift for a purpose."

"Yeah, right. So I could _never_ fit in, anywhere?"

"You fit with me." Ull stroked my back gently. "I want you to tell me when you see these things. I do not like knowing that someone is frightening you, even if it is only in dreams. I am not entirely sure what to make of that..."

"You could write me off as a fruitcake."

"I happen to like fruitcake." Ull kissed the top of my head. I tilted my face up hopefully and he laughed. "Kristia, be good."

"Fine," I harrumphed. "You're really not going to dump me because you think I'm crazy?"

"Who said I do not think you are crazy?" Ull ducked as I swatted at him. "No, darling, I am not going anywhere. I am afraid you are stuck with me for as long as you want me."

"Good. Forever, then." I snuggled in closer, practically wilting in relief.

"Forever."

With each flip of my "Water Fowl Of The Week" desk calendar, I grew closer to Inga. I could go to her with just about anything, and she never judged me. Since I couldn't exactly share Ull's secret with my human friends, Inga was the only one I could talk to about dating a god. She didn't completely understand – she'd fallen in love with Gunnar as a goddess in her own right – but she was a good listener. And at least she knew the whole truth.

One afternoon, I showed up at Inga's house with full hands. Ull planted a light kiss on my cheek before he and Gunnar darted out to the driving range to blow off some midterm-exam steam. As they ran out, I stared at their matching red and blue argyle golf pants.

"Don't ask." Inga swept in, gracefully taking my contraband. "They say the pants are patriotic."

"I think they're kind of cute."

"Young love is blind. Hello, mortal." Her grin was infectious.

"Hello, goddess," I teased back.

"Earl Grey and a Latte?" She nodded to the cups.

"Correct." I dug in my bag and pulled out a grease-spotted package. "And this..." Inga's eyes lit up at the sinful smell.

"Cupcakes!" Her squeal filled the room like a hundred bells. I could never get used to the ethereal sound. "Puff Pastries is my favorite bakery!"

"I know. I figured we could use reinforcements." Our boy-free afternoon involved a marathon of terrible reality shows. So long as we were rotting our minds, we might as well throw in our teeth for good measure.

"Thanks!" Inga traveled to the kitchen so quickly, her gold tunic flew behind her thin frame. She returned in the same movement, with the cupcakes arranged on a square plate. Her trip had taken less than two seconds.

"Inga? What was that?"

"Oh. Are we still supposed to be acting human in front of you? Sorry." Inga sat with deliberate slowness.

I had to laugh. "So you guys are fast?"

"Well I'm faster than most. Especially for a non-titled goddess. The Titleds get extra abilities."

"You don't have a title?" I hoped it wasn't tacky to ask.

"Nope. Oversight on Odin's part, I like to say."

"Why's that?"

"Because, Kristia. _Obviously_ I'm supposed to have a title."

"And what title would that be?"

"Domestic Goddess."

"Naturally." I had to smile.

We settled into the deep couch, sipping our drinks and eyeing the cakes. When I spotted a framed photo on the mantel, I realized I didn't know how my new friends had gotten together. "When did you know Gunnar was _the one_?"

"No beating around the bush today. Forever on the brain?" I reddened – if she only knew. "Well," Inga sipped at her latte, "I knew a lot earlier than he did, I think. We were best friends in school. He was the only one who was any sort of a challenge at fencing. 'Course, I still beat him." She smiled at the memory. "As we grew up, I fell for his naughty sense of humor. And it didn't hurt that he became one of Asgard's best warriors. So when that giant carried me off–" she waved a hand. "Oh honey, don't look so freaked out. Happens all the time. So when the giant showed up, Gunnar came to my rescue. I think that's when it clicked for him, and it wasn't long before I was off the market." Her expression was angelic.

"What about Ull?"

"Well he's lovely, of course, but far too sensitive for me."

"No, I mean when did you meet Ull?"

"Oh," she laughed. "Sorry! He joined our class when his mom married Thor. Poor guy. It had to be hard to move in with the scariest god. And our classmates were tough on Ull because he was so different. He was bigger than the rest of us, and shy. Gunnar took Ull's side, picked him for partners on school projects. Of course, Ull's temper saved Gunnar from more fights than he wants to remember. So... our pair became a threesome, and we've been that way since."

"Ull has a temper?"

"Oh, yes." Inga nodded seriously. "It's mostly under control now but in a fight he's the last one you want to be pitted against."

I mulled that one over. "Thor is scary?"

"At first. He's actually pretty nice if you get to know him. When we were kids, we'd just see the giant hammer and run." She eyed my necklace. "That's Mjölnir at your neck, isn't it?"

I nodded. "It was my grandmother's. She always told me stories about the gods – myths, I thought back then. I can't believe they turned out to be true."

"You wouldn't believe the stories that are actually true."

"Speaking of that... I hope this isn't inappropriate, but can I ask you something? It's about Ragnarok."

"Okay." Inga sounded guarded. "But you know Ull doesn't want me scaring you off."

"Trust me, I've had more than enough reasons to be scared off." Not the least of which was the deranged Elf Man. "If I was going anywhere, I'd have left by now."

"Well, all right then. Go ahead."

I took a sip of tea. "Well, it's just... why do all my textbooks and the Internet say that Ragnarok happened, like, forever ago, when you guys talk about it like it's still hanging over your heads?"

"Ull talked to you about Ragnarok?" Inga looked surprised.

"Not exactly. But he alludes to these people wanting his family dead and this dark future and all. I'm assuming he means Ragnarok."

"Well, you assume right. And Ragnarok hasn't happened yet. It's coming, and most likely sooner than later."

"But the Internet says–"

"Oh, Kristia. Do you believe everything you read on the Internet?"

"No." _Kind of._

"We wrote those stories ourselves. Somebody, probably a jotun or a dark elf or some other troll, spilled to the humans about this battle that was going to destroy the realms. Naturally, the humans overreacted. We had to come along and clean up the whole mess, which we did by rewriting the stories to look like the battle had already happened and the existing humans were offspring of the survivors." Inga bit into a cupcake. "Mortals are so dramatic. They'd have killed each other off in their panic, if we hadn't stopped them. They gobbled up our little 'myths' – anything to tell themselves they were safe."

"So Ragnarok hasn't happened yet?"

"Nope."

"And that means..."

"It means it's still going to happen. But we don't know when, and it's not worth worrying about. Now, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Good. Back to your necklace." Inga reached out to touch it. When her fingers brushed the cold silver, she recoiled as if she'd been shocked. Reaching out again, she held the charm gently. A look of reverence crossed her face.

"Kristia," she breathed. "You said this was your grandmother's. Do you know where she got it?"

This was getting weird. "Um... she said one of her relatives got it from a woman in her village named..." I searched my memory. "Ellie? Ellie Norna, I think."

"Elsker! That sneaky Norn!" Inga laughed, a beautiful tinkling sound. "She's the same rogue Norn who told Ull he'd meet you at Cardiff. She's been plotting to get you together for longer than I thought. Kristia, your necklace is elfin made! It was a treasure of Asgard that disappeared years and years ago. Boy, I'll bet Ull had a _look_ on his face when he saw it. The love of his life he never wanted to meet, wearing stolen Asgardian property!" Her laughter rang throughout the flat. "Ull really didn't tell you about this?" She rolled her eyes. "He is so determined to protect you from everything."

I shook my head, alarmed. "I swear I didn't steal it. My grandmother gave it to me!"

This only made Inga laugh harder. "Try telling that to Odin!" This couldn't be happening. I could feel the anxiety working its way up. "No, no, Kristia. He won't be mad at you. I'm sure Elsker had her reasons. It's just that Odin's spent hundreds of years wondering where that charm got off to. Its mate is in a museum in London – a silver charm with his mark, about the size of your hammer. Odin will probably think it's cute when Ull turns up with the missing Mjölnir around his human girlfriend's neck." She collapsed in a fit of laughter.

I wasn't so sure Odin would be amused with the stolen necklace or the human girlfriend, but it was more than I wanted to worry about right then. "Why did you and Gunnar come to Earth?" When in doubt, deflect.

"Because Ull asked us to." It was that simple. "There's very little we wouldn't do for each other. And speaking of Ull," Inga tucked her legs under her as she leaned back into the cushions, "Are you at all anxious about dating a god? We're not exactly light on the baggage – Ull especially. You're the first girl he's ever let himself get close to you know. Goddess _or_ mortal."

"Well..." It wasn't like I could talk to Ardis or Emma about this. Inga was the only girl on Earth I could actually be honest with. "It's overwhelming sometimes. I mean, Ull is perfect. He's so smart, so thoughtful – he actually stopped traffic in Bibury to let an old lady cross the street. He dotes on Olaug; he's ridiculously hot, and he's got this antiquated sense of decency. I mean he has _never_ , _ever_ done anything remotely inappropriate with me. Ever. He's just..." What more could I say? "I'm kind of afraid I'm not good enough for him."

"Oh Kristia, stop that. You are plenty good enough for Ull. You're smart enough to earn a spot at Wales' top university. You're a wonderful friend to me – and I've never had a human friend. And you're strong in your own way; you've taken all of this in stride and never once complained."

"But he deserves so much more. I'm no goddess."

Inga's eyes crinkled. "True. But you've done something no goddess could. You softened Ull's heart."

I looked up tentatively.

"Listen, I've known Ull for a long time. He's the headstrong, overbearing brother I never knew I wanted. And for as long as I've known him, Ull's biggest fear has been losing the people he loves. It's why he closed his heart the day we learned Asgard was fated to fall."

"What are you talking about?"

"When a class reaches a certain age, Odin comes to talk about Ragnarok." Fire sparked across Inga's eyes. "Odin tells a room full of children they are all destined to die for the greater good of humankind. It's devastating news, but most of us figure Ragnarok is too far in the future to worry about. Not Ull – he never got past knowing he was marked and he refused to get close to anyone but Gunnar and I. He didn't want to develop relationships he knew would end. I think it came from losing his birth father at such a young age. So Gunnar and I went on to fall in love and get married. And Ull never dated anyone. Ever. He had lots of chances, but he wouldn't let anyone in."

"That's awful." My heart broke for the boy who'd been too young to learn his fate. I was more grateful than ever for Inga, Gunnar, and Olaug – without them, Ull would have spent his life completely alone.

"But now he has you," Inga said simply. "And you complement our trio perfectly. It's almost as if you were born to be one of us. Well," she paused, "maybe you were."

"Um, yeah. I was born to be a god."

"It's not impossible, Kristia," Inga said with disdain before her hands flew to her face.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, no. Ull would kill me. I'm not supposed to talk to you about this."

"Inga, my immortal boyfriend is threatening to give up his godliness to live a human life with me, ending any chance he could have of defending himself at Ragnarok. If you know of another way, you have to tell me."

"Oh.... shoot. Okay. But you cannot tell Ull I'm the one who told you."

I held up my hand. "Girl Scout's Honor."

Inga took a deep breath before blurting out, "Ull doesn't have to become a human for you to be together. You can become a god."

A piece of cupcake lodged in my throat, and I coughed trying to free it. I'd pictured as much in my most recent Ragnarok nightmare, but I thought it was just a dream. "That's not possible. Odin would never let a human become a god. Ull said he already asked your dad."

Inga shook her head vehemently. "Ull didn't tell you the whole story. Dad also told him a god once defected to be with a mortal, so Dad and Odin put together a test for a human to become a god. There was no way Odin was going to lose another warrior before Ragnarok, even if it meant letting a human into Asgard."

I held my breath as she continued.

"The test is simple. First, a god must choose a human for his wife. Second, Balder must judge the human worthy of the title Protector of Asgard. Third, the human must relinquish her mortality. The formula's been in place for centuries, but nobody knows about it. I figure Dad only told me because he knew your boyfriend would be too stubborn to invite you." She shook her head at my expression. "Oh come on, do you really think Odin would let Ull go so easily? He'd much rather let you in than lose his best warrior. You watch – before this plays out you'll be one of us." My head spun as she finished. "Kristia Tostenson, you are, plainly, the only human in the history of mankind who has a shot at becoming a god!"

* * *

I wish I could say I handled the news in stride. I spent the better part of that night staring at my ceiling, actively seeking its imperfections to avoid thinking about what I'd learned. When I'd discovered every crack and dimple, I moved on to scouring the walls, then counted the leaves of the tree outside my window. By the time I'd reached three hundred, seventy-four, I was no closer to sleep and had to accept the futility of my exercise. I gave my mind over to the obsession it had avoided all day and waited for the panic attack to come.

My stomach churned like a blade at a cheese factory while I replayed Inga's words in my head. A shot at becoming a god. How was that even possible? I slowly worked through the ramifications. _Superhuman abilities, Ull's equal in every way._ That sounded pretty nice. _A life marked for death, unimaginable responsibilities._ Not so good.

I'd never really thought about my death, what with my being eighteen and healthy. And I wasn't so keen on the idea of dying at the hands of some bloodthirsty monster or being hauled off by a giant like Inga. _Divine status, the power to control the elements._ My limited imagination had barely let me play dress-up with Ardis when we were kids; I'd certainly never seen myself becoming immortal. _Prejudiced Asgardians, knowing I would always be inferior._ That was a hard one.

I already had something of a complex – I wasn't the prettiest, the smartest, or the most coordinated among humans. How would I fare as a god? _Ageless beauty, strength and grace._ Well, that would certainly help with the inferiority complex. _Leaving my family behind, losing my mortality_. My throat swelled. Was I really willing to give up my parents and Ardis? And my mortality... was I really ready to end my life at eighteen?

True, it hadn't been much of a life before Ull came into it. But I didn't know the first thing about being an immortal. How could I possibly commit to it for an eternity? _An eternity with Ull._ My mind stopped. An eternity with Ull. That was all I wanted. Unending time with the man I loved. Whatever the costs, whatever the losses, would any of it matter as long as we were together?

My decision was made before I realized I had committed. I doubted it had ever been in question. Whatever the fallout, if he asked me to spend my life with him, I would be at Ull's side. As a god.

Once I'd made up my mind, it was surprisingly easy to avoid thinking about giving up my mortality. I kept my decision to myself, and thankfully Inga didn't bring it up. It wasn't like I didn't have plenty to distract me; dating an immortal assassin kept me plenty occupied.

"Anyone want a hot chocolate?" I offered. The semester was nearly over. These days, Ull, and I spent our evenings cramming for exams in my living room.

"Got anything stronger?" Emma looked up from the reading chair. Her Statistics book was on her lap, littered with sticky notes and highlighter marks.

"Not going so great?" I shook my head sympathetically as I rose from the table and pushed in my chair.

"Not even close," Emma complained. "I cannot remember this formula to save my life."

"Maybe Henry could help. I'm sure he'd be happy to come up with a pneumonic or whatever it is you math people use when you're stuck." I started to cross to the kitchen, but Ull grabbed my elbow as I passed. He slid his fingers down my arm slowly, raising my hand to his mouth and pressing my palm against his lips. My skin seared under the contact. It was an innocent enough gesture, but his eyes held mine as he pulled away. And the look behind them was definitely _not_ innocent.

"Do you want a hot chocolate?" I squeaked.

"I want whatever you are offering." Ull raised an eyebrow as he let go of my hand.

Emma let out a low whistle. "You two need a room?"

"No," I blurted, rushing to the kitchen in a fog of mortification.

"Need some help?" Ull stretched his long legs as he stood. He crossed from the table to the kitchen, where I was pulling out Victoria's milk frother.

"Sure. Want to get out the milk and chocolate syrup?"

"I am on it." Ull opened the fridge while I took the marshmallows out of the cupboard. "You ready for exams?"

"Yes and no." I poured the milk into the container and set it to heat. "Literature should be easy enough. Archaeology might be a little more complicated."

"And Mythology?" Ull took three mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter. Then he stood directly behind me and put his fists on the counter, boxing me in between his arms. "You feeling comfortable with that material?"

"Um ..." My hands shook as I took the lid off the frother and filled the cups.

"Careful," Ull murmured. He used a towel to wipe the drops I'd spilled, his chest pushing against my back as he leaned over.

"Thanks," I whispered. Stirring the chocolate required an unusual amount of concentration. And when Ull ran his fingers over the backs of my hands, I nearly dropped the bag of marshmallows.

"Let me carry those." Ull winked as he left the kitchen, three steaming cups in hand. "Here you go Emma."

"You add anything to it?" She looked up hopefully.

"Three more days," Ull handed her the cup. "Then you are home free."

"Ugh. I hate exams." Emma cradled her cup and buried her head in her textbook. "Stupid Statistics."

"And for you, Miss Tostenson." Ull held up a mug and set it on the table. "Are you coming?"

I walked out of the kitchen on legs that were roughly the consistency of jello.

"Do you want me to quiz you?" Ull offered.

"Okay." I pulled out my chair and sat down. Ull opened his notebook.

"What is the primary function of the Norns?" He asked.

"To predict the fates of gods and mortals, and prophesize the events that shape the formation of the realms," I recited by rote.

"Seems lacking, but that is what the book says. Next question." Ull glanced down. "Who are the Valkyries?"

"Goddesses who travel on winged horses, collect fallen soldiers from battle, and bring them to Odin's hall at Valhalla, where they train to protect Asgard at Ragnarok."

"Correct. And how are the soldiers divided amongst the gods?" Ull questioned.

"Half to Odin, half to Freya."

"You paid attention." Ull nodded his approval.

"Kind of had to." I nudged him with my toe. His eyebrow shot up. "You know what I mean," I hissed.

"Oh, I do." He reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Wish _I_ had someone to quiz _me_ on this boring math stuff. You guys make Mythology sound so exciting." Emma piped up from her chair.

"It can be _very_ exciting." Ull gave me a sideways glance, and I ducked my head. I took a sip of hot chocolate to distract myself. "You have a little something," Ull pointed to my mouth.

_Oops._

"Let me." He reached over and slowly brushed the foam from my upper lip with the pad of his thumb. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I let out an involuntary whimper.

"Oh, honestly." Victoria's voice came from the front door. "Just take her back to your place, and have your way with her, already."

Ull pulled his hand back so quickly my head snapped forward.

"Victoria! I didn't hear you come in." I straightened my notebook.

"Well of course you didn't." She rolled her eyes.

"How was your exam?" Emma asked from her chair.

"Aced it. Now, I just have French and Costume Design, and it'll be winter vacation for _moi_." Victoria hung her coat in the closet and sat on the couch. "Do you all have tests tomorrow?"

"We do," Ull gestured between us. "And speaking of, I should be heading out. Do you feel ready for the morning?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I shrugged. "I'll walk you to the door."

"Bye Ull," Emma trilled from her chair. "Thanks for the hot cocoa!"

" _God natt_ Emma. Victoria." Ull nodded. I followed him to the front door, and pulled his coat from the closet. "Thank you," he murmured as I handed it to him.

"No problem. You could stay longer if you want to," I added hopefully.

"I know I could. But then you would not rest. And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I kept you up late the night before an exam?"

"A really, really good one?" I suggested. This energy between us was going to be the end of me. If I didn't get a solid chunk of alone time with Ull, and soon, I might actually explode.

"Behave." Ull lifted my chin with one finger. He brushed his lips against my cheek before resting his forehead against mine. "I shall see you in the morning. I will be the one bearing bagels and Earl Grey."

"My hero," I sighed.

" _God natt_ , sweetheart."

"Night," I whispered. I stood with my hands pressed against the doorframe as Ull walked into the courtyard. He glanced over his shoulder as he rounded the corner, and the look in his eyes gave me goosebumps in a way the cold English night never could. Thank God it was nearly winter break. Two weeks together at Ýdalir was exactly what I needed.

St. Lucia's Day dawned clear and crisp. Exams were over, and the mood in Unit 4 was jolly as I helped Victoria and Emma pack their suitcases.

"Happy Christmas!" Emma sang out, jubilant at the freedom vacation brought.

"Yes, Happy Christmas," Victoria echoed slyly. "Have a wonderful time with your man. Don't do anything I wouldn't do..."

"So pretty much do anything you want!" Emma ribbed. Victoria threw a pillow at her. "What? You know it's true."

Shrugging, Victoria conceded. "It's true. Enjoy your holiday."

"It's really not like that. I swear." But my protest fell on deaf ears.

"Yes, I'm sure you've been spending months with that spectacular specimen and all you're doing is studying." Victoria snickered. Emma chuckled, amused by my blush.

If only. I was really hoping that two weeks together would weaken Ull's resolve to be a pillar of propriety. Did that make me easy? I giggled, knowing I was probably the last person that term could ever apply to. Ardis always said that I was pure as the driven snow – a label I hated. But who could look at any of the boys from Nehalem without remembering them pulling wings off flies and eating worms? I'd had dates to prom and homecoming of course, but it went without saying, my romantic history was pretty limited.

"Trust me, if anything exciting happens, you'll be the first to know. Now go home. Have a great holiday." The girls hooted and hollered all the way to Victoria's car.

With my friends safely off to see their families, I was left at loose ends. I triple checked the contents of my suitcase against my packing list and was going back a fourth time when Ull appeared at the door. I rushed to it, eagerly bringing my bag with me. He pulled me close, then leaned back to give me a look that made me flush.

"Is this outfit appropriate to watch my Norse-god boyfriend's Norse-goddess friend play Saint Lucia at the Norse church?" I twirled, to Ull's amused smile.

"You look beautiful, Kristia." He leaned in to smell my hair. "Just like always." I blushed again and Ull escorted me to his car.

At the church, we saw twinkling, white lights strung around the roses in the garden and garlands hanging over each entrance. We walked through the courtyard, pausing at the stone bench where Ull had first opened up to me. So much had happened since then, it was hard to remember the time when I'd thought Ull was gone from my life forever. I grimaced – hard, but not impossible. I pushed the memory away and focused on the man standing in front of me. As always, looking at Ull took my breath away. He pulled me to his chest, holding me tightly before gently guiding me into the warm building.

Inside, the atmosphere was festive. Our tiny church was absolutely filled with St. Lucia's day revelers, and we hurried to fill the last two seats in the pew where Gunnar waited.

"That's my girl," came Gunnar's proud whisper. A hush fell over the group as Inga led a procession of young girls up the aisle. They were dressed in simple white robes with garlands on top of their heads, and they held lit candles in their hands. Inga's robe was tied with a crimson sash, and her evergreen crown held a wreath of candles – actual lit candles. I would have set the church on fire in ten seconds flat if I donned a flaming headdress, but Inga walked so gracefully I wanted to cry. She was so beautiful, her pale hair shining in the candlelight. I snuck a look at Gunnar, who beamed with pride. Inga winked sweetly at her husband, gliding up the aisle trailed by little angels. At the front, the girls sang a song in Norwegian as Inga smiled seraphically throughout. The pastor gave a blessing, a handful of women in their bunads gave readings, and Inga glided back up the aisle, trailed by her choir of cherubs.

Ull squeezed my shoulders lightly as the last notes resonated through the room. I leaned into his tall frame and inhaled his delicious scent. The worshippers stood, chatting familiarly, and we followed suit.

"Join me outside?" Ull raised an eyebrow.

"Sure." I put my hand in his and followed him through the crowd, out the side door of the church and into the courtyard. The night air cut through my heavy coat, and I shivered. Ull wrapped his scarf around my neck and guided me to a bench in the corner. It was backed almost against the ivy, positioned at just the right angle to block the evening breeze.

"Is that better?" He asked as he lowered himself onto the bench beside me.

"Much." I nestled underneath his arm, letting him fold me into his embrace. We sat in silence, watching the moonlight bounce off the silvery-grey stones of the courtyard. Somewhere nearby a flower was in bloom, lending its sweet fragrance to the night air. The subtle scent smelled familiar. It was too cold for roses. Did night jasmine bloom in England?

"I am glad you came tonight," Ull said. "It is nice to have you at my side for these things."

"These things?"

"Family things," he clarified. "We celebrate St. Lucia's as a family, and it means a lot to me to have you with Gunnar and Inga and me."

"There's no place I'd rather be," I said honestly. "I love spending time with you guys."

Ull paused, stroking my shoulder with his thumb. He cupped my cheek in one hand, tilting my face upward so he could look into my eyes. The warmth resonating from his smile filled me with a feeling of absolute peace. There was no doubt I was exactly where I belonged.

"I am in love with you, Kristia Tostenson," Ull whispered. "I think I always have been. And I know I always will be."

_I am in love with you_...

He actually said the words. My breath caught. Tears welled in my eyes as his gaze bored right through me. I felt completely exposed, but it wasn't a bad feeling – it was comforting. Ull Myhr was in love with _me_. He knew everything about me, knew my crazy mental tic, my obsessive compulsion with note taking, my inability to get through a day without trying to get him to make out with me... and he loved me anyway. The sexiest man I'd ever met; a living, breathing, Norse deity; was in love with me.

It was unreal.

Ull didn't break eye contact as he rested his forehead against mine. I let out a small sigh, my breath coming in a white puff in the icy air. "I love you too, Ull."

"I know." The corners of his eyes crinkled and he wrapped his arms tightly around me, drawing me into his warmth. "And I am going to spend the rest of my existence making sure you understand the depths of my devotion to you."

"Oh, Ull." My head nuzzled his chest as I inhaled his delicious woodsy scent. "You have no idea–"

"There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you, mate." Gunnar's voice boomed across the courtyard. "Inga's ready to cut the _kransekake_. You coming?"

"In a minute," Ull growled.

"Oops. Did I interrupt something out here?" Gunnar shot us a salacious grin. "Sorry Kristia. But Inga waits for no man. Get your butts inside. _Straks_."

"Fine," Ull grumbled. He lifted me to my feet and guided me by the small of the back into the church. "This is not over," he whispered as he followed the whistling Gunnar.

"I should hope not," I whispered back.

We slipped into the warm hall to rejoin the party. Inga stood laughing with a group of twenty-something women, as Gunnar sidled up to put his hands around her waist. He stole a kiss, and she turned to beam up at him. The women "aw-ed" at the sweet gesture, and Gunnar ducked his head. The moment was small, but it was one I'd never forget.

Thousands of miles from home, I had found a community every bit as tightly-knit as Nehalem. I had found friends who accepted me, in spite of astronomical differences. I had a wonderful guy who, for some unfathomable reason, adored me beyond the bounds of logic. Standing very still, I relished the peace emanating from my center, the deep happiness I'd only known since meeting Ull Myhr. Nestled under his arm, I'd found my happy place.

# Chapter 14

It was dark when we pulled up the tree-lined driveway of Ýdalir, crunching tires on gravel the only sound I could hear. Ull stepped out of the Range Rover, yawning in an uncharacteristic display of exhaustion. He'd been more tired than usual over the past few weeks, probably from worrying about the end-of-the-cosmos battle he was loathe to talk about. I knew he didn't want to scare me, but my fate was so tied to his that anxiety was unavoidable. I couldn't imagine a world without him, and I wished he would open up. If nothing else, I could be a shoulder to... well, talk on. The idea of Ull crying was ridiculous.

Ull carried our suitcases into the house, depositing mine in the guest room. I'd been hoping for some impropriety, but I knew better than to expect anything of the sort. I should have been grateful. Compared to a goddess, I was sure to be a disappointment, so the less experienced he was the better I'd look. On the other hand, Ull, in all his physical perfection, had waited an eternity to be with anyone. I seriously doubted I'd prove worth waiting for.

My thoughts were interrupted by his husky voice inviting me to join him on the terrace. I hurriedly ran a brush through my hair and raced through the living room. I didn't want to waste another minute away from him. Outside, I skidded to a stop while my vision adjusted to the night. "Ull?"

I found him standing beneath the yew dale. He smiled expectantly, holding out one hand in welcome. I locked my eyes on his before staring at the ground. It was so familiar. A circle of candles framed the grass where he waited. They marked a path along the cobblestone walkway, rounding the English roses, leading to where I stood. Thousands of twinkling lights hung from the trees, and more candles stood in hurricane glasses along the stone wall.

It was all so carefully arranged. The lights in the trees winked down at me like the stars overhead. Looking up, I remembered another night, dancing under the stars at my high school's homecoming dance. It had been freezing cold. My date was one of the three Mikes in our class, and he'd been a little too handsy. I'd feigned a need for the powder room and found Ardis hiding in there too. We'd run away from our dud dates, sitting on the football field in our fancy dresses and complaining about how dismal our dating prospects were in such a tiny town. Would we ever meet anyone worthy of our wonderfulness?

I looked to the row of flickering candles in glasses along the wall. My mind moved to another memory, a bonfire on the beach after exams my freshman year at UPN. My platonic lab partner with questionable breath sat next to me on a thick driftwood log, squirming anxiously until he turned to plant an unwanted kiss squarely on my lips. Thankfully I'd had a rare moment of grace, reaching to pick up a rock at just the right moment so the poor guy dove headfirst into the sand. Would my Prince Charming ever show up?

My eyes scanned the garden again, taking in the twinkling lights, the candles framing the tree, and the man standing in the middle of it all, his hand stretched out waiting for me to join him. How had my life gone from pawsy, high school boys in a one-light town to this? I took a tentative step toward Ull and looked around again. The yard was well decorated, even for Ýdalir. Could this be what I thought it was?

Everything clicked into slow motion as I realized what was happening. I made my way forward, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, sure I was going to trip over myself. I was hyper-aware of the cool, English night, the whoosh of a nearby owl taking flight, the sound of the small stones beneath my feet. I zeroed in on the glow from Ull's brilliant eyes.

I made my way to my future, pausing breathlessly before the standing form of my real-life Nordic hero. He reached out to take both of my hands in his, the brilliant white smile never leaving his face. He squeezed my fingers. I breathed in and out, trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

"Kristia Tostenson," Ull began in his deep voice, making my knees weak. "You have changed my life beyond measure. In all my years, I never knew I could feel so peaceful, so at home. I have searched the realms for a place to belong, never seeing it was you I should have been searching for. I am home wherever you are. Where your heart is, mine is at peace. You are my everything."

He dropped to one knee and drew in an uneven breath. The corner of his mouth twitched in a nervous half-smile, and he rubbed his palms together. My heart thudded, and I stopped breathing when Ull reached behind his back to retrieve a small, dark box. His hand shook as he opened it, revealing a circle of diamonds that were exquisite in their simplicity. "Kristia." His voice caught. "I pledge to love you for the rest of my existence. I will protect you and provide you with the happiest home you have ever known. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you have me as your husband?"

I was too overwhelmed to answer. This was a destiny I never imagined in Nehalem. Ull had chosen _me_ , a human from a one-stoplight town. It was beyond belief. I knew what I was going to have to do if I wanted to be a part of his life – become a god, leave my life behind. I was going to have to give up everything I'd ever known. But I'd made my mind up weeks ago. When faced with the decision of whether to choose Ull or choose everything else, there was no contest. I would always choose Ull.

When I finally found my voice it was strong. "Yes. I want to be by your side. Always." He wrapped me in a tremendous embrace and swept me off my feet, spinning me until we fell.

Ull propped himself up on an elbow and brushed a strand of hair from my face. He lowered his body so it hovered over mine and pressed his lips to mine. A hesitant kiss at first, as if he were seeking permission. A slow burn built, and his kiss became less tentative, more urgent. His hand trailed down my ribs, and I grabbed at his hair, pulling him closer. I was overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch, the heat of his lips, and the indescribable charge between us.

I wrapped my leg around his hip, pulling him on top of me. He groaned – it must have been too much. He broke our embrace by rolling onto his back. We lay side by side, staring up at the tree.

"I hope you want a short engagement, my love. What do you think about a summer wedding?"

"That sounds good to me." I rolled to my side so I could look at him.

"Do you think your parents could come out then?"

I shook my head. "We're not really that kind of family. I'll invite them, but I doubt they'd want to come."

"Kristia. I do not understand their... ambivalence." Ull's brow furrowed. "You deserve so much more."

"It's okay. Honest. Mormor helped me make peace with it years ago – some people just aren't wired right, you know?" I shrugged. "Besides, Ardis will come. She was planning to visit Europe for the summer anyway, since I hadn't decided whether to go back to UPN or make a full transfer to Cardiff. But now that I have a reason to stay here..."

"Stay," Ull urged. "Stay with me. Stay at my side forever."

"It's the only place I want to be," I admitted. "I'll put in my paperwork when the term starts. And... we'll get married this summer!" It would be the perfect time – and in just five months. I hated waiting for anything. There was no way I had the patience to be engaged for longer than that.

"Wait." Ull stood and walked behind the tree. He came back with a silver ice bucket holding a bottle and two glasses. Uncorking the champagne, he filled the glasses and handed me one. I sniffed at it.

"I can't drink this. I'm underage." I was not about to abandon a lifetime of following the rules just because I was engaged.

"Kristia, we are in the UK. The drinking age here is eighteen. But it is up to you – I have sparkling water in the house if you prefer." My eyes lit up. I hadn't realized the law was different. In that case, I couldn't think of a better excuse for champagne than my engagement to Ull. I raised my glass. " _Skål_." Ull smiled.

"Cheers," I said back, taking a sip. The bubbles tickled my throat.

"You really want to marry me?" Ull seemed uncertain.

"Oh, yes," I breathed. "I do. You're the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. I had no idea life could be like... well, like this." I gestured around the yard.

"This is only the beginning. Wait until you see where we spend our honeymoon."

"I thought the bride got to make that decision."

"No, darling. The groom makes that decision. The bride makes all the other decisions." I had to laugh. "So tell me, Miss Tostenson, how have you pictured your wedding day?"

"Truthfully? I never gave it much thought."

"Neither did I." Ull chuckled. "Guess that leaves us with a blank slate."

"Well, if I had to come up with something, I'd want it to be small. I'd wear my grandmother's dress and carry ivory roses–"

"Why ivory roses?" Ull interrupted.

I felt my cheeks grow warm. "Because they're in your garden."

He smiled. "I like that."

"And I'd want us to dance under the stars. I've never had a romantic dance under the stars before." Just a couple of really uncomfortable ones.

Ull took the glass from my hand and set it beside the dale. He wrapped an arm around my waist and led me in a slow dance. I tried to follow, but ended up smashing his foot.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"We can work up to steps." Ull pulled me closer, and I rested my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating against my cheek as we swayed back and forth in the moonlight. The cool air caressed my arms as Ull guided me around the outdoor ballroom he'd created. My goose bumps weren't entirely due to the temperature. As the dance ended, he lifted my chin with one finger and kissed me on the lips. " _Jeg elsker deg_ , Kristia. Thank you for making me the happiest god alive."

"I love you too, Ull," I whispered. This was the greatest day of my entire life.

Back in my room, I could barely hold my hand steady to dial the international code through my mobile phone. I kept staring at the sparkling ring on my left hand. But the day would not be complete without this phone call, and I willed myself to dial. When the familiar voice answered, I let out the quietest squeal my excitement would allow. "Ardis, I'm getting married!"

The scream that met my ear wasn't nearly so soft, and I had to pull the phone away to protect what was left of my hearing. "Oh my god, oh my god, when? Where? To Ull? See, I told you it would work out! His parents love you!"

"Well..." I bit my lip. His parents had slipped my mind. "They haven't met me yet. But I think they'll be okay." Would they? I tried not to think about it. Tonight was for celebrating.

"Oh my god. You're getting married! So things are going good," Ardis teased.

"Things are great! We're at his country house–"

"Again? Get on with your bad self!" I didn't have the heart to crush her inflated opinion of me, so I didn't mention our sleeping arrangements. "How did he ask? What does the ring look like? Oh Kristia, I can't believe this is happening!"

"I can't believe it either. I always thought you'd be the first one to get married."

"Are you kidding me? There are way too many guys out there for me to pick just one. Yet." Her giggles filled me with happiness.

"Oh, Ardis, I miss you!"

"I miss you too! Now tell me how he proposed!"

I settled back into the overstuffed pillows, recounting almost every detail of my perfect evening.

"Is he seriously as hot as you say he is? Or are you exaggerating? C'mon, he can't really be that sexy. He's in England." I had to laugh at Ardis' reasoning. She was my best friend in the world. Gosh how I missed her.

I could not wait to introduce her to Ull.

A few days later, I woke up in a cold sweat. My nightmare had been so real, I couldn't be sure this one wasn't a vision. I reminded myself that my visions had never been particularly useful, so this must have been a dream. Ull had gotten a phone call and escaped to his study so I wouldn't hear.

_"Ja," he answered anxiously._

_"Ull, it is happening. The Norns have foreseen Balder's death. It will happen before the snow melts from the mountains – it will be this spring." Olaug's voice crackled through the mobile phone in Norwegian, but somehow I understood all the words. Ull collapsed onto his leather chair._

_"It cannot be so soon. It cannot happen in Kristia's lifetime."_

_"I am sorry Ull. Ragnarok is beginning. The giants and dark elves have begun to move together, someone is already organizing the attack. All that is left is for Balder to die – it will give our enemies the opening they need to start this fight. It will happen within five months."_

_"Ragnarok." Ull dropped the phone and closed his eyes, silent tears falling._

I woke up in a panic.

# Chapter 15

I should have told **** Ull about my dream the minute I woke up, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

" _God morgen_ ," Ull greeted me in the kitchen. He stood at the stove wearing a thick sweater and wielding a spatula. "Have a seat." He kissed me softly and gestured to the stool at the island.

"Pancakes today? Yum." I was famished.

"You will need your energy. We are taking a hike."

"Where to today?"

"I want to show you my favorite plants in Bibury. And the willows off the Coln are a good couple of miles from here." He was so relaxed. It didn't seem right to kill the mood by telling him we were all going to die within months. That kind of news could wait until lunchtime.

Of course, I didn't manage to tell him then, either. This wasn't the sort of thing that should be shared over food. I could tell him right before tea time. And I wouldn't think about it until then.

But three hours later, we sat with steaming mugs, and I still hadn't shared my dream. _Coward._

"I win," I gloated. I took a sip of tea as I captured Ull's last checker.

"Again," Ull muttered. My betrothed was surprisingly bad at board games. Petty as it was, I was pleased to find one thing I could do better than him.

A low buzzing broke his focus, and he eyed the ringing mobile. I was immobilized by sudden terror. "I apologize, darling." He kissed my clammy forehead. "I will only be a minute." And he darted into the study speaking hurriedly in Norwegian. It was hot when he did that, but for once I was too horrified to notice. " _Ja_?" I heard him say. Oh, no, no, no. Criminy, no. I was too late to warn him.

I crept towards the study, not wanting him to know I was eavesdropping. I heard him collapse into the leather chair. "It cannot be so soon," he whispered. "It cannot happen in Kristia's lifetime." I clapped both hands over my mouth. Ull was silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke his voice was filled with dread. "Ragnarok."

I walked to the kitchen, adrenaline pulsing. Why hadn't I said something sooner? I should have warned him this call was coming. And what was happening to my normally hapless visions? Where were the toenail painting and the laundry folding? That scene played out exactly the way it had in my dream. Oh my God, Ragnarok was coming. And my visions were giving me a front row seat.

I waited for Ull to come out of his study, but he stayed put. I puttered around the kitchen, appreciating that Olaug left the fridge and pantry well stocked in her absence. Guilt made me hungry. I put the pitcher of waffle batter on the counter, and was looking for Ull's favorite jam in the pantry when I heard him collapse on the couch. My heart sank. He'd asked me to tell him about my visions, and I'd been too chicken. Would he want to know that I knew? Or should I let him tell me in his own time?

"Who was that?" My voice was so high he should have seen right through me.

"Uh, it was Gunnar." His eyes darted back and forth, thick worry lines between his brows giving him away. "He wanted to say Happy Christmas."

"Is that all?"

Ull balled his fists and tried to look calm. "That's all." He was trying so hard to protect me. I couldn't let him suffer anything else on his own.

"Ull, I know. I know it was Olaug and that Balder's going to die. I know Ragnarok is coming." I wiped my palms on my pants.

"Were you eavesdropping? Wait, even if you were, how would you know that? Olaug used Norwegian. Do you speak Norwegian now too?"

I grimaced. "No more than yesterday. I just... ugh, I'm a huge coward. I'm sorry, I should have told you this morning. But you were so happy, and we were having such a nice time, I didn't want to bring you down. I'll be more honest about what I see, I swear I will. I just couldn't upset you. I'm so sorry–"

"Kristia, slow down. What are you talking about?"

"I had a dream last night. Or a vision, I guess. It's hard to tell what's what anymore. Olaug called, she told you Ragnarok was starting. Real soon." With all I'd learned in the past few months, I should have known that it would come true in my lifetime – the stories Mormor told me, the nightmares I'd had ever since. The battle that would end our worlds. Oh my God, this was really happening. I rubbed at my temples.

Ull shook his head. "I tried never to speak of Ragnarok – I did not want you to worry."

"Not worry? Ull, we met in Mythology Class. Professor Carnicke talked about Ragnarok the first day of school. You told me you had a dark future. And you told me you're a god. Between what I already knew and what I picked up from a quick Google search, I know _all_ about Ragnarok." I crossed to the couch and knelt beside him. "It's the digital age – not Viking times."

"I apologize Kristia. I only wanted to protect you."

"You're going to have to start trusting me sometime."

"I know." Ull rubbed his forehead.

"And Ull." I lifted his chin until he met my eyes. "You don't have to die. You know that, right?" Granted, the Internet was more than clear on what was going to happen to most of the gods and the earth come Ragnarok, but Inga swore that was all hearsay – fabrications by Asgardians to protect insecure humans. I was choosing to believe Inga. "You don't have to let some silly prophecy run your life. You can do that for yourself."

"Even gods cannot escape the fates." Ull shook his head sadly. "In theory the future can change. But the Norns have prophesied our fall at Ragnarok for as long as I have been alive. Nothing has ever altered it. And I doubt anything can."

He looked so hopeless. I sat next to my morose idol on the couch, wishing more than anything that there was something I could do. "Ull," I laid my head on his shoulder, "you do have some control here. You can fight. You don't have to resign yourself to this awful future because some Norns said so. I don't understand how you can just accept their word as law."

"You wouldn't." His eyes filled with a hundred lifetimes of sorrow. "Because it is so different for mortals. But for us, their predictions become truths. I wish it were otherwise."

He really believed all this prophecy stuff. "Oh Ull." There was nothing else to say. Ull rested his head on mine.

"I thought we had more time. I thought we could live out our human lives, grow old, pass on, long before any of this came to be." He was despondent. "I cannot protect you after all. I am so sorry, Kristia." Oh, crumbs on a cracker. Ull was crying. His silent tears fell onto my cheek, and I pressed my hand to the chest of the deity whose greatest fear was coming true. I couldn't let him face this. There was one thing I could do. Ull would not lose one more person he loved.

"Listen, I know something else too. I know you aren't going to become a human. Not for me." His body was crumpled in defeat. Shaking my head, I voiced my decision. The decision I'd made weeks ago, that same night Inga had told me it was an option. "Listen to me. I want to be like you. I want to be Goddess of Winter. I want to fight for your family – and for you."

Ull's sharp breath was equaled in severity only by the anger in his eyes. I shouldn't have known about this option. "Absolutely not. Ragnarok is not a joke, Kristia, and it is coming. I will not let you die for me."

"I won't die." I wasn't being stubborn; I really believed my words. "None of us will. Ull, I know I can do this. If I'm with you, then Ragnarok will end without the loss of a single Asgardian life."

Ull's patronizing look made it clear he was unconvinced. "Darling. You do not know what you are talking about. The Three Sisters have predicted our fall at Ragnarok since the beginning of time. Very little escapes their visions."

"Maybe. But they never saw me coming. Elsker never got to tell them about me, remember? So maybe their prophecy would have changed if they'd known what I can do."

"I do not follow."

"You said yourself, my visions are a gift. That I'd qualify to be a Norn if I'd been born like you. So if I can see things, predict what your enemies are going to do... and if they don't even know I exist because of this prophecy..." He still wasn't following. "Ull. Use me! Make me a goddess and let me use my visions to help. I'll be like an undercover agent. Your enemies won't be expecting me since no human has ever become a god. Nobody but Jens and Odin even knew it was an option." The fury in Ull's eyes blazed as he realized it was Inga who had told me too much about his world.

The choices he'd never wanted me to have lay in front of him, and he had no control over my decision. The path to joining his realm was clear. And immediate. Under Odin's test to become a god, only Balder could judge my worthiness, and he would have to do that before someone killed him. Surely Ull knew all of this, and he was beyond angry that I did too.

"You do not know what you are saying. Kristia, if you become a goddess then at Ragnarok, our fates are entwined. You will meet the same end that I will, whatever it may be." I couldn't comprehend the lifetime of sorrow that this prophecy had caused him. No wonder, in his eons of existence, he'd never gotten married. He believed it would be a death sentence for his bride.

"Maybe. But I know a few things you don't."

"Oh really? What exactly do you know?" I could tell Ull wasn't taking me very seriously. My thinly stretched nerves threatened to snap.

"Listen, I know you're going to keep Asgard safe, okay? That you'll imprison whoever is controlling these giants and elves and whatever else is trying to kill us. That you're going to use magic to trap the perp in some silvery bubble so he can't hurt us again." I'd seen as much last week. At the time, I thought it was another dream, but recent events made it clear I had to start taking my dreams a lot more seriously.

"How could you possibly know about the Asgardian prison cell? Or about my magic?"

"Wait, you can actually do magic?"

"Do not change the subject."

"Fine. I saw it in another vision. I didn't tell you because I thought it was a dream. Happy?"

"Not even a little. This is getting too dangerous for you. If our enemies find out everything you know about us... and them..." Ull shook his head. "Kristia, I do not want you to change for me. I cannot allow you to tie your fate to mine."

"Oh, please. Like my fate could ever _not_ be tied to yours. If you are going to... fall," I choked on the word, "then I want to be with you. You are my life and nothing – epic battle, death, homicidal giants – nothing could keep me away from you. I love you," I finished, hoping he understood how true my words were.

"And you would choose..." His eyes studied the floor.

"I would choose to die an Asgardian by your side rather than change a single thing about you. I love you exactly as you are, and I always will."

"Kristia, I cannot allow this."

"I'm sorry, Ull. It's not your choice to make. I'll go to Odin by myself – you know I will. Inga will take me. And you know he'll let me into Asgard if it means keeping you in his army." Ull's eyes burned. He was furious, whether at Inga or me I wasn't sure.

"You would go behind my back?" His voice was so cold I almost checked the windows for frost.

"If it's the only way to save you, then yes." I defied him.

"How could you do this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything to you. I'm doing this for you."

"I do not want this."

"Tough. It's happening. You made this decision the day you asked to borrow my notes." We stared eye to eye, glaring at each other. I was not going to back down.

Ull's shoulders dropped. "Why are you doing this, Kristia? Why do you insist on doing the exact opposite of everything I ask of you?"

My mouth twitched. "Nobody's ever told you no before, have they?"

"Not in this realm."

"Well get used to it."

Ull gave me a shaky look. "Are you certain? Do you have to do this?"

"Absolutely," I declared without hesitation.

"I do not agree with this."

"I do not agree with letting you march off to your death. Guess we're even." We stared at each other. Ull was the first to blink.

"Then we have work to do." He stood in resignation, pulling me to him and kissing the top of my head. "I do not agree with this," he reiterated.

"Do you want me to marry you?"

"Of course I do."

"Then get used to making decisions that work for both of us – not just you."

"This decision does not work for me."

"Fine, then get used to doing things that make your wife happy."

He looked like he wanted to stomp his foot, but I knew I had gotten my way. He led me to the table and sat me on his knee. Opening his laptop, he began the call he had spent his lifetime hoping he'd never have to make. " _God ettermiddag_ , Olaug," he said despondently to her image on the screen. "Kristia wants in. Will you arrange for a meeting with Odin and Balder?"

" _Veldig bra_! _Ja_. __ I would be honored." Olaug knew what this meant. "Kristia, I do hope Odin gives his consent. You would make a fine goddess." She signed off. I sat for a moment as I processed what I might become.

I smiled bravely. "Do you think he'll say yes?"

"I should say absolutely not. He has never allowed it before – it goes against everything he stands for. But with my luck," Ull said wryly, "it is not out of the question."

"Good. Ull, you have to trust me. Everything is going to work out." Ull looked unsteady as he faced a reality he'd feared for an eternity. I cupped his perfect face between my hands. Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed him soundly. He started to pull back, but I held his jaw between my palms, forcing our lips to keep contact. He gave in, wrapping both arms tightly around my waist and crushing my torso to his. I lost myself as his arms held me firmly in place and his lips reminded me of how much was at stake. I released my hold on his face and tangled my fingers in his hair, feeling the strands wrap around my engagement ring. His lips were so warm. His breathing grew heavy and he was the first to pull away.

"Kristia, what are you doing to me?" He groaned. "You cannot kiss me like that to get your way."

"I just did." I smiled lazily. "Now listen. I want to be a god. I can do this. I am going to be just fine. Really."

I wasn't sure which of us I was trying to convince.

I thought the matter was settled, but as we were cleaning up after dinner, Ull brought it up one final time.

"Kristia, are you absolutely certain you want to tie your fate with mine? I cannot escape Ragnarok, but you may still be able to live a happy life with someone else if we somehow save your realm." The words had to hurt him.

"Oh, quit trying to get rid of me." I dried my hands on a dishtowel. "I'm not living in any world that you're not a part of, so stop trying to save me from a fate I don't want to be saved from. Whatever happens, we fight together. And if it comes to it, we die together. But you," I growled, "are not facing _anything_ without me. _Ever_."

Ull's eyes broke my heart, but he pulled me to him, breathing deeply into my hair. I inhaled the invigorating scent of pine that followed him wherever he went and rubbed the knotted muscles of his back beneath my palms. "I don't know how to convince you, Ull, but I know, deep down, that Ragnarok will not be the end of your family. You have to trust me." He looked at me questioningly, then kissed my forehead and poured two cups of tea.

"Kristia Tostenson, you are something else."

I remembered a conversation we'd had in the fall. "Remember when you told me about Elsker? How she told you where to find me?"

"Yes?"

"Well, why did you? Come find me, I mean? According to Inga, you've been following the rules your whole life. Why stop now?"

"Ah." Ull raised his eyebrows. We wandered to the garden with steaming mugs. "That is a good question. I am not entirely sure I know the answer myself. Most likely, I was so lonely I could not take it anymore. I have always done what Asgard asks of me. A warrior lives a terribly isolating existence. Perhaps I just got greedy; felt like I deserved my own happiness." He shrugged. "Things are different for Asgardians than they are for humans. Our lives are laid out for us on the day we are born. The Norns foretell our futures and, with very few exceptions, things play out exactly as they say, all in accordance with the law. I was born to be a warrior first, titled god second, to serve my realm over myself. Duty above all – it is our way."

"That sounds stifling." I couldn't imagine having my life mapped out for me.

"It is. And like I said, I was terribly lonely. When Elsker told me there was someone out there for me, she threw me a lifeline. It was my chance to have what I had always wanted, to not be alone anymore – even if it did openly defy the law. It took me a while to warm to the idea, but eventually I did. It saved me."

"I'm glad you came around."

"I am too.

"Ull?" Knowing this was shaky ground, I trod lightly. "Do you really believe someone else controls your destiny?"

"The Three Sisters – yes. Why?"

"Do you ever get sick of that? Of not feeling in charge of your own life?"

"You have no idea." His voice was dark. "But that is how things are. We each have our posts – some of us are warriors, some control the elements, and some lay out the future. It is our way." He kept saying that. The Asgardian way. "You know, that is part of why I seemed so angry when we first met. I was jealous."

"Jealous?" The God of Winter was jealous of Nehalem's resident nutso?

"Yes. Your life is yours to live – you picked up and moved from Oregon to Wales just because you wanted to."

"You moved from Asgard to Bibury."

"But it is not the same. I must do what is asked of me for the rest of my existence. Even here I am at Odin's beck and call. And you," he stroked my cheek softly, "Your destiny is totally in your hands. Of course I was jealous."

An idea was mulling around in my head, an inkling of why Elsker had sent Ull to me instead of to another Asgardian. Maybe she was sick of these Fate ladies controlling everything and she wanted me to show Ull he had the power to make his own destiny. Being human, I had a totally different perspective than any Asgardian. And maybe Elsker wanted me to do what no Asgardian girl could do – show Ull he could buck the system and take charge of his own life.

" _Jeg elsker deg_ , Kristia," Ull said, taking hold of my hand.

"I love you too." I lowered my head to his chest, thinking of all he had shouldered. I wished more than anything that I could put his mind at ease. I knew everything was going to work out – I just had no idea how.

# Chapter 16

The next day, Ull was in a considerably lighter mood. "Sweetheart," he kissed my head over breakfast, "We will put up a good fight come Ragnarok. But I do not want to think about it anymore. I just want to enjoy our time in the country while we have it."

"Really? Just like that? Aren't you still upset?" I certainly wouldn't have been able to shut off my worry switch.

"I am fine, darling. Let us not talk about it again."

"Fair enough. What do you want to talk about?"

Ull raised an eyebrow. "How about our wedding?"

"Right. Um, who exactly is coming from your side?"

"Probably just my parents and grandfather. Odin does not like to have too many of us away from Asgard at once."

Now it was my turn to worry. First, I was beyond nervous about meeting Ull's parents. Ull's mom had golden hair – not hair the color of gold, but hair actually _made_ of gold. And Thor was, well, a big deal. The most influential person I'd ever spent time with was the Mayor of Nehalem, and he _had_ to be nice to me because he was Ardis' uncle. The rulers of the celestial realm didn't have that obligation.

"Do you think they'll like me? I can't be what they imagined for a daughter-in-law."

"Of course they will like you. Why would you ask?"

"Just wondering." _Wondering if they'll like me enough to make me a god. Wondering if I'll be any good at being divine. Wondering what it'll feel like to be changed. That's all_.

"Darling, you have nothing to worry about on that front." Yeah, right.

I put my worries aside on Christmas morning. When I woke up, I pulled open the curtains to find a thick dusting of snow outside. It coated the grounds in a fresh powder, making the entire countryside look new. I threw my gray ballet sweater on top of the blue pajama pants and tank top I'd worn to bed. The sweater was as close as I would ever get to the graceful dance. I padded in blue, fuzzy slippers toward the smell of apple pastries.

Ull was taking Olaug's tarts out of the oven. I snuck up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He turned with a huge smile and bent to kiss me, his lips hot on mine. Breathing evaded me as my fingers curled into fists against the muscles of his back. He lifted me, drawing me even closer. My need for air won out, and I pulled back gasping.

"Am I ever going to get used to this?"

"I hope not." He smiled. "Happy Christmas, darling."

"Mmm..." I snuggled closer, still in his arms. "It is happy." I breathed in his deliciously woodsy scent and tilted my head up. Ull's chiseled jaw was calling to me, and I stretched on my tiptoes to kiss it.

"I have a gift for you." He untangled himself and reached for a small wrapped box on the counter.

"You mean the diamond engagement ring wasn't my Christmas present?"

Ull laughed, the jovial laugh I loved best. "No, love." He handed me a cup of tea and pointed to the living room. Overnight, he'd transformed it into a pacific-northwestern paradise. Real evergreen garlands hung across the mantel and above the French doors. A six-foot tree stood in the corner, decorated with white lights and red, felt ornaments. Each side of the French doors hosted an evergreen wreath and a fire burned in the fireplace, filling the small space with its warmth.

"Do you like it?" Ull squeezed my hand.

"It's perfect. It smells like home." It did. The evergreens took me thousands of miles back to the forests of Oregon, and the aroma coming from the oven reminded me of the apple pies Mormor used to bake with our Christmas supper.

"That was my goal. Happy Christmas, my love." He held the wrapped box out for me.

"Oh! Wait, I have something for you too." I ran to my room and rummaged through my drawer until I came up with my gift. I'd agonized over what to buy Ull, and I was really excited to give it to him. Racing back to the living room, I skidded to a stop in my slippered feet. "Here." I thrust my present into Ull's hands.

He laughed at my enthusiasm and pulled me down so we both sat on the soft rug in front of the fireplace.

"You first," I said. I couldn't wait. He smiled as I bounced on my knees.

"Hmm." He tugged at the bow with excruciating slowness. "It seems to be stuck." He was teasing me and I couldn't take it.

"Oh just open it already!" I lunged for the present intending to rip the wrapping right off, but Ull was too quick. He pulled it out of my reach, and I nearly fell right into his lap. "Hey," I mumbled as I righted myself. "That's not fair." If my grace didn't step it up once I became a goddess, I was going to be majorly disappointed.

"Sorry, darling, I'll try not to tease you anymore."

"Oh, yeah. Like that'll happen anytime soon."

"True." But he did open the present a little less slowly, shooting teasing glances at me all the while. When he finally got the wrapping paper off, he reached into the box. "A rugby ball. Thank you, darling."

"No, _look_ at the ball."

He did, and recognition dawned. "Is this–"

"I got the whole National team to sign it!"

"How did you get this?"

"Inga and I waited outside the locker room after a game. She had to point out which guys were the players because I had no clue, and we just asked them all to sign."

"Kristia, this is really thoughtful. I love it." He turned the ball over in his hands. "Wow. Thank you." He reached over to hug me. "Nobody has ever done anything like this for me before."

"You deserve it," I said simply. "You're their number one fan."

Ull shook his head. "You are something else, Kristia Tostenson. Now you open yours."

I tugged at the white bow and it slipped off the box. I lifted the lid and inhaled sharply. "Ull," I whispered. "This is too much." Snowflake-shaped, diamond earrings rested on a velvety cushion. I lifted them gently; the light catching and shooting beams across the room. "They're so beautiful."

"They were my mother's." He smiled. "My father gave them to her on their wedding day, and she gave them to me after he died. She told me to give them to the woman I wanted to marry." He took them from my hands and undid their clasps. I put them in my ears very carefully, watching the walls where they cast their reflections from the fire.

"Thank you," I whispered, tears welling. "I can't believe you would give these to me."

"Why, Kristia? You are my family now."

"But they mean so much to you."

"You mean more." I scooted over to him and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "You know," he said with a twinkling eye, "I think I could get used to spending Christmas in the country with you."

"Me too," I murmured. This was shaping up to be the best holiday ever.

The best holiday ever came to a screeching halt two days later. Ull and I were sitting in the garden watching the squirrels chase each other across the low stone fence when Olaug came walking up the back path. She was supposed to be enjoying the holidays with her family, so her presence could only mean one thing.

"It is time," came her cheery greeting. "Odin and Balder are ready to meet with you."

"Now?" This was mortifying. I was wearing jeans and one of Ull's sweaters, hardly the ensemble I'd imagined for meeting my future grandfather-in-law, the ruler of Asgard. Why hadn't I put on something nicer today?

"Now." Olaug smiled. She ushered us inside. I shot Ull a panicky glance as he squeezed my hand.

"You do not have to do this, Kristia." It came out as a plea.

"Yes. I do." I took a deep breath, shook my hair loose from its bun and smoothed the front of my too-big sweater. It was now or never.

Olaug headed to the library, where she pulled a book from the shelf. The wall folded out to reveal a staircase leading down, lit by wall sconces and carpeted in the softest of fabrics. These waters were too deep for me. I shot Ull an accusatory glare. "You didn't tell me you have a secret hideout!"

Ull shrugged. "It never came up." He gestured, and Olaug led the way down the staircase, kicking off what I had no doubt would be a very stressful afternoon.

We walked down to a secret chamber somewhere beneath Ýdalir. Bows, arrows, and a suit of armor filled a dark wooden case, kept safe behind glass doors. Another held a sword and shield, each so massive they could only have been intended for Ull's hands. And still another held skates, snowshoes, skis, and other cold-weather amusements. Dark leather couches were off to one side, and a large table sat beneath a huge screen. A small network of scanners and laptops was in another corner, while a full kitchen nestled behind us.

"So how does this work? How do I show I'm good enough to join you?" My choice was made, but I was completely unprepared. I had no idea how to sell Ull's grandfather on letting me into Asgard. Especially considering, one, Odin didn't like humans, and two, my very existence was threatening to take away one of his best fighters. Tactically, the latter gave me an advantage. Odin would rather take me than lose Ull. But what if Balder said I wasn't good enough? Then what would we do?

Olaug caught my desperate look. "Just be yourself. They are going to love you." Before I knew what was happening, the big screen was filled with the enormous vision of Odin. Long white hair flowed seamlessly into golden robes, and an eye patch covered a battle wound I could only guess at. The remaining eye, crystal blue, pierced through the screen to meet mine with authority. His weathered face was fixed in a gaze that was neither friendly nor openly hostile. My muscles were immobilized.

"Kristia Tostenson," Odin's voice boomed – the sound of thunder. "You wish to join the ranks of Asgard." So there would be no small talk. No nice to meet you; I'm Ull's grandpa. We were jumping right in. But I wasn't moving – Odin had a terrifying presence.

Ull stepped to my side quickly, his hand firmly grasping my own. "This is my love, Grandfather, the woman I have chosen to marry." He held up my hand to show Odin the symbol of his pledge, and Odin glanced at the ring. "You do not have to grant her admission to Asgard, Grandfather. In fact, I would prefer you did not. But if you decline, I will join her in Midgard. I mean no disrespect, and I do not wish to upset you. But I am to spend my life with Kristia, wherever that may be." It was a statement, not a threat, and Odin's displeasure was obvious. I cringed as he looked back at me.

"You are a human, Miss Tostenson. It is unnatural for you to mix with us. Why would you think you are worthy to join Asgard?" Odin wasn't trying to be mean – he genuinely didn't see how I could think so highly of myself. At the moment, neither could I.

"Your highness – your excellence – uh. Sir," I floundered. There was no rule of etiquette that covered this meeting. Even my grandmother would have been at a loss.

Ull squeezed my hand and whispered, "Sir is fine. He is still just my grandfather."

Sir, then. I took a deep breath. The fresh air slowed my heart rate a little, so I took another. Four breaths later, I was composed enough to speak. "Sir, I love your grandson. More than I love my own life. I know what the next few months will hold and I don't care. If Ull is meant to die at Ragnarok, then I'll go down fighting at his side. I don't want to take anything away from him. It would kill me if he left Asgard to live as a human. That's why I want to join you. Fight with you. And if it comes to it, I want to die with you."

Odin's gaze softened the slightest bit, and I hoped my words had made an impact. How could he argue with my willingness to die for his people? He had to see things my way. Odin opened his mouth, and a flicker of hope ran through my chest. But when his eyes fell to my throat I clutched my necklace.

"Miss Tostenson, what is that at your neck?" Mjölnir. The misappropriated elfin-made treasure of Asgard. Oh God, no. No, no, no.

"It's not what you think." I tripped over my own words. "My grandmother gave it to me; I had no idea it was yours. I swear. One of her relatives got it from a woman in their village, Ms. Norna, and I promise, none of us ever knew it was stolen. You can have it back. Here." I started to rip it off but Odin held up a hand to stop me.

"Ms. Norna?" He paused, deep in thought. I could see him working something through in his mind. A smile tugged at his lips, but he changed courses again, keeping me on my toes. "You would die defending Asgard, Miss Tostenson?"

"Yes, sir. I will do whatever it takes to stay with Ull."

Odin thought, processing my declaration while my nerves multiplied. A full minute ticked by. When his words finally came his voice was emotionless. "Miss Tostenson, it is time for Balder to render his judgment."

Another man came into the screen. Tall, thin, his face lined with laughter and eyes crinkled in a smile, Balder looked so kind I felt instantly at ease. I stood, feeling ridiculous, for what felt like hours. Finally, Balder opened his mouth to give his verdict. Ull squeezed my fingers.

"Asgard should be lucky to welcome you, Kristia. Ull," Balder winked, "You have chosen wisely."

I released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and Ull hugged me tightly. "Are you sure?" He whispered into my ear.

"Yes," I whispered back.

"Do you, Kristia Tostenson, accept this invitation to Asgard? Do you willingly relinquish your human life and accept the responsibilities that come as protector and defender of our realm?"

"I do."

"Then there is but one more approval that must be granted." I looked at Ull, but he didn't seem to understand what was happening any more than I did. The test had three prongs: A god must choose a human, Balder must judge her worthy, and she must accept the invitation. We'd done all that. What more was there? "Thor, will you grant your approval? After all, it is by Mjölnir that the magic shall be cast, raising this mortal to Asgard."

Ull's stepfather came into the frame, his enormous stature dwarfing the other two gods. His fiery red hair was unkempt, and he bore the scars of a seasoned warrior. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "My son. Is this the woman you have chosen for your wife?"

"Yes, father," Ull beamed.

"Why have you not chosen Skadi? She is the best of your generation's warriors." Oh Lord, there was another woman.

"Father," Ull was obviously fighting to stay calm, "I have never wished to marry Skadi. You know this."

"But she is your equal in every way."

"No she is not. She is a god. And she is a warrior. But that is all we have in common. She is nothing like me. I will not marry Skadi. I have chosen Kristia. And if you do not approve, then I apologize for disappointing you. But my decision is final."

Thor's eyes flickered to me, and I held his gaze. He stared for a long time before looking back to Ull. "This is not natural, son. Gods are not meant to merge their fates with mortals. You know this." There was no judgment; he was stating a fact.

"I know the law." Ull's tone was flat. "But as I love Kristia, I cannot live without her. It is unimportant to me whether I live as an Asgardian."

"You would give up your immortality? For a human?" Again, Thor bore no malice, but his opinion of my value was clear. It stung.

"Unthinkingly. She is my life."

Thor looked at Ull, then at me, and back again. He shook his head from side to side. "I am sorry, son. I cannot consent to this union. Skadi is the perfect match for you. A partnership with her would strengthen the Asgardian race, breeding stronger warriors and–"

"I am not marrying Skadi," Ull exploded. Thor's eyes darkened.

"And I cannot approve of this union. Mjölnir was not made to provide a means for a human enter Asgard." The two gods glared at each other, Ull's anger radiating in hot waves. After an endless moment, Ull took a breath. When he spoke his voice was composed.

"I am sorry to earn your disapproval. I hoped that you would welcome Kristia to your home as you once welcomed my mother and me. I understand that will not be possible." No, no, no. Panic overtook me as I realized what was happening. Ull gave what I'm sure he thought was a reassuring nod before turning his attention to the hushed discussion on the screen.

"Thor," Odin spoke under his breath, "Ull is one of my best warriors. Balder has deemed the girl worthy. Even I can see the sense of approving this request, and we all know my feelings on this."

Thor shook his head. "I am sorry, Father. I do not agree. This cannot be the best thing for our people."

Odin looked like he wanted to say more, but Balder shook his head. Odin closed his mouth and addressed his son. "Thor, I cannot force your consent. And I cannot perform the transformation without Mjölnir. I do not agree with your choice, but unless you change your mind, my hands are tied." Odin turned to Ull and me. His regret was clear. "I am sorry, Kristia your request is denied." My heart sunk. Denied? That wasn't an option.

That meant Ull would become a human, completely defenseless at Ragnarok. It meant that Ull and I wouldn't be able to fight for his family–I wouldn't be able to fight for him, and our fates were completely out of our control. It meant he would have to give up who he was to be with me. This couldn't be happening.

"I understand, Grandfather. Will you still perform our marriage ceremony? It would not feel right for anyone else to do it." Ull's reply came with a grace I did not feel. How was he so calm?

Odin glanced at Thor before answering kindly. "It will be my honor. Olaug, I will be in touch with instructions for the matrimony." His eyes softened. "Ull, Kristia, be good to one another. Ull has been alone far too long." With that, the screen went dark and we were left staring at the blackness.

# Chapter 17

Ull and I sat on the leather couch, staring at his armor long after Olaug had let herself out. Neither of us could process Thor's decision. I fought against emotion, doing everything I could to not let my despair overwhelm my desire to comfort Ull. He had essentially been kicked out of his family and was about to lose his immortality.

His father had condemned his decision, choosing to lose Ull rather than accept me. Thor's decision needled my fear that I wasn't good enough for his son, but this wasn't about me – it was about saving Ull's immortality. We had to find a way out of this. Thor was right about one thing – I wasn't worth that price.

It was clear Ull wasn't going to be the first to speak, so I sat up. "Ull." Squeezing his arm yielded no response. His gaze never moved from his armor. I wondered if he was thinking about all the battles he'd fought for Asgard, all he'd sacrificed. It wasn't right that he had given so much just to be kicked out. My resolve strengthened. "Ull, Thor is right. You can't give up who you are to be with me."

Ull's head snapped in my direction. "Kristia, do not speak like that. You are the most important thing to me."

"And you are the most important thing to me. But your dad knows what he's talking about. If Asgard has any chance of winning at Ragnarok, it needs to have the strongest warriors possible. If this Skadi girl is such a good fighter, maybe she would make the best partner for you." My voice broke over the words, but I forced myself to go on. "Look, I need to know you are alive and happy, even if we aren't together. I couldn't live with myself if you turned your back on who you are because of me."

"Kristia." Ull's eyes mirrored my pain.

"Will you let me tell your dad what I can do? If my visions can help Asgard, maybe he'll change his mind about me."

"Absolutely not. You have no idea the danger you would be putting yourself into. I will not allow it."

"Well I won't let you abandon your family. You have to fight. Even if it means we can't be together."

Ull slammed his fist into the couch. He let out an agonized sound before dropping his head to his hands. "This is not right. I should not have dragged you into this. I never should have let you seek entry to Asgard."

I rested my fingertips lightly on his bicep. "It was my fault – I'm the one who thought we could have it all. I thought I could have you, and you could still have your immortality. Instead, I've just made a mess of everything. Listen Ull, I... I." My voice broke. This was too hard. "I... can't accept this." I slipped his ring off my finger, fighting the tears. "I can't come between you and your family. I won't be the reason you lose them."

"What are you saying?"

"I can't marry you, Ull. I'm so sorry." I caught just a glimpse of Ull's stunned expression as I put his ring in his palm and raced up the stairs to the main part of the house. Collapsing onto my bed, I gave myself over to waves of grief. My tears flowed freely now, carrying all of the happiness of the past few months. I'd let myself believe this could all work out. I'd even seen myself fighting at Ull's side. How was this happening? The sobbing left a dull ache in my stomach, so I breathed until the numbness came. It was easier than the pain.

After a short eternity, there was a knock at the door. In my haste, I'd forgotten to close it. Through burning eyes, I saw Ull stride purposefully to sit beside me. He propped himself against the pillows to lean against the headboard, lifting me easily into his arms. He took a tissue from the box beside the bed, and dabbed at my bloodshot eyes.

"Kristia Tostenson, you do not get to give gifts back to me."

"Ull," I began. But he stopped me.

"No. You do not get to interrupt either. Now, if you do not want to marry me because you do not like me, or because you have reached the very wise conclusion that a life with me would be far too complicated for you, then I accept that. But if you are giving this back to me," he held up his ring, "out of some misguided effort to protect me... well, then I will not allow it."

"You're not the boss of me," I muttered through my tears. Ull smiled, pleased I hadn't lost all humor.

"Which is it? Is my life too much for you, or are you trying to protect me?"

"Um..." His eyes were endless. Of course I wanted to marry him. How could he ever think otherwise? Oh, right. I'd thrown his ring at him and run out of the room. "Trying to protect you," I mumbled.

"Sweetheart. I need you to listen very carefully." Ull looked at me like I was a disobedient two-year-old. "It was always my intention to leave Asgard. Even before I met you, I was running away. It is not necessarily the life I would have chosen. Meeting you only solidified my decision. From the moment I saw you, I knew I would give up everything if it meant we could be together. So I am not giving up anything _for_ you." I choked back a sob as he brushed the tear from my cheek.

"But what I get is so much greater than anything I might lose. Yes, I will miss some of the perks. But what I feel with you is so much more. I have never felt this peace. Never." He lifted my chin, so I had to look at him. "So, Kristia Tostenson, if I may be so forward as to try to be the boss of you. Do not ever take this off your finger again. Am I understood?" He slid his ring back onto my finger, and my tears started anew. We lay together as I cried myself out, Ull's strong arms wrapped tightly around me.

"What are we going to do?" I whispered when the worst of the tears were over.

"Well," Ull drew small circles on my back with his thumb, "We shall live as all humans do. We plan our wedding. We take our honeymoon. We live as husband and wife, have adventures, share love. When we are very old, we sit on the bench in our garden, with our tea. If Ragnarok comes before then, it comes. There is no sense worrying about it. But I cannot imagine a more beautiful way to spend my life."

"I can't believe your father doesn't approve of me." Years of small town whispers were brought to a head by the scariest god ever.

"It is not that he disapproves of you – you must listen to Thor very carefully. He says exactly what he means. What he said was that Skadi would make a more suitable partner to strengthen the Asgardian race. He does not know you, and he was not judging you. Really," he confirmed as I opened my mouth to protest. I sure felt judged. "Darling, he does not understand the value you could bring to the realm. He does not know anything about you, your heart, your loyalty, your stubbornness." He tweaked my nose.

"My visions?" I'd seen myself fighting next to Ull as a goddess. Had Thor's verdict changed my future?

"No." Ull's brow furrowed. "I will not let him use your visions. I cannot lose you. Kristia, it is not important to me to keep my immortality. Please understand that."

"Well it's not right to turn your back on your family when they need you the most. And it's important to me to protect your world. And mine. Just how are we supposed to convince Thor if you won't let me tell him what I can do?"

"I am not sure that we can." Ull's blow was soft. "But let us not think of it any more tonight." Outside the window, darkness had fallen on Ýdalir.

Glancing at the ring on my finger, I whispered into Ull's chest. "Are you sure you want to marry me? Even if you have to give up your family?"

"You are my family. Marrying you is the one thing I am absolutely sure of. The rest will fall into place." He kept saying that.

"Easy as that, huh?"

"Easy as that." He kissed the top of my head as I fell into an exhausted sleep.

After the week I'd had, Cardiff felt like something from another lifetime. How was I supposed to focus on school when I needed to plan a wedding, make Thor like me, sell Odin on making me a goddess, save Ull's immortality and fight to save the cosmos? Going to class and writing papers seemed like an insanely frivolous waste of time given the enormity of my to-do list.

"Kristia, what is that?" Victoria pointed at my left hand the minute I walked into our flat after winter break.

"What, this little thing?" I waggled my fingers, and Emma ran up to grab my wrist. Their frenzy began; they were worse than hungry hounds at a pheasant hunt.

"Oh my God!" Emma's cheer trilled through the tiny space. "You did it! You got Ull Myhr to propose."

"We definitely chose the right outfits for your trip." Good old Victoria. It was nice to have one thing in my life stay the same.

"Ooh, now we get to buy wedding magazines! We have to scout venues, choose flowers, colors, the cake–"

"Don't go crazy Em," I interrupted. "We're going to have a little ceremony at the Seaman's Church after graduation. No magazines required. Honest."

But she ignored me. The next night, our tiny flat was overrun with thick bridal magazines. None of them were mine.

"Of course she'll wear the satin mermaid gown." Victoria pointed to a glossy page. "The feathers clipped just so on her fascinator." It took me an hour to figure out that a fascinator was a hat.

"Oh, Victoria! She's so going to wear the lace ball gown, the one with the extra crinoline underneath so it has more oomph. And a long veil," Emma countered disdainfully.

"Uh, guys? I'm wearing my grandmother's dress. It's coming in the mail, um, pretty soon I hope." Nobody was listening to me.

Well, it beat thinking about the god thing. And it _was_ kind of fun to look at all the shiny brides.

The next weekend, I knocked on Ull's door. He and Gunnar had gone to a rugby match at Millennium Stadium and Inga and I had a date to watch the Sports Wives marathon. As I'd predicted, Inga had become one of my closest friends, and I knew she'd be happy as a hog in a mud hole about the package I'd brought her.

"Olaug's Apple Tarts!" Inga ripped the bag from my hands and flitted to the kitchen, returning with an artfully arranged platter and two steaming mugs.

"How'd you get these?" She bit into a pastry.

"I found them on my porch. She must have dropped them by on her way to London this morning."

"The little sneak. Bless her heart." Inga gave me a pointed look.

"What?" I mumbled around a full mouth of apple-y goodness.

"You haven't shown me your ring."

"Oh my gosh, Inga!" I held out my hand. It was the first time we'd been together since Ull proposed. "Can you believe we're going to be married?"

"It's about bloody time. Ull has been alone for so long." Everyone kept saying that. "What are you going to do about... well, you know..." The god thing.

"What did Ull tell you?"

"Not a whole lot. He's really private, even after all this time. He did tell us you wanted to join up, but there was some kind of issue with Thor."

"Yeah. I'm not sure what to do about that."

"I am." Inga laughed, bell-like sounds filling the flat. "Ull's private, but I have ways of getting information. When Ull said you wanted to be one of us, I went to my dad."

"Of course you did." Inga was a woman of action and Jens seemed unable to say no to his only daughter. "What did he tell you?"

"Odin is _not_ happy with Thor. Losing Ull this close to Ragnarok – it's one of the worst things that could happen. Ull really is unmatched as a warrior, you know." She beamed. "And if you were to fight under his tutelage, Odin knows you would be a tremendous asset to Asgard too." I tried not to think about studying combat under Ull.

"So what's Odin's plan?"

"Well," she bit her lip, "he's not sure. You can't join us without the magic of Mjölnir, and Odin can't force it against Thor's will. The only way you can become one of us is if you can change Thor's mind. You have to make him want you to be a goddess."

I threw my hands up. "How am I supposed to do that? He hates me."

"No, he doesn't." Inga shook her head. "Kristia, I know Ull went over this with you. Thor doesn't think or do anything that isn't founded entirely on reason. If he believes that you will be a detriment to the realm, he'll never agree to change you. But if you can show him you're an asset, especially now... well, then he might change his mind."

I saw where this was going. But I was trying to follow Ull's edict. "Isn't losing Ull enough reason to change me?"

"It should be, but it's not. Thor thinks Ull will come around, that he'll realize he shouldn't turn his back on Asgard for a girl."

"He shouldn't." I felt sick about that.

"Oh, stop it. Thor shouldn't make him choose. That's what's wrong here." Inga sputtered.

"So I have to convince Thor I can help? That's the only way I'm getting into Asgard?"

"Pretty much. Got any hidden talents?"

Boy did I. "Well. Yes. But Ull doesn't want me to tell Thor about it."

"What is it?"

"I can see the future."

Inga choked on a piece of pastry. "Excuse me?"

"I can see the future. I can't control it or anything, and I hardly ever see anything important."

"And you failed to mention this because..."

"It's kind of embarrassing." I shrugged. "It makes me seem crazy."

"Ull knows about this?" Inga put her plate on the table.

"Yes."

"And he won't let you tell Thor about it? That's the kind of thing that would make him reconsider, for sure."

"I know it is. Ull thinks it's too dangerous. Apparently, people who see things are hot commodities to bad guys."

"He's right about that." Inga picked up her teacup. "Who else knows about this around here?"

"Here? Nobody. Just Ull. I didn't tell Olaug."

"Huh." Inga stared out the window. When she looked back, her eyes were shining. "You're going to tell Thor anyway, aren't you?"

"I'm thinking about it. I don't want to go against Ull, but if there's no other way to change Thor's mind, I kind of have to tell him. Don't I?"

"Yes. You do." Inga picked up the remote and muted the bickering Sports Wives. "Now tell me everything about your ability. We need to come up with a plan."

# Chapter 18

At the end of January, I returned from a weekend at Ýdalir to a big box on my doorstep. I carried it inside and lifted out its contents. My grandmother's wedding dress was so beautiful. It would hardly need to be altered to fit me. A note of parental congratulations rested at the bottom of the box, along with another envelope – this one with my name written in Mormor's handwriting. A faded sticky note on top of the envelope said, "Give to Kristia on her wedding day." Wedding day, my foot.

I ripped open the envelope and started to read.

' _Dearest Kristia_ ,' it began. ' _If you are reading this letter, I did not make it to your wedding. I know you will make a beautiful bride. I wish I could offer you pearls of marital wisdom, but the truth is I just got lucky with your grandfather. I have every confidence that your choice in husband will be just as remarkable._

_Kristia, a few months ago a woman named Elsie joined my bridge club. She only stayed in town for a bit, and just before she left she asked me to give you a note. She may have been a few pies short of picnic, but since I never saw her again, I'll never know for sure._

_Her message is in this envelope. She asked that I not read it, and I honored her request. Something about her made me feel that she really did have your best interests at heart. I hope I wasn't wrong._

_I love you very much, and I wish I could have been there to see you as a bride. Keep your chin up and your shoulders back, and enjoy every minute of your big day._

_Jeg elsker deg,_

_Mormor'_

* * *

My curiosity piqued, I reached into the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. On the outside it read:

_'If Kristia is to marry a man named Ull, please give her this message on or before her wedding day.'_ Well, that was weird.

The message continued on the inside: _'Kristia, If your betrothed is named Ull Myhr, then my Ull has found you. Thank Odin! Your union is the key to saving Asgard and Midgard from destruction at Ragnarok. On the day you were born, I recognized your gift – you are a powerful seer. As a human this was probably inconvenient, but as a goddess your gift will allow you to travel through the realms undetected, to see present and future events. You will foresee the battle plans of Asgard's enemies, and tell Odin how to fight them at Ragnarok. You are to be Asgard's greatest protector._

_Since I was never able to tell the Three Sisters about you, they still believe Ragnarok will mark the end of the gods. And as part of my punishment, I am forbidden from seeking out any Asgardian. But if you should ever need me, hold your grandmother's necklace and say my name. I will find you._

_I wish you and Ull lifetimes of peace and joy._

_Elsker'_

* * *

So I was right. My fingers clutched the two pieces of paper, one from the grandmother I'd loved with all of my heart, and one from a stranger who risked everything to help me find my destiny. I sat for so long, it grew dark outside. I pulled my sweater tight around me. Twenty years of crazy visions made sense now. I played my life back in rewind, thinking of all the things I'd seen that had come to fruition. I'd always thought I was nuttier than a fruitcake in a pecan factory, but now I saw my ability with different eyes. It was the key to convincing Thor I was an asset; my ticket into Asgard. But it wouldn't come cheap – spying on Asgard's enemies could cost me everything.

It was a price I was willing to pay.

"She said what?" I could hear Ull's teeth grinding together through the phone.

"I told you not to freak out. She said what I've been trying to tell you all along – I'm _meant_ to be a goddess. My visions are _meant_ to help Asgard. I'm supposed to use them to spy on our enemies. And if I do, there won't even be a Ragnarok. I was right."

"No. Absolutely not, no. I cannot allow anything happen to you."

"You aren't allowing anything. This is what's meant to be. This is my destiny."

"I absolutely cannot agree to this. I do not care what you believe your destiny to be. Your destiny is not to run headfirst into what is obviously a trap. You could be killed, Kristia. And I could not go on if I lost you."

"You don't think I can handle this, do you? You don't think I'm strong enough." It was impossible to keep the indignation out of my voice.

"It does not matter how strong you are. You are to be my wife, and I will not have the woman I love put herself at risk. Ever."

"You have to believe in me," I pleaded. "I can do this. I know I can."

"You do not know what you are asking," Ull growled. "There are monsters out there that you cannot begin to imagine. You think the trolls from Mythology class sounded scary? Try facing down a battalion of irate fire giants. They burn anything in their path on sight; their uprisings rarely leave a single survivor; and only a handful of Asgard's assassins have ever made it out of Muspelheim alive. And that is just one race. The dark elves have the power to remove your soul. The jotuns can freeze your heart. You have had no combat training – none. Do you really think you are ready to face the demons of our underworlds?"

"Fine. Maybe I'm not ready to go to all those awful places. I didn't say I knew _how_ I was going to help Asgard. But I know I _can_ help Asgard. I _want_ to help Asgard. And whether you sign off on it or not, I am _going_ to help Asgard. Now you can fight me all you want on this. But I have a piece of paper from a renegade Norn that says it's my duty to protect you and your family. And by gum, I am going to do everything in my power to make that happen."

"Why can you not just do as I ask? I am trying to protect you, Kristia!" Ull sounded like he might be shaking.

"Because it's not about me anymore. Elsker put this all together before I was even born. You were always supposed to find me so you could change me. We were meant to be together so we could save our realms."

"Be that as it may, I cannot allow you to do this. You are not to put yourself at risk. I do not know how I would live without you."

It was hard to argue with him when he said things like that. I tried another angle. "Okay, but think about this. Ragnarok is coming, whether I'm a goddess or not. And if I'm human, according to that prophecy, we're all going to die. So I'm a goner in that scenario. At least if we try Elsker's way, we have a chance at a future together."

Rather than admit I had a point, Ull spent a full minute muttering about how this entire situation was too dangerous and how dare Elsker risk his woman's life for the sake of Asgard. It was kind of cute. But it made me realize I'd have to talk to Thor without him. If I was trying save the entire cosmos, I didn't need father _and_ son working against me.

I was grateful to see the number flashing on my mobile. I'd been planning strategy with Inga for the last hour, and it would be a relief to talk to Ardis for a while.

"Inga? Can I call you back later? Ardis is on the other line."

"Sure. Talk soon." Inga hung up and I clicked over.

"Ardis," my relief was audible, "How are you?"

"I'm great!" Her voice was ecstatic. "I got the lead in the musical! I'm going to be Sandy!"

"Wow, that's great – congratulations!" I wracked my brain to try to remember the play Sandy was in. My theatre knowledge was limited. "So you're doing..."

"Grease!" Ardis laughed, a happy sound that lifted me from my mood.

"Sorry, I knew that. I think."

"You did. We only watched it, like, a dozen times when we were little. Remember? We used to sneak the movie into my room, because my parents didn't like the language. It wasn't even that bad!"

"I do remember that. Sorry, I've had a lot on my mind."

"Spill."

"First, let's talk about you. When do your start rehearsals?"

"Next week! The great news is that the show's going to be at the end of the semester, after awards season so critics can come to see us! I might get an agent from it!"

"Oh my gosh, that's incredible."

"I know, right? The bad news is that it's at the end of the semester, so I won't be able to fly out the day after school ends, like we'd planned. I'll make it in time for the wedding though, don't worry." She barely stopped to breathe. "The last performance is two nights before your big day, so I'll catch the first flight out, and with the time change, I should be there a day early. I wouldn't miss that for anything!"

"Oh, Ardis! What would I do without you?"

"Oh, you'd probably be in Nehalem working in your parents' shop and pining away for some half-hunky lumberjack," she laughed.

"That is a disturbingly accurate picture of what could have been. Thanks for the reminder."

"Meh, what are friends for?" I could almost see her shrug, and suddenly I missed her so much my stomach ached. "Now what's going on across the pond?"

"Nothing. Everything. I'm still trying to figure out how to make Ull's parents like me."

"You've got to be kidding. They seriously don't like you?"

"Nope. Not even a little. Well," I amended, "his mom is okay with me. But his dad is definitely not. So I have this... meeting with Ull's dad. Sort of a last ditch effort. My friend Inga is going to help me sell him on why I'll make a good wife for his son."

"Wait, why doesn't his dad think you'll be a good wife?" True friend that she was, Ardis was indignant.

"Turns out he'd sort of planned on Ull marrying this other girl, Skadi, and he still thinks she's a better fit for him than me."

"Seriously? Skadi? What kind of a name is that? I'll bet she's 200 pounds and has messed up teeth."

"Ardis!"

"Well, it's probably true."

"Probably." I grinned, hoping fervently that Skadi was the first ugly goddess in the history of mythology. "But it doesn't matter either way. Ull told him he wouldn't marry Skadi – that he was marrying me, and that was that."

"I like this Ull more every time we talk. He sounds like a real man."

"You have no idea," I muttered. "Problem is, his dad pretty much disowned him for saying that." I wanted to tell Ardis as much as I could without violating Asgard's secrecy. "If Ull marries me, he can never go home again. He won't have his family, and he won't be able to be there for them if they ever need him."

"Kristia. You know that's not true. There is no way this guy's mom is going to lose her son like that. She'll make Ull's dad come around."

"I don't think she can. His dad is super stubborn. The only way he'd change his mind is if I can convince him that I'm as good as Skadi."

"Well that should be easy enough. First of all, your name isn't Skadi. So there's a point in your favor."

I giggled.

"What? Just keeping it real. Second," Ardis picked up steam, "Ull chose _you_. He knows his heart. His dad doesn't, and he can't force him to feel something. Especially for someone named Skadi. You know, I bet she has really bad skin, too."

"I love you Ardis."

"I know. And third, you are so way better for Ull than this Skadi chick. You're smart. You're incredibly kind. You'd do anything to help the people you love. You have fabulous judgment. And you have me rooting for you. You can't lose."

"That simple, huh?"

"That simple." Ardis paused. "I am sorry he's giving you a hard time though. That has to hurt your feelings."

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"Don't worry, Kristia. He'll come around."

"Yeah, maybe. Now tell me all about your play."

"Well, the guy playing Danny is super cute – and he's straight!" With that Ardis was off, giving me a much-needed break from thinking about the task ahead of me.

"He's coming – hurry!" Olaug, Inga and I scrambled into place as Olaug put down the phone that linked to Asgard. It was time. Thor was going to show up on the screen any minute, and this was my only chance to convince him to change me. If this failed, we were out of options. Ull would become a human, the gods would lose at Ragnarok, and Earth and Asgard would disappear forever.

Oh, and we'd all die.

We stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the secret room under Ýdalir, Olaug and Inga flanking my sides for support, our hands clasped together. As we stared at the screen we heard a muted thud followed by heavy footsteps. The sound came from the chamber Olaug told me led to the Bifrost, the passage between Asgard and Earth. We weren't expecting a visitor – we'd been very careful to keep this meeting secret from everyone, especially Ull. Certainly none of us were expecting the enormous man with fiery red hair coming out of the chamber.

"This seemed like something that should be discussed face to face." Thor's gruff voice thundered in the suddenly small space.

You could have pushed me over with a feather. Thor was a hundred times scarier in person. He stood at least a foot over me, sinewy muscles straining against his clothes and an enormous hammer clutched in his left hand. His face was weather worn and his ruddy skin bore the scars of countless battles. But none of that bothered me. I knew what was riding on this meeting, and I couldn't afford to be scared. I narrowed my eyes in determination. I was going to get through to him, no matter how much I wanted to turn and run up the stairs.

Olaug broke our silence. "I am sorry Thor, I did not know to expect you in person. What a treat for Ýdalir to have you. Would you care for a beverage?"

"I would love a cup of tea, thank you Olaug. Hello Inga." He nodded to my friend.

"Hello Thor. Thank you for hearing us today."

"I will hear you. It is all I can promise." His hand tensed reflexively around Mjölnir.

"Sit, please." Olaug motioned for us to gather around the table as she brought Thor his tea. It was an uneasy gathering. Thor dwarfed his chair, but still managed to sit with the agility of a jungle cat poised to attack. I willed my voice to work.

Thankfully, Thor spoke for both of us. "Miss Tostenson, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am sorry for this state of affairs. It pleases me that my son has chosen a companion, but under the circumstances, you can see why I am not in a position to celebrate your union. Losing Ull at this time is a travesty to Asgard, not a cause for revelry."

I wanted to yell, _Then change your mind!_ But I didn't want to sound petulant. Inga gave me a nod. "Thank you for coming, sir. I know this is not a good time for you to be away."

"No, it is not."

"I wouldn't have asked this of you if I didn't truly believe that I could help."

"Miss Tostenson, you are a human. Weak, fickle, and frail by your very nature. How could you possibly help the gods?"

"I can't, not as a human. But I can if you make me one of you."

"I thought I made myself clear on that topic. You are not fit to join Asgard."

"Yes. I am." Thor's brow tensed; he was not used to objections. "I am more fit than you know. Sir," I added as his eyes flashed.

He stood to leave. "I have no time for insolence. Olaug, see that my energies are not wasted again."

"Wait!" I ran in front of the enormous man. He frowned as I blocked his path. "I can save your realm."

Thor's snort bordered on derision. "Miss Tostenson, what can you do that all the forces of Asgard cannot?"

"I can see your enemies' battle plans. I can discover their strategies and report to you. Or I could, any way, if you would make me a god."

"I do not understand."

"Here," I fumbled in my pocket until I pulled out Elsker's note, "This explains everything." My lungs hurt for lack of air until Thor read the note all the way through. The crease on his brow deepened as he read it a second time. He folded the note and handed it back to me.

"This means nothing. Elsker is a traitor." Thor turned and moved towards the Bifrost.

"What are you talking about?" I jumped in front of him again.

"She mingled Ull's fate with a mortal. She was cast out with cause. Now, if you will excuse me." He tried to move around me but I blocked his path. His eyes turned black and he gripped his hammer. It was time to pull out the only card I had left.

"Elsker." I gripped my grandmother's necklace as I said her name. "Elsker, Elsker, Elsker."

"Oh, my." Olaug stepped back as the old woman appeared next to her. Elsker stood four and a half feet tall, tops. Her white hair was pulled up in a bun, and her wrinkled skin had a soft glow.

"Elsker?" I stepped toward her. There were a million things I wanted to say, but only one mattered right now. "I need your help."

"I should say you do." She marched to Thor with surprising dexterity for a woman who looked so frail. "What exactly do you think you are doing, Thor? Shame on you."

"Shame on me?" Thor stepped back out of the Bifrost. "Shame on you! You meddled with my son's future. Cast his fate with some _human_? You deserve your banishment."

"You always were a pigheaded prude. Even as a child. Oh, I remember you well." Elsker stood inches from Thor with her hands on her hips. "You are lucky I was not your Norn."

"We agree on that at least."

"What are you doing, Thor?" Elsker asked again. "My prophesy for Kristia is true. Her visions will save us. But you have to change her."

"I would never go against the Three Sisters. They gave you one rule, Elsker. One rule. And you could not follow it." Thor's eyes blazed.

"You are right. I found The Seer. Would you have turned a blind eye?"

"The Seer? That is not possible." Thor's gaze shifted to me and back to Elsker.

"It is, and I found her. Read the note more carefully." Elsker folded her arms.

"What's going on?" I whispered to Olaug.

"The Seer was one of the first prophecies proclaimed by the Three Sisters, but the identity of The Seer has never been revealed. So much time passed, most of us began to doubt The Seer's existence." I wasn't entirely comfortable with the way Olaug was looking at me.

"What's so special about this Seer?"

"He or she will be able to see everything – past, present and future. Absolute knowledge of the nine realms at all times. It will be an unconquerable power. Odin thought he was The Seer. He gave his eye to Mimir in exchange for knowledge. But Odin was not the chosen one – his sight is vast, but he can only see the present."

"And they think that I'm... that I can..." I was the product of an ancient prophecy?

"We do not think, Kristia." Elsker stopped glaring at Thor long enough to look at me. "We know. Even Thor must know, if he can get over himself long enough to admit he is wrong. Touch her necklace Thor. Go on. Touch it."

"I will do no such thing."

"Why should he touch my necklace?" I whispered to Olaug.

"Because if it's the necklace from the prophecy, to anyone else, it is just a necklace. But when The Seer puts it on, that necklace channels Mjölnir's magic. They were forged from the same piece of metal."

"Touch it, Thor." Elsker was brave. I'd never be able to order Thor around like that.

"Fine. But only to prove what a liar you are." Irritated, Thor marched away from the Bifrost and held his hand to my neck. "May I?"

"Sure," I whispered.

Thor held the charm between two fingers. Nothing happened. He turned to Elsker, still touching the silver. "See you old woman? It is as worthless as your word."

As he spoke a faint beam of light came from the necklace.

"What?" Thor spun around. The necklace shot nine beams in quick succession, each stronger than before. The last beam was so bright I shielded my eyes. When I lowered my arm, the light had dimmed. Inga's hand was over her mouth and Thor was staring at me.

"Great Odin," Inga mouthed. "You're The Seer?"

Olaug bowed her head, then looked at me with awe. My legs shook. Whatever this meant, it was a very big deal to the gods.

"It cannot be. The Seer is human?"

"I have been trying to tell you this for eighteen years." Elsker was impossibly smug.

"And you brought The Seer to my son?"

"Yes. They are the perfect fit. It would take an extraordinary heart to warm Ull's. And it would take an extraordinary warrior to protect The Seer."

"You might want to sit down Thor," Olaug offered.

Thor lowered himself onto the leather chair.

"You too, ladies." Olaug gestured and we sat on the couch while she retreated to the little kitchen and returned with a fresh pot of tea and five cups. Inga and I distributed them quietly.

"What happens now, Elsker?" Thor lifted his cup.

"First of all, you lift my banishment, you nitwit. And apologize." She was a sassy one. I liked her a lot.

"I am sorry Elsker. Odin was wrong to cast you from the realm. I will make sure this is rectified." Thor sounded sincere.

"Thank you." Elsker gave one nod. "Now, agree to change Kristia. The Seer isn't going to be very effective as a human, is she?"

Thor looked at Mjölnir for a long time before he spoke again. "You will use your gift to protect Asgard, Kristia?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will be good to my son?" His words were gentler and something almost like tenderness crept into his eyes.

"Yes sir, I will."

"He has seen much pain in his life. I expect you shall treat him with kindness."

"Of course. Ull is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

He paused again, closing his eyes as he fought against his impulses. Everything he knew was being challenged and I knew this decision cost him. "Then Miss Tostenson." He extended his free hand. "Welcome to Asgard." I winced at the firm handshake. "Ahh, so fragile." He patted my arm. "Well, not for long."

"Thank you, sir," I gasped. I looked at Inga, my eyes wide.

"I shall speak to Odin about our conversation. Of course Kristia's conversion will be known in Asgard, but I think it best if we keep the details of her gift a secret."

"Agreed, Thor. As far as we are concerned, the fewer who know of this the safer Kristia will be. Odin shall be fully briefed, and Ull and Gunnar of course, but no one else." Olaug picked up a notepad and began writing.

"Excellent. And I will ensure you are granted entry to Asgard, with full apologies from my father." Thor stood and rested a hand on Elsker's shoulder. "I cannot believe you found The Seer."

"I cannot believe you ever doubted her." Elsker shook her head.

"I apologize, Kristia." Thor turned and entered the Bifrost. "I am needed in Asgard. You will train her, Olaug? Prepare her for life as a goddess?"

"I shall do my best."

Thor nodded once. "Very well. Inga, Kristia." he nodded to each of us in turn. "I shall see you at the wedding."

"Thank you," I called feebly as he disappeared into the chamber. Good gravy. What had I gotten myself into now?

The moment he was gone, I turned to Elsker. "You're amazing! I can't believe you stood up to Thor like that!"

"I had to. He was being inordinately stubborn." We smiled at each other.

"It's nice to meet you. Er, see you again I guess. I don't remember meeting you the first time."

"You were a cherubic baby." Elsker touched my cheek. "I am so happy Ull went looking for you."

"Oh, no. Ull." We'd gone behind his back and convinced Thor to change me. I wasn't sure what scared me more – fulfilling some ancient prophecy as an all knowing visionary or owning up to Ull about what I'd done. "Um, Elsker? Do you think you could stick around for a couple of hours? Help me soften the blow for Ull? He wasn't very happy with the idea of Thor changing me. He's really not going to like knowing I'm... I'm..."

"The Seer," Elsker said gently. "It is a tremendous honor. And a tremendous responsibility. Are you all right?"

"I think so."

"I will help you." Elsker rubbed my arm.

"We all will." Olaug nodded her assent.

"I'll tell Ull," Inga laughed. "Serves him right."

"And of course I will stay." Elsker patted my hand. "I have waited a long time to see you and Ull together."

"Well, you won't have to wait much longer." Olaug cocked an ear toward the stairs. "He is here."

# Chapter 19

" _Hei ladies."_ Gunnar's voice was both a greeting and a warning. "We're back, early!"

"Wait here," I whispered to Elsker. No need to freak Ull out with the excommunicated Norn the second he walked in the door.

" _Hei hei_ ," Ull's hearty voice bellowed. As far as he was concerned, Gunnar and Inga had joined us for a weekend at Ýdalir to get away from school. He had no idea Olaug helped us plan a secret meeting with Thor, or that Gunnar had taken him fishing to keep Ull out of the house all day. He certainly had no idea Inga and I had been plotting for weeks to get me into Asgard. Just how angry was he going to be?

"In here," Inga called as we rushed up the stairs and into the living room. "We were just, uh..."

"In the garden! We were in the garden!" I finished hurriedly. "Boy, it's a nice day." Time had not improved my acting skills. Inga elbowed me as she rolled her eyes.

"Sure is. Gunnar and I had a great afternoon fishing." I could hear Ull hang his coat on the hook under the mirror, before he carried a cooler into the living room. "Supper is here!" He swaggered with bravado, making me smile despite my nerves.

"I caught the biggest one," Gunnar boasted.

"No, I caught the biggest one," Ull countered.

"Yes, but yours got away, didn't it?" Gunnar patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. "Sorry mate, doesn't count."

"It counts," Ull muttered.

I kissed his cheek. "It counts to me."

Ull looked grateful. "Way bigger than Gunnar's fish."

"Aw, that's why it got away, mate." Gunnar smiled.

"Stop bickering boys, tea is in the garden," Olaug called from outside. She had busied herself bringing tea and cakes to the backyard sitting area and we gratefully followed the sound of her voice. As we gathered around the table Olaug nodded. She wanted me to tell him. Right now. Was she crazy? Inga caught my terrified look but she nodded too.

"What did you girls get up to this afternoon?" Ull asked through a mouth full of scone. Olaug raised an eyebrow. There wouldn't be a better opening. Why did Ull have to choose this moment to be perceptive?

"Funny you should ask that. Um, well, we sort of had a visitor." Do it, Tostenson. Tell him.

"How nice – who was it?" Ull picked up his teacup. It was so fragile in his enormous hand. I hoped it survived my news. It would be a shame to break Olaug's set.

"Uh, well, it was, uh... your dad."

Very deliberately, Ull set his cup down. The china was saved. "Thor was here?"

"Yes. Here. At Ýdalir," I continued unnecessarily.

"Why?"

"Well, see, Inga and I sort of thought that maybe there would be a way to convince him that I should get to be one of you, so we asked him to come and–"

"Inga," Ull thundered. "How could you? Kristia has been through enough!" Ull stood so forcefully that his chair fell to the ground. He started pacing in the small space, crossing from the table to the yew dale and back again in clipped strides. His body started to shake, and the veins in his forearms throbbed as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Ull." I wanted to defend my friend, but he held up a hand to silence me.

"Of all the deceitful, underhanded things you could have done." His voice grew louder with each word. " _Inga Jensson Andersson, how could you do this to her_?"

"I didn't do anything to her Ull. I did it for her." Inga jumped up, hands on her hips. "This is what she wants. You are what she wants." She poked Ull in the chest and he shook with rage.

" _She does not know what she wants_!" Ull thundered.

"Enough!" I couldn't take it anymore. "Stop yelling at her! Inga did this because I asked her to. This is my fault. I want you to be able to protect your family, and I want to be able to protect you. Thor agreed to make me a goddess because I want him to. I can do this Ull – you just have to believe in me!"

"Kristia, how could you ever think I do not believe in you? You are the strongest woman I have ever met. Frustratingly, irritatingly strong in every possible way. You are the only woman who has ever been brave enough to challenge me. Well, except for this one." He glared at Inga. He knelt down so his eyes were level with mine. "But what you want to do is incredibly dangerous. Why would you think this was a good idea?"

"Because she is The Seer." Elsker stepped out of the house. "And she knows it is going to work."

"Kristia is The Seer?" Gunnar clapped his hand to his forehead. "Did not see that one coming. Did you see that, doll?"

Inga shook her head.

"Elsker." Ull stood. "How did – where – what are you doing here?"

"Kristia needed me." Elsker crossed to Ull. She stretched up to touch his cheek. "Oh my sweet boy, you are just going to have to trust her. She will be fine."

"Elsker," Ull enveloped the tiny woman in a hug, "I thought I would never see you again."

"You cannot get rid of me that easily," she tutted. "Now did you hear me? Your fiancé is the one the Three Sisters prophesied."

Ull looked at me, then Elsker, then back to me again. "No."

"Yes," Elsker confirmed.

Ull took my hands and spoke very deliberately. His voice held a reverence. "Kristia? Do you know what this means?"

"I think so."

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"It's kind of out of my hands at this point." I shrugged.

"No it is not. I can take you somewhere until this is all over. Alfheim or–"

"Ull. I am not turning my back on your family. I told you. I want to help."

"And Thor agreed to change you?" Ull tilted his head.

"When Elsker told him I was... what I am... he sort of had to say yes."

"Ull, this is the best possible solution," Inga soothed. "You get to marry Kristia. She gets to be one of us. Thor gets to keep his son. Asgard gets its strongest warrior. Everyone wins."

"Everyone but Kristia." Ull's words came through a clenched jaw.

"What do you mean?"

"Kristia does not win. She has to give up her life to be with me."

"This is what I want," I interrupted.

"You do not know what you want. You are young, Kristia. You do not understand what you are giving up."

"I understand what I'm getting. An eternity with you."

"But you lose so much. You will give up your mortality. Miss out on time with your friends. And you are the one from the prophecy? Every enemy of Asgard will hunt you. They will want your gift. You will require constant protection. You cannot have a normal life."

"I don't want a normal life, Ull. I want you."

"Now, maybe. But what happens in a decade or two? In a century? Are you honestly able to say that you know what you will want for the rest of time?"

"Yes." My hands were planted firmly on my hips.

"You are so stubborn, Kristia!" Ull looked like he wanted to explode.

"And you are so bossy! Aren't you listening? I know I will want you forever. That's the only thing that matters to me. The rest..." I parroted his words. "The rest will work itself out."

"But your friends–"

"I will see them sometimes, just like you would see your friends if you became human. That's enough for me. Ull, you have to trust me. This is the best thing for us, I promise."

"I do not agree with you."

"I know. But you love me. You want me to be happy. And you know I won't be happy if you turn your back on everyone when they need you. This is the only way we can help your family and stay together. I can't marry you if I'm taking anything away from you, and I can't let you give up your immortality. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was planning to talk with Thor, Ull, I really am. I shouldn't have gone behind your back. But this is the only way for us."

"I do not feel right putting you in danger."

"You're not doing anything. This is my choice. And it's going to be all right."

"You do not know that," Ull whispered.

"I actually do." I tapped my head. "Great Seer, remember?"

"Ull, you forget yourself," Olaug said quietly. "As the prophecy stands, if you do not fight – if Asgard does not put forth its absolute best army – then we all die. Kristia included. Remember the foretelling; our enemies will burn the Earth and swallow the sky. Earth and Asgard will both fall. This is the only way to keep her alive."

Ull's shoulders dropped – he was beaten. He, of all of us, lived by that prophecy. It governed almost every decision he'd ever made. Conceding defeat, he glared at Inga and Gunnar. "We are not done talking about this." He turned to Elsker. "And you are on my list for dragging her into this."

"I did not drag her into anything," Elsker countered. "The Three Sisters set her fate centuries ago. I simply located her."

"You have to agree, this is the best thing," Inga pushed.

Ull sighed with weariness that hinted at his real age. "If I agree to this, will you promise to inform me of your visions? Every vision you have. Immediately. No more of this behind-my-back nonsense. If I am going to let you go through with this, you must be honest with me about every single thing you do. Promise you will give me every opportunity to protect you."

"You want total access to my head?"

"Essentially."

"I don't know. Some of the visions are pretty silly." Not to mention I didn't want to lose all semblance of privacy.

"I do not care," he growled. "That is my compromise. Otherwise, the deal is off."

"Fine," I grumbled. "I'll tell you about all of my stupid, insignificant visions as soon as I have them. Happy?"

"Not particularly. But seeing as you are so insistent on defying my wishes, this seems like the only way I can have any control over your safety."

"Well if that's settled, I believe you owe me a thank you." Inga was smug.

"I will thank you when Ragnarok is over and Kristia is safe. Until then, you are on my list too." He looked at Gunnar. "Gunnar, you were in on this? How could you do this to me?"

"Would you cross Inga?" Gunnar shrugged.

"Kristia, are you certain?"

"Absolutely."

Ull sat in defeat and took my hand across the table. "Are you going to defy me for the rest of my existence?"

"Yep."

"You are a brave girl, Kristia Tostenson."

I drew a thin breath. "Brave for you"

"You will prepare her?" Ull turned to Olaug.

"Of course. She will be an exceptional partner for you, Ull. I will see to that."

"She already is." Ull spoke quietly and my cheeks grew warm. "I really have no say in this, do I?"

Gunnar, Inga, Olaug, Elsker and I shook our heads. Inga flashed a victorious smile as she clasped Ull's hand, still firmly clenching my own. "Well now that that's all taken care of... I believe we have a wedding to plan!"

"We?" I looked at Ull.

"Of course. We've been waiting lifetimes for this you know – Ull Myhr, a married man."

"Well–"

"So naturally, we have to make this the absolute best celebration ever. And who better to see to it than yours truly? I'm seeing a seven-tiered cake, gilded chairs, a full marquee with up-lighting..."

Ull raised an eyebrow. "Are you ready to spend an eternity with this lot, darling?"

I didn't know the first thing about what my future would look like. I had no idea what becoming an immortal would entail, and I didn't know anything about being married to a god. But I did know the answer to Ull's question. I leaned across the table and planted a soft kiss on his perfectly pale lips.

"I'm ready."

ENDRE, Book Two in the Elsker Saga, is available at your favorite retailer.

* * *

Learn more on the author's website, or go here to sign up for her mailing list.

# SOUL MARKED

### A Standalone Novel in the I Bring the Fire Universe

**Magic is real, but Tara's life isn't a fairy tale.**

From humble beginnings, Tara's managed to work her way into a great job researching Dark Energy, aka "magic," in Chicago. She has a beautiful house she renovated with her own hands, and a loving extended family, but she hasn't found her soulmate... Not that she believes in soulmates.

Lionel is a Light Elf. Despite being of dubious heritage and being born a peasant, he's risen in the ranks to serve the Elf Queen. Like all true elves, Lionel has a soulmark to identify his soulmate... He just hasn't found her yet.

When Lionel's and Tara's lives collide and Dark Elves strike, they're forced to work together or perish. Friendship and more grows between them, but dangers loom... Tara is more important than she knows, and Lionel is more important than he wants to admit. Both of them have choices to make.

Will Lionel choose a "perfect" love over Tara? How much is Tara willing to give up for a happily ever after?

**They might find that in an uncertain world, the love you struggle for is the only certain thing.**

# Foreword

**_Soul Marked_ is a standalone novel. **It is based in my I Bring the Fire universe, but you need absolutely no knowledge of that universe to enjoy it.

For those of you who are familiar with I Bring the Fire, the events in this story happen between _Fates_ and _Warriors_.

For those of you finding this book after reading _Magic After Midnight_ , the story takes place before the demise of Odin.

**To all readers, new and old, thank you for following me on this journey. Enjoy!**

## 1

# Invisible

Wincing in the dark and dust, crushed in the small space, Tara stretches her arm. She finds the socket, inserts the plug, and hears a beep above her. Stifling a sneeze, Tara says, "I think I fixed your printer, Dr. Eisenberg."

From across the lab comes a distracted, "Mmmm..."

She didn't expect more. Scooting out from under the desk, she sees the doctor, back to her, sitting in front of a computer. Not turning, he says, "I love this interface for the dark energy detector you built me, Tara. I told you that you could do it!"

Tara smiles. "Thank you." She hadn't been so sure, but he'd convinced her to try, and she is pretty proud of the results. It's not as special as he makes it out to be; she'd just combined low-frequency mining communication technology with dark energy detection tech. Still, putting that thing together, and designing the computer interface had been one of the more interesting things she's gotten to do for her job. When she applied for the job for "network support specialist," she hadn't realized how many plugs she'd be inserting into electrical outlets.

Dr. Eisenberg's voice rings with delight. "I can't wait to see my first magical creature!"

It's her turn to be noncommittal. "Mmm..." Dr. Eisenberg is new to Chicago. She's lived here her whole life. She was here the day the world learned that humans aren't alone in the universe. There are other realms, and some of humanity's mythical gods and magical creatures—more scientifically known as "dark energy utilizing lifeforms"—are real. She watched the dust rise from downtown as Loki, the so-called Norse God of Mischief and Chaos, and a handful of AK-47 toting Dark Elves, turned half of Chicago's financial district to dust. Loki vanished, the Dark Elves retreated to Eastern Europe, but visits by trolls, wyrms, and other nasties are fairly regular. Granted, the unicorns are pretty, Thor seems nice, and Odin's people rounding up the Dark Elves and their collaborators around Chernobyl seem to be taking care of the radiation situation there, but her feelings on magical creatures are decidedly mixed.

Peering over his shoulder to check the readouts, her heart falls. Swallowing, she bites her lip, takes a deep breath, and fesses up. "Dr. Eisenberg, I don't think you should thank me."

Spinning in his chair, he looks up at her through his bifocals, a frown on his lips and brows furrowing. "What do you mean?" he huffs.

The small man goes from warm to ice cold in seconds. He's more than a little plump, and right now his cheeks are trembling with what she knows is barely suppressed rage. He can be a difficult guy to work with, but Tara hates to let him down. He gave her, a Liberal Arts major without a computer science or engineering degree, the chance to work on this project, and she's messed up.

Swallowing, she points at the readout. "Well, this is saying that there is a very large sustained energy disruption."

"Yes," Dr. Eisenberg says, eyes narrowing. "What are you getting at?"

Tara gulps. "The only thing that would cause this sort of readout would have to be a wyrm, or an invading army."

Dr. Eisenberg's pale skin goes chalky white.

Holding up a hand, she points to the office at the end of the lab where he's been keeping Tara's device. It's designed to transmit through rock and concrete, and he's been waiting for the guys from building maintenance to install it in the basement so they can test it. "If it was working, we'd have been eaten by now."

Dr. Eisenberg licks his lips nervously. "It's not in my office... or in the basement," he whispers, and then spins in his chair. "Oh my god, oh my god."

Tara's heart skips a beat. She puts her hand on his shoulder. "We have to be calm. Where did you—?"

A deep voice booms, "Be calm about what?"

Tara turns to find Dean Kowalski at the door.

Spinning back around in his chair, Dr. Eisenberg cries, "I put Tara's dark energy detector device in the abandoned Washington-State L station and it's detected a wyrm... or an army."

Tara blinks. Well that tells her the _where_.

"Why is your device somewhere other than this campus?" Kowalski demands.

Dr. Eisenberg pushes his glasses up his nose. "It's Tara's detector, George. You never give her credit."

Tara's eyebrows hike. _Not the time to point_ that _out, Dr. Eisenberg._

Kowalski roars, "Eisenberg, if you were in the abandoned L stop, you were trespassing!"

"You didn't get me authorization to put it in the basement. Now we have to warn the FBI and call 911!" Dr. Eisenberg cries, raising his arms.

"Do you realize the laws you're breaking by putting an unsanctioned surveillance device on public property? And how much money we get from city tax dollars?"

"There isn't any law against that!" Dr. Eisenberg snaps.

Tara looks at the computer screen and the steady yellow dark energy indicator... if it's real, it's a wyrm... not an army.

"Of course there is, and if there isn't, there should be—"

Taking advantage of her invisibility, Tara slips out the door, whips out her phone, and types out a quick warning on her social media channels.

_Thought I saw a wyrm at Washington/State L._

She tags @ChicagoDE—the FBI's handle for their Dark Energy Branch in town. Tara's message is not technically a lie, even if she "saw it" on a readout on a computer. Brow furrowing, she also tags @godofradioshack and @godofsmallengines. They tweet a lot about magic detection devices—she's almost sure they're government techs.

She gets a reply from @godofradioshack almost immediately.

_Thanks @ChiQueen. We're on it._

They trust her. She smiles grimly. This isn't the first time she's let information like this out into the wild when Kowalski had a meltdown about procedures, or proprietary technology, or just "you didn't get my permission for that!"

Moments later, @ChicagoFBI posts a yellow alert for the L line, and Tara nods in satisfaction. Yellow alert is perfect. Red alert would have people trampling each other to get to the exit. Yellow will have them griping about a possible false alarm—which it might be—but heading for the exit anyway. Wyrms are giant, gray, venomous snake things. After you've seen one wyrm, you don't want to see another.

Kowalski storms through the door, not even glancing at her as she slips her phone away. Crossing her arms, she rolls her eyes at his back. His deliberate ignorance of her existence is probably not because she's black, or female, or doesn't have even a Master's degree. It's probably all three. She sighs. She didn't take this job because she wanted to be famous, she took this job because she likes it. The hours aren't stressful—well, they weren't before she started working with Dr. Eisenberg—the health insurance is great, and it seemed like the perfect job to have if you wanted to start a family. She frowns. Not that she has a family, or even a significant other.

Shaking her head, she pats her phone in her pocket. She may be invisible, but she's an invisible person saving the world, and she's ready for any crisis Kowalski, or magic, sends her way.

Lionel stands in the lone Light Elf outpost in the Delta of Sorrows and wishes he could make himself invisible. The night wind is gusty, and branches of the skeletal black swamp trees clack against the outpost's wooden walls. He hears the sounds of beasts and insects in the swamp. Soldiers pass by him, scrutinizing his steward's attire with hard eyes. Around him, he hears whispers. "A steward should not be able to open a World Gate," someone says. Someone else replies, "The peasant who approached us on the Golden Road was his mother... Peasants shouldn't rise to the level of steward to Her Majesty, either."

Lionel feels his ears flush. It is unusual that a peasant as young as Lionel is magical enough to rise to the level of steward. He hates attention being brought to that... it brings up too many awkward questions. _Who is your mother?_ And worse. _Who is your father?_ He shifts on his feet and tries to ignore the gossip.

It's harder to ignore the way his skin crawls to the points of his ears. The Delta of Sorrow's waters twist magic inside out and backward. Even though he'd ridden in on a horse, and had been a good pace above the effluent, the whole trip he'd felt like his hair had been brushed the wrong way. Now he feels like the black trees, angry beasts, and dark waters around the outpost are ready to swallow the tiny piece of dry land whole. He doesn't know how the Dark Elves can live here.

He turns at the sound of footsteps. Finding himself facing Lady Light Leaf, a member of the armed escort that brought him to the desolate place, Lionel bows.

"Steward, come with me," she says.

Lionel falls into step as she strides toward a bare patch of land atop the tiny hillock within the compound. He can feel the flush of magic on his skin as they draw closer to it. Lady Light Leaf says, "You've never been to Midgard or encountered wild humans before?"

Lionel keeps his eyes focused on the muck. He has been to Midgard and met wild humans, but it's a subject as difficult as his unconventional rise in ranks.

Taking his silence for an affirmative, Light Leaf continues, "Wild humans are not like Odin's recruits, the Einherjar who visit the Queen's Palace. The Einherjar don't just get immortality when they eat Idunn's apples, they become magical, and magic bestows nobility... before that, they're savages."

Lionel's ears twitch. His experience is very limited, but that is not how he remembers all the wild humans he's met.

"If you get caught, they're liable to take you for a leprechaun and torture you until you lead them to your pot of gold," she finishes.

Lionel presses his lips into a thin line. The ancient peasants in his village who'd lived in Midgard have a take on humans that is very different. "There are bad humans," he was always told, "but they're so small and stunted, you can't help but want to help them! And anyway, unless you do something stupid, like become indebted to them, your elven charm makes them next to helpless."

His brow furrows. That helplessness was before the humans started using gunpowder to make weapons.

To Lady Light Leaf, he says, "Of course."

The whisper of arrows makes Lionel look up. Elves on the northwest turret are releasing a steady volley. Beside him, Lady Light Leaf commands, "Stay down," and jogs off.

As a peasant who spent his youth at the border of the Dark Lands, he is proficient at a bow, and a fair hand at a blade. He could help them if he was armed, but no warrior would dream of offering a weapon to a steward. His fingers reach the magical key that hangs at his wrist. Marker of his station, it can open any of the doors in the palace. But more than that, it acts as a magical reservoir, and he can use its power for feats of magic he wouldn't be able to accomplish on his own. It is his only weapon.

There is a sound like fireworks outside the gate. Shouts ring around him and warriors rush by.

Lionel swallows, remembering his mother's words. "Why does the queen care about Dark Elves trading for weapons with the humans? It's Odin the All Father's job to round up magical creatures who break the law by going to the human realm."

"Odin's forces are thin, Mother," he'd replied. "If we don't act, the Dark Elves will wage war against the queen before Odin intercedes."

"But you're no warrior! Why should she put your life in danger?" she'd pressed.

Lionel didn't dare tell her that the queen's orders had put him in danger before, danger greater than collecting Dark Elves trading for weapons with humans in Midgard. And he hadn't tried to explain that he relishes the hard and dangerous tasks the queen gives him. No one had expected him, a peasant, to succeed as a steward. It was a matter of personal honor that he more than succeed, he had to _excel_. He wasn't about to fail now.

Instead of saying all that, he assured her, "They just need me to open the gate, Mother. I won't be in the fighting."

The sound of fireworks brings him back to the present. He swallows his fear, realizing it's "gunfire," and far too close.

"Got him!" someone says.

"Retrieval party!" someone shouts. "At the gate now!" Lionel watches in fascination as four warriors climb down from turrets and jog to the gates.

Lady Light Leaf's voice at his shoulder makes him start. "Be glad it's not you, Steward."

Lionel nods politely. There is no disagreeing with royalty.

She beckons, and he follows her to the open space at the center of the fortress, the feel of magic intensifying with each step. Twelve warriors wait there. All are taller than him—as befits their station—and all wear the queen's livery of ivory and pale blue. Their hair is held back by clasps of gold, revealing the points of their ears. Lionel feels their eyes on him. Someone clears his throat. None of them expect someone peasant-born who is only a few centuries old to be able to open a World Gate. All elves can sense World Gates, but not all can walk through them, much less hold them ajar for others.

Lionel takes a half step forward and feels a fissure in the air. Lifting his arms, he drags his hands through the air, and feels the fragility of space and time beneath his fingers.

"I'm ready," he says.

Lady Light Leaf's eyes go toward the gate of the compound and narrow. "We go now."

Lionel nods. Closing his eyes, he reaches up and grasps "the Veil" of space time and folds it back. He opens his eyes. Nothing appears to have changed, but he lets out a breath. "It's done."

Light Leaf nods to the warriors, and they step through in barely perceptible shifts of light. From the compound comes whispers of disbelief. "Stewards shouldn't be able to do that."

"It must be a special talent," someone else says.

"Lady," Lionel says, inclining his head to the gate. Opening World Gates is a special talent of his, but the effort of holding the Veil back is tiring.

"I never doubted you'd be able to do it, Steward," she says. "The queen doesn't make mistakes."

Lionel can only nod in response. She has to know the strain of keeping the gate open is costing him.

"But riding here, I was surprised that you could ride a horse so well."

The Veil slips through Lionel's fingers, and the gate closes with a fizz of magical energy.

Bowing his head, he looks up at her through his eyelashes. There is a smirk on her face. Lionel's skin heats, prepared for her to berate him for letting the Veil close.

Instead she takes a step closer to him, head cocked. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me how you got such a good seat?"

Lionel feels the heat of magical compulsion in the air, tightens his grip on his key, and lets its magical energy fuel his resistance. It's not the first time he's been propositioned by someone above his station, though she is the first warrior to do so. His eyes fall to where her sleeve is rolled up, revealing her soulmark: two arrows aimed at the sun. He'd seen the same mark on one of the warriors who'd just stepped through. Elves aren't monogamous before marriage, nor even supposed to be jealous, but a dalliance with someone below her station might cause trouble for Lionel.

"Well?" Light Leaf smirks.

She is as tall as him, her skin bronzed, her eyes the color and shape of almonds, and the magic she radiates feels just slightly older than his. He might have been interested just minutes before, but she's playing games while warriors are stranded on the other side of the World Gate on a strange world with guns. They may not be his caste, but he still finds the heat of anger rising in his chest on their behalf. At the same time, he finds a misconception crumbling. He'd thought that a warrior, accustomed to death, might hold onto life and their paramours with more emotional energy. Lionel's too often been called overly emotional. He doesn't like to share; he would like someone more... invested. But Light Leaf doesn't hold even to her soulmate with any urgency, apparently.

"I was born a peasant," he replies. "I can ride horses, hadrosaurs, hippalektryons... all sorts of beasts."

She huffs. He isn't sure if he's insulted her or titillated her, but he's parried her advance well and has plausible deniability. "Shall I open the Veil again?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies, her eyes narrow and gleaming.

He rips it back with perhaps too much force, and she steps through and winks out of sight. Following her a moment later, he finds himself in a strange misty purple-orange twilight, blinking at Light Leaf's soulmate. He's smirking openly at Lionel. "Couldn't hold the World Gate open, Steward? I'd hoped for more stamina from you."

The hairs on the back of Lionel's neck rise. The lord knew of his lady's advance, and by the look on his face, approved of it. They are in a foreign world, facing possible death, and the nobility still play games. The memory of an ex-lover's voice fills his mind. _"We're elves, the only true immortals. We have to play games or we'd die of boredom."_

Turning away from the lord and the memory, Lionel looks down the narrow street and feels magic on his face. "Someone magical approaches," he says, grateful he has an excuse not to answer the lord's question.

"Strange," says Lady Light Leaf, walking in the direction of his gaze. "I don't feel—" She halts in her tracks and her eyes go wide. She lifts her hand, bows rise, and a few swords come out. Lionel's hand goes to his key.

The sound of birds fills the narrow roadway, and Lady Light Leaf signals the archers to put down their bows. Out of the mist a group of Light Elves emerge. They are led by a tall elf with dark brown skin, nearly black eyes, and long dark braids held back with bands of gold. Lionel bows, recognizing Lord Beddel of the Sun Kingdom of Alfheim's Middle Continent.

"You've brought a mage to man the gate?" Beddel asks with a frown.

Lady Light Leaf gestures to Lionel. "By the queen's command, I have brought her steward."

Lord Beddel narrows his eyes at Lionel. "Are we stretched so thin?" he murmurs. "Steward, listen to me. As soon as we apprehend the Dark Elves, we'll bring them here. I will be busy constraining them. Your task will be to open the gate. Understood?"

Lionel bows again. "Of course, I will wait."

Beddel stalks closer. "The humans' magical chariots pass through this way. We have some intelligence they may be self-aware. They can crush you on a whim. Don't get hit."

Taking a step back, Lionel says, "Yes, sir, of course not." Due to one of the queen's whims he hasn't told his mother about, Lionel had seen one such chariot, and thought much the same. Confirmation of his suspicion doesn't make him feel better.

Beddel waves a hand at the others. Where there had been elves, round-eared humans appear, wearing strange blue uniforms, their bows invisible. Lionel notices Beddel doesn't use a magical object like his key to power the illusion. Lionel's magical skills are strong for a peasant, but nowhere near the other man's.

Beddel waves his hand again, and the warriors depart.

Lionel waits for them to be out of sight. He promised his mother he'd come back to her, and the night feels cold and dangerous. He decides to use a skill he isn't supposed to have. Grasping the key tightly, he lets its magic rush into him, and uses it to compel the photons to pass through him as though he doesn't exist. Even with the key to power the invisibility, it is draining. Leaning against the wall for support, he waits, ready for any human or magic chariot that might set upon him.

## 2

# Sweet Home Chicago

Tara steps out of the university into a chilly Chicago night. The air is wet and misty, and she has a hood pulled tight over her hair and an umbrella for good measure. She crosses through the small courtyard garden to the archway that leads to the street, and almost plows into a man in a druid costume. She sighs. It's one of the City of Gods tour guides. She sees his converted school bus idling on the street. The archway was the scene of a troll "visit" and it's been an "attraction" ever since.

"If Odin is so just and wise," a tourist says, "why did he let Loki come to Earth? Why doesn't he stop the trolls?"

"Why did he blame us when his eight-legged horse ran off with a bunch of unicorns," someone else mutters.

Someone murmurs, "There were innocent people caught in some of the crossfire in Eastern Europe... They attacked embassies."

Another person dressed in druid-like clothes says, "Thousands of completely innocent people died here because those countries gave them aid! Odin went after the leaders, not the common people."

The druid raises his arms and his voice rings with conviction. "People prayed in fear when Loki and Dark Elves nearly destroyed the city. Odin sent his son Thor to defend us, and he rounded up the Dark Elves and their collaborators in Eastern Europe. You want a personal god? You can't get more personal than Odin."

Tara huffs. Hunching her shoulders, she walks quickly past him. She's probably as invisible to him as she is to Dean Kowalski.

Twenty minutes later, Tara is wondering if maybe Odin does see her, has a nasty sense of humor, and might be trying to punish her.

Dr. Eisenberg's voice is filling her car, just barely audible over the sound of her windshield wipers. "I got your email just after I opened the gif, Tara."

Tara winces. Another victim of the computer virus going around the department. After saving the world—or at least the L line—she's done nothing but clean up viruses. As brainy as the researchers in the University of Illinois's new Department of Dark Energy are, they have an amazing susceptibility to opening viral attachments, and to cats. Not surprisingly, a viral attachment called, "Cute-Cats.gif" is spreading like an evil enchantment on the department hard drives.

Keeping her eyes focused on the road, Tara says, "You know, Christine is there, right?" She's certain that the hopefulness in her voice comes through loud and clear.

There's a moment of silence, and then, "Can't you come back?"

Tara glances at the clock in her dash: seven o'clock. Also, she's hungry. "I would, Dr. Eisenberg, but you know by the time I get back to the university and into the lab, it will be past seven thirty."

"I can wait for you."

Trying to keep her voice cheerful, Tara says jokingly, "But you know how the gremlins come out after seven thirty."

Another moment of silence, and then, "Really? That happens sometimes?"

Tara's lips purse. She supposes it's not crazy that he believes her. Dr. Eisenberg is new to the city. He doesn't know gremlins aren't among the usual visitors. Does she take the high road and tell him that? Turning down the street onto her block, she sighs. "Not really, but I'm almost—" Tara hits the brakes, and the tires skid on the wet pavement. Ahead there's people running across the street—they're long-haired white kids and young adults—dozens of them being chased by cops. Somewhere far off she hears gunfire.

"Tara, what's wrong?" Dr. Eisenberg squeaks. "Gremlins?"

Something is very wrong. The neighborhood is dangerous, but her little block is an oasis. Also, there just aren't that many white people in her neighborhood to chase. She finds her heart beating too fast. "I don't—" Tara's breath catches as a cop's club comes down on a little boy, his hair that had been strawberry-blonde going dark.

Before Tara knows what she is doing, she's jumped out of the car. "Stop!" The scream rips out of her and she finds herself running toward the boy, now sprawled out on the wet pavement, dark ooze pooling around his head. Someone grabs her from behind and she expects the club to come down on her too, but there is something about seeing a child, limp as a rag doll, being dragged away that makes her lose all sense of fear. "Stop!" she screams again, pulling at the arms that are holding her.

"Madam, calm down," says whoever has her arms pinned. "They're only Dark Elves."

And it's that moment that she sees the pointed ears, but she still struggles, like she's possessed. "He's a little boy! He's a little boy!" she shouts as other cops drag him away.

A female cop runs in front of her and says, "Madam, madam, be calm!"

Tara jumps and tries to peek around her but there are other cops in the way. "Madam, I must insist," says the man behind her.

Madam? Insist? Tara feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Breaking free, she manages to barge past the woman... and the road is empty.

The little boy, the "teenagers" who might all have been elves, are gone. All that is left is a single police officer standing in the middle of the road and echoes of a struggle she can't see... or did she imagine it? Tara pulls her coat tighter, distractedly noticing the rain is falling harder and that her hood has fallen back. Her teeth chatter. Just a bit colder and the rain would be snow.

"Madam," says the woman again. For the first time, Tara looks at her. The woman's got the sort of lithe musculature Tara associates with dancers. Her skin is a lovely bronze shade, her eyes are wide, worried, and concerned. Tara's eyes slide to the man who held her. He's Caucasian, with eyes that might be green, and his frame is slight. Tara's five foot ten and change in socks, and nearly six foot two in the stacked heeled boots she's wearing; she's used to being tall, but these two cops are _short_. Tara feels a shiver run down her spine. They're not as broad in the shoulder as the cops she knows, either.

"What's your name, madam?" the man asks. His voice musical, his words compelling... Tara shivers again, and it isn't just the cold. She keeps her lips sealed.

"You must not worry about this," says the woman, waving a hand. "Missus—? Why don't you tell me your name? Your _full_ name."

Over the woman's shoulder, Tara sees the taller police officer, the one she'd seen standing in the middle of the street, and she feels like her whole body has turned to ice. She suddenly has to get away.

"You're right, I don't need to worry about this. I'll just go now." Spinning on her heals, she runs and slides into her car. She looks back and sees the last officer is walking toward her. If she had to paint a picture of African perfection, she would paint his face. His eyes are nearly black and wide, but have a delicate angle to them, his nose is flat but not too broad. His skin is dark and smooth over striking cheekbones, and his lips are generous. He also has long, black, beautiful braids, which she'd wouldn't expect on a police officer and that would humanize him, but his expression is flat, and his eyes are hard.

Slamming the door, she smiles nervously through the window. His lips part as though he is about to speak, and she's terrified of what he will say. Her hands tremble as she pulls on her seat belt, which makes her knock the steering wheel with her elbow, which sets off the horn. The man's eyes widen comically at the sound, his mouth snaps shut, and he jumps back. Feeling like she's just dodged a bullet, and not waiting for the order she's sure he'll issue, Tara guns the engine and the tires squeal. A few heartbeats later, she looks in the mirror. They're not following.

Dr. Eisenberg's voice cracks over her phone, and she jumps in her seat, surprised that he didn't hang up.

"Tara, are you all right?"

"I..." She swallows.

"Tara?"

"I... never thought..." she whispers. She knows police officers, good guys she and Chris flirt with over gyros in Greek Town. But she's in Chicago and she knows the other kind exists—the city owes several hundred million dollars to victims of Chicago police officers' "overzealousness." She's never seen that "overzealousness" up close, but it is a nagging fear that is always there. And now she's seen it... and this time, the victim had been white... and an elf? She squeezes the steering wheel. The victim had been a child. She feels a lump in her throat and her vision starts to go blurry.

"Did you see gremlins?" Dr. Eisenberg asks. "A troll?" He sounds way too excited.

"I..." She remembers the faces of the police officers—they'd looked too perfect, and they'd called her "madam." FBI? Someone else... something else? "Maybe."

"You sound shaken up," says Dr. Eisenberg.

"I saw..." Tara has seen a lot of things. She's seen a man get shot in front of her. She's had guys expose themselves to her. She's seen fights, and blood spilled on the pavement afterward. But she is shaken.

It was a little boy...

"You're shaken. Listen, go home... and don't come in tomorrow."

Tara blinks. "What?"

"I'll tell everyone that you're working on a special project for me."

Tara's brow furrows. Actually, that would probably work. Dr. Eisenberg is a grant machine and the highest paid researcher in the department. His whim is practically law. Also, he often goes off-site with lots of electronic equipment and Tara to patch it up when he drops it, or find it when he loses it, but why would he—?

"I'm going to bring my gear over and we'll check and see if what you saw left a Dark Energy signature," he finishes.

And that's the flighty, self-interested, mad genius she knows. "I might have imagined it," she says. And now she's beginning to wonder if she did.

"Too good to miss if it was real!" Dr. Eisenberg says, sounding absolutely gleeful. "Now I'm going to pack up, just in case those gremlins come." The phone line goes dead.

She glances in the rearview mirror and sees only a lone pair of headlights, no cops. She suddenly feels very alone.

Alone in the cold, misty dark, Lionel jumps at the sound of fireworks a few hundred paces away. He cranes his neck, but doesn't see any bright bursts of flame. Was it the sound of human weapons?

He lets out a breath, and sucks in another fast as the wall behind him starts to groan. Spinning, Lionel finds it rising, beams of light bursting from beneath. Backing up, he blinks into the blinding bright eyes of one of the possibly sentient human chariots. He's invisible, but he can still be flattened. Lionel darts to the left, out of its line of vision, but the thing turns in his direction with a honk. It either has sensitive hearing, or smell, or both. Spinning again, Lionel runs. Looking back, he sees the thing speeding up. He sprints through a narrow open gate and slams it behind him. The chariot honks again, but passes by, and Lionel sighs in relief.

He looks around and finds himself in a small yard with a hulking brick building at the far end. From the door of the building comes a bark and a scratching noise. An instant later, the door opens, and a dog erupts from inside, growling and lunging directly at him. Lionel scampers over the gate, just in time for the dog's body to impact against it. Someone shouts in the native tongue. With magic, Lionel _feels_ the meaning of the words. "Buster! What are you doing? Chasing ghosts, you crazy dog?"

Humans can't see Lionel, but dogs can smell him. A rat across the alley pauses, stands up on its haunches, twitches its whiskers, and then goes about its business. Rats can also smell him; they just apparently don't care.

The gate behind Lionel thumps again, and he hears the human shout, "Get out of the rain, dog!"

Lionel feels a flare of magic on the side of his face, in the direction of the World Gate. There are shouts in Elvish and Lionel peers down the narrow roadway and his eyes go wide. The elves arriving aren't wearing the livery of the queen. Their garments are mismatched and dark. He can tell even at this distance that some have scared faces and the silvery hair of mortal beings. He swallows. Dark Elves... but if they came through the gate, it must mean that the Light Elves at the other side were overwhelmed. Lionel counts four, five, six pairs emerging through the Veil... and more keep coming.

"Buster" goes ballistic. Other dogs begin to howl on either side of the roadway. Doors open; somewhere a siren wails. The Dark Elves start down the alleyway at a jog in Lionel's direction.

Checking to see he's still invisible, Lionel breaks into a run, not bothering to hide the sound of his footsteps, just trying to not slip on the rain-slicked cobbles. At the end of the roadway, a man and woman in blue appear. Feeling the warmth of magic on his face, Lionel gasps... they are his companions! Behind him, he hears shouts in Elvish and the crack of fireworks. He feels a sharp pain in the back of his leg, and goes sprawling. He rolls out of the way just in time to miss being trampled by a seeming army of Dark Elves sprinting past. Warm wetness soaks his trousers and his invisibility slips away in a frisson of electricity along his skin. Grasping the key tight, he uses its magic to reach inside himself. He is able to close a nick to his femoral artery just in time.

Somewhere far away he hears, "Damn gangs... can't even take out your garbage without their nonsense."

Something slick, bulky, lumpy, and odorous crashes on top of him and everything goes black.

Tara's still shaking when she pulls into the alley that cuts between the Greystones on either side of her block. From a few houses away, she sees that the auto-timer has turned on the lights of her duplex down. By their lights, she sees that the just-out-of-law-school couple who bought the place upstairs is already home.

All her cousins, aunts, and uncles have moved off with their degrees to Oak Park and Evanston—they're always trying to convince her to move. "It's still diverse but safer, Tara, and you have more than enough money!" they say. But her Greystone is such a welcome sight. The last building her father and she had remodeled before his death, it glitters in the rainy night, and looks as beautiful and stately as anything on the Gold Coast.

She releases a long breath, willing her madly beating heart to be still, and notices her next-door neighbor has thrown his garbage bags over the fence again. Somehow it always winds up in front of her garage. It's still raining, and her hair will be ruined. She shivers and realizes for the first time she's already drenched, and her hair is hanging in long damp clumps, soaking her shoulders. Her hood had fallen back when she'd seen... well, whatever it was she really saw.

Shaking her head, Tara gets out of the car and lifts the first enormous bag. She carries it over to the bin, turns around, and screams. There's a skinny white guy lying on the ground where the garbage bag had been. His eyes are closed, and he has long, nearly white-blonde hair.

She takes a deep breath. Probably a junkie passed out or something. She gulps, remembering the probably-maybe-elves being chased and bludgeoned by the maybe-probably-FBI-or-possibly-cops. She approaches the man slowly, and finds herself whispering, "Please be a junkie, please be a junkie."

Leaning over him, she gulps. The guy is dressed in dark, Renaissance faire clothing. A black tunic goes all the way to his thighs. It's belted at the waist with a black cord. He's wearing pants that match the shirt and black boots. Over his shoulders, he's wearing a short black shruggy thing. He's clutching a yellow silk rope with a key ring and a single key in a death grip. His ears are pointed.

Rain drops slide down her neck. Tara pushes her hair, now a sodden mess, over one shoulder. She should call the police... the FBI... She bites her lip. Dark Elves were supposedly behind Chicago's recent destruction, but the elves she'd seen running across the street hadn't looked like warriors, they looked like kids. She thinks of the little boy and the blood pooling on the pavement and feels like she will be sick. This guy doesn't have any weapons... Does he deserve that same treatment?

A few minutes later, Tara's dragging Elf Guy by the arms through her garage. It's the shortest path to her back door. "This looks easier in the movies," she mutters, dropping him with a huff. He's heavy, and she's never getting him up the back stoop, not without causing him even more injury. She sighs. "You're going to have to sleep here."

There isn't a response.

Now that she's inside and has better lighting, she can see there is a wound on his thigh, but not a lot of blood. The femoral artery is in that region, but if it had hit that, he'd be dead. Still, maybe she should take him to a hospital? She exhales, thinking of the experiments they might do to him, and the rumors of Dark Elves being taken to Guantanamo Bay. She tilts her head. For a Dark Elf, he's very white. He looks like... she doesn't know, young Eminem with long hair, maybe? Except his features are smoother, more finely chiseled, and then there are the ears. She reaches out and touches the point of one, hoping they're fake, then she'd be able to call 911. But the tip is warm, the skin is delicate and soft, and for a moment, she is mesmerized. Snapping from her fascination, she pulls her hand away and weighs her options. Is he more likely to live if she turns him in?

The garage fills with the sound of her mother's ring tone. Tara scrambles to pick it up. "Mom!" she cries, desperately wanting to confess, _I found an Elf Guy, and Mom, I don't know what to do!_ Up until she had an unconscious man in her garage she thought she was an adult, but now she's not so sure.

"Tara, Steve Rogers is on the television! Oh, he is so handsome. You know he's single, right?"

Tara has a moment of disconnect. This is a frequent conversation between her mother and her. Director Steve Rogers of the FBI is the Savior of Chicago. He stood up to bureaucrats and to Loki, the Norse God, when he nearly blew the whole place down. Everyone says he's going to be mayor, even though he's black and Chicago, well, Chicago hasn't had a lot of black mayors. Her mother thinks Tara should marry him because she needs a "smart man."

Normally, Tara's response is "Mom, he's almost ten years older than me and divorced!" Also, there's rumors that he's a Republican. To which her mother usually tells her she is too picky, and how can she ever find her soulmate if she isn't going to just put herself out there?

The banality of the familiar script catches Tara off guard. There is an elf in her garage, possibly dying, but they're talking about her love life, or lack thereof. She really needs her mom's advice, or at least to tell someone. But then she thinks of how her mom, a legal first-generation Mexican American, didn't tell her that her grandparents were illegal because, "The less you know, the safer it is for everyone."

Her eyes slip to the elf. Maybe she shouldn't drag her mother into this. "Um, yeah, Mom, he is a handsome man."

"I met his mother today! She came into Costco when I was..."

From behind Tara comes a soft, "Lllew wellan leee..."

Tara looks down and finds light blue eyes meeting her own. The tips of his ears are trembling.

"Hello?" he says in a lovely voice that is deeper than she would have suspected for a man so slight.

Her mother's voice is loud in her ear. "Is that a man? Where are you? Are you still at work?"

"No, Mom, I'm home," Tara whispers. She's only seen elves from afar. Even as drawn as his face is, and after lying on the ground under garbage bags in her alley, he's luminous. She notices a bit of dirt on his cheek and has the urge to wipe it away.

"You have a man over, and you're commenting on Steve Rogers? Tara!" There is an exasperated sigh, and then her mother says, "Try to be nice," and hangs up.

And then it's just Tara and the elf staring at each other in silence.

## 3

# Away in a Manger

Lionel's mouth is dry as bone and his vision is dark around the edges, but he's able to see that it is a human woman hovering over him. She has golden brown skin and black hair, but her features are indistinct and blurry. He knows he should be afraid, but when he tightens his fingers on his key, he doesn't feel danger... only hope. But did she understand him? Magic wants them to understand each other, he reminds himself.

Key tight in his fist, he lets magic guide his words. "I won't hurt you."

He has the impression of her lips pursing. "Yeah, I know that. But I might be hurting you..." Her words are soft, slow, measured, and that reassures him. She is not afraid. Something he learned as a farm boy on the edge of the Golden Road, wild creatures that are fearful are as dangerous as ones that are hungry.

She continues, "I think you may need to go to a hospital. You've been shot, and it's bad."

"Hospital?" he whispers. Magic can only translate words between languages when there is a corresponding word between them. This is apparently a thing that elves don't have.

"A place with lots of doctors," she whispers.

His heart seizes at that, remembering stories from Einherjar recruits who talked about human "healers" sawing off injured limbs. He grabs her arm. "No, please. I... magic... there will be no infection, not even... lockjaw."

He blinks. Surprised they have a name for the disease that is the bane of elves cut by iron implements. If they also suffer from the disease, why use iron?

His vision clears enough to see her bite her lip. "Do you need anything?"

"Water," he croaks, feeling a wave of dizziness. Grasping the magic key in his hand, he closes his eyes and retreats into himself to survey his injuries. The muscle and fascia in his leg is torn, and he's had to shut down the nerves around the wound, but he's sealed up the vessels, and entry and exit points on his leg have scabbed over. There's no sign of the deadly bacterium that causes lockjaw.

"Here," she whispers.

He opens his eyes, unsure if she was only gone for a short while, or if he'd lost consciousness. She offers him a strange sort of clear canteen. He lifts his head. She puts a hand behind his back and presses it to his lips.

The water is cool, and although it has a strange aftertaste, it is very palatable. He feels his lucidity returning with every gulp. When he finishes the canteen, he lays back down. The abode's light is dim, but enough to reveal his benefactor's appearance. Not all humans are beautiful. Their environment and lack of magic means they often suffer from malnutrition and infection, but the old elves say that beautiful humans are more beautiful than elves can ever be. Their features are not as regular, their forms more varied even in health. Lionel has met five wild humans in his lifetime. The first three, Hannah, Abraham, and their newborn, Benjamin had been malnourished, frightened, and in pain when they'd met. The other two had been companions of Loki. The elder had been charming for her gnome-like appearance. The younger woman had unremarkable facial features and odd proportions.

This human is healthy and her features are striking. She has an aquiline nose that he's seen in Odin's Einherjar from Midgard's Western Central continent, her eyes have a slight tilt to them, her lips are full. Black hair, the texture he's seen most commonly on Einherjar from the African continent frames her face and sparkles... he blinks. The sparkles come from water droplets. For the first time, he notices the sound of raindrops on the roof. She dragged him out of the rain, and is now soaked through... just like him. He shivers, looks past her, and his eyes widen. Behind her is one of their metal chariot beasts. He scoots backward and pain lances from his wound and seemingly everywhere else.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

He hisses angrily at himself for being an idiot—obviously she and the machine have some sort of understanding—but also, "They make you sleep with the machine-animals?" Last time he was in the human realm it was before this region's civil war. He's heard since then that the institution of slavery has ended, but an Einherjar of African and American heritage recruited during the second world war had told him, "There is no more slavery in the United States in this day and age, but we're still segregated and unequal." It's exactly like that Einherjar had said.

Her lips purse, perhaps never having considered the inequity before. "Machine-animal?"

His eyes go to the chariot.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Yeah, um... do you think you can walk if I help you? I can take you inside. It's going to get cold tonight and I don't like putting a space heater out here."

The words seem mostly gibberish, as they are already inside, but he needs to be accommodating. He nods.

"Okay," she says. Putting his arm over her shoulder, she helps him to his feet. Upon standing, he's hit with a wave of pain and again, it's everywhere. It makes his vision foggy and dark, but he's dimly aware that she's taller than him, and her shoulders are broad enough to be a recruit for the Valkyries. They reach a door at the corner of the room, and she says, "Oops! I forgot." She reaches backward with her spare arm in a strange sort of wave, and says, "Good night."

The machine-beast gives a cheery beep and flashes its lantern-eyes.

Summoning all his persuasive magic, Lionel reassures it, "I mean your mistress no harm."

The woman gives him a funny look, and the chariot doesn't give _him_ a cheery beep.

They hobble out into the night, through a tiny garden, and up a few cement steps. She does some odd things with her free hand to the "security system," and opens a door. He is bathed in warm yellow light and hit by a gust of comfortably warm air. She guides him down the hallway to a room painted with a scene of cheerful animals on a savanna. The short journey has left him exhausted, and he practically dives out of her arms into the bed. It is more comfortable than he would have thought. He thought humans slept on straw.

"Do you need to get undressed?" she asks.

The world is getting dark, and Lionel shakes his head. The chamber is warm, even though he is in in damp clothes. A moment later, a large blanket encompasses him and he's warmer still.

The woman steps away, and he is struck by her silhouette—she has been as gentle as one of the queen's healing maidens—but with her grace, strength, and wild beauty, she could be a Valkyrie. But a Valkyrie would never be as kind to a "short, scrawny elf." He tightens his fingers on the keychain, and as magic races through him, he feels the same sensation of hope he had before. "Thank you..." he hears someone whisper. "... for saving my life." She flicks a finger and the lights go out. The open doorway behind her glows even brighter in the gloom. The magic of the silken cord that marks his office thrums through him. He goes to sleep, the memory of hope warring with something else deep within his consciousness.

Tara stares at herself in the bathroom mirror. The memory of the elf passed out among her younger cousin's stuffed animals in the spare room is in stark contrast to her own reflection. He'd looked ethereal and young even in obvious pain. Magical. She is a mess. Her makeup is smudged, her mascara is running down her face, and after looking at the elf's skin, she feels like her pores are as large as the craters of the moon. She looks old. Also, some girls can really rock the natural fro, but Tara isn't one of them. Her hair type is what they call 4B: dense, tight curls that when not wet defy gravity, and never manage to look smooth and polished. Once a high school teacher had said her natural hair looked like a Brillo pad. Now it is a soggy, poofy mess. Sighing, she picks up a towel and begins drying it out. Tomorrow she'll be wearing braids or a headscarf.

Tomorrow...

There is an elf in her spare bedroom being chased by people who are dangerous and violent. What is she going to do with him tomorrow?

## 4

# Dark Matter

A car going by honks loudly, and Tara jumps back onto the sidewalk.

"Dr. Eisenberg, I don't think you should—"

Tara's interrupted by another honk. Dr. Eisenberg is off in what her work mate Chris calls his "mind palace." He's crisscrossing the street with a Geiger counter-like instrument in his hand, mumbling to himself. Despite the cold, he's wearing a blue, short-sleeved dress shirt. On his bottom half, he's wearing dress slacks, and as a fashion statement—or comfort statement—bright red sneakers.

Another car honks, and Tara winces. He's going to get himself killed. Does letting a genius wander into traffic and get hit by a car count as manslaughter? It's not like she could stop him.

Speaking of not being able to stop someone...

She looks down the street toward her Greystone. Everything looks normal. Elf Guy was sound asleep when she left. If he leaves, and her neighbors report him, she's decided she'll claim she knew nothing. She bites her lip. But then they might investigate her home, find a white-blonde hair, analyze the DNA, and discover he'd been in her guest room. Maybe she should come up with a better alibi? "He was a one-night stand, Mr. FBI Agent! I never noticed he was an elf, just that he was a little short!"

How does one go about getting a one-night stand? She's actually never done it... in theory, it's supposed to be easy for a girl. But it involves going into a bar and being friendly with strangers, and if they cross-examined any of her friends or family, they'd learn that around strangers Tara tends to turn into a clam. Also, she is a lightweight and doesn't drink.

She huffs and adjusts the readout on the digital tablet she's holding. Stupid elf should have picked the house of a more exciting person to get shot behind. "I should have tied him to the bed to make sure he stays there," Tara mutters to herself, and then scowls. That would be the most exciting thing she's done with a man and a bed in a long time.

"What?" yells Dr. Eisenberg.

And how is he hearing that, and not all her pleas to get out of the damn road?

"Nothing!" she calls. "Just talking to myself."

He gives her a merry smile as a car zips by him with a honk. "I do that all the time," he calls back.

Tara nods. Yes, he does.

Across the street she sees her neighbor Betsy glaring out the door at Dr. Eisenberg. Tara waves and smiles, trying to convey, "The crazy white man isn't going to cause any harm." Another car slows down, honks, and goes around him. Betsy's eyes narrow at her, and Tara touches her throat. He might actually cause a traffic accident.

"Dr. Eisenberg," she calls, holding up the tablet. "When I analyze your readouts on the app, I'm not seeing any magical activity. Maybe we should call it a day?"

"Dark Energy signatures, not magic!" he corrects her. "I think the rain must have washed them off."

"Dr. Eisenberg," Tara says, striding out onto the street. "You're going to get hit by a car."

"They're not going fast and I have lots of padding," he says, not looking up from his little gadget.

"Dr. Eisenberg—" Tara begins, but she's interrupted by the blip of a police siren.

She looks up just in time to see a squad car pull to a halt to her left. Dr. Eisenberg doesn't seem to notice.

"What's going on here?" an officer says, stepping out of the car.

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Dr. Eisenberg says excitedly, "This young lady saw some of your men in an altercation with elves here last night and I am looking for a dark energy signature."

"What?" says another officer, coming around.

"Magic," Tara clarifies. "He's looking for magic."

"None of our officers had any altercations with any elves last night," says the first officer. He's a burly man, taller than Tara, with short, light brown hair. His sunburned face is wide and he has a broken nose. He's wearing a bulletproof vest. Chewing gum, hands on hips, a scowl etched between his brows, he looks so... human.

Tara's jaw drops. "Maybe not," she says, thinking about how the officers she saw last night looked dainty, and had no lines etched between their brows. They had all looked so... perfect.

"And she saw them beat a little elf boy," Dr. Eisenberg adds distractedly.

"That did not happen!" the burly officer retorts.

"Heard some reports of gang activity here last night," the second officer says. "But by the time we got here, they were all gone. When asked, all the neighbors said they didn't know who it was."

"Like always," drawls the first and Tara hears the unspoken accusation. _You people never cooperate._ Her neighbors would say the cops don't really care, and if you call them for help, you're just as likely to wind up in trouble yourself.

"Are you trying to start something?" the first officer demands, his eyes on Tara.

"No," says Tara, shocked.

Dr. Eisenberg finally looks up from his gadget. "Officers, there's no reason to be rude to her!"

The officers blink, as though seeing him for the first time. First Cop chews his gum louder.

"This is a matter of scientific inquiry," Dr. Eisenberg insists. "And the Dark Energy signatures only last for a limited amount of time."

First Cop turns back to Tara. "You just said you saw a cop beating a civilian."

"I didn't say that!" says Tara.

The cop continues, the volume of his voice rising with every word, "And you say maybe you didn't see anything... Are you trying to get attention?"

Tara can feel her back get prickly with sweat underneath her winter coat, and her heart is racing. Is she going to be arrested for _not_ making a false alarm? "I didn't call you!" Tara finds herself shouting back.

"We have real problems!" bellows the officer.

Waving at Dr. Eisenberg, Tara says, "I told my boss, and he's investigating, and we're not doing anything illegal!"

"You're blocking the road!" he shouts.

"You move him!" Tara retorts.

"Is there a problem, officers?" Dr. Eisenberg asks, looking up from his gadget.

In the squad car, the radio starts to crackle, and the second officer says to the first, "Why don't you get that, Frank?"

Chewing his gum loudly, Frank storms away.

The second officer is also a white guy. He's got hazel eyes and sandy blonde hair. His nose is not broken and his cheeks aren't sunburned. He looks younger, and not as on edge. He eyes Dr. Eisenberg, gives Tara a sort of sympathetic smile, and in a respectful voice calls to the doctor, "Sir, you'll have to move. You're obstructing traffic."

"But..." Dr. Eisenberg protests. Striding over, the officer takes his arm and guides him to the sidewalk. Eisenberg stops short and his eyes get wide. "Ooh..." Head bowed over his tablet, he begins to pace down the walk.

The second officer says to Tara, "Frank had a rough day yesterday, ma'am."

It occurs to Tara that if what she saw was real, that might lead the police to her house, and that would lead them to Elf Guy. "I'm sure it was just me being too tired, and it was late, and raining, and—"

"I used to work in the Financial District, ma'am," he says.

Tara gulps. He's calling her ma'am... not madam, and the other guy had barked at her just now, not "insisted" that she get off the road. She'd never thought she'd find hostile cops vaguely reassuring.

"They can make you see anything they want you to see," the second officer continues.

Tara thinks of the little boy bleeding on the pavement. They wanted her to see that? She swallows. After the invasion, there was a revival of interest in legends of elves, sidhe, fae, the fair folk, Seelie Summer, and Unseelie Winter courts. There did seem to be a common thread of trickery in all the legends...

"If you see anything around here that looks odd, you tell us right away," says the second officer. "We've got special cells downtown and special airplanes to take them straight to Gitmo where they won't hurt anyone."

Tara blinks. They're not sending the man in her guest room to Gitmo; he's hurt. She bites her lip. Of course, Ted Bundy pretended to be hurt, too. Then she thinks of him falling into bed, unable to lift his head for a drink. The elf-as-a-serial-killer idea goes poof.

From a few blocks over comes the sound of gunfire. In the car, Police Officer Frank shouts, "Jim, we gotta get a move on."

Jim gives her a nod, jogs to the squad car, and seconds later, they're taking off, siren blaring.

Dr. Eisenberg walks back over to her, head bent over his tablet. "You didn't imagine anything," he says, and goes off into a little monologue about fluctuations too regular to be explained by random occurring distortions. Tara's not really paying attention because she has an elf in her guest bedroom and knows she wasn't hallucinating. She just isn't sure _who_ exactly she saw.

"If you see anything else, call me first," says Dr. Eisenberg, jolting her from her musings.

"What?" says Tara, not sure if she's heard right.

Dr. Eisenberg adjusts his glasses. "Don't call the cops."

"The elves are our enemies... we probably have to call the cops, or we're committing a crime like treason... aren't we?" Tara asks carefully.

"Um..." he says. "I hadn't considered that." He stares at her another beat longer, searching her eyes as though looking for something, and then says, "I have to go now. Why don't you take the day off?" With that, he spins on his heel and trots to his car.

Tara watches him go, wondering what that was all about, and then she shakes her head. Her generous, demanding, genius-crazy-boss is a lot of trouble.

She starts walking home, and begins thinking of all the trouble a technology-ignorant elf could get into with a toaster, an oven, a fuse box, or just a piece of wire and an electrical outlet. She breaks into a run.

Lionel is in trouble. Fear haunts his dreams, and when he wakes up with a gasp in an unfamiliar room, it all comes back to him. He told a human she'd saved his life and indebted himself to her. He did the one thing elves are warned never to do. Now she'll demand a "favor" of him, a pot of gold or a monkey's paw or some nonsense. He'll have to find a way to give it to her...

Unless he can figure out her full name. The Einherjar he's met at the palace don't understand the power of names for elves; it isn't a power that other magical races have. With her full name, he will be able to compel her to release him from her debt. His eyes dart back and forth. The room is spacious, the bed opulent and comfortable. She is not of the lowest class despite her skin tone. She probably has papers about, bills of sale maybe... some identification he could use. Not as good as a name given freely, but still, something.

... And anything's better than a hunt for a monkey's paw.

He pulls himself up and the effort makes him hiss in pain. He hurts everywhere, not just where he was struck by the bullet. Gritting his teeth, Lionel grasps his key and orders the offending nerves to stop firing. As soon as the edge is off the pain, he makes his way to the door and out into the area beyond. It's a hallway. It's not so wide as in a palace, nor as narrow as a peasant's home. The walls are a shade of off white, and lined with what might be paintings... but they are impossibly detailed and realistic. He would guess they are of family. A bright orange and red carpet covers glossy wooden floors. The home smells like alien flora and lemon.

It's not what he expected at all. Einherjar from the last great wars had told him that only some humans had running water and privies that whisked waste away. He doesn't know why, but in the back of his mind he'd presumed that most human domiciles wouldn't have such amenities and would reek with the smell of bodily fluids. Is his host very rich?

He hears a door open and shut, and footsteps. Lionel steps away from the pictures on the wall and tries to take a step in the direction of the sound—better to make a strong entrance he thinks—and promptly trips and goes sprawling onto the floor. He lands with a jaw-rattling thud.

The footsteps speed up, and he rolls over onto his back just in time to see the woman's face appear above him. Today she is wearing her hair pulled up in a blue and orange scarf. "You're awake," she says. He hears her swallow. "Do you need help?"

"No," Lionel says, trying to stand, and only managing to sit up. He hurts everywhere. He closes his eyes and magically soothes the nerves that are going off like fireworks until the only pain he's left with is his pride. He's indebted to a human, and just fell over his own feet. Elves grow extremely slowly, and they don't trip after toddlerhood... falling over is not like an elf. His fingers clench on his shins and he frowns. _It's only the injury,_ he tells himself. That's all it can be.

The woman shifts on her feet. Looking up, he sees her gazing at him in concern. He hears her swallow. "I'm not sure where you were going, but I don't think you should go outside," she says.

Is she trying to entrap him? Does it matter? Lionel thinks of the Dark Elves who'd swarmed through the World Gate the night before. They _must_ have taken control of the fort on the other side of the gate. He can't go back that way. "No, I cannot," he agrees. He looks at his legs. "I can't go anywhere."

Her shoulders relax a fraction. "There are police and FBI people looking for you."

"FBI?" he inquires.

"Federal Bureau of Investigations," she says. The first word is unintelligible to Lionel, but the other two he understands. They must be a group like the Queen's Inquisitors. He draws his legs in closer to his body. Dark Elves might not be all that he has to worry about.

"If they find you, we're both in trouble," she murmurs.

If they are anything like the Queen's Inquisitors, she has put herself in a great deal of danger. He scowls. He should not feel guilt for someone who has put him in her debt. As innocuously as possible, he asks, "I'm afraid I don't know your name. Miss..."

Her eyes meet his. "Oh, I'm sorry... it's Tara. Tara Gibson."

His brow furrows in consternation. She knows nothing about the ways of the elves, giving her name so freely. What was she thinking bringing him in?

"And you are?" she asks.

Snapping from his thoughts, Lionel says, "I am called 'Lionel of the Southern Vale.'"

"Nice to meet you," she replies. Light shines from behind her and his vision gets blurry.

Lionel takes a breath, preparing to stand, but the effort of talking has left him drained and in pain again. Every single fiber of muscle, skin, and bone is begging for his attention. Gripping his key, feeling the magic, he tries to push his pain aside. He hears himself huffing. "It's hardly nice to meet me. It seems I've caused you a great deal of trouble and put you in danger."

It's so close to declaring his debt... He wonders why his subconscious is sabotaging him.

Tara slides down the wall across from him until she's sitting on the floor. Pulling her knees up to her chin, she wraps her arms around her legs. "I haven't saved your life yet. You're going to have to get out of here without anyone seeing you."

She's not even taking credit for what she's done.

Why did she save him? No elf at the palace would save an elf without expecting something in return, and certainly would not save a human. He blinks, realizing how cynical two hundred years at the palace has made him. Elvish peasants often saved humans before Odin passed his law barring them from coming to Midgard. There are rumors that some peasants still cross over. As a little boy, Lionel had asked an ancient elf why she did it. "They were so pathetic and miserable, I couldn't help myself," she'd replied.

He frowns, studying his knees. Miss Tara Gibson, human—least of the races—found him wounded and pathetic in the alley and had taken him in out of pity. It makes him burn with humiliation.

"I saw them crack a little elf boy's head open."

Lionel attention snaps to her. She is covering her mouth with her hands.

"Them?" he whispers, sucking on his lips to suppress a wince. "The Fed..." He can't quite form his lips around the word. "Bureau of Inquisitors?"

"I don't know... they were so polite, not like the police normally are." She blinks at him. "They weren't like you. Their ears were round and they were dressed in uniforms, but you know..." Her head cocks. "Their intonation was the same."

"I'm sure it was your Inquisitors," Lionel says too quickly. The warriors of the queen wouldn't beat a child, and there aren't Dark Elf children here. There are only rebels buying guns, like the ones who shot him. She must be mistaken.

"I guess," she says. "I mean, I've heard the feds are more professional. But why were they dressed like police?"

Lionel goes very still. He has a sudden sinking sensation, and a feeling that he might know what "police" uniforms look like. He tells himself he's being fanciful and paranoid.

The question must have been rhetorical because she says, "Do you want anything to eat?" Her eyes go to his leg. "I can get you some clothes, too."

He looks down and he notices how bloody his trousers are. It's probably on the sheets of her bed. He has the odd desire to confess another debt to her for ruining her bedding. That would mean he'd have to replace it, which would mean venturing to the palace and back with proper linens.

His head is starting to swim with pain again. "I don't think I can eat. I... hurt," he stammers.

She says something, but the words are a jumble.

"Pardon?" he manages, and, biting his lip, he focuses on his rebellious nerve endings.

"Can you take human medicines?"

"They wouldn't help me," he mutters. "Too weak."

She says something he doesn't quite catch. His head sags and somewhere someone groans.

"But would it hurt you?" she asks.

"No..." he says. It comes out a moan. He feels the prickle of sweat on his brow. He can't focus on the particular nerves that are misfiring because they all seem to be misfiring, and his world is narrowing to just the pain. He's vaguely aware of her rushing away, but he doesn't look up. He reaches for his magic, loses the thread of it, and the pain makes his head fall to the floor.

A few minutes, or maybe hours later, Tara's talking to him urgently, but Lionel doesn't know what she's saying. She thrusts a hand in front of him with three little white objects, but it's obvious... He's going to die.

## 5

# Unexpected Visitors

"Open your mouth," Tara commands.

Lionel does, and she shoves the Tylenol and Advil in, and then considers maybe he'd opened his mouth to tell her to shove off.

With a wince, he swallows, and Tara leans back against the wall, questioning her life choices. _Please don't die. Jesus—Odin—anyone, please don't let Lionel die._ She'd wanted to save him by dragging him into her home, not kill him.

On the floor, Lionel stops groaning. She holds her breath. He inhales deeply, releases it, doesn't puke, and she relaxes.

Her phone rings with her mother's tone and she ignores it until it stops. It rings again, and then the texts start coming. Giving the elf another look, Tara picks up her phone and reads: _Where r u? Been calling ur office all morning._

_Home,_ she types. _Did some xtra stuff for E and got the rest of day off._

_Lucky!_ Her mom types.

Tara's lips purse. Eisenberg can be generous in many ways... but days off aren't one of them. He gets cranky when any of his staff are away, and never thinks twice about calling people in on weekends. That he offered the day off is... kind of weird. Had she misunderstood him? She replays their conversation in her mind. _If you see anything else, call me first, don't call the cops._

Was he trying to bribe her with a day off to do something that is probably a felony and maybe treason so he can get more data for another paper in the _Journal of Dark Energy_? Her eyes narrow. That would be so like him.

On the floor, Lionel lifts his head, his hair hanging like a golden curtain behind him. "I think I could put on those spare clothes now," he says.

Tara sighs. She's committing a felony and possibly treason, and she won't even be getting a journal entry out of it. "Hang on," she says.

"Hang on to what?" the elf asks, and she barely contains a snort. Delightful cultural misunderstandings are what she's going to get out of it, apparently. Standing up, she heads to her room. "It's an expression. It means just a minute." When she comes back, he's standing up. He's a little taller than she expects, and a little broader in the shoulder and squarer in the jaw.

He smiles, revealing a dimple in his left cheek. "That human medicine is amazing! Instead of turning off the nerves that are transmitting the pain to my brain, it is turning off the nerves in my brain that are feeling it."

Tara actually knew that... she's a little confused as to how he knows it, and also, how long did it usually take for acetaminophen and ibuprofen to kick in? Twenty minutes maybe? She doesn't remember feeling this chipper after dosing up before her root canal. "Mmm... hmmm..." she says, handing him some clothes she thinks will fit him.

Dropping them on the floor, Lionel peels off his shirt, exposing a toned stomach and chest. Tara feels herself get warm. Then his hands drop to the waistband of his pants. Tara looks away. "You... ah... might want to change in there." She points to the bathroom because it's closest.

Ducking past him, she heads down the hall, trying to be discreet... but her eyes have minds of their own and she peers back. Lionel has a nice back and nice arms. He has that vein that guys have on the back of their forearms when they're really toned ...

With a groan she looks away and enters the living room. Sinking with a sigh onto her comfy couch and scooping up Inky, her octopus-pillow friend to be her armrest, she takes her recent issue of WIRED off her laptop, plops the device on her lap, opens it, and focuses very purposefully on the screen... Her eyes go to the empty hallway. Lionel had been nice to look at. A little short, but he's not scrawny, or too bulky... just... perfect. She shakes her head. And he's not afraid to show it. Taking a deep breath, she checks her work email.

From the bathroom, she hears the toilet flush, the faucet turn on, and then the shower. Tara lifts her head. The toilet flushes again. The shower goes off. The faucet goes on. And off. And on again. She blinks. Hears the shower, and then the toilet. She rolls her eyes. After babysitting, she knows the sound of someone playing with the water when she hears it. Shaking her head, she goes back to her email.

After finishing catching up on work stuff, she goes to social media and shares news of a troll under the Green Line (it had been confirmed by researchers in the Dark Energy Department, so she knows the reports are legit). And then she does what she used to do before Chicago was invaded by a crazy Norse God, and maybe not-so-crazy elves: she checks various music sites for new releases by some of her favorites in the hometown music scene. She's filling her home speakers with some electronica that is beautiful, bluesy and soulful and posting about it when Lionel pads out. He's wearing her purple University of Illinois sweatshirt and gray matching sweat pants. The purple makes his face look sickly pale. It's also obvious that the set has been worn by a girl; the chest and hips are stretched, and the ensemble hangs on him like potato sacks. She hits the pause button and bites her lip to keep from laughing.

Lionel picks at the pants. "These are... comfortable."

"They don't suit you," Tara admits, barely containing a snort at his obvious distaste.

"I wasn't going to say it," he replies, and Tara does laugh.

Lifting his eyes to hers, Lionel gives her a cautious smile and she stops laughing. From the neck up... he looks... striking? Gorgeous? She swears his hair glows and is impossibly smooth, like girls in magazines who have the benefit of Photoshop.

He inclines his head to the laptop. "The music that instrument plays is... interesting."

"I like it," she says, a touch defensively.

Approaching the couch, he says, "I didn't say I didn't. But I didn't hear enough to judge." He inclines his head. Is he asking her to play more? His ear points are poking through his hair, and she finds herself flushing, remembering how warm they were, and the softness of his skin.

"Hang on," Tara says, bending over her keyboard, forcing herself to look away from his ears.

"I'll do my best not to let go," he promises.

She blinks up.

Spreading his hands, Lionel raises an eyebrow. "I was trying to make a joke... it's one of the hardest things between languages and cultures."

Her lips purse.

"Not funny?" he suggests.

Shaking her head, she smiles. "It was kind of a dad joke... and I gotta say, you look a little young for those."

"I'm a few centuries in age, so even though I'm not a father, I suppose I do have an excuse," he replies, and this time there is something a little sly to his smile.

Tara's smile drops, and then his does, too.

"Right," she says, not knowing why that makes her uneasy. Hurriedly pressing a few keys, she reroutes the sound to the speakers and presses play.

Lionel sits down on the edge of the couch. He looks around the room, speaker to speaker, and then cocks his head. The song is about a love affair ending, the singer's voice is soft, and her mic, maybe intentionally, has a bit of static in it. It makes her words seem more distant, and the static adds a beautiful texture to the keyboards.

"Oh," he says when it's over. "That was... interesting. The instruments were completely unfamiliar to me." His eyes meet hers, and then scan her face, making Tara feel very uncomfortable, imagining how someone so pretty must see all her flaws. His lips part, he meets her gaze again, and it's as if his focus has physical weight. Warmth spreads through her, making her feel heavy. She finds herself holding her breath and her pulse quickening, but then his attention shifts to her laptop, its screen a fence between them. She thinks she's glad for that fence. For a just a heartbeat, she thought she there was attraction between them, and she is obviously imagining things. It's good to have fences; they help keep your mind in the right place.

He tips his head toward the laptop. "That is not an instrument, is it?"

Shaking her head, she says, "No, I just use it to play recordings of instruments' music."

"Recordings?" he asks. "I don't understand."

"The sounds of instruments... it's like a..." She brightens. "A captured memory!"

His eyes go wide. "Do most people have access to these recordings... and does it play any instrument?"

"Yes, to the first," Tara says. "As to the second, it doesn't just play instruments." She strikes a few keys. "It can play vocals, too." She fills her living room with the sounds of the Mzansi Youth Choir.

Lionel lifts his head and gazes from one speaker to the other, his lips parted in a look of wonder. When the song ends, he says, "It sounds as though we are in the midst of a great..." He lifts his arms. "Interior space."

Tara nods, more pleased with the fact that he likes it than she ought to be. He's an elf, and a fugitive, and he's got to go home. She can't help smiling, though. "It was recorded in a church."

Lionel stares at her a moment, and then he says, "Ah, Jesus Christ." He nods earnestly. "I've read about him, but we've never met. He's not an elf and has never been to Alfheim that I know."

Tara blinks, not sure what to make of that. But then he leans toward the computer, and in a conspiratorial whisper asks, "Do you have a recording of... a waltz?"

He says it like a waltz is something deviant. Actually, if Tara remembers her history correctly, it was considered deviant on Earth at one time.

"We learned the dance from the Einherjar, but the nobility does not like us to play non-Elvish music." He looks sideways. "We do, but only in secret, and we have to improvise as we don't have the same instruments. I would like very much to hear what a waltz sounds like by the people who invented it."

Tara has no idea who the Einherjar are, but her mind seizes on "the nobility." Whatever social group he's part of isn't even allowed to listen to the music they like. She's heard how her slave ancestors resorted to stamping their feet and using their voices as instruments because African instruments were forbidden. She immediately feels sympathy.

"I can find something," she says, googling, "Best Waltz" and selecting _Blue Danube_ when that seems to be the consensus. When it starts, his mouth opens in an expression of pure wonder. When the prelude ends, and the music begins in earnest, he starts tapping out the rhythm on his uninjured thigh. Bouncing in his seat, he looks like he's all of five and not a few hundred something. Tara bites her cheeks to keep from laughing.

When it's done, he looks at her with both eyebrows up. "That was lovely, but too short." He's obviously fishing for more... and Tara almost gives it to him. But then her lips purse. "I wonder if you'd like the music of my people."

"Isn't everything we've been listening to by humans?" he asks, canting his head and spilling his long white-gold hair over his shoulder.

Tara chuckles. "Well, yes, but I wonder how you'd like..." She bites her lip, considering. She should probably start him off gently. "I wonder how you'd like jazz." She clicks a few keys and fills her room with the sound of Miles Davis' _Kind of Blue_.

Lionel's smile melts away, his eyes go wide, and he sits in almost preternatural stillness.

Tara stops the playback. "You don't like it."

"I've just never heard anything like it," he whispers, glancing at the speakers almost apprehensively.

Tara doesn't hit the play button, wondering if that is just a polite "no."

Leaning toward her, Lionel says, "We've known that you have advanced weaponry, and chariots that are possibly self-aware—"

Tara's mind sputters at that last bit.

Lionel continues. "I had not considered that you'd have advancements in medicine and music." His gaze meets hers. "Please... if you don't mind, play more."

Tapping a button, Tara fills the room with music again. Lionel cocks his head and listens. He doesn't hop in his seat this time, but he cants his head to the musical phrasing. She has a sudden sensation, like she's stepped into a painting, or a television show. She is sitting with a handsome magical elf in her living room listening to Miles Davis. She has been dealing with troll and wyrm alerts since Loki arrived in her city, and she feels like for the first time, she might be seeing the beautiful side of the chaos that Loki the deranged maybe-god left behind. The moment feels surreal, and fragile, like it could be shattered by the smallest thing.

"Tara?"

Her mother's voice from the foyer makes Tara's finger snap down on the pause button. She spins in her seat. Her mom is standing by the door, bags of food from Bombon Cafe in hand, gaping at Lionel.

Setting down her laptop, Tara stands with a start. "Um, hi Mom, this is Lionel. He's..." How is she going to explain the ears? Worse, how is she going to explain why he's wearing her clothes?

She looks frantically at the elf and instead of her baggy sweats, he's wearing a shirt with blue checks that zips down the front and falls past his waist. A white t-shirt peeks out at the collar. The gray sweatpants have been replaced by tan khaki trousers that are a little baggier than is fashionable and cuffed. On his feet are argyle socks. Her eyes slide to his ears. They're round where they peek through his still-long hair. For a moment she's relieved, and then she shivers as she remembers the cop's words. _They can make you see what they want you to see._

For an instant, Lionel hesitates casting an illusion of Earth-like clothing, even though he's guessing Tara's culture is modest by the way she'd run from the hallway, and some Einherjar have told him relations between men and women are more restrained in their cultures. But then he remembers Tara will never realize it's magic he's not supposed to know how to do. Squeezing the key, he uses its power to disguise himself as best he can and stands up.

He nods at her mother and looks at Tara expectantly.

"This... is my mother... Lionel," she stammers, not meeting his eyes.

Searching his memory for what he's learned of human manners while talking with Einherjar in the palace, he says, "Nice to meet you, Missus Gibson."

"Call me Rosa," her mother says, and looks at Tara with one eyebrow cocked.

Lionel finds himself smiling at their utter lack of guile. They are so ignorant of the games he could play with the name, Rosa Gibson. Although he won't... Tara hasn't demanded payment of his debt, and he's her guest, not the other way around. It would be rude. And... his eyes trail down Tara's striking profile. He'd really like to know her better.

"He's a friend, Mom... from college," Tara says, wringing her hands. "Lionel is originally from... ah..."

He blinks and realizes that both of the Gibsons are looking at his clothing. It's possible he didn't get it quite right.

"... New York," Tara finishes.

The words twist in Lionel's brain. "New Amsterdam?" he blurts. It's a city on the eastern coast of the continent he's read about in a book he isn't supposed to look at.

"And he's apparently a fan of _They Might Be Giants_ ," Tara says, her voice dry.

The words are gibberish and Lionel repeats them to himself. "They might be giants?" On repeat, he suddenly knows the meaning, and his eyes go wide. "Giants?" he whispers worriedly.

Tara narrows her eyes at him, and he doesn't say another word on the subject. He finds his eyes darting nervously to the windows, though.

Rosa says, "Wasn't that the band...?" She stops in what was obviously the midst of a question.

"Yes, Mom, the one I heard way too much of in AV Club," Tara finishes.

Lionel tries to look like what she just said didn't sound like complete nonsense.

Rosa smiles nervously at Lionel, and then says to Tara, "I brought you lunch, but you didn't tell me you had company." There is no missing the accusation in her tone. She walks past them both without further invite. The food does smell... interesting, and now that he isn't hurting, he feels hungry. Actually, he's _very_ hungry, famished from all the magic he's been working... without the key, he'd probably have passed out from hunger and exhaustion by now.

"So, what are you doing in Chicago, Lionel?" Rosa asks.

"He's here for work, Mom. He just rang me up and showed up out of the blue," Tara responds, sounding slightly vexed.

The lie makes Lionel pause. It's what, the sixth she's said in the span of a few minutes? He's been enchanted by the novelty of this world—the home that is neither opulent, nor peasant humble, the recorded music that can make a small room sound like a church, the clear canteens that aren't glass... and frankly, by Tara's beauty. It's not Elvish beauty. Tara's taller. Her shoulders are wider and so are her breasts and hips, like an Aesir, Vanir, or Jotunn Frost Giantess, and her face is symmetrical, but her features are so strikingly different. Despite himself, he'd been delighted when he'd made her generous lips smile, and seen the way her tongue flicked against her teeth when she'd been trying to stifle a laugh.

With all that, he'd forgotten that even the least of creatures have means of self-defense. The ease with which Tara has disambiguated is astounding. Some elves can lie, but it is hard if not impossible for most. For Lionel, it's like pushing against the natural flow of magic.

Setting down some strange white containers, Rosa says, "Lionel, why don't you tell me all about yourself." She smiles sunnily at him.

Tara shifts nervously on her feet. Grasping his key tightly, Lionel glances at her... and his mouth falls open in shock. Between him and Tara is an open doorway. Behind her are open skies, not the muted colors of her abode...

"Don't be shy," Rosa says.

Tara tilts her head. The door slams shut and vanishes. It's just Tara, in her comfortable home, and the feeling of magic buzzing in his fingers.

"Well?" says Rosa.

Lionel has the right to use his race's natural defenses, too. Letting all of his Elvish charm flow through him, he says, "I'd much rather hear your story." For good measure, he adds extra compulsion. "... Missus Rosa Gibson."

She blinks. "Well, I was born in Chicago, at St. Mary's. I was only five pounds and three ounces..."

He might have overdone his magic a bit.

Tara sits back in her chair, long done eating. Her mother has been acting weird throughout the whole lunch. She's always a chatterbox, but today she's talked a lot, even for her.

Lionel is just smiling, nodding, and eating everything they put in front of him, as though he's got a built in Hoover.

"Now I work in the barbershop across from Tara's office," her mother says, and stops. She looks at Lionel's plate, and then at Tara.

Looking down, Tara's eyebrows hike. "You're only supposed to eat the inside of the tamale, Lionel."

"Ah," he says, delicately removing a bit of corn husk from his mouth.

Tara doesn't know whether to laugh or wince. With a straight face, she says to her mother, "He's from New York."

Her mom blinks and then says, "Anyway, I was the one who told Tara about the job at the University of Illinois with Dr. Eisenberg."

Reaching for another tamale, Lionel turns to Tara. "You work at a university?"

Tara waves her fork. "I'm just a techie."

"Techie... a magician?" Lionel exclaims.

"Oh, yes, she is!" Tara's mom says. "Tara is brilliant with computers and machines—just like her father. They did the electricity for this whole building. Did she tell you? Tara designed websites when she was still in high school, set up a shopping cart for her cousin's business and everything, and if you get a computer virus, you call her, she'll fix your machine!"

"Mom." Tara flushes and looks down at what's left of her salad. She did get all that from her dad, and a love of comic books, fantasy, and sci-fi, too.

"How about you, Lionel?" Tara's mom asks. "What about your family?"

A brief frown flits across Lionel's face.

Tara stiffens. The frown she just saw... She just has a feeling that's a bad topic. Before she can think of a lie, Lionel says carefully, "My mother... has a farm..." His shoulders are tight and he radiates tension.

He didn't mention his dad, Tara notices.

"Like an organic farm?" says her mom, excitedly. "I'm always telling Tara, if the city life gets too rough, we can always move out to the countryside and make organic cheese, and sell it to the hopsters for sixteen dollars a pound."

Tara chokes on a laugh. "It's hipsters, Mom." But she's so grateful her mom didn't ask about Lionel's dad.

"Hopsters, hipsters..." Her mom waves a hand. She looks at the clock and her mouth falls open. "So much time has passed... I had no idea." For a moment, a glazed sort of look crosses her face, but then she says, "I have to get to the shop."

Standing, she points at Tara. "Tara Lupita Gibson, you got your hair wet."

"Lupita is your middle name?" Lionel asks before she can answer, a curious note of mirth in his voice.

"Yes, Lupita was my great-grandmother's name," she says unaccountably defensively.

Tara's mother bites her lip. "I can't stay today, but I'll come over tomorrow at the usual time. It will have to last you until I get back from Guadalajara with Alma."

It's the first time her mom has gone on vacation since Tara's dad died. Tara had wanted to go too, but hadn't been able to get time off work. Eisenberg has a big conference coming up and needed her to help him prepare. "You'll have fun with Aunt Alma, Mom," Tara says.

Her mom sighs. "I know, but I'll miss you." Switching to Spanish, she says, "But maybe some time alone with Lionel will be good for you, Tara. You can get to know him again without your mother in the way."

Lionel stops chewing.

Tara's face heats, and she answers in English, "Pretty sure he speaks Spanish, Mom." Or understands it, magically.

"You speak Spanish?" her mother asks in that language.

"Si," says Lionel.

"Even better!" Tara's mom exclaims. She has no shame.

Craning her neck to look at the clock on the stove, Tara says, "Wow, Mom, it's getting late."

"You're right," says her mom. "You can finish the rest of the food." She points at Tara's scarf. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Tara hops from her seat. "Great, I'll show you out."

A few minutes later, Tara's outside, wrapping her arms around herself, hopping up and down in the brisk air.

Standing in the street, her mother says, "He's nice, Tara. Nice looking... a little shorter than you, but so is most everyone." She opens her car door but doesn't get in. She just looks expectantly at Tara.

Tara doesn't mind short guys, but they're only interested in tall girls if they're willowy. She is healthy and works out, but is definitely not a willow. Instead of pointing that out, Tara replies, "He's not from around here, Mom, and he's going home soon." The idea is starting to make her a little sad. It is nice seeing the nice side of magic.

Her mother waves her keys. "It could work out. Chicago is much better than New York. He'd move for you, and if he doesn't, he's an idiot."

"Thank you for the confidence booster, Mom, but he's really just a friend."

That earns Tara a "Pfft," and then her mother sighs. "I know your last date with someone outside the community was disappointing—"

"Outside the community" means not black. Tara might be Mexican African-American, but with her dense hair and dark skin, she looks more African, and that's the bucket society tosses her into.

"—but this guy, I don't think he's like that."

Tara sighs. Her last date had been with an anesthesiologist from "outside the community" who said he liked "dating black girls because it makes my parents so angry!" They hadn't had a second date, though not from lack of trying on his part.

"Really, Tara, don't be afraid to expand your horizons," her mother advises, and Tara has to bite her lip to keep from saying, "His horizon is on another planet!"

Her mother continues, "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have married your father." Her mother's voice trembles at the last word, and Tara feels a lump in her throat.

"I have to get going," her mom says, slipping into the car, just before Tara says, "I miss him, too." Weekends, and holidays, every time a new Star Wars, Star Trek, or Marvel movie comes out, and whenever a new sci-fi series takes off... most every day, actually. Tara loves her mom, but her mom just doesn't get those sorts of things.

She watches her mom drive off, and then turns around and squints as two large black birds soar overhead. They're the biggest crows Tara has ever seen.

When she goes back inside, she finds Lionel at the table, still eating. He glances at her and the weird clothes he's wearing disappear to reveal the sweatshirt and pants he borrowed. The points of his ears reappear between his long bangs.

She finds herself tensing up. "Sorry about my mom," she says instead of probing into why she feels uneasy. "She's always trying to find my soulmate."

He gives a sort of snort. "There is no such thing as soulmates—"

Smiling, Tara says, "I know that," and sits down on a chair.

"—for humans," Lionel finishes. "You're the most primitive of all the lesser races."

The bubble of nice magic pops. "Pardon?" says Tara, sitting straighter.

Lionel blinks at her. "Did that come out wrong?"

"I don't know," Tara says, the tension returning to her muscles. "Did it?"

"I don't mean to offend," says Lionel.

Tara tilts her head, and her jaw gets hard.

"But surely it is obvious," he says, waving a fork. "You're not magical."

Tara narrows her eyes. "You called me a magician earlier."

"Well, a primitive magician, you have no concept for such things as..." His head jerks. "You have a word for dark matter!"

"Yes," says Tara carefully. "And dark energy. I work in the Dark Energy Department." Which lots of people call the "Magic Department."

Lionel's eyes get wide. He leans toward her and whispers, "Hadrosaur... do you know what that is?"

"A type of dinosaur," Tara guesses.

Lionel sits back in his seat fast. "English did not have words for dark energy, or dark matter, or hadrosaurs when I was here last!"

Tara gives him the side eye, wondering what he's getting at.

He waves his hand. "I don't actually know those words... magic knows them... so I can say them, but I can't say or understand a word that has no analog between our respective languages."

She should still be mad, but Tara finds herself fascinated. "Airplane," she blurts out.

"I have no idea what that means."

She tilts her head. "But that is a compound word made of two simple words. 'Air' like the air you breathe, and 'plane' like a flat surface. You can't put it together and come up with a guess?"

Leaning forward, Lionel says, "When you take them apart like that, I understand the words separately, but when you put them together..." Straightening, he looks up at the ceiling. "How can air be a plane unless this is a theoretical construct—perhaps a plane that exists mathematically but has no physical embodiment?"

"That's a good guess," Tara replies.

Lionel smiles and winks. "Higher race."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Tara glares at him. "But wrong."

He raises his hands. "I'm joking." Wincing, he adds, "I'm thinking the concept of 'higher race' doesn't quite translate, and I've offended you."

"But you said if the analog doesn't exist, it wouldn't translate, so in that case, I should be offended," Tara counters.

Lionel's ears twitch. "Humans can't use magic—or dark energy, as you call it—so you can't be a..."

"Higher race?" Tara finishes for him.

His lips purse, and he looks to the side.

Unfortunately, he's _partly_ right. Humans know about the existence of dark energy, but they can't make it do anything. "So, you look down on us because of it?" Tara guesses.

Lionel wavers in his seat. "You look down on us because you're taller?" A beam of sunlight streams through the window and lights his features, making him look like a damn angel. Emphasis on the _damn_. Tara glares at him. "You're evading."

Lionel sighs. "I really don't mean to be abrasive. You have been most hospitable..." He looks around. "... and though your home is very alien, I have found it much more comfortable and aesthetically pleasing than I would have expected." He looks at her with great earnestness. "You have running water."

Tara gives him a tight smile.

"As for your mother, I found her quite charming, and if her objective was to match us together as romantic partners, I would be honored."

Tara feels herself go cold. "But a lesser race isn't going to be your soulmate." And it's so close to her last date that she finds herself containing the urge to throw something across the room... or at him.

His brow furrows. "You make it out as though I think you are some sort of animal. That's not true. But humans are... young. The youngest race of all the bipedal species. Elves are the oldest race, older even than dwarves, and we are the only ones with soulmates." He rolls up a sleeve. "You see," he says, showing her a green tattoo she hadn't noticed before on the front of his forearm: two trees entwined to make a sort of trellis with their branches above and roots below.

"It's lovely," Tara says. "But what does it prove?"

"My soulmate has one exactly like it. It is not a crude human 'tattoo.' It appeared spontaneously by magic. That is how we know we are soulmates. Do you have such a mark?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Just because we don't have a mark, doesn't mean we don't have soulmates—if we're different species, we might have a whole different marker... it could be in our DNA for instance. That's—"

"I know what deoxyribonucleic acid is." His brows furrow. "Though I'm surprised that you do."

"We're different species, so our soulmates could be delineated by something else completely," Tara says, lifting her chin.

He raises an eyebrow. "And you believe that?"

She could be game, and argue, but she suddenly feels tired. "No, I don't believe soulmates are real. I mean... I think there's someone for everyone. Actually, I'm sure there is more than one person for everyone." Not that she's found herself someone. For a moment the two floors of her duplex feel too large and empty. "Even if you could only fall in love with a one-in-a-million type of guy, there are over seven billion people on Earth, so that means there's what, seven thousand divided by two... there are three thousand five hundred or so guys out there who are perfect for me." And somehow, she hasn't met a single one of them.

"Seven billion?" Lionel says, his jaw dropping.

"Actually, I think it's crossed seven and a half billion." Tara says, tapping a finger and looking at the ceiling.

"How do you feed that many people?" Lionel asks.

Tara gives him a tight smile. "Not everyone eats well." Or at all. Her eyebrows rise. "I think it's not a matter of production, but rather distribution. I read once that there's never been a famine in places with paved roads, but there are a lot of places that don't—"

"Seven and a half billion," Lionel repeats again.

Tara blinks at him.

"Elves don't lie." His eyes narrow. "But humans can... Are you lying to me?"

She shakes her head. "Nope."

Rolling down his sleeve, he says, "Maybe it's a good thing you don't have soulmates. You'd never find them among so many people. When the time is right, we will find each other..." His expression darkens.

"You don't know who she is?" Tara asks.

Frowning, he shrugs. "No."

"But you know she's out there," says Tara. "And when you meet, it will be perfect... why not meet now?"

His eyebrows shoot up.

She waves a hand. "I mean, not right now, but as soon as you get home? Why wait?"

"I'm too young," he says, and that darkness she'd seen returns again. "Too young for an elf to be interested in such things."

Tara's lips part. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was bitter about that. But what does she know about soulmates? Apparently, she doesn't get to have one as a lesser human.

She feels a lump forming in her throat. To know that there was someone out there for you... if Dwayne, her once fiancé, had known she was his soulmate, that she really wanted to be with him, and loved him, could he have waited just a little longer? She lets out a breath. He's moved on, and that's water under the bridge now.

Shaking his head, Lionel eyes the leftovers. "Thank you for the food. I see you are done, and I'm not hungry anymore. Shall I help you clean up?"

"You don't have to," Tara says automatically. He is a guest, after all, and even if he is kind of arrogant, her parents raised her right.

He makes a dismissive sound. "I'm not a noble elf. I can help clean up."

Tara catches the dismissiveness in how he says "noble." She's struck with the idea that although the elves may consider themselves a "higher race," there doesn't seem to be a lot of love lost between the classes. It makes Tara unaccountably sad.

"Sure, thanks." Tara picks up some leftover tamales. "This way." Lionel follows her to the kitchen, and Tara feels the hairs rising on the back of her neck. He was shot, he's walking, and he created Earth-like clothes when her mother arrived...

Putting the food on the counter, Tara probes... gently. "Those clothes you were wearing earlier—"

"They were an illusion," Lionel says. "Thor, son of Odin, the King of the Realms, passed through Alfheim, my home, on his way back from Earth between your last great wars. There was a young man with him from your world."

Tara freezes. "Kidnapped?"

"Oh, no, recruited!" Lionel says, putting a bag of chips down and holding up his hands. "Odin doesn't allow the kidnapping of humans. That's not one of his vices." He frowns and his jaw gets hard. "Odin and his servants travel all over your world to find the bravest, most honorable warriors at the time of their last breaths. If they join him, they are offered the Apples of Idunn and become magical... like the Vanir, Asgardians, Frost Giants, or..."

"Elves?" Tara supplies.

Lionel gives her a sly grin that brings out his dimple. "Well, no, alas our ears aren't as easy to bestow as magic and immortality."

Despite herself, Tara feels her lips turning up at his cheekiness. She also finds her eyes sliding to the tips of his ears pointing out from beneath his long, smooth bangs. Catching herself, she retrieves some Tupperware.

"The illusion I wore for your mother was recreated from his attire," Lionel says, "I wasn't sure if your mother saw me wearing your clothing—"

"Thank you for that." Tara huffs, imagining it. She starts sorting through the leftovers. "What else can you do?"

He grins. "Like all elves, I'm charming."

She barely contains a snort.

He winks and says, "I can't do telekinesis... amazing you have a word for that! I can't shapeshift, and I don't know of anyone who can, or would want to. It would seem by definition to be horribly painful. You have a word for telepathy, too!"

Tara freezes and feels her cheeks heat, but then Lionel says, "I can't do telepathy. If you secretly find the points of my ears hideous, I wouldn't know." She hears the smile in his voice and wonders if he caught her peeking.

"I can start fires, but I have more of an affinity for ice. Making things cold is really just about slowing the excitation of molecules—I'm good at holding things together, in place. It perhaps makes me a better steward. I can mend wounds, obviously, or that nick to my femoral artery would have been the end of me."

Tara's eyes snap to him. "It hit your femoral artery?"

"I didn't mention that?" Lionel says, busy putting some chips into a container. "Yes. What else... I can World Walk... too easily, that's my special talent. Most of us have individual talents that don't take a particularly large amount of energy or concentration... I can make myself invisible, which is how I wasn't found when I got shot. I managed to stay hidden until my attackers passed me."

Tara gets that prickly feeling in the back of her neck. "Did you see your attackers?"

Lionel tilts his head. "Who exactly shot me? No."

Had the figures in blue had guns? Tara thinks she saw holsters on their hips.

"Are all those magical powers unusual for elves?" Tara asks, something nagging at her.

Frowning, Lionel turns a Tupperware lid around in his hands. "It's... common for some."

_But it's uncommon for you and that's been hard, hasn't it?_ The insight comes in a flash, but Tara doesn't seek clarification, or offer any empathy. It's best to keep distance between yourself and people who think you're lesser by virtue of things outside your control.

Lionel leans against the counter, and his brows become drawn. Clutching his shoulders, he grimaces. Even though he's a little bit of a jerk, she has the urge to reach out and touch him out of sympathy.

She's lonely, obviously.

She should get a cat.

"Do you want more medicine?" she asks, carefully keeping her hands on the Tupperware.

He whispers, "My bones shouldn't hurt... it's my leg that was hit." He shakes his head. "I have to go home."

She couldn't agree more. "We'll find you a World Gate," she says.

"You know about those?" he says.

"Since Loki showed up, everyone knows," she replies.

He shivers. "The Destroyer."

She raises an eyebrow. Hadn't the Dark Elves and Loki been in league with one another? She decides she shouldn't ask. She should get him to a World Gate that takes him home.

She grabs the garbage bag from beneath the sink. And then, unable to resist, she says, "Airplanes are machines that fly through the air and carry up to hundreds of people."

He looks up and narrows his eyes at her. "You're lying."

"Nope," she says, lifting her chin.

"Hippalectryon," he shoots back.

"What's that?" she asks, envisioning an electric hippopotamus.

Massaging one of his shoulders, he winks. "That is a word that is the same in your language and Elvish, I feel it. You just don't know what a hippalectryon is."

"Surge protector," she says.

His face gets hard. "Velociraptor," he hisses, and then his eyes go wide in a horrified expression... probably mirroring Tara's perfectly.

In unison, they demand of each other, "You have those?!"

Tara's lips part. She says weakly, "We only know about them from their bones."

At the same time, Lionel says, "Occasionally there's a bad egg."

Her eyes go wide. She did not want to hear that. "I'm going to take out the garbage." Tying up the bag, she says, "Be right back."

Leaving him perusing some photos on her refrigerator, she goes down the hall. Her phone rings with her mom's tone and she answers just before she reaches the door. She gets a torrent of "Tara, Alma just called me, the plane flight is tonight! I have to take off of work and go! Can you believe she got the date wrong?"

"Yes," Tara says, not able to remember a birthday card that wasn't late or terribly early from Aunt Alma.

"Don't be mean, she loves you," says her mom.

"I know, Mom," Tara says.

"I won't be able to do your hair tomorrow," her mom says.

Tara tries to pretend that it doesn't hurt. Her mom has always done her hair since she was a little girl. "It's okay, Mom. I'll survive."

"I miss you already," her mom says.

"I miss you, too," says Tara.

"Oh, I've got a client, I have to go!"

"Love you, Mom," Tara says.

"I love you too, Sweetheart." The line goes dead. Tara puts her phone on the little shelf by the door to get a better grip on the garbage bag, and then huffs. She left her cruddy-cheap slip-on shoes by the front door when she walked to her mom's car, only her boots are here... her Italian leather, stacked heel, Jimmy Choo ankle boots that she picked up at a yard sale for twenty-five dollars. Up until she found an elf in her alley, that was about the most magical thing that has ever happened to her. They are not boots to take out the garbage in. She sniffs, nearly gags on the reek of the bag, and slips them on. Before she goes out, she peeks out the window for signs of trolls, wyrms, men in blue, and velociraptors. No one is in her yard, or the alley that she can see. She steps out the door, and is just down the stoop when she is attacked, not from the alley or the yard but from above.

## 6

# Carried Away

Lionel is looking at a very interesting painting of amazing detail that features Tara and some humans of a complexion more like his own. Oddly, the beautiful piece of art is hanging haphazardly from a magnet attached to a metal box that might be one of the "ice boxes" he'd heard of.

He reaches up to touch the edge, and the sleeve of Tara's lumpy spare garment falls back, revealing the edge of his soulmark. Is it his imagination, or has it gotten a little faded around the edges? He exhales and closes his eyes. He hadn't told her that he has looked for his soulmate, sending out missives with every delegation that passed through the Queen's Palace... even to the Night Elves. He has never heard back. He knows he is too young to get married, but the games of the palace weary him. They feel hollow, meaningless. He'd hoped that with his soulmate he'd have something different. Even if it was just friendship for a few centuries or so. He pulls his forearm to his stomach. Friendship... what if she told him of all her paramours and set off his jealous streak? What if she was like Light Leaf? He shakes his head at his own foolishness. That was the thing about soulmates though; they were supposed to be of accord with you, by definition.

From outside comes a shout from Tara. "Get away! Get away!"

Before he's even thought about it, Lionel finds himself racing down the hall, grimacing in pain... the World Gate controlled by the Dark Elves is just a few hundred paces down the narrow roadway behind her home. Would they hurt a human to get to him?

Clasping his key tight, he reaches the back door. Through a tiny window he sees Tara in the yard holding her hands above her head being dive-bombed by a familiar bird.

Lionel bursts outside and the cold air hits him like a blow, the near-freezing pavement beneath his almost bare feet makes his soles feel like they're burning.

The dive-bombing raven is screaming, "Where is he? Where is the elf? We heard you, woman!"

Another bird is ripping at the garbage bag rawking, "Tamales!"

"You're screaming in Elvish, Muninn!" Lionel shouts at Odin's winged messenger. "She's human."

Flapping to sit atop a fence, Muninn rawks, "Oops."

Picking up the headscarf that was torn from her head, Tara gapes at the bird. Lionel puts a hand to his face, mortified at how they've treated her and deeply disturbed by their presence. He's used to seeing them in his official capacity. He's only seen them once in an unofficial capacity when he'd accidentally world walked to Midgard as a child... he doesn't want to think about what their presence might mean.

Muninn ruffles his feathers, and in English says, "Don't look at me like that, I'm not the thinking part of this team."

On the bag, the other raven, Huginn—whose name means "thought"—hops and clacks its beak. "Tamales! Corn, corn, corn, corn, masa!"

Lionel's skin heats. "Apologize." The word comes out almost a shout, and he finds himself taking a step toward the raven.

The bird hops back on the fence. "Aw, come on, Lionel—"

The air between him and the bird shimmers.

"Sheesh! All right, don't turn me into a birdcicle," Muninn rawks.

Lionel puts his hand down. He doesn't remember raising it. Had he tried to freeze the bird?

Muninn cleans his wings, defecates, and then mutters in Tara's direction, "Sorry, whoever you are, but you did call us."

"I didn't call you," Tara protests.

Muninn walks toward her on the fence. "Sure you did, Sweetheart," and in a facsimile of Tara's voice says, "Jesus, Odin don't let Lionel die!" He ruffles his feathers. "Or some such. You prayed, I heard."

"You prayed for me?" Lionel asks in wonder. Sometimes magical beings hear prayers, but only when it relates to their higher purpose. If Huginn and Muninn were ordered to find Lionel, they might consider it their purpose.

"I—" Tara stammers, in the process of wrapping the scarf around her hair. Pausing, she points at the bird. "Not to him."

Grasping the key, Lionel takes a step toward her. The day is dreary but he sees Tara silhouetted by a doorway and backlit by sunlight again. He has the sensation that he's flying, or has broken free. He wants to thank her for saving his life again, and it occurs to him that maybe it's just his subconscious wanting to bind himself to her because he wants to keep this feeling.

"Right," says Muninn. "Well, you can't go back through the World Gate down the street because it's been taken over by Dark Elves."

"I thought you were a Dark Elf," Tara says, and the vision evaporates.

"Ruh-roh, Scooby," says Muninn.

"Tamales!" rawks Huginn.

"You have to go to Mary Bartelme Park," says Muninn. "There's a gate there. The big guy would come for you himself but he's looking for—"

"Shut up, Muninn!" rawks Huginn, something green and mushy dropping from its beak.

Lionel swallows. The "big guy" would come for him himself? He takes a deep breath. No, no, no... perhaps the queen is worried he could give sensitive information to their enemies, and requested the assistance of Odin's messengers. Yes, that is all. She's called in a favor.

"Give me some of that, Huginn!" squawks Muninn.

"Ew," says Tara, her nose wrinkling. "That was mixed in with six-week-old sour cream and a bad avocado."

Flapping down to the bag, Muninn shrugs his wings and rawks. "We're scavengers!"

"We should go inside," Lionel says, feeling suddenly tired and wary. There may not be velociraptors on earth, but they are perhaps only five hundred paces from the gate. They might be overheard.

"No way is it pooping in my house," Tara exclaims, tying her scarf.

Grasping the key, he sends invisible projections along the block, but he doesn't sense any magical beings.

He's distantly aware of Tara muttering, "I pray and get heard by a dirty bird."

And one of the birds saying, "You should be honored."

Pulling the projections back to himself, he lets one of them slip through the outbuilding where the chariot sleeps. The apparition winks out near the door that opens from that building to Tara's little yard.

That was odd. He takes a step toward the door. His other apparitions sense nothing magical in that corner. In fact, they sense an odd absence of all ambient magic around a brown, coppery bag.

Lionel shivers. He's not sure what it is, but he's sure it's wrong. "We have to get inside," Lionel says, stepping toward Tara and putting a hand on her arm.

"What?" says Tara, her eyes going to his hands.

Has he done something taboo? He can't bring himself to let her go, but takes a step back, hand still on her. He has to keep her from the wrongness. Trying to explain, he says, "Something is obstructing my magic and—"

The door from Tara's outbuilding bangs open and a mesh of coppery brown goes flying through the air. It lands on Lionel and he notes that it's wire-like and sharp. In the periphery of his vision he sees the ravens take off in a flurry of feathers and hears their angry cries. He calls out to Tara, "Run, Tara, run," and gasps as the words come out in Elvish, not her Midgardian tongue.

Somewhere Tara yells. He hears a thud, a yelp, and in Elvish tinged with the accent of the Dark Elves, "Tie up the Valkyrie, too!"

He pulls the silk cord of his key into his palm and squeezes so tight it hurts, but he feels no magic. The mesh around him is getting tighter, pain explodes in all his limbs, and Lionel can't think at all.

"Put me down!" Tara cries, trying to wiggle out of the sack she's in. It's wire and cutting her face and hands. The sack is being held at her feet and head by figures she can't make out—other than to realize they're not wearing cop-like uniforms. They're not speaking English either, and she has no idea if she's being understood. They're moving fast down her alley and she's rocking, bouncing, and occasionally scraping against the cobblestones.

Behind her, she hears Lionel moan and angry words from her captors in another language.

Lights go off behind her eyes in every color of the rainbow and for an instant, Tara thinks that she must have hit her head. The air suddenly gets ten degrees warmer and she smells decay. She smells fetid water, and her nose wrinkles in disgust. "Lionel," she calls. "Lionel, where are we?"

Lionel says something, but it's not in English. Someone kicks her halfheartedly in the hip. She hears a louder thud behind her, and hears Lionel sputter and gag. Tara gulps. Rainbow light—a World Gate. She thinks she read something that @godsofradioshack posted about rainbow light between the worlds. She's in another world.

She looks around, and from her awkward angle makes out a sort of fort that looks like something from an Old West movie—logs with sharpened tops. Instead of cowboys, there are Indians along the wall, bows in hand. The Indians are of every shade with pointed ears, wearing clothing that looks medieval rather than Native American.

Two elves are arguing near her. She's dropped unceremoniously on the ground, and struggles to free herself, but is abruptly hauled up again. A few minutes later, she's passing through a gate made of logs. All around her are dark alien trees and swamp. She hears Lionel give a low moan, and is ridiculously grateful he's coming with her.

Their captors take off at a lope. Sharp grasses poke at her, and she sees strange black shadows swoop above. Tara picks at the net that's carrying her, but the wire is too strong to break with her fingers. She tries with her keys and gets them ripped away. She squints at the wire... it's in a weird shape... octagonal. She's heard Eisenberg speak about "Promethean Wire," a sort of "cage that inhibits dark energy within it." She bites her lip. Could that be why Lionel seems to be so helpless?

The bag bounces, and she feels the netting biting into her skin and warm sticky wetness on her cheeks. She tastes blood, but the cries from Lionel make her realize that he's got it much worse. She's not sure how far they've gone when she hears voices, and sees figures with pointy ears in rag-like clothing around her. They have what look like machine guns strapped to their backs... AK-47s like Loki's minions the Dark Elves?

She remembers Lionel apparently isn't a Dark Elf. Why didn't he tell her? And whose side is he on?

They go up a gentle rise, and the ground goes from being stinking mud and water to dry packed earth. She thinks she sees a few squat buildings, and then is carried into a dark interior that smells like mildew. She hears footsteps and what sounds like curses. Before she knows it, she's unrolled from her bag onto a floor covered with sharp, dry grasses. As she struggles to get up, two more elf men throw Lionel next to her, and he lets out a horrible cry of pain. Unsteadily rising to her feet, Tara lunges over him, trying to block the exit before they close it, but their captors slam a barred door lined with the same octagonal mesh in her face.

Tara stares through the bars, sees a rough stone wall and a tiny window through which dim light penetrates the gloom. "Why are you doing this?" she shouts. She shakes the bars, but the lock doesn't give, and the mesh cuts her fingers. Pain makes her take a step back. She feels wetness on her face that isn't blood. Taking a deep breath, she remembers the words her father used to tell her when they were wiring houses. "Whenever you get frustrated, slow down and think. Less haste is more speed, Tara."

Taking a deep breath, that is half a sob, she focuses on how her cage was made. Through eyes blurred by tears, she notices that the mesh is soldered to the bars with thick alloy bands. Tugging at a joint, she only manages to hurt herself and backs up with an angry cry. The contortion of her cheeks makes her cuts burn. Reaching up, she finds welts. She jerks her hand away, and sees blood on her fingers.

Forcing herself not to touch and infect the wound, she pats down her pockets and groans. She left her phone at home. She could have used the light.

On the floor, Lionel moans again and Tara goes over to him. "What did they do to you?" she whispers.

His face and hands are scratched and bleeding like Tara's. But he also has a sheen of sweat upon his brow, and he's doubled over on the floor, clutching his shins, rocking slightly, the silken cord and key still around his wrist. The key is the old-fashioned kind. Either their captors didn't notice it or figured rightly that it would be useless to cut through the mesh.

Lionel moans again and Tara doesn't know what to do, other than push his sweat-slicked bangs away from his face and pull his head into her lap. He looks like he is in agony.

"Lionel," she says. "Lionel, do you understand me?"

Lionel's eyes flutter open, and he shakes his head. "Llee wanlewee, nil." He hisses and closes his eyes.

He doesn't understand her. He's not touching the bullet wound, although she can see the wound is starting to weep again. He's rubbing his shins...

He said earlier that something was obstructing his magic in English. But then they'd been trussed up and he'd called out in what she thinks was Elvish. The wire has to be the magic-stopping Promethean stuff she'd heard about... Tara begins digging through the straw and the damp ground beneath it. About half an inch beneath the dirt, her fingers scrape across more wire. She tries prying at it with her finger, but it doesn't budge. Her eyes dart around in the darkness. It must have an edge that might be a weak point. She looks at the doors of the cell where the mesh had been so carefully soldered... or maybe it wasn't.

She takes a deep breath. She's got to check.

Creating a pillow of straw, she shifts Lionel's head to it and begins crawling across the cell floor on her hands and knees. Her heart falls when she finds the first soldered edge between the floor and the wall—the adhesion is robust and she knows she won't be able to tear it apart. She feels up the wall, and finds that the mesh is fixed to it with metal staples she can't for the life of her get her nails under. She almost gives up, but then, more to keep moving, she begins feeling along the corner of the wall and floor where two pieces of the mesh are joined together. She bites her lip. The two pieces are soldered together every six inches... she rounds one corner on her knees, and then another... and comes to a gap where the person—or elf—doing the soldering got sloppy. With a gasp, she feels for the next junction, and finds another sloppy gob of solder. The next is the same. Feeling her eyes get hot with hope, she pulls back the wire. It bites into her fingers, making her grimace in pain, but it gives, creating a hole just wide enough to slip a hand through. Hearing footsteps outside the cell, she throws straw over her handiwork and moves away from the spot fast.

An elf with a scar down his cheek thrusts a bottle through the bars. He looks at Lionel and snorts. Looking at Tara, he narrows his eyes. "Mizulle," he says, and walks away. Tara looks at the bottle. Made of a brown glass, it has a stopper on a metal hinge. She waits until she hears a door slam, and goes back to her task. She has no idea how long she works, Lionel's pained pants egging her on, but she manages to pull a small section of the wiring away from the floor, bloodying her fingers in the process. The cell has become completely dark. It's night, she supposes. She works by feel until her mouth is so dry it's painful to swallow and her stomach is clenching, but she's only pulled away a few inches of wire.

She catches sight of an orange glow and throws down some straw again, just before she hears footsteps outside the door. A man bearing a torch points at Lionel and growls in another language.

Tara growls back, "I have no idea what you're saying."

"Valkyrie," he hisses, the only word she thinks she might understand before he releases a string of incomprehensible syllables.

Lionel's eyes flutter open. "Valkyrie nil. Midgardelle."

"Midgardelle nil!" roars the elf. He vanishes for a second, but comes back with a chair, and sits staring into the cell. Unable to return to her task, Tara edges closer to Lionel. He's breathing heavily, his hair is drenched with sweat, and he's curled in a ball. She glances down his body and notices his abs and belly button peeking from beneath her sweatshirt. And then her mouth falls open—the sweatshirt has become tight on him. Lionel stretches out with a moan, and his ankles and the bottom of his calves peek out from the cuffs of the pants he borrowed. Wincing, Lionel grabs his shins and curls into a ball again.

She remembers the police officer saying, "They can make you see what they want you to see." Why would he want to appear shorter before, though? And then she swallows, remembering Lionel saying shapeshifting would be terribly painful. He doesn't look like he's turning into an animal but...

"Lionel," Tara whispers. "Are you growing?"

He doesn't understand, of course. He murmurs again, "Llee wanlewee, nil."

Tara's tall, and she had growing pains as a girl. Her pediatrician aunt had told her it wasn't uncommon for children to grow as much as a quarter inch a night... Lionel's growing much faster. Remembering her own pain, Tara moves down to his legs and begins massaging his shins like her mom had done. Lionel uncoils at her touch. For a moment, his eyes meet hers. Wincing, he begins rubbing his arms and looks away. Tara's brow furrows... His face looks like his proportions are changing. His jaw bones are becoming more prominent, and it might be an illusion of the light, but she swears she sees the shadow of a beard under his chin. He hadn't seemed to need to shave while he stayed with her. He looks... more human, she decides, but the points of his ears are still peeking out from his hair, now dark with sweat and mud, and his features are still too finely chiseled.

She knows she can't look much better. Her face is a mess of bloody cuts, and her scarf is gone—she's probably got straw in her hair.

Outside the cell, the man with the torch says something in a sneering voice. Tara doesn't even bother to look. She's not sure how long she cradles and rubs Lionel's legs... but she's sure it's hours, and also that Lionel's bones are getting longer beneath her fingers. By the spasming of his toes, she's pretty sure the growth is everywhere. She doesn't stop until he falls asleep. It might be unconsciousness because the guard starts screaming something outside the cell and it doesn't wake him up.

Lionel being asleep makes her feel alone, and the guard being there makes her more afraid. Trying to tear back the wire from the floor had at least kept her busy. Without something to do, her mind starts to wander. Tara's never really thought of herself as being a particularly imaginative person—but she starts conceiving of every way she can possibly die, not least of which is simply being stuck in the smelly, damp cell forever. The elves outside had looked kind of medieval, and not in the charming Renaissance Faire way that Lionel had. She remembers an absolutely horrific snippet of a Discovery Channel episode about the history of torture devices, and the torture devices of the European Dark Ages in particular.

She looks over her shoulder. Angry elf is still sitting on his chair, sulking. At her glance, he yells at her again.

"I can't understand you!" Tara snaps.

He snaps back.

On the floor, Lionel whispers, "Mizulle."

Tara blinks at him.

"Mizulle," he says again, and Tara remembers, that's what the man had said when he dropped the bottle in the cell. Scrambling on hands and knees, she retrieves the brown glass vessel, and quickly figures out the metal "hinge." The stopper comes off with a pop. She smells the contents—it smells like nothing—or water.

"Mizulle," Lionel whispers again. She hands the bottle to him. Half sitting, resting on an elbow, he stares at it a moment, and then offers it to her. "Tara." He licks his lips. "Mizulle."

She's tired, hungry, parched... and it might be because she's terrified, but she lifts an eyebrow and snickers when she takes the bottle. "Trying to make me your poison tester?"

Lionel shakes his head sadly. "Llee wanlewee, nil."

"You don't understand me and can't appreciate my sense of humor," she says. She looks down at the bottle in her hand. Better to die by poison than a lot of the other things she can think of. She tips back the bottle. Expecting something barely palatable, she's surprised by how fresh and clean the water tastes. She takes another sip, and hands it to Lionel. "It's safe, you can drink now."

He opens his mouth as though he's about to respond, and she waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, llee wanlewee, nil."

In the dim light, Tara sees Lionel give her a weak smile. "Tara wanlewee." He tips back the bottle and drinks two sips himself.

"Midgard elle, nil!" roars the guard, approaching the cell door.

Lionel looks up and the light of the torch illuminates his face. She's struck by the deep hollows under his eyes. Lionel says a few curt words to the guard, which makes the guard curse back. Tara's eyes are riveted on Lionel. She'd swear that his face has become broader, and his features more pronounced.

The guard sits back on his chair with a few angry words, and Lionel's eyes return to Tara's. With a hesitant hand, he reaches up and cups her cheek. He says some words that Tara can't understand, but she thinks the tone sounds an awful lot like, _I'm sorry._

She lets out a breath. Maybe she should be angry at him—she gets the feeling he knew more about the danger he was in than he'd told her. What had he said to the birds? _The Dark Elves are at the gate._ But she's too scared and too tired to be mad. He presses the water to her, and she takes a few more grateful sips. "Thank you," she says, passing it back. He just shakes his head before taking a few more sips of his own.

In the chair outside the door, the guard laughs.

Tara's skin heats, and something in her boils over. Twisting to look at him, Tara hisses, "Fuck you!" It's a stupid thing to say. She never swears. It had been drilled into her that that is not how a lady talks, and it's not like he even understands... but just as she thinks that, the man's eyes get wide. Rocking back in his seat, he stares at her a moment, and then he gets up and scurries out of view. Tara hears a door slam, and muffled shouts.

Climbing to her feet, she beckons with her hand for Lionel to follow her to the corner of the cell.

His brows rise, but he stands, takes a step, and nearly falls over. He straightens, and Tara's breath catches. He's taller than her—even in her boots. Lionel looks down at her, and then lifts his hands and gazes at them with an expression of pure terror. His hands fly to his ears. He touches the points and closes his eyes. Tara can read the relief in his face. And then his hands go to his jaw and the look of terror returns. They don't have time for this. She takes his hand and squeezes it. "You're still hot, Lionel," she says. And he is. He'll be even better looking when he puts on a few more pounds.

He stares at her, rubbing his jaw. He needs to snap out of it.

"Lionel, you're okay," she whispers. When his eyes show no comprehension, she lifts herself to her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. Stubble bites her lips. He's surprisingly warm and she hopes he doesn't have a fever, and then she wonders if the warmth is just her own flush.

Taking his hand, she pulls him over to the corner. Sitting on her heels, she lets go of him, then gestures for him to help her, and begins pulling at the wire.

Lionel doesn't bend down to help. Reaching up frantically, she grabs his hand and pulls him down. He shakes his head and murmurs something.

Tara lets out a huff of frustration. She doesn't know anything about magic, but maybe they can pull back enough wire to crawl out the old-fashioned way? And digging like a mole in a dark corner is infinitely better than doing nothing. She jerks his hand over to the edge of the wire. "Help me with this!"

Scowling, he runs his hands over the edges.

Tara pulls back a few inches more, and his eyes widen. He slips his hand into the gap in the wire, looks back at Tara with wide eyes, and begins pulling furiously at the wire with her. In a moment, they have a section of bare dirt exposed, about as long as Tara's arm, but not quite wide enough to fit a head through.

Lionel lays flat on his stomach with his face above the dirt. Beckoning with his hand, he says "Tara," followed by a string of Elvish. His brow creases. He gives another yank and the mesh parts a little more. "Here, Tara," he says, patting the dirt beside him. "Lie down."

Her heart leaps in comprehension, the hole in the mesh barrier is wide enough they can communicate again. Lying down beside him, Tara whispers, "If we pull it back further, we may slip through. It could take some time though and—"

Lionel puts his fingers to his lips and Tara falls silent. Reaching forward, he ever so gently touches her face. She feels heat race from his fingertips to every part of her, and she scrunches her eyes shut, embarrassed.

"There, no hurt," Lionel whispers, dropping his hand.

The warmth in her face remains... but the stinging of her cuts has vanished. She touches her face and finds only smooth skin where once there had been welts. Her eyes go to his leg. She can see the dark brown stain of blood through the pants. She swallows. He's on her side, Dark Elf, Light Elf, Sidhe, Unseelie... whatever. "Lionel, we have to get you fixed before me," she says, and starts to tug at the wire.

"Telekinesis not work on door," he says. "Wire is there." He sounds defeated, even though they've achieved so much already.

"I'm not giving up," she says, but then she hears footsteps outside the cell. Throwing grasses against the exposed section of the ground, she quickly spins, grabs the water bottle, and leans back against the wall, trying to look casual. Scrambling up, Lionel settles next to her. The warmth of his body radiates up her side, and she almost cries again—in relief. They're in this together, she's not alone.

Two elves appear at the door, and Tara hears others behind them. One is the angry guard guy, though he doesn't look as angry now. The other is someone new. He looks a lot like Lionel had before, slight, pale, blonde, beautiful. The only way she would have been able to tell them apart before is that this elf's eyes are brown. Clearing his throat, he says, "Do you speak English?"

Tara's mouth drops open.

The one beside him mutters, "Midgardian elle, nil."

"I speak English," Tara replies.

The man who had spoken rolls back on his feet and says something in Elvish—if that's what the language is. Lionel puts his hand on Tara's leg, just above her knee and replies in their language. The second elf dips his chin and responds... again in Elvish.

"You know it's not polite to talk in front of someone who can't understand?" Tara says.

The elf who had spoken English looks back to her. "I'm Naleigh, once of the Queen's Kitchens." His eyes fall on Lionel and his lips turn up in a snarl. "But I'm Naleigh of the Dark Elves now, and I am free."

Lionel doesn't respond. Naleigh turns back to Tara. "There has been a mistake. You were not our target, only him. We will return you home." Issuing some orders in Elvish, he pulls some archaic looking keys from his pocket and opens the cell. Before Tara can blink, five other elves stream in. They're all bearing crossbows except one with a wicked long gun... Tara's heart skips a beat.

... And then she realizes all of them are aimed at Lionel.

## 7

# Owning It

Tara doesn't move, afraid that if she breathes, they'll turn Lionel into a pincushion.

"You can get up," says Naleigh, scowling down at her.

Tara still doesn't budge. Her heart is beating so fast, she can feel it against her ribs. "What about him?" she asks, inclining her head toward Lionel. That makes all the people with weapons jumpy. The one with what she thinks might be an AK-47 aims at her. Tara stares at the gaping maw of the gun, and then her eyes meet the eyes of the elf holding the weapon. They're so grey they're almost white. His hair is white and silvery and his skin is startlingly pale. She thinks she sees delicate crow's feet around his eyes. For a heartbeat, he doesn't move, but then he aims the weapon in Lionel's direction again. It doesn't really make her feel better.

Naleigh's scowl intensifies, and Tara gets that magic in here is probably limited, but she'd swear he's shooting daggers with his eyes.

"This is not your concern," says Naleigh. "You must come with us."

Her stomach falls. Tara doesn't budge, and it's not just from fear of being shot. Leaving the only person she knows in what she's guessing is Alfheim, land of the elves in Norse mythology, doesn't strike her as a particularly smart thing to do. She glares back at Naleigh.

Lionel whispers into her ear, "Go, Tara Lupita Gibson."

She stands, as though lifted by invisible strings, the half-empty bottle of water still in hand, and goes meekly to the door without looking back. Beside her, Naleigh says, "I'm sorry you were apprehended, and that it wasn't realized sooner. Most of us don't speak English... it was only that peculiar curse word you used that Diwilli recognized. You know how soldiers are, always learning the curse words of the countries they visit, not the language." He locks the door behind them with keys from his belt, and leads Tara to the entrance of the building.

Tara follows in a sort of daze. She wonders if she is in shock. She's just stepping out of the building, breathing in too-cool night air, when she snaps out of her fear, or... whatever.

"What's going to happen to Lionel?" she asks as the guards who'd accompanied them melt off in different directions.

"He'll receive appropriate punishment," Naleigh says. He spits at the ground. "My preference is execution, but perhaps the council will come up with something more creative." He smiles cruelly.

"Appropriate punishment for what?" Tara says, her heart rate quickening. "What has he done?"

Drawing to a halt, Naleigh says, "For being in league with the queen, and by extension, Odin. They are your enemies, human."

"I don't know the queen or Odin!" Tara retorts, meeting Naleigh's eyes. "Lionel is my friend... and it was Dark Elves who invaded Chicago and let loose all the trolls and wyrms and... and... things!"

Naleigh's jaw gets hard. "Mistakes were made. We are trying to make amends..."

Tara snorts. "Thousands died!"

"That was Loki, not us!" the elf declares. "And believe me, Lionel is not your friend."

She touches her healed face. "Is so."

The elf scoffs. "Tell me, Tara, did he extract your full name from you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Tara cries.

The elf's voice becomes venomous. "He was not so much a friend as to tell you what danger he posed to you."

Tara shakes her head. "What are you getting at?"

The elf's voice gets louder. "He's been using you."

"Yeah, he's been staying at my house." Tara tries to cross her arms over her chest, and realizes that she's still holding the water bottle in her hand, and drops her arms to her sides. "You haven't explained to me what he's done to deserve execution."

"A quick death is more than the queen gives our people!" the elf declares so loudly it is almost a shout.

Tara almost shouts back, and then she has a sudden rush of déjà vu, of being back on the street with the definitely human police officer with Dr. Eisenberg. The police officer and Tara had been shouting past one another... and she feels like that's what's happening between her and Naleigh now. She gulps, and her eyes slide around her. She's in a swamp, surrounded by tiny stone houses with thatch roofs. The sod underneath her feet is damp, she smells stagnant water, and the night is filled with the sounds of strange insects and a strange cooing noise coming from the thatched building directly across from the jail. The only thing that sets this apart from a medieval village is a lamp post near the prison. Instead of a torch, or an electric light, it has a globe at the top with several bugs crawling within, casting an eerie green glow from their bellies. The light shifts and wavers as they move.

"Not much to look at, is it?" says the elf. "It is the queen's doing."

It is drab and terrible, but... "Why is Lionel so important?" Tara demands. She remembers all the magic he has. "Is he some sort of powerful sorcerer?"

Naleigh snorts. "Hardly. Except for his talent for opening World Gates, he's got only enough magic to be a servant."

Tara touches her face again, and remembers the illusion of clothes Lionel had made.

Naleigh goes on. "But why would he understand more than that? He was born a peasant. I've no idea why he was made steward."

Tara blinks. He sounds jealous. Also... "Steward? Is that like a butler?"

Naleigh scowls. "Yes, it's like a butler," he says.

"So, he's nobody?" Tara says, hope rising in her chest. "Surely there are rules for prisoners of war and—"

"Any servant of the queen is an enemy, and will be punished accordingly," the man declares.

Tara takes a step back.

He sighs. "But you are not. You have been enchanted, and he's probably taken more from you than you realize. I am going to help you get home. We don't want war with humans."

"I don't want Lionel to die or be tortured," Tara says, her eyes flickering around. They're alone in what she guesses passes for the town square.

The elf says, "He'd not care so much for you."

Tara remembers Lionel giving her water to drink first and is acutely aware of the lack of pain in her face. Naleigh's words solidify something in Tara. She knows she's over her head here. She can't tell the difference between the Dark Elves and the Light Elves—they all look like Legolas to her—but she knows she can't leave Lionel behind because Naleigh is wrong. Lionel didn't enchant her to get her aide. Maybe Lionel is wrong too in some ways if this queen is so evil, but they're _all_ wrong.

Instead of saying that, she just ducks her chin. "I guess I really don't have any choice, do I?" She tries to sound scared. Fortunately, she is terrified, and it's not really a stretch.

"You really don't," Naleigh says. "Humans are weak, and the Delta of Sorrows would eat you alive."

Which is why there's no one else guarding her, Tara suspects. Tara looks at him from beneath her lashes. She's got a few inches of height on him. "I'll follow; you lead," she says meekly.

Naleigh gives what to Tara appears to be a very arrogant nod. Turning his back, he begins walking toward the village edge, the keys to the cell jingling on his belt.

Tara grips the water bottle more tightly. She follows him quietly until they are just two steps into the trees, and then, gritting her teeth, she brings the bottle down hard on the back of his head.

Like hauling an elf through your garage, hitting someone over the head is another one of those things that looks easier in the movies. The impact from the swing runs all the way up her arm, right to her teeth, and the damn bottle doesn't even break. Tara's mouth drops open in dismay. She's afraid she's just given herself away for nothing. But then Naleigh wavers, and goes to his knees. Putting his hands over his head, he cries, "What are you—?"

"Sorry," she cuts him off with a whisper, "but you can't kill him." Kneeling down, she rips the keys from his belt.

Naleigh tries to stand, but tips over and begins vomiting.

"Sorry, sorry!" Tara whispers again, dashing away. The village is empty and she is completely unopposed as she runs into the little jail. There's only one cell, and even in the dark, with just the dim light of the bug lamp filtering in through the door, she finds it. She peeks in the bars. She can't be certain in the gloom, but it looks like Lionel is sitting with his head in his hands by the wall. "Lionel, get up!" Tara hisses, fumbling to get a key into the lock—there are a couple and she's going to have to try them all.

Lionel lifts his head, his face pale as the moon. "Tara?" he whispers.

The first key clicks, and Tara smiles, swinging the door open.

"Let's go!" she says.

Lionel stumbles to his feet, and she throws his arm over her shoulder like she had that first night. He's taller, but not really heavier. She thinks she can see the outline of his hip bones through her sweats. Outside, she hears Naleigh shout something in Elvish. Or Dark Elvish. Or whatever they speak.

Stumbling beside her, Lionel whispers, "Tara, you can't make it with me. My leg—"

"You're making it," Tara says, tears prickling at her eyes. "I just beaned a man for you."

Lionel mutters, "Gibberish," but he doesn't stop moving.

They step outside, into the full glow of the bug light. Tara blinks and finds herself staring down the shaft of a crossbow bolt. She gulps. Lionel goes still. She hears the strange cooing noise, and what sounds like a deep clucking. From the forest, she hears shouts and fast footsteps. Tara feels her legs go weak. She has really, really blown it.

From the crossbow comes a snap. Tara gasps and waits for pain.

Pain doesn't come. The man with the crossbow stares down at the bolt. It's broken in half. Behind her, Tara feels heat, and in front of her there is orange light and a crackling noise. The loud clucking turns into rooster-like screams. Lionel drags her sideways, and the guy with the crossbow looks up from his weapon to the spot Tara and Lionel had been.

He shouts something in Elvish, spins in place, and looks right through them. Tara looks down, wondering for a moment if she's ceased to exist... and can't see herself. She looks in Lionel's direction and he's gone too, but she can feel the weight of his hand on her shoulder, and the brush of his side against hers. It's the weight of him that keeps her from screaming and bolting. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself that Lionel told her he can make himself invisible... why not her, too?

Lionel pushes her past the guard, his steps becoming rapidly surer. From the forest, more elves with crossbows emerge, they shout, and Tara sees one loading his weapon, his gaze directly on her. She bends down, and Lionel copies her motion. She hears a whiz overhead, and a thunk as the bolt strikes another house. The man curses, and Lionel pushes her forward. The light that had been in front of them leaps... it's flames in the thatch of the roof across from the jail, and they're walking straight for it. Behind her there's a crash, and sparks fly. She hears a loud thumping in front of them and the wooden door of that building explodes outward. A giant chicken nearly two feet taller than her rushes directly at Tara. Lionel yanks her to the left, and she just misses being trampled. More chicken-horses stream from the building, squawking in terror. As they lurch past, she realizes that they have bodies of horses attached to their chicken necks, chicken feet, chicken wings, and chicken-feathered tails that fill the air with feathers... She smells something like burning hair times eleven, hears shouting, and she's paralyzed in place as the chicken-horses mill about her, flapping their apparently mostly useless chicken wings and screeching. Over their backs she sees frustrated elves. Suddenly, Lionel's weight is gone and she's standing alone in a rain of sparks. Her heart falls, and then she hears Lionel. "On two!" She feels hands beneath her arms, but can't see anything except the side of a huge chicken-horse right in front of her. One behind her bumps her forward, the hands under her arms pull, and she hears Lionel cry, "Two!" even though she never heard the "One", and she's awkwardly draped over a chicken-horse's back.

It jerks forward and up, wings flapping madly. They're not as useless as Tara had thought, and she finds herself staring down at an elf village that seems to be made of fire. Every hut is alight, and elves are running everywhere. The chicken lands a little beyond the jail with breath-stealing impact. Tara feels something hot on her neck, and hears Lionel curse, and the smell of burning hair is way too close. The chicken-horse leaps again, flapping its feathers, and the heat turns to a burn so painful that Tara cries out. The chicken lands just beyond the village, and the cry turns to a huff of impact. The chicken-horse runs to the trees. She feels Lionel's hand on the back of her neck, and hears him murmur softly in Elvish.

She still can't see him, but she feels his knees in her side, and one of his hands slides over her butt—which is probably the only thing keeping her aboard the horse-chicken, but still makes her feel like an idiot. In the movies, the cowboy always pulls the girl up sidesaddle style, or at least lets her get a leg over the beast. But she guesses Lionel isn't really a cowboy, and a giant chicken isn't really a horse. The trees are a blur beside them, and Tara struggles to sit. "Can we please stop so I can at least...?" _Get my butt out of the air._ She can't quite say the last for embarrassment, and she isn't sure she's heard over the chicken-horse's squawking, but it slows to nearly a stop, and Lionel's leg appears by her nose. Or rather, a shadow appears by her nose, where before she'd seen slight starlight and trees through his body.

"Tara, llee wanlewee, nil," he says.

He can't understand her. But perhaps he senses her discomfort, because he shifts his hands to her stomach, and helps her reorient herself. He keeps one arm around her waist, even when she's astride. His thighs brace her on either side, and her back is against his chest. The night is chilly, and she's glad she's wearing her winter coat... Lionel must be cold. He's only wearing socks and her sweats, and those aren't fitting him well anymore. She glances down, and can see her hands, dark shadows against the chicken-horse's head plumage.

"Hippalectryon," Lionel says, patting its neck.

The beast coos slightly.

It takes a moment for their former conversation to come back to her. "Chicken-horse," Tara mutters. "Where are we going?" She asks before she remembers he can't understand her... Why can't he understand her? They're no longer inside the Promethean Wire cell.

His hand tightens around her stomach, and he gives the chicken-horse a light kick on the flanks. They whiz through the trees again, water splashing all around them. Tara's not sure how long they travel, but her legs are getting tired, and the adrenaline must be wearing off, because she feels the burn of exhaustion behind her eyes when they reach a hillock with only a single enormous tree at the top. The chicken-horse heads straight up it. Tara's just thinking that they're awfully exposed, and she doesn't know how to convey that, when Lionel surprises her by saying, "The water distorts my magic. But it's dry here and I can understand you."

They're underneath the tree's low boughs, and he slips from the chicken-horse, offering her a hand that she can just make out by the starlight. "Do you want to rest for a moment?" he asks. Chicken-horse shifts beneath her and Tara looks around. "Aren't you worried about us being seen?"

"Yes," he says, which makes Tara's stomach clench.

"But we're lost and I need to climb the tree to see where we are."

"Oh." It comes out of her like a tiny hiccup. Chicken-horse shifts again, and Tara has to grab onto its neck to not fall off. It occurs to Tara that without Lionel, she's going to be kissing the dirt. She slides off, spins around, finds Lionel much closer than she expected, and her eyes level with his chin.

She gulps and looks up. She can just make out his light eyes in the darkness.

"I think I know a way to understand you in the swamp," he whispers, not backing up.

"That would be good," Tara murmurs. She feels the lack of space between them acutely. She wants to back up, and at the same time she wants to step forward and wrap her arms around him. The events of the evening are catching up with her, and despite her terror, she is so glad he isn't dead. He has a soulmate... but a hug... that would be just friendly, right?

She doesn't move.

Lionel does move. The inches between them vanish and he puts his hands on either side of her face. Her gaze falls to his lips, and the urge to kiss them is so strong that she scrunches her eyes shut. She is not that type of woman... he'll soon be back with his soulmate... and...

His lips press against her forehead, and heat and electricity spreads from the spot to her toes. His body loosens, and he sighs into her hair. His fingers flutter on her cheeks, leaving an echo of warmth with their brush. Tara's fingers drift to his chest, to push him away, but then she doesn't. She lets her hands rest there, curling them into the now-tight sweatshirt. She savors the energy running through her—maybe it's magic.

At last Lionel pulls back, but his hands stay on her cheeks. "Did that hurt?"

He's still too close. Tara bows her head, to keep from thinking about kissing him. She's suddenly very aware of how much she smells like burnt hair. "Nope."

"Did it work?" he whispers.

Stepping back and out of his reach, Tara finally dares to look at him. "Did what work?" There's a good foot between them now. She shivers. It seems too far.

His face splits in a wide smile. "It did work."

One of her eyebrows rise and she waves a hand in the dark. "So now you're speaking gibberish, trying to confuse me... because that's fun, in the middle of a swamp, while we're running for our lives."

"Actually, I'm speaking Elvish, not gibberish," he says, cocking an eyebrow.

"No, you're not, you're..." Tara throws a hand to her mouth. The long string of syllables that just came from it weren't English, Spanish, or anything she learned in the four years of French she took in high school.

"And you are speaking Elvish, too," he says. The smile is gone. "I've never done that before, but I've read about it." He lets out a long breath. "The language is imprinted in your mind now. You should be able to understand Elvish without magic, in the dark waters, and in a room without magic."

Tara touches her forehead. "You couldn't just perform the same trick on yourself and speak English?"

He shakes his head. "I wish I could. I can only imprint languages I truly _know_ —Elvish, Asgardian, Vanir, and Muspelheim... and I suppose I could give you what I know of Jotunn."

Now would be a great time to say something funny about how she'd had to learn French the hard way or... or... something, but all she can say is, "Oh," and then, "I guess you should climb that tree." She puts a finger to her lips, surprised at the lyrical syllables that just poured from them.

Lionel smiles one more time, takes a few steps back, trips, almost lands on his butt, and scowls as he catches himself.

"Are you all right?" Tara asks.

"Fine," he mutters, and it's dark, but she swears his ears press against his head. Without another word, he goes to the tree trunk, leaps, catches a branch, and pulls himself up.

Tara wants to call up to him, ask him what he's looking for, but she stays quiet, surveying the land around them, and hugging herself in the chill. There isn't much to see. All the tree trunks look alike to her, their branches like jagged black claws in the bright starlight and glow of an oddly shaped moon.

Her eyes widen at the sky... there is no Big Dipper, or North Star. She almost laughs, feeling like she's tumbled into a Star Trek episode. The night hums around her, with what she thinks are insects, although nothing has bitten her. Chicken-horse coos and tucks its head back into a wing. Somewhere she hears a plop in the water, and then another. Tara backs against the tree trunk. It's wet, slimy, and cold.

She hears another plop, and what sounds like a bird call.

Chicken-horse lifts its head, gives a squawk, and bolts in a circle around the tree. With a shriek and the flap of wings, it takes off into the air, leaving Tara coughing in a cloud of feathers. Swatting them away, Tara finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun. In English, the white-haired elf from the cell hisses from the other end, "Tara Lupita Gibson, don't say a word."

Tara opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

The hippalectryon takes to the air, and Lionel's concentration is broken. His heart falls. The animal's instincts had kept them safe in the dark swamp. Without it, they'll need any information he can gain from his perch. He's heard of "safe houses" close to the Golden Road that divides the Delta of Sorrows from the queen's lands. Travelers can hole up within, safe from the swamp's monsters. But from the tree he can't see any sign of the Golden Road.

He swallows, and feels an echo in his bones of the pain of only hours earlier. He's afraid to know what he looks like now. Tara's kiss had reassured him that he doesn't look monstrous. But that doesn't mean he isn't an abomination. He thinks about the question he cannot answer when people learn of his rise in social station. _Who is your father?_ He'd always reply, _my mother's soulmate was Sol._ When he tried to ask his mother, all she said was, _don't ask silly questions._

All his life, he has _looked_ like the son of Sol. Why change _now?_

His stomach clenches and he shakes his head. He cannot think about that now. He needs to focus on how they got here. His memories from their time in transit are disjointed, but he thinks he remembers Dark Elves in the fortress around the World Gate discussing moving him and Tara to the "interior." They had expected the outpost to be overrun by Light Elves.

Closing his eyes, he sends apparitions as far as they will go, but the swamp distorts their view, and their eyes deliver only misty blurs.

He huffs in frustration, and then reminds himself to count his blessings. His magic has worked upon this dry hillock. He'd healed his leg, and, more surprisingly, he'd been able to transfer Elvish to Tara... although he had hallucinated during the transfer. This time of an open window. He's never had the gift of sight, but it isn't that uncommon. It isn't the ability to see the future—not even the Norns see that—it is just the gift of seeing possibilities. Was the vision in her little yard a premonition of her coming back for him during his imprisonment? But this recent vision... an afterimage maybe?

His stomach clenches, and he realizes she's being very quiet.

"Tara," Lionel says. There is a whisper, a soft breeze, and a thunk. His eyes go to a spot not a half hand's-breadth from his right ear. A wicked-looking crossbow bolt has embedded itself in the tree trunk.

"Contain your magic, Lionel of the Queen's Palace, and climb down from the tree," says a voice below. "If you don't behave, we won't kill you, but we'll make you hurt."

Peering down, Lionel thinks he makes out Tara below, hands above her head, and at least ten elves around the tree. Some hold crossbows; others hold "guns." Lionel grits his teeth, guessing the bolt's position wasn't a miss. "I'm coming down," he says.

Descending carefully, he hears the coos of hippalectryons beyond the small hillock. Tara looks up at him, opens her mouth, snaps it shut, and shakes her head again. In front of her stands an elf with long white hair, a human weapon in his hands. He'd seen human "guns" on his first trip to Midgard. This one's shorter and slimmer than the weapon he remembers. For some reason, he doesn't find that comforting.

"What have you done to her?" Lionel demands, letting himself drop the last few body lengths.

Naleigh steps out of the shadows. "What have _you_ done to her? We heard you use her name in the cell—did you compel her to act against us?"

"I did not compel her to come back," Lionel says hotly.

Naleigh roars. "You made her attack us!"

"I did not—"

Naleigh gestures with his hand.

The Dark Elf with white hair whispers, "Tara Lupita Gibson, you may speak."

The white-haired elf had compelled her to silence with her name! Had the other elf overheard in the cell? Given freely, a name was more potent, but this elf was obviously strong enough that even stolen—

Dropping her hands, Tara snaps in Elvish, "He did not compel me to do anything! I saved his life on my world, risking my life and my freedom. You came onto my property, abducted him and me, dragged us both through this stinking swamp, and are threatening to kill him!" She throws up her arms. "Well, no way am I going to let you do that! His white-elf butt is mine and you can't take it!"

Lionel's mouth drops open and so does the jaw of every elf in attendance. Had he thought her naive? It is obvious that he misjudged her. He feels his heart speed up. She's within her rights to claim him, so why does he feel so betrayed?

Taking a step back, Tara puts her hands on her hips, nods, and then he hears her gulp.

There are whispers among the Dark Elves. "Did she trick him?" and "How does she speak our language?" Also, he hears, "What an idiot... enslaved to a human!"

The white-haired Dark Elf looks at Lionel. "Is this true? Does she own your life?"

He swears he feels every elf's eye on him, and probably the eyes of their hippalectryon mounts and every swamp creature in the vicinity. His skin heats and his lips twist. He wants to rebel... he wants to lie. He opens his mouth, and he thinks that maybe he can lie. At his side, his hands form fists. Elves aren't like the other races; they may obfuscate, dodge and evade, conceal, twist, baffle and bewilder, but they don't lie, and he is an elf.

He grinds his teeth. "Yes."

"You admitted you owe her your life?" One of them, a woman with a scar down her cheek, asks.

Lionel inhales sharply. If he'd only not admitted it, there would have been no bond of word.

"Aww..." another woman says. "I think he just thinks she's pretty and wants to be her slave."

"Do you think he became an abomination to please his mistress?" another elf whispers.

Someone says, "The clothes are revealing... maybe so."

"Even his jaw got bigger. He looks like a brute," hisses another. "Half-breed."

Lionel feels bile rise in his mouth at the word.

Striding between Lionel and the women, Tara snaps, "I didn't say anything about him being a slave!"

"But you said you _own_ him." Naleigh smirks. "If you want to hand him over, we'll happily kill him."

Throwing up her hands, Tara cries, "No!" and Lionel isn't sure if he's grateful or bitter at her defense.

Naleigh laughs. "An elf... or whatever... enslaved by a human! I think this is better than any sort of punishment we could concoct."

Rolling back on her feet, Tara's wide-eyed gaze seeks Lionel's. He looks away. He'd felt guilty about her abduction; now he feels like a fool.

All the elves but the one with white hair laugh. Stepping toward Tara, the white-haired one says, "We have no quarrel with humans, and will give you aid, but not him. Choose Lionel's life and we won't help you return to your world." He tips his chin. "Think carefully, Tara Lupita Gibson. This swamp has been poisoned by his people, and there are many dangers."

Magic twists through the air, and Lionel feels the compulsion behind the man's words. Something shrieks in the night and Lionel shivers.

Tara lifts her chin. "I won't let you take him. He's my friend."

Lionel glares at her. She's just publicly humiliated him and admitted she owns him. They _cannot_ be friends... He swallows. But she'd declared her friendship under compulsion. The contradiction makes him feel sick to his stomach.

The white-haired man nods. "Very well." Lowering his weapon, he turns to the others. "Her death is no longer on us, and his death is all but assured." With a flick of his hand, the others back away, melting into the shadows.

A minute later, Lionel is standing on the hillock with the woman who owns him. In the night, some monster of the Dark Lands screams.

## 8

# Crossing the Sorrows

Tara watches the elves disappear. Her fingernails bite her palms. Inside she is in turmoil, a swirling mess of conflicting feelings. She feels like Jesus on the mountain. She wasn't offered riches, but she was offered freedom, and she said no, because to abandon Lionel would be wrong. On the other hand, she has never been more afraid. The expression "paralyzed by fear" doesn't feel like a metaphor but a literal truth.

Swallowing her fear, and the urge to cry, she whispers, "What do we do now, Lionel?"

"You own me, remember? Perhaps you should figure it out yourself."

At first Tara thinks the words are in jest. She huffs, almost laughs, and then her eyes dart to his face. His expression is stony. Feeling nauseous, she says, "You don't believe that, that's not possible..."

His lip curls. "You just saved me based on your ownership. How could I not believe?" He raises an arm toward the darkness. " _They_ believed."

Tara's heart drops. She has to take deep breaths to keep from throwing up. "No... I just... I didn't mean it... I wasn't speaking ..." She can't quite find the word for "literally" in Elvish, and stutters. "It was a metaphor."

Lionel tilts his head. She notices that his hair is no longer a solid gold curtain. His bangs on either side are singed and black. "It was the truth," he sneers.

"But no..." Tara protests. "It's not, it can't be..."

Lionel's pale face is as hard as stone.

Tara blinks. It doesn't matter what she meant. The elves believe she owns Lionel. She puts a hand over her mouth. She knows her history; how sometimes free blacks went on to buy their own slaves. She's accidentally stumbled into the same condition.

She just manages to turn before she begins to dry heave.

Lionel doesn't even ask her if she is all right.

Panting, bent over, hands on her knees, she thinks back to how this happened. It had something to do with Lionel having confessed his indebtedness to her saving his life. She bites her lip. "How do we undo this?"

In the silence that follows, she hears a fish jump in the water. Her heart beat quickens. She hopes it is a fish.

At last Lionel says, "I save your life, and then we are even."

Tara breaths out in relief. "Well, there, you're done!" Smiling, she spins toward him. "You saved me from the village."

He glares at her, and her smile melts.

"Are you trying to doubly indebt me?" he hisses.

"What?" Tara protests, throwing up her hands.

He dips his chin, and one of his nostrils, still delicate—though perhaps not so delicate as it was before—flares.

She licks her lips. "What am I not understanding?" she says.

His eyes narrow.

"I really don't get it!" she says, flummoxed.

He huffs.

She stamps her foot.

He crosses his arms.

Throwing her hands in the air, she exclaims, "Can you explain it to me in some way that you don't wind up doubly indebted?"

She hears another plop in the water.

He sighs. "Were you really in danger in the village?"

"Well, after I went back and rescued you—" She closes her eyes. "Oh." She'd saved him not once, but twice.

Tara's thoughts are spinning in a vortex. She takes a stab in the dark. "It isn't the deed... it is the acknowledgement of the deed that creates debt?"

"Of course," says Lionel, but he sounds a little less certain. "Isn't that true on Earth as well?"

"No," she says. She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Well, some people might say it does, but they're wrong. You should save your fellow humans—"

She waves at Lionel, and his eyebrow arches.

"—or fellow sentient beings, because it is the right thing to do."

"The right thing?" Lionel asks, his voice laced with incredulity. "And how is that determined?"

"What causes the least pain and suffering to all involved," Tara says, but her voice falters. She's pretty sure that not reporting Lionel would have put her in the crosshairs of her fellow countrymen. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temple, she says, "Look, I just want to undo this without you feeling you're indebted to me. You're free. You owe me nothing."

Lionel snorts. "As you've pointed out, humans can lie. How can I believe that you aren't lying, and won't call up the debt when it suits your fancy?"

Stamping her foot, Tara mutters, "Oh, for..." Stifling a curse, she stares at him a moment. Lionel glares back at her. Something shrieks much too close, and she thinks she sees him shiver. This is important to him, even if she thinks it is ridiculous. "Look," she says. "I'm going to make a special promise, a promise that by long and time-honored tradition I am honor bound to keep. It's called a pinky promise."

Lionel rolls back on his feet. "A pinky—"

The critter in the swamp shrieks, a little closer this time.

They don't have time for this. "Copy me," Tara says, hand up, pinky outstretched. Lionel does, and Tara takes it with her own tiny finger. "Lionel of the Queen's Palace, or South Vale, or wherever, I, Tara Lupita Gibson, do solemnly absolve you of your debt to me. Pinky promise."

Lionel pulls away and looks down at his hand. "You shouldn't have done that. You should have compelled me to save you from the creatures rapidly approaching from the swamp. I can leave you now."

Tara hadn't been aware how cold the night had begun, but it suddenly hits her like a blow. "You'll leave?"

Lionel tilts his head and smiles cruelly.

Tara shivers. "Well, that is your right. I thought maybe we'd have a better chance getting out of this together."

The shrieking creature lets loose a scream that is so close that Tara swears she can feel it on the back of her neck. She looks up at the tree branches, and hopes it can't climb.

"You really meant it," Lionel murmurs so quietly Tara almost doesn't hear. Tara's eyes snap to him. The cruel smile is gone. In the night, the creature shrieks. Lionel backs away from her, looks to the shriek... and vanishes.

Tara stares at the place where he stood. "Lionel?" she calls out. She hears footsteps retreating down the hill and then nothing but the sounds of the night. She feels like she might be sick again, but instead, she jumps up, catches the first cold-slick branch, and pulls herself up.

It's hard to climb in the dark and cold, but Tara manages to get a good twenty feet above the ground. Settling into the crook of the tree, wrapping her arms around herself, she sits there, shivers, and almost cries. She is the epitome of sticking your nose somewhere it doesn't belong and living to regret it... but she's not going to live to laugh about it, and hell, she won't make a Darwin award either because no one is going to know where she is.

"Come down!" the whisper in Elvish startles her so much, she almost slips off her branch.

She peers through the shadows to the ground, and barely makes out silver-white hair and light eyes.

"Lionel?" she whispers, her heart leaping, and then settling in her chest at a place that isn't quite right. It wasn't very mature of him to leave her like that.

"Come down," he whispers in a rush. "It's dangerous. We have to go quickly."

She can't lecture Lionel right now. She has to be grateful he had a change of heart. "Okay, I'm coming," Tara replies, half-climbing, half-slipping down the tree. Hanging from the final branch, face to the trunk, she can't quite keep it inside. "You shouldn't have left me like that," she says, dropping to the ground. They have to stick together. They can't have petty fights in the swamp.

"I won't leave you now..." he whispers, his voice almost a hiss.

Tara turns around and takes a step back. Lionel's features are shimmering, as are the clothes he is wearing. Everything about him is blurry and indistinct. "In fact, you'll never escape me," he says.

He smiles, revealing gleaming white pointed teeth.

Lionel drags a foot along the ground, cutting a narrow channel in the soft earth. Maintaining his invisibility, he recites an ancient poem about death, danger, and despair. The poem focuses his mind on the task at hand—creating a "fairy blind" around the little hillock where he and Tara will have to spend the night. He can't leave her... he would be within his rights of course, but she is so... hapless? Genuinely naive? She had him in her power and let him go with a pinky promise. No elf he knew would have done so, even a peasant. They might not hold him to the debt, but they'd lord it over him for centuries.

Shaking his head, he continues his task, making sure the circle he is carving is unbroken. Any creature that approaches the demarcation will be filled with fear and foreboding, and feel the need to turn aside and go elsewhere.

Reaching the end of the poem, he straightens. The circle isn't quite complete, but he's hungry and exhausted. He tightens his hand on the silken cord of his keychain, pulls the magic to him, and feels his senses sharpen. In the water, the creature that had been issuing the hideous screams veers away.

In the tree, he hears Tara say, inexplicably, "I'm coming." Before he can think about it, the ripples of the creature in the water's wake reach the end of the blind, and it swings back toward the hillock. Lionel begins his recitation again, hopping and dragging his foot parallel to the creature's new path with renewed vigor. The monster swims off, and Lionel falters, half in relief and half just because his body feels foreign to him. Even with his leg wound completely healed, it's an effort to keep from stumbling. He starts again, and stops abruptly when his toe encounters strange footprints in the mud. Lionel pauses, and feels the heat of magic against his neck in the direction of the hillock's apex and Tara.

Tightening his grip on his key, he spins and races toward her. He sees a hominid shape with white hair, and feels the heat of illusion on his face. Out of view, Tara screams and he thinks he sees her strike out with a fist. The creature bats her hand away with a laugh. With a snarl, Lionel lurches up behind the beast on unsteady legs and wraps a forearm around its neck.

There is a split second when Lionel's brain screams, "What are you doing?" The creature's neck is thicker than the illusion, cold, and wet. Hair like wire bites into Lionel's face.

The creature tries to throw him forward, but Lionel wraps one of his newly long legs around it, and refuses to let go. Key clasped in his hands, he wills all the cells of his muscles and sinews not to relent. The creature reaches back and sharp nails dig into Lionel's flesh. The beast rears back, and then forward, trying to throw Lionel... but Lionel's leg holds fast, and the momentum from the creature's attempt pulls its own legs out from underneath it. Lionel growls as his forearm and leg are pinned underneath its mass. Pain makes Lionel angrier, and he wills his muscles and sinews to contract, squeezing the creature's windpipe tighter. It flops beneath him, rolls them over, and they tumble down the hillock together until the monster is on top of him. Lionel hears an uneven roaring in his ears. He doesn't feel pain or fear anymore, just fury. He flips the creature over and uses his torso to grind its face into the mud. It occurs to him that the roar he is hearing is his own heart. His newly long limbs are shaking, and he's flooded with heat.

"Lionel, are you all right?"

Tara's voice above him makes Lionel realize that the creature hasn't so much as quivered in minutes. He doesn't let go, but slides a finger up to where its pulse should be and finds... nothing. He spreads his consciousness, searching for life. There is none.

He killed it. The realization makes him hastily scramble to his feet. For the first time, he sees the beast. It has a vaguely equine-like head with long, sharp teeth protruding from its mouth. Sharp, slender fins, as long as his hand, run from its head to its shoulder blades, looking a bit like a mane. Its torso is human, but it has a sharp, finned "tail" and its legs are like a frog's with finned feet that have sharp claws on the toes.

"An each-uisge," Lionel says, recognizing the creature from the queen's books. He can't believe it's dead, or that he killed it. He's gotten the impression that warriors feel very proud at times like this. Instead, he's filled with terror. He wants the thing away, and fast.

"Help me drag it," he says, grabbing a finned hand.

Nodding, Tara grabs the other arm. Together they drag the thing down the slope.

"I thought you left," Tara gasps.

"I never left," Lionel pants. They cross through the unfinished boundary of the circle, and Lionel adds, "I thought it was best to take care of the circle of the fairy blind invisibly... the grindylow might have eaten me before I'd finished."

"Grindylow?" Tara squeaks. "Like Harry Potter?"

A scream erupts in the night. Lionel's eyes get wide. "Run back!"

They drop the each-uisge and dash back up the hill. Halfway up, Lionel realizes that the circle still isn't closed, and cries, "Don't talk to anyone who doesn't know your name!" Making himself invisible, he dashes back to the incomplete circle and begins his incantation again. The water just past the body of the each-uisge swells in a wave. Lionel focuses on his foot, and the poem, and stumbles anyway. His key ring slips from his wrist, and he falls, the circle still unfinished. He looks up, and then he's sad he did.

Tara can't see Lionel, but she sees his key go flying through the air. And then what she guesses is a grindylow emerges from the water. Its face is reminiscent of a frog's, slimy and gray in the darkness, but as wide as her arm span, and filled with finger-long teeth. With webbed fingers tipped with enormous talons, it reaches toward a spot or empty air—is Lionel there but invisible? Charging forward, Tara tries to give a blood-curdling yell. It isn't very blood curdling, more of an "Urp." But the creature pauses. Afraid of going any farther—Lionel had said something about a circle, and Tara's read enough fantasy to know better than to step out of a magic circle—she bends down and grabs the first solid thing she can find in the grass, which turns out to be a soft clod of dirt. She throws it with a shout... and hits the creature smack in the eye.

The grindylow's huge mouth makes an 'O' of surprise. Its remaining eye goes to the clod, and then back to Tara. The single eye narrows. The grindylow steps over the each-uisge, growling and hissing, focused on her.

Gulping, Tara backs up, her eyes riveted on the monster... and then Lionel is suddenly in the way. Spreading his arms, he chants long syllables in what sounds like Elvish... but not quite right. The creature hisses, and pauses as Lionel's chant gets louder. He drops his arms, and a blue flame jumps between him and the grindylow. It fans out around the hillock, but then disappears as fast as it had appeared. The grindylow hisses and charges on frog-like limbs. Blue flame rises again and it screams in pain. With a howl, it retreats into the water, dragging the each-uisge with it.

Something groans in the distance. Tara shivers, and Lionel turns toward her. "I invoked the Destroyer," he whispers. "I can't believe I did that."

"The Destroyer?" Tara asks.

Lionel shakes his head. "I never thought I'd stoop so low... but I was so afraid." He puts his hand to his face. "And I'm not that strong... it shouldn't have worked." He looks at his wrist. "I didn't have my key." He darts down and retrieves it from the ground.

"This Destroyer, he's not like..." Tara switches from Elvish to English. "... the Devil?" Apparently, Elvish doesn't have a word for that. She tucks it away for future reference, and then realizes Lionel might not understand. She is about to explain when he says, "I am familiar enough with the Abrahamic religions to catch the reference." He looks away. "I don't know the answer."

"Invoking him isn't like calling him, is it?" Tara asks nervously.

"There is debate over that," Lionel replies.

"Should we maybe leave?" Tara asks, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering.

On cue, something screams in the swamp.

Lionel looks toward the sound. "I think that if the Destroyer wants to find us, he will." He nods. "Better to stay in the circle tonight." He shivers from his head to his toes. Somehow in the scuffling he's lost his socks.

"What do we do now?" Tara asks.

Covering a yawn, Lionel says, "Try to sleep."

Tara looks dubiously at the former circle of flame, not sure how much she trusts it.

From her right is a squeal of terror. She spins to see a burst of blue flame. There is a sizzle and then she nearly gags on the smell of burnt fur. A giant-rat-thing, as big as a Rottweiler, goes skittering back into the swamp, screeching the whole way.

"That rat was of unusual size," says Lionel.

"You said it, Dread Pirate Roberts," murmurs Tara.

"That's not my..." Lionel covers his face with his forearm and yawns again. She swears he's swaying on his feet.

"Let's try to get some sleep," Tara says.

They go back to the top of the hillock, and settle backs against the tree. By light of the moon and stars, Tara sees a far off look in Lionel's eyes. His arms are wrapped around himself, and she notices he's shivering. He's also not sleeping, though he'd seemed about to fall over a few minutes ago.

Tara bites her lip and makes a decision. Taking off her coat, she scoots closer and covers the garment over them like a blanket. "Here," she says. "We can share."

Lionel looks down at her—and it's odd, because before she'd looked down at him. "It's a good idea," he says, "but this way, we are both only half warm."

"Yeah, it's a little small—" She stops abruptly as Lionel's arm slinks around her back.

"If you don't mind," he mumbles, not quite looking at her, in a way that is either exhaustion or shyness. "I have an idea that will keep us both warmer."

"Um... okay," says Tara. He looks too far gone for her to suspect anything untoward, and she's grateful for that. Really.

His opposite hand goes to the other side of her waist, and before Tara knows what is happening, he's picked her up and settled her between his thighs, her back to his chest. His arms wrap around her stomach beneath the coat, and he pulls her close.

"There," he murmurs into her hair. "Much more comfortable. Too tired... to use magic."

He's not just taller, he's broader than the slender elf she'd found in her alley—in a good way... and he's filled out since they got out of the cell. She's not sure how that worked out. By the conservation of matter, he should be a tall, thin beanpole, but she's pretty sure magic breaks all the known laws of physics. She feels herself melting into him, her back fitting his embrace perfectly, and she is warm between him and the coat-blanket, in more ways than one. She doubts very much that she'll be able to sleep feeling like this.

"There is the door again," Lionel whispers enigmatically, laying his chin on top of her head. "Maybe this time I should step through."

"Huh?" says Tara.

His whole body shudders, and he leans more heavily against her. It takes her a moment, but then she realizes that Lionel isn't having trouble going to sleep. "Always the teddy bear, never the bride," Tara murmurs. This is not the first time she's had a gorgeous male friend.

Something in the swamp makes the circle briefly flame blue, and Tara decides that maybe it's just as well she stay awake. Someone should keep an eye out. She looks up at the stars, yawns, and closes her eyes just for a moment.

## 9

# Late Cretaceous Park

Lionel wakes up with his back to a tree trunk that's so chill it feels damp. He's sitting on knobby roots, and his feet are bare. He's surprisingly comfortable despite that. Tara is still sitting between his legs. She's using his left shoulder as a pillow and breathing gently. Beneath her coat, and her body, he's so warm that the chill on the rest of him is a pleasant counterbalance. And the feel of her against him is exquisite. She has the physique of a Valkyrie, but she has curves that are soft and feminine. He longs to explore them.

Somewhere, something screams in the swamp. Tara stirs beneath him, her body shifting against him in a perfect way, sending heat racing through him.

"Good morning," he murmurs in her language, and finds himself pulling the phrase apart and dissecting it. The Elves' salutation for the morning translates to English directly as, "another bright day in infinity." "Good morning" is so much more immediate, so much more in the present. So much more urgent.

His arms tighten around Tara, remembering the kiss she'd pressed against his cheek the night before. She doesn't find him disgusting, and he wants so much for her to reassure him again that he isn't hideous... whatever he is. They need to get away from here, but unable to resist the urge, he drops his lips to her crown and presses a kiss there.

He hears Tara gulp. When she speaks, her voice is breathy. "So, I hope your soulmate isn't upset about this."

Her hands are smooth against his forearms, leaving trails of heat in their wake, and he sucks in breath. It takes his lust-filled brain a few beats to comprehend her words.

"She doesn't even know me," he huffs. "And even if she did, elves aren't jealous," he murmurs. Not that that distinction applies to him.

"Oh, right... Still, I feel weird about it," she says, and she pulls out of his arms. It stings as she scoots away, not meeting his eyes. But Lionel remembers his manners. The only thing worse than being rebuffed is doing the rebuffing, and the fear of reprisals. To assuage her worries, he does the polite thing—tries to cover up that a proposition was offered by acting as normal as possible, and covering the silence with words. "Of course," he says gently, "even if she were the jealous type, I'm sure she would prefer I did not die of cold. We needed each other's warmth, Tara, and that was what this was."

Not all it was, but it isn't a lie. She has no need to feel worried that he'll be a bore.

She blinks at him. Sleepily or confused, he's not sure, but it's enchanting. "Well, we better get moving, right? I mean, it's dangerous here..."

There is a howl and blue flames rise to the height of the tree just a few paces to Lionel's left. Tara gasps. A thing that looks like it can't be more than gray-green skin stretched over bones retreats into the muck.

"We should leave," he says. "The circle won't work forever. It would just take a decent rain to wash it away."

They look at one another for a moment, and then, as one, look at the sky. The clouds are gray and oppressive.

"So, how far do we have to go to get to your people?" Tara asks, standing and brushing herself off. "I'm guessing that's the plan."

Lionel can't quite contain a wince. "That is the plan."

"What's wrong?" Tara asks.

Climbing to his feet, he swears the creatures beyond the circle buzz louder and he feels like the swamp is closing in on them. "I'm not sure exactly how far away that is, and we have to cross through the swamp without magic, and there are animals... monsters."

"Could we light torches or something?" Tara asks.

"Light torches?" Lionel says, gazing at her in incomprehension.

"Isn't fire supposed to scare away animals?" Tara says, sounding as uncertain as Lionel feels. "I mean, it isn't magic—but I think it works for bears and stuff, so..."

"You might be right," Lionel says, actually impressed. "I guess since you are—" He catches himself before he says "a lesser race." It's not that he thinks she has a right to be offended, but he also doesn't need to be hostile.

Tara lifts an eyebrow.

"—not magical, you'll have welcome input as to how to survive in this environment," he finishes smoothly, unable to stop the smirk stretching across his face.

Her eyes narrow.

Brushing himself off, he says, "The trouble is, I still don't know which way we should go. When I sent out my avatars, the black waters around us disintegrated them."

"You can't climb up the tree and just look?" Tara asks.

Lionel blinks.

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'd do it myself, but I don't know what I'm looking for." She adds dryly, "And if you're up in the tree, you'll actually get to be the higher race."

She had divined what he'd been thinking earlier. Lionel finds himself laughing despite himself. "You're able to keep your sense of humor even when we are facing the possibility of death."

"Get up the tree, Lionel."

Something in the swamp screams, and another thing wails in pain.

"Right," he says.

A few minutes later, he is at the top of the tree. His heart falls when he gazes east, but then he gazes southeast and he nearly bounces on the branch. "I see the Golden Road—and the boundaries of my village—my former village," he cries down to Tara. "It's two thousand paces... a little more. But it could be much worse."

"We're looking for a yellow brick road?" Tara asks.

"Yes, I guess it fits the description," Lionel replies, climbing down.

"I shouldn't be surprised by that," Tara murmurs to herself.

Lionel drops down from the last branch, and she thrusts two branches toward him. "Think you can turn these into torches?"

Lionel tilts his head. "I think that torches usually have cloth soaked in oil at the tops."

Tara's shoulders fall.

"But I should be able to make them smoke a lot," Lionel supplies.

She frowns. "I think it's the smoke they're afraid of... I'm sure it will work." She doesn't sound sure.

Rolling up his sleeves, Lionel focuses on the branches, and envisions the molecules at the end of them jumping and frenzied. Faster than he anticipated, they light, and they both have a smoldering branch in hand.

Taking a deep breath, Tara says, "Lead the way."

"Right," says Lionel, rolling down his sleeves. Catching sight of his forearm, he pauses. His soulmark has stretched in either direction and faded. A chill runs through him.

"Are you all right?" Tara asks.

He wipes his hand over his chin and feels the unfamiliar bite of stubble and bile rises in his throat. Elves don't have stubble... He is an elf. He will be an elf. He'll change back, no matter the agony.

He pulls his sweatshirt down and says, "I'll be fine."

In the swamp, something screams.

Steeling himself, Lionel says, "Let's go."

Tara freezes as Lionel draws to a stop in front of her.

"What's wrong?" she whispers.

They're twisting their way through a corridor of grasses that rise above her head. Her feet are ankle deep in muck. Just a few feet to her left and right are open pools of smooth, black water.

"I thought I heard voices," he says.

"Your magic is working?" she asks, hope rising in her chest.

Turning to her, Lionel touches an ear. "They're still pointed." His voice is defensive. He's changed... she doesn't understand why, and she thinks maybe he doesn't, either. He's scared. He hasn't seen himself since the transformation—and it has been dramatic. In the daylight, she's been able to see just how much his features and physique have changed. His cheekbones are wider, his nose is a little stronger, and his jaw is a bit more pronounced. He has a day's worth of stubble a shade darker than his white blonde hair. He looks older—more Tara's age, less like he's barely legal. He might not know that he still looks good. More than good, even though his hair is ragged and burnt at the ends. "You are gorgeous... just different... you don't have to worry, Lionel."

He stands too still and she can't read his eyes. She drops her gaze. Behind them, she hears what sounds like the rush of wind in the grasses, and hears voices far above.

She looks up and sees two black shadows.

"Huginn and Muninn!" Lionel says.

Tara beams. "Your friends!" And then she notices that Lionel isn't smiling. Before she can ask, she hears a sound like a dove cooing behind them.

The shadows swoop lower. "Hey kid!" One of the birds rawks. "We found him, Muninn!"

"He's grown!" squawks the other. "Master was right!"

Tara squints. She seems to remember a pair of ravens in Norse mythology. Who did they belong to? Thor maybe? Hadn't they said something about "the Big Guy?"

Muninn whistles. "Look out behind you!"

Tara hears the sound of wings near the ground and spins, swinging the smoky branch. Not three feet away from her, a face that could belong to an iguana crossed with a turkey protrudes from between the tall grass stalks. The thing is about as tall as her chest. It opens its mouth and... gives a coo. If it weren't for its rows of teeth, Tara might be charmed. She pokes the smoldering top of her stick at it, and it draws back with a hiss.

"Velociraptors," squawks one of the ravens.

"Plural velociraptors?" Lionel says.

"Oh, Helheim," squawks the other raven. "There's a whole flock, Muninn! Hang on kids, we'll get help!" Tara's dimly aware of them flying away.

Another head pokes through the grass. Lionel swings his branch at it while Tara keeps hers aimed at the first one. "I thought they were smaller," Tara says, remembering some chart she'd seen with a Jurassic Park velociraptor compared to a real velociraptor of the Late Cretaceous.

Swinging his branch at another deadly cretaceous turkey, Lionel says, "Up ahead is a spot of dry land. If we get there, I can use magic."

A third head peers out of the vegetation. Somewhere beyond it, Tara hears another coo. Hissing and spitting, one of the raptors tries to flank them. Tara jabs it with her stick and the smell of burning feathers makes her grimace. The creature backs up, and one of its legs plunges into the black water. With a terrified-sounding shriek, it leaps back into the foliage just as another lunges. Swinging at it, Lionel cries, "It's working!"

He sounds way too optimistic, and Tara cries, "Don't jinx it!"

At her words, a raptor goes flying over their heads, flapping its rudimentary wings and shedding feathers. She hears a thud, and whispers, "What happened?"

"I jinxed it," says Lionel. "Fascinating that both our languages have the concept of 'jinx.'"

"Lionel, focus!" Tara shouts, sidestepping a lunge at her calf.

Lionel replies, "Just a few dozen more paces!"

"Dozens?" Tara squeaks. The raptors have edged them closer to the water. It gives them only three sides to cover instead of four, but the raptors are afraid of the water, and Tara's pretty sure she should be too.

"It could be worse," he mutters.

"Don't say that!" Tara protests. That is exactly the moment a raindrop lands on her nose. "You so jinxed it," she grinds out.

"What?" Lionel pants.

Thunder rumbles. More drops thwack against the grasses, and Tara's smoldering branch steams and hisses.

"I jinxed it," Lionel admits.

Tara looks at the black surface of the water, riddled with raindrops. "Can you swim?" she asks.

"Yes."

She eyes a mound of earth a few yards across the black expanse of water. It's high ground. He should be able to use his magic there. "We've got to swim."

"Whatever is keeping them out of the water is going to eat us!" Lionel says.

"The raptors are going to eat us!" Tara retorts. She never thought she'd ever give up her Jimmy Choo boots, but she kicks them off in a flash and takes off her coat. "And I don't think they can swim." They're just overgrown turkeys, or nasty ostriches... neither of those can swim, right?

A raptor shrieks, far too close, and there is a thud and a crack. "We'll swim," Lionel mutters. "A lady in the lake or selkies can be bargained with. On two," says Lionel.

"One," says Lionel.

A raptor opens its mouth and makes a shrill scream. "Now!" shouts Tara. She shoves the dead end of the torch into a raptor's maw, throws her coat on another, and dives. She hears Lionel splash beside her.

The water is cold, and she still has too many clothes on, but Tara's a good swimmer.

"They aren't following!" she hears Lionel say, a few feet behind.

"Don't... Look... Back!" Tara cries between strokes.

She hears a splash.

"I jinxed us again," Lionel gasps. In the corner of her eye, she sees him catch up to her with a decent freestyle. She doesn't look back to see what he means, but all of a sudden, she feels something snake around her waist. She tries to swim faster, but the snake-thing tightens. Tara gasps for breath and struggles against it. Looking down, she screams. "Is this a tongue?"

"Maybe a tentacle," Lionel says, struggling beside her.

Tara tries to kick at the tentacle-tongue, and gets dragged beneath the water. In the blackness, she thinks she makes out a set of glowing blue-green eyes, each as large as her head. Beside her, she sees bubbles, and realizes Lionel is being dragged down, too. She struggles against the creature, but feels herself weakening. Her lungs feel like they will explode. Her muscles start to go slack... and suddenly she is above the water, gasping for breath, Lionel beside her. Before she can thank her luck, she catches sight of four velociraptors swimming directly toward them.

"Damn," she mutters, and wonders if death by bog monster would be quicker.

One of the first velociraptors goes underwater, and then the next.

"What?" says Lionel.

"Is it diving?" Tara says, searching the water for sight of the creature.

"I don't know," says Lionel.

The third and fourth velociraptors disappear. Tara holds her breath, waiting for the bite of teeth underwater. They don't come.

The velociraptors on the shore squawk and shriek at them. Before Tara knows what is happening, she and Lionel are lifted by the tongue-tentacles into the air and thrust toward the shore. The tentacles do not release, and the force of reaching the end of the thrust rattles Tara's teeth. The raptors leap toward them, and before she can blink, she's yanked backward with more jaw-rattling force. The velociraptors splash into the water and then disappear into the depths.

"Is it fishing with us?" Tara cries.

She sees a few more velociraptors peek from the grasses. Before she can count how many, she and Lionel are thrust forward and back again. One more beast jumps, and it disappears into the black water. The others vanish into the grass.

The tentacles pull Tara and Lionel back to the center of the water where they'd first been caught, but don't let them go.

Catching her breath, Tara says, "Thank you for not eating us, mister..." She almost says "monster" but decides that might be rude. "Amazing water creature who must be like an octopus of my home world. They're very smart and also cute."

The tentacles slide away, leaving Tara and Lionel sputtering and treading water.

"And thank you for that," Tara says.

"Tara!" says Lionel. "Don't talk to it, swim!" And then his eyes get very wide and he looks at a point beyond Tara's shoulder.

Instead of swimming, she looks.

Two enormous blue-green eyes with the depth and luminosity of opals are staring at her. Between them stretches a skin that's mostly black but swirls with blues and purples. Tara is dumbfounded. It's possible that she is maybe about to die, but why would it let her go if it was going to eat her? She can't out swim it; its tentacles are everywhere.

"Hi," Tara whispers. "You have beautiful eyes." And wonders if she is about to become a candidate for a Darwin award again.

She hears splashing behind her and before she knows it, Lionel has wrapped an arm around her waist and is pulling her toward the shore. The eyes rise out of the water on a head that looks very octopus-like, but it opens a mouth that has as many teeth as a shark.

Lionel curses. The head expands with a whooshing noise. And then the head lowers, and bubbles course toward them, pushing them to the shore.

Tara laughs, and Lionel says, "You're lucky we don't taste good."

"It's a real alien!" Tara cries. She is living in Star Trek!

Her feet hit the bottom of the pool, and Lionel lets her waist go, but grabs her arm and drags her onto dry land. The wind must have picked up because she hears branches clacking together. He's walking so fast. It may be the narrow escape from death, but she finds herself babbling. "It understood me, I know it did. Inky, I'll be your bait for velociraptors anytime!"

A jet-black tentacle pops above the water and sways. "Inky is waving at us!" Tara exclaims. Lionel doesn't even pause to look back.

"What's the rush?" Tara asks. "I'm tired and hungry. We can rest here. If any more meanies show up, Inky will eat them." And maybe they could snuggle again. Tara feels warmer just remembering her night in Lionel's arms.

Lionel finally stops. The rain has stopped as suddenly as it began, but his hair is still plastered to his head, and his ears are pointing between the strands. "Tara, you can't play bait for the kraken. Much longer in the water and we'd catch hypothermia."

"No, I'm not cold—" At that moment, she realizes that what she took to be tree branches snapping in the wind is her teeth chattering. "Oh."

"Come on," Lionel says. "We have to get moving. We're on a ridge. I should be able to use magic as long as we walk along it."

Tara follows him along the "ridge." Instead of grasses, it's got trees, and the ground beneath their feet is more solid, but she's only wearing socks, and she keeps stepping on things that poke and prickle. Lionel's feet have been bare since they left the circle, and he hasn't complained. She finds herself wishing he'd complain so she could complain, too.

Lionel turns to her. "I can't believe you named a kraken Inky."

Tara scowls. "You're the one who was doing a cross-cultural linguistic study in the middle of a fight with velociraptors."

He stops in his tracks. "And so I did." Meeting her gaze, a smile spreads across his face. It's kind of cheeky, definitely unashamed, and it takes her breath away. As much as his face has changed, he still has that dimple. Her heart stops, and her lips part.

From the air, she hears rawking. "Over here! Over here!"

Lionel looks to the sound. "Huginn and Muninn!"

The two birds swoop overhead. "Follow, quick! Quick!"

From behind them comes a familiar cooing, and then a shriek.

Tara clutches his arm. "Velociraptors!"

"It's better to face them than to run," Lionel says, putting himself between her and the raptor cries. "And I have my magic."

Peering around him, Tara sees the shapes of the raptors emerging from the trees. Lionel raises a hand toward them, and then looks down at it. "I don't have my magic," he whispers. "It's the water from the lagoon... it's in my hair and my clothes."

The velociraptors charge from behind the trees, leaping into air above their heads, and a strange whistling fills the air. The last thing Tara sees are talons as Lionel spins and tackles her to the ground.

## 10

# Stranger in a Strange Land

Lionel has tackled Tara to the ground before he's even really thought to himself what he's doing. There's the scream from a raptor above them, and he feels the beat of wings. The beast lands just beyond them. Flapping, claws scraping in the sod, it turns around, and then its shadow is above them. It lurches, and then its weight is crushing down on Lionel and Tara below him. Hot liquid spills over Lionel's neck and back. It takes a moment to realize that it's not his blood. Pushing the beast off, he sees arrows protruding from its body and the bodies of other members of its flock.

Tara sits up, her eyes are only on him. "Thanks for saving me."

He finds himself flushing in irritation. "Don't say 'thank you' to an elf. You'll put yourself in my debt."

She looks at him with doe-like innocent eyes. "Can't we just stop keeping score?"

He sighs. He hears footsteps in the distance, but he's not sure if they are friend or foe. "No, we're about to be surrounded by elves, and you _must_ keep score." Not quite believing what he is about to do, he inclines his head and says, "Thank you for coming back to rescue me in prison."

She blinks. "Oh, so we're even?"

"Yes," says Lionel.

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and her eyes go to his fingers. It is as though her gaze has physical weight. He finds himself licking his lips, but recovers his wits. "Listen, Tara, you must not give your full name to whoever is approaching."

"Why?" she asks, meeting his gaze, and again her eyes are so wide and innocent.

"Because it gives us power to know your name. We can use it for compulsion," he says, and the thought of anyone else using it on her makes him burn.

"You know my full name," she exclaims. Her voice gets accusatory. "And you used it on me in the cell."

"So you'd go home!" Lionel protests. "And be safe."

Narrowing her eyes, she says, "Don't worry, I won't thank you for that."

"Good," he says, flustered more than he should be. He'd protected her, or tried to. She has no sense whatsoever, probably because she's human and a baby by elf standards. She probably isn't even fifty years old... he catches himself, remembering how little sense he'd had when it came to climbing the tree and using his eyes to scan for the Golden Road, or how he hadn't thought of using fire to frighten away predators.

She huffs.

He looks into the surrounding trees and directly into the eyes of an elf he recognizes. The elf has an arrow leveled at his head.

"Rolleim," Lionel whispers. "It's me, Lionel."

"Stand slowly," Rolleim says, not lowering his bow. "And raise your hands."

Lionel rises and his heart falls, seeing no glimmer of recognition in his once friend's eyes. Rolleim follows Lionel's movement, raising the bow to keep it aimed at Lionel's heart. About two decades older than Lionel, Rolleim had always been the taller one. Now Lionel is taller by a full two hands. He's dimly aware of Tara rising beside him. He hears familiar whispers in the trees. "A human... but the other one..."

His mother's voice rises from the forest. "Lionel!"

Before he knows it, his mother has rushed past Rolleim directly into what would be the path of his arrow, her arms outstretched. Catching her, Lionel enfolds her in his arms and pulls her tight, feeling a rush of gratitude and relief so great he thinks his legs might give out from under him. She feels so tiny in his arms. His mother had been smaller than him before, but now she seems impossibly so.

Someone coughs. He hears the sound of shifting feet, and the patter of rain on leaves above them. He lets his mother go at last, but she keeps an arm around his waist. When he looks down at her, he sees she is crying.

"You made it back," she sniffs. She's wearing farmer's attire: a pale cream-colored tunic with a high collar and long sleeves beneath a dress of wool in goldenrod yellow with no unnecessary embellishments. The dress is tied up to her knees, revealing worn leather boots. A rust colored cape hangs from her shoulders, and also a leather knapsack. Her hair is in a braid that isn't as severe as the palace norm. He smiles, holding back tears. It's good to be home.

Lionel looks up and finds that nearly twelve members of his village seem to have come out for this adventure. He glances up and sees the ravens. Did Huginn and Muninn summon them? How would they have gotten here so fast?

Looking past Lionel, his mother says, "You have a human companion?"

"Oh, yes," Lionel says, turning to find Tara has backed away a few steps. She is as wet as he is—but it looks better on her, he suspects. The shirt she wears clings to her, sharply demarcating her strong shoulders and dramatic curves. There seems to be some sort of undergarment that is beneath the shirt, either for decoration or support, that sadly hides her breasts. He notices the other men, and some of the women, eyeing her with more than curious interest and finds his jaw getting hard and his cheeks heating at embarrassment of his own jealousy for a woman he isn't even romantically engaged with.

Forcing his features to neutral, he says, "Mother, this is Tara of Chicago. She was abducted from her home by the Dark Elves along with me."

At the word "mother," Lionel notices Tara relaxing slightly.

"How do you do, ma'am?" Tara says in Lionel's tongue.

Jaben, one of the men from his village, a farmer even older than his mother, says, "She speaks Elvish!"

"It is good to meet you, Tara of Chicago," his mother says, smiling ear to ear, her eyes sparkling with tears.

Tara looks between them, raises a finger to her cheek, and smiles at Lionel and his mother both. "I see the resemblance!"

There are some harsh whispers from the elves around them, and a huff that sounds like a bitter laugh. Lionel feels his shoulders fall. He doesn't look like his mother... not anymore.

Smile fading, Tara's gaze goes to the crowd.

"You must be frozen through!" says his mother, looking between the two of them, beginning to take off her knapsack.

"Don't cover them up, Tavende," Jaben says to her. "They'll need to let the Dark Waters wash off of them." As he speaks, Lionel hears the rain beating on the leaves above them increase, and feels droplets on his head and shoulders.

"Come on," says Jaben, with a wave of his hand. "We shouldn't be tarrying here much longer. There are worse things than velociraptors." His eyes go to Huginn and Muninn in the treetops. The two birds rawk and bob.

Rolleim takes up the lead, bow upraised. Lionel looks back, and sees Kalee, Jaben's wife, sidling up to Tara.

Lionel hesitates, but Jaben says, "Come on, get a move on. Kalee won't bite her." Jaben sounds gruffer than Lionel has ever heard him, and he's not meeting Lionel's eyes. None of the elves are meeting his eyes.

"How did you find me?" he asks, falling into step with his mother.

"We were out hunting mushrooms when we heard Huginn and Muninn's cries," his mother says with a sunny smile.

The rain begins to fall more heavily. His mother doesn't go to look for mushrooms in the Delta of Sorrows, although he's heard of Jaben and Kalee doing so occasionally. He's also heard other rumors about the couple; dangerous rumors that he's never tried to substantiate because if he knew the truth, he might be forced to report them.

The rain increases in intensity, running down Lionel's face, forcing him to wipe it from his eyes. High above them, the ravens rawk and take off, circling into the mists and out of view. Lionel's eyes shift back to earth and catch on Lorelei, a woman not much older than he. She quickly looks away, and Lionel feels his heart beating too fast in his chest. He remembers a line from the book he'd drawn the Invocation of the Destroyer from. _To summon the Destroyer is to end your life. Only use as a last resort._ He'd thought that made no sense... now he's beginning to realize that his old life may be gone.

Tara hears one of the elves say to Lionel, "We shouldn't be tarrying here much longer. There are worse things than velociraptors."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Tara prepares to follow the line of elves. She would really like some Gore-Tex hiking gear right now. She's cold and wet, but she gets that there is something in the black water they'd taken a dip in that they want washed off by the rain.

Shaking her head, Tara steps behind a pair of elves who've moved between her and Lionel and his mother. Lionel's mother _does_ look like him. Lionel's mom has the same white-blonde hair, their eyes have the same shape, she has a narrow chin that Lionel has kept though the frame of his face has broadened, and they have the same dimple in their left cheeks. Tara hadn't liked the laugh that she'd heard when she'd mentioned it.

Shivering, she tries to push back a long, wet tangle of hair and a bit breaks off in her hand. She has a moment of panic as it drops into the mud—a disease from the water? And then she remembers it catching on fire the night before and the blackened ends of Lionel's bangs, too. "Just fire damage," Tara says in English and winces. She'd never thought she'd use that expression to describe her hair.

"You speak English?" The whispered words in her own language make Tara draw to a stop. A foot away from her stands a tiny Elvish woman. She's gorgeous, with almond-shaped green eyes. They're intensified by being red-rimmed, as though she'd been crying. Honey-colored hair peeks out from beneath a sage-green hood.

"Yes," says Tara. She looks down at the shallow water she's walking in. Did she misunderstand its effect on Lionel's magic or does it not inhibit everyone's magic?

"The waters of the delta twist my magic," says the woman in an accent that Tara would peg as maybe Scottish. "But after knowing your kind for over a thousand years, I don't need magic anymore."

It's pouring rain, and cold. "Oh," says Tara.

The woman swings a knapsack around and takes out a cloak. "You're no longer contaminated. Wear this." She holds it out in Tara's direction. It's woolen, and will be soaked in minutes, but when Tara puts it on, she is warmer. She decides to savor the warmth for however long it lasts.

The woman says, "My husband and I, we kept the plague away, you know."

"The plague?" says Tara.

"From our MacGregor clan," says the woman, "in Scotland."

Tara imagines there are probably a lot of MacGregors in Scotland, but she nods as though she knows what the woman is talking about.

The woman's voice cracks. "The gate we use was flooded by the Dark Waters. We'll never be able to go back. Fiona is going to have a baby; I was going to be the godmother." Tears spill from her eyes. "I'm not allowed to have a baby. I have no one to pay the child price. The MacGregors have been my children for over a thousand years and now I can't see them!"

Tara stammers, "I'm... I'm... sorry."

The elf woman sniffs. "Of course you are. You are human." She tilts her head and wipes her face with her sleeve. "From Chicago... I hear the Dark Elves are emigrating there." She takes a step closer. "Taking their families, escaping this swamp and the queen."

New goosebumps rise on Tara's skin. She remembers the child who'd been beaten. "Emigrating?"

The woman nods.

She hears splashing behind her and turns. The other elves are far ahead of them, except for a single man running toward them through the rain and muck. "Kalee, don't talk to her. She'll tell Lionel, and he'll tell the queen!"

"Let him tell the queen!" the woman who must be Kalee responds. "We'll be long gone! The queen can't control us anymore."

The man stops beside his wife. "Chicago is far away from Scotland."

"Fiona told us about the aeroplanes." Kalee protests. "We'll use human magic to go back to Scotland and rejoin the MacGregors."

The man looks at Tara. He shuffles a bit. "Are there such things as aeroplanes, truly?"

Tara nods.

He licks his lips. "And they can take us from Chicago to Scotland."

"Yes," says Tara.

"We used to live in Scotland," he says. "Before Odin made all of us leave Midgard."

Kalee makes a derisive sound. "And the queen agreed, probably so she could have her talons in us all."

Tara's shoulders hunch under the onslaught of the rain. She isn't sure where this is all going, but she has a feeling she might not like Lionel's employer. "Odin..." she murmurs. Her eyes go to the path the ravens had flown in. Were they his birds?

"Why don't you ask Lionel about him," says Kalee, her chin dipping. "I suspect he knows rather a lot about Odin."

At that moment, she hears Lionel's voice. "Tara!" She turns to find him stepping out of the rain. He has a dark blue cloak on that's too small. His mother is beside him, jogging to keep up. A moment later, he's beside her, glaring down at Kalee and the man. "They didn't try to entrap you, did they?" he says, his voice nearly a hiss.

"What? No!" says Tara. "We were just talking." Lionel's head whips toward her. She remembers the man's fear that Lionel would report them. "About Earth." She gives him a tight smile. "They've never been."

She sees the man and woman relax. Lionel raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. His mother is looking wildly between the elf couple, Tara, and her son.

The couple nod at Lionel, split apart, and run around him, heads bowed as though they are afraid to look at him.

He frowns as they dart past.

"They don't know how to treat you, Lionel," his mother says. "They don't know who you are."

"And who am I?" he asks.

His mother bows her head.

"Forgive me, Mother, I shouldn't have asked," he whispers.

Tara swallows. She thinks of Emmett Till getting brutally murdered for not knowing the unspoken rules of the Deep South.

She's stumbled into the politics of a world she barely understands. She has a feeling she'd better figure it out quick.... her life might depend on it.

Lionel is cold and wet. The knowledge that he'd invoked the Destroyer gnaws at him, his body is alien to him, and his neighbors' glances are hostile. He's heard whispers of "half-breed," "abomination," and "now we know who his father is."

Despite all that, Lionel's heart lifts when he sees the trees of the delta clearing and the Golden Road. Beyond the road, he can imagine the rolling fields of green interspersed with well-tended forests and tidy villages. The clouds end at the road, and he can see the white-blue glow of Alfheim's sun. He puts his hand on Tara's lower back to urge her on... and because his hand wants to be there.

"What exactly is the child price?" Tara asks.

His hand drops. She'd evidently spoken about more than Midgard with Kalee and Jaben.

Lionel's mother draws to a halt and he can feel her unspoken, _Should I tell her?_

Stepping onto the road, Lionel pauses. The child price is something all the other magical races find abhorrent. He doubts that a human, with her seven and a half billion kindred, will think better of it, but he shrugs as if to say, _Why not?_ Better she learns from his mother than some other elf.

Walking next to Tara, his mother says, "For a baby to be born, someone must die, or there would be too many to feed."

Lionel frowns. Though there are less than a billion Light Elves on Alfheim, and the land mass is comparable to Earth's—surely they could sustain a few more?

His mother continues. "Elves are immortal."

The words make his chest constrict. Is he immortal? He'd always assumed so, but now...

"That's... interesting," says Tara. "Exactly how is the person who is going to die chosen?"

There is fear in her voice. Lionel says quickly, "It's not some sort of blood sacrifice like your Aztecs. Someone volunteers, and then they will themselves to die."

"Oh," says Tara, carefully looking at the ground. "What if no one volunteers?"

His mother answers. "If the mother decides to see her pregnancy through, the baby may stay, but the couple has broken the queen's law. They will be tried, may be found guilty, and if so, will be sent to the Dark Lands."

Had his mother been tried? Had her soulmate's accidental death not twenty months before Lionel was born—just a few weeks longer than normal elf gestation—been considered payment of the price? Or had someone interceded? The same someone who interceded to see he was allowed to study magic after his accidental trip to Midgard as a child?

As they make their way to the gathered villagers, the enchantment woven into his cloak activates. All the water slides from the fibers and they warm to the perfect degree.

"Oh," says Tara. "My cloak..."

"Is magical," says Rolleim, coming forward with a smile. He stops not a pace away from Tara, reaches out, and drags a hand down the garment's front, as though testing the fabric, fingertips grazing her breasts. "It's warm now that you're out of the Delta of Sorrows, isn't it?"

Tara's lips form a small 'o' of shock.

Technically, Rolleim has done nothing outside of normal Elven etiquette, but Lionel's jaw tightens, and a charge of magic rushes to his fingertips.

Rolleim's eyes go to Lionel's hands. Everyone else takes a step back. Lionel catches a whispered, "half-breed" and "savage." A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he doesn't look at the whisperer, afraid he might turn them to ice with the sudden jolt of power.

He glances at Tara, and sees her eyes have settled upon the speakers and narrowed. A heartbeat later, she's schooled her features to neutral. Her fingers flutter on the top of his hand. They're cool and it is the most innocuous of brushes, but his anger and magic turn to something else completely different.

His neighbors press closer to Tara, carefully avoiding Lionel. Martier, one of the oldest matriarchs of the village, says, "Our village hasn't seen a human in over two thousand years."

Jaylee says, "You must stay for the night!"

The village's only two children say, "Will there be a feast and a dance?"

"Yes, yes!" says someone else. "The queen will fetch her tomorrow to return her to Midgard... we must celebrate tonight!"

Tara's eyebrows hike. Seeing an unasked question, Lionel bends near, and she whispers in Elvish, "Does time work like normal—I mean, like Earth—here? If I stay for the night, am I going to wake up fifty years older and half my life gone?"

Kalee bristles. "That happened one time, and it wasn't even in our village. Still, it's all anyone talks about!"

Tara's eyes go wide.

Lionel gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and then doesn't let go. "Time is the same," he assures her. "But that particular mortal wished to stay."

"The queen, in all her great wisdom, made those villagers send him back," says Martier grumpily.

"Ah," says Tara.

"I will make sure you get home," Lionel's mother says. "You brought my son back to me. I am in your debt."

A hush goes through the gathering at the statement, and Lionel feels the breath rush from his lungs. Around him, jaws fall open.

In his hand, Tara's fingers go slack. "Oh, no, you can't say that. You can't be—"

"But I am," says Lionel's mother. "And it is settled."

In the village a hadrosaur lows.

Martier nervously clears her throat. "I'm sure that Tara and..." She ducks her head.

"You may call my son Lionel," his mother says.

"Come this way," Martier says. "You must be hungry." Lionel can't help but notice that she hasn't used his name.

## 11

# Unbinding

Tara licks a bit of lingering honey from her lips, and feels her eyes droop. For breakfast, elves eat pancakes with honey and butter, lingonberry jam, and a soft sort of cheese like Brie on the side.

"Are you sure you can't eat more?" says a blonde, blue-eyed elf child, poking his head between Tara and Martier, the two-thousand-something-year-old woman who looks all of twenty-one. The little boy looks to be about five. She imagines he is what Lionel looked like once.

"I'm sure," she says. She feels stuffed to the gills. She's also warm in borrowed clothes—they even gave her a scarf to cover and tie back her still-wet hair so it isn't dripping down her neck. The food and the comfort have left her sleepy despite all the excitement.

She glances down the table in Martier's cozy kitchen. Lionel is at the other end. His mother has disappeared. She wishes he weren't so far away. There is so much going on that she doesn't understand. Like how she thinks they've put them both at positions of honor at the table ends, men and women serving them both like they're royalty, but the elves won't look at Lionel, and they called him "half-breed." Is the reason for his change that he isn't full-elf? Why the deference on one hand, and what almost seems like disgust on the other?

"You're so much bigger than us!" says another child, poking his head around her other side. He has hair with curls that are just slightly looser than her own, and his skin is almost as dark.

Leaning toward his friend, the first boy says, "I hear humans age very fast, and you might be older than us!"

That makes Tara wince, but then the second says, "Do you like to play children's games? We would like another playmate."

They're adorably irrepressible, and Tara finds herself grinning and winking at them despite her fatigue. "Sometimes I play children's games." And then she's simultaneously hit with the worry that she's broken some taboo and a longing to see her little cousins. To her relief, she hears the adults around her laugh good-naturedly.

"Casir, I'm sure she's tired," says a man Tara might have mistaken for African, if it weren't for his Elvish frame and pointed ears. Tara fights back a yawn at his words and nods sleepily.

"Isn't that right, Missus...?"

The man inclines his head.

She feels a prickle on her spine. He's fishing for her full name. Waking up quickly, she says, "You can call me Miss Tara... from Chicago."

The elves laugh again. They don't sound cruel, yet she shivers. She looks down the table. Lionel is shooting daggers at the man with his eyes.

"You know our ways!" the man says with a grin.

"And your teeth are so white and straight!" says Martier.

"I bet you're as strong as a Valkyrie!" says the little boy who must be Casir.

Someone else says, "And no smallpox scars either!"

There are murmurs all around. Tara begins to feel like a bug under a microscope.

"Let's guess her name!" someone cries.

Someone begins to chant, "Tara McClellan, Tara O'Carey, Tara Johnson..."

"Stop!" Lionel says.

All the laughter stops, and for a moment, everyone freezes. Tara's eyelids suddenly feel especially heavy, and yet they won't fall. And then she blinks, and it's like a spell has broken, and time has resumed. People are shifting in their seats. Martier glares accusingly at Lionel.

His eyes are wide and shocked. "She needs sleep," he murmurs, and it sounds almost like an apology. Tara wonders what just happened.

"Of course," says Martier tightly. Snapping her fingers, she starts giving directions and the elves jump from their seats. Men and women both put the dishes away and clean up after the meal.

"Follow me," says Martier, gesturing to Tara.

Standing fast, Lionel comes to her side. Putting his hand on her back, he whispers, "It will be all right." Muscles she hadn't known were tense relax.

They follow the tiny woman outside, across a square of smooth stones, to a thatched cottage that is larger than the others. "This is our village's guest cottage," says Martier as she opens the door. Lionel's mother Tavende is inside, a broom in hand, as well as half a dozen other elves, all cleaning. Tavende smiles at Tara.

"All honored guests sleep here," Martier continues. "Humans, the queen's couriers... once we even had a king and his retinue stay in this cottage." The last she says meaningfully... but Tara's brain is fuzzy and getting fuzzier. She hides a yawn behind her hand.

"This way," says Martier, leading her through a tidy but snug living space into a bedroom. There is a fireplace to one side, and a large bed on the other. The bed looks very "country," with a quilt and heavy wood headboard. Elves bustle everywhere. Dumping some firewood into a metal box, one of the elves she'd seen in the Dark Lands says, "I never got your full name, missus..." He smiles, and Tara thinks he glows. She feels the oddest urge to tell him even though she knows it's wrong...

"Stop," Lionel growls.

The man goes very still. Everyone goes still. Tara feels like her heart forgets to beat.

"Get out," Lionel says, this time sounding tired.

Bowing to Tara, casting worried glances at Lionel, the elves leave the room. Tara swallows. "Are they going to keep trying to find out my name?"

"Probably," says Lionel.

Tara shivers.

"They don't mean any harm by it," Lionel says. "They're not strong enough to make you do anything drastic... but they'd probably play pranks."

"Pranks?" Tara asks, walking toward the bed as though it's pulling her by a string.

"Making you cluck like a chicken or walk like a duck," Lionel replies.

"Not a very nice way to treat a guest," Tara says.

"No," Lionel agrees.

"I wish they'd stop," Tara hears herself murmur as she flops down on the bed, not even bothering to crawl under the covers. She looks up at Lionel standing above the bed and thinks, _I wish you'd stay. They scare me. Their pranks aren't fair._

She closes her eyes and immediately finds herself in a tangled dream that is obviously her brain trying to tie her crazy day with something familiar and comforting, because Lionel leans over her bed and whispers, "As you wish."

"As you wish."

Tara's eyes are closed, and if she heard him, she gives no sign. He hopes it means that his presence has given her some subconscious release from her fears.

Sitting down on top of the covers next to Tara, he wipes his face with his hands and feels the unfamiliar bite of stubble.

He wishes he was less afraid.

Something is wrong with him, something more than his growth or fading soulmark, and something more than his _heritage_. He shouldn't have invoked the Destroyer last night in the swamp, but even worse, it shouldn't have worked. The jolt of power on the Golden Road... and when he'd gotten angry and told his former neighbors to stop, _they had_ , as though by compulsion. That such a thing would work on a human like Tara is possible, but on elves? Not from someone like Lionel. He's talented, but he's not that strong. He looks down at the braided keychain around his wrist. He hadn't even used it. The power had just been in him, waiting to be used.

It shouldn't be happening. He leans back against the headboard. But he shouldn't have the ability to World Walk either, should not have acquired the talent so young, and when he had walked that first terrible time, he should have been exiled to the Dark Lands, not sent to magic school in the palace. He should never have been made steward, either, and the ravens have no business helping him.

Lionel's eyes slide around the room. Martier had so pointedly mentioned, "A king had slept here." He knows the town lore... He picks at the golden cord holding the magic key and tries not to think about it.

What's more important is; can he fix it?

Tara shivers on the bed, curls her legs almost to her chin, and wraps her arms around herself. Her golden-brown fingers, clasped tight on her shoulders, are long, delicate, and slender. Lionel reaches out and almost puts his hand over hers, but then he sees his own hand. His nails grew as well as his bones, and his hand looks mitt-like and monstrous. He pulls back, and his jaw tightens. She's cold. He'd chased the others away before they lit the hearth. He drapes the wool throw from the base of the bed over her shoulders. She shivers again and he throws out an arm. The fireplace leaps with flame.

Tara opens her eyes and finds herself blinking at Lionel. He is sitting with his back against the headboard and his legs are outstretched in front of him. His eyes are on the fireplace across the room. She can feel its heat on her feet.

"You stayed," she says.

He looks down at her, his expression flat and unreadable, the fireplace giving his skin an orange glow. "You asked me to."

She'd said that aloud? It doesn't matter. Seeing him, she thinks she would have been fine with him reading her mind. "Thank you," she says.

He blinks at her. He has long lashes. They're just very fair, and she'd missed them before. "It was my pleasure," he says, his voice low and rolling.

Tara hopes her face is expressionless. The way he says it, she hears heat beneath the words... but maybe she just wants to hear that? He has a soulmate, she reminds herself. Averting her eyes, she tells herself that she and Lionel are just friends and can only be friends. This morning when she woke up—well, elves and human males obviously have some physiological similarities when they wake up in the morning.

... And being friends isn't bad. Lord knows, she's been the BFF of gorgeous guys before. She always likes nice guys; they always like girls who are petite, extroverted, and more feminine.

Her brow furrows. Hadn't Lionel said that elves weren't monogamous before marriage? Her body suddenly feels like it's sinking into the mattress, as though gravity on this world is greater. Maybe she hadn't imagined any heat? Does she like that?

Outside she hears happy and excited shouts.

"They're preparing a feast and a dance for you," says Lionel.

She focuses on the quilt. "Oh." She swallows. Shouldn't they be celebrating his return, too?

Lionel says, "We both need to bathe..."

Tara freezes.

"And they will want to dress you up," he finishes.

Tara can feel Lionel looking down on her. She doesn't look up.

"I think that perhaps your culture is more modest than mine..." She thinks she hears him nervously lick his lips. "Would you feel comfortable with my mother aiding you?" Very hastily, he adds, "She will not try to extract your name, and can help you with the bath and other things. We have running water, but it doesn't work the same."

He sounds so concerned. She does look up, and finds his eyes on her.

"I would like that," she says.

Lionel smiles and his dimple appears.

She can't help smiling back.

His smile drops, his blue eyes flick to her lips, and back to her eyes. His pupils are very dark.

Tara looks away in confusion, torn between elation and... disappointment? What is she to him? Just available? She thinks she'd rather be just friends. Her eyes fall on his hands balled loosely in his lap.

"I will go get her," he says. The bed creaks as he stands. Tara mumbles a "thanks" as he leaves and closes the door behind him.

Sitting up, she wraps the blanket draped over her around her shoulders. When had she draped it around herself? Tara looks around the room. There's a window hidden behind a curtain that she doesn't want to look through, lest someone look back and try to extract her name. There is a wardrobe that is enormous, carved with an elaborate scene of a unicorn battling a dragon. She can't help smiling, thinking that it might be magical. Maybe an elf child would wind up in Times Square or at Chicago's Bean if they walked through on a rainy day? There's a fireplace made of stones, not brick, filled with a roaring blaze, and a copper metal bin, green with age, filled with wood.

It's very rustic. Tara wonders what sort of king had slept in this guest house, how he'd come to be waylaid in a tiny village, and what he'd done while he was here. There are no books or even a writing desk.

There's a second doorway and Tara pads through it to find a room tiled with smooth-ish stones. There's a raised portion. She peeks in and discovers a shallow basin. She presumes it is a bath, but it is empty, and there are no spigots. There is a mirror, but her reflection is distorted and unrecognizable. The glass is so ancient it's "melted" like the windows of old houses she's repaired with her dad. There is a tiny little stool in front of the mirror, and dark globes of glass line the corners between the walls and ceiling.

The room is surprisingly warm. She turns around and notices that the heat seems to be emanating from some stones suspended in a copper mesh bag hanging above the probably-tub. She reaches out to feel their heat.

"Oh, don't touch them!" Lionel's mother's voice makes Tara jump.

Spinning, Tara finds Tavende carrying a stack of towels, what is maybe a robe, and a pair of shears.

The elf woman puts them down, and then moves a stone that makes water gurgle into the tub, and touches a few globes, which makes them flick on. Putting her hands on her hips, she eyes Tara's headscarf. "We need to trim the burnt ends of your hair, and a dry cut will work better with your hair texture."

Stomach sinking, Tara bows her head and unbinds the scarf. "It probably looks terrible," she murmurs embarrassedly.

"It does look terrible," Lionel's mother says.

Tara feels her heart sinking and casts a furtive glance at the tiny woman. The expression on the little elf woman's face catches Tara off guard. She expected judgment, smug disdain perhaps, but Lionel's mom looks... confused. Tavende cocks her head. "Does anyone look good with burnt hair?"

Tara remembers the ragged ends of Lionel's hair... he'd still looked good to her.

Picking the shears, Lionel's mother waves them and says, "Don't worry! Hairdressing isn't my magical talent, but I am very good at it."

Tara reaches back, touches another lock of hair at the back of her neck, and it disintegrates in her hand. There is no way around this, unless she wants to keep shedding clumps of hair like her childhood pet Collie in spring, it's got to be cut. She eyes the shears in the hands of the tiny elf... the tiny white elf, with straight blonde hair that hangs loose in a gorgeous cascade halfway down her back. Tara opens her mouth to ask for someone else, but then remembers the elves' attempts to get her name.

Lionel's mom points at the stool. "Have a seat."

Obeying, Tara reminds herself that it has to be done.

Tavende sighs. "Such a shame, such a shame, I cannot grow it back, I can only even it out," and then there is a furious flurry of snips. Tara looks down in horror as inches of her hair fall to the floor, and she feels the cool brush of the scissors near her nape. She can't imagine how this could get worse.

The snips stop and Tavende runs her fingers over Tara's scalp. "I think the waters from the delta have damaged your hair... your hair type is so delicate and prone to dryness." She tsks. "My talent isn't cutting hair, but it is restoring pluffomage to optimal health."

Pluffomage? Tara blinks at the word that apparently has no translation in English.

"You should see Henrietta's feathers!" Tavende says happily.

Tara's eyes go wide. This could get worse.

Lionel needs to bathe and get a haircut, but his mission can't wait. As he walks through the village, the only two children scatter before him like leaves. He can't imagine feeling worse. And then he knocks on Kalee and Jaben's door and they don't answer.

He puts his ear to the wood and hears them within. His lip curls, and a charge of magic jumps beneath his fingers. Even without the magic of his key, he could rip the door from its hinges if he wanted.

Remembering the whispers of "savage" earlier, he runs his hands through his hair and resists the urge. He will not live down to their expectations.

He knocks again and gets no answer. _I know you were doing more than hunting mushrooms in the delta,_ he almost says, and catches himself. There is more than his heritage they have to be afraid of. Lionel walks over to one of the tiny windows. The curtains are drawn but the window is cracked a bit.

"I won't ask about your mushroom-gathering trip," Lionel whispers into the gap.

There is no answer.

"Please, Kalee and Jaben, I need to talk to you. You're the most powerful magic users in the village." Maybe not as powerful as Lord Beddel, or his teachers at the palace, but they're able to open World Gates, if the rumors are true. And they are very old, far older than his mother. They lived on Midgard before it was closed to the elves. "I need your help."

Somewhere in the village, a dog barks. Lionel takes a step back, about to turn away, when he hears a creak. He sees Kalee peeking through the door, her eyes narrowed. "I don't know if our home is splendid enough for an Asgardian who may be _His_ son."

"I'm not—" Lionel catches himself before he says _Asgardian_. "I don't know who my father is," Lionel protests instead, his gut wrenching.

She sniffs. "You can probably lie."

Feeling like he's been punched in the gut, Lionel rocks back on his feet. The thing is, he might be able to lie. He feels it in him.

"Oh, let him in!" whispers Jaben. "Like you said, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Harrumph!" says Kalee, but she opens the door and ushers him in.

Ducking to keep from banging his head on the doorframe, Lionel enters, and finds the main room—a combination living room, kitchen, and dining room—stripped bare. Kalee and Jaben may be only peasants, but they're very old, and had managed to acquire things over the centuries: heavy chairs stuffed with goose down, a dragon skin, copper cooking implements that they'd kept polished and hung near the stove with pride, magical canning jars that had always been filled with bright vegetables, a few books and coins from every realm—even Midgardian coins minted before the Law. Lionel had been told the Midgardian coins had never been worth much—even on Midgard—but they'd been kept in a glass case of honor with the rest just the same. Now all that is left are two wooden chairs and two traveling trunks.

The scene reminds him of his mother's cottage just before he left for the palace. He gulps, fearing for the couple. The only reason elves move house is by invitation of the queen, or to be with a soulmate, like Amir, the elf in their village from the Middle Lands. Where can they possibly go?

He meets Kalee's eyes and she glares at him. He decides he will not ask why they've packed. He hopes, for their sake, that it isn't related to "mushroom hunting."

"Have a seat," says Jaben, gesturing to a chair.

Lionel sits down, and finds the stool shorter than the last time he visited. Jaben and Kalee sit down across from him. "What is it that you wanted to ask us?" Jaben says. "Spit it out."

"Have you known others like me?" Lionel asks.

"Half-breeds?" asks Kalee.

Recoiling at the word, Lionel tips back the stool, almost losing his balance.

"Sure, we have," says Jaben.

Gesturing to his now-looming frame, Lionel asks, "Can this be undone?"

Kalee snorts.

Lionel explains desperately, "The queen must have known about my possible heritage, but she'll never accept me if I don't _look_ like an elf." The realization had just come to him as he was walking here. He rubs his hands together in the cottage's chill; his limbs feel like lead. Remembering how his former neighbors had looked at him, he adds, "I doubt the village will accept me, either."

Jaben sighs. "Probably not. Those who don't like mixing of the classes won't want you here."

"And those who think that is foolishness won't want the ravens coming back," Kalee says sharply.

The ravens... Lionel remembers them visiting the village as a child, and thinking they were spying on him. The question is, on whose behalf had they spied? Was it a favor to someone that He sent them... or...? He shakes his head. It is too much to think about.

No matter who they spied for, the ravens would report to Odin if they'd seen anything suspicious, like Kalee and Jaben's "mushroom-collecting expeditions." It is a euphemism for visiting a hidden World Gate, probably to Midgard, somewhere in the delta. He rubs his temple. Kalee and Jaben are so old, the gate might have been located outside the delta in their youth, before the Law. But the Dark Land's magic has been growing and spreading.

He drops his hand. "Having Huginn and Muninn around must have been difficult for you," Lionel says. "But you never treated me like a half-breed."

"We weren't sure of your heritage. We doubt your own mother knew for sure," Jaben murmurs.

Lionel studies the stone tiles on the floor. He doesn't think his own mother was sure, either.

"You came so soon after her Sol's death," Kalee adds, referring to his mother's soulmate, her tone accusatory.

Lionel's jaw gets hard. He will not judge his mother for what she did in grief. "I don't want to be... look like a... half-breed. Can my growth be undone... and if so, who is strong enough?"

"How did it come about, exactly?" Jaben asks.

Lionel tells the tale, and when he is done, Jaben chuckles.

"It isn't irreversible?" Lionel asks in dismay.

"If you really want to look like an elf, it can be done," says Kalee.

"By who?" Lionel asks.

The two stare at him a long moment.

"Lionel," sighs Kalee. "You wanted to be an elf so badly, your magic bound you up and made you look like us. It was only when your magic was taken away that your true form was revealed."

Jaben shakes his head. "The only one strong enough and capable of binding you back up..."

Kalee finishes. "Would be you."

Jaben leans back in his chair.

"Think hard on if you'd want that."

"I do want it!" says Lionel.

Jaben scratches his neck. "Sounds painful."

Lionel inhales sharply, feeling an echo of the agony of the night before shoot to his bones.

"You'll never work again for the queen, either way," Kalee observes.

Jaben snorts. "Even if you bind yourself back up, she won't want you back."

"She'll know it's there," says Kalee.

Lionel's shoulders hunch. "My height, my—"

"Your aura!" says Jaben.

"Now that you aren't using it to tie yourself up in the shape of one of us, your aura's glowing more than a tree on fire," says Kalee. "Straight through the roof."

Lionel sits up straighter. All magical creatures have auras. Learning to see them was part of his magical training. Trying to do so used to make his forehead break out in a sweat, even with his keychain for power, but at her words, his vision shimmers. He sees the auras of Kalee and Jaben, both bright orange and licking the ceiling.

Kalee narrows her eyes. "Well, not a tree on fire..."

Her husband adds, "Yours is a steady _not_ light, more like a deep blue shadow, like snow on the far side of a mountain. A shadow so strong it feels like a glow."

Kalee nods.

Lionel looks down at his too-large hands.

Jaben clears his throat. "You can't see your own aura."

Blushing, Lionel remembers that from his lessons, too. It hadn't sunk in before because he never could see anyone else's auras before either—at least not without pain and suffering.

"Bind yourself up and it might bind your magic for a while," says Jaben.

"But she'll know," says Kalee. "She may have taken you in on His behest."

"But you're a threat to her power now. You're too strong," says Jaben.

"I'm not stronger than the queen," Lionel protests. He's seen her magic up close.

"Not now, but in a few centuries..." Kalee nods as though she's confirmed something to herself. "It'll come out, bound up in a less barbaric Elven body or not."

Lionel swallows. He feels a chill settle on him. They're right, he knows it. He thinks of his invocation of the Destroyer. The philosophers said it brought about the end of a life, and now his old life is over. He draws a hand through his hair, feeling the straw-like burnt ends. But his invocation had come _after_ the unbinding.

"What should I do?" he murmurs.

"Go to the dance," says Jaben.

Lionel lifts his head.

Kalee shrugs. "Nothing you can do now. Might as well enjoy yourself. Focus on the moment you have. You never know when the blight will come again."

It is a common refrain among the very old elves, a memory from a time when the Elven Seelie and Unseelie Courts had been at war, and the conflict had bled out into the other realms. Focus on now... it was a mental trick designed to shield immortal beings from contemplating an eternity of torment, one that every elf learned. Could it protect a half-blood from endless contemplation of possible death and banishment?

Jaben sniffs. "Well, you could get a bath, shave, and a haircut first."

Dipping his chin, Lionel avoids their eyes. "Of course." Rising to his feet, he hastily makes his goodbyes, and half stumbles through the too-small cottage onto the street, now aglow. His neighbors are busily preparing for Tara's welcome party, stringing ropes of glow globes and early spring flowers between the houses. The globes aren't lit yet, but his neighbors' auras fill Lionel's eyes, and he realizes with a start that he never learned how to turn his aura vision off because he'd never needed to. It makes the scene blurry, and gives him an odd double vision. None of his neighbors have auras as bright as Jaben and Kalee. Magical power is partly a manifestation of age, he recalls.

He sees his mother opening the door to the guest cottage, ushering in a few other women. Her aura is just a slight glow, a pleasant shade of pink. Over his mother's shoulders, he sees Tara wrapped in an enormous towel, hair full, loose, and very black. She's inspecting something in her hand and doesn't see him. Tara has no aura, and her features are crystal clear even at a distance. It's a relief to see a familiar face. He smiles and waves to get her attention, but she doesn't lift her eyes.

His mother waves, or maybe her aura waves, he's not quite sure. He smiles at her and rushes to her cottage, desperate to get out of the way of his neighbors and their shimmering auras following him like ghosts of a former life.

## 12

# A Faery Dance

"There," says Tavende. "You look beautiful."

Tara smiles, but is pretty sure it looks as insincere as it feels. What else is the person who sheared off all your hair and styled the remnants going to say? _I made a horrible mistake. Please forgive me?_

She touches the back of her neck. It feels cold. Lionel's mom really had to cut it close there. Tara knows why, but it's still a shock, and she's terrified of what it looks like.

Tavende touches her dress. "And Maliniea did a lovely job on this, too... It's so lucky she often sells to Valkyries, or we'd never have something to fit someone as statuesque as you."

Tara thinks that statuesque might mean "fat," but she can't help loving the dress. It's a very simple cut, three-quarter sleeves, a scooped neckline that's flattering but not too low, and a hemline that goes nearly to her ankles. And the fabric is magical. It has the feel of heavy knit silk, and flows over her body without feeling constricting, too hot, or too cold. Its color seems to flow, too. When she touches it, the surface ripples between a cream and a warm pink. The same Maliniea had also gifted her a pair of shoes. Not to be disloyal to her Jimmy Choos—may they rest in peace—but the shoes are beautiful. Granted, they're antique looking with their barely two-inch tall spool heels, and delicate laces that start just above the rounded tip and go to where they open just above her toes. The curve of the opening makes her legs look long and lean. The tan leather is incredibly soft, just a shade paler than her own skin. The stitching is a work of art that makes her mouth water a little. They're also comfortable, which Tara thinks might be magic in shoes this pretty.

"You need a mirror," Tavende says. "Wait here, I'll go get a newer one!"

She dashes out the door before Tara can say a word. The woman is so tiny, slender, and painfully pretty. Tara sighs and rubs her forehead. Tavende seems genuine, terribly sweet, too, and she pledged to see Tara home, putting herself into Tara's debt. Tara winces. At the debt, and at the immediate problem of the mirror. If Tara doesn't like what she sees, she'll have to fake it. For Lionel's mother's sake, she actually wants to lie and say she loves it, but Tara's a terrible actress.

There is a soft knock at the door. Tara freezes, not ready to fend off any more attempts to learn her name, but then Lionel's muffled voice comes through the entrance. "May I come in?"

Feeling herself go light with relief, Tara cries, "Yes!"

Lionel opens the door, takes a step in, and then his lips part.

Tara's chest tightens, and she suddenly feels like she has to defend Lionel's mom's efforts. "Your mother did her best with what was left." She does her best to smile.

Lionel at least looks great. He's shaven, and someone has cut his hair. He's tied it back in a pretty sexy man bun. That definitely works for him. A few bangs have slipped forward and brush his chin. His clothes fit him now, too: a long tunic that accentuates his shoulders, and simple brown trousers tucked into boots the same color.

"You look beautiful." Lionel breathes the words so smoothly; Tara's first thought is that it must be a practiced lie.

She tilts her head, smiles, and holds up her hand to say, _It's okay, you don't have to fib,_ and then remembers that elves don't lie and blinks.

Lionel takes a step forward. "Well, I've always thought you were beautiful, even that first night when your hair was wet and in disarray—the droplets glittered so bright—but this looks a lot less cold." He's so close that Tara would barely have to lift a finger to touch him. Flushing, Tara has to look away.

"It's as though..." Lionel holds a hand up as though he will touch the side of her head, but doesn't. "You wear a nebula for a crown."

The spell snaps like a spring. That was a bit too far; he's teasing her. Obviously. She'll tease him right back. Cocking an eyebrow, Tara says, "Are you saying my hair looks like a cloud of gas?"

For a moment, she doesn't think Lionel even breathes. He just stares at her. But then he bursts out laughing. "You're so smart and funny. It's one of the things I like about you." He leans forward and presses his lips to her brow. They're dry and soft, and heat spreads from them like an electrical charge to every part of her body. Tara's eyes slip closed, and her tongue darts across her lips. She almost reaches out and touches him. He stands too close for too long for a simple kiss on the brow, but she's not complaining. The light behind her eyelids changes, and that's how Tara knows he's stepped away. She wants to protest, but then she hears soft familiar footsteps... at this particular moment, they sound like thunder. Opening her eyes just in time, she sees Tavende burst into the cottage, clutching a mirror the size of a large serving platter. "I found one!"

"Oh," says Tara. Before she can react, or prepare herself, the tiny woman lifts it up in front of her so Tara can't help but see her reflection. Her mouth falls open, and she can't bring herself to smile.

Her hair is much shorter and it's reverted to its natural texture. Tavende has pushed it back from her face with a black stretchy hairband that disappears into Tara's curls. Her remaining hair forms a bun, into which Tavende put tiny shiny flowers, each tinier than the tip of Tara's pinky. It's simple, elegant, and Tara's hair—

"It looks like the night sky, filled with stars, yes?" says Tavende.

The night sky... it's not how Tara has ever thought of her natural hair. She throws her hands to her mouth. "I love it." It comes out a whisper. She feels her eyes start to prickle in the corners.

Beaming, Tavende angles the mirror. "Look at the dress."

"The dress is lovely, too," Tara says, her eyes too blurry to look, but she'd known that from the start.

"I have to go get ready," Tavende says, placing the mirror against a wall. "Lionel, it's almost time. Watch out for her!"

A frown flickers across Lionel's face. "I will," he says, and his fingers brush the top of Tara's hand—like she'd done for him when she'd heard the villagers call him half-breed and hadn't known how to comfort him. That he's returning the favor now means that he noticed, he cared, and he wants to reciprocate. Her heart feels filled to bursting.

Tavende exits, leaving the door wide open. Tara's gaze slides to Lionel, standing close at her side.

"What now?" she murmurs, to herself, to him, and the universe. He has a soulmate and a soulmark to prove it. Her eyes slide up his profile to the points of his mesmerizing ears. She feels the heat from his touch on her hand, even now. She can't be his soulmate... can she? And if she isn't?

His hand slides into hers, and it is amazing what he can do to her body with something so innocent. More than that, the way he looks at her, eyes dark, eyelids heavy... the chemistry isn't one way.

In the doorway, the little blonde-haired boy from breakfast shouts, "Tara from Chicago, it's time to begin!"

Lionel squeezes her hand and shrugs. His lips turns up in a wry smile. "Now we go to the party."

As he leads her out into the glittering twilight, Tara thinks, _That wasn't the question I was asking._

At the table Lionel watches as Tara samples the ice wine. Her lashes are long and dark against her skin as she sips the light blue liquid.

She looks up, licks her lips in a way that almost makes him lick his own, and says, "I like it... it's very light, a little sweet..."

"Hence, it is for dessert." He gives her a smirk. Her nose wrinkles, and he knows she's fighting a smile.

Tara's presence has made being in the moment easier. Watching her react to his home world has been like seeing it for the first time.

The faintest of scowls slips over her brow. "It seems a bit strong, though." Leaning so her arm just brushes his, she whispers earnestly, "Lionel, I'm a horrible..." She switches from Elvish to English. "Lightweight." Wincing, she adds, "It's an expression. It means I can't hold my liquor, so I usually don't drink at all."

The night is cool, but with her body just barely grazing his, Lionel has felt warm all evening. It's been a long time since a potential new lover has made him feel this awake. Maybe it is the storm clouds brewing in his future, giving their interactions extra weight? Trying to keep the moment light, Lionel cocks an eyebrow and looks pointedly at the tankards of various ales that have accumulated near her seat at the table. Tara had politely taken a tiny sip of each one... and not a drop more. "I'd noticed that," he says.

"I don't want to offend anyone!" she says, putting a hand over her mouth and glancing around the table in obvious distress.

He wouldn't care if she offended the entire lot. They were playing a "guess Tara's name game" all through dinner. Thankfully, in his village, most interactions between humans occurred with humans from Scotland. Lupita, he takes it, is a name of Spanish origins.

Around them, people start to get up and take away the dishes. Rolleim, plates in hand, pauses by Tara and grins. "Drunk enough to tell me your name yet?"

Giving a tight smile, Tara puts the wine down and scoots the glass away with a finger. "Nope."

The noise that comes out of Lionel's mouth is a low hiss.

Rolleim sneers. "Come off it, Lionel. She's obviously not drunk, and I was obviously teasing."

Lionel's eyes narrow. It's obvious by his flushed face that Rolleim has been drinking. The fact he's talking to Lionel is also a clue. Before the meal, he hadn't even looked in Lionel's direction.

His once friend cocks his head. "Oh... maybe it's because you're a half-breed. You're jealous, aren't you?"

Lionel feels his cheeks heat. Jealousy for a soulmate is barely acceptable after marriage; jealousy for someone else is deviancy, savagery, and a hallmark of the lesser races.

Kalee calls Rolleim's name. Giving Lionel a smug smile, Rolleim slips off.

"You were being protective, not jealous," Tara murmurs, shaking her head.

Lionel feels a weight lift from his chest at her words. She touches his arm, and he can't help catching her fingers with his own. It's automatic, like when he's played games of romance and seduction at court, but he doesn't feel like he's playing.

"What are they doing over there?" Tara asks, craning her neck.

Peering in the direction she indicates, he smiles. "Oh, they're getting out their instruments. As soon as the table is cleared, they'll rearrange the square for dancing." Turning to her, he pats her hand. "I'm sure there will be a waltz."

He expects a smile. Instead Tara's eyes are wide, and her lips are parted in a look of mild horror.

"What?" says Lionel.

"Will they expect me to waltz?" Tara asks.

"Well, yes, don't you like to?" Lionel asks, feeling a frisson of tension along the back of his neck. He'd thought a waltz would make her pleased. It shows the goodwill of his people—how they respect her culture and don't mean to be cruel by stealing her name.

"It's not a matter of like," says Tara. "It's that I can't. I never learned how. That dance is over a hundred years old and I'm"—she raises her hands—"... not."

Lionel draws back. Tara has handled being kidnapped, dragged to another world, imprisoned, and trekking through a dangerous swamp with remarkable grace. She released him from a life debt with a pinky promise, and offered sympathy when his own people... or those he thought were his own... had not. He had put it out of his mind that she is younger. Curious, he leans forward. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-nine?"

The way she whispers it, it sounds like a question. He draws back. Lionel thinks it is a testament of his refinement, of his non-savagery, that he doesn't let his shock show. His eyes slide to the two children of his village, playing a game in the dirt with rounded stones. They're slightly older than she is. His fingers, still covering hers, slide away. All evening he's been picturing them eventually falling together in the guest cottage... His attraction to her isn't like the lechers among the nobility that violate children... Still.

_Twenty-nine._

He hears Tara gulp.

Recovering his manners, he turns back to her. "The basic steps aren't hard. Come on, I'll show you." Taking her hand, he gives a smile that he hopes is more friendly than seductive, and leads her from the long benches by the table. He sees the light on in his mother's kitchen; she's probably helping with the cleanup. There will be light there, and his mother won't laugh at Tara's first steps—at least not unkindly. His mother will also keep him from being a... it's not right to think of himself as a predator, he reminds himself. She is an adult among her kind.

Still... _twenty-nine._

He leads her into his mother's home. Like Kalee's and Jaben's, there is a large room that serves as kitchen, dining room, and sitting area. It isn't as large as he remembers. As he suspected, his mother is doing dishes from the feast. Dropping Tara's hand, he quickly rolls up the rug in the sitting area, exposing the stone floor beneath, worn smooth with the centuries.

"What are you doing, Lionel?" his mother exclaims.

"Teaching Tara to waltz," Lionel says.

"But it's a human dance!" his mother protests.

By the door, Tara wrings her hands. "I'm so sorry for the trouble, ma'am."

Hoping to ease her discomfort, Lionel explains it the quickest way possible. "Mother, Tara is only twenty-nine years old."

Certainly, he hadn't known the waltz at that age.

His mother's eyes go wide. Tara... well, a look he can't decipher flits across her face, but then she just smiles sadly and nods. "Yes, only twenty-nine."

"Oh," says Lionel's mother.

Lionel takes Tara's hand and pulls her to the open space on the floor. He lifts his hands, and she steps into his arms and puts her hands in the correct location. "I know this much," she says. His eyes fall on her lips.

"Twenty-nine," whispers his mother in a voice of disbelief.

"Right," says Lionel. He looks away and quickly leads her through the steps. Tara picks them up quickly, but even more than that, she doesn't fight his lead, and her body moves easily with his.

"You know how to follow," Lionel says.

"Stepping, merengue, and salsa," she says. "I do know those."

Lionel shakes his head, remembering his meal on her world. "The first are gibberish... the third, I have no idea what that particular condiment has to do with the waltz."

Outside, someone tunes a lute.

Tara's lips purse.

"I think we're ready for the rhythm," say his mother, and she begins clapping her hands. Remembering the waltz Tara played for him in Chicago, Lionel begins to whistle. He's only a few bars in when she fumbles over his feet. Recovering, she looks up at him with wide eyes. "That's the waltz I played for you in Chicago."

"Yes," he says.

"You're whistling it perfectly!" she gasps.

"Music is something all my people are good at," he says without thinking, and then feels the air rush out of his lungs and his limbs go cold. Elves love music... he's not sure about Asgardians.

"Both sets of my people claim to be naturally musical," she huffs. "And both sides claim to be the best at it; it was a running argument in our house. But I don't think I could whistle something I've heard once so perfectly."

Lionel blinks. She's not a half-breed; she's completely human. He's about to say something to that effect when he remembers Hannah, Abraham, and their little boy—the three humans he met as a child on Midgard, and how they were treated by their fellow humans. Einherjar staying at the palace had explained to him the concept of "racism." Even if every other species sees humans as one race, they see themselves as separate races. Tara's mother obviously has ancestors who hail from the center of Earth's western continent. Her father, if it had been her father in the pictures he'd seen, had ancestors from Africa.

Lionel momentarily loses the beat, remembering her hand touching his when his neighbors had called him "half-breed." It hadn't been some brilliant strike of inspiration; her empathy had been hard won.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Tara asks.

Giving a little shake, Lionel says, "No. Let's work on a turn." He catches the rhythm again and spins her out.

She turns gracefully back into his arms as though she's been waltzing for much longer than five minutes.

Only twenty-nine, and already she's lived so much.

The notes of a waltz swirl around Tara. The music is played on a sort of harp, a lute, a flute, and a hand drum. She wonders if they might be magical because they have much better acoustics than she would have imagined. A firm hand rests on her back, and another grips her hand. The handsome elf in front of her, Jaben, smiles as he leads her through the steps.

She tells herself that she's glad he isn't Lionel. She'd sensed how quickly Lionel's ardor cooled when he discovered her age, and that's obviously not going anywhere. Luckily, every elf in the village, and a few from neighboring villages, has wanted to dance with her, making her feel like a princess—or, as one of the little boys said, "A Valkyrie princess!" Before every dance, Lionel had insisted she extract a promise from each partner not to try to get her real name, and it's worked.

The music rises in volume, and Jaben, just a few inches shorter than her, with dark hair and sparkling blue eyes, leans toward her ear. "How long does it take to fly by aeroplane to Scotland from Chicago? A week? A few days?"

Tara nearly loses her balance, remembering Jaben's wife's comments on the MacGregors. But leaning in, she whispers back, "I think it is about six hours, but you may have to stop in London... maybe eight?"

"Hours..." whispers Jaben.

Tara feels a little dizzy. He's planning on going to Earth. "Are you planning on leaving soon? Could you get me to the Chicago World Gate?"

Jaben leans in and whispers so close his breath tickles her ear. "The queen's forces and the Dark Elves are still fighting for the World Gate. Her Majesty's forces are currently laying siege. No one can get in or out. Kalee and I are going to join the fight on the side of the Dark Elves."

Tara swallows.

"Don't worry, girl!" Jaben says, squeezing her hand. "The queen will see you home. If not through that gate, then another. She knows of many and won't need to send you through a war zone."

Tara shivers. She doesn't feel very reassured. She bites her lip. And why is she asking? After the stunt she pulled with Lionel, the Dark Elves aren't going to let her go through their gate.

The music slows and comes to a stop. Releasing her, Jaben bows. Before he's even stepped away, Tara feels Lionel at her shoulder. He may not be romantically interested in her, but he's kept his promise to look out for her.

Jaben eyes Lionel, smirks, and says to Tara, "Thank you for dancing with me." With that, he scampers off. The musicians start putting away their instruments. Elves come up to her and wish her good night, to thank her for dancing with them, and to tell her how well she did at the Elvish reel—it hasn't all been waltzing, but it has been really fun. One little Elven woman cries, "I never thought I'd live to see a real human!" Which makes Tara grin ear to ear. She can see why a fellow might stay here for fifty years... but she has to get home to her mother.

Besides the constant pesky attempts to get her name, the only thing that is uncomfortable is the way they treat Lionel. It had taken large quantities of alcohol for them to even look at him.

"It's late," he says as the crowd disperses. "Shall I show you to the guest cottage?"

The guest house is within sight, but Tara sees Rolleim in that general direction. She hadn't gotten an oath of no-name-extracting from him. "I'd like that," she says.

Lionel leads her toward the little cottage. In the fading glow of the bug lights, Tara sees Rolleim examine Lionel through narrowed eyes. Apparently deciding he doesn't like what he sees, he vanishes into the shadows.

They pass a little house with the window open and a man says, "It's cold, let's close the shutters." Which makes Tara look, and then her eyes cross as a naked woman reaches out to close a shutter. Behind her is a man also without clothes, and he is obviously rarin' to go. They both wave cheerfully at her. "Good night, Tara of Chicago," they exclaim before the shutters shut.

"Elves aren't modest," Lionel whispers. "But they mean no harm."

"Oh, I know they didn't mean anything by it," she whispers. "I was just surprised." She almost says, "When in Alfheim, do as elves do," but she doesn't think she's ready to do as they just did. "And not offended," she says instead.

Lionel smiles at her. They reach the cottage and he says, "Would you like me to help you start the fireplace?"

The night is chilly, but instead of saying yes, she says, "If I'm going to sleep, won't that just be wasted effort? I mean... the sparks..." She's stalling. She'd like to see more of him, even it is just to talk, and since he found out her age, that seems all it will be. Only talking will be... nice, she tells herself.

"They're magic. The sparks won't jump out and catch the house on fire," he says. "And it's no effort."

Tara melts. "Yes, please then."

They go into the little cottage and Lionel raises his hand and the fire in the hearth of the common area lights up. A few quick steps, and he vanishes into the bedroom. Tara doesn't follow. She hears a whoosh and sees the glow of flames.

Lionel emerges from the room and asks, "Are you tired?"

"Not really," she admits. Although she wonders if it is just him being here that's giving her a charge.

"I'll make tea," he says, and goes over to the fireplace and swings a kettle on a lever into the flame. For the first time, Tara notices a little tray with teacups nearby. Kings need tea, apparently, even if they don't need a kitchen. She sits a little uncomfortably on one edge of an overstuffed sofa.

Lionel comes over to the sitting area. He skips the sofa, and looks at the heavy chair that is directly to Tara's right that looks almost like a throne. Lionel frowns at it, as though some unpleasant memory still sits there, and sits down on the ottoman in front of Tara instead.

"I wish I had a little gray box that could play all sorts of music for you," he says.

Tara smiles at his joke. "A computer," she says in English.

He smiles back. "Gibberish."

Flames in the fireplace crackle, and the silence between them feels uncomfortable. She wonders what he's doing here, but doesn't want to ask, because maybe then he'd go and she doesn't want that. He's funny and kind, and has looked out for her here, just as she did for him on Earth, she supposes. After tomorrow they'll never see each other again, and that thought hurts.

Lionel's so close she'd only have to lean a little bit forward to kiss him. But he's looking at the chair again, glaring at it as though admonishing it for spying on them. Who knows, it could be a magical chair, and it could be spying on him.

But the silence feels more oppressive than just a nosy magical chair. She almost asks him if something is wrong... and then realizes that he's come home to be called "half-breed" and something in their journey made him grow and changed him painfully. Of course something is wrong.

"What will you do?" Tara blurts out instead.

Lionel's gaze meets hers.

Tara waves a hand at him. "I mean, you've changed... and I don't really understand why... but I know that it hurt." Physically and emotionally.

Lionel rubs his jaw. "I will have some trouble." He takes a deep breath, pulls the key chain around his wrist out from under his shirt, and clasps it tightly in his hand. "I'll never be the steward to the queen again."

"Because you're... not full elf?"

Lionel shrugs. "It's more complicated than that." He sighs. "I realize that as a magician, even a minor one as you say you are, that you might not think that being a steward is a great vocation, but I liked it. Yes, there were a lot of tedious chores, but working for the queen, I met people from every realm." He picks at the keychain. "My placement was interesting, if not particularly grand."

Tara swallows. She actually understands him perfectly. "My placement... as a minor magician..." She smiles at the job title he's given her. "Is interesting... if not particularly grand." Lionel's eyes come back to her and she looks down at her hands.

"I never could decide on what to be," Tara admits. "As a minor magician, well... I get to be a little bit of everything. Cleaning viruses off of people's computers can be tedious, especially when it's the same virus over and over and it is the same cat GIF."

Lionel blinks at that, and he mouths the word gibberish.

Smiling bashfully, Tara soldiers on. "But I also create devices to help detect dark energy, and I knew what that magic-blocking wire was based on conversations I've overheard from Dr. Eisenberg." Leaning forward, she whispers. "I don't think I was actually supposed to overhear, but I did."

Lionel grins. "Some of my magical abilities, like becoming invisible and creating illusions, I'm not supposed to know, but do because I overhear things." He winks. "Those are skills that lords and ladies don't like their servants knowing."

Tara snickers. She can imagine servants are supposed to be figuratively invisible, not _literally._

"I have access to the queen's library, too, so I know many other things I'm not supposed to know. It's how I know things about Abrahamic religions." Shrugging, he adds, "I like learning about everything."

"That's why I'm only a minor magician!" Tara says. "There are so many things I could have been—"

"You were allowed to choose?" Lionel asks, sounding startled.

Nodding, Tara says, "But I like everything too much to focus on one thing. My job is so varied. I fix things, I build things, sometimes I even write press releases for Dr. Eisenberg when he wants something in 'plain English.' I may only be a minor magician, but I have more than I need, and I like it." She just doesn't have everything she _wants_ —like someone to share her life with.

The teapot whistles and Lionel gets up and returns minutes later with cups of something steaming and fragrant. Tara holds hers in both hands, letting the warmth spread to her fingers. "What will you do?" she asks.

Sitting back down, Lionel says, "I... there will be options." He swallows. "If not here, then maybe among my father's people." Tilting his head, he appraises her. "You have choices," Lionel says. "Perhaps that explains it..."

Tara sits up expectantly, waiting for him to finish the thought.

"... You seem a lot more mature than a twenty-nine-year-old elf."

By saying it, she feels Lionel has decreased the tension in the room by half. She can't help laughing a little. "I kinda noticed that surprised you."

He gives her a crooked smile, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. "It did catch me off guard, but I'm over it."

The fire crackles. Tara finds herself nervously lifting her tea cup to her lips, and then jerking the cup away when she finds it too hot.

"May I?" says Lionel, setting his own tea down and reaching toward hers.

Tara nods, not sure what he has in mind.

Instead of taking the cup from her, he wraps his hands around hers and blows onto the liquid. Snowflakes form in the steam. Smiling with delight, Tara catches one on her finger and watches as the delicate lace-like pattern melts into her skin. Then she looks down at the cup. The liquid within has a crust of ice on top.

"Oops," says Tara, gazing down at it. "I think you overdid that a little."

"Tara," Lionel whispers.

Tara lifts her gaze and finds he's still leaning close. His pupils are wide and dark. His hand hasn't left hers, and next to the now-cold cup seems fever hot. She glances at his lips, just inches from her own. She looks back up and nods, _Yes_ , though he's asked no question. He holds her gaze with his own. Time seems to have physical weight, and it feels like it is crushing her.

And then he leans forward, and his lips are _finally_ on hers, warm, soft but firm and insistent. Tara's eyes slide closed, her heart pounding, her fingers itching to touch him, and a perverse desire to laugh rising in her chest because it is a _perfect_ kiss. She's breathless when Lionel pulls back. His free hand goes to her ear. Tracing the top with his thumb, his eyes search hers. "After tomorrow, I won't see you again," he murmurs.

Tara's chest constricts. "I know." And she hates it. She likes him more after just sitting and talking to him.

"I want," he whispers, "to give you a long goodbye."

"Long goodbye?" Tara tilts her head.

Lionel smiles. "I seem to have given you all the words of my language, but not all the phrases."

"What does it mean?" Tara whispers.

Hand ghosting down from her ear, to her face, and then her arm to her hand, he takes her fingers and says, "I'll show you."

Standing, he guides her to her feet, and then draws her across the room. She follows as though floating on a string. She feels like their bodies are magnets, longing to come together, and if they just get a little bit closer, they'll snap into place. She can feel her pulse racing; her fingers hold the partially-frozen cup tight. Lionel's almost in the bedroom when her steps falter.

Lionel turns around, reels her in, and their bodies come together with all the rightness she'd imagined. Lionel strokes her face, her ears, brushes back a loose tendril of hair, and then he kisses her again. It's more urgent, and she's getting lightheaded. She's not sure who spins them, or when she starts backing up, but suddenly her back is against the wall, Lionel's lips are making their way down her neck, she has her free hand on his ear and she's rolling her thumb over the point and gasping for breath. His hands are slipping to her hips and she feels him inching the dress up. Her eyes slide to the side. In the bedroom, she sees golden firelight. The bed looks warm and welcoming... not that she needs to be warmer. She feels like she is on fire... but... but... but...

He lifts his head from her neck, kisses her lightly, and then his eyes go to the doorway and come back to her. One of his eyebrows lifts. His hands keep pulling up her dress, inch by agonizing inch, his body is flush with hers, his knee is pressed between her legs, and the friction of that against her is glorious.

She strokes the point of his ear. She loves how soft it feels and how warm. In her other hand, the teacup is still cold. Magically cold... She takes a sharp breath. She has no idea what she's doing here, what the sexual mores of this world are, she could get pregnant if they're not careful. These thoughts fill her mind, but as Lionel leans in to kiss her again, it is her heart that speaks. "What about your soulmate?"

He pulls back. He's so beautiful in the firelight, his face bathed in its orange glow. "I haven't met her yet."

He's beautiful and she wants him, and maybe she should do this so that when she's old and grey and is surrounded by cats she can look back and think about Lionel.

But then Lionel leans in, and Tara ducks her head, so his forehead rests against hers. She can feel heat radiating from it. Her eyes slipped closed. There are a lot of things that they could do that wouldn't risk pregnancy and thinking about them makes heat pool inside her... but would he push too hard for more? That's what her head says, but her heart speaks again. "You could meet her at any time."

"Tomorrow?" He says it lightly, chidingly, but there is a tightness in his jaw... that finely chiseled jaw that she wants to explore with her fingers and her lips. She can still feel the bite of his stubble like an echo on her skin.

She'd wanted him to declare her his soulmate. Her words were her heart's gambit to draw it out. She gulps. Crazy heart. There are no such things as soulmates. Not for humans, at least.

She thinks of the doctor who only dates black girls to upset his parents and feels herself going cold. She can't be an experiment, a rebellion, or a practice run. Swallowing down her hurt, she whispers, "Maybe you're too young to find your soulmate, but I'm too old not to be looking for mine." Not that she believes humans have soulmates, either. Not the way elves have them. If she does this, she's going to pine for Lionel for a long, long time, and she can't do that.

"Humans don't have soulmates," he says.

The words cut through the air, and maybe her heart.

"But we do have souls," she says, and it comes out a shout. Her soul needs someone who sees her more than a one-night stand. Her lip trembles and her free hand balls into a fist.

Lionel frowns. "Tara Lupita Gibson..." His voice sounds exasperated and far away. Tara's hand unknots and her lips part. Lionel backs up and Tara hears a crack. She and Lionel both jump as the teacup she'd managed to not spill because of the ice crust falls to the floor.

"It slipped," Tara says, dropping to sit on her heels, more because she is afraid of what she will do if she has to look at Lionel.

"No," he says, dropping beside her. "I'll pick it up."

It's then that she notices she's still holding the handle of the cup. Among the fragments on the floor is a solid chunk of frozen tea. Tara's eyes widen, and the last fragment slips from her hand.

Head bowed, not looking at her, Lionel says, "You're right, Tara, you do have a soul."

Tara doesn't move, a lump forming in her throat.

Lionel's voice trembles. "Please go."

It's the tremble that makes her pause.

"Go!" Lionel shouts.

Tara springs to her feet and edges past the glass into the bedroom. As soon as she enters the other room, the door slams shut, without her or Lionel lifting a finger.

## 13

# Soulmates

Tara wakes with her face pressed against a pillow. She remembers banging her head against it the night before. It's not that she regrets the decision she made; it would have been too risky... or so says her brain. Her body is frustrated. She'd been so entranced in kissing Lionel that she hadn't been aware of spinning through the room, and her fingers are still warm, remembering how the point of his ear felt between them.

She groans, hears a knock at the door, and bolts up with a start. She's still wearing the dress from the night before. She hears another knock, and her heart jumps. Lionel?

Tavende's voice, muffled by the door, says, "Tara, you must wake up. The queen has sent an escort."

Tara's heart settles into a more normal place. "I'm coming," she calls.

She hears a man's muffled shout in Elvish. "Where is she?" Someone else says, "Where is the steward? The queen is demanding his presence as well!"

Tara opens the door, briefly sees two elf men in full-on medieval-esque armor, but Tavende scoots quickly in and shuts the door behind her before Tara can get a better look.

The little elf woman blinks. "Lionel isn't here?"

"Um..." says Tara.

"I haven't seen him since last night," says Tavende, not looking angry, just worried.

Tara shrugs helplessly.

Tavende puts her hand over her mouth. "They're demanding you leave at once." She whispers earnestly, "But don't worry, Tara, I won't let you go alone."

"The queen will help me get home," Tara whispers. "Won't she?"

Tavende tilts her head. "I would expect her to."

Somehow, that isn't precisely reassuring. Tara counts down the hours in her head. Friday night in the cell and then the swamp, Saturday night here... it's Sunday. She probably hasn't even been missed yet. Well, not much. Her mom has probably texted, but she's in Mexico, and will be distracted.

"Lean down," says Tavende, and Tara does without a thought. The little elf woman begins adjusting Tara's hair. It's so much like her own mother's attentions that it makes Tara's heart hurt.

Finishing up, Tavende grabs her hand and leads her out to the main room. The elves bow to Tara. Straightening, one of them says, "Do you really speak Elvish?"

Tara nods.

"How can that be?" he asks.

"Enchantment," says Tavende, squeezing Tara's hand. "She passed through the Delta of Sorrows."

Tara can't help noticing that she doesn't say that it was Lionel's doing. Does she know?

The elf doesn't ask. Instead he bows again and says, "Be not afraid, human. We are under orders to deliver you to our queen."

They don't say that they'll take her home, Tara notices. She also notices that they have bows, arrows, swords, and knives.

There are more shouts from outside the house. Tara hears someone say, "Where is the steward?"

The man who spoke indicates the door with a nod. Tavende and Tara walk out into the warm glow of late morning. The village square is filled with horses and men in cream, blue, and gold livery. A man holding the reins of a Palomino bows to Tara. "Madam, this is your mount."

Tara stares at the horse in dismay. Turning its head, it opens its mouth and plays with its bit, obviously laughing at her. There are some women at the university with horses. One broke her back when the creature "spooked." Tara's only ridden a horse at carnivals and she's never desired more, especially after hearing how easy it is to break one's back on one. She stares at the saddle. It looks different than the ones she's used. It's high in the wrong places. She gulps. "Is that a sidesaddle? Because I don't ride sidesaddle... or... um... at all."

There are some chuckles from the men. "The lady doesn't ride horses!"

Someone else says, "So much for being a Valkyrie."

Lionel's voice cuts through the crowded square. "She is the beloved and respected master of a horseless chariot capable of crushing you beneath its wheels at her whim."

Tavende and Tara both jump. Lionel strides into the square from between two thatched cottages. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he could use a shave. He's glaring at the men who were teasing Tara. Tara's eyes flit to the gathered throng. They're looking at her with wide eyes. The man holding the golden horse shuffles back a step, and even the horse is turning away, as though intimidated.

Her stomach—or maybe her heart—roils. Lionel defended her.

The courtyard erupts in whispers, and someone says, "There are rumors the beasts are self-aware."

"She must be a magician..."

"Humans can't be magicians."

"But their fire sticks..."

"Humans have their own magic."

A man, wearing garments similar to the ones Lionel had worn when Tara had first met him, squeaks, "Lionel?"

Lionel glares up at the elf. "It's me."

A guy in armor, who may be the leader by the amount of gold on him, says, "You are hereby ordered to report to Her Majesty."

Rubbing his jaw, Lionel says, "I will come with you, but I would like to get Tara a more comfortable saddle."

The knight with the bling straightens. His mouth opens, but before he speaks, Lionel cuts in. "Think of how upset Her Majesty will be if her human guest falls from the horse and breaks her neck."

"You may get a different saddle," says the knight, his horse shifting beneath him.

"Mother, get Tara some breeches and meet us in the barn." As Tavende darts off, Lionel says, "Tara, please come with me." Tara eyes the knights and the one retainer, and Lionel giving them all the evil eye. She edges closer to Lionel. He turns on his heel without a backward glance at her and she follows. He looks all kinds of tense. Because of her and last night? The silence as they walk is physically painful. Trying to recapture whatever they had before, Tara chides, "You know, my car—horseless chariot—doesn't really love and respect me."

In a dismissive tone she normally associates with Dean Kowalski, Lionel snaps, "Yes, it does. I heard it in its bleep."

The tone hurts, and the words make her eyebrows jump. Tara sighs and gives up trying to make conversation.

Minutes later, they're in a barn. Bits of hay catch on rays of sunlight filtering through open windows and sparkle like flecks of gold. There's a short, plump white horse that snuffles in their direction. In another stall, there's a giant bird thing with a sort of beak-like face, shiny, iridescent, bright green plumage, and arms instead of wings. The thing leans over the door of its stall and coos in a way eerily reminiscent of the velociraptors. Tara jumps back as a huge pink tongue slips out of its mouth, revealing flattish teeth.

"That's Henrietta. She's friendly," Lionel says by way of explanation.

That's the Henrietta Tavende talked about last night before cutting her hair. Her feathers are beautiful but... Tara's eyes go to the earthen floor, not wanting to lose another beautiful pair of footwear in a Henrietta sized mess. Lionel leads her past the animals to a stall filled with bales of hay, tools, lots of leather bits and pieces, and three saddles, one enormous. Tara blinks. It's for Henrietta. She glances back at the creature blinking lazily in her direction. The feathers threw her, but... Her lips purse...Is that a duck-billed dinosaur? Weren't they members of the hadrosaur family? She almost asks, but Lionel looks so angry at the knights, her, the world, or the universe that she decides against it.

He may have defended her honor, or whatever, but he hasn't looked at her once this morning. He's putting space between them that's more than physical, and it twists in her gut and makes her want to scream. She's stuck in this mess too, and last night... well, it was a mistake, obviously, but he's over two hundred and he could be grown up about it.

Lionel grabs one of the normal-sized saddles, the muscles in his back bunching beneath his shirt. Instead of lifting, he bows his head. He takes an audible breath. "Tara, last night, when I used your full name... I wasn't... I was just going to... I wanted you to calm down, but I would have asked for nothing more. It was wrong. Please forgive me."

Tara feels understanding dawning, and muscles she hadn't known were tense unwind. Oh. He's mad at himself. "Thank you for not making me cluck like a chicken," Tara says, and she means for it to be a joke, but her words sound harsh.

Lionel looks over his shoulder at her. He looks pained, and she has a feeling that she's missing something. Tavende bursts into the barn, bearing a pile of clothes. "Tara, take the ones on top. Lionel, saddle up Graissor."

"What?" Lionel says.

"I'm coming with you, of course," says Tavende. "We can't let Tara out of our sight among the nobles, not even for a minute."

Taking a tunic and pair of pants, Tara's brow furrows at the excessive protectiveness. "I won't give any of them my full name. Don't worry."

Tavende and Lionel make eye contact with one another.

Clutching the clothes to her chest, Tara says, "What am I not getting?"

Rubbing his jaw again, movements jerky, Lionel looks away. Tavende says, "The nobles are stronger than peasants... for the most part." Her eyes flick to Lionel and back so quickly Tara almost misses it. Focus back on her, Tavende says, "They wouldn't need your name for their glamour and compulsion to work on a non-magical being."

Tara feels her skin heat and her jaw go hard. "So they'll play pranks on the helpless human."

Looking at the floor, Tavende says, "I wouldn't worry about the pranks. They can do much worse." Her expression becomes shuttered. Lionel's head jerks in his mother's direction.

Tara's studies him. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced in the shadows of the barn, and she wonders if he slept. He's still studiously avoiding looking at her. Tavende's words swim around in her brain. For the most part, nobles are stronger than peasants. Nobility can do worse than pranks. Lionel's words jump into the swirling internal stew. _I wasn't... I just was going to... I would have asked for nothing more._

Tara swallows. He wasn't going to take advantage of her... but... her eyes slide to Tavende, scooting a bit of hay with her toe, eyes downcast. He could have done anything he wanted.

He didn't.

It doesn't make Tara feel less afraid.

Sitting astride one of the queen's chargers, Lionel looks over his shoulder. He sees Tara on the Palomino gelding provided by the queen. His mother rides Graissor, her own fat pony.

He scans the riders about him—three in front, one on either side, and three behind. One catches Lionel's glance and narrows his eyes. Lionel looks ahead, resisting the urge to scratch his jaw. The escort wouldn't let him ride with his mother and Tara. He's grateful for his mother trying to look out for Tara, but it's cold comfort. Neither of them should be in the palace. His mother isn't so much more magical than Tara. Even before his transformation, Lionel had more defense in both innate magic and also from his key to the castle.

The queen gave all of her servants who interacted with the nobility something with a magical charge: an apron, boots, a broom—just something to fend off the nobility's strength of compulsion—so that their whims didn't interrupt the smooth running of her household. He curses inwardly. He should have given the key to his mother. What was he thinking?

His horse snorts, and Lionel frowns. He was thinking that he couldn't look Tara in the eye. He used her name to silence her emotions, her spirit, her soul... and thereby proved her in the right, and him not much better than the nobles who toyed with servants like him. The realization kept him up all night, wandering through the fields, leaving plants frost burnt with just his mood. He is a dangerous, twisted thing, not elf, not _other_ , not a peasant, not royalty, and it so disturbs the queen that he is being escorted to the palace by armed guards.

The horses clatter over the bridge of the river that carries the Light Elves' misspent magics to the Delta of Sorrows. The palace looms ahead upon the top of a low mountain rising above the rolling hills. He blinks. Flags bearing the crest of visiting nobles fly upon the turrets. He sees the house of Lady Benedal, the sister of Lord Beddel and Count Darerick of the Night Elves. Both visits were planned months ago, but he sees the crest of the Light Woods, too. That's odd. He hasn't seen the Light Wood nobles since he accidentally slipped through the World Gate to Earth as a child with one of the Light Wood children. He'd told himself at the time he'd been forgiven for breaking the Law because the little girl from the Light Wood noble line had slipped through the gate with him.

What had her name been? He blinks, feeling exhaustion behind his eyes. The adrenaline that has been keeping him awake is fading.

The entourage enters the gates of the main marketplace that encircles the palace at the base of the mountain. Elves dart away from the Queen's Guard, but he does hear cries of "Another human!" and "Three in as many years... is Ragnarok upon us?" before they charge up the twisting roads that lead up to the palace proper. It's only minutes, but it seems like hours when they pass through the inner gates of the palace and into the garden reception area. The House of the Light Wood must have just arrived, because the courtyard is still filled with their mounts, groomsmen, and he even sees the lords and ladies of that house milling among the steeds. One of their attendants begins talking hastily with the leader of Lionel's guard, and the other guards go to cluster around their leader. Taking advantage of the confusion, Lionel dismounts and heads toward Tara and his mother. They're easy to find. Tara towers over most of the elves. She wears the casual attire of an Einherjar that had stayed at their village not too long ago. A too-large, cream-colored shirt that makes her hair look especially black, and her skin gold, spills open on her shoulders revealing the long, graceful neck he'd caressed with his lips the night before. Remembering makes his blood heat. The shirt's tucked into a pair of high-waisted brown riding trousers that in turn are tucked into knee-high riding boots. A leather satchel is thrown over her shoulder. She looks athletic, yet feminine. He half expects her to whip out a sword, and finds himself almost smiling at the thought. Tara sees him among the milling horses and waves. She doesn't look angry, and as he strides toward her, Lionel feels his exhaustion lifting.

He's only five paces away when a woman, somewhere in the crowd, shouts, "Lionel!"

Lionel wavers on his feet. The afternoon sun, the garden, the noise all disappear and he finds himself standing in a white room with an open door in front of him, blue skies outside. He doesn't panic; he's hallucinating again, obviously. He hears Tara's voice. "Lionel?" And his mother. "Lionel?"

And then he hears the other woman's voice again. "Lionel!"

He spins. The door slams. Turning back to it, he takes a step forward, blinks, and he's in the garden again. Tara and his mother are close enough that he can touch them.

From behind him, he hears the other woman say, "Lionel, I've found you! I've found you!"

His mother's eyes slide to the side, go wide, and she curtsies low. Expecting a lord or lady, Lionel turns to bow as well. There is a lady of the Light Wood, but before he can bow, she puts out a hand. "No, wait! It is me, Lionel."

Lionel stares, uncomprehending, at the woman before him. She is over a head shorter than him, with blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, and the lithe delicate frame of his mother's race. Her riding cloak of gossamer gold is thrown back to reveal a dress of heavy rose silk, with embroidery enchanted to depict a swirling scene of birds and animals. All of her garments hum with magic. He notices the crest of the Light Woods on a ring on her right hand. "I believe you have mistaken me, madam," he says, preparing once again to bow.

Hand outstretched, she steps close to him and lets her fingertips brush his chest. He stares down at her pale fingers in shock, paralyzed, not sure what he should do. He glances nervously around the garden. Attendants of the palace and knights of the guard are staring with their mouths agape. Ladies don't touch attendants—not in public anyway. They certainly don't touch obvious half-breeds.

"It's me, Lionel... Leenine..." she says again. Pulling back her robe and the sleeve of her dress, she reveals her soulmark. It's distorted around the edges like his, but clearly depicts two trees that form a natural trellis, their roots connected below and their branches above, just like his. Loud enough for the whole garden to hear, she declares, "You're my soulmate."

## 14

# Betrayal

All the elves in the courtyard gasp at the elf woman's proclamation. Tara feels like the woman has ripped her heart out and is gleefully holding it up for all to see. Tara knows that is ridiculous, that this has absolutely nothing to do with her. Still, she feels her eyes stinging and a lump in her throat.

The woman is beautiful. A dainty nose, sparkling blue eyes, and pillowy lips fill out a delicate, heart-shaped face with clear, milky white skin. Her doll-like features are framed by glossy, smooth red hair. All of that and her petite frame make her look all of twenty-one. She seems to glow from within. If she were on Earth, she'd be a movie star, and her face would grace all the magazines in the checkout lane. She is everything Tara isn't.

_Deep breath,_ Tara tells herself. _Aren't you glad you didn't sleep with him? That would make this ten times more uncomfortable._ She glances at Lionel. His back is to her as he faces the beautiful little heart ripper.

"Lionel," Tavende whispers, "You know this lady?"

"She is Leenine, a lady of the Light Woods," he replies. "She was with me on my first World Walk."

Tavende whispers, "When you met—"

"Yes," says Lionel.

Tavende's still clutching Tara's hand. At that simple exchange, Tavende's whole body goes rigid and Tavende's pale face goes paler still.

Leenine says brightly, "The All Father and his ravens rescued us."

Tavende's nails bite into Tara's palm, and Tara shivers.

"Excuse me," Tavende whispers, her fingers relaxing. She tries to draw her hand away, but Tara won't let her. There is a horrible feeling of wrongness about the whole situation, and she feels protective of the tiny woman. After a second, Tavende squeezes Tara's hand again, this time without the nails.

Leenine turns her elegant head in Tavende's direction. The tiniest of creases forms on her brow. "Lionel, who is this?" she whispers.

Lionel's frame stiffens, and then he turns to Tara and his mother. "Leenine, this is my mother, and Tara of Chicago."

Leenine's eyes pass quickly over Tavende, which annoys Tara. The new elf woman gives Tara a much longer look, appraising her from head to toe. "You've rescued another human, Lionel?" Leenine asks.

"Another?" say Tavende and Tara in unison.

"I didn't rescue Abraham, Hannah, or Benjamin," Lionel protests.

"Rescue who?" says Tara.

"Three runaway slaves," says Leenine. She tilts her head. "Did he find you in such a circumstance?"

"Tara found me unconscious behind her house," Lionel says. "I managed to get her kidnapped by Dark Elves."

Leenine puts a delicate hand on Lionel's upper arm. "But then you brought her here, delivering her from their clutches." She smiles sunnily at Tara. "It's so nice to meet you, Tara of Chicago."

Lionel scowls. "Actually, it didn't quite go like—"

From across the courtyard comes a shout. "Steward, members of the House of the Light Wood, and Tara of Chicago, you will report to Her Majesty's Audience Chamber immediately."

The silence of the crowd is shattered as everyone starts moving again. Leenine pulls Lionel forward, and Tavende pulls Tara forward, but an elf in garb as elegant as Leenine's slips between them and the couple and says, "Wait."

It's the oddest thing, but Tara suddenly feels very heavy. She and Tavende both halt, and then Tara blinks. Dozens of elves are between them and Lionel, all wearing shimmering garments that she swears must have hypnotized her. Tavende yanks at her hand. "Come on."

Tara stumbles toward a palace as white as ivory. She and Tavende climb some stairs, pass through great double doors, and suddenly Lionel is nowhere in sight. There are elves everywhere, all going in different directions. They peek at Tara, but hurry along.

"Tara of Chicago?" Tara turns and finds herself facing an elf dressed all in black. He looks more like Lionel looks now—tall with broader shoulders. He has a slightly olive cast to his skin, brown eyes, and brown hair. Only the tell-tale ears give him away, and his seemingly supernatural good looks.

She nods at him.

"It's so unusual for humans to come to Alfheim," the man says, eyes intent on her.

"I'm trying to get home," Tara says.

"I'd be happy to assist you," he says. "I know of a gate to—"

Tavende interjects, "We were summoned by the queen. We must enter her audience chamber."

The man bows to Tara. "If she should not grant your request, you must seek me out."

"You are?" Tara asks.

"Count Darerick... but you can call me Dare," he says. Stepping forward, he reaches for her hand, but Tavende pulls her away fast.

"What's wrong?" Tara whispers as they slip back into the crowd.

"He's a Night Elf," says Tavende through gritted teeth.

"Like a Dark Elf?" Tara asks. Is he on a diplomatic mission?

Tavende shakes her head and yanks her into another hallway. "No... the Night Elves are allies of the queen." She squeezes Tara's hand. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."

Tara blinks and looks over her shoulder. The Night Elf is standing motionless in a moving sea of courtiers, his eyes still on her. Discomfited by the intensity, she looks quickly away. "He looked... more human."

Walking briskly, Tavende nods quickly. "Lionel thinks it's adaptive. It makes it easier for them to—" Her voice cuts off abruptly, and she looks upward and gasps. So does Tara. They are in a great hall, with glittering walls and a ceiling that soars above their heads. It is packed to the brim with elves, both on the floor, and above on balconies. Tara searches, but she can't see Lionel. At the far end of the room, on an enormous throne, sits a woman in robes of pale yellow and white. She has pale skin, jet-black hair, and blue eyes that appear Asian. On either side of her stand elves that resemble every human race. Without exception, they are pointed-eared, petite, slender, and perfect. They wear gowns of silk with embroidered scenes that move like films.

The queen's eyes shoot to Tara and seem to look through her. Tara touches her throat. Surely, she's imagining that; there is no way the queen glimpses her in the throng.

Inclining her chin, the queen says, "Tara of Chicago, please step forward. We wish to speak to you."

The crowd around Tara and Tavende parts like the Red Sea. Tavende whispers, "Go forward."

Tara steps toward the throne. Glancing behind, she sees Tavende following. The little elf woman is looking about fearfully. If the natives are afraid... Lifting her head, Tara walks as confidently as she can, stops a few feet before the queen, and gives her best curtsy.

"We wish to hear all about how you came to our land," says the queen. "And how you came to be before us."

Composing herself, Tara says, "I think it really began when I was driving home and I saw an elf child being beaten by—"

Murmurs rise in the hall. "There are no elf children in Midgard," someone protests. The queen waves a hand. "Start with when you found my steward."

Tara blinks, and her brow furrows. Why would the queen not want mention of that? But she curtsies again and does as bidden. When the queen asks exactly how Lionel killed the each-uisge, Tara explains that he did it with his bare hands. That causes more murmurs to rise, and they don't sound precisely complimentary. Tara hastily tells how he warded away the other monsters during the night with a circle. That seems to make them less riled up. She doesn't mention the fire, or summoning the Destroyer... she can't precisely say why.

When she gets to the part where the villagers saved them, the queen asks, "Did they ever say what they were doing in the Delta of Sorrows?"

Tara's brow furrows. She doesn't want to lie to the queen. Hadn't there been something about elf queens in Tolkien being able to see into hearts? Biting her lip, she tells _a_ truth. "They told Lionel they were out collecting mushrooms."

"How odd," says a lady standing next to the queen. Her complexion and hair look very much like Tara's own.

Tara looks at the floor and tries to distract them with a little humor. "I'll say. I don't think there is any fungus that could make me brave a velociraptor."

The hall erupts in laughter, and Tara's shoulders relax.

When it is finally quiet again, the queen commands, "Lionel of the South Vale, step forward."

Tara hears the shuffle of feet. Turning, she sees the crowd part for Lionel. He's somehow managed to get a shave. His clothing has changed, too. He's wearing a golden robe with a pattern of leaves that swirl as though they're caught in a breeze. He looks like a prince from a fairy tale. No wonder she hadn't spied him when she'd first came in. He'd apparently taken a detour.

On his arm is Leenine. Tara drops her eyes.

"Has the human spoken the truth of your adventures?"

"Yes," says Lionel, coming to a stop just a few feet away.

There is more chatter. The dark-skinned woman next to the throne leans close to the queen's ear. Tara blinks. The woman looks vaguely familiar.

The queen raises a hand and silence fills the hall. "Tara of Chicago, the World Gate to Chicago is once again under Dark Elf control."

Tara gulps.

"It may not be back in our power for some time, and to send you to it would be to risk your death..."

Murmurs drown out Tara's sharp intake of breath. Raising her hand for silence, the queen intones, "However, there are other gates. Lady Benedal is returning to the Middle Lands on the morrow. On the route, just a few hours from here, is a World Gate that opens to the region known as San Francisco in the province of California... Would that be close enough to Chicago to suffice?"

Tara's brow furrows as she imagines all the logistics of it. Popping into San Francisco without money, an ID, or even a phone will be rough; but... she counts down on her fingers. Tomorrow is Monday, or Mondayish, if she's got her dates right. She'll be late for work, yes, but she can tell Dr. Eisenberg the whole story and maybe he'll believe her... or maybe she should just say she came down with a case of Clostridium difficile. It's always running around the university hospital. She bites her lip.

The queen inclines her head.

Tara glances to her side. She doesn't expect Lionel to be looking at her, but he is. Up close, she can see he still has dark circles under his eyes, no matter how otherwise polished he looks. His lips part, as though he's about to say something, but no words come.

Tara swallows and clasps her hands behind her back. Tavende scoots closer to her and Tara remembers how Tavende's attentions had reminded her of her own mother. Her mother who will be worried to death if she doesn't get home to at least text very soon. There is nothing for her here. She'll handle popping into San Francisco without money, ID, or phone somehow. "Yes," she says. "That will work."

The dark-skinned Elven woman smiles at Tara, her eyes sparkling. Why does she look so familiar?

There are a few murmurs and the queen waves a hand at Tara and Tavende. "You may step back. We wish to address my steward and the Lady Leenine of the Light Wood."

Tara curtsies. She and Tavende step back into the crowd.

The queen eyes Lionel and Leenine. "It has come to our attention that a soul match between a servant and a Lady of a Great House has occurred."

Murmurs rise in the crowd, and someone near Tara whispers, "And that he is a half-breed."

"What was his mother thinking carrying to term?" says another, and someone else answers. "Who would have paid the child price?"

Tara glances at Tavende. The tiny woman is trembling. Tara wraps her arm around her. She's afraid Tavende may fall over without support, and also, if she doesn't do something with her right arm, she may do something regrettable... like slap someone.

The queen lifts a finger and the crowd goes silent. "Some amongst us say that such a union is unheard of, especially with Lionel of South Vale's unique heritage." Some of the elves standing beside the throne scowl at those words. "But," says the queen. "We will see the marks."

Tara feels hope rising in her chest at the thought that the matching soulmarks could be a mix-up, and then feels like she might vomit out of sheer disgust with herself. She and Lionel can't be together; she has to go home.

Leenine and Lionel roll up their sleeves. The queen glances briefly and then intones solemnly, "Their marks are of the same design. They are soulmates. We approve. Lionel of South Vale, you belong to the House of the Light Wood now."

There are roars in the crowd. Lords and ladies from the far side of the room throng around Lionel and Leenine. Tara pulls Tavende forward. She should see her son, and Tara wants to see him, too. A chance to say goodbye. That's not too much to ask, is it?

She presses past a few elves, keeping her eyes on Lionel, towering above the crowd. For a brief moment, they make eye contact. He says something she can't hear above the din, but then someone next to him must speak because he leans down, a look of consternation on his face.

"Tara of Chicago?" The voice to her and Tavende's left makes Tara turn. She finds herself eye to eye with Lady Benedal, the one who promised to take her back to the World Gate to San Francisco. The lady smiles. "You must come with me. We need to prepare."

Tara gapes. Lady Benedal is beyond beautiful... she is ethereal.

"I am coming with her," says Tavende, still huddled beneath Tara's arm.

Lady Benedal's lips purse and her eyes narrow at the woman. "You may go now."

Tavende wavers as though buffeted by a strong breeze.

"She'll be safe, better than safe. You may go now."

Slipping from Tara's arm, Tavende leaves. Tara watches in shock.

"Oh, don't worry about her," says Lady Benedal, eyes returning to Tara. "I'm sure she has a farm to attend to. Mustn't keep her from her dinosaur dung, Norns know."

Tara's brow furrows. It's so noisy in the hall, it's hard to think. That sounded nasty, but Lady Benedal can't be nasty. Her voice is like water over rocks in a stream.

"Come with me." The lady spins on her heel and exits the hall.

Tara follows obediently, but when they enter a stairwell, she blurts out, "I have to see Lionel again." Inwardly, she cringes at how frightened and desperate she sounds.

... But she desperately hopes Tavende finds Lionel before she leaves.

Why does she hope that so much?

Lady Benedal turns on the stairwell. Two women move to flank her on either side. They wear dresses the same color of midnight blue, but without the flickering pattern of stars. Servants maybe?

"Of course, dear child, you will see him again," says Lady Benedal, her smooth brow pinching the tiniest bit, her sympathy swelling in every syllable. Tara is ashamed that she'd blurted out her desire so frantically. "At dinner, but first we must prepare you. You need a bath, and new clothes... you can't wear those horrid peasant trappings."

Tara's brow furrows, and she smooths the satchel hanging at her side. Inside are her dress from the night before, and her shoes, also... "I like the boots the farmers gave me," she whispers. It feels important to say so. She wants to say, _and the dress and the shoes,_ but it's hard to speak.

"You will _not_ dress like a farmer," Benedal says.

"Oh," says Tara. "Of course."

Lady Benedal's eyebrows lift expectantly.

"Thank you," says Tara, and she is rewarded with a beautiful smile.

"It is my pleasure." She reaches out with fingers tipped with nails like diamonds, as though she's going to stroke Tara's chin. "Now come along." Spinning again, she leads Tara up the stairs.

They haven't gone more than three steps when Tavende's voice rises from behind. "Lady Benedal, Lady Benedal, I must go with Tara. I'm in her debt."

Whirling around, Lady Benedal smiles. "Peasant, you will stop right there. Tara is safe with me, safer than she would ever be with you."

"Yes, ma'am," says Tavende.

Tara feels her heart falling for the tiny woman. She wants to speak, but her brain and her mouth feel disconnected.

"Now, how did you get to the palace?" Lady Benedal asks.

"I rode a pony," Tavende says, her voice very soft.

"Go get your pony, and ride home," Lady Benedal commands.

"I will get my pony and ride home," says Tavende, her tiny body wavering just three steps below Tara, confusion writ large upon her face. Curtsying, she turns and goes. Tara wants to go with her, but can't, for the life of her, think of why.

One of the maids murmurs, "What a horrible peasant. We must refer this incident to the queen."

Sighing, Lady Benedal says to Tara, "Right this way, my dear."

A few minutes later, they step onto a landing and pass through double doors inlaid with gold. Tara thinks they may have designs carved into them, but her vision is oddly fuzzy around the edges. Inside the double doors, she gets the impression of fine fabrics and gold everywhere, but can't really focus on anything.

"Lady Benedal," a masculine voice cuts through the haze. "Is that a human you have there?"

"Yes, and she's so much more striking than Loki's low-class little human strumpet." She sighs. "That one never has any class." She gestures to her chest in a bawdy way, which Tara associates with men laughing about big boobs. It makes her skin heat. She wants to frown, but can't, which makes her want to ball her hands into fists but only manages to tuck up a single finger.

"Girl, look at me!" says the man. Tara turns, feeling like the mechanical ballerina she had in a music box as a child. An elf man with long black hair, ivory skin, and crystalline blue eyes is just a few feet away. He wears an ornate robe that is open at the front and nothing underneath. Tara quickly averts her gaze.

The man laughs. "Oh, is she from one of those modest cultures?" Approaching Tara, he puts his hand under her chin. Stumbling, she pulls from his grasp.

"How charming," he says. And then in a lower voice, says, "Don't move, girl."

Tara swallows and can't move.

Benedal snaps, "You will not be charming her before dinner, Rogier. She needs to get changed. She's covered in road filth and those clothes are atrocious."

"But for all that, she's beautiful!" the man who must be Rogier declares.

"Oh, I agree," says Lady Benedal, stepping in front of Tara. She smiles up at Tara, and Tara can't help but smile back. "She is a lovely creature. I promised the queen I'd return her to her people." She tilts her head. "But I don't really think it's best. She's from that horrid United States, one of those so-called democracies. They have..." She switches to English. "Racism."

Rogier tsks.

"There is no Elvish word for that," Tara says in amazement. Her words sound like they come from someone else. They're too slow and too soft.

Lady Benedal laughs. It sounds like bells. "Of course not, elves are not so silly." She takes Tara's chin. "I will return you, as I promised I would, but there is nothing that says I must return you tomorrow." The lady tilts her head. "If I were a human, I'd look exactly like you, I think..."

Rogier snorts, but Benedal continues, "Wouldn't you rather stay with me for a while?"

"My mother..." Tara whispers.

Lady Benedal makes a tiny moue. "Would always want what is best for you. Wouldn't she?"

Tara nods.

"And if you stay here with me, you'll wear beautiful gowns and jewels, and travel as my attendant. Wouldn't you like that?"

Tara opens her mouth, ready to say "no."

"Say, 'I'd love that,' Tara of Chicago," Lady Benedal whispers. She smiles and her eyelashes flutter delicately.

"I'd love that," Tara says, the words sounding like they're spoken by someone else.

Stroking Tara's cheek, Lady Benedal coos, "It will be so."

At that moment, Tara realizes why Lady Benedal looks familiar. She looks like a painting of perfection, like the dark-skinned police officer who'd overseen the beating of the little elf boy in Chicago.

Lionel lets an insubstantial avatar materialize outside the doors of Lady Benedal's suite. In the real world, his hands ball into fists. Lady Benedal's magic is strong, but he has to try again. He grits his teeth and tries to push his avatar through the door. It scatters into useless photons.

Lionel snaps back into his body, a headache splitting his skull. A servant of the House of the Light Wood is arranging his bangs into braids. Another man is flitting about him, pinning his opulent but hastily assembled garments to fit him better. Lionel shifts uneasily on his feet, and not just because he is unused to the attention. His eyes go to the door, and he touches his wrist that no longer has his magic key on it. He gave it to Alemie, the maid in charge of cleaning Lady Benedal's suite, hopeful that if his avatars couldn't penetrate it, she would be able to deliver it to his mother.

"Lionel?" Leenine's question draws him back into the moment.

"I'm... very tired... please go on," Lionel says. Leenine has been trying to catch him up on the past few centuries since their last acquaintance. He has been doing his best to pay attention, despite his fatigue, shock, and his headache. He tells himself Alemie has probably delivered the key already. His mother and Tara are safe. He is overreacting.

"When you sent out missives with the delegates of the court, my parents were scandalized to find out that you weren't nobility." Leenine says, continuing her story. _Their_ story, he reminds himself. If he feels... disconnected from her... it is normal. He's been told it's often this way with soulmates. As time goes by, as they get to know each other, they'll learn just how much they complement each other and enjoy each other's company. His stomach twists. For now, though, Tara feels more connected to him than Leenine.

She continues with a frown. "I wanted to respond, but they wouldn't let me."

Lionel swallows. She hadn't rejected him; her family had. It doesn't give him as much peace as it should.

Leenine sighs. "I thought I'd wait them out. It would be horrid to estrange us from my extended kin if we are to have a future."

If they are to have children is what she means. Someone must pay the price, and without her family, the only one would be his mother. His fingers curl up to clutch the key no longer on his wrist.

Leenine continues. "I hoped they would come around with gentle insistence. It happened faster than I expected." Her eyebrows rise. "When news of your transformation spread... well, they changed their minds."

He feels a weight like cold lead in his chest. They can't think that his being a half-breed is of political advantage; they think that _who_ his father _might be_ is of political advantage.

Head bowed, Leenine continues, "I think that they think that... well, the ravens have come for you twice now. I think they think your father—"

"I do not know the identity of my father," Lionel says. It's the truth, more or less. It hasn't been confirmed. But the ravens have come for him three times, not two. Would they really be sent just for the son of a retainer? His eyes go to the servants. They'd paused their activities at Leenine's mention of his father. At his glare, they resume.

"I don't care either way," Leenine says. Her expression grows cloudy for an instant. "I worried when my soulmark became blurry that something dreadful had happened. But everyone says you grew so fast—perhaps it was just adjusting to your stature? Anyway, I'm so glad I found you. I knew you were extraordinary when you opened the gate to Midgard when we were children." Lifting her eyes to him, she smiles. "It was a grand adventure. I wonder how Hannah and Abraham are doing now, and their adorable little baby."

"Abraham has been to the Palace a few times on errands for the All Father," Lionel says. "They are well. Benjamin has joined the Einherjar, and Hannah and Abraham have many more children now."

Leenine laughs with delight. "The little baby I held is a mighty warrior? How I'd like to see him someday."

Lionel can't help but smile at the memory. Not every noble girl would have been so forgiving of a peasant who dragged her through a World Gate, or would have jumped so readily to help a human woman in distress. And she's beautiful, with her fiery hair, sparkling eyes, and magic that is a soft purple color that nearly fills the room. He tilts his head. Although, he understands why his people say that wild humans can be more beautiful than elves. He thinks of Tara's extraordinary features that are just... more... expressive, different, unforgettable. He feels a lump in his throat. Of course, those features will fade quickly. Leenine will remain just as she is forever.

_Will you, Lionel?_ a tiny dark voice whispers, and he feels himself go cold.

_Focus on the moment,_ Lionel tells himself. _You've found your soulmate, and although she is a lady, she is kind and wise._ That Leenine thought to slowly change her family's mind isn't a mark against her—it means that she didn't presume that his lower family would pay the child price.

And yet... and yet...

His hand goes to his wrist, and his missing key. He hears footsteps to the right near the door, and raises his head. But it's only Leenine's mother. His stomach clenches. Where is Alemie?

"It is time for the Light Wood Elves to make our appearance at Her Majesty's table." The Lady of the Light Wood frowns at Lionel. "Your manners will have to do for tonight." She looks at Leenine and speaks as if Lionel isn't in the room. "You'll have to teach him how to set aside his lesser ways."

Lionel finds his teeth grinding, though he shouldn't be upset. He's heard much worse from nobles about the manners of servants, peasants, merchants, and basically anyone not themselves. But it is different when it's coming from someone supposedly your family. He thinks of Tara's irritation at him for calling her a lesser race, and flushes at the memory.

To Leenine's mother he says, "I'll do my best not to embarrass you, Lady." He's too tired to hide the sharpness in his tone, and Leenine's mother's eyebrow hikes.

"I will see you both in the hall," she replies haughtily. With that, she turns on her heel and leaves the room.

To the servants, Lionel says, "You've done fine jobs."

"Yes, you have," Leenine says. "You are dismissed."

As soon as they are gone, Leenine smiles a tad mischievously. "You've upset Mother... but she's wrong." Stepping close, so she is just a hand's breadth away, she cranes her neck to look up at him and whispers, "We Light Elves must change if we wish to survive. Now that the Dark Elves are emigrating from the Delta of Sorrows to Midgard, the queen can't enforce her laws. Concessions must be made."

"Emigrating?" says Lionel.

"We're not supposed to talk about it," Leenine says, voice hushed. "Especially around servants." Her eyes flit from side to side. "It will give them ideas."

Lionel's shoulders fall with the implications. The Delta of Sorrows is the prison for all Light Elves that break the queen's laws. Its dark waters pervert magic and destroy elves' natural immortality. When Odin had bothered to enforce the law that kept magical creatures out of Midgard, it had worked well... His lips form a grim line. He hadn't realized the Dark Elves were emigrating; the queen had hidden it from him. She hadn't even concealed her visit with Loki as well as she'd hidden this.

He touches his brow. This isn't just a threat to the queen's rule, it is a danger to humans. Not every Light Elf banished to the Dark Lands is a comparatively innocent violator of the child price. Thieves, murderers, and rogue sorcerers are sent there.

"The queen must relax her laws. The child price is too strict," Leenine murmurs. "And there is magical talent among the peasants and servants that isn't acknowledged."

Lionel exhales. The only reason he'd been able to rise from peasant to steward was because of Odin's influence... because Lionel was the son of a retainer... or because... He swallows.

"We must bend, for the sake of Alfheim," Leenine says.

She's right. He shouldn't have needed Odin's influence to exonerate him from the crime of being a magically-bright peasant child and accidentally tripping through a World Gate.

She's so close. He's exhausted, and tells himself that is why he doesn't feel any desire. Managing to kiss her forehead, he murmurs, "You are wise."

"Thank you," she replies pertly with a smile. "Come, let's go to dinner." She threads her fingers through his and pulls him toward the door. "I wonder if Lord Beddel will be at dinner," she whispers. "He was one of those charged with rounding up the emigres from Chicago. He could tell you more."

Lionel stops mid-stride, remembering meeting Lord Beddel at the World Gate in Chicago. "I thought he was rounding up rebels," Lionel whispers.

"Most consider them the same," Leenine replies.

Lionel remembers Tara's talk of an elf child being beaten—he'd ascribed that to her people. Lionel closes his eyes, feeling dizzy, sick, and weary to his bones.

"Lionel?" Leenine says.

Opening his eyes physically hurts. He takes her arm, more so he can lean on it than feelings of camaraderie, or anything else.

Long minutes later, they enter the dining hall. The queen has not yet arrived and the din of conversation fills the cavernous space. He sees Tara at the far end of the great table. On her left is Lady Benedal. Tara doesn't seem to notice him; her eyes are focused on her plate. He'd thought that she'd forgiven him, but maybe she hasn't. He swallows. Maybe she shouldn't.

Ashamed, he looks away. "Where is my mother?" Lionel asks, searching the crowd.

"Surely she'll be joining them in a few moments? The chair next to your human friend is empty," suggests Leenine.

Lionel rubs his forehead. His thoughts feel like they're as thick and dull as day-old porridge. Humans are visitors and exist outside Elvish hierarchy. He's not surprised Benedal would have Tara next to her, but he can't believe she'd let a peasant sit at the great table. Could she be making an exception? Maybe he just can't see his mother in the crowd of servants beyond the table?

Beside him, Leenine says, "Oh, Prince Rogier is here."

Lionel's jaw gets hard. He hadn't seen Rogier's crest on the palace wall, but it isn't unlike the prince to surprise Her Majesty.

"He's very entertaining," Leenine adds.

That isn't how Lionel would describe Rogier, but then again, he's a servant, and had seen a very different side of the man.

Craning his neck to look past the diners, Lionel continues to search for his mother.

"He's sitting next to your friend," whispers Leenine. "How lovely for her."

Lionel's eyes snap back to Tara. Sure enough, Rogier is seated next to her. His fingers flex beneath the table and magic dances beneath his skin. Will Rogier treat Tara as a de facto lady, being that she is a guest to their realm? He glares at the prince.

Behind him, he hears a scurry of footsteps and a child's whisper. "I must speak to Lionel."

"He's not the steward anymore, and this is not your place, girl," someone else says, his voice barely audible above the din.

"No," says Lionel, swiveling in his seat, knocking into the person sitting next to him. He sees Alemie. Alemie is still a child, but she is still completely trustworthy. She is also tiny, even for an elf, and usually invisible to royalty. Now she is cowering behind two servers in the shadows. "Let her in." The servers—Blix and Dritely—look at each other in confusion, and Alemie skips through in their moment of inattention.

"Lionel?" says Leenine. "What's wrong?"

"Did you give it to her?" Lionel asks Alemie.

Alemie holds out her hand, his key in it, and gives it back to him. "No, I couldn't find her anywhere. I'm sorry, Steward, I mean..." Her brow furrows.

"I know you did your best, Alemie," Lionel says. To Leenine, he says, "I have to find her."

"Hush!" says Lionel's mother-in-law to be. "Here comes the queen."

Alemie scampers away, quick as a shadow. Quiet descends upon the room as the queen enters followed by the Queen's Guard, their spears upraised. Lionel falls silent with the rest of the crowd. His eyes go to Tara. If she is aware of him, she makes no sign.

Tara is going to be attendant to Lady Benedal. She loves that idea. Really. She stares at the plate in front of her, wondering, when food materialized on it.

"Raise your glass, Tara of Chicago," Lady Benedal says.

Tara does. The queen speaks, her words strangely muted. The room seems blurry. Tara puts her glass down and feels Rogier's hand on her thigh under the table. It is the only thing clear in her mental fog, and she rips his hand away.

"Tara of Chicago, you must stop fidgeting," Lady Benedal says.

Rogier laughs. "I rather like her feisty, though." He leans toward Tara's ear and she jerks her head away.

Chuckling, he whispers, "Stay sharp, Tara of Chicago."

Stay sharp...

Tara sits up straight... she has to stay sharp, but she can't for some reason. It's the conversation in the room, or all the candles on the table making it too warm, or the smell of wax, maybe. She has to get away from the table, to think, but she doesn't want to offend Lady Benedal. That would be wrong. The lady only wants to help her, to keep her safe. Her brow furrows. She has to clear her head...

To Lady Benedal, she whispers, "I need to use the facilities." That was politely phrased, wasn't it?

The lady sighs. Sounding put out, she says, "Go. You know where it is."

Tara's heart soars, feeling as though a window has been opened and she's flown free.

"But come right back," the lady says, and Tara feels as though the window is shuttered again. Still, she rises quickly from the table and exits the dining hall, taking a corridor she remembers from earlier. It's cooler in the hallway, and she feels a little better. Her feet head in the direction of the bathroom, even though she doesn't really need to go, but she can't stop them. She enters and finds herself alone. Besides stalls of commodes and washbasins, there are mirrors and gilt edges everywhere, and a towel holder shaped like a tree she swears is made of solid gold. Turning to a mirror, she catches her reflection. She is wearing a beautiful ballroom dress of cobalt blue edged with silver, and a silver net woven with tiny crystals holds her hair back from her eyes. Both catch the light and brighten her face, but the expression she wears is horrifying. Her mouth is hanging open, her eyes are dull, and she looks drugged.

She gasps. She has to get out of here. She has to get away from Lady Benedal. She's taken over her mind somehow. As soon as she thinks that, she remembers that she has to go back to the woman. Her feet move to the door, and she finds herself walking down the corridor to the dining hall. Lionel and Tavende had warned her that the nobility could do this... she remembers how Tavende had wavered like she'd been caught in a gale at Lady Benedal's words. Tavende wasn't even strong enough to resist. Her only hope is Lionel, but Tara hadn't seen Lionel in the dining hall; he's probably off in soulmate-induced bliss. She's all alone and has to figure this out herself. She wills herself to stop moving, but her feet keep shuffling. The door to the dining hall is just about fifty feet away when Rogier slides into the corridor in front of her.

Smirking, he saunters toward her. "Hello, Tara of Chicago. Stop right there."

Tara feels like her brain has been disconnected from her feet. She stops moving.

Rogier smiles, showing all his teeth.

Damn.

As conversation resumes in the hall, Lionel's eyes slide toward the queen. Her Majesty's focus is on the lady at her right, but as though feeling his gaze, her eyes meet his. He has worked for her for over a century, and he doesn't remember that ever happening before. Her eyes are a sharp, crystalline blue and for a moment, he is mesmerized, like the prey of a basilisk. And then a flurry of movement catches his eye. He sees Tara, dressed in an elegant blue and silver gown, leave the table.

He turns to Leenine. "I have to find her."

"It can wait until after dinner," says Leenine. "Do you really expect your mother to be in any danger?"

Lionel's brows draw together. It would be very unlike Lady Benedal to commit any act of physical violence in or around an event like this. He could imagine her finding a way to poison his mother's tea in her cottage, or to have a wyrm slither out of the Dark Lands and attack Tavende while she works her fields, but Lady Benedal wouldn't dare attempt something near the queen.

"No," he says.

Leenine drops her hand on his thigh. "We'll find her," she promises in a whisper. "But for now, let's not provoke a scene. It would displease Her Majesty, and we need her good favor."

Lionel's eyes go to Tara's empty chair. He swallows. Leenine is right, and Lady Benedal promised to take Tara to a World Gate to Midgard. Considering the only World Gate Lionel could take her to is in the heart of the Delta of Sorrows, and how treacherous a journey that would be, he shouldn't interfere. Something about Lady Benedal's promise niggles at him, though...

He takes a few bites of food. He's so tired that he finds it hard to push his fork around the plate. He remembers how exhausted he'd felt after invoking the Destroyer, and then of falling asleep against the tree in the swamp, his arms wrapped around Tara, her body warm enough to offset the delta's chill.

"Lionel, are you falling asleep?"

Leenine's whisper makes him bolt upright. His eyes fall on Prince Rogier's empty chair... and Tara's. "I'm awake," he says. "I have to go."

He pushes back from the table and heads to the exit directly behind him. As soon as he steps out of the dining hall, Alemie rushes toward him. "I was so worried... I went to the stables. The little pony of your mother's is gone. I'm so sorry, Steward." She looks down. "I mean..."

"It isn't your fault." She's so tiny, young, and distraught. Lionel has always thought of her as a little sister, and now touches her shoulder to comfort her, as he has done many times before. She looks at his hand, eyes wide and alarmed, and he pulls away as though he's been burned. He's not steward anymore. She is not his staff or adopted sister, and he's frightened her. "Go back to Lady Benedal's suite," he advises, trying to hide how her fear hurts. "Even your magic apron won't protect you if her rooms aren't spotless by the time she's done with dinner."

Curtsying deeply, Alemie backs away, turns, and takes off in a sprint.

"Lionel."

He spins to see Leenine stepping from the dining hall. "What are you doing?" she asks him.

He's too tired to be evasive. "I'm going to try to save Tara from the attentions of Prince Rogier."

"She has the attentions of the prince?" Leenine says, her brow furrowing in bewilderment. "Surely they aren't unwanted if that is so." She gives him a confused smile.

"No one wants the attention of Prince Rogier," Lionel says, running a hand through his hair, thinking of many a servant in tears he's had to deal with over the years. He looks one way and then the other. Tara left by the door behind her, on the opposite of the room, which would put her in the Northwest hallway, parallel to where he is now. Turning, Lionel strides to the next east-west passageway.

Leenine catches his arm. "You're being ridiculous—"

"No, you're being a lady, and you don't know how he treats us," Lionel says, not breaking his stride.

"You're not a servant anymore," Leenine protests. "And Tara is a guest. I'm sure he'll—"

Lionel rounds on her. "I'm not sure!"

Eyes wide, Leenine says, "You're wrong, and in charging after him, you risk the ire of the prince and Her Majesty. You're being foolhardy and..." Her words trail off.

"Savage?" Lionel supplies. _Possibly jealous,_ a little voice in him whispers. He feels like he might vomit, and then remembers Tara's saying, _you were just being protective,_ and feels himself lighten.

Leenine backs away. "What do you think you'll do? You'd dare take on a prince?"

He remembers Tara, cradling his feet in her lap when he'd been in agony and the minutes had stretched into years. And he remembers the light that had gone out of her eyes when he'd used her name. "Yes," Lionel says.

Leenine draws back, eyes wide in shock.

Lionel should have done something when Tara had failed to acknowledge him at the table. "Goodbye, Leenine," he whispers. Before she can protest, he wills himself to become invisible—he doesn't even need the key anymore—and then he takes off in search of Tara and his mother, spreading his avatars out past the palace gates.

"You don't really want to go back there, Tara of Chicago," Rogier says. His voice is so oily that it makes the hairs rise on the back of her neck stand up, but her feet stop. He's broken Lady Benedal's spell—for purposes she knows are less than good.

He tilts his head. "But you don't really want to be with me, either."

Tara's spine straightens. No, she doesn't.

"Oh, Tara of Chicago, you can tell me the truth," Rogier says, movements so smooth he seems to ooze toward her. "You don't like me, do you?"

Her mind feels sharper and more alert than it has in hours, and she knows he wants her to be disgusted by him, to not like him. It turns him on. Keeping her face neutral, she backs away and tries to formulate a plan.

Rogier smiles. "Oh, you're going to try to run away? What fun."

Tara decides the oily prince is going to wear the bathroom's golden towel holder over his head. She glances to the side, sees the door, and is almost there when he says, "Oh, no, not in there, Tara. My sister gets so upset when I get into trouble in the facilities. Inconveniences her guests and all that."

Tara's hands ball into fists at her side. Unable to enter the bathroom, her feet keep retreating.

He holds up a hand. "In fact, stop right there."

She stops, cursing inwardly. Stepping into her personal space, he sighs into her ear. "I'd love to chase you through all these halls, but I'm afraid that will put my sister out. We'd best go to Lady Benedal's suite. It's far too small, but will have to do... less room for you to flee, but I know you'll fight me." His hand comes up as though to caress her face, but Tara catches it and digs her nails into his wrist with all her might.

Cursing, Rogier twists his hand away. "For now, you will keep your hands down!" he sneers. "Don't kick me, either."

Tara's muscles go slack.

"Much better." Rogier smirks, and then his eyes go wild, shooting from side to side as though there's an invisible mosquito. "I sense you," he roars into the air. Raising a finger to Tara, he hisses, "Stay here!"

Spinning around, Rogier says, "Someone thinks he's a mighty sorcerer."

Tara sees no one, but Rogier mutters something and raises his hands. The air before them shimmers, and a wall of flame emerges in front of him; its heat buffets Tara's face. With a huff, Rogier pushes the air, and the wall of flame rolls down the hall, leaving smoke and blackened fixtures in its wake. Twenty feet away, it splits in two. In a spot of air that had been empty stands Lionel, body turned, hands upraised as though warding a blow.

"Lionel," Tara whispers.

For just a moment their eyes meet. She can see the sheen of sweat on his brow. Tara's eyes go to Rogier's neck. She wants to strangle him, kick him; hell, she's ready to bite him. But she can't lift a finger or get a foot completely off the ground.

Rogier hisses, "That was just a taste, boy." Stepping back, his right side almost bumps into Tara, he raises his hands, and the air shimmers again.

Down the hall, Lionel raises his own hands. Rogier chuckles. Tara can see sweat rolling down Lionel's face.

She has to do something... She remembers a prank she and her volleyball teammates would play on each other. Raising her leg as much as she can with a toe still on the ground, she ever so gently nudges Rogier right behind his knee.

Just as it had worked as a kid, he loses his balance and his body sags. Lionel pushes the air, and Tara is hit by a wave of cold—all emanating from Rogier. He falls to the floor, eyes and mouth wide open and covered with frost. Lionel is at her side a moment later. "Tara Lupita Gibson, you're free."

"Is he frozen through?" Tara gasps.

At her words, Rogier moans.

Lionel bends over, hands on his thighs as though he's just finished a race. "No, I'm not that strong, but he's very cold. Tara, I've just assaulted a prince. You must get away from me. Beg forgiveness from the queen. She won't blame you."

No way is she abandoning him. "Not on your life," Tara mutters. She decides to be mad at him later for even suggesting it. Looking toward the dining hall, she sees several elves with mouths agape, staring at the fallen prince.

"We should run, then," says Lionel, not moving. He looks like he's about to fall over.

Tara grabs Lionel's arm and pulls him down the hall. "Which way?"

"They've locked the gates for the night," says Lionel. His eyes become vacant and he stumbles. "My mother's just outside. Mother, go, go to the Dark Lands. Find a safe house. I've got Tara. I'll meet you there somehow..."

His eyes come back into focus and he regains his footing. "She came back to the palace just as soon as Benedal's compulsion wore off. She'd never have left you on purpose."

Tara's gut constricts. "I know." They reach an intersection, and Tara picks a direction at random. Ahead, servers are streaming back and forth, laden with dishes; they're passing through double doors on either side of the hallway. From one pair of doors, Tara hears conversation and bubbling laughter, from the other, she hears pots and pans. Beyond that is another hallway.

"Lionel, isn't there a secret passage out of this place?" Tara asks, guiding him forward for lack of better ideas. Don't all palaces have hidden escape routes?

"Yes..." Lionel says, and her heart leaps. Hooray for The History Channel! Eyes going vacant, he whispers, "Checking."

Tara stops in her tracks just before the kitchen. Thirty feet past the servers going to and fro is a line of elves in armor. Hearing footsteps behind, she looks back and sees more armor-clad guards. The kitchen staff is nervously glancing side to side, but doesn't stop their tasks.

"Blasted basilisks, she's blocked that one too," Lionel whispers.

From down the hallway, one of the guards bellows, "Lionel of South Vale and Tara of Chicago, you will—"

Before he can finish and possibly put her under a spell, Tara drags Lionel into what she hopes is the kitchen. A cloud of steam hits her face. Someone screams. Someone else shouts, "Lord and Lady, you've made a wrong turn!"

Next to her Lionel shouts, "This way!"

Before Tara knows what's happening, he's darted down an aisle. Tara hears boot thumps behind her and dashes after Lionel, past elves protectively huddling over fancy dishes. "Sorry! Sorry!" she murmurs as she and Lionel bump past them.

"To the wine cellar!" Lionel shouts, darting right.

Catching up to him, Tara says, "Um... should you be telling them where we're going to be hiding?"

"Not hiding!" Lionel declares, grabbing her hand and dragging her past elves manning giant stoves and ovens. She hears the door boom open and whispers, "Duck!"

Lionel does, and leads her at a crouch toward a dark doorway in the far corner. A man dressed in grey, carrying two bottles of wine, is standing there scowling down at them.

"Where are they?" bellows the guard again.

Lionel whispers to the man in grey guarding the door, "I attacked Rogier."

Elf in the doorway's eyebrow hikes. Neatly stepping past Tara and Lionel, he says, "Where is who?"

Lionel yanks her into the darkness beyond the door, thrusts something into her hand, and says, "Lock it."

She hears him run off.

In the kitchen, she hears a guard respond with a roar. "The lord and the human who just came in here."

"Oh, them," says guy dressed in grey. His hands are behind his back, and he's gesturing frantically toward Tara in what must be a universal sign for "haul butt."

"Yes, them, you simpering sommelier—"

Tara shuts the door as gently as she can, and doesn't hear the rest. It's dim in the wine cellar, but not pitch black. Fumbling with the thing Lionel thrust at her, she discovers it's his key. Hoping it's a master key, she inserts it into the lock. Thankfully, it catches, and a moment later, she hears the bolt click.

She breathes out a sigh of relief, and then hears a loud thump on the door, and then another.

Spinning, she runs down the stairs. The wine cellar is larger than her house. There is a wide central corridor bisected by aisle upon aisle of wines in bottles and barrels from floor to ceiling.

"Over here!" Lionel shouts.

Following the sound of his voice, she finds him in one of the smaller aisles.

"Not here, not here!" he mutters.

"What are you looking for?" Tara asks. "A secret exit?"

"No, none here..."

"Back door?" Tara asks.

"No, no, the door we came through is the only one," Lionel says, running a hand through his hair, looking like a madman. "Loki, Loki, Loki..."

"What?" says Tara. "Are you trying to summon him?" She winces. _Please don't be like saying Beetlejuice's name three times._

"He said there was a gate here... somewhere."

Lionel charges past her to another aisle, and Tara charges after him.

"The queen would never let me down here... she knew I'd find it. Norns bless Chignon for stepping out of the way," Lionel murmurs. He turns to Tara. "I don't really believe the Norns can bless anyone. I wish someone did. Chignon is... was... a friend. He deserves to be blessed."

"Lionel?" Tara whispers. Is he having a nervous breakdown?

"I haven't slept in over forty-eight hours," he says, blinking at her. "Maybe more."

From the top of the stairs comes the sound of splintering wood. Lionel turns and dashes down another aisle. Tara follows. He turns, goes down the next, and the next. Tara hears footsteps on the stairs, and, "Lionel of the South Vale and Tara of Chicago, we know you're here."

Skidding to a halt, Lionel whispers, "Here!"

He holds up his hands midair and says, "Yes." Turning, he clutches Tara roughly by the upper arms and kisses her forehead. He nods once. "I hope that works."

From the stairs comes Lady Benedal's voice. "Let me through!" and then, "Tara of Chicago, you will—"

Lionel shoves Tara's head down and pushes her forward. Instead of a wine cellar, Tara finds her chin inches above a stone floor, head at eye level with silvery shoes... or boots. On either side seems to be wooden fence posts. She feels her feet lift, and she cries out in surprise as she's launched forward. The boots jump away and someone curses. Tara goes head first between the posts, and then hears Lionel say, "Tara! Help."

Turning, she sees his hands and head reaching toward her, and then he slips backward, his head vanishing, and it's just his arms dangling in midair. Tara grabs on and pulls. Someone shouts, "Help her." There are more shouts, and the thump of boots, and someone grabs Lionel's right arm and another pair of hands grab his left, and a man's voice commands, "Pull!"

Tara pulls with all her might, and then she hears her helpers grunt. Lionel comes lunging through what she guesses is a World Gate. Crashing into her, his weight knocks her over, and they both roll backward down a set of stairs, arms and legs akimbo. Tara's sure she'll be knocked unconscious, but a moment later, she is on her side, blinking at Lionel. Across his body she sees a rather nice floor with an intricate mosaic on it. Sunlight is streaming from above. In the direction they came from is a short stairway, and atop that, a throne. The "fence posts" were its legs.

Someone says, "Intruders!" And she hears boots striding purposely in their direction. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she sees guys in armor, guys much bigger than elves. They've all got spears out and they are aimed right at Lionel and her.

A shadow blocks out the sun, and she blinks up and finds herself staring at a man with a white beard and long white hair. One of his eyes is covered with a gold eye patch; the other is a familiar bright blue. His face is not exactly like the picture painted on the side of the "City of Gods" tour bus, but it's close enough. "Odin," she whispers.

He raises an eyebrow, lifts his head, and in a voice like thunder rumbles, "Guards."

At the single word from Odin, Tara instinctively curls into a defensive posture next to Lionel. She waits for the hands to come drag her away, or the spear points to pierce her side.

"You're no longer needed," Odin says, and Tara blinks. He isn't speaking English, Spanish, French, or Elvish. She remembers Lionel kissing her forehead in the wine cellar, like he had on the bluff in the Delta of Sorrows.

Behind her, she hears orderly boot steps, and then a door shut. Lionel is rubbing his eyes, like he has a headache.

She nudges his arm. "Um... Lionel," she says and glances worriedly at Odin.

He's holding out a hand... to her. Tara gapes.

"Miss Tara Lupita Gibson," says Odin, or the man she's ninety-nine percent sure is Odin.

Tara's too shocked to take the proffered hand. Odin knows who she is?

Glaring at Odin, Lionel scrambles up and helps Tara to her feet.

Eyeing Lionel, Odin rumbles, "Relax, Lionel, I am not an elf, and I'm not so charming as you. I cannot deprive her of her free will by speaking her name."

Tara blinks. That is just an elf thing. Good to know... Especially since everyone present knows her name now.

Lionel is still glowering, but Odin only looks bemused. Turning to Tara, Odin extends his hand, this time as though he's offering a handshake. Tara tentatively takes it. His hand is huge, and warm but dry, and she can feel calluses on his fingers and palm. His handshake is firm, but careful. He smiles, and his eye twinkles. "You are welcome here, Miss Gibson, and by my oath are in no danger now."

Tara is too shocked to do anything but stare dumbly at him. Why does his twinkling blue eye look familiar?

Letting go of her hand, Odin turns to Lionel. "I had long hoped you'd join me in this chamber, but never envisioned anything like this." He shakes his head and then he throws it back and laughs. The men in the chamber join him. Tara notices that except for Odin and one other man, they're all wearing black robes. She blinks at the one man. He is wearing armor, and is incredibly tall, maybe six foot eight or even more. Standing atop the short flight of stairs where the throne sits surrounded by a few less impressive seats, the man's holding a hammer in his hand, and his hair is long and red. Her eyes go wide. It's Thor. She recognizes him from the news and countless viral amateur videos. He's not laughing like the rest, but he's smiling at Lionel in a way that seems bittersweet. Catching Tara's gaze, he touches his brow.

Wiping his single eye, Odin recovers, but he still has a huge grin on his face. Turning to the room at large, Odin says, "Gentlemen, this is the lad I was telling you about. The one who escaped the clutches of the Dark Elves in the Delta of Sorrows, who slayed an each-uisge with his bare hands, and took on velociraptors with only his wits and a few sticks. This is Lionel... my son."

## 15

# Return of the Prodigal Son

"My son." Odin's words ring in Tara's head.

Thor steps from where he stands by the throne, and the men in black edge forward.

She suddenly realizes why Odin's blue eye looked familiar—it's almost the same shade as Lionel's.

How had Lionel neglected to share this tiny little detail of his heritage? Might this have saved them both from a run-in with Rogier? Eyes narrowing, she turns to Odin's _son_. He's staring at a spot on the floor. Tara shivers, though the room is not cold.

Patting Lionel on the shoulder, Odin says, "Thank you for helping me become aware of that gate under my throne."

Thor rumbles something that sounds like agreement.

A thank you doesn't seem to put you in someone's debt here, Tara notes.

Lionel bows his head. "I'm afraid I may have embroiled you in a diplomatic incident, Your Majesty."

"How so?" says Odin, eye narrowing.

"I assaulted Prince Rogier," says Lionel, his voice flat, his expression blank.

"If you killed him, we should present you with a bounty," says one of the men in black. "He's an incompetent ass." There are several murmurs of agreement.

Lionel's jaw gets tight. "I wish I had. But, I merely gave him a very bad case of frostbite." His words are inflectionless. Tara shivers.

There are a few whispers around the room. Odin says quickly, "Lionel is a mage, but he'll be a warrior, too."

The elves had reacted with derision when they'd heard of the each-uisge; the Asgardians sound suspicious of his magic. Tara finds her hand drifting to his arm, as though she could protect him from their censure.

"I had Tara's help," says Lionel.

"Thank you again for revealing the gate," the king says, not acknowledging Lionel's proclamation. Tara shifts on her feet uneasily.

Odin turns to Thor. "I wonder how long Her Majesty has known about it."

Shrugging, Thor says, "I pumped it full of lightning before it closed. The queen will know better than to use it anytime soon."

Nodding, Odin says, "Good." He inclines his head to Lionel. "Thor, greet your younger brother properly."

Face breaking into a grin, Thor strides over, takes Lionel's hand, and pumps vigorously. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Tara tilts her head, trying to see the resemblance between the brothers. There might be... a little. Thor's facial features look like Lionel's but... wider. Other than that, she wouldn't have guessed it.

Blinking, Thor stops shaking Lionel's hand and scowls down at it. "Impressive little brother," he whispers. Lifting his head, he smiles wickedly, gives Tara a covert wink, and to the room at large declares, "His magic is far closer to Father's than mine... he has the magic of holding things together. Put him as first in line to the throne!"

The men in black all laugh. Lionel's eyes go wide. Tara swallows. A crown prince is probably even more out of reach than a peasant elf with a soulmate. Bowing her head, she smooths her skirts with jerking movements. Why is she still thinking about the possibility of Lionel and her?

Odin snorts. "Thor! You'll frighten the lad!" Appraising Lionel from head to toe through his single narrowed eye, Odin asks in a booming voice, "Boy, how long has it been since you slept?"

Lionel starts counting down on his fingers. "I thought it was forty-eight hours..." He wavers on his feet. "... but now I think it may have been more. No wait, I had two hours of sleep in the delta."

Odin laughs, and the advisors echo it. The king claps, and a completely unremarkable panel in the walls opens and two men emerge. They also wear black, but instead of robes, they wear fitted pants and shirts. Their boots are almost noiseless. Tara blinks. They appear to be no older than maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. She studies the men around her. Except for Odin and herself, no one looks older than that.

"Take my son Lionel to the Eastern suite, and take Miss Gibson to the rooms adjacent. Make sure they're comfortable." To Lionel, he says, "I've been in your boots, boy. You'll most likely sleep like the dead for at least twelve hours. That will mean you'll miss breakfast." Odin frowns. "Probably for the better. Frigga is going to need a talking to." He huffs. "I'll see you both at an hour past breakfast tomorrow."

Tara steps forward, about to say, _no, that's too late. I have to go home_. But Odin turns toward her, and something in the glint of his bright single eye stops her in her tracks. "What do you want, girl?" he asks brusquely. She looks to Lionel for any sign of support, but he is staring at the floor.

Dropping to a low curtsy, Tara stifles what she wants to say. Instead, she tells a different truth. "I thought for sure when I realized we were in a throne room that Lionel and I would be cellmates again." Cellmates, like soulmates... but more awful. Stifling that epiphany, she continues nervously, "Thank you, sir, err... Your Majesty, sir." She hopes she sounds sufficiently respectful and awed and at the same time is a little disgusted with herself for being afraid to speak her mind.

"Rise, girl, rise!" Odin says. Tara lifts her eyes to find him smiling genially, which actually makes her more fearful, and she can't quite say why. "You're welcome here." He inclines his head to the servants. "They'll take you to your rooms, see you have proper maids, and everything you need. Go."

Tara murmurs her thanks again, playing nice for the scary man, and she and Lionel are led out of the throne room into a wide hallway with high ceilings and windows that open to immense gardens. Glowing butterflies flitter about, lighting any potential dark corners.

As they go, she hears whispers of "Except for his ears, he is the spitting image of his brother... " It makes her brow furrow; Lionel doesn't look that much like Thor. She glances at Lionel and catches his gaze on her. He looks away quickly. Tara eyes the castle, fortress, palace, whatever with increasing unease.

A few minutes later, Lionel's ushered through a doorway without her. Tara feels her heart sink as the door between them closes. He's been not much more than a ghost for company since the throne room, but he was the only familiar face.

About twenty steps down the hall, she's guided through an enormous door into a room bigger than both levels of her house put together. Her male guide leaves her with a woman in a simple black dress. Nearly as tall as Tara, the woman has golden skin only a shade lighter than Tara's own, but her hair is blonde and straight, and her eyes are blue. She curtsies to Tara, introduces herself as "Ahnohr," and proceeds to give Tara a tour. There's a bathroom, toilet separate from the bath, a sitting area with a fireplace next to a bed on an elevated platform. Everywhere there are high arched ceilings, heavy wooden furniture with plump padded seats and backs, and lots of gold... it looks a little East Indian, Tara thinks. There's fruit, cheese, crackers, water, and wine already laid out in the sitting area, and a bell. Ahnohr assures Tara that if she rings it, she'll be heard any time of day or night, because it's "magical... I know it must sound strange because you don't have anything like it, of course."

Tara tries to look impressed. She doesn't mention cell phones and that on Earth she can ring anyone she damn well pleases.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Ahnohr asks after showing her through a closet filled with gowns.

_Lionel,_ Tara thinks, but says, "No, I'll be fine. I already bathed and ate in Alfheim. Think I'll just..." She looks around, sees no books, or television, or anything, so she says, "... meditate."

"Very good!" says Ahnohr with a smile, finally leaving. As she exits, more of the glowing butterflies flutter in, brightening the dimming room. Tara looks out the window. The sun is much lower in the sky. It had been even later in Alfheim, and Tara is tired. She goes to the closet and picks out a "sleeping gown."

She's just put it on when she hears a scurrying noise in the wall at the back of the closet. Tara gulps and wonders if Asgard—she's guessing that's where she has to be—has magic rats. Giant magic rats.

She backs out of the closet, and then hears a thump, and then another. Definitely a giant rat... or something. She slams the door shut and braces her back against it. In the closet, she hears a creak and then footsteps, and isn't sure if she's glad they sound human rather than rodent. Her heart is beating so hard and fast she can feel it pulsing against her ribs. She looks at the closet's doorknob... there is no lock. The bell is across the room on the little table in the sitting area. How long will it take someone to arrive if she rings it?

There is thump from the door at the level of her ear. She bites her lip, closes her eyes, and then hears a whispered, "Tara?"

Her eyes go wide. All the fear in her rapidly morphs into anger in less than one of her frantic heart beats. Spinning around, she opens the closet, points at the main door, and hisses, "You could have used that one!"

Lionel pokes his head out. He looks rather sheepish, but a dam has burst within Tara. "And what are we doing here?" Her voice rises and so does the heat beneath her skin. "Why didn't we come here first? You're a prince here. You could have saved me from Lady Benedal and Rogier! When can I go home?"

She doesn't say she's afraid. More afraid than when she'd been facing velociraptors and in the cell they'd shared. There the threats had been so obvious... here, she feels like the danger is just bubbling under the surface.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she waits for Lionel to snap back at her, to tell her she's being irrational, to tell her he's a prince and he'll take care of it.

He rubs his forehead. "Tara, I'm so sorry. I don't know when you can go home, or I can go home... I didn't know... and I'm afraid."

Her arms drop. "You didn't know? But you brought us here... you dropped us off in the throne room! I'm not even from a country with royalty but I do know that was an off-with-their-heads move."

Eyes closed, leaning against the door frame, he says, "Every other exit was under guard." His feet sort of slip out from under him, and he slides down. Before thinking about it, Tara's helping him up.

"Too much magic in too short amount of time," he says, wiping his face with his hands. His hair is rumpled around the points of his ears. His eyes are bloodshot, and the contrast between the red and the bright blue of his irises is startling and disturbing.

"Can you explain to me what's going on? If you didn't know that Odin is..." She waves a hand.

"My father?" Lionel finishes, meeting her gaze. The bitterness in his voice is palpable, the set of his jaw painfully tight.

Tara glares at him... and then sighs. He should have gone to sleep, but he'd come first to her.

"Come in and sit down," Tara says, feeling her stomach roil with too many emotions to name.

Rubbing his eyes, Lionel nods. Walking past her, he goes to the other side of the room and sort of sits-falls onto the couch. Tara sits on the chair beside him.

He takes an audible breath. "I didn't know... but I suspected." He steeples his fingers together, and as he does, the robe-like garment he's wearing slides down to reveal his forearm. Tara blinks. There is no soulmark.

She looks up quickly, feeling like she's just spied something intensely personal. He gives her a twisted smile. "It disappeared sometime between when I attacked Rogier and we arrived here."

"I'm... I'm..." Tara stammers. "Sorry."

Her eyes go to the carpet. For a brief moment in the Elven chamber she'd wished the soulmark was a mistake... but... the end of something you think is real and true, something you could rely on—she knows how that feels. She remembers the day Dwayne called it off... She feels for Lionel, more than she should, maybe.

"I'm not sorry," says Lionel. "I only wish I'd gotten to you sooner. Rogier shouldn't have..."

She looks up, but he's not meeting her gaze. He'd given up his surety for her because she'd been in danger. She doesn't think Lionel's in love with her. Attracted to her, yes, but in love? No. He's already said as much. He just came to her aid because he is a good person. The realization does weird things to her heart.

Lionel clears his throat. "To answer your other questions... I didn't use the main door because the guide who showed it to me suggested I might protect your virtue by using the secret passage."

Tara's eyebrows hike. "I'm not feeling like my virtue is particularly well protected by a secret door into my closet."

Huffing softly, Lionel scratches behind his ear and says, "It's all about the appearance of virtue here. Asgardians are strange about these things, not like elves."

Tara's lips purse, remembering Lionel almost stripping down to his birthday suit in front of her, and the elves in the window in his village. "Right," she says.

"As for my heritage... I first suspected it centuries ago."

Tara leans in, curious.

Rubbing his eyes, he says, "I was a child, wandering the palace gardens while my mother was at the town market. Leenine was there, playing hide and seek. She perhaps didn't realize I was a peasant at first, because she pulled me into her game. I knew it was wrong to play with a daughter of a high house, but I was lonely. When the other noble children almost found her, I dragged her through a World Gate to help her win." He stares at his feet. "I didn't know what I was doing. It was purely instinctual." He smiles wryly. "Trolls instinctually travel through World Gates, too, and they're dumb as rocks."

Tara winces at the comparison.

Lionel continues, "We wound up in Midgard, in South Carolina during the hunt for a family of runaway slaves. Odin sent his ravens to help us, and then he came himself..." He lets out a long breath. "Sometimes Odin intervenes on children's behalf. He isn't cruel to children, not at all. I told myself that was why he aided us. It was what I wanted to believe at the time..." He smiles sadly. "Abraham, the father in the family of slaves we ran into... he was running away because they were going to sell Hannah, his wife, and their child, Benjamin. He said they'd all live together or die together." A thin smile twists his lips. He stares at the butterflies lighting the room. "Odin... has watched out for me... but that was the first and last time I've spoken to him. Until today."

Tara swallows. She's grown up around children whose parents had left them for one reason or another. She's heard the sadness, the bitterness, and the confusion before.

Lionel sighs. "Later, when I was allowed to go to magic school instead of being exiled to the Dark Lands for practicing magic above my station, I told myself he interfered out of fairness, justice..." He stared out into space for a moment. "He knew your full name." His eyes briefly meet hers. "Do you think he knows everyone's full names?"

Tara shakes her head, confused, not sure of what he's asking.

"I'd tell you my name," he whispers, and then laughs mirthlessly. "But now I don't know what it is."

He closes his eyes and lays his head back.

Tara reaches out to him, and then pulls her hand away.

Lionel's head lolls to the side, and she's not particularly surprised when he goes to sleep. She wants to pull the blankets off the bed and snuggle up next to him. Instead, she goes to the closet, retrieves a spare blanket there, and drapes it over his body.

Tara retreats to her own bed, and the butterflies discreetly flutter out the window. She still doesn't sleep. Her eyes keep roving around her opulent rooms. She has a feeling she and Lionel are cellmates again.

Lionel wakes with his head at an awkward angle, sunlight in his eyes, and his stomach clawing at itself in hunger. He blinks, shifts, and realizes he's on a sofa, not in his bed in the queen's palace, his mother's cottage, or in Tara's guest room. The events of the day before come back to him, and he groans.

He hears soft footfalls and manages to pull himself up. He wipes his eyes and finds Tara just a few paces in front of him. She's wearing a nightgown of the palest gold several shades lighter than her skin. It seems to have been poured onto her, the way it catches her curves. Her hair is a midnight halo around her head. A few inky black coils have fallen over her forehead.

She pushes them back and leans down. Pressing her lips together, her brow furrows, and then she whispers, "Hi."

He wants to pull her into his lap and enfold her in his arms, and beg forgiveness. She rescued him in an alley, and he's torn her from her home, marched her through a swamp, subjected her to the attentions of Rogier, and pulled her into a mess that spans the realms. He scowls, angry at himself and his entire race. His mouth forms a bitter line. What is his race?

Tara bites her lip and sits down on a chair beside him. "I was once engaged."

The trajectory of her words makes him sit up with a start. He looks over at her.

Studying her hands, Tara says, "I know you don't think it's the same... and maybe it isn't. But when he broke up with me, it turned my world upside down. And now you've purposely upended your life for me."

Lionel's skin heats. "Don't you dare say thank you," he snaps.

Her shocked expression catches him off guard, and then he realizes that she doesn't understand the danger. "You'll put yourself in my debt again." He sighs. She practically has already. "Then I'd have to thank you for not leaving me behind after I froze Rogier, or making me duck in the kitchens." That could have ended in an arrow to the head.

Her lips quirk. "That's two to my one. If you said that, I'd have to say thank you for pushing me through the World Gate in the wine cellar first so Benedal didn't have time to charm me."

Lionel grins. "I thought you said we should stop keeping score?"

Sitting up straighter, she lifts her chin, and her full lips part into a wide, genuine smile. "I did say that." She is radiant. Leenine—and maybe all elves—are beautiful like still ponds. Tara is beautiful like a wild river with unexpected turns, bends, and currents. But she's more than beautiful. She is clever. Not being magical has forced her to learn about magic in a roundabout, cumbersome way with human devices. The patience, persistence, and curiosity that must have motivated that has to be immense. She's funny; even now, she's making him laugh. And she hadn't abandoned him, not in the alley, not in the Dark Elves' prison, not after Rogier. She did not give up, not even in the Dark Elves' cell, like he had.

Lionel's own smile fades. "The man who let you go is an idiot." The words are out before he's thought of them.

For the second time in the morning, Tara looks taken aback. Her eyes fall and she smiles ruefully. "You're right." She lets out a long breath and her shoulders fall. "And wrong." She meets his gaze. "He doubted me... but not without reason."

Lionel tilts his head.

Shrugging, Tara says, "He'd moved out to Denver after Loki blew up the financial district and trolls, wyrms, and other things started showing up. I was going to join him. I had a job lined up and everything, but then—" She looks down again. "My father died unexpectedly. My mother was wrecked."

Tara continues, and he can hear the unshed tears in her voice. "Dad left behind a lot of properties that he owned and managed. My mother couldn't handle them all herself, and even though they are good, solid rental properties, their value had crashed after Loki and..." She takes a deep breath. "I had to stay and help my mother. My job in Denver went to someone else. I couldn't afford to be traveling back and forth from Denver to Chicago without the job, and I couldn't tell him how long it would take to straighten it all out." Shrugging again, she nods to herself. "So, after a year and six months, he broke it off."

Lionel's brow furrows, his mind working out the math from what he knows from books of Midgard's time scales. "That was only five hundred forty-seven days... it's not long. He was an idiot." If one's species didn't grant a soulmate, you couldn't do better than Tara. He thinks of Leenine trying to convince him not to rescue her. Perhaps you could do no better even if you did have a soulmate.

Her dark eyes meet his. "For someone who lives centuries, probably not. But it was nearly a quarter of his adult life at that point." She huffs. "Our lives go much faster, Lionel."

Lionel goes very still.

"Anyway, I know it must be... disorientating, to lose that security," she says. "Of knowing that you had someone. And... I can't say thank you ..." She looks up at him from beneath long lashes, and nods.

An unspoken thanks... an unspoken bond, too?

He does feel disorientated, confused, and uncertain, even if he has no regrets. That she can empathize as one so young... The real gulf between them is time—the ruthless, magic-less abbreviated lives of humans.

He wants to gather her in his arms and savor what time they might have. Yes, he is upended by the severing of his soulbond, but Tara's impending death doesn't give him time to mourn the loss of his soulmate or life as an elf. His chest tightens. But he doesn't know what he can give her. Odin seems intent on keeping him here. Lionel is not sure what concessions to his freedoms that will entail. He can't believe she'd accept to be shuffled to the side, allowed only the status of mistress... if that. He can't imagine any children they might have, living with second class status, relegated to shadowy visits from their father. His lips twist. He'd not even gotten that.

His jaw gets hard. He promised his mother he'd return Tara to her home world. He'll do that, no matter the cost.

There is a knock at the door. Lionel thinks Asgardian mores are silly, but for Tara's sake, he stands and says, "I'll exit through the closet."

Before she can answer, he leaves.

## 16

# How to Be a Goddess

Tara is sitting in her room, wrapped in a luxurious robe, warm from a bath. There are six maids in front of her, including Ahnohr, from yesterday. Some are clutching neat stacks of silks; a few are holding sparkling shoes. One carries a bouquet of brilliant flowers in a vase. Some of the maids are paler than Lionel with hair textured like Tara's, and some of them are even darker than her, with straight blonde hair.

"This," says Ahnohr, holding up a sheer piece of silvery fabric, "is the dress of a Vanir princess. We're in the midst of a Vanir revival, and it's all the rage."

Tara's lips purse. She might have described it as a "fancy mosquito netting." There are little gem circles at about chest level, and a gem triangle on a belt. Swirling a finger in the direction of what Ahnohr calls a "dress," Tara asks, "What do you wear under it?"

"Your body!" says Ahnohr with a wink.

"No," says Tara.

"But you've got the perfect form for it!" Ahnohr declares. "Not too slender, not too fat, perfect. Almost Valkyrian. Show it off..." Lowering her voice, she whispers, "You have the eye of the newly found son. He may be a bastard, and he does have those _pointy_ ears, but he is the heir apparent." There are murmurs of agreement from the other maids.

She says "pointy" like Tara would say "milk that was left out" and Tara's skin heats. How dare they think Lionel's ears hideous.

Crossing her arms, she eyes the dress. What does having the eye of an heir to a throne mean if you're a lesser unmagical human, anyway? Mistress? She's not going that route. "No," she says again.

A maid behind Ahnohr, who looks tiny compared to the others, though she is probably at least five foot seven, whispers, "Ahnohr, remember the other human woman who was here? Their culture is more modest... the dress, it upset her so."

"Other human woman?" Tara asks in shock.

"She was quite rude," says Ahnohr with a sniff. "Not polite like you. She was too outspoken. The foolish thing went back to Earth, and she had the All Father's eye."

Tara blinks. Definitely not wearing the mosquito net. She almost asks to hear more about this "human woman," but then the little maid unfurls a red bundle of fabric. "How about this?"

Tara gapes. It is an almost off-the-shoulder, ankle length gown. The shimmering fabric has folds that come together in a V at the chest that will give her a little more curve there, but it smooths out at the waist and stays smooth to just a little below the hip. There it flares into an A-line skirt. The satiny silk continues below a flowing sheer gold gossamer with vibrant red embroidery. The sleeves are also made of the same gossamer fabric, with cuffs embroidered with red.

"That is only a sorceress's gown," sniffs Ahnohr.

"I love it," says Tara. She may never let them take it off her. She can tell in an instant that it will make the most of her skin tone and her athletic frame.

The tiny maid smiles. Behind her, other maids jostle to bring forward shoes, start discussing the makeup she should wear, and the nail polish.

An hour later, Tara is standing before a full-length mirror. Her makeup is perfect: lipstick a slightly darker shade of red than the dress, nails the same, and pale gold eyeshadow. They've accessorized the dress with a drop necklace of gold and rubies. For shoes, they've given her sparkly red and gold flats. Normally, Tara would decry flats as blasphemy of all that is good and fashionable—the dress deserves, _no begs_ , for a sexy pair of heels. Although—the cute little "peasant" Light Elf shoes would have also worked—sadly, they're in Benedal's rooms back in Alfheim. All that said, recent events make her grateful for the ability to run. The only thing left... Tara picks at her hair, freshly washed, magically dried and standing up at attention in every direction, except for the few curls that seem determined to dangle over her forehead. "I look like a black dandelion gone to seed," she mutters.

Nodding beside her, Ahnohr smiles. "I'm sure that is a lovely flower. But this needs something, you're about to have an audience with the prince..."

There are titters all around, and "he looks so much like his brother except for those unfortunate ears!" and "Lionel's hair isn't curly." Which makes Tara very confused. Thor's hair isn't curly, either.

"... and the king," Ahnohr says. The tittering stops and there is earnest conversation about hair accessories. One of the maids breaks the bloom off a flower and presents it to Ahnohr. It is a red and yellow blossom that sparkles with golden pollen, not quite the breadth of Tara's palm. "What about this?"

Ahnohr's eyes widen. "Oh, yes, magic it so it will not wilt!"

The other maid blows upon it, and then Ahnohr pins it behind Tara's ear. She turns Tara back to the mirror. "That is perfect," she says.

All the other maids nod. Tara's not so sure—yes, Tavende's magic had made her natural hair glossy and healthy, but it is _so_ short and puffy.

Ahnohr declares, "Look at the time. You'll be late for your audience with the king," and Tara decides she's just going to have to go with it.

She's led through the halls again, this time by Ahnohr. For some reason, the hallways have more people than the day before. Tara tries not to stare... but can't quite help herself. Asgardians appear to come in every shade and are taller than the elves. They nod and smile at her in passing, whether they are dressed in servants' garb, or more formal attire. She notices that, like the elves, social class and skin coloring do not seem to be at all related. She mentally searches the Asgardian language for "racism" and doesn't find the word.

They pass a group of women in armor, wearing vests with wings attached, and swords in their belts. One of them calls to her in a cheerful voice, "Will you be joining the ranks of Freyja's Valkyries, Sister?"

Tara shrugs and shakes her head, as Ahnohr leads her past them.

"We'll be here for you if you need us!" One calls back in a very loud, boisterous, and camaraderie voice.

"You could, you know," Ahnohr whispers. "Personally, for me, I'm too timid. Their training..." She shivers. "I don't like being poked with spears or having my bones broken for practice."

Tara's eyes widen. "Pardon?"

"Well, generally they're weaker than the male warriors," Ahnohr explains. "So, they make it up with fierceness, indifference to pain, and the ability to heal wounds and bones faster. They practice those things... a lot."

Tara's knees go weak. Ahnohr stops at two double doors that are ajar. "I'll leave you here, Milady." She gives a wide grin and bounces on her feet. "I think the All Father has great plans for you, yes I do."

"Great plans?" whispers Tara.

"Oh, yes," says Ahnohr. "He put your room right next to Lionel's." She gives a knowing nod. "Play your cards right, ignore those ears, and you'll do well."

Tara's brow furrows. A mental search does turn up a word for "class." She's pretty sure, as an unmagical human, she is among the least class, despite the hospitality. All she says, though, is, "Thank you, Ahnohr."

The maid curtsies and smiles.

From the open door, Odin's voice rumbles, "Tara Gibson, you've arrived."

Tara turns. Within the double doors is a great room that appears to be a sort of foyer. There is a gold and red silk carpet, an enormous chandelier, and another set of double doors at the far side guarded by two men in gleaming armor. The doors are thrown wide open, and standing just inside is Lionel silhouetted by a beam of sunlight. He wears a sort of armored vest that appears to be made of white gold. Her breath catches. His eyes meet hers and he takes a step forward.

"Well, come in, Tara!" Odin says with a chuckle. Which is when Tara first notices the king, a little to Lionel's left, behind a great wooden desk. Two ravens are hopping up and down on the back of an enormous chair behind him.

Lifting her chin, Tara enters the first great room and passes into the second. The doors slam behind her.

As Tara enters Odin's study, Lionel feels breathless. Clad in the gown of a Vanir sorceress, she seems to float above the floor. Everything about Asgard is bigger than on Alfheim, even the inhabitants. They're taller, stronger, broader in the shoulder. Tara looks like she belongs here. Her hair halos her face, and the red and gold of the sorceress's gown and flower suit her perfectly.

The doors shuts, and Tara curtsies. "Your Majesty."

"You look beautiful!" Odin rumbles with a smile, and Lionel internally berates himself for not having said it first. Recovering, he inclines his head, eyes on her midnight tresses, and says, "A halo suits you."

It must have been the wrong thing to say because her lips purse and she looks confused. He turns quickly back to the All Father.

"Now, I need you two to tell me exactly what happened," Odin says. "So I can resolve the fury among the elf High Houses."

The ravens whistle. Tara gives Lionel a worried glance. He gives her a nod that he hopes is reassuring, and she begins her tale. When Tara tells of Rogier's first advance upon her in Benedal's chambers, Lionel thinks he almost turns the room to ice. Odin holds up a finger, eyes intent on Tara, and Lionel's magic never leaves his fingertips. Lionel blinks, and sees the All Father's magic wrapping around him. It is as dark and strong as a cloudy night.

When Lionel tells his version of events, he chokes up, relating how he told his mother to go to the edge of the Dark Lands. The Dark Elves are enemies of Odin and the Elf Queen. Has he turned his mother into one of Odin's enemies? "I am sorry, sir, but I wasn't thinking and—"

Odin cuts him off with a wave. "For Light Elves who irritate the High Houses, it is the only escape. Lady Benedal is vengeful and petty."

"Tavende is too small to be in the Dark Lands alone," Tara bursts out.

Lionel swallows and meets her wide-eyed gaze. She's right. Even if his mother finds a safe house on the border, she'll be in danger of starvation.

"Agreed," Odin rumbles. "Your mother is much too gentle for that dark place. We will find her, son. Once we do, we'll send out a party and bring her here where she will have amnesty."

"Oh," says Tara. "Yes."

All Lionel can do is nod.

"Frigga will be... intolerable..." Odin mutters, referring to his wife. "But she'll get over it." Meeting Lionel's gaze, he says, "Your mother can't stay in the palace. However, there is a lovely cottage that has recently come back into my possession in the gardens. Tavende will love it."

Lionel bows again. "Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

The king whistles, and one of the ravens rawks, "Yes, Master?"

"Find Tavende," Odin instructs. "Tell her what I just told Lionel. If she has found a bolt hole, tell her to stay safe. If she hasn't, help her find one or get to the Golden Road. I'll deal with the Elf Queen and the High Houses."

Lionel swallows. He supposes he shouldn't be shocked that Odin knows that there are safe houses, "bolt holes" as he calls them, at the edge of the Dark Lands.

The raven bobs its head. "Yes, master." Lifting its wings, it flies out the window. The other follows. Odin's single eye bores into Lionel, as if guessing his thoughts. "Once we know her location, we can send a team."

Lionel's hands clench behind his back. There are hundreds of thousands of paces of border between the Dark Lands and the realm of the Light Elves. Intellectually, Lionel understands that sending the ravens is the fastest way to find and help his mother. Emotionally, he wants to leave now.

He bows low but can't quite manage a thank you.

Odin comes around the side of the desk. "And now... onto the matter of Ms. Gibson."

Lionel straightens, feeling like his body is a wire pulled too tight. To his surprise, he finds Odin smiling genially, half sitting on his desk.

"You are as lovely on the outside as you are on the inside, Ms. Gibson." Odin turns his single piercing eye to Lionel. "Did you know she has prevented the death of hundreds of her city's citizens?"

Lionel's jaw falls open and he looks at Tara. Her eyes are wide.

A smile tugs at Lionel's lips. "I did not, but I am not surprised."

Putting a hand to her mouth, Tara says, "I am."

Chuckling, Odin says, "Your timely warnings to the populace through your"—he grimaces—"magical tele-phones and com-pu-ters has saved many an innocent."

"Oh," says Tara.

"You went around your superiors to do so." His single eye narrows, and Lionel straightens. Odin doesn't like anyone subverting _him_.

Tara lifts her chin. "They were too busy with interdepartmental politics to think of the people who might be hurt."

Lionel slides infinitesimally closer to Tara. He isn't sure where Odin is going with this.

Odin nods. "Agreed, and I can't abide that sort of inefficiency and pettiness." He waves a hand. "And for a woman to go around her superiors out of mercy—" He tilts his head. "It is not such a bad thing."

Tara looks at the floor. Her eyes are wild and confused. Lionel is confused, too.

"Would you like to help more people, Ms. Gibson?" Odin asks.

Tara lifts her head. "Pardon, Your Majesty?"

Odin sighs. "I've been failing your world, Ms. Gibson."

Tara glances at Lionel, and he can see the silent plea for help, but he doesn't know what to say. He shrugs and shakes his head. Looking back at the All Father, Tara says softly, "I'm sure that is not true."

Raising an eyebrow, Odin says, "The trolls, wyrms, Dark Elves, and other monsters coming to your world, they are my responsibility to keep out, and I have been failing." He releases a long breath. "Before, Loki would close the World Gates that open from time to time in your realm."

Lionel's brow furrows. He'd heard that only Loki and Odin were capable of that. For Loki it was, according to his former mistress, "a natural extension of his destructive tendencies, but it weakens Odin terribly."

Lionel holds this thought as the All Father continues, "But as you so tragically saw in your city, Loki became... deranged. I no longer have him to help me close gates. I'm overstretched trying to put down a violent uprising among the dwarves. The Frost Giants and Fire Giants are always on the brink of war with themselves, and it is a constant challenge to keep the violence from spilling over into the other realms." He raises an eyebrow imperiously at Tara. "Including yours."

Lionel hears Tara gulp and shifts on his feet. He's heard that Odin deliberately destabilizes the Frost and Fire Giants to keep them from becoming too powerful. He's not sure if that is a horrible thing; the giants are brutal and savage creatures. His jaw shifts... of course, he's heard that of humans, too.

"I'm not sure how I could be of service," Tara says.

Odin beams at her. "Why, by doing what you've been doing. Keeping the people of Earth informed of new World Gates through your com-pu-ters and technology." He waves a hand. "But on a much larger scale. It's not just Chicago that suffers. There was, ah, an event... that ruptured time and space. World Gates will continue to open up at an unprecedented rate for the next few centuries. If you had access to, say, a magic device designed to detect new gates, you could carry on as you've been doing. But you'd be helping many more people, and openly, with impunity."

Tara takes a step forward, and Lionel could see the excitement in her eyes. "I would love that..." Her lips purse, and her eyes drop to the floor. "Although, I think if I had a magical device on Earth, it would most likely be confiscated from me, Sir."

"Which is why you'd be stationed here," says Odin.

"My mother—"

"Needs to know where you are," Odin responds. "Of course, you'd be allowed to visit... regularly... but I'd need you here."

Lionel's heart beats faster, with hope too fragile to voice. Odin doesn't keep _mortals_ in Asgard.

Tara's lips part as though she is about to speak.

The All Father says, "I need to get a com-pu-ter, have my office wi-red and learn to use the internets... I'm sure you'd be just the sort to teach me."

Tara clasps her hands in front of her and rocks on her feet. "Sir, I do want to help you, but I don't know if a Wi-Fi signal would carry through a World Gate, if sir, it's access to Earth's internet that you want."

Lionel blinks at the "gibberish" but Odin nods. "It is. We'd need to establish a permanently open World Gate, a tricky thing. How big do you think it would have to be?"

Lionel sees Tara bouncing a little on her feet, her eyes shining. "I don't know, sir, but I'd love to find out! We'd need a hot spot on Earth somewhere—"

Waving a hand, Odin says, "I've been meaning to establish some embassies at various Earth capitals."

"Oh! Oh!" Tara actually hops, and Lionel has to stifle a laugh at her pure joy. "That would work on the Earth end. I have no idea about the rest, sir, but... I'm sure there must be a way. We'd need electricity here."

"A magical object could be devised to generate electricity," Lionel interjects.

Tara smiles at him. "I've got a lot of experience wiring buildings and dealing with generators. It might take a little time, but I'm sure I could put something together."

Lionel smiles back. "And I'm very good at opening up World Gates. I could help you—"

"No," Odin cuts him off.

Lionel looks at the All Father. Odin is frowning at him. "This is women's magic, Lionel. To be a prince in this realm, you need to become better acquainted with swords."

Lionel's mouth suddenly feels very dry. Asgardians are dismissive of men who practice magic—although their king is more powerful than even Alfheim's Queen. Lionel's former mistress had said Odin kept the general populace magically ignorant to cement his power. He fights the frown tugging at his lips. Odin will be learning Midgard's magics if Tara installs their com-pu-ters in his office. He'll be even more powerful...

"I'm very good with a bow and a knife," he manages to say. All farmer Light Elves near the border have to be, but Odin doesn't appear to have heard. Turning back to Tara, the All Father says, "You'd take the oath of service to be entitled to the Apples of Idunn."

Lionel's reservations about the All Father's consolidation of power evaporate in an instant. He looks to Tara. Her lips are parted, and there is a crease in between her brows.

"You'd live forever," Lionel explains in a whisper. "You'll never grow old."

"You'll be a goddess," Odin adds, the side of his mouth curling in a smile. "The Goddess of Internets and Forewarning, perhaps."

Tara's mouth drops. "Oh," she whispers. She takes a step back. "Oh."

She curtsies deeply, and Odin chuckles. Rising, she says, "Your Majesty, Sire, this is a lot to take in."

"Well, you may think about it until this evening." He smiles kindly. "I will be leaving for Muspelheim on the morrow, so I'll need your answer then."

Tara's brows rise.

"Land of the Fire Giants," Lionel whispers, wondering what business Odin has there that he'd have to see to it personally.

"You'll save thousands, Ms. Gibson," Odin says. "Forewarned is forearmed, and your people are resourceful enough to manage once they have warning."

Tara rises from her curtsy and there are stars in her eyes. There may be some in Lionel's, too.

"Now, Ms. Gibson," Odin says. "I wonder if you might give me a little time with my son."

"Oh, yes, of course, Your Majesty." The doors open behind her, and with another curtsy, she leaves the room. Lionel follows her with his eyes.

As the doors close, Odin says, "She'd make a fine princess."

Lionel turns to Odin and the doors shut with a thump and a click. His mind tumbles over the word, "princess." The only way that would happen would be if she were to marry a prince.

Looking like he wants to spit something foul from his mouth, Odin says, "We had a couple of other human visitors. They were very rude. But that one..." His eye narrows. "She'd be a deft hand at court politics in less than a decade."

Lionel stares speechless. Lionel hasn't been officially declared a prince yet. If he means Tara and Thor. Magic so cold that it feels like heat jumps at his fingertips.

"Well?" says Odin, single icy blue eye focused on Lionel. "You risked your neck to keep Rogier from fucking her—"

Lionel rocks back on his feet, the crude language catching him off guard.

"—you'd be able to tolerate her as your wife, wouldn't you?" Odin rumbles.

"The lady is more than tolerable," Lionel says.

With a soft huff, Odin looks heavenward. "Oh, they all are to start." Canting his head, he meets Lionel's gaze. "But I'm glad you're amenable. Good. We need to build up our presence on Earth. They've got weapons that could turn Asgard and Alfheim to plains of glass."

Lionel swallows. He had heard of the human's foray into "nuclear weapons," but Tara was so kind and civilized. He hadn't thought of it once in her company.

"A diplomatic front is what we need," Odin says. "While we work on our defenses... and our offenses." His eye goes to the door as though looking through it. "The business in Eastern Europe has put some of their governments on edge..."

Lionel blinks. He thinks he'd heard something about Odin sending Freyr and a contingent of Valkyries and Einherjar to Midgard's Eastern Europe. Was that why they were too busy to handle the Dark Elves crossing over to Chicago?

Odin continues. "A marriage between an Asgardian prince and a human would go far as a distraction among the common folk, and make them less amenable to hostilities between our races." The All Father snorts derisively. "They may be 'democracies,' but they love royal romance."

Hands clasped behind his back, Lionel bows his head, mind spinning and his heart beating fast. He knew that Asgardian marriage alliances were political; he hadn't considered he'd be thrust into the game so quickly. Tara, his mother, and he are obviously pawns on Odin's chessboard... Does he care? In Asgard, Tara can live forever, his mother can be safe, and Tara and he might be married, which makes him equally terrified and elated. There is, of course, a potential snag in the plan. "The lady might not be agreeable to the union." He'd made a horrible bungle of his first advances.

Odin snorts. "I'll declare you a prince lad, officially, and she'll be agreeable. Every woman wants a prince... or rather, to be a princess."

Lionel's clasped hands squeeze so tight he thinks he might shatter bone. Did Odin miss the part of Tara helping Lionel defeat a prince whose attention she'd attracted? Tara isn't like that. Does the All Father imagine all women's minds are formed in a single mold?

"Woo her... charm her," Odin says. Unrolling a parchment, he adds distractedly, "That is my first order to you as my subject. You can take her to the gardens. I hear they're lovely this time of year. Follow the Lake Trail. It will take you to your mother's cottage." The All Father looks up from the document, a slow smile spreading across his face. He licks his lips. "You know your mother best... see if there can be anything done to it that will make her more comfortable."

Lionel bows. "Of course."

Scanning the parchment again, Odin says, "You're dismissed."

Lionel turns and the doors open by an unseen hand. Tara is in the foyer beyond.

He walks toward her, his steps tentative, half expecting and hoping for another hallucination... surely, his visions have been premonitions of them being together?

The vision doesn't come.

His lips form a hard line. Well... even if they won't be together, she will at least be immortal. She won't have to die. His steps become surer.

Tara meets his gaze. She gives him an odd sort of timid smile.

After Odin's offer, does this place still scare her?

Lionel draws to a halt, remembering Odin's slow smile talking about his mother, and his tongue flicking across his lips.

Maybe this place should scare them both.

## 17

# Traitors and Spies

"She'd make a fine princess." Tara hears Odin's words just before the door closes behind her. She draws to a halt and looks around the foyer. None of the guards move and there is no one to greet her, so she thinks she is just supposed to wait. Clasping her hands, she tries to admire the decor. But she can't.

Princess.

Did she really hear that? If you're not born a princess, isn't the only way to become one to marry a prince? Was it a joke? Or a suggestion? Her heart flutters. She doesn't think she's ready to marry Lionel at this very moment, and she doubts he's ready to marry her... but even to be considered. Butterflies flutter within her. She bites back a smile, and then from the hallway she hears footsteps and the echo of voices. "The humans must be brought to heel," followed by, "Some of them are studying magic... they should be dealt with first. I know the All Father has a plan. I just wish I knew what it was."

Tara's eyes go wide, and she looks toward the door. For the first time, one of the guards locks eyes with her. Tara hadn't thought their eyeballs could even move, and she stands frozen in place, as though hypnotized by a snake.

A third voice says, "But he lost the other two..." and then the voices fade to barely audible whispers. Tara really wants to slide over to the door and take a peek, but she doesn't move. That could be just idle grumbling. She is pretty sure there are grumblings about the Kremlin in the White House all the time, and vice versa. Maybe that isn't the best example. Russia isn't really a friend, but Odin wouldn't try to _hire_ an enemy... Would he? There is a creak, and Tara jumps. The door from Odin's office opens and Lionel steps out. He takes a step forward and then pauses. A frown is on his face.

She gives him a timid smile, and his expression softens... but then his eyes dart around the foyer. A few of his bangs fall in front of his eyes, and he pushes them back, his eyes on the guards. "My father suggests I might go see the house he intends for my mother. Would you like to come?" He adds hastily, "He says the gardens are lovely."

She'd go with him even if they were going to walk through Hell. "Of course, I would. We're in this together," she says, and the conviction in her voice surprises her.

His lips turn up a little, but Tara can't tell if his smile is happy or sad. "I suppose we are."

The guards have all gone stone-faced again, and there is still no guide.

"Where is this garden?" Tara asks in a slightly too-loud voice, hoping someone takes the hint and offers directions. None of the guards so much as blink at her words.

Lionel huffs, and Tara looks up to see him smiling genuinely. "Finding it is not a problem." He holds out his arm. Tara takes it and her heart races to be close to him again, to feel the camaraderie she'd felt in his village... and more... Together they step out of the foyer. In the hallway beyond, just to their right, are a small throng of people in brightly colored clothes. Tara surreptitiously studies them, wondering if they were the source of the voices she heard earlier. Some of the men are wearing swords, the hilts gleaming with jewels. If Tara's fantasy reading has taught her anything, it's that weapons with lots of bling are either magical, ceremonial, or just plain vanity. Are these Asgard's idle rich? Does such a thing exist on Asgard?

Lionel leans toward her, and she feels his breath against her ear. Her skin heats deliciously. "Don't let me bump into a wall when I work my magic," he whispers, giving her arm a squeeze.

Before she can say a word, Lionel's body becomes heavier, and she glances up to see his pupils dilated.

One male member of the maybe nobility comes forward. "Lord Odinson," he says and Lionel's arm goes rigid in Tara's. She looks up. His gaze is clear again, his focus on the speaker.

The man bows. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cyo Tiewson, grandson of Tyr. Pardon the eavesdropping, but my companions and I couldn't help but hear the lady say you're looking for the gardens."

He bows once more to Tara, but not as deeply.

"Thank you for your generous offer," Lionel says, bowing, a little less deeply than Cyo had bowed to Tara. "But Lady Tara and I have some family business to attend to. I fear it would be most tiresome."

That was a particularly delicate, long-winded "no thank you." Is that how things work here? Playing along, Tara gives a slight curtsy to Cyo.

"We would not find it tiresome at all!" declares Cyo with a smile that shows all of his teeth. "Let us be your friends here, Lord!" His companions step forward, and Cyo casually drops his hand upon his sword's pommel. One by one, his friends echo his move. "There are dangers in the gardens and Asgard for which friends would be useful. Unicorns, the site of Hoenir's hut and all his abominations—spidermice, winged snakes, the occasional stray basilisk..." He rubs the pommel of his sword.

Tara's eyes narrow. Cyo and his friends are too close... their smiles too predatory. It's obviously a threat half-disguised as friendship.

"We'll be fine," Lionel says. At his words, Tara feels the tiniest frisson of electricity.

"Really," says Cyo, stepping into their space. "We mean only—" Cyo yelps and removes his hand from his sword. His friends do likewise. "It's so cold it burns!" says one.

"Thank you so much for your courtesy," Lionel says. "But your concern is wholly unnecessary, as touching as it is. I'll remember it."

Cyo scowls, but steps back. Frowning, he says to his companions, "Come on," and his friends follow him away. Lionel and Tara stand motionless as the group passes. From their departing backs Tara hears, "An elf bastard with airs," and more confusingly, a word her ears hear as "argr," but her mind wants to connect with "faggot." It's a word she'd never use in her life, and it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

"That last word," Lionel says. "I didn't understand it. Did you catch it?"

Tara blinks, and tries to think of the word in Elvish, and can't find it. That derogatory slur for homosexuality doesn't translate to Lionel's mother tongue. There is a term for homosexual, however. When she says it, Lionel snorts. "Of course. They believe that magic is only for women and men who prefer other men." He tilts his head. "I don't understand Asgardians."

Down the hall, one of the women in the party looks over her shoulder, and then says in a stage whisper, "Those ears are hideous."

Lionel smiles ruefully, and Tara's heart sinks. He doesn't fit here, but he has to stay because he helped her.

"I like your ears," she whispers.

Lionel's eyes narrow, and for an instant Tara sees suspicion there. But then he laughs, turns to her, and touches an ear tip. "Yes, I think I remember that."

Tara's face heats, remembering those points between her fingers. They're almost as close now as they had been then...

Lionel's smile evaporates. He leans toward her. Tara's breath catches, but then he lifts his chin and looks away. His eyes dart about nervously. "I should see the home Odin intends for my mother."

At his words, Tara has a sickening sensation in her stomach thinking of Tavende in the Dark Lands. She squeezes his arm and whispers, "I'm sure those ravens will find her soon—probably by evening."

Lionel's focus comes back to her. His eyes hold hers for too long, and Tara sees such warmth there. It feels like a kiss, like potential. She swallows... if they just get through this time, they have all the time in the world to find where that potential might lead.

"I don't know if you're lying," he says, squeezing her arm. "But thank you."

She nods, and his eyes get unfocused. She steadies him as he wavers on his feet. "I know the way," he whispers. Lifting his head, he puts his free hand on top of hers. Butterflies soar in her stomach.

They stride past guards, through a pair of enormous double doors, and emerge in brilliant sunshine at the top of a set of wide steps overlooking a garden. For the first half mile or so, it looks like Tara expects of Versailles: flowers, hedges, trees, fountains, and green spaces all in orderly formations. But beyond that, she sees a wilder forest that stretches to distant purple mountains. Lionel leads her down the steps in that direction.

Stepping onto a gravel path, he asks, "How is it that Asgardians, who have plenty exposure to elves, find pointed ears hideous, but a human does not?"

Tara looks at the distant mountains, enjoying the breeze she imagines is rolling off their peaks. She smiles. "Let me tell you about Mr. Spock."

Inwardly, she thinks, _and let me tell you about Spock and Uhura ..._

The gravel of the Lake Trail crunches beneath Lionel's feet. They leave the manicured area of the garden and enter the wilder, forested sections on the gardens. Tara's slender arm is still in his. She hadn't pulled away after he finished his astral projection, or when he put his hand on hers. She's forgiven him for the night he stole the light from her eyes and her free will in one horrible moment. He's not sure he deserves even this courtly gesture.

Instead he tries his best to wrap his head around human star treks. It has helped keep his worry for his mother at bay, and him distracted from Tara's nearness. A little bit.

"I don't think elves are logical like Vulcans," Lionel teases. "But they are nearly perfect."

"Mm... hmm..." Tara murmurs, an edge in her tone like steam escaping from a kettle left too long on the boil. He smirks at her disapproval.

Rolling her eyes, she says, "You're teasing me."

"Yes," he admits, his mood turning, remembering the events of the past day—Rogier, Benedal, his people's reaction to his heritage—it feels like the joke is on him. He stares into the distance without seeing. "Everything I thought I knew..." He can't finish the sentence.

Beside him, Tara stops short, drawing him to a halt with her. "Lionel," she whispers. "There's a statue of you!"

He follows her gaze and sees a gilded statue of a man with curly hair and features nearly as symmetrical as an elf's, but slightly broader. In some places, the gold is wearing away, revealing gray stone.

Slipping from his arm, Tara steps off the trail and walks around the statue, head tilted in obvious fascination. "The curly hair is wrong, and the ears, but..." She looks from the statue to him, and back. "He could be your brother."

"And so, he was," booms a voice through the trees. Tara and Lionel both spin.

Thor emerges from the underbrush. His hammer is at his hip; in his hands he has a bow and arrow. For someone so enormous, he moves with surprising grace and stealth.

"That is a statue of our departed brother Baldur," Thor rumbles, inclining his head to the statue. "The bright, beautiful, brave, and wise crown prince." Smiling sharply, Thor levels his thunder cloud blue eyes on Lionel. Lionel doesn't fidget, but cold sparks at his fingertips, unbidden.

"What did Baldur do?" Tara asks, her voice all innocence.

"That is the big question," Lionel answers, eyes still on Thor. There are many first-hand accounts of Baldur's beauty, and many accounts extolling him for being brave and wise, but there aren't examples of those qualities.

Thor's expression softens. "Indeed." But then his eyes narrow. "Think you could make a better king than Baldur would have?"

Lionel's aware of Tara sliding protectively closer to him, but keeps his eyes on Thor.

"No one but Odin will ever be king," Lionel responds. "He'll never relinquish the throne." Lionel lets out a breath. "Not that I'd want it. I've served Her Majesty long enough to see what rulership entails. It is a lot of tedious work for rewards I don't want." Tara looks at him, eyes wide and questioning.

Lionel shrugs. It's not something he even wants to lie about. "I like a comfortable home, nice food, a soft bed, but I don't want a palace, the most extravagant feasts, or... well, I do want a soft bed. The night in the cell and then with my back against the tree, present company excepted, were less than ideal."

Tara smiles. "I'm woefully unambitious in my relatives' opinions."

Lionel imagines Odin will have similar opinions about him... but if he were ambitious, he'd probably be dead by now, like Baldur. Asgardians blame Loki, but the Elf Queen has other ideas.

Thor laughs, but not cruelly. "I believe you speak the truth." The huge man's arms sag at his sides. "It would be nice to have gotten a chance to get to know you, brother." He sketches a shallow bow to Tara. "And you, Ms. Tara Gibson."

Tara tilts her head. "Are you going somewhere?"

"To Jotunheim..." He lifts his eyes to the trees. "I thought it might be nice to have a tromp around the gardens one last time. They're not the same though now, though. Not since..." His voice trails off.

Birds call in the distance, and the silence stretches too long.

"Jotunheim?" Lionel asks, trying to fill the void. "Why there?"

Thor frowns. "For Ragnarok, brother."

Lionel swallows. After the battle in Chicago, the queen had said, "When Loki's power grows, Ragnarok is on the horizon..."

Tara whispers, "That's the end of the world, isn't it?"

Thor raises an eyebrow. "Or the beginning. It depends on your perspective, I suppose." He smiles wistfully. "My lover, Jarnsaxa, is in Jotunheim, and so are my sons Magnus and Modi. In truth, there is no place I'd rather be for Ragnarok, and no one I'd rather be with..." He lets out a breath. "Although, it would be better if Loki were there."

Tara puts a hand to her mouth.

Lionel gulps, but remembers something about Loki and Thor being friends, and enemies, and friends again. It seems to have been a cycle for much longer than Lionel has been alive.

Thor appraises them. "I hear Father invited you both to stay."

Lionel smiles tightly. "I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," says Thor. His eyes go to Tara. "And you, Ms. Gibson?"

Tara takes a step forward. "It seems like... I might help keep a lot of people safe if I stay here?" The uncertainty in her voice catches Lionel off guard.

"Aye," Thor responds, sounding weary. "Joining Father would be best if it's safety that you want most for the human race."

A bird trills overhead. The moment feels tense, and Lionel can suddenly feel his heart beating in his chest. "Odin has promised Tara the Apples of Idunn. She'll be magical, like us. She'll live." This is the only place for Tara's safety. How could she choose any other option?

There is a crack overhead, and a twig falls upon Tara's shoulder. Clutching the spot, she hops forward.

Lionel looks up, sees a squirrel, and feels a flush of magic on his face.

"Ratatoskr," hisses Thor.

"Fuckity-nuts and basilisk balls," chirps the squirrel.

Lionel's eyes go wide. Ratatoskr, servant of the Norns, is the biggest gossip in the Nine Realms.

"What are you doing here?" Thor rumbles, putting away his bow.

"Observing a heartfelt family drama between the bastard princes of the most powerful asshole in the Nine Realms," squeaks the rodent. It puts a paw to its chest and sniffs. "It's been fucking touching."

Lionel's legs feel weak. He has seen Ratatoskr about the queen's palace occasionally. The squirrel had never paid attention to him before, but now that he is officially a son of Odin, he's apparently of interest to Ratatoskr's mistresses, the All Seeing, very powerful, and deadly Norns.

Ratatoskr winks at Tara. "Of course, I wanted to meet the Nine Realms' next goddess, too. Hubba, hubba, sweet thang. You know, I know some ladies who like webs—"

Reaching for his hammer, Thor says, "Liar! You're here to steal apples, aren't you?"

Swishing his tail, Ratatoskr chitters, "Dragon's dung, it isn't even the chitting-chat season!"

Before Lionel can blink, Thor's hammer goes whipping through the air. Bits of tree branch and sparks of lightning spray around them, and the smell of burning fur fills the air.

"How about I tell Odin how successful your trip to Jotunheim to find Loki will be?" shrieks Ratatoskr.

Catching his hammer, Thor roars.

"Don't—" Lionel calls. But his half-brother doesn't seem to hear. The hammer goes ripping through the trees. Ratatoskr leaps. Sparks and branches fly and a limb as large as a man lands right beside Lionel with a ground-shaking thump.

"Run!" shouts Tara.

"Right," says Lionel.

Heads bowed, they dash toward the trail. Panting, Lionel looks back. Thor has vanished into the trees, but Lionel hears him shouting, "You little rat, come back here and fight like a man!" Ratatoskr's responses are harder to make out, but Lionel catches expletives in half a dozen languages and "Where the fuck is Loki, Thor?" followed by maniacal laughter.

"That... was weird," Tara says. Her nose wrinkles in a way that makes Lionel want to kiss it. "And what a foul mouth."

Lionel shakes his head. "To be fair, the squirrel language is almost entirely swears, and ours are rather tame in comparison." He frowns. "If he's here, it means the Norns are watching closely. The queen always said that if Ratatoskr was about, some pivotal event in the Nine Realms was about to unfold."

"A new prince?" Tara ventures.

"Or a new goddess," Lionel replies, his lips tugging up in a smile.

They begin to walk again, and the gravel on the trail crunches beneath their feet. "What he said... about Ragnarok, could it be true?" she whispers.

His smile melts, and he cannot answer.

Tara draws to a halt. "That's a yes, isn't it?" The gold of her gossamer over-skirt lifts in the breeze. The only thing wrong with this moment is the distance between them. He wants to stay in this moment, safe, forever with her. Safety isn't guaranteed here, even without Ragnarok, if Cyo is any indication. Still... they might live here for centuries. His mother, too. Lionel can't be in Alfheim for Ragnarok, and so he can't be where he wants to be, but he could be with who he wants to be with.

"The queen always says Ragnarok could come at any time," Lionel says. She'd said much more than that, about how its coming was presaged by Loki's rise in power. "She always says to live today as best as we possibly can." He holds out his arm.

Stepping closer to him, Tara takes it.

His natural affinity might be toward ice, but her touch makes his heart pound and his body heat. She has forgiven him... In Alfheim, she'd rejected him because she'd wanted something permanent. Would she believe him if he tells her his goals have changed? He puts a hand on top of hers, and his heart lifts. In Asgard, she'll be immortal, and he'll have all the time in the world to convince her.

She looks down the trail. "We need to see that house."

They do, and thinking about his mother's situation makes Lionel feel as though the sun has dimmed. His hand on hers tightens. She entwines their fingers and Lionel feels the burden of worry lighten.

They round a bend in the trail, and the lake starts to become visible through the trees. He catches sight of slate blue water and a field.

"The house is a bit remote, isn't it?" Tara asks.

Lionel sucks in a breath. "The better to be safe from the queen."

As they walk, a pavilion of white and blue silks, probably for a picnic, comes into view. Beneath it are many ladies and servants. A feminine voice rises from the direction of the pavilion. "Lionel!"

Squinting, Lionel sees a woman waving at him near the pavilion. She has dark skin and nearly black hair wound up in braids that are arranged like a crown. She wears a yellow silk dress appropriate for upper class wives of warriors. At her feet runs a little girl with a slightly darker skin tone, and hair pulled back into puffs tied up with colorful ribbons.

"Lionel!" says the woman again, coming closer. "Ah... you don't recognize me."

Lionel blinks and then smiles, recognizing the human woman. "Hannah! You look so young!" She looks like a human of... well... perhaps slightly younger than Tara's age, but for the past few hundred years she's had the luxury of Idunn's apples. Besides bestowing immortality, they have also made her magical. Lionel can feel it licking against his skin. He blinks and sees the color of her magic is a dark green. Blinking again, he manages to bring his vision back to normal.

"That's because when you first met me, you were still a child," she says.

Lionel feels his face flush. "That's probably true." At the time he'd seen her, she'd seemed impossibly old. Although, it might have been weariness and fear that had made Hannah seem so.

"You barely came to my waist. You've grown so much!" Hannah exclaims, still smiling and holding up her arms for an embrace. Lionel leans in and returns the gesture.

Hannah's dark eyes slide to Tara. "So, this must be the young woman from Earth."

"Hannah, this is Tara," Lionel says, and then gives them a quick introduction.

Hannah says, "I hear you're from the Indiana Territory."

Tara's eyes are wide and surprised. "Yes... I'm from Illinois, but it hasn't been the Indiana territory since..." Her eyes search the clouds, and then she looks down in amazement. "... 1818."

"I so want to talk to you," Hannah whispers. "I hear you are the equivalent of a minor magician."

"And I would like to talk to you, ma'am," says Tara, leaning forward and nodding.

Hannah takes her hand. "I think we will have the chance." Biting her lip, Hannah looks up at Lionel. "But I'm afraid it is not just luck that brings me here. I received an invitation I could not refuse."

"Pardon?" says Lionel.

Motion in the pavilion catches his eye. A great lady is coming forward. Her hair is light brown, her skin slightly darker than his own, and her eyes are blue. She wears white and sky blue, and he feels her magic even from this distance. On either side of her are female attendants in gowns nearly as rich as her own.

"Lionel and Tara," the woman says imperiously. "We would be so pleased if you would join us for lunch."

Clearing her throat, Hannah says, "Tara and Lionel, may I introduce you to Her Majesty, Queen Frigga, wife of Odin, Leader of the Nine Realms."

## 18

# Lunch with the Queen

"So how are you enjoying your stay in Asgard thus far, Lionel?" Queen Frigga asks from her seat at the head of the table. The hairs on the back of Tara's neck rise. The woman says it like she might say, "I would like to stab you in the eye with this butter knife."

At her right side, Hannah goes very still.

Tara's eyes slide to Lionel, seated at her left, food virtually untouched. "It has been most agreeable, Your Majesty," Lionel says, his voice much more deferential than Tara thinks she could manage.

Tara hadn't wanted to think of tiny, sweet Tavende as Odin's piece on the side, but according to the myths, Odin and Frigga have been together since the Vikings sailed. Lionel is only a few hundred years old... Frigga has every right to be angry. Her fingers tighten on her fork. Still, it isn't Lionel's fault.

"Hmmm..." says the queen. "Might I ask where you are headed?"

Lionel bows his head over his gilded plate. "His Highness suggested that we investigate a house that has recently come into his possession. It is off the Lake Trail."

"Ah..." says the queen. "Angrboða's Hall... Loki's house."

Lionel's head snaps up. Tara's eyes go wide.

"Pardon?" says Lionel, and Tara's amazed that his voice still sounds normal. She's pretty sure she'd squeak.

The queen smiles thinly. "It is Loki's house. Odin didn't tell you?"

Her ladies-in-waiting erupt into whispers.

"Such a dreadful place."

"Odin gave him that hall to keep him and his mischief away from the palace."

"Thank the Norns we're rid of him and his children."

Queen Frigga's voice rises above the din. "Angrboða's Hall—oh, really, it is a cottage. I don't know why Loki insisted on putting on airs—has an interesting history. Technically, it belonged to his wife, Angrboða. That... woman. Loki won the house in a bet, but then he lost it in a card game... or was it dice, or maybe chess? No matter. Loki won it back and then sold the cottage to his wife for a song so that he could never legally gamble it away again. The owner, previous to Loki, was the All Father himself. He kept it for... special guests... usually from Midgard."

One of the ladies drops her fork. The ting sounds as loud as a thunderclap. Lionel's lip curls, and Tara feels a wave of cold emanating from him. She's not sure what she's missed in Frigga's comment, but Lionel's glass is frosting over. Afraid he'll freeze it solid, she lightly brushes his arm. Lionel jerks at her touch, but the wave of frost abates. The ladies start eating again. Tara's arms remain locked at her side. The queen must notice because she says, "Oh, do not be distressed, Tara Gibson. My husband does not prefer strong women."

Tara's still unpacking that comment when soft crackles rise all along the table.

The ladies gasp. Tara glances at her glass. It's frosted over, and her water has partially frozen. The other guests' glasses are the same.

Across the table from her, Eir puts her fingers on her glass, and the ice melts away. All the other ladies except Hannah do likewise and smile wickedly at Lionel.

From her position at the end of the table, Frigga says, "Thank you, my drink was a little warm."

Tara feels heat rising in her chest. This whole lunch is just a game to toy with Lionel.

Her finger taps rapidly on her lap, remembering the tiny elf woman swaying in Benedal's thrall. Maybe Tavende is weak magically, but so is Tara. Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, Tara says, "Tavende stood up to Lady Benedal of the Light Elves when she tried to enslave me."

One of Frigga's ladies puts down her glass. In a tittering voice, she says, "I'm sure 'enslave' is too strong a word."

Tara smiles tightly. "Benedal didn't call it that, but that was what it was. She used magic to control me, to try to make me her attendant out of some sort of weird..." Tara remembers Benedal saying she would look like Tara if she was human. "... vanity. If you have no choice, you are a slave."

"That is so," says Hannah, and some of the ladies at the table look to her almost fearfully.

Keeping her chin high, Tara looks to the head of the table, expecting to find fury in the queen's eyes. Instead, Queen Frigga's eyes are downcast. She looks almost ashamed, but then the queen's back stiffens and she looks at Lionel rather than Tara. In a cold voice, she says, "Your mother is a silly elf who was careless with her name."

Lionel's nostrils flare, and there is the slight sheen of sweat on his skin. She sees his Adam's Apple bob.

Tara remembers him wondering aloud if Odin knew everyone's names. The elves have power of compulsion over anyone whose full name they know. Would other magical creatures have such power over an elf? And is the queen implying that Odin would use that power against Tavende? Or had he already? Tara's heart beats fast. With her left hand, she searches for Lionel's hand under the table. She finds it and squeezes, but he doesn't respond.

In English, Hannah mutters, "That is enough." Her accent sounds a bit like Tara's friends from Ghana. In Asgardian she says, "So, Tara is a minor magician at a university on Midgard's northwestern continent." She turns to Tara. "I'd so love to hear about your education."

"I wouldn't know where to start," Tara says through gritted teeth, not wanting to talk at all.

"At the beginning," Hannah replies, tone becoming sharp. "How old were you when you first went to school?"

Tara almost doesn't answer, but then Hannah elbows her sharply.

"I was four when I began preschool," Tara replies.

There are exclamations from around the table, and Hannah begins peppering her with extremely detailed questions. Soon, Tara is so bored with herself, she thinks she might cry. But Frigga doesn't interrupt, so Tara supposes it's for a good cause.

This could be her life—magic, viciousness, and tedium. She supposes Dean Kowalski's last faculty party wasn't that much different.

Tara breathes out a sigh of relief when dessert is over, but then the queen says, "Lionel, you will attend me now," and her relief pops like a soap bubble.

Lionel rises and so do the queen's ladies. Tara almost does, too, but Hannah puts a hand on her arm and holds her back with surprising strength. "He'll be all right," Hannah whispers as Lionel, the queen, and her ladies leave the table. "The queen does not like the taint of murder in her court."

Tara blinks. "That isn't precisely reassuring." Maybe court politics are a little bit more vicious than faculty turf wars? She follows Lionel with her eyes. He and the queen are disappearing into the fog that has mysteriously rolled off the lake. The ladies follow at a discreet distance.

Hannah says, "Nor would she do such a thing around Asgard's youngest child, and only infant."

"Only infant?" Tara asks. As if on cue, she hears a baby cry, and a maid out on the grass with Hannah's little girl brings a tiny bundle to the table.

"Ah," says Hannah. "He's hungry."

As the maid draws closer, Tara sees the tiny smushed nose, wrinkled skin, and overall wizened appearance of the child. "He's a newborn!" she exclaims. She wouldn't think him more than a day or two old.

Hannah shakes her head. "He's two years old."

At Tara's look of surprise, Hannah holds up a hand. "But don't worry, he's not ill. It's just that things here..." The other woman frowns. "Things here aren't changing, and our children aren't growing at a normal rate." Her eyes slide to Tara. "Some of the ladies think my magical talent is fertility because I'm the only woman to have borne a child in..." She looks to the side. "Oh... fifty years."

Tara's jaw drops.

Hannah gives her a tight smile. "But I think it is that I am human. Oh, so are some of the Valkyries, but they're too busy to give birth during the first decades of training, and there hasn't been one recruited since the last World War." She shakes her head. The maid hands her the tiny infant. Rocking him gently, Hannah continues, "Asgard, I think, needs humans. We are the youngest of the races, we are change, and Asgard needs change... I'm so glad that you'll be taking the loyalty oath and joining us."

Tara squeaks, "Loyalty oath?"

"Do you think you can take my son Baldur's place? That you can so easily become the next Golden Prince?" Queen Frigga hisses, staring out at the lake. Her magic whips around her, creating the fog.

"It is not my desire to take the place of Prince Baldur," Lionel says, his fists clenching at his side. "But for Tara's sake, I must stay." If he doesn't make this work out, she will die. He knows the implications of Odin having "mortal guests" at Angrboða's Hall—he kept his mortal mistresses there. Odin is famous for being the ancestor of the royal families of Midgard's Northern Europe. Is that Odin's intention for his mother? Lionel doesn't think she'd be receptive to it... she has never spoken of Odin.

He feels like he is being cleaved in two by a very tiny sharp blade and stretched in very different directions. He doesn't believe his mother will want to be here... but he doesn't believe she'd want him to endanger Tara's chance at immortality, either. For Tara, anywhere but Asgard is death.

The queen turns to him, and for a moment, he thinks he sees pity, or... something, but then her eyes become unfocused. "You are a liar, and a poor one. You came here to steal my Golden Son's legacy. I will fight you every step of the way, and your whore mother."

Lionel feels himself vibrate with rage. Is that why she taunted him with the implication that she knows his mother's real name? The fog around them turns to flakes of ice.

Frigga rolls her eyes, and he feels her magic hum around them. The ice turns to mist again. The queen smiles sharply. "I know all your tricks, Lionel Whatever Your Name Is."

The words sting with their truth. He doesn't know his name anymore. Is it the one his mother gave him? Or is he, as Cyo suggested, Odinson? If Cyo had spoken his full name, would Lionel have bent to his whim? Odinson is Thor's surname, and he is a bastard. Lionel's stomach curls. Releasing a breath, he tries to reason with Frigga. "I want Tara to have a chance to live, that is all. My mother entrusted me with her welfare, and I must see it through. I'm sure I'll never replace Baldur in the hearts of the people or your husband's."

He hears her swallow. "Of course you won't. No one could."

Lionel bows. "As you say." He is so tired, weary down to his bones. Not just of her, but royalty in general.

The queen spins on her heel and walks back through the mist. Lionel remains. Frigga's accusation that his mother had been careless with her name is ringing in his mind. Had Odin known it when he'd visited Alfheim... Lionel feels like his body has morphed into lead. Odin couldn't have known it. If the All Father had compelled his mother, she never would have had Lionel... but perhaps she thought he was the son of Sol? He swallows, remembering emerging from the Dark Lands and his mother throwing herself into his arms as all of his neighbors had hung back. He closes his eyes. There couldn't have been any compulsion in his conception. There couldn't have been.

He blinks at the lake, slate gray and still. Could his mother brush off a king who knew her name? Could she brush off one that didn't?

But what option is there for Tara if they don't stay here? Or even for his mother? The Dark Lands, or death in the land of the Light Elves. He is stronger now... he might be able to hire himself out to King Sutr of the Fire Giants, or King Utgard of the Frost Giants, but a life in a realm of Fire or Ice would be even less safe than here.

The fog begins to dissipate, but its chill seems to have sunk deep into his chest. He feels like he can't breathe.

Lionel isn't sure how long he stands staring at the motionless waters, but he doesn't turn around until he hears the rattle of the pavilion being dismantled. The fog has completely lifted, and he sees some servants wrestling with the silks and others wrapping up the food.

Tara is standing next to Hannah. Lionel hears Hannah say, "Are you sure you won't return with us to the palace?"

"Yes," says Tara. "We need to see Loki's house."

Hannah leans toward her. "I'm sure Lionel can use his influence to get his mother better accommodations."

Lionel stands a little straighter. Hannah is right. He is Odin's son. Surely, if he presses Odin, he could get someplace more appropriate. He lets out a breath. He is so unused to being in a position of power among royalty. He can make this work, for Tara, his mother, and himself.

"We still have to see it," Tara says. "I wish... I wish I could have spoken to you longer."

"We'll have all the time in the world to talk," Hannah replies with a smile.

Lionel has begun moving unconsciously toward them, and now he's close enough to see Tara's brows gathering together, and the downturn of her mouth.

"We don't have to go there, Tara," Lionel interjects.

Spinning toward him, but not meeting his eyes, Tara exclaims, "Yes, yes, we do."

"You should take a picnic basket," Hannah says. "Lionel must be hungry." She gestures to a servant, who comes forward with a basket.

The servant bows. "I'll accompany you, sir."

"We'd rather be alone," Tara says too quickly.

To be alone with Tara for a few hours before facing the king... Lionel reaches for the basket. "I'll take it," he says, not caring if it is right or proper by the standards of Asgardian or Alfheim royalty.

Turning back to Hannah, Tara says, "I wish you all the best."

Hannah smiles brightly. "I have all the best."

Tara nods and smiles.

Lionel holds up his arm and she takes it. They don't speak until they round a bend, and are out of sight of the last of the luncheon party.

Tara draws to a halt and drops his arm.

Turning to her, he finds her looking up at him with wide, distressed eyes. He hears the buzz of insects, the flap of wings, and the beat of his own heart. "What is it?" he whispers. "You can tell me. We are in this together."

She looks down at the ground and closes her eyes. Stepping closer, he kisses her brow. It's a chaste kiss. But he swears he can feel the warmth of her, even through the armor he wears, and he can't step away. His free hand goes to the back of her head, and threads with the hair at the nape of her neck. He's just being comforting. When he bends lower, it's only to reassure her and whisper, "You can tell me, Tara," against her lips. But then their lips are so close... he feels like he's being dragged by a pull more ancient than either of their races. His lips meet hers, and she doesn't pull away. She steps forward, and it feels like she is stepping into him. The basket slides from his arm, and lands with the sound of breaking porcelain. But Lionel's hands, arms, and heart is full of Tara. His body is ready to be full with her, too.

Her nails trail down his neck, and his hand slides down her back, trying to get her closer. Their lips crush together and come apart again and again, until they're both breathless and panting. She tastes like... salt.

He pulls back, and her cheeks are shining with tears.

He cups her cheek. She doesn't pull away from him, but her eyes are downcast.

He inclines his head in question.

Looking up at him with warm brown eyes glossy with tears, she whispers, "Lionel, you have to take me home."

Lionel pulls back as though Tara has struck him. "What?"

The distance between them makes her ache. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, afraid if she opens them, she'll lose her nerve, Tara says, "I have to go home."

"No, Tara," he whispers, his hands coming to her shoulders. "I know this place is strange, and the politics..." He sucks in a breath. "But Tara, we can manage. You're sensitive and smart, you'll pick up their games fast and play better than any of them."

Tara sniffs, lifts her head, but can't look him in the eye.

"I know I haven't been very princely. I was raised a peasant, but I learned to be a steward—I became very good at managing royalty and their whims—I can be a good prince." His voice drops to a whisper. "Your prince."

Those words catch her heart. "Your prince." She thinks of him fighting Rogier and the each-uisge. More tears fall from her eyes. "You've already been very princely."

His fingers ghost beneath her chin and he wipes a few of her tears away. She opens her eyes. His expression is still uncomprehending.

The afternoon sun is dazzling. The forest is vibrant and alive. The woods are magical... and so is he and what she feels, but... "The loyalty oath, Lionel. I can't take it." Odin had mentioned it, almost as an afterthought, he hadn't explained it to her. Hannah had. "I'd have to pledge my obedience to Odin, and I can't do that."

Hannah had been untroubled by the idea. "Pledging obedience to a king is like pledging obedience to your husband," the other woman had said with a shrug. "It is part of the natural order."

"Doesn't every subject owe allegiance to a monarch?" Lionel asks, rocking back on his heels.

And Tara is briefly shocked, just as she had been with Hannah. They're both from very different cultures. Recovering, Tara says, "Allegiance is not obedience."

Lionel's mouth gets very tight. He looks away. "Is the distinction so important?"

"Of course it's important!" Tara retorts. "Allegiance leaves you with free will and judgment. Allegiance is open to interpretation. Obedience to a man is slavery!" She doesn't mean to shout, but she does.

Beginning to pace, Lionel says, "With royalty, you have to be clever and indirect, but you can still get your way." He meets her gaze. "You're subtle, Tara. You will be fine."

Tara shakes her head. "No, I won't. Lionel, none of Odin's Einherjar disobey him. None." Hannah had said it was because Odin is just and good. Her husband had risen from an illiterate foot soldier to an officer. Hannah had been so delighted that not just Abraham, but she had been given an education, and so had all her children. They all ate the Apples of Idunn, and had all the rights of citizens of Asgard. Tara sees why she would be loyal for that. This place is wonderful compared to anything Hannah knew in the Carolinas in the 1800s.

However...

"There is always some idiot who defies even the best orders eventually," Tara says. "But Hannah said none of Odin's Einherjar ever do. Can you tell me your father doesn't use compulsion in some way? That magic isn't part of the oath?"

Lionel takes a step back.

Tara's shoulders fall. "You can't, can you?"

Lionel's lips part, but he says nothing.

"There's more," Tara says, dropping her eyes. "I think that Odin may be considering war against my world."

"Not war," says Lionel. "Influence."

She looks up at him, shocked that he would say it so easily.

"The All Father's rule is one of influence," Lionel says. "Alfheim, Vanaheim, and Asgard, where his rule is most accepted, are the most peaceful places in the Nine Realms. Certainly, more peaceful than Midgard! I've heard of your great wars and the weapons your kind created."

Tara's jaw falls. Thor had said something about joining Odin being the best thing if it was peace she wanted for the human race. Was peace what she wanted? She thinks of the stifling social order of Alfheim. Asgard's system seems slightly more meritocratic, but only if you want to be a warrior. That in itself is stifling.

Her lips pinch. Is stifling the populace the way peace has to be maintained?

She narrows her eyes. "Mighty coincidental that the regions that are less enthusiastic are more violent," she murmurs.

Lionel stiffens, and she can tell she hit a nerve.

"He keeps them destabilized, doesn't he?" she whispers.

Insects hum. There is a rustling in the undergrowth. She hears the flutter of wings in the trees.

"I want to go home," she says.

Lionel's voice rises in a shout. "You'll die!"

Before she can say a word, he spins and storms down the trail.

Lionel's gone nearly twenty paces when he realizes that Tara isn't following him.

He turns around and sees that she's picked up the basket he dropped. She hasn't moved otherwise, and is looking at him uncertainly. _We're in this together._ The words he'd said earlier churn in his gut.

Why can't she see this is the only way?

Even from this distance, he can see the flower in her hair is still as fresh as it was hours earlier. Magic, no doubt.

That is the reason for her fear. This world is strange to him, but it's stranger to her. She is afraid, and she just needs time to find her footing. The oath is unpalatable to her, but he is the prince, he does have leverage, he can convince Odin to change it... with time, and he can change her mind, too... with time.

He needs to stall, and dealing with unreasonable royalty has given him a few centuries of experience. Elves can't lie, but he can tell a truth. "I need to think of what I will say to my father," he says.

Tara takes a few steps forward, chin lifted, expression imploring. She's carrying the basket awkwardly before her with both arms.

"You'll help me?" she whispers.

"Always." Without thinking on it, Lionel falls into a bow—just as he would when faced with a member of royalty he'd have to sway with subtlety and tact.

She comes closer, her walk toddling, hampered by the basket. He hadn't really thought of the weight of it; even with the armor he wears on his chest, his new body's size and strength made it unremarkable.

Biting her lip, she asks, "When you said I'd die... you didn't mean right away, did you?" She scans the forest on either side, and adds more softly, "Odin doesn't seem like the kind of guy you say no to."

Lionel draws back, remembering his first meeting with Hannah, Abraham, and their son Benjamin, then a newborn. Odin had arrived just as a slave hunter had fired his weapon at Abraham. Odin had stopped the deadly projectile, suspending it in midair and time. He'd immobilized the slave hunters similarly, leaving them angry statues, and then he'd offered Abraham a chance to join his Einherjar. Abraham had said he'd die with his family or live with them. Lionel doesn't remember any families of Einherjar being allowed to come with their husbands. Odin had glanced at Leenine and Lionel, and then said Abraham's family would be welcome to come, too. If Leenine and Lionel hadn't been there, would Odin still have offered to take the whole family? Lionel does know that if Abraham had refused they all would have been left to die.

"Lionel?"

Tara's voice brings him back to the present. He inclines his head. "This is a special case."

"What does that mean?" There is a hard edge in her voice.

His shoulders fall. "Sometimes when a mortal has wound up mixed up in the affairs of Light Elves, or other magical creatures, they've had their memories of the events removed."

The hard edge in her expression melts. "I don't want to forget you."

He feels as though gravity has lifted. "I don't want that, either."

A bird calls in the trees.

"So where are we going?" she asks.

Where are they going? He looks down the trail. The best way to give Odin and Tara time is not to be available this evening before Odin leaves for Muspelheim. The best way to do that is to accidentally leave this world, and have an "innocent" diversion in Vanaheim or perhaps even in the regions of Svartalfheim loyal to the All Father.

But using the main World Gates is out of the question. They'll be guarded by mages and Einherjar.

His eyes narrow, remembering the Asgardian lore he's picked up from Her Majesty. Somewhere in this realm there is a house with doors to all the worlds, larger on the inside than it is on the outside. "A chaos creation," Her Majesty had called it.

Scooping the basket from her hands, he says, "I know where we'll go."

## 19

# The House of Chaos

Tara stares at the cottage. The slate roof is in good repair, and ivy is crawling up the sides. The yard is a mess of wildflowers, nearly hip high. There is a path of slate tiles on the ground just barely visible in the encroaching vegetation.

"Is this... Loki's house?" she asks, remembering their original destination.

"Yes," says Lionel, standing beside her.

"It's not what I expected," she says. "I expected it to be more..." She finds herself switching to English. "... supervillainy."

He doesn't call it gibberish. Ever since she told him her plans to leave, he's seemed on edge. He isn't meeting her gaze, and his motions have been sharp and abrupt.

It's because of her. _You'll die,_ were his first words, not, _you're crazy_ or _you're an idiot_. She feels crazy, like an idiot, and sick to her stomach as well—at the thought of leaving him, but also at the thought of staying. Odin's oath, and the threat to Earth... both of those are too much to ignore.

"This isn't what I expected, either," Lionel says, staring down the overgrown path. "But there have to be World Gates here."

Tara gulps. "Will helping me get you in trouble? I could take the basket and you know... disappear into the forest with it. Cyo said there are unicorns around. Maybe I could convince one to take me home?" She's heard that virgin thing is a myth.

Lionel turns to her, nostrils flared slightly. "They'd gore you to death."

Or maybe it isn't.

Setting down the basket with a clink of porcelain, he pulls out a sort of pastry. It's shaped like a cheap pie you get in rest stops, but from disappointing experience, Tara knows is filled with meat and vegetables. Taking a bite, he surveys the house, cottage, whatever, and says, "I expected it to be more... magical."

Tara starts down the path, but Lionel says, "Wait! There could be traps."

Tara waits. He finishes the pie, and then picks up another one. At her curious glance, he says, "Magic takes energy, and I have to be prepared."

He eats another two with hardly a word. The silent minutes seem to emphasize the distance between them. Tara wants to say something that will make it better... but it's impossible. She's leaving, forever. That is the end of their story. Ever after, just not happily. Finally, Lionel heads toward the cottage and tests the doorknob. "It's not magicked... or locked."

"Nobody steals from a supervillain," Tara muses. He doesn't ask what she means, and her heart feels heavy.

They both step into a foyer. Directly ahead is a hallway that leads to what looks like an old-fashioned kitchen, complete with a wood burning stove. There is also a staircase going to the floor above. To the right is what is probably a living room, and to the left is probably a dining room, judging by the shapes of the sheets covering furniture to both sides.

"I feel..." Lionel heads into the living room. A moment later he starts snapping off the armor on his torso. He sets it carefully upon a maybe-coffee table, and lies down on the floor in front of what looks like a chair. He rolls onto his back and ghosts his fingers along the bottom, eyes closed.

He looked good in the armor, but the shirt-tunic thing he wears falls over his body in a way that she can almost taste the muscles of his arms and shoulders just by looking. He's not bulky, just long and lean in the best possible way.

Lionel casually draws one leg up so it's bent at the knee, and Tara's eyes roam down the front seam of the tunic, over the flat planes of his stomach to—

She spins around. Would she really sell her soul for a good body and a handsome face? She swallows the lump in her throat. That's not all Lionel is, though. He's smart, funny, and curious when he's not being angry and aloof. The sparks between them, they're more than for his body _now_... she'd been attracted to him before, when he'd been shorter than her, and she's pretty sure he'd been attracted to her, too.

Closing her eyes, Tara takes a deep breath. She feels like she's being tempted by the devil. Spying through one eye, she surveys Loki's foyer. She's probably in the devil's house. It's homier than she would have thought.

From the living room comes the rip of cloth, and Tara's tongue darts across her lips. _Please let that be his shirt_... She stamps her foot, irritated with herself.

"It's not a gate," Lionel says.

Turning back to him, she finds him holding two sheathed knives in his hands. The sheaths are attached to slender black straps. Sitting up, he examines them. "I recognize the spell on these. They'll explode on impact if you want them to."

Slipping one out of its sheath, he turns it around in his hand. "Dwarven made, perfectly balanced."

Forcing herself to look at the blade and not Lionel, Tara notices it is perfectly symmetrical, and she'd guess that it's steel, small, and to her eyes, very sharp.

Lionel tosses it in the air, and Tara gasps in horror as his hand whips out. Lionel catches it by the handle and looks at her with wide eyes, like she's just caught him taking the last cookie out of the jar. His cheeks flush. "Peasant elves aren't allowed swords or spears... only bows and knives. Sometimes on the border, things would come out of the Dark Lands. So, I am... ah..."

Remembering how the elves had seemed to feel disdain for his physical prowess, Tara says, "I was surprised... not disgusted."

Lionel's shoulders relax. "No proper steward would know how to do that, I suppose." Dropping his voice to a whisper, he adds, "Or know how to enchant a knife to be explosive."

Sliding the blade into its sheath, he rolls up his sleeve and fastens the straps to his arm. "You never know where you'll emerge from a World Gate."

He hands her the other sheathed blade. "Here, for you."

Tara tilts her head. She takes the knife, but the straps on the clasp are like nothing she's seen before, and she fumbles trying to put it on.

"May I?" Lionel asks.

Tara nods and holds out her arm. Lionel's fingers trail over her skin, tighten the straps, and then he doesn't pull away.

"Tara." He exhales, and she can feel his breath on her forehead.

Tara keeps her eyes downcast, knowing that if she looks up, she'll kiss him again... and more. Summoning all her willpower, she pulls her wrist to her stomach. "Thank you," she whispers. Her eyes prickle with tears that don't fall.

Lionel stands and leaves the room, floorboards creaking under too-heavy footfalls. She closes her eyes, relieved and heartbroken.

Climbing to her feet, she follows him into the kitchen. There are pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and some cooking knives in a wooden block. Lionel opens a drawer and pulls out another knife. It has a sheath, but no harness. He attaches it to the harness on his forearm without looking at her. "Don't touch the small frying pan," he says, "or the small paring knife. Both will explode at your touch." With that, he leaves the room without a backward glance. Tara is left feeling adrift and cut off.

_This is what you wanted,_ she tells herself.

But that's not exactly true. She hears Lionel thumping around upstairs, and then he comes back down again, muttering, "No gates. I thought his home would be filled with them." A few minutes later, she hears him in the dining room. "The magic in here feels... different... and strong. This could be it."

Tara leaves the kitchen and finds him moments later in the second room off the foyer. He's pulled sheets off the walls, revealing built-in bookshelves that stretch floor to ceiling. At the back of the room is a pair of double doors. Lionel is holding his hands in front of the doorway. "Nothing dangerous..." he murmurs. He puts his hands on the doorknobs, rattling the doors in the frame, but it they don't budge. "Locked."

Tara studies the doorframe and feels her stomach sink. She doesn't really want this to be the way home. Nodding to herself, biting her lip, she reminds herself of the stakes and admits softly, "I know how to open it."

Frowning, Lionel takes a step back and inclines his head to the door.

Tara grabs the knobs and slides the doors to either side. "It's a pocket door," she says. "I used to fix houses with my dad so..."

Lionel's already plunging ahead into the room. "It's not Loki's magic in here... it's..." He looks up at the ceiling and coughs, making dust swirl in the air.

"The room must have been closed up longer," Tara says, fanning her face. There's a chandelier made of whimsical crystal butterflies, and as Tara enters, they begin to glow. She surveys the room. It's different from the rest of the house. It's dustier, and the furniture isn't covered. In one corner, there is a wicker wheelchair. There's also a bed, a bookshelf that only goes to her hip—perfect for someone who is in a wheelchair—and hanging on the wall above it are painted pictures, each about the size of a small notebook. The subjects move in the frames—they're very Harry Potteresque. A few are of flowers—or trees—blowing in the breeze. There's one of a unicorn inquisitively poking its nose forward as though to nuzzle the painter. A few others are portraits, lovingly done. There is one of a woman with impossibly pale skin, blue eyes, and long black hair. Her beauty is not like an elf; her features are more... pronounced, human... but so perfect. As Tara approaches, the portrait woman's eyes slide to the picture beside her. It is of a man with strawberry blonde hair and pale skin, and blue-grey eyes. He's laughing, and in his arms is a little girl who looks to be about seven in human years. One side of her body is thin and pale with a light blue eye and light hair. The arm and leg on that side are twisted at awkward angles. The other side of her is glowing robin's egg blue. Her hair and eye on that side are midnight black. She's smiling in the picture. The portrait man holding her in his arms blows a raspberry and they both look to the picture farthest to the right. In that picture, the half-blue girl is sitting in the wheelchair. A giant wolf with adoring eyes has its head in her lap. Beside her, holding her blue hand is a woman with blonde hair, brilliant dark blue eyes that are nearly violet, and skin that is just a few shades lighter than Tara's. Around them, two little blonde-headed boys are running, chased by the red-headed man.

"It's her magic," Lionel says. "The little girl's. My queen—the Light Elf Queen—said Loki's daughter was too strong."

Tara's eyes look to the center picture. The red-headed man is tenderly kissing the tiny little girl's head now. "That isn't Loki," Tara says. "It can't be." The little girl isn't strong, she's fragile, and the man is too kind to be the being who brought skyscrapers to the ground on a whim.

"It is," says Lionel. "That is Helen. Humans know her as Hel. Her magic—"

Tara has to turn away. She finds herself only inches from Lionel. Her eyes lift to his face. It hurts to look at him, to know she'll have to leave him, but she can't look away. She has to drink him up with her eyes, because she may never get another sip.

His gaze searches hers just as desperately. He loves her. Tara knows it with all certainty, with every fiber of her being... and also that he doesn't want her to leave and he's hiding something. But that makes no sense. "You could charm me into staying," she whispers, the words out of her mouth before she's thought of them.

"No." Lionel huffs the word in a growl. Tara swears she can feel anger rolling off him. "I never want to see the light of you leave your eyes again."

And she knows it's true, all the way down to her bones.

Lionel's eyes dart side to side. "Her magic is still here... we need to leave this room."

Putting a hand through his hair, he goes out to the dining room.

Tara's fingers curl into her skirts. He is hiding something.

Peering out the window in the other room, he says, "It's mid-afternoon. We have to find a World Gate soon..." Surveying the bookshelves, he says, "Loki knew of all sorts of World Gates. He would know of any hidden ones from Asgard to Alfheim, Svartalfheim, Vanaheim, Jotunheim, and Muspelheim. One of these books must have a map."

Her skin prickles. "... and Earth?"

Lionel looks back to her. "Of course. Come," he says, beckoning with a hand. "Help me look."

Tara leaves the room. As soon as she steps out, Lionel strides over and slams the doors closed.

She shivers again, although the room is warm.

Lionel almost drops the book as he pulls it from the shelf. Tara had almost seen through his plan to stall. Opening the book, Lionel can't help glancing at the closed doors to Hel's room with foreboding. The room's magic had been dangerous. It had been truth.

For a moment, he'd seen Tara's heart, and was certain that she loved him as much as even a soulmate could... although he'd been taught that was impossible for humans. It makes her desire to leave so much more frustrating—how do you throw away that sort of feeling on a technicality? He just needs to give her time to see she is being ridiculous. She can be free here.

He turns his attention back to the book, barely suppressing a grunt of irritation, and then his eyes are caught by the inside cover. It's stamped with the seal of the All Father, and beneath his seal are a few ancient symbols stating that it is under no circumstances to leave Odin's personal library. Lionel almost snorts. Loki was a well-known book thief. Rifling through the pages, his eyes are caught by the words, _Oaths of the Einherjar have changed over time,_ and can't help skimming the text.

"This book has a map!" Tara cries, startling him from his reading. They'd divided up the library, hunting for a map of Asgard's hidden World Gates. Tara is seated on the floor, a stack of books beside her, one clutched in her lap.

Lucky book.

Tara flips to the front cover. "What is this book? The map looks oddly familiar."

Putting his own book back on the shelf, Lionel strides over and sits on his heels behind her. Her shorter hair shows off the length of her neck. It's an effort not to trace it with a finger, or his lips.

"I can't read the title—it looks vaguely Elvish," she murmurs.

Focusing on the text, Lionel says, "It's Old Elvish."

Eyes wide and enthralled, she whispers, "... oh, there's an inscription in Asgardian." She reads aloud. "Anganboða, I happened to stumble across _The Book of Three_ in my journeys. You mentioned wanting to read it for yourself. Yours ever, Loki."

Tara lifts her head and turns to Lionel. "Anganboða... that translates to Joy Bringer... but the queen called her Angrboða... Sorrow Bringer."

Lionel leans toward her and he hears her swallow. Turning away, she flips through the pages. "Here is the map," she says in a breathy voice.

Lionel studies it. "That map is not of Asgard. It won't show us World Gates to get you out of here."

He doesn't know if he's sorry it doesn't show a route to Vanaheim, Svartálfaheim, or Jotunheim, or if he is relieved it doesn't show an easy route to Earth. His eyes slip along her profile. If he sits here much longer, he'll kiss her. Standing quickly, he goes to the bookcase, pulls out a book, opens it without paying attention, and instantly regrets it.

Sparkling dust explodes from the book and Lionel begins sneezing.

"What's wrong?" Tara cries.

Sleeve covering his face, he gasps out between sneezes, "Spell... in... book." He can't get the tickle out of his nose, or even stand up straight. Tears fall from his eyes. It's all very unelvish.

He's struck by a gust of cool air. Lionel sniffs, straightens, and sees that Tara has opened the window. The sparkling dust is streaming from the room.

"Why put sneezes in a book?" Tara murmurs, and then laughs. "What am I asking? Loki is the God of Mischief. Are you all right?"

Lionel can't answer. He'll sneeze again. Instead, he walks over to the window and takes a few deep, careful breaths, his cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Tara leans on the windowsill beside him. He can feel the press of her skirts, even if his vision is still blurry. "It's pretty," Tara says.

Wiping his eyes, he sees a meadow filled with wildflowers. The forest is encroaching on three sides, but it is held at bay by a crumbling stone wall. From between the wall's stones, small flowers spring. At the far end, there is a rickety wooden gate.

"It is picturesque," he says. He almost turns away, but then hears Thor roar, "I'll get you yet, you rat!" followed by a shriek of squirrellish laughter. The grass and wildflowers move as though a very small creature is running through them. Storm clouds form above.

At the furthest end of the meadow, a small squirrel jumps atop the wall, just beside the gate. "Kiss my tail, God of Blunder!" shrieks Ratatoskr. He rears on his hind legs and begins shaking his hindquarters in Tara's and Lionel's direction.

"I did not know squirrels could twerk," Tara says with a giggle.

"Gibber—" Lionel's comment is interrupted by a roar so deep and fierce that the window panes rattle. Thor comes charging out of the forest waving his hammer, his back to Lionel and Tara. He throws the weapon. Sparks fly. Cackling, Ratatoskr leaps from the wall to the top of the ancient wooden gate. Lionel feels the heat of magic on his face, the surge that can only be from a World Gate opening, and then Ratatoskr vanishes. Thor's hammer loops from the top of the wall and back to Thor, smashing the ancient _physical_ gate as it does. Roaring in anger, hammer back in his hands, Thor runs over to the remains of the wooden gate and begins pounding it into splinters.

Tara draws back. "Lionel, there was a gate there, wasn't there? I mean, a World Gate. Is he destroying it?"

"Yes, there is a World Gate there," Lionel says. "But Thor cannot destroy it. Only Loki—and maybe Odin—can do that." He shuts the window, not wanting to hear any more of Thor's grunting and cursing.

He turns around, and finds Tara meeting his gaze. Very softly, she says, "Then maybe you can take me through it? Even if it is not home..."

Lionel swallows. "Ratatoskr is a servant of the Norns. That gate must go to Nornheim."

Tara lifts her chin. "It's getting late, Lionel."

Lionel's eyes slide to the window. She is right.

"I'd rather go to Nornheim than take the oath," Tara declares, and Lionel wonders if it is human to make brave, yet hasty decisions, on the spur of the moment without knowing the full consequences.

"No, Tara," Lionel says, holding up his hands. "Any other realm, but in Nornheim, there are spiders and adze—"

"Adze?" says Tara.

Lionel tries to find an equivalent. "Zombies..."

Her mouth falls open.

"... with wings," he finishes.

Her face crumples and her nails bite into her palms. "That's my choice? Slavery or becoming a zombie?" Her lips curl. "I'll take zombies then. At least I could fight!"

"We still have time, Tara," Lionel says. "We just have to keep looking." He turns to the side, but she puts her hand on his arm. His eyes slide from her fingers, to her hand, and up her arm. He finds her eyes on his.

"Promise me, you'll send me to Nornheim, if it comes to that." Her eyes are wide, imploring. "Just push me through," she says, and this time her chin trembles.

Tired of resisting, he steps forward and cups her face in his hand. "Never," he whispers. "If you go, I will go, Tara."

She blinks, and her eyes sparkle. "Cellmates to the end," she whispers so softly that he thinks he might have missed the words if his ears weren't pointed.

Lionel tilts his head.

Clutching his hand, she looks down and stammers, "It's a play on 'soulmates'... I... just..."

"I like it," he says, stroking the other side of her face. She catches his hand, and he kisses her. Her lips answer, and for a moment he is spinning. Without the armor he can feel the press of her soft curves against him. It hurts to pull away, but the pounding of Thor's hammer keeps him from forgetting himself.

Pulling away, he says, "We have to keep looking for a map."

She nods, backs away, and then says, "Did Loki have a sword?"

"Yes, but I didn't see—" Lionel starts to say.

Heading toward the foyer, Tara interrupts him. "I want a sword if I'm fighting zombies."

"We'll find another way!" Lionel protests.

But she only mutters some gibberish about "Michonne" under her breath.

"Tara!" Lionel says. "There could be—"

She stops abruptly in the foyer and looks up, her face bathed in an eerie red light.

"—other traps," Lionel says.

He hastens to her and finds the magic light globe at the entrance flashing red. "Why is it doing that?" Tara asks.

"I don't know," Lionel responds.

"Could it be some sort of alarm system?" Tara suggests.

Lionel's heart falls. "Knowing how many enemies Loki had... that would be very likely." He puts his hands on her shoulders. "Don't let me fall over."

She clasps his fingers and nods. For an instant, Lionel marvels. She doesn't protest that he is about to use magic like an Asgardian, or that he might be attempting magic above his station as an elf might. Tucking the observation away, he closes his eyes and lets apparitions fly. He sees a blur upon the Lake Trail and feels familiar magic. A moment later, the blur solidifies just outside. It is who he expects, but he is oddly not riding Sleipnir, his preferred eight-legged steed. Lionel does recognize the four-legged horse though—it belongs to Gna, one of Frigga's handmaidens, and is capable of running over water, just like Sleipnir, but not quite as fast.

Lionel opens his eyes. Outside the cottage, he hears the man say, "Whoa, Hófvarpnir."

Tara gasps. "Is that—?"

Lionel gulps. The door bangs open, and they both jump at the man standing just outside.

"Odin," Tara says.

The All Father tips his head to Tara. "Yes, Ms. Gibson. I've come to take your oath."

## 20

# The House of Odinson

Because Tara doesn't know what to say, she curtsies. Bowing her head, hiding her eyes, she tries to think of the perfect apology, the delicate way to say, "Yeah, no, I'm not gonna be your house-goddess." There has to be some way to say that politely without losing her head—in a frightening, very literal sense of that expression.

"Your Majesty, we did not expect you so soon," Lionel says, buying her time.

Odin steps into the house, his voice low and rumbling. "I've got to leave for Muspelheim earlier than expected, but I had to see you settled. Just so you know, the queen of Alfheim has cleared you of all wrong doing. You are still a Light Elf, and welcome in her realm."

Tara's eyebrows rise. She doesn't know how court games work, but she's pretty sure that's a big deal, and Odin had to pull some serious strings to get Lionel off the hook.

"You honor me," Lionel says, ducking his head.

"Honor you? You're my son!" His voice turns wistful, and his eyes get distant. "My last, my youngest, boy."

Tara's eyes dart to Lionel. His jaw is hard. His hands are clasped behind his back. He doesn't look honored or wistful. His face is blank. Tara's seen the look before on Kayla, one of her girlfriends. Kayla's mother left when she was young; she'd been raised by her dad. Kayla's mother had shown up at their high school graduation and Kayla had been polite, but later she'd seethed, "Why is she here? She hasn't done anything for me in all these years, and now it's like she wants credit!"

Her stomach ties up in knots. Odin, All Father... terrible father to Lionel.

"Muspelheim," says Lionel, voice neutral. "Why there?"

"To find Loki," Odin responds, sounding weary. "He must be found if we are to avoid Ragnarok. We heard he was bound for Hel, and arrived to find the Fire Giants there already. Some say he's joined the House of Sutr, and has retreated to his kingdom. If pointless death and destruction is to be avoided, he must be brought home."

Odin sighs. "But enough of that. I came here for happier things. I have Einherjar and members of the Diar following me on mundane steeds." His single blue eye settles on Tara. "They'll be witness to your oath, Tara... and I have a magically preserved Apple of Idunn for you to eat."

From a satchel at his side, he pulls out an apple. Its fragrance immediately fills the room. Its red and gold flesh sparkles in the dimming foyer, and just looking at it, Tara knows it will taste more like _apple_ than any fruit she's ever eaten. Her mouth waters, she licks her lips, and all clever words fail her. "I'm so sorry..." she says, unable to tear her eyes from the fruit. "I can't accept your offer."

"What?" says Odin.

"I can't—"

Odin waves his hand and Tara can no longer speak. She feels like her blood has slowed, and as though each heartbeat and breath is a monumental effort. She can't move her arms or her legs, or even her pinky finger. Odin turns to Lionel and her eyes remain fixed on the place the apple had been. It's only her mind that is free to burn... this is so much like Rogier.

"You were supposed to woo and charm her," Odin says. "What happened?"

"She needs more time to consider your offer," Lionel protests.

Tara wants to shout. No, she doesn't need _more time._

Lionel continues, "Magic is new to her. This is all very disorientating."

"She must take the oath!" Odin says. "That is required of any human allowed to stay in Asgard."

_Then let me go home!_ Tara wants to say.

"Does it have to be the modern version of the oath?" Lionel asks. "When your reign started, Einherjar took the same oath as a prince. They pledged allegiance to the realm, not obedience. Give Tara the chance to take that oath, and I'm sure she'd take it."

At first Tara is furious at his words, and then she realizes that she was the one who suggested the distinction. But she can never pledge allegiance to a realm whose leader literally _immobilizes_ his subjects.

"That was a different time," Odin says, sounding tired. "When the realm was young and growing, I needed ideas. But we've hit an impasse, and are at war. The dwarves' ongoing rebellion and now the Fire Giants."

Floorboards creak as the king paces. "I am a general, Lionel, as well as king. A general needs obedience, not soldiers who question his every decision. Until the war is won, I cannot revive the old oath." Odin's voice reminds her of the rattle of the L train wheels: powerful, lonely, and worn.

Outside, there are heavy footsteps by the door. Her heart would seize up, if it could. Inside, it is silent.

"Then... let her go home," Lionel whispers, his voice catching. She hears so much pain in his whisper. _I'll miss you, too_ , she wants to say. _Forever._

Odin paces again. "She can't go home. Not only would it be unprecedented, she's heard too much."

"Heard too much?" says Lionel, and Tara internally echoes his surprise.

Odin's voice reverberates through the small foyer. "She overheard one of my council members discussing the Earth problem."

Tara's fingers itch to fidget. So that wasn't hyperbole.

Odin continues, "Even if she hadn't, she knows too many of our limitations. There have been too many... setbacks... with humans lately."

Tara's eyes want to blink. Does he mean the two other humans that had been here recently? If they left—or escaped—that must have been an embarrassment.

Odin's voice becomes lower. "And then there is all the mischief that physicist Eisenberg and she are up to... She must stay."

Odin is worried about the work that Tara is doing with Eisenberg? She feels... flattered and terrified.

"She'll never take the oath," says Lionel.

"She must take the oath," Odin rumbles, and she can hear the curl of his lip. Tara can't help noticing there is no "or else."

Tara hears the heavy footfalls just outside retreating, and rapidly approaching hoofbeats.

Odin says, "Boy, what is wrong with you? You know her full name, and you have Elvish charm! Charm her!"

Tara's throat constricts.

"Charm her?" whispers Lionel, and Tara swears she feels the air go cold.

"Yes, save the woman you love with it," Odin says, sounding exasperated.

The hoofbeats halt close by, and men's voices and the whinny of horses rise.

Lionel's tone becomes servile. "If that is what I must do, All Father."

"Yes, you must," Odin says, and in the periphery of her vision she sees his hand wave. Her heart is beating again, fast and loud. She feels the rush of blood in her veins. She gasps for air and blinks, eyes tearing with dust.

"Lionel," she whispers. She can't see his features through her tears. He's just a shadow before the door. "Don't—"

He takes a step closer. Her vision clears and she's gazing directly into his pale blue eyes. The same color as Odin's. "No, Lionel, don't," she says, backing away.

"There is no other way, Tara," he says, his jaw ticking.

Shaking her head, she says, "There is always another—"

"Tara Lupita Gibson!" His voice rises to almost a shout. She feels tendrils of cold seeping through the fabric of her dress, rising goosebumps everywhere. She gasps, preparing to be stripped of her will.

"Do you trust me?" Lionel asks, stepping far too close.

It takes her a moment to realize she can answer _No._ The realization makes her heart skip a beat. She still belongs to herself. She almost laughs with relief, but then her eyes go wide... why is she still herself? And then she remembers his words. "I never want to see the light of you leave your eyes again." She gulps, understanding. Lionel is tricking Odin, or at least trying to. She feels the cold of Lionel's magic all around her—he's angry, she realizes, and probably terrified, too. Fighting to keep from shivering, she murmurs, "Yes." She tries to clear her mind, and lets her gaze go to a point on his chin, purposely letting her vision become unfocused. "Yes, I trust you," she says, in as monotone a voice as she can muster.

Lionel holds up his arm. "Take my arm, my lady."

"Of course, my lord," Tara responds, putting her arm into his and staring at a random point on the wall, hoping she looks convincingly vacant. Her fingers want to twitch, her nose suddenly decides it needs to be scratched, and she wants to glance back at the All Father.

"I wish I could do that to Frigga," Odin grumbles.

Leading her to the door, Lionel pauses and says, "The men are waiting outside. I presume that is where the oath will take place?"

Odin, a few steps behind them, waves a hand for them to keep going. "They don't like coming in here."

Lionel takes another step, and Odin does, too. Lionel stops, turns, and says, "Father... there is a book in the dining room that Loki stole from your private library. _Laws of Asgard from Antiquity to the Birth of Baldar._ I believe you may want to collect it."

Tara can't help glancing up at the All Father. His single eye is wide. "You're right." He smiles. "My son."

Turning on his heel, he mutters, "Typical, God of Book Thieves."

Lionel leads her out the door, closing it behind them. Tara contains a gasp. On the Lake Trail stands a line of Einherjar. She'd guess at least fifty stand in the rapidly dimming light of late afternoon.

Lionel begins murmuring at a rapid-fire pace. "I'm sorry you thought I was going to charm you. I couldn't think of any—"

"But you didn't, and I'm fine. How do we get out of this?" Tara asks.

"I'm ready to go to Nornheim now," Lionel says, his voice surer. "Do you still—?"

"Yes," Tara says.

"Keep me from falling," Lionel whispers, raising his chin and facing the soldiers.

"Always," Tara replies, squeezing his arm.

The soldiers begin clapping. She feels Lionel's weight press upon her arm, and before her eyes, perfect replicas of her and Lionel walk toward the trail.

"Now," says Lionel. "Before Odin comes out."

She feels him stumbling toward the side of the house, pulling her with him, but looks in his direction and sees nothing. She looks down at herself and sees the ground. They're invisible, and all eyes are on the illusions he's created. Helping him keep his balance, she guides him around the corner. She glances back to see their doppelgängers waving to the soldiers, just before the road. The men are cheering. Beside her, Lionel gasps, "I wish you'd found a sword."

"It will be fine," Tara insists, leading him to the meadow. It has to be fine; they've come so far.

"I can't tell if you're lying or just naturally unrealistically optimistic. Maybe it's just that your species is so young—" His invisible self must trip on something, because he almost face plants in the grass, and Tara almost goes with him.

Trying to steady him even though she can't see him, her voice gets frantic. "Let's discuss the influence of xenobiology on culture later, Lionel."

"Right," he mutters.

He feels less wobbly and she quickens their pace. They tramp into the meadow, and the grass flattens beneath them. "Someone might see that," she murmurs under her breath. Glancing up, she sees the gap in the wall where the World Gate is. Tugging harder at Lionel's arm, she tries to urge him into a jog, but he stumbles and she slows.

"I'm still trying to maintain the illusion in front," Lionel responds, his voice sounding like he's gritting his teeth. "As long as Odin doesn't look out the—"

From behind them comes the shattering of glass. Odin's voice booms behind them. "What are you doing?"

"—window," Lionel finishes. "Get your knife out."

He makes them visible, whips a knife from his wrists, hands it to her, and says, "Wait for my signal, and then throw it at the ground."

From behind them come a cacophony of footsteps. They turn to see Einherjar pouring around the sides of the house. Odin has leapt through the window, and the soldiers line up on either side of him, a glittering line of armor and weapons. Tara's heart races. "Well, dying here might be better than being a zombie," she whispers.

"I prefer your naive-human optimism."

"I was being optimistic," she whispers.

Keeping his eyes on Odin, he backs toward the gate, and Tara does the same.

The Einherjar raise their spears, and Tara's legs go weak. Then their spears start glowing, and she almost falls over in sheer terror.

Odin holds up an arm—Tara braces for the agony of becoming a red-hot pincushion—but the Einherjar put their spears away. She almost breathes a sigh of relief and then sees them taking out swords instead—they don't intend to kill them, they intend capture. Death _was_ an optimistic prediction; she'd tease Lionel about that, if she wasn't scared speechless. Stepping forward, Odin says, "Lionel—" What follows is a string of words... or maybe names... in Elvish, too long for Tara to follow.

Lionel freezes.

Odin finishes, "—Odinson, halt right there."

Lionel's head bows, and his eyes are wild. Tara wants to grab his arm and pull him away from whatever spell Odin has cast, but she's got knives in both hands. "Lionel," she whispers. "Lionel."

He doesn't acknowledge her. He just begins muttering words under his breath. Words that sound vaguely familiar.

Odin sighs. "If you're so weak you can't resist the invocation of your name—"

Lionel's voice becomes louder and he lifts his hands. It's the same words he used in the swamp. He's summoning the Destroyer... again.

"No," Odin roars. "Sto—"

His voice is drowned out in the thunder of the Einherjar charge. Chant rising in a crescendo, Lionel throws the blades at the ground before them. There is a spark, a shimmer, but for what feels like an eternity, yet is probably less than a second, Tara thinks nothing is happening.

And then there is flame. It's not like in the flash of fire in the swamp; it is a wall that reaches the treetops, and its heat is like opening an oven on full broil. For a moment, Tara is stunned. Tilting her head back, she gapes. She can hear the sound of shouting from the other side and pounding footsteps... going where? She knows in an instant, and throws one of her knives to the grass on the left and the other to the right, willing them to catch. They explode with almost as much fury as Lionel's had, and she sees men draw back behind the fires. Her eyes widen as the four blades' inferno join together in a solid "u" of orange heat. Tara looks at Lionel, and sees him gaping at the flames.

"Lionel, what now?"

He snaps from his awe. "Run!"

They grab hands, and they tear through the wildflowers, now bathed in the glow of fire and the shadow of smoke.

Lionel begins to laugh. "I am Odin's son but I am not an Odinson! He tried to compel me, and it almost worked... but my last name is not his!"

Tara cannot speak, and it's not just from the smoke. Between the gap in the ancient stone wall where the World Gate resides stands a looming shadow.

She and Lionel draw to a halt before the huge figure of Thor. "No one can lie to Odin," Thor rumbles. He tilts his head. "It would take magic from you, brother, to compel me to stall them."

Lionel draws back. "Thor..." he begins. The big man nods and rolls his hand as though to say, more, more, more. Tara sees shapes running behind the stone wall. Lionel adds hastily, "Ásabragr?" Thor nods again, and keeps doing the hand motion. Lionel spouts, "Ása-Þórr, Atli, Biorn, Einridi, Ennilang, Hardhugadr, Hardveur, Hioridi, Rym, Sonnung, Vethorm, Veod, Veur, Vingthor Odinson, I command you to hold the gate?"

A man shouts.

Thor shrugs. "Close enough. I am compelled."

A spear slices through the air, and Thor holds up his hammer. Lightning pierces the smoky shadows, catching the spear and shattering it. Lionel pulls her forward. Everywhere is rainbow light. Tara braces for zombieland.

Bending over, Lionel gasps for breath as the heat of flame is replaced by cool, crisp air, and the smell of mud replaces the acrid stench of smoke. "It would have been nice to get to know you, brother," he murmurs. Odin's addition of "Odinson" to his name had shattered the compulsion he'd almost set upon Lionel. Lionel may be Odin's son by blood, but he is not his son in spirit.

"Thor let us go, didn't he?" Tara whispers.

Lionel can only nod. Lionel is proud to be his mother's son. Being Thor's half-brother might not be so bad, either. He feels Tara's hand on his back, and he remembers that they aren't out of the woods yet. Straightening, he sees that they aren't actually in "woods" of any kind. They are in a rolling plain with very regular furrows that look a lot like—

"Looks like downstate Illinois, or maybe Iowa..." Tara whispers.

"Iowa?" He turns to her and she is framed by blue skies, as she often has been in his hallucinations of her, but this blue sky is real and brilliant. He drops his eyes to the ground. The furrows are definitely the sort you'd expect from agriculture. The soil is dark and rich. Do the giant spiders farm? Do the zombies, or the Norns?

A chittering comes from their feet, making them both look. There is a rectangular cage of copper-like wire that's not quite knee high. It seems to be made of the same sort of material as the metallic net they'd first been captured with. Inside is a squirrel with tufted ears, chittering madly in Squirrel, racing in circles around what looks like an ear of some sort of seed husk. The chittering is rather repetitive; it's just "shit, shit, shit, shit..." over and over again.

"Ratatoskr?" says Tara.

The creature stops, blinks at her, and says, "Fuck you!" Thankfully, Lionel hasn't given Tara the ability to understand Squirrel.

"Is the wire keeping him from speaking?" Tara asks.

Stepping toward it, Lionel tries to extend his magical senses into the cage... but can't. "It could be."

Tara lifts the cage and touches a finger toward Ratatoskr's nose. "He's kinda cute when he's not swearing."

"Nutt mites!" Ratatoskr shrieks in Squirrel, shaking the wire with tiny paws.

"Um..." says Lionel.

From behind them comes a low growl. They both turn to see a metal beast approaching them. It is reminiscent of the vehicle bonded to Tara. On the back is a raised pennant of the United States of America.

"We're home," Tara whispers, putting down the cage and walking toward it, waving both arms. Within moments, the four-wheeled chariot beast skids to a halt not ten paces from them. Lionel quickly illusions his ears to look rounded.

Three men, one old, two young, all of complexion similar to Lionel's, get out with firearms raised. "Halt right there, Asgardians!"

"We're not Asgardians! We escaped!" Tara cries, hopping up and down in happiness that hurts Lionel's heart. He has a horrible moment when he hopes they don't believe her. He forces himself to relax, to dissipate the magic threatening to course through his fingers, and releases a breath. This is better than Nornheim... so much better than that. He is closer to Chicago... and closer to the gate that will take him to his mother. He swallows. The Dark Elves are going to think of him as a Light Elf, since Odin so helpfully got his status reinstated.

The old human puts down his weapon. "Like the girl and the colored boy that came through on the eight-legged magical horse a few weeks back?"

Tara's arms drop, and her mouth forms a small "o." Lionel rolls back on his feet, remembering Odin riding Gna's steed. Had two humans _stolen_ Sleipnir?

"Dad, I don't think they like to be called colored anymore," says one of the young men, lowering his own weapon. "And I'm pretty sure he was Hindu."

The second young man says, "Hey, Director Rogers was right! The squirrel trap he gave us worked. Foul-mouthed critter won't be in Mom's bird feeders anymore."

"How do we know for sure you're not a Valkyrie?" asks the old man, spitting in the dirt. "Ya got a driver's license?"

Tara shakes her head. "No, I was abducted, and I didn't have my wallet—"

"What's your name?" asks one of the young men, holding up a rectangular device.

"My name is—"

Lionel feels the flush of magic on the back of his neck. "The gate is opening!" he says.

The firearms go up again—thankfully at a space behind their heads. Ducking, Tara darts toward the chariot, and just before he follows, Lionel picks up Ratatoskr's cage. The stalwart farmers don't blink. Lionel hears one of them grumble, "Thor's not eating another one of my goats."

By the chariot, Tara turns and looks back. "They can't hold the Einherjar back," she says. Turning to look at the men, she gulps. "They'll be slaughtered."

She's right. "Go tell them not to defend us," he says. "Odin won't harm them if they're truthful and say we were here."

"Were here?" says Tara.

"I have a plan," Lionel says. She meets his eyes, nods, and darts off toward the men.

He can't believe what he is about to do, but he doesn't belong in the House of Odinson... Tara was right. She can't stay in Asgard and be free; neither can his mother, neither can Lionel. Facing down zombies is better.

He kneels down beside the cage.

"I'll fuck you up!" hisses the squirrel he really hopes is Ratatoskr.

"I know you'll try," Lionel replies. He flips the cage's latch.

Tara darts up to the oldest of the farmers. "Sir," she says to the man. "You can't fight Odin for us."

He doesn't put down his rifle, but his eye darts from the sight to her. "You don't understand, girl—"

She bristles at the word "girl," but then he continues. "—Odin, he'll make you a slave. We been hearing things, and not just from Rogers. Some people round here, they don't have their heads on straight. That apple thing, it's a trap."

"I know—but..." She puts her hands on her hips. "You don't even know if I'm not a Valkyrie!"

"If he's hunting you, you're one of ours," he says, narrowing the eye in the sights.

That is frustratingly noble. Tara tries again. "We're going to run—"

"If we can't stand up to them, what hope have you got running?" His eyes get wide, and he looks around. "Where'd she go?" he calls to his sons.

"I dunno."

"Me, either."

Tara looks down at her hands and sees they're gone. "I'm invisible... and running. Thank you, sir."

She feels a hand in hers, and hears a shrill squeak. "Don't strangle me, you shit!"

"Is that squirrel loose again?" says one of the men she thinks are the old guy's sons.

"This way," says Lionel, and she can feel his breath in her ear. He pulls on her hand, and together, they run and stumble toward a strand of trees at the bottom of the incline.

Behind her, she hears the stamp of many feet, and hears a shout in Asgardian of, "Team report!"

"Not the tree on the right, you two-legged morons!" chitters the tiny voice. "The one on the left! And hurry. I can't keep you nucking futts invisible forever."

Ratatoskr is making them invisible? That would explain why Lionel is running and not falling over. She hears someone behind them say in English, "You will put down your weapons for the All Father!" but doesn't look back.

They pass from the brightness of the sun to the semi-shade of an oak tree that's just starting to put forth spring foliage. "Stop!" shrieks Ratatoskr.

Tara skids to a halt and feels Lionel do the same a heartbeat later.

"Hold onto your flippin' tits, I need a second to open the World Gate," grumbles Ratatoskr.

"I'm going to hold your tail instead," says Lionel. "And you'll be a popsicle if you break your oath."

"Some assholes got no fucking trust," mutters Ratatoskr.

Tara looks back. Odin is standing just beyond the three farmers. She holds her breath... and exhales when the farmers lower their shotguns. She can't hear what they are saying but she sees the old man shrug. His sons spit and then copy the motion. Tara smiles, but her smile drops when Odin strides past the farmers and points down the hill toward the trees Lionel, Tara, and Ratatoskr hide in.

"Hurry, Ratatoskr," Lionel hisses.

"Ouch! Stop squeezin'—it's hard to open this gate and keep you invisible."

Einherjar warriors race down the rise.

"Make us visible," shouts Tara. "Just get us out of here!"

She knows the exact moment she's visible. The Einherjars' eyes light up and their pace increases. She looks over at Lionel. His arm is outstretched, but disappears at the elbow. "Seemed best to let him open the gate and go first," he says.

"Go first where?" Tara asks. But Lionel is gone, except for his hand still in her own. His wrist disappears in a shimmering spot of light.

"Halt!" shouts an Einherjar, raising a spear, but she's being yanked forward, her eyes are filled with every color of the rainbow, and she almost falls over.

"Tara?" says Lionel.

"I'm okay," she says, regaining her feet and looking around. They're in a sort of hallway, on the far side of which is a silvery curtain. The walls are a milky white and shimmering. Ratatoskr is nowhere to be seen, and Lionel's hand is bleeding. She looks back the way they came. There is a solid wall, but in its surface, she sees Odin striding toward them, the farmland of Illinois or Iowa in the background. He halts just before their noses. Tara and Lionel draw back. Tara's breath catches. She swears her heartbeat is so loud it must be audible even to Odin on Earth. Lionel's hand tightens.

But then Odin's flickering image draws back, too.

"Where are we?" she asks as the All Father backs away.

"Shh..." Lionel whispers. "I don't mean to alarm you, but I think we might be in the nest of some of Nornheim's giant spiders." He touches the wall. "And I can't open the gate... it's gone."

"Giant spiders," says Tara, noticing for the first time that the hallway they are in is about eight feet high.

"I consider myself more average-sized," says a feminine voice.

"Norns," whispers Lionel, like you might say a curse.

They both turn. Coming through the silver curtain is a woman dressed in silver silk. It's wrapped about her like Grecian robes. She is terribly thin, her skin so pale it has a blue cast to it, liked skim milk. Her hair is so blonde it is white. She smiles, revealing two glittering fangs.

## 21

# Cruel Twists of the Fates

"Ah... I'm sure you aren't a spider at all, ma'am," Tara stammers. Politeness has worked so far on this trip.

The woman puts the finger of one hand on her lips, and her other hand on her throat. Another pair of hands clasp in front of her stomach, and two more hands go to her hips. "You're sweet." She licks her lips.

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Lionel whispers in her ear, "Remember, the Norns don't write our fates, they only watch them. Not all is lost."

"They?" whispers Tara, instinctively stepping closer to him.

"My sisters and I," says the woman, sauntering toward them. From behind the curtain, two other women emerge. One of them looks Asian Indian, and is as round and as plump as the first is thin. She has wide brown eyes, full lips, and a delicate little nose. She's kind of adorable and looks terribly friendly until she looks at Tara, smacks her lips, and her eyes start to glow. The second sister is tall and athletic. She is as dark as Tara's father had been, has long, blood-red braids, and looks vaguely African. On her shoulder perches Ratatoskr... currently twerking. "Suck it mofos!" he chitters.

"You're right, Lionel, son of Odin and Tavende," says the tall, dark woman. "We don't control your fates." She narrows her eyes.

The pale woman smiles. "But we do place bets on them. And you two dears have helped me win."

Frowning, the tall woman sighs and rolls her eyes at her sister. "Stop gloating." She looks back at Tara and Lionel. "And you brought Ratatoskr back to us."

Ratatoskr stops his twerk. "What! I would have gotten out of that cage by myself!" He starts chittering up a storm that doesn't stop until the woman pinches his little snout with her long, elegant fingers.

"Also," says the plump one, bouncing on her heels. "Your story has been romantic and exciting." Tilting her head, she taps her chin while clapping her middle pair of hands, and holding her third pair behind her back. "As delicious as you look, I can't help wanting to know what you'll do next!"

"Mm..." say the other two women, nodding their heads.

The tall woman's fingers slip and Ratatoskr chirps, "I'm freaking exciting! Didn't you see me dodge Thor's hammer?"

The tall woman pinches his snout again. "And then you followed it up by getting caught in old farmer MacDonald's trap," she hisses.

Tara's lips purse. The farmer of the very not PC language who'd nonetheless been determined to stand up to Odin for her was _the_ Old MacDonald? She doesn't know why that surprises her after finding an elf in her alley, meeting a kraken, following a yellow brick road, and becoming an almost-goddess.

"I can't wait to see what you get up to during Ragnarok," says the bouncy woman.

Tara feels Lionel stiffen beside her. "There is no certainty that Ragnarok is near," Lionel says. "There is no fate. You said so yourselves."

Tara shoots him a worried look. She wants to say, "Don't antagonize the spider ladies," but bites her lip instead.

The emaciated one sighs. "Oh, Lionel, it could stop, that is true..."

The tall woman shakes her long braids. "But at this point the momentum..."

"Makes it virtually impossible!" says Bouncy Norn, clapping her hands even faster. Her body stills and the disconcerting light returns to her eyes. Tara shivers and leans against Lionel.

Bouncy Norn whispers, "Think hard about where you want to be for Ragnarok, my sweets, and who you want to be with."

Looking over Tara and Lionel's shoulders, the tall Norn says, "Oh look, Odin has left Old MacDonald's farm."

Narrowing her eyes, Bouncy says, "He could create a new gate and come through after you, but the only one he'd ever do that for is Loki."

The pale, emaciated Norn cackles. "You're so lucky Loki is more important than you, Lionel, Son of Tavende. Odin just can't win without Loki—he may even leave you alone."

"Will you let us go back?" asks Lionel. His voice is even, but Tara feels him tremble.

The Norns tilt their heads.

Tara swallows and pats his hand. Cellmates to the end... there is a comfort in that... even if she has a horrible feeling their last cell might be an oven.

"Let's send them directly back to Chicago," says the thin one.

"Oh, yes! A bus ride would be so boring," says Bouncy.

"I like that plan," says the tall one, smiling widely, her nose wrinkling in a way that would be charming if not for the teeth. "Straight into the _drama_."

Tara's jaw gapes. She almost thanks them, but then isn't sure if that would indebt her like it would with an elf.

"What is the cost?" Lionel asks, his voice almost a hiss.

The three women laugh. "Oh, it's not a favor," says the tall one. "We don't do favors."

The other two shake their heads.

The tall woman dips her chin, making her red braids fall before her eyes. "But we occasionally do things for our own amusement." She smiles wide again, and her teeth gleam.

"Turn around," they command, smiling wickedly.

Lionel and Tara both stand stock still.

The thin one rolls her eyes. "Oh, don't be afraid. If we wanted you dead..."

"We'd be feasting on your bodies right now!" says Bouncy, her eyes wide, her smile cheery.

Gripping the hand Lionel's laid upon her shoulder, Tara pulls him round... and sees her living room shimmering in the wall. Lionel gasps and holds up a hand. "There is a new gate here." His eyes slide to the three women, his expression horrified.

"I'd advise you to step through," says the tall one, advancing toward them. "We haven't had lunch."

Tara steps toward her home, pulling Lionel with her, and an instant later, they're in her living room. It smells like lemon-scented wood polish. Inky, her octopus, is right where she left him on the couch. Her laptop is on the coffee table.

Lionel turns around. "The gate is closed again," he says.

"But they're still watching," Tara murmurs, her vision getting blurry. Her heartbeat quickens, imagining the fanged women. "Can they come through and abduct us?"

Lionel shakes his head and scowls in the direction they just came. "No, their power is limited to Nornheim. I've never heard of them even so much as slipping a finger into another realm." He says it defiantly, and Tara holds her breath, half expecting the air to shimmer and one of the women to come raging through... but nothing happens.

"They could have sent us anywhere in the Nine Realms," Lionel murmurs. "Why did they drop us off exactly here?"

The Norn's words, "We occasionally do things for our own amusement," echo in Tara's mind. She closes her eyes. She thinks of what she overheard in Asgard about "the human problem." She thinks about farmer MacDonald ready to stand up to Odin and the Einherjar. She thinks of Dr. Eisenberg studying magic and their work together that upsets the All Father... Dr. Eisenberg's in danger, because their work is worth doing.

She thinks about where she wants to be for the end of the world... she wants to be with Lionel. She also knows where she _has_ to be and why the Norns sent them here. Her eyes get hot.

"They brought us here so they can watch," she whispers. They'd put them right back into the drama. During a bus ride, she would have had a chance to say goodbye.

"I have to stay," she says, bowing her head. "Lionel, I love you... but I have to stay for my mother..." and Dr. Eisenberg, crazy Old MacDonald, and people like him who won't take the apples and will stand up to Odin. Her body shudders, and tears pool in her eyes.

Lionel's arms are around her a moment later, his hands smoothing her back. "Shh... Tara... Of course you must stay."

"But I should come with you!" Tara cries, tears spilling over. "I could help you!" Or she could die, without a chance to warn Eisenberg, without a chance to help protect Earth, without anyone to take care of her mother... No matter what she wants, she has to stay here.

"My mother would never forgive me if I managed to get you home and then dragged you back into the swamp," Lionel says. He pulls her tighter. "Tara, I'm afraid of what Odin might have planned for your people..."

"I know," Tara whispers. She closes her eyes and lets herself melt into his arms. She can feel his breath on her forehead, and hears his heartbeat. She finds herself bitterly resenting every minute the Norns stole from them by sending them directly here. She would have held Lionel's hand on that bus, probably cried the whole way, and treasured every second of it.

She thinks of Tavende alone in the Dark Lands. "You've got to go," Tara murmurs, her voice thick with tears.

"I know." His voice is thick. Squeezing her tight, he lifts her from the ground, and whispers into her hair, "Tara, I don't really understand how love works among non-elves... maybe on Earth you can't have soulmates because everything is changing so fast people can't stay the same." He pulls back, and his eyes are red rimmed. "But I can't imagine feeling any more for anyone."

She nods. "I feel the same."

Lionel kisses her. Softly, and then frantically, until they pull apart gasping, her lips burning from stubble, and her body feeling like every neuron is alight. Tara runs her fingers over the points of his ears; his eyes slip closed and his hands loosely clasp her wrists.

She can't believe she's letting him get away... no, she can believe it. If he doesn't leave, he'll resent her for keeping him, and she could never respect him if he let his mother stay in that terrible place, where even his magic doesn't work.

Her jaw drops. "Lionel," she whispers. "I can't go with you, but I _can_ help you!"

Lionel sits at Tara's kitchen table. She runs into the room and opens a drawer. Without looking at him, she mumbles, "Not in here. Ugh!" She's exchanged her sorceress gear for a white shirt with short sleeves that exposes long swathes of her dark brown skin and the smoothness of her arms. Below she wears blue trousers, like the farmers had worn but more fitted, and cleaner.

Lionel starts to get up. Spinning to him, she points a finger and says, "Sit! You said magic makes you hungry. Eat!"

He pauses, and she dashes from the room before he can respond.

He is hungry, but he'd still rather catch her in an embrace. Slumping back into his seat, he returns to his meal, a "sandwich." He thinks under ordinary circumstances it might be delicious. He wants to stay, and he needs to leave. He almost wished she hadn't understood so well; it would have been easier if she'd been unreasonable.

He forces down the last bite, polishing it off with "orange juice," when Tara returns to the room, a knapsack of unique fabric and construction on one arm, and a garment of olive green on the other. Somewhat inexplicably, she also has a purple toy kraken.

Dumping the contents of the bag on the table, not meeting his eyes, she says, "Okay, I've got signal flares, a lighter, batteries, a flashlight, water bottles, protein bars, antibiotic ointment, antiseptic wipes, pepper spray, and a spare jacket—"

"Mostly gibberish," Lionel says, trying to sound cheerful and instead sounding morose.

"—and I'm going to show you how to use them as quickly as I can," Tara finishes, still not meeting his gaze.

When she's done with all but the jacket, Lionel's heart feels like it has turned to lead and is slowly crushing his other organs. "These are wondrous things, Tara," he murmurs, standing beside her, practicing sealing the "Ziploc" bag that protects the lighter and batteries. "I'm not sure I can accept them."

"You will accept them or... or..." She bites her lip.

He wants to touch her. He lifts his hand and drops it, afraid that if he touches her, he won't be able to stop.

Taking a deep breath, she picks up the garment. "Turn around. I'm going to see if it fits." He does as she says and she helps him slide it onto him. He catches her arms from behind, pulling her chest to his back. For a moment that he knows he'll hold in his heart forever, she presses her cheek against his shoulder blade.

And then she pulls away. "Okay, let me show you how to work the zippers."

Eyes downcast, she shows him how to operate the alien fastening devices, and murmurs, "This coat was my father's. He left it here, right before... and I couldn't give it..." She swallows.

Running his hand along the strange fabric, he whispers, "I'm honored."

Jaw tight, eyes too bright, she continues, "It's GORE-TEX, waterproof and windproof... without magic."

"With human magic," he says.

She wipes her face. "I put one of my coats in the middle pocket in the backpack for your mother. It's too big, and bright pink, so not so good in a swamp for camouflage, but I guess you could put mud on it."

She picks up the last item on the table. "What you're supposed to do with this is probably self-evident."

Lionel eyes the toy kraken dubiously. "Actually, it's the most mysterious."

She finally meets his eyes, and glares. "It's for Inky! He saved us from the velociraptors. You have to say thank you... you might need his help again!"

Lionel's eyebrow lifts. "You and I remember our encounter with... Inky... very differently."

"Just give it to him!" Tara says, her nostrils flaring a bit. "It might save your life."

It strikes Lionel that she's not sure if it will work, but she's just grasping at anything she thinks might keep him alive. "I will treasure it."

"No," says Tara, holding the toy in one hand, gesturing to it with the other. "You're not supposed to treasure it! Give. It. To. The. Kraken!"

Lionel gives in and folds her into his arms. They stand in her kitchen for too short and too long. The elves have a euphemism called "a long goodbye," which is what he'd meant to share with Tara that one night in his village, but now the idea seems hollow. Ridiculous. "One night would never be enough."

## 22

# A New Life

Arms wrapped around herself, Lionel's key gripped in one hand, Tara gazes down the alley in the direction of the World Gate. Two of her neighbors who are painting their fence smile and wave at her. After a moment, she waves back, but isn't able to force a smile.

She'd pestered Lionel to let her cross over the World Gate. She'd wanted to testify to the Dark Elves that he didn't work for the queen or for Odin. He'd assured her that he'd be fine, and he'd needed to conserve his magic.

She isn't sure if Lionel has gone through the World Gate. There has been no flash of light, no last wave. With her neighbors out, there couldn't be.

She bites her lip, remembering his words, "One night would never be enough."

Her neighbors go inside. It's nearly dark when she does, too.

Slumping onto her couch, she picks up her phone. She'd already sent a quick text to her mom. Now she listens to her messages. The first is from Dr. Eisenberg. "Tara, where are you? Are you sick?"

The second is also from Dr. Eisenberg. "Tara? Why haven't you called! This is two days in a row. This is unacceptable!"

The third is from her mom.

The fourth is from Eisenberg and nearly cracks her eardrum. "Do you realize what the university policy is on unexplained absences, Tara? How could you do this to me right before my meeting?"

She scowls at her phone. She came back for this? It's only because she's trembling with rage that she doesn't hang up, afraid she'll throw her phone across the room. The next message is Eisenberg, again, but it's very different from the last. "Tara..." There is an audible gulp. "I hope you... ah... get this... ah... don't worry about your absences... I uh... well... just call me... please. Oh, I hope that you're okay."

She glares at the phone a moment. Sighing, she reminds herself she has to be allies with the man since Odin wants them both. She calls his number.

"Tara, is that you?" Eisenberg asks. "Really you?"

"Yes," she says.

"You're at home?"

"Yes," she says, steeling herself for a lecture.

"Thank God. I'll be right over." The line disconnects.

Tara listens to the dial tone. She should call him back and tell him no way. She should check her email. She should call her mother.

Instead she curls into a ball at the corner of the couch, Lionel's key in a death grip, and cries. She'd been an idiot. Odin may think she's dangerous, but no one else thinks she's important. She can't make a difference here. And maybe her trip to other realms will get her locked up in Gitmo for... for... well, she doesn't know. She wishes she knew what happened to those two humans who escaped Asgard. Her brow furrows. Thor had allegedly taken some humans for a joy ride a while ago, and although they'd come back, she has no idea if they're still walking around free.

Maybe she should just run off to join the elves. Maybe if she goes to where she thinks the World Gate is and screams, they'll let her cross?

Her doorbell rings, making her start.

It rings again, but she doesn't move. And then her phone rings, and then beeps with a text. She glances down at it. It's Dr. Eisenberg saying, _Tara, it's me! It will be all right._

She swallows. If she is staying, she needs her job. Getting up, she goes to the entrance, checks the keyhole, sees Eisenberg, and opens the door.

Eisenberg is not alone. Standing at the bottom of the stoop is Naleigh, the elf that had wanted Lionel executed in the Dark Lands.

Tara's skin heats. She almost charges down the steps at him in what may be a bout of misplaced rage, but Eisenberg puts his considerable girth between him and her. "Tara, I can explain! He's a friend."

Tara almost unleashes the misplaced rage on Eisenberg.

Holding up his hands, he says, "May we come in, Tara? Please? I need to know exactly what happened."

"And that's what happened," Tara says, sitting in her kitchen, eyes on Naleigh.

"Is it true that Lionel is the son of... Him?" Naleigh asks.

Tara narrows her eyes at him. "I don't know who you're talking about." She didn't tell the _whole_ story. No way would she divulge Lionel's father's name to just any human or elf.

"But you need to get—" she bites back "your ass" and manages to say, "—back to the Dark Lands and let the Dark Elves know that Lionel is on your side!"

"Yes, in due time, but Dr. Eisenberg and I have some things to discuss with you—" Naleigh says.

"I can tell her myself!" Dr. Eisenberg exclaims, hopping in his chair. "You heard what she said. Lionel saved her! If you want my help, you will get to the Dark Lands right now and make sure Lionel isn't hurt!"

Tara blinks. Naleigh blinks, too.

"Of course, Doctor," Naleigh says, standing quickly. He bows to Tara. "I'm sorry about our misunderstanding in Alfheim. Obviously, Lionel will be a great asset to the Dark Elves in both realms." Bowing to Eisenberg, he says, "I'll just show myself out, and immediately go to the gate."

Tara is so surprised by how easy that was, she doesn't get up until he's at the door. "I'm sorry about your head!" she says. Naleigh just waves and shuts the door.

Sitting back down at the table, Tara's eyes go to Dr. Eisenberg. He's wiping his glasses with a cloth. For a pretty nervous guy, he took the whole "Odin has you on a naughty list" thing really well. "Dark Elves in both realms?" she asks.

Clearing his throat, he says, "First off, I want you to know that it isn't technically treason I am involved in."

Tara's eyebrows jump, and she remembers her last conversation.

He puts his glasses back on. "There are just some factions in the government that approve... and some that don't."

Tara's lips purse. "Talk to me."

Eisenberg sighs. "Tara, if I don't tell you, you can transfer to another department, put this all behind you, and those members of government who don't approve of it will be none the wiser. We may both already have Odin interested in us, but you'll be safe from our government."

Tara tilts her head. "Will what you're involved in protect humans from Odin?"

Eisenberg sighs. "We hope so."

She only stayed for her mom and the foolish idea that she might be able to help humans.

This is what she gave up the love of her life for. She swallows and bites her lip. "I'm in."

## 23

# Where Will You Be for Ragnarok?

Tara sits at a desk in her office, head bent over an Elvish scroll.

There's a knock at the door, even though it is open. Looking up, she sees Dr. Eisenberg just outside. Beckoning him in, she gets up and closes the door fast. The room is shielded with the magic-blocking Promethean Wire stuff, making it impossible to magically spy and see what they're talking about.

In a rushed voice, she says, "I think this scroll is talking about radiation, Dr. Eisenberg. To magical creatures, radiation is just another sort of energy. They can use magic to turn radiation into other sorts of energy. I don't understand the physics of it, but I think maybe you will. If we could turn radiation into light, or heat, or electricity..." They could rid the world of dangerous radiation. Lionel's gift of languages keeps on giving.

She glances at him. His eyes are downcast.

"I know it's not what the Pentagon guys want but..." she says.

His shoulders sag.

"What is it?" she whispers.

"Another group of refugees are joining the lab this afternoon," he says, referring to the Dark Elves of the new Dark Elf Underground Railroad. It had just been forming before Tara was abducted. That was the source of Eisenberg's cryptic, "If you see something, call me ..." statement.

In exchange for Elvish aid with magic, some unnamed VIPs in the federal and local governments have seen to it that Dark Elves have fake IDs. Eisenberg, Tara, and others see that they get schooling, housing, and paid positions in Chicago's research institutions.

Tara's stomach feels like lead, and then he says what she already knows. "By the descriptions I heard, there was no sign of Lionel."

Tara bows her head and looks at the scroll, the Elvish script running together in a blur. "He'll be safer in the Dark Lands," she says.

"So would you," says Eisenberg.

"I wouldn't do anyone any good there," Tara mutters.

"Hmmm..." He pushes his glasses up his nose. "I think he'll come back. Nothing stops—"

"Don't you dare say true love," says Tara.

"I was going to say nothing stops a man who's made up his mind," says Dr. Eisenberg. "And it sounds like he has."

He's going to launch into his "across-the-world trek to woo his beloved Irma." It's a sweet story, but Tara's not sure it applies to her and Lionel. There are so many obstacles between Lionel and her—besides Odin, prejudiced elves, and velociraptors, their cultures are very different. She comes from a mixed-culture household. She's seen how well it can work out, but her parents were very clear on the challenges as well. Her mother always said they'd vowed early on that they'd make their own culture and to grow together as they grew old. Lionel and Tara had made no such promise.

"I'm so sorry, Tara," says Eisenberg, instead of telling his and Irma's story again.

She nods.

"For you and the lab!" he exclaims. "All the most talented elves are going to the University of Chicago." He scowls. Just the name of the elite, private university tends to make him do that. "One of our new hires has minor training... but that's nothing like how you described Lionel's abilities."

Tara rubs her eyes. Of course he would be thinking of the lab... She reminds herself that the translations she's worked on this morning may save millions of people... maybe not from Odin, but from humanity's own foibles.

Taking a deep breath, Tara asks, "No word from Naleigh, either?"

Eisenberg shakes his head.

Tara nods. They'd only heard from him once since she'd returned. Lionel had been imprisoned when he'd returned, but then the Light Elves tried to overtake the fortress. In the confusion of the battle, Lionel had disappeared. Naleigh believes Lionel slipped out of the fortress and across enemy lines.

"I really am sorry, Tara," says Eisenberg. "For you... even more than the lab."

She melts a little. "I know." Eisenberg isn't completely self-absorbed. The doctor just doesn't have a filter on what he's feeling. On the one hand, sometimes it feels insensitive; on the other hand, he keeps singing her praises to Dean Kowalski even though they fall on deaf ears. And he helps the Dark Elves because he sees it akin to helping Jewish refugees before WWII.

Holding out a hand, he says, "Let me see what you've translated so far."

She hands him her notes. Pushing up his glasses, he sits on her desk.

Her phone chimes and she says, "I'm meeting my mother for lunch."

Peering over his bifocals, he says, "Do you have your magic detector?"

Nodding, Tara pats her purse. Afraid that Odin might try to snatch her away, Eisenberg insists she take one everywhere. Tara's pretty sure from what Thor, Odin himself, and the Norns had said about the "hunt for Loki" that Odin has bigger fish to fry... for now.

Eisenberg holds up a finger. "If you start getting a beep—"

"I'll hit your number on speed dial and haul back here," Tara assures him, gesturing to the magic-blocking Promethean Wire.

He nods, and turns his attention back to her notes. Tara can see he's already in his "mind palace."

Exiting her office and then the lab, she steps into the hallway and hears her mother's voice in the receptionist's office. "Yes, Tara got herself a date with a surgeon from Rush."

Tara sighs. Her mother doesn't know anything about her trip to Alfheim or Asgard. When Tara had joined the Underground Railroad, she'd been warned, "If you want your family to stay safe, you won't let them know." Last weekend, her mother had arranged for Tara to meet said surgeon at a block party. "Helping" Tara is the only way Tara's mother knows how to show love.

She swallows. Her mother had wanted to straighten Tara's hair as soon as she'd gotten back from vacation. But Lionel had loved Tara's natural hair, and his unclouded vision of it had let Tara see it with fresh eyes. Tara had given up so much for her mother, her country, and her world... her hair she decided to keep. When she'd told her mother she didn't want it straightened, her mother had burst into tears. "But Tara, if I don't do your hair, what do we have?"

And the thing is, besides kinship and time, her mother and Tara don't share very much. It's not the same as not loving one another; they're just very different.

With a sigh, she heads into the office. Her mother is leaning over the front desk, saying, "He's so tall and handsome, he's from Englewood, and he got scholarships to med school—"

"Hi, Mom," Tara says. "Ready for lunch?"

Penny and Jayla, the secretaries, both smile at her in a way that says, "You've been holding out on us, woman." Tara smiles back tightly.

Tara's mom turns and winks at her. "I just know you'll find your soulmate soon!"

Tara sighs. "I'd settle for my cellmate."

Everyone laughs. Tara doesn't cry, which she figures is pretty strong of her. She'd set her cellmate free, and he'd never said he was coming back. She is still a prisoner of her feelings for Lionel... how long is she going to wait before she sets herself free?

"Max Lund?" the woman behind the counter says, studying Lionel's identification. She is surrounded by glowing boxes. A strange sort of glass and metal tablet on the counter is beeping faintly. The woman's eyes fall on it.

"That is what I am called." Lionel says, careful not to lie. He thinks he can, but he is proud of his Elvish heritage.

Narrowing her eyes at the tablet, she says, "You're one of those Norwegian researchers, aren't you?"

That is the nation Lionel and his fellow elves have supposedly emigrated from.

"You're early," she says before he can answer, sparing him from having to say something long winded like, _that is what my immigration paperwork says,_ which would skirt the truth of the matter.

"Everyone else is having their English evaluated," he explains. Or their ability to magically translate English. "My language ability is nearly perfect and the evaluator let me out early." Nothing could have kept him in that room with Tara so close.

"Uh-huh," says the woman.

"I'm looking for Tara Gibson," he says quickly. "I heard she belongs to this lab."

She blinks at a spot on his chin where his eyes appear to be to her—he's illusioned himself to look more Elvishly short. He'd had to. Due to Odin's well-meaning negotiations, he is still officially "a Light Elf." Even after Naleigh's testimony, many of the Dark Elves are suspicious of him. A disguise is necessary.

The woman points to his right. "Her office is right over there, but she just left for lunch."

"I'll wait for her," Lionel says, already heading in that direction. He reaches the door that has a placard with her name on it. It is slightly ajar, and he hears the rustle of paper inside. Heart beating fast—maybe the woman was wrong—he pushes the door open and steps in. Instead of Tara, there is a plump little man sitting on Tara's desk, a notebook in his hand. He looks up at Lionel and says something that is completely gibberish.

Lionel tilts his head and says, "Pardon?" and realizes the word came out in Elvish, not English. "Excuse me," he says, and again, it is Elvish. Also, the man is looking him directly in the eyes. Lionel scans the room and sees the same curious wire on the walls that had blocked his magic in the Dark Lands. He backs quickly out the door, and the man's eyes fall back to his chin as his illusion comes back to him. The little man blinks.

Lionel decides right then that if he is staying on Earth, the first thing he is going to do is take those ESL courses and learn the language— _really_ learn the language.

Behind him, he hears one of the women at the desk with the glowing boxes say cheerfully, "So, Tara has a date with a surgeon from Rush, now."

Lionel's eyes go wide, and he rushes back to the desk, even as the little man cries out, "Wait!"

Lionel pretends not to hear. Reaching the woman, he demands, "Tara is going to have surgery? Where is she? Is she at a..." Heart clenching in his chest, he struggles for the English word. "Hospital?"

The women stare at him, and the only sound is the beeping of the little glass and metal tablet. And then they both laugh. "You are from Norway!" says one.

"Date... as in courting!" says the other woman. "Though the way her mother is talking, you'd think the marriage date is already set."

"Mm ... hmmm... she says they got along well."

The other woman laughs. Lionel takes a step back, stunned. He thought... it's only been a few months. His breath comes fast and ragged. A few months... was it years to someone who hadn't lived to thirty?

"Sir!" cries the little man. "Wait!"

But Lionel is already in the hallway. He immediately makes himself invisible. Leaning against the wall for support, he shambles to the nearest exit. The little man, waving a blinking tablet, cries, "Come back!"

Lionel flings himself through the heavy exit doors, his mind filled with only one thought... he has to get away.

"Your hair looks so pretty like that," Tara's mom says.

"I like it a lot, Mom," Tara replies, touching the braid her mother had done for her. It crosses her crown, keeping those few loose coils determined to flop in front of her face out of her eyes. The rest is loose. The strands would stretch nearly six inches if she straightened them, but not straightened, they appear only about two inches long. Thick and dense, they frame her face.

"I think we should dye the ends blonde," her mother says, gesturing with her hands. "It will make it look like a real halo. If you don't like it, or just get bored, we could cut off the tips."

Ordinarily, Tara might think that sounded fun, but she remembers Lionel saying of her natural hair color, _A halo suits you._ All she can manage is a shrug.

Her mother frowns and taps her spoon on the table. The silence stretches uncomfortably between them. Tara is about to ask if her mother has had any interesting customers today when her mother blurts out, "When are you going to tell me about what happened between you and Lionel?"

Tara blinks, and her mother says, "You've been so odd since he was over."

"Nothing happened," Tara says automatically, and her heart turns to lead. There'd been no time for anything to happen. Not for the first time, she finds herself daydreaming about having had to take a long bus ride from Iowa—or wherever in farm country they'd popped through the World Gate. She bites the inside of her lip, eyes heating, fingers curling at the thought of the Norns stealing those hours.

Her mother's eyes narrow. "Hmpf. You know, if he broke your heart, the best thing to do is get out there. Start dating again. You hold onto these things too long."

"Mom ..." Tara starts to say, and then her phone rings. She waits it out, trying to formulate what to tell her mother, and it buzzes with a text. And then it buzzes with another. And another. Her mother frowns, and Tara apologizes, "I'll turn it off."

Slipping it from her purse, she glances down and notices a text from Eisenberg, right above the text from John, the surgeon her mom's trying so hard to set her up with. She's been ignoring John's text. She almost ignores Eisenberg's text, too—the little snippet she can see doesn't have their code for Asgardian invasion—and she doesn't want to encourage him texting her during lunch hour, but she can't help reading.

_It was him!_

Across the table, her mother says, "Tara?"

She blinks. Swipes, and instead of going to her settings, begins reading Eisenberg's rapid-fire thread.

_He was here._

_He was tall! But ears!_

_HE RAN AWAY!_

_Think he is on Polk. Can't see him. Invisible?_

_It was him._

Tara's breath catches.

A final text comes.

_I don't know how I scared him! Please don't let him go to U of C!_

"If you answer those texts you'll only encourage your boss to text you nights and weekends," her mother says.

Tara looks up at her. "Mom, I love you, but I've got to go."

"What's going on?" her mother asks.

"My cellmate has come!" Tara says, throwing some money on the table and grabbing her purse.

She strides from the restaurant, and then it occurs to her that if Lionel made himself invisible, something terrible must be happening. She breaks into a run, darting through the traffic on Taylor Street, cutting across Ashland Avenue at a diagonal, heading northwest. She dashes west as soon as she reaches Polk, races under the Polk Street L station, and across Hermitage, her heart beating in her ears. At the intersection at Wood Street, she catches her breath. Looking south, she sees only students. Looking west, she sees Dr. Eisenberg, his head bent over a magic detector. Tara breaks into a jog. She's just passing the entrance to the courtyard where a troll once emerged when her magic detector starts to beep in her purse.

She stops, and looks into the courtyard. A troll? Or Lionel? Or Lionel and a troll... she sprints into the courtyard and the magic detector's beeping becomes louder. Taking the device out of her purse, Tara spins, trying to locate the source of magic. There are no trolls, no students, no faculty, and no Lionel... just the ancient gothic architecture of the University of Illinois at Chicago Medical School, and a slightly unkempt garden. A few birds trill and her magic detector beeps, but the sounds of busy Ashland Avenue, cars, and Polk Street are blocked by the ancient building.

Tara's hands clutch the magic detector so hard her fingers hurt. She is afraid to use Lionel's name—she doesn't know how many spies Odin has, or where they all are. Instead she says, "I know you're here! Show yourself!"

Her magic detector beeps... and she holds her breath.

Lionel almost drops his spell as Tara dashes into the unkempt courtyard. She spins around, her beautiful face pained. Her magical talismans—or un-magical talismans—had saved him and his mother in the Dark Lands... and now he's causing her pain. "I know you're here!" she cries.

He follows her eyes as she scans the courtyard, her face frantic. The great schools of sorcery in Alfheim have gardens that are immaculately manicured to the last blade of grass. Is Midgard like Asgard? Does it not value its magic masters? He doesn't know, and that makes his heart sink. He'd thought the greatest obstacle between Tara and himself was time, but maybe it's the differences in their cultures. He'd come back to her, naively thinking that she'd wait for him. He remembers the women's words in the "lab." Tara's mother has plans for her wedding. Is it possible she couldn't wait for him? Was her marriage arranged?

"Show yourself!" Tara cries, clutching a strange beeping device in her hand, and Lionel rolls back on his feet. How does she know he's here?

She spins again, and Lionel blinks because she's surrounded by blue skies. He's hallucinating again, or seeing visions... His invisibility slips away without his volition.

Tara's jaw drops, and she takes a step back. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else..." Her voice drifts off.

Lionel blinks, and realizes he's kept his illusioned disguise—she sees a shorter, smooth-faced man with brown hair pulled back to hide his ears.

He lets out a breath. Should he speak? Would she recognize his voice?

Her eyes narrow at his chin and then go wide. She takes a step forward, eyes still unnervingly too low. "Did you find her? Your mother?"

She recognizes him, and he doesn't want to hide anymore. "Yes," he whispers.

Tara comes forward, arms outstretched, and her hands connect with his chest instead of wrapping around him, because of the illusion he wears. She's so close, and he can't care about her upcoming marriage, or the eyes of any of the Midgardian sorcerers who'd given him an ID, thinking he is a Dark Elf. He lets his illusion melt away, and pulls her into his arms.

Tara holds Lionel's hand as she drags him into the lab... he'd pulled her into his arms so easily, had rested his chin on her hair, but now his steps are slow and heavy. She is afraid to let him go. If she lets him go, she'll wake up and this will have been a dream. It already feels too dreamlike. He's too quiet; he must be in trouble.

Dr. Eisenberg is already back in the lab when they enter. "You found him," he says.

Tara looks back. Lionel is back to being short and Elvish again. His hair is dark blonde, his face is clean-shaven and pixie-like, but his eyes are the same icy blue as ever. She'd recognize them anywhere.

"Yes, Dr. Eisenberg," Tara says.

Lionel whispers, "So this is the dangerous Doctor Eisenberg?"

It's the longest sentence he's said.

Dr. Eisenberg peers at him from over his glasses. "Me? No, I'm not dangerous at all." He looks at Tara like he's just swallowed a frog. "I'll go now... Tara, take the day off if you need to convince your friend to stay." With that, he leaves... fast. A tiny part of Tara registers him leaving, but mostly she's just worried about Lionel. Something is wrong; she can feel it.

Pulling him into her office, she shuts the door with his hand still in hers, and turns to look at him. The Promethean Wire is blocking his illusion. He's tall again, and his ears are pointed, but he has a neat beard—something she never saw on any elf. His hair and beard are the same brown as the illusion's... even his eyebrows are darker, but his lashes are still light. Dyed, she realizes. The jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers he'd been wearing have become the sort of rough trousers and tunics she'd seen in the Dark Lands.

Perhaps seeing the direction of her gaze, he touches his hair. "Illusion is less taxing if it is based on reality." His eyes drop. He looks at their hands.

"You're in trouble," Tara says, clutching his hand to her stomach. "Aren't you? Odin is coming for you... you have to go back to the Dark Lands. You can't stay."

"Can you stay?" he asks, tilting his head, eyes hard. "You and Dr. Eisenberg are in as much danger as I am," Lionel says, stepping closer. She feels his breath on her forehead, and shivers when he whispers, "When Odin finds Loki... he'll come for you and him as well as me."

Tara gulps. She lets out a breath, and tries to imagine her and Eisenberg continuing their research in the Dark Lands. Would they be able to set up a lab in that fortress she'd seen when they'd first gone through? The one that is constantly under siege? Could the squabbling branches of her government put aside their differences and approve funding for such a project... She scrunches her eyes shut. It would never happen.

"My work... my life is here," Tara says.

Lionel pulls away, his fingers slip from hers, and she finds herself grasping at empty air. Walking over to her bookshelf and studying the titles, he says, "I suppose your life is here."

The distance between them makes her ache. "... and you must live it."

Tara shakes her head, and has a sensation like she's falling. She's going to lose a second man due to her overdeveloped sense of duty and obligation. Her nails bite her palms. The thing is... she can't change direction... too much is on the line.

Lionel bows his head. "I should congratulate you, of course."

"Congratulate me?" Tara whispers.

He looks over his shoulder at her. "On your marriage." The words are as flat as any he's delivered to Odin, and the tone makes the words a jumble she can't discern. What happened to the closeness between them?

... And then the words do sink in. "Marriage?"

His brows draw together, his lips turn down, and Tara actually feels her heart lift to see some emotion from him, even if it's anger. "Your assistants already informed me of it," he says, his voice bitter.

Tara's hand goes to her mouth, and she feels torn between laughing and crying. "I'm not getting married, Lionel!"

Turning to her, he shakes his head and locks his hands behind his back. "They said that your mother has set the date."

Tara nods. "I'm sure that she has. But _I_ haven't."

"You're courting...?" He takes a step closer to her.

Tara shakes her head. "No, no, I'm not." She starts to laugh at the same time a tear slips down her cheek. She's not courting, though not for John's lack of trying. If she'd met him before Lionel, she'd be head over heels... John is a good man; handsome, considerate, interested in something permanent. He also thinks that the World Gates should all be closed—as though they could be. Before Lionel, Alfheim, and Asgard, she would have agreed with him. Now she knows humanity can't hide and they must adapt.

And also...

"Do you think I could get over you so quickly?" she whispers.

Lionel takes a step toward her. "I don't know... I don't know your culture, and we didn't make promises. You would be within your rights to..."

There's only a step between them, and Tara closes it. "I couldn't let you go that easily. I'm not made like that."

Lionel reaches for her, releases a breath, and lets his hands slide down her side to her hips. Heat trails in their wake. It radiates from his fingers straight to her core. Her lips buzz with the kiss she wants so very much.

Lionel bows his head. "May I court you, Tara?"

"Yes," she whispers. _Oh, yes, yes, yes, now kiss me._

He huffs softly, and presses his forehead against hers. "I don't even know what human courtship entails."

Her left hand winds around his neck; her right caresses the point of one of his perfect ears. "We go on dates ..." she says, her voice breathy. His body is tight against hers, and she can feel he wants her as much as she wants him.

"Dates?" he asks, and she realizes her brain had said that final word in English.

"To... the theater," she supplies. "To meals, on long walks together."

"I don't want to wait... let's begin this courtship now. We can... go to a meal. The person on the orientation said there are places to get food around here, and gave me currency." Lionel straightens, starting to pull away. Tara holds him fast.

"Lionel," she says. "I can't go on a date with you right now!"

He meets her eyes. Tilts his head. "Why not?" he asks, voice strained.

Eyes locked on his, both hands caressing his ears, she says, "You've been away so long. I can't sit across the table from you. You'd be too far away... Maybe we could just go back to my home?"

His head drops forward, but then she leans back. Eyes wide, she says, "Unless that is too forward in your culture. It's not something I would normally do—but it's you... and I ..."

Lionel's eyes slip closed. He chuckles. "No, it's not too forward at all." He pulls their bodies flush again, sending shivers of warmth through her. He drops his forehead to hers, and she softly caresses his ear again. Frustratingly, he does not kiss her. In a soft voice, he murmurs, "I should tell you, you're right, protein bars are foul... but velociraptors really do not like pepper spray, antibiotics are wonderful, and also I think you might have misrepresented your rank here, because your talisman worked... I have never known of any sorceress who could create a talisman that could charm a kraken. Inky helped my mother and I escape a troop of Light Elves."

Tara's fingers pause and her eyebrows lift, wondering where this is going.

"I must thank you, for all of that," he says in a hushed whisper. "You saved my life and my mother's. I am debt bound now to protect your life—from Odin, and from Dark Elves that may have less than noble intentions here."

"You can't indebt yourself to me!" Tara protests.

His hands still. "Yes, I can, and bind myself to you in doing so." His icy blue eyes meet hers. "I am realizing, just now, how much we don't know about each other and our cultures... I need to be bound to you."

Tara gulps, and her eyes get blurry and hot, understanding what he's saying. _We're going to have some misunderstandings, but I want to be yours._

Tara smiles up at him, her body still buzzing, another fat tear rolling down her cheek, and a smile on her face all at the same time. "I want to be cellmates forever with you, Lionel."

He leans in. She can hear the smile in his voice when he whispers, "You won't be able to get rid of me," against her lips.

... And then he finally kisses her.

# Epilogue

"Daddddd! Are you going to come up and watch the launch?" Sol's shout echoes from the stairway to the roof all the way into the kitchen, two stories down. How many times has Lionel told him not to raise his voice in the house? If he responds, he'll have to shout back, and, in Earth "psych lingo," he'll wind up modeling the very behavior he wants Sol to stop.

Frowning, Lionel steps into the kitchen... and hears a crunch beneath his feet. He takes another step, and hears another. Lifting his foot, squinting in the low light of late evening, he sees the remains of crushed Cheerios on his sock. He lifts the other and sees the same.

From the breakfast nook, he hears a clink and then munching. Lionel follows the sound, each of his steps punctuated by a crunch. Rounding the corner, ears flattening against his head, he finds his daughter Zari, eating a bowl of Cheerios. Cereal and milk are puddled around her on the table, but Zari seems not to have noticed.

Tara has a theory that baby mammals are cute so their parents don't eat them. Lionel sighs and leans against the wall of the nook. He's in one of those moments when he really feels the meaning of those words. Lionel's and Tara's children are growing faster than elves but slower than humans, and Zari looks like a three-year-old human even though she is six. At the moment, her chubby toddler-like cheeks jiggle with each spoonful. Thankfully, her brown curls are pulled away from the mess in a charming poof at the back of her head. Her tiny, delicate pointed ears are perked slightly forward, and her large hazel eyes are focused on the back of the cereal box. Whatever she is reading obviously has her enraptured.

Crossing his arms, Lionel clears his throat. Zari starts and spills the contents of her spoon on the table.

"Daddy!" she says with a wide grin. She drops the spoon into the bowl, and more milk splashes onto the table. Lifting up the cereal box, she swings it in a wide arc toward him and Cheerios go spilling out the bottom everywhere.

Apparently not noticing, she says proudly, "I was hungry but I made my own snack!"

Lionel rubs his temple. "There's a hole in the bottom of the box."

"What?" says Zari, inexplicably, shaking the box and spilling even more cereal.

Lionel holds up his hands. "Just. Put. The. Box. Down."

Zari's face crumples. "I made my own snack." Her lower lip starts to tremble.

She's going to cry. Lionel drops down into a crouch. "And I am so, so proud of you."

She beams.

From the stairwell, Sol shouts, "Are you coming or not? They're gonna launch any minute now!"

Zari looks in the direction of her brother's voice, her eyes getting wider.

"Do you want to see the launch?" Lionel says.

Zari nods.

Lionel takes the box from her hands. "Just this once, I'll pick up for you."

Hopping from the seat, she runs toward the stairs, feet crunching the whole way.

Lionel quickly puts the box on the table, takes a step to the light switch, hears the crunch of cereal beneath his feet, gives in, focuses, and creates a pea-sized sphere of ball lightning. It's enough to illuminate the whole kitchen and the nook, and to see that Cheerios are everywhere. If Chicago was still under the gremlin infestation they had a few decades back, Lionel would suspect their involvement.

"Dad!" shrieks Sol.

Giving in, Lionel shouts back, "I'll be there in a minute!"

He and Tara have guests on the roof. He can't leave the cereal on the floor. Their guests will crush the little Os and deposit the crumbs in every cranny in the house.

He hears Tara's voice from the stairwell. "What happened?"

Using his feet to sweep a path through the Cheerios, Lionel makes his way to the broom closet. "Zari made a snack."

"But they're everywhere..." Tara gasps.

Lionel reaches the broom closet, and Tara says, "The vacuum is broken..."

Lionel nods. "I'm going to use the broom."

"Throw me the Dustbuster!" Tara says.

Lionel tosses it to her, and she catches it midair. She's wearing a pretty white party dress.

"Are you sure you want to—?" Lionel starts to ask.

"Yes," she says, grabbing the pleated skirt and bending over to "dustbust" the kitchen. "It might attract gremlins."

Lionel grabs a broom, puts the dustpan under one arm, and begins frantically sweeping.

"Dadddddd! Mommmmmm!" shouts Sol.

"We're coming!" shout Tara and Lionel over the sound of the Dustbuster.

Lionel pauses his sweeping to grab a dishtowel to mop up some milk, wincing at the dirt that he sops up with it. "There's more over there," says Tara.

Flinging another dishtowel on the other puddle, Lionel goes back to frantically sweeping.

"The joys of parenthood," Tara mutters.

Lionel only manages a "Mmmf." A long time ago, he thought that the reason the name Odinson didn't work on him was because he rejected Odin's ways. Now he thinks that the reason it didn't work was because for all practical purposes, Odin really wasn't his parent. Parenthood is sometimes swooping in to make a heroic save, but mostly it's boring, mundane things like cleaning up milk and cereal, and keeping your temper when your child is only trying to be helpful.

He sweeps all of his herded Cheerios into the dustpan and dumps the mess down the garbage disposal. Tara grabs the milk-soaked towels and races past in a blur of white fabric. "I'm throwing them in the washing machine. We'll have to do a load tonight or they'll stink!" she calls. Lionel's too busy capturing renegade Os to reply.

A few moments later, they're both standing, slightly breathless at the stairs.

"Ready?" she asks, smiling up at him.

It's been decades since they met, but Tara's hair is still full and black, and her dark skin is still smooth. Tara isn't magical, although there are treatments humans have concocted to make themselves so. The treatments sometimes have adverse reactions on developing fetuses, and Lionel and Tara have a crazy idea that they might have another child someday. Still, in the past few decades, Tara hasn't aged any more than Lionel. Lionel's magic is in stasis, in holding things together. The energy he once poured into making himself small, he pours into her telomeres, holding them together, letting them age together. Their relationship hasn't always been easy. Their children have made it harder in many ways, but also bound them together in ways he couldn't have imagined when they met. Tara may not be his soulmate in the Elvish sense of the word, but she has left an indelible mark upon his soul. He can't imagine facing his own old age without her.

"Ready," he says. He motions for her to go up the stairs in front of him. Snapping his fingers, he winks out the ball lightning and follows her up.

When they reach the top, the sun has already set. Dr. Eisenberg—Gil—and his wife, Irma, are relaxing on lawn chairs, fruity drinks in hand. Rosa's new husband John, and Tavende's husband Eric are sitting near them. Lionel's mother and Rosa are hovering just behind Sol and Zari.

To the east of the house, a beam of blue light shoots up into the sky.

Bouncing, Sol shouts, "It's starting!"

The adults all ooh and ah.

"What's happening?" Zari says.

Sol stops bouncing and says in a serious, scholarly tone, "It's a magical space elevator. It counteracts gravity, much like a flying carpet. It allows space ships to take off."

Wrapping his arm around Tara, Lionel finds himself chuckling at Sol's very grown-up reply.

"Maybe I can get him to lecture for me!" Gil says.

"Is the spaceship magic?" Zari asks.

"No, dummy, it's engineering," Sol replies.

"Which is pretty magical," says Irma as Tavende whispers something sharp in Sol's ear.

The number ten flashes in the sky, and then a nine. Throughout the neighborhood, voices rise from the roofs in a countdown. Everyone on Tara and Lionel's roof joins in.

And then the space ship, a sleek disk, leaps up into the magical space elevator in a streak of silver. People clap and cheer.

"Technology and magic together," whispers Tara, the blue light of the space elevator reflecting in her eyes.

"As it always should be," Lionel says.

Tara smiles up at him. He kisses her, and the magic between them still works.

* * *

~FIN~

Thank you for reading _Soul Marked_ to the very end!

Want more? If this is your first visit to this universe, you can start at the beginning of the saga with _Wolves._

Or if you want to see more of the world Tara and Lionel live in at the end of _Soul Marked_ , pick up _Magic After Midnight_.

# Also by S.T. Bende

### I Bring the Fire

Sometimes the hero is the wrong guy at the right time. Sometimes the hero is drunk. An urban fantasy featuring Loki, Norse God of Mischief and Chaos

Suggested reading order:

_Wolves_

_Monsters_

_Chaos_

_In the Balance_

_Fates_

_The Slip: A Short Story (mostly) from Sleipnir's Point of Smell_

_Warriors_

_Ragnarok_

_The Fire Bringers_

_Soul Marked_

_Magic After Midnight_

_Someday My Count Will Come_

_Magic After Midnight: the Original Short Story_

_Atomic: a Short Story from Sigyn's Point of View_

_Rush: A Short Story starring everyone's favorite SEAL_

_Take My Monsters: A Short Story and Norse inspired retelling the Ballad of Tam Lin_

### The Archangel Project

Commander Noa Sato doesn't believe in aliens. She's wrong. A sci-fi series.

_Archangel Down (free ebook)_

_Noa's Ark_

_Heretic_

_Carl Sagan's Hunt for Intelligent Life in the Universe: A Short Story (free ebook)_

_Starship Waking_

### Other Works

_Murphy's Star: a Sci-fi Short Story_

_Friendly Fire: a Sci-fi Short Story_

_Let There Be Light: a Sci-fi Short Story_

### Want to know about upcoming releases & get sneak peeks and exclusive content?

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Visit my website: www.cgockelwrites.com

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Or email me: cgockel.publishing@gmail.com

# Contact Information

Thank you for reading! Because I self-publish, I depend on my readers to help me get the word out. If you enjoyed this story, please let people know in reviews, on Facebook, Twitter, in your blogs, and when you talk books with your friends and family.

Want to know about upcoming releases and get sneak peeks and exclusive content?

Sign up for my newsletter

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Follow me on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CGockelWrites

Or email me: cgockel.publishing@gmail.com

# CHOSEN

### Book 1 of the Djinn Wars Series

# Chapter 1

The Dying began on my twenty-fourth birthday. Even now I truly believe that was nothing more than a sad coincidence, but if nothing else, the synchronicity helps me to remember when the end began. September twenty-sixth. There was a certain crispness in the air, a bite after the sun went down that told me fall was on the way, and winter soon to follow. We didn't get as cold in Albuquerque as they did in Santa Fe, but we could feel the shift in the seasons even so.

I was out with friends doing tequila shots at Zacatecas when the first reports about a strange illness in New York showed up on the evening news. Maybe I caught a glimpse on the TV in the bar, but I don't think so. To be blunt, I was pretty wasted. Getting plowed like that wasn't in my usual repertoire, but my friend Tori kept ordering round and after round, and since I wasn't driving, I didn't try too hard to stop her. Maybe in the back of my mind I was thinking that this year I was twenty-four, and twenty-five would come sliding along soon enough, and I might as well party with abandon while I still could. Sooner or later I'd have to be a good, responsible adult, but not on my birthday.

The next day was a Saturday. No school or work for me; I was getting my master's in English, mostly because I couldn't really figure out what else to do with myself, and staying in college for as long as possible seemed pretty attractive compared to what awaited me in the real world. Since I'd been lucky enough to snag a T.A. position teaching lower-division English classes, I didn't have to worry about dragging my sorry hung-over ass into work, either. I had until Monday to recover.

Around noon I finally wandered into the kitchen, after taking a shower so long the hot water began to run out. Good thing we had a separate water heater for the little apartment over the garage where I lived, or I probably would have heard about it from my mother. All right, so I was still living at home, but the apartment gave me at least the illusion of independence, if not the real thing. It also allowed me to pay much lower rent than I would have otherwise. My parents didn't want to charge me anything — well, not my mother, anyway — but I'd insisted. It was a pittance, but it did cover the utilities and helped give them some extra wiggle room.

My mother had the little white TV on the kitchen counter turned on and was frowning as she watched some cable news talking head go on about a new illness that had begun appearing in New York and Los Angeles the day before. Reports were also coming in from up and down both coasts about this unnamed disease, which left its victims hospitalized with extremely high fevers.

"More Ebola?" I asked, blinking against the too-bright light in the kitchen and making a beeline for the fridge, where my mother always kept a pitcher of iced tea, even in the dead of winter.

"No, Jessica," she said, that little pucker of worry still showing between her brows. "Something else. They don't know what it is."

"Mmm." In that moment, I was far more concerned with getting some caffeine into my bloodstream ASAP than worrying about the disease _du jour_. Those sorts of things never seemed to affect us here in Albuquerque. I wouldn't say we were exactly the city that America forgot, but if it weren't for _Breaking Bad,_ I doubted most people would have spared my hometown a second thought.

From the side-eye my mother was giving me as I downed the iced tea, I guessed that the makeup I'd carefully applied earlier wasn't doing much to hide the evidence that I'd had, as they say, a gaudy night. But because I hadn't been driving and was more or less ambulatory this morning, she seemed to be giving me a pass.

"Dad have a shift today?" I inquired, after refilling my glass of iced tea and taking a few more gulps. Since I felt fortified enough to eat at that point, I popped the pitcher of tea back into the fridge and got a package of English muffins out of the breadbox.

"Yes." She didn't exactly sigh, but I could tell she wasn't thrilled, either.

My father was an officer with the Albuquerque police department. Still a beat cop after twenty-five years, too. He never had any interest in riding a desk, liked to be out on the streets. How my mother lived with it, day after day, I didn't know. My brother and I generally took our father's occupation in stride, since it had always been a part of our lives. But I knew my father had gone through the academy after he and my mother got married, and so it hadn't been an irretrievable fact of life when they were starting out as a couple. I know she wished he was more interested in becoming a detective so he wouldn't be so much in harm's way every day. That wasn't my father, though — even at fifty-two, he was lean and fit, and could probably put guys half his age through a wall if necessary.

At the time, the department was chronically short-handed, so my father picked up a lot of extra shifts. My mother never protested, since she knew he was doing it for us, putting more money in the bank, but she couldn't help worrying. Sometimes I wondered if my father knew exactly how stressed she was every time he left for work. I didn't think that would've stopped him, though, because as much as he loved her, he also loved his job and thought he was doing some genuine good.

"Well, at least it's a daytime shift," I told her, then put the two halves of the English muffin I'd just broken apart into the toaster oven.

"I know." The worry line was still there, and it seemed to deepen as she returned her attention to the TV. The talking heads had been replaced by a doctor, a woman in her late forties who probably would have been pretty if she hadn't look so tired.

"The illness manifests as a very high fever, spiking as high as 106 degrees. We're having difficulty controlling the fever, even with analgesics and ice packs." She paused, pushing a strand of dishwater-blonde hair back behind her ear. Obviously, she hadn't bothered to primp before going to make her statement in front of the cameras. "No other symptoms have been observed at this point. If you or someone in your family comes down with a fever above 103, please call your doctor or go to the local emergency room."

The camera cut to the reporter interviewing the doctor. "Dr. Leviton, any word on where this illness has come from? Is it connected to the doctors returning from West Africa?"

"No," Dr. Leviton replied at once, looking almost annoyed. "None of the victims brought in to Mount Sinai or any of the other hospitals in the city appear to have any connection. Most of them haven't even left New York during the past few months. Of those who have traveled, they've returned home from destinations as diverse as Tahiti, Paris, and Australia. Again, there doesn't seem to be any connection."

At that moment, a nurse came up and whispered in the doctor's ear. Her expression shifted from annoyance to outright worry before she said quickly, "I'm sorry — a patient needs me. That's all I can tell you right now." And she turned away from the cameras and began hurrying down the hallway almost at a run, the nurse right behind her.

The camera panned back to the reporter, who was wearing what he probably thought was a look of measured concern...but to me, he just looked scared. I wonder what the nurse had said to the doctor.

Whatever it had been, the reporter didn't mention it. He only said, "That's the latest from Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. Again, as Dr. Leviton stated, seek medical assistance immediately if you have a fever in excess of — "

My mother turned off the TV. I arched an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head. "It's always something," she said. "I shouldn't even have turned it on, I suppose, but I was hoping to catch some weather."

"You're not worried?"

"No." She had her own glass of iced tea sitting on the counter, and she sipped from it as she watched me take the English muffin from the toaster oven and start spreading some butter on it. "Cable news always needs something to feed the monster. And unexplained diseases are a great way to keep people watching for updates."

That was something I loved about my mother — she wasn't afraid to call a spade a spade. Critical thinking was very important to her, which made sense, since she taught advanced composition and AP English at the same high school I'd attended. She made my father look like a starry-eyed dreamer.

"True," I said, munching away at my English muffin. My abused stomach was all too glad of the carbs, which should help to soak up the remnants of the tequila I'd downed the night before. Good thing I only indulged like that every once in a great while. Most of the time I was more a mixed-drink kind of girl.

"They'll play it up, and then it'll quietly disappear, just like everything else they try to make a big deal of." My mother finished the last of her tea and set the glass down on the counter. "Anyway, I'm about to go to the store. Anything you need?"

Mouth full of English muffin, I shook my head.

"Make sure you wipe down the counter when you're done," she admonished me, then picked up her purse and went out, apparently not concerned at all by what we'd just watched.

If only she'd been right. But it turned out that the worry of the doctor — and the scared-looking reporter — was not misplaced.

The next morning, the news was full of reports of people getting sick up and down both coasts, and cases had been reported in the Midwest as well...Chicago...Detroit...St. Louis. And the disease, whatever it was, hadn't confined itself to the borders of the U.S. People were sick in London and Munich and Moscow and Singapore. Hospitals were filling up.

My father sat in his wing chair in the family room and watched the news with narrowed eyes. My mother seemed to be doing her best to ignore the television, and was instead trying to worm the latest details about his football practice schedule out of my brother Devin, who was far more interested in texting with his girlfriend than watching TV or explaining why he would have practice four days this week but five the next. A senior in high school, he was hoping his record as running back for the school's team might help him to eke out a scholarship or two when he went to college next year. We were doing okay, but college was expensive — as I knew only too well, with loans piling up every semester, loans I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to pay back. Supposedly having a master's would put me on a higher rung of the salary ladder when I did have to go out into the real world, but jobs were scarcer than the college counselors wanted us poor schmucks stuck in loan limbo to believe.

"Have you seen any sick people yet?" I asked my father. I was sitting at the game table in the corner of the family room, attempting to give my paper on gender representation in gothic novels a final read-through in hard copy to catch any typos. Unfortunately, my brain was jittering this way and that, worried about the reports on the news, praying they were exaggerating and fearing they were not. I couldn't even say why I was so worried, since most of the time I ignored these sorts of reports, knowing the diseases they discussed rarely touched us here in our little corner of the Southwest. Something about the speed with which this one had spread bothered me, though. It bothered me a lot.

My father pointed the remote at the TV and turned down the volume, then shook his head. "Not with this thing. I've seen meth heads puking in back alleys and heroin addicts with the shakes because they couldn't get a fix, but this one? I don't think it's here."

The word "yet" hung in the air, unspoken, but no less ominous for that. More and more people were getting sick, and the first deaths had been reported on the East Coast. Not a lot, not yet, but although the news was trying to sugarcoat things, rumors had already begun to swirl across the Internet that no one who contracted this new disease survived. Which was crazy. Even Ebola — hell, even pneumonic plague, which had an insane mortality rate when not treated — wasn't one-hundred-percent fatal. That just wasn't possible.

"Maybe it won't," I said, although I knew even as I said them that the words were mere wishful thinking. "Maybe it'll just...blow around us, or burn out before it gets here."

"Maybe," he agreed. His eyes wouldn't meet mine, though, and I knew what he must be thinking.

I knew, because it was the same thing I was thinking. This wasn't a matter of if, but rather when.

On Monday when I arrived at school, I noticed the parking lot was noticeably less full than a university lot had any right to be this close to the beginning of the semester. And as I got out of my car and locked it, I saw that at least half the students walking around on campus wore surgical masks, the white disposable kind the news reports showed people in China wearing on days when the smog was particularly bad.

Apparently, I hadn't gotten the memo. Nothing I could do about it now...except hope that a lot of the students in the Writing 1A class I was teaching that semester had decided to bail completely.

Most of them had, except for a couple of the over-achievers. Well, at least the kind of over-achievers I'd get in a Writing 1A class, which wasn't exactly packed full with people who'd gotten 5s on their AP English exams.

I scanned the empty seats and tried not to frown, reminding myself that I'd get my T.A. stipend no matter how many butts were in those chairs on a particular day. "Okay," I said, surprised at the slight tremor in my voice, "on Friday we were just starting to get into the difference between a topic sentence and a thesis statement...."

Taylor Ortiz, who was sitting in the front row, blinked at me in apparent incomprehension. For the first time, I noticed the beads of sweat standing out on her forehead, the way she seemed to be swaying in her seat. Beneath her warm-toned skin, she looked dead pale.

"Taylor, are you all right?" I asked.

She blinked again. "Um...."

Next to her, Troy Lenz lurched to his feet. "Holy shit! She's got it!"

"Troy — " I began, maybe meaning to reprimand him for swearing in class, possibly intending to tell him to sit down, but I was fairly certain neither of those admonishments would have had any effect. All around the class, those few students who'd been brave enough to show up shot straight out of their seats, looking at Taylor as if she'd just started vomiting pea soup or something. Never mind that vomiting was not one of the symptoms of "the Heat" — the street nickname given to the disease because of the extreme fevers it caused.

"Oh, God, get away from her," a girl in the back of the class said, and before I could even open my mouth to speak again, they were all bolting for the door, a couple of them even overturning their desks in their haste.

A few seconds later, I was alone in the classroom with Taylor, who continued to look around blankly, seeming unaware that she'd managed to clear the space in about five seconds flat.

A cowardly part of me wanted to take off as well, but I told myself I couldn't do that — I was the teacher (okay, the T.A.), and I had some sort of responsibility to make sure she was all right. Besides, if she really did have the Heat, then I'd already been exposed, and there wasn't anything I could do about it now.

I approached her and put a hand on her forehead. Jesus Christ. She felt as if she was on fire from within. No wonder she was having a hard time focusing on anything. She was so hot that her brain must be cooking right inside her skull.

The university hospital was all the way across campus. I was stronger than I looked, thanks to a childhood spent hiking and walking and going to the shooting range with my father, but I knew there was no way I could get Taylor all that distance by myself.

Shaking, I went to my desk and pulled my purse out of the drawer where I always stowed it. My fingers trembled as well while I got out my phone. Thank God it wasn't too much work to dial 911.

It rang...and rang...and rang. Panic started to set in. I could feel my heart beginning to pound and my own nervous sweats starting, although I didn't think I was running a fever. Not yet, anyway.

Then, at last: "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

I cleared my throat. "Hi, my name is Jessica Monroe, and I'm in Building 81 on the UNM campus. One of my students is very sick and unable to walk. I'm pretty sure she needs to go to the hospital."

"Symptoms?"

"A very high fever."

I could have sworn I heard a muttered "shit" at the other end of the line, followed by a long pause. "Ms. Monroe, we are experiencing longer-than-normal response times for ambulances due to heavy volume. We will get someone out to you, but it may be a while."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant. Maybe it was lagging behind, but the Heat had finally come to Albuquerque.

I sat with Taylor, since I didn't know what else to do. She held on to the edge of her desk as if it was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality, her head first lolling this way and then that, her glassy dark eyes staring off into the distance, as if fixed on some object only she could see. It was frightening enough just being close to someone who was that sick, but even more frightening was how detached from reality she seemed to be. We Monroes were a healthy lot, and so I didn't have a lot of experience being around sick people. Devin got a horrible stomach flu one year, and we had colds and coughs from time to time, but nothing like this.

Sweat was dripping down Taylor's forehead and staining the tight T-shirt she wore. More rivulets of perspiration ran down into her cleavage, but I doubted anyone would have found the sight particularly sexy. For myself, I could only think of the millions of microbes she must be spreading in every direction each time she shifted in her seat. One time she shook like a dog, and little droplets of sweat sprayed everywhere, a few hitting me right in the face.

It took every ounce of willpower I had not to swear out loud. Belatedly, I realized that I had a partially drunk bottle of water in my purse. I doubted that would do much to help her, but at least it was something. And I had a feeling she was far past worrying about any germs I might have left behind on the bottle.

"Taylor?" I asked. No recognition in those strained dark eyes, which were still staring out at something only visible to her. "How about some water?"

She blinked. Maybe it was the only way she could answer, or maybe it was simply an involuntary reflex. Either way, it gave me an excuse to get up from the desk next to hers, to go to my purse and fetch the bottle of water. As I approached her, I could almost feel the heat emanating from her, impossibly, inhumanly warm.

What must her temperature be? I had no way of knowing, but I wondered how anyone could stay alive and conscious — even the fragile consciousness she was clinging to right now — while suffering such a high fever.

"Taylor, here's the water." She didn't seem capable of taking the bottle herself, so I held it to her lips. For a second she didn't move, only let the opening rest against her mouth, and then some lizard-brain function must have kicked in, because she latched onto it and drank greedily while I tilted the rest of the bottle's contents into her mouth. Within a few seconds, all the water was gone.

"That's all," I told her, but she didn't seem to understand, even lifting one hand to grab at the bottle when I began to pull it away. "Just rest, Taylor. Please. The ambulance will be here soon."

That, of course, was a lie. I had no idea what "longer-than-normal response times" might mean, since I'd never called an ambulance for anyone in my life. My father might know, but even if I could get a hold of him, which I doubted, he'd probably read me the riot act for not getting out of there the second Taylor started to display symptoms. Or maybe not. He was pretty big on the whole "serve and protect" mentality.

Right now, though, I had a feeling I was on my own.

I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket where I'd stowed it and looked at the time. Fifteen minutes since I'd called 911. It felt roughly ten times that. A quarter-hour response time wasn't great, but it also didn't feel too outside what might be considered normal. I might be waiting much, much longer than this. Biting my lip, I went to my contacts list and pushed the button for campus security, since I figured they might be faster than the paramedics, but the line was busy. I ended the call and tried again. Still nothing. Damn it.

As if finally registering that there was no more water, Taylor slumped back in her seat, head tilting to one side. Her body was twitching feebly. Some kind of convulsion? Again, my lack of experience with any kind of serious illness stymied me. Maybe it would be better for her to lie down, but the linoleum floor had to be far less comfortable than the chair. Since it had been a warm day, nearly eighty degrees, she didn't have a sweater or jacket that I could lay her on, and I hadn't brought one with me, either.

Never before in my life had I felt so useless, standing there and watching as the sweat rolled off her and she continued to jerk helplessly, like her body was being controlled by some unseen puppeteer. I went to the browser on my phone, thinking that maybe I could click over to WebMD or something and see if there was anything else I could do to help her, but no matter how many times I backed out of the browser app and tried to refresh it, I couldn't get the damn thing to connect. It wasn't the first time my phone had acted up like this, but in general I had good connectivity here at school. I had a feeling the phone wasn't the real problem.

But no, I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to think about what might be going on outside the door to my classroom, what might be happening to my parents or my brother.

No, I thought fiercely. They're fine. They have to be.

Just when I was about to give up and dial 911 again, the door burst inward, and two men carrying a stretcher entered the classroom. Thank God you're here died on my lips, because they weren't wearing the usual dark jackets and pants of EMTs, but full head-to-toe yellow biohazard suits, the kind of gear I'd seen on TV on doctors and nurses treating people with Ebola.

They went straight to Taylor, extricated her from her desk, and laid her down on the stretcher. Once they were done with that and she was strapped in, one of them turned toward me.

"Name?"

I guessed they were asking about Taylor, not me. "Taylor Ortiz," I told him. "That's her purse right there on the floor. It should have her I.D. in it."

The EMT grabbed her purse by the strap and lifted it from the floor, then extracted her wallet from within. He opened it, glanced at her driver's license, and then nodded and dropped the wallet back in her purse. "You?"

"Me?" I blinked at him, then responded, "Jessica Monroe. I'm the T.A."

"How are you feeling?"

_Scared_. "Fine. That is, I don't feel like I'm running a fever or anything." Did that even matter? I hadn't heard what the incubation period was for the Heat, but I assumed it didn't have instantaneous onset. No disease did...or did it?

"Go straight home," the EMT said. "No contact with anyone else. If you start to exhibit symptoms, don't call your doctor. Go straight to the hospital."

"But...." The word trailed off as I attempted to gather my thoughts. Something about this didn't feel right. No, wait, scratch that — _nothing_ about it felt right. I'd been exposed to someone who obviously had the Heat. Shouldn't they be quarantining me or something?

The EMT's hooded head tilted to one side as he waited for me to spit it out.

I said, "If she's sick, haven't I been infected, too? Don't I, I don't know, have to be isolated or something?"

"We don't have the facilities for that. Best thing to do is go home and stay away from other people. If you do get sick, get to the hospital. That's all I can tell you."

Then he nodded at his compatriot, and they both crouched down and lifted the stretcher, hauling Taylor out of the room. It was only after the door had shut behind them that I realized they'd left her purse behind, as if who she was didn't matter.

My phone went off then, and I looked down at the text that had just appeared on my home screen. _Due to health emergency, all classes are suspended indefinitely. We ask that all students go to their residences immediately and remain there until further notice._

So the university's student alert system had finally kicked in.

Too bad that it was already too late.

# Chapter 2

The campus was mostly deserted when I emerged from the classroom at a little before noon and locked the door behind me. In a way that was good, as at least I didn't have to play dodge 'em with anyone who looked infected. But there was still a long line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot, and I sat there, worry mounting as the minutes ticked past.

What did it feel like when the Heat came over you? A sudden spike in temperature? Or was it a slow, gradual burn, until you, like a lobster in a pot, ended up boiling in your own juices?

I didn't know. And all this had happened so quickly that there hadn't been much detail on the news, either. Or maybe they'd repressed what they did know, lest they throw everyone into a panic.

At last I was able to pull out on Central, then headed west. Did I dare take the freeway to get home? All around me, the streets were choked, full of people obviously trying to get to their own homes, so I had a feeling the freeway was a very bad idea. Instead, I ended up zigzagging my way out of the downtown area, finally making it over to 12th so I could head north. A few more zigzags, and then I was back in a residential section, although still a few miles from home. There was less traffic here, although I noticed more cars on the streets than there normally would have been in the middle of the day when everyone should have been at work.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I pulled up in front of the house and I saw my mother's Escape parked in the driveway. No sign of Dad's Grand Cherokee, or the police cruiser he sometimes brought home. But at least my mother was here.

I scrambled out of the car, then hurried down the driveway to let myself in the back door. We almost never came and went through the front, mostly because my mother was unnecessarily fussy about the Berber carpet in the living room. Better to track dirt through the kitchen, which had abused linoleum she'd been wanting to get rid of for years.

"Mom?" I called out as I came in through the service porch, then on into the kitchen.

"Jess?" she called back. I heard feet approaching from the hallway that ran down the middle of the house. When she came around the corner, I saw that her face was dead white. She let out a little choked sob when she saw me. "Oh, thank God."

At any other time her reaction might have startled me, but not now. Not after what had just happened to Taylor Ortiz. "I'm fine," I said. "Only — "

Her brows drew together. "Only?"

"A girl in my class — she had it. The EMTs came and got her, but they sent me home. It's probably better if you don't come too close."

"Oh, God," she said, this time invoking the name in horror rather than in relief. She appeared to gather herself, voice strained as she went on, "How do you feel?"

I paused to take stock. "Okay, actually," I told her. It was true, too. Yes, I was a little shaken after being that close to someone that sick, and then having to fight my way home through hordes of panicky motorists, but otherwise, I felt fine. No fever. No chills. No sweats.

Despite what I'd just told her about staying away, she took a step closer. Motherly instinct, I supposed. She had to reassure herself that I was all right and not merely take my word for it. But because she was a smart woman, she only came close enough to see for herself that I wasn't flushed or feverish or sweaty.

After a long pause, she nodded. "I keep flipping through the stations, trying to see if someone is giving out any concrete information. What the incubation period is. How infectious the disease is. The — the mortality rate." She pulled in a breath. "And there's nothing, except that the situation is being handled and that people should stay home whenever possible. What kind of a policy is that?"

I didn't know. I would have assumed that in most cases of infection, the CDC would have send out teams to quarantine people and triage those affected, would do everything possible to keep the disease from spreading any further. Or at least, that was what I'd observed on TV when the news covered outbreaks of bird flu or whatever. But I'd seen no real government presence on my way home today, no squads of experts in biohazard gear, no blacked-out SUVs speeding down the street, no...nothing. It was as if this thing was spreading so quickly the government couldn't begin to contain it.

That thought was too frightening, though, and I quickly pushed it away. Instead, I asked, "Dad? Devin?"

She glanced away from me, her mouth tight. "I can't reach your father. I sent a text to Devin, telling him to come home, but he hasn't answered me. I called the school and got a recording that classes had been canceled and everyone sent home. So my best guess is he's taking the opportunity to have a little unsupervised time with Lori."

Lori was his girlfriend. The two had been joined at the hip since spring break last year, and I had a feeling my mother's guess was all too correct. "Did you try calling her house?"

"Of course I did. No answer. And I don't have her cell number — Devin would never give it to me. At the time, I didn't think it was worth nagging him about it. Now...."

"I'm sure it's fine," I said quickly. No point in having my mother worry any more than absolutely necessary. "If they're at Lori's house, then at least they're inside and away from other people."

"True, but...."

I knew she would fret about this until Devin appeared, whenever that was. In that moment, fury flashed through me, that he would be so selfish as to go off and bang his girlfriend or whatever while the rest of us were worried sick about him. Uttering such a thing out loud would just set my mother off that much more, though, so I only said, "Why don't you have some tea while you're waiting? I need to go up to my apartment and wash my hands and get straightened up, but I'll be right back down."

Her eyes were far away, but she nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

I sent her what I hoped was an encouraging smile, then went out the back door and down the driveway to the detached garage. The apartment built over it was small, just a little over four hundred square feet, so there was a tiny living room, a spot under one window for a table and two chairs, a kitchenette, and then the bedroom and bath, which was so small I could reach out from the shower stall and open the door if I had to. But at least it was mine, and it felt good to escape there, to hurry up the stairs and run to the bathroom so I could turn on the water as hot as I could stand it, then let it run over my hands as I scrubbed them again and again with antibacterial soap.

As if that would make a difference. It was better than nothing, though, and I couldn't think of what else to do. My eyes stared back at me from within the mirror, wide and dark, shadowed with worry. I was pale, but I didn't look sick.

After blotting my hands on a towel, I reached up and felt my forehead. It didn't seem overly warm, but I'd always heard you couldn't really detect your own temperature by doing that. So I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the digital thermometer I kept there. After cleaning it off with some rubbing alcohol, I popped it in my mouth and waited.

The seconds went by with agonizing slowness. I wandered out to the living room and sat down on the futon, wondering whether I should turn on my TV, see if I could find anything worth watching. But then, if my mother had been unable to, what made me think I would have any better luck?

Instead, I stared out the window at the tree outside, a honey locust, its leaves just beginning to turn yellow. It was warm during the day, but the nights were already cold. The tree knew its time was coming.

Did I?

The thermometer beeped, indicating it was done measuring my temperature, and I pulled it out of my mouth. For the longest moment, I only held it, scared to look at what the readout might say. Finally, I forced myself to glance down.

_97.6._

My breath whooshed out of me, and I dropped the thermometer on top of the coffee table. No temperature at all. On the low side, actually.

But what did that mean? Once you were infected, how long did it take for your fever to start building?

I didn't know. All I did know was that I wasn't sick. Not yet, anyway. And I'd left my mother alone long enough. Even if I couldn't sit next to her, I would be close enough so we could talk, and that would help to keep her from worrying until Devin came home. Which he would, eventually, after he'd gotten his rocks off. I loved my little brother, but sometimes he wasn't the most considerate of other people's feelings. Well, other people who weren't his girlfriend, that is.

After closing the door to my apartment but not locking it, I went back into the main house, past the washer and dryer and the overflow pantry where my mother put all the big containers of items from Costco, the sort of stuff that was "such a good deal she couldn't pass it up." What in the world we were going to do with that much tomato sauce or rolled oats, I had no idea.

She must have turned the television on, because I could hear it blathering away as I approached. "...everyone is encouraged to stay inside and away from people with obvious signs of infection. If a fever presents, take analgesics such as aspirin or ibuprofen. Ice packs are also effective. If the fever rises to above 103 degrees Fahrenheit, go to your nearest emergency room...."

I stopped dead at the entrance to the kitchen. Not because I didn't want to get any closer to my mother, but because I knew it really didn't matter whether I was infected or not.

Her body was sprawled on the kitchen floor, limp, one of her low-heeled pumps hanging half off her foot. Panic flashed through me, so quick and sudden that I could actually feel my knees beginning to buckle. I grabbed on to the doorframe for support, telling myself I didn't have time to lose it right now. After swallowing a huge gulp of air, I said, "Mom?"

No reply, but then I heard her breathing, rapid and shallow, like our old dog Sadie after a particularly strenuous walk. We'd lost Sadie last winter.

Stupid of me to be thinking of that now.

I went into the kitchen and knelt down next to my mother, reaching out to touch her shoulder. The skin under the silk blouse she'd worn to work was almost scorching, or at least it felt that way to my shaky fingers. "Mom?"

The faintest of groans. It wasn't much, but it was a sign that she could still hear me, hadn't yet retreated so far that she couldn't even react to outside stimuli.

Obviously, I couldn't leave her here. My parents' bedroom was upstairs, and I quailed at the thought of trying to move her all the way up the flight of stairs that led to the second story. Maybe I could just lay her down on the couch in the family room? At least until my father got home, and then the two of us could get her properly in bed. Even then I knew calling an ambulance was pointless. I couldn't count on anyone to come, so I figured the best thing to do was to get her as comfortable as possible.

I took her by the shoulders, and, as gently as I could, rolled her over so she was facing upward. She whimpered during this procedure, sounding so unlike herself that I felt a frightened little sob escape my throat. Luckily, she was far enough gone that she couldn't really hear me.

Telling myself that this was the best thing to do, that I couldn't leave her on the floor, I half-carried, half-dragged her into the family room and then somehow manhandled her up onto the couch. The scary thing was that she didn't even protest, didn't try to push back against me or do anything, really. It was like moving a rag doll around — a 130-pound rag doll, anyway.

But at last she was safely on the couch. I took the throw that always lay folded over one arm and spread it out across her. Another one of those little whimpers, as if she thought that would make her too hot, but knew she had to have some sort of covering. Then she subsided, eyes shut tight, chest rising and falling far too rapidly.

All of the first aid supplies were in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom, the one Devin and I used to share before I moved into the apartment over the garage. After taking another look at my mother and deciding she should be okay for a minute or so, I hurried up the stairs, moving as quickly as I could without actually running. When I got to the bathroom, I opened the cabinet, took out the jumbo container of Kirkland ibuprofen, and shook a couple into my hand. I also took out the thermometer. Yes, it was obvious my mother had a high fever...but how high? Past the magic number of 103?

I had to hope not.

I dashed back down the stairs. She hadn't moved, although I noticed she'd pushed the throw off her chest, down to her waist. Her blouse and skirt were getting wrinkled, but I couldn't do much about that. Another thing my father would have to help me with when he got home.

If he got home.

_Don't go there,_ I told myself. _He'll be here. He will._

I just didn't know what he'd find when he eventually did make it home.

The pills were cool in my palm. I realized then that I'd forgotten to get any water for my mother to take them with, so I went into the kitchen, filled a glass halfway, and went back out to the family room. She hadn't moved, was lying there twitching and shaking the way Taylor Ortiz had.

"Mom," I said softly. She didn't seem to acknowledge me, so I didn't know if she'd really heard me or not. Maybe my saying her name was to reassure myself as much as it was to let her know I was there. "Here's some water, and some pills for your fever."

I slipped my arm under her shoulders and lifted her a few inches, just enough so I could bring the water to her lips. Like Taylor, she drank greedily, gulping so much that I had to pull the glass away so there would be enough left for her to take the pills.

"Okay, first one," I told her, slipping one of the ibuprofen capsules between her lips. It just sort of sat there on her tongue, so I poured more water into her mouth. Her swallow reflex cut in, and she downed the pill without too much trouble. The second one was a little more difficult, but she did finally take it.

After that procedure, I realized I should've taken her temperature first, that the water might make the reading inaccurate. Since there wasn't anything I could do about it at the moment, I sat down in one of the armchairs, figuring if I waited a few minutes, it would probably be safe to try the thermometer.

Waiting was bad, though. If all I was doing was sitting there and watching my mother shake and shiver on the couch, then I had plenty of time to think...and thinking was the last thing I wanted to do. My thoughts chased one another around and around, worrying at each other, fretting, biting. What if my father never came home? What if Devin had fallen sick at Lori's? What if they were _both_ sick?

And above all, _Why isn't anyone helping us?_

I could feel myself starting to shake, but I didn't think it was from a fever. No, I guessed it was just good old-fashioned fear with an extra helping of uncertainty. Clenching my hands together, I willed them to stop trembling. My mother was probably too out of it to really notice, but I didn't want my fingers shaking when I finally did take her temperature.

Since I couldn't think of anything else to do, I picked up the remote for the TV and switched it on, quickly lowering the volume so it wouldn't disturb my mother. As I flipped from channel to channel, I didn't see anything that was remotely reassuring. More talking heads, discussing self-quarantine procedures and dispensing advice how you shouldn't go out or come into contact with anyone if you had any symptoms, and if you did come down with a fever, to make sure you wore a mask or tied some kind of barrier over your nose and mouth when it came time to go to the emergency room. And all of them looked pale and strained, and were giving the side-eye to one another when they thought the others weren't looking, as if trying to detect signs that one of their fellow newscasters might be starting to show symptoms. On one channel, I caught a pretty young woman who didn't look much older than I sending furtive glances somewhere off-camera, as if at someone who was standing by and monitoring what they were all saying. That couldn't be good.

With all the people being sent to emergency rooms, hospitals had to be overwhelmed. I wondered how many people were sick, and how many were like me, exposed but still asymptomatic. Maybe fifty-fifty? I couldn't even begin to guess. All I did know was that I didn't see how hospitals could even begin to keep up.

Annoyed that all the stations were repeating the same useless information, I turned off the television and picked up the thermometer. My mother really didn't want to take it, but after a bit of wrestling, I got it shoved between her lips and more or less under her tongue. Her skin felt clammy and hot at the same time, which I doubted was a good sign. Maybe two ibuprofen weren't enough. Maybe I should have given her three, or even four.

Or maybe I could have poured the whole damn bottle down her throat, and it still wouldn't have done a bit of good.

Clenching my jaw, I sat and looked out the window at the trees moving in the gentle September breeze, at the sparrow who landed on one branch and cocked his head in my direction, almost as if he could see me sitting inside, watching him. The window in the family room faced out onto the side yard and the fence that separated us from the Montoyas next door. I didn't see any movement over there, which most days wouldn't have been that unusual. It was the middle of the day; both the Montoyas worked full-time, and their kids were in grade school. But the schools were closed, and it seemed as if most places of business were shutting up and sending their employees home as well.

Were they home, but ill? Or well enough, but hiding, not wanting to take the risk of being exposed? I didn't know, and I had my hands full here. If my father came home, I'd probably go over and check on them, but until then....

The thermometer beeped at me, and I gently drew it from my mother's mouth and looked at the readout. Then I squeezed my eyes shut, certain they had to be reading it wrong, that they were tricking me in some way.

I opened them again.

_106.8._

Was that possible?

I supposed it had to be, since that was what the thermometer was saying. I also had a feeling that two ibuprofen might not be cutting it here. Okay, on the news they were saying to apply cool cloths, so that seemed to be the next step. Well, right after I called 911. Maybe that wouldn't do any good, but right then I was so scared by my mother's temperature that I had to at least try to get help.

After I set the thermometer back down on the coffee table, I got up and went to the kitchen, where my parents still had an old-fashioned corded phone mounted on the wall. Devin and I had both laughed at it, but my father had given us the evil eye and said that land lines were way more reliable than cell phones, and that one day we might be very glad of that old push-button phone.

I lifted the receiver from its cradle, but when I put it to my ear, all I heard was a fast busy signal, the kind you get when the phone service is out. Scowling, I jiggled the hook, then listened again. Still nothing. So much for good old-fashioned technology.

My cell phone was upstairs in my apartment, still in my purse where I'd dropped it on the floor by the door. I really didn't want to leave my mother alone, but I needed to see if the cell network was functioning any better than the land one.

After peeking into the family room and reassuring myself that she was resting as well as she could be, all things considered, I let myself out and climbed the steps to my apartment two at a time. Since I hadn't locked the door, it only took a few seconds for me to get in, pull the phone out of my purse, and dial 911.

"We're sorry — all circuits are currently busy. Please try again later."

The computer-generated voice sounded positively snotty. Somehow I resisted the urge to fling my cell phone against the wall, since I knew that wouldn't do any good. Instead, I stuffed it into the pocket of my jeans and hurried back to the house. I sure would try again later, but in the meantime, I had to do what I could to take care of my mother.

Her condition didn't seem to have worsened during the couple of minutes I was gone. That was something. I got a few dish towels out of the drawer and dampened them with cold water, then went into the family room and laid them across her forehead. Some of the moisture dripped on her gray silk blouse, leaving damp blotches. I hoped they wouldn't leave stains.

_Seriously, you're worrying about a couple of stains at a time like this?_

I supposed I was fixating on that, just because it was easier to worry about something like ruining my mother's clothes rather than the big-picture stuff, like how none of the phones were working. Yes, I'd heard how that could happen after some kind of disaster, but Albuquerque wasn't really prone to disasters, whether natural or man-made.

The back door slammed, and my mother started, then began twitching and shaking again. Damn. And I'd just gotten her to a place where she seemed to be more or less resting comfortably. But maybe that slamming door meant my father had come home.

I readjusted the damp towel on my mother's forehead, then got up and went into the kitchen. Devin was getting a glass out of the cupboard as I entered. He looked fine — no flushed cheeks, no sheen of sweat — and in that moment I wasn't sure whether I wanted to hug him in relief or punch him in the arm for making us worry like that about him.

"Where the hell have you been?" I demanded.

"Lori's," he replied, going to the refrigerator and getting some ice and water out of the door.

"Well, you scared the crap out of Mom. She couldn't get a hold of you — "

He shrugged. "I sent a text. Maybe it didn't go through. Anyway, they sent us home, and Lori couldn't get in touch with either of her parents, so she was freaking out. So I stayed with her."

"Oh," I said, feeling some of my righteous indignation begin to seep away. Lori was an only child, and a little coddled, so I could see why she'd be more than ordinarily upset at not being able to contact her parents. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, her mom finally got a text through and said she was on her way home, so I thought I'd better get over here." His gaze sharpened on me, and I wondered what he saw. Lord knows, I was starting to feel kind of overloaded. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but Mom isn't," I replied bluntly. Maybe too bluntly, because he almost dropped the glass he was holding.

"She's — she's not sick, is she?"

"Yes. She just got the fever about a half hour ago."

Beneath his end-of-summer tan, my brother's face drained of all color. "She can't be sick!"

Right then he didn't look like the big, broad-shouldered running back, but a scared kid. I wanted to go hug him, but lately he'd been scorning such sisterly displays of emotion, so I wasn't sure how he would react. Instead, I kept my voice calm as I told him, "She had a high fever, but I got her to take some ibuprofen, and she's resting now with some cold cloths on her head. So far, so good."

That sounded very reasonable, very steady. Never mind that I didn't really believe it. If this disease really was at all survivable, that information would've been all over the news by now. The complete radio silence on the actual facts of the disease told me that it was beyond dire...it was catastrophic.

My words didn't seem to reassure Devin. He gave me a stricken look and then went into the family room, where he stopped a few feet away from the couch and stared down at our mother. She seemed to be sleeping, but something seemed off about her face, as if her cheeks and eye sockets had begun to look sunken, far too shadowed.

No, that couldn't be right. It had to be a trick of the lighting in the room; I'd pulled the drapes almost closed so the afternoon light that was beginning to slant into the space wouldn't disturb her. Just some sort of strange optical illusion.

Only I feared that wasn't it at all.

Devin appeared to be of the same mind. He stood there, hands hanging helplessly at his sides, as he stared down at her. Finally, he whispered, "She's going to die, isn't she?"

In that moment, I was furious with him for giving voice to that thought, as if by saying it out loud he could somehow cause it to happen. "No, she's not," I shot back, my voice shaking.

"She is," he insisted, and right then I was glad that she was more or less comatose. At least that way she couldn't possibly hear what we were saying. "When I was over at Lori's house, we were on the computer, trying to get more information. A lot of the sites we went to were down, but we found one with this guy on video saying that everyone who catches it dies, and that the government is shutting down anyone who tries to spread the truth."

I recalled that one blonde newscaster, and the way her gaze kept flickering nervously to something — or someone — off-screen. FBI...or CIA...or NSA...agents, standing there and watching to make sure the reporters all said the same thing?

At any other time, that would have felt like rank paranoia. Now, though....

"That's crazy," I said, although I didn't sound all that convinced, even to myself. "No disease is one hundred percent fatal."

"That we know of," Devin shot back. Then his face twisted as he looked back down at our mother, at her strangely waxy and sunken features. "Is there anything else we can do? Like, I don't know, ice packs or something?"

"Maybe," I said. It was worth a try. Covering her in ice packs would complete the ruin of her outfit, but I doubted that mattered much at the moment.

Glad to have something to do, Devin and I went to the kitchen and got out some big gallon-sized plastic storage bags and started filling them with ice. That seriously depleted our current ice supply, but I knew the ice-maker would start chugging away in an attempt to make up the deficit.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as we zipped up the last bag.

"Fine," he said. "I mean, I feel...weird...but I don't feel sick."

That about sized it up. Weird, but not sick. The world was tilting beneath us, but neither of us knew what to do about it.

I set the bags I carried down on the coffee table, not worried about whether the cold and the moisture would mar the wooden surface. Such concerns seemed miles away from where we were right now. "I want to check her temperature again first," I told Devin, picking up the thermometer and slipping it into our mother's mouth. She squirmed a bit, but I held firm, and she subsided. We waited as the seconds went by, and when the thermometer beeped, I was pulling it out before it was even done.

When I looked at the readout, I couldn't believe what it said.

"One hundred and seven point two," I read as my stomach began to knot. So much for the ibuprofen and the cold towels.

Devin's dark eyes were practically round, they widened so much. "That's not possible...is it?"

"Well, it's possible to have a fever that high," I replied, then stopped there. It wouldn't do much good to point out that such an unnaturally high fever could result in brain and organ damage...and that there wasn't a damn thing we could do to stop it, apparently. I drew in a breath and added, "Let's get the ice on her. Obviously, the cold compresses weren't enough."

He nodded, and I picked up the bags full of ice I'd placed on the coffee table. I wasn't even sure of the best positioning of the ice packs, but I figured she'd need one on her head, and some up against her sides, maybe on her chest....

The bag in my left hand went on her forehead, and the one in my right down on her chest. She winced, although her eyes didn't open. The bag I'd put on her chest shifted slightly, and I repositioned it. "Give me yours," I told Devin, guessing that he wouldn't feel very comfortable about setting bags full of ice on his mother's body. From the alacrity with which he handed them off, I had a feeling my guess was correct. I placed those two on either side of her waist, trying to position them in such a way that they'd get maximum contact with her torso. It was the core that needed to get cooled down. Or at least, I thought that was how it worked.

She didn't like it, I could tell — she kept shifting slightly, trying to get away from the cold, but she was so weak that her movements were ineffectual. Still, if she moved around much more than that, I'd have to find some way to secure the ice packs in place. There had to be some rope or twine or something like that in the garage.

I wondered if I should send Devin out to fetch it. He was staring down at our mother, glassy-eyed, as if not quite able to take in what was happening to her.

Then I saw the way he swayed on his feet, and a wave of cold that had nothing to do with the ice packs I'd just handled washed over me.

"Devin?" I asked, and it seemed it took him far longer than it should for him to glance over at me.

His pupils appeared to have dilated until they were so large that the black almost swallowed up the warm brown of his irises. "Huh?"

"How do you feel?" I enunciated the words carefully so there would be no chance for him to misunderstand.

"Um...weird."

I went to him and put my hand on his forehead. He didn't flinch away, which told me something was very wrong. Actually, the clammy heat against my palm told me everything I needed to know.

When I spoke, the words sounded as if they were coming from very far away, as if someone other than myself was saying them. "Devin, why don't you go upstairs and get into bed? I'll bet you're tired."

"Yeah, I am kind of tired," he mumbled, then turned with excruciating slowness and began moving toward the hallway and the staircase that led to the second floor. I prayed he'd be able to get there under his own power. My mother had been difficult enough to move. I knew there was no way I'd be able to haul 170 pounds of running back up those stairs.

But somehow he did it, putting one foot hesitatingly after the other, until at last he reached the upstairs hall and stumbled into his room. I followed, giving him his space, and when he collapsed onto his bed, legs hanging off the side, I wanted to let out a sigh of relief...but I didn't.

How could I, when I knew my brother had just been handed a death sentence?

# Chapter 3

I did go in, and untie his shoes and pull them off. Then I waited as he wriggled under the covers.

"Get some rest, Devin," I told him, and he gave me a bleary nod.

"'Kay."

Maybe he slept after that, or just plain passed out. Part of me was thinking I should go downstairs and fetch the big bottle of ibuprofen, but what was the point? I'd given some to my mother, and it hadn't made a whit of a difference. In fact, she'd only gotten worse.

I couldn't linger here, anyway — I had to go check on her. Devin seemed more or less quiescent for the moment, so it seemed safe to go back downstairs.

She hadn't moved much. The ice packs were more or less in place, except for the one on her forehead, which had slid to one side. I put it back in the proper position, feeling as I did so how quickly the ice had melted, how half the bag was now just cold water. Was that even possible?

Then again, I didn't have much experience with how quickly a 107-degree fever could melt ice. If her temperature was even still 107. It might have gone up again.

Toward the front of the house, the door slammed, and I jumped. Then joy rushed through me as I realized who it must be. Thank God.

I ran out of the family room and into the hallway, saw my father coming toward me. The relief that spread over his face as he caught sight of me standing there, apparently safe and well, made me feel all warm and happy inside...for about a second. Then I thought of my mother, lying on the couch, silk shirt stained beyond recognition, eyes seeming to sink deeper and deeper into her head with every passing minute, of Devin passed out upstairs, the fever beginning to consume him as well, and not a damn thing I could do about it.

Something in my expression must have changed, because my father stopped dead and asked, "Your mother?"

"She's in the family room. She — " And that's all I got out, because out of nowhere I began to sob noisily, the preternatural calm I'd been able to maintain all day deserting me now that my father was here and I didn't have to be the strong one anymore.

He came to me and held me for a moment, letting me cry. No words of reassurance, though; I had a feeling he'd seen enough today to know there was nothing remotely reassuring about our situation. Then he said, "I need to see her," and let go of me.

I didn't protest. I was his daughter, but she was his wife.

When I paused in the doorway to the family room, I could see my father standing a few feet away from the couch, his head bowed. His hands hung at his sides, clenched into fists.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I gave her some ibuprofen, but that didn't seem to work. Then I thought maybe the ice — " I let the words break off there. Nothing was working, and now Devin was sick, too, and right then I didn't have the ability to pile more bad news on my father. Not with that non-expression on his face, the one I'd seen a few times when he was desperately attempting to keep the world from knowing how badly he really was hurting.

He didn't move. At first I wasn't sure he was going to answer me, but then he said, "It'll slow it down, but it won't stop it."

His tone was so final that I couldn't help asking, "How do you know?"

Another one of those short, painful silences. "Because I've been out in it all day. Seeing people collapse in the street. Taking others to the hospital in my cruiser because the ambulances were either busy or already out of commission, their drivers just as incapacitated as everyone else. Even Josh — " His voice didn't exactly break, but from the way he stopped himself, I got the impression it was about to.

Josh was my father's partner. They'd been partners since, well, ever since I could remember. For my father to have seen the man he regarded as a brother come down with this terrible thing.... "I'm sorry, Dad," I said, although I knew the words were completely inadequate.

"I tried to take him to the hospital. He wouldn't go. Said he was going to die with dignity in his own house." Again I heard the faintest waver at the edges of my father's voice before he got control of himself again. "I had to carry him inside. He was already burning up. And after that, I couldn't — I didn't see the point in staying on assignment any longer. Half the force was already sick with this thing and the rest about to come down with it. I knew I had to come home. Home," he repeated, staring down at my mother's limp form.

"I'm sorry," I said again. Just words, but they did something to fill up the silence. "She seemed okay when I got here. But then...." I bit my lip, knowing I had to tell him about Devin. God, I didn't want to, though.

"Then?" he echoed.

"She collapsed. I brought her in here because I couldn't get her upstairs. And Devin...."

"He's sick, too." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. But he's up in his room. He's sleeping."

"Then he's lucky."

I wasn't sure I wanted to know what that meant. "So...what do we do now?"

"I'll take your mother up to our bed." For the first time, he shifted so he could look back at me. "How do you feel, Jess?"

"Fine," I said, the automatic response. Then I shook my head, because I knew that was a lie, and I didn't want to lie to my father. "No, I _feel_ terrible. But I'm not sick."

"I understand. I feel the same way." He turned toward my mother again, gently lifted the ice packs — which were now mostly water — from her, then slid his arms under her so he could pick her up. Her arms and legs dangled, as limp as if they'd become somehow boneless, but she didn't move, didn't even make a whimper of protest. Was that a good sign, or a sign that she was slipping farther and farther away from us?

I crossed my arms and tried to suppress the shiver that went through me. From my father's expression, I could tell he wanted to be alone to lay her down in the bed they shared, to be with her now even though it was probably too late. I understood that, and yet I still wanted to run up the stairs and be with him, to not feel so alone.

As I stood there, letting my father trudge up the stairs and forcing myself to stay where I was, to give him his privacy, I heard something. The word was only a whisper at the edges of my mind, and yet it seemed to resonate along every nerve ending.

_Beloved...._

Going rigid, I held myself stock still, wondering where on earth that had come from. At first I thought it might have been my father, speaking to my mother, but I'd never heard him call her "beloved." "Sweetheart," yes, and "darling" — but never "baby," since she always said using that epithet only infantilized women. Such a firebrand, my mother.

Although maybe that was the wrong word to be using right now.

Anyway, their bedroom was at the end of the upstairs hall, too far away for me to have heard him unless he'd all but shouted the word. At any rate, it hadn't sounded like my father's voice. It was somewhat deep like his, but more rounded around the edges, with the faintest hint of an accent I couldn't even begin to identify.

"Who's there?" I whispered, feeling like an idiot even as the words left my lips.

No reply, of course. I was only imagining things. No one had ever called me "beloved." Hell, only one person had ever even told me he loved me. Colin, the boyfriend of my junior and senior years of college. It had taken me a while to realize his "love" wasn't the kind I wanted — he said those things to keep me placated, to keep me from noticing that he was banging at least two other girls on the side.

I'd gone to the clinic right after I dumped him and had myself tested for every disease it was possible to be tested for, and I was fine, but that experience had scarred me. I hadn't gotten past a second date ever since. Third dates were when things could start to get serious, when you might end up in the sack together. So I always made sure to end relationships before they got to that stage. No opportunities for anyone to be calling me "beloved," that was for sure.

And then I decided that the stress of the day had gotten to me, and I was hearing things. Or were auditory hallucinations another byproduct of a high fever? I didn't know for sure; apparently, I hadn't spent enough time hanging out on WebMD.

Even though I knew it wouldn't tell me anything concrete, I couldn't help putting my hand up to my forehead. No discernible change in temperature that I could tell, which meant I wasn't running a fever. No tingles or chills or any of the other telltales of my internal temperature being anything other than what it should be.

I decided that standing there and trying to determine whether I was sick or crazy wasn't helping anyone, so I went upstairs to check on Devin. The door to my parents' room was closed, and I knew better than to knock. My father would come out when he was ready. I couldn't begin to imagine what he'd seen today, and I knew he needed this time alone with his wife. It wasn't a question of if, but when; the human body just couldn't survive at temperatures like that. She should be in a hospital getting IV drips and ice baths and Lord knows what else. An economy-sized bottle of ibuprofen and some half-assed bags of ice from the freezer weren't going to cut it.

Tears began to prick at my eyes, and I blinked them away. I'd already cried once today, and I knew I'd probably have plenty more reasons to weep by the time this was all over. Or maybe by then I'd be sick, too, and I wouldn't know what was happening to me. That was one blessed thing about this entire nightmare — once people got hit by that fever, it scrambled their brains so much they didn't seem to be aware of what was happening to them. Thank God for small mercies.

I opened Devin's door a crack and saw that he had fallen into the fitful phase of the disease — twitching and jerking, his forehead sheened with sweat. Even though I knew it probably wouldn't do any good, I went to the upstairs bathroom and shook three capsules of ibuprofen out of the big bottle in the cabinet there, then pulled a little paper cup from the dispenser and filled it with water.

Just as I was approaching his bed, Devin's leg jerked out and hit my arm, causing the water to splash all down my front, soaking the knit top I wore. I muttered a curse, but he didn't even seem to realize what he'd done, and that was how I knew he must be completely out of it. At any other time, he would've burst out laughing at managing to kick water all over me.

Pulling in a breath, I did an about-face and went back to the bathroom, plucked a towel off the rack, and did the best I could to blot the worst of the moisture from my shirt. Then I refilled the paper cup and went back to my brother's bedroom, approaching with care from the side so he wouldn't catch me unawares again.

That kick seemed to have consumed the last of his strength, because he was lying on his back, one arm flopped over the side of the bed. I went to him and murmured, "Here's some medicine for you, Dev."

The water first, since that had worked well with both Taylor and my mother. He drank, and didn't protest when I dropped a pill on his tongue and made him swallow, then gave him some more water. I repeated the process two more times, giving him one last sip to empty the cup, my arm under his head to steady him. He did drink, then collapsed against the pillow when he was done.

Was any of that going to do him any good? Or was I just doing something...anything...to make myself feel less helpless?

Probably the latter, although I wasn't quite ready to admit it to myself.

Since Devin seemed to be sleeping again, I decided I could leave him for a bit. Pulling out the chair and sitting next to him felt a little too much like keeping watch over someone's deathbed, and I wasn't ready to do that yet. Also, I'd just realized I was thirsty, too — I hadn't had anything to drink since I'd come home several hours earlier.

So I slipped out of my brother's room and went back down the stairs. The door to my parents' room was still shut, and I felt a completely unworthy stab of irritation. Yes, it must be terrible for my father, but I doubted my mother even knew he was there, whereas I needed him, needed someone to talk to. But I knew I would never disturb him, so I kept going to the kitchen. Once there, I pulled a glass from the cupboard and held it up to the ice dispenser. A few cubes half-heartedly spilled out, and I guessed it was working overtime to replenish what I'd already used in my futile attempt to reduce my mother's fever.

I sat down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and stared out the window, not really focusing on anything. Since our house was on a corner, the view included the low juniper hedges planted against the fence, and a fairly unobstructed glimpse of the street beyond. As I watched, a silver car wove its way down the street, listlessly drifting from one side of the narrow residential lane to the other, actually hitting one curb before correcting and moving toward the one opposite, like the world's biggest and slowest pinball. It finally came to rest halfway up on the sidewalk on the corner across from our property, almost touching the smooth green lawn Mr. D'Ambrosio took such pride in, when most everyone else in the neighborhood had long since given up on grass and had switched over to cactus- and evergreen-studded drought-tolerant landscaping.

No one came out of the D'Ambrosio house to check on the driver, which told me Mr. and Mrs. D'Ambrosio must be as incapacitated as whoever had been driving that Camry. In that moment, I was just glad the driver had only been going twenty miles an hour at the most. Anything else, and they could have caused a lot more damage.

Footsteps coming down the hall made me turn, and I saw my father approaching. His eyes looked red, but otherwise his face was still and calm, as if he'd made his peace with whatever was happening to my mother, to Devin...to the world.

The words made their way to my lips before I even realized I was saying them. "Is she...?"

"No." His gaze shifted to the glass of water sitting on the counter in front of me, and he gave a faint nod. He went and got his own glass from the cupboard, and got some water as well, although I noticed he didn't bother with the ice. Afterward, he sat down next to me on one of the barstools and added, "Not yet, anyway."

"How...how long?"

"I don't know." He drank some water, and I decided I should as well, although it seemed to get jammed halfway down my throat, lodging there as if it was a solid object instead of liquid. "It...varies, from what I've seen and heard."

I didn't know why, but for some reason that bothered me almost as much as anything else that had happened so far. If a disease was going to be this evil, it should at least be predictable.

The question had been torturing me all afternoon, and now I finally had someone I could ask it of. "Dad...why isn't anyone helping? Why are we being left to deal with this alone?"

A long pause, during which he stared down at his glass of water without meeting my eyes. When he did look up, I almost wished I hadn't been watching him, waiting for his response. Never in my life had I seen such an expression of despair on my father's face. Despair...and fury.

"Because there's no one _to_ help, Jess. What's happening here in Albuquerque — it's happening everywhere. New York. Los Angeles. Washington, D.C. and London and Moscow and — everywhere." His hands, his big, strong, capable hands, now somehow looked limp and broken as they rested on the counter. "There's no answer at the CDC. Tried calling in the National Guard for help, and nothing. The only good thing about the whole situation is that people are getting sick so quickly, they don't have time to get into trouble. The fever makes them incapable of violence, of looting. Most collapse where they stand. That's why I said that Devin was lucky — you got him into bed, and he's sleeping. The fever doesn't have him hallucinating and having convulsions or seizures, like I saw happen with some people today."

"So...that's it?" I whispered. "We all just sit back and wait to die?"

He scrubbed his hand over his face and glanced away from me. "I don't know. There's no way to treat this thing. Either you get it, or you don't. Or rather, I have yet to see anyone who hasn't caught it, but...you're not sick."

"Yet," I said flatly, then drank some water.

"Usually, you'd be sick by now, since you've been around infected people."

"You're not sick, either," I pointed out, and he gave a grim nod.

"I keep expecting to be, but...." Deliberately, he picked up his glass and drained the water. "I don't know. It's possible we could have a hereditary immunity. I just don't know." His fingers tightened on the glass, and for a second I thought he was going to pick it up and hurl it at the wall, do something to express the frustrated anger I saw in his eyes. Instead, he let go of it and pushed it away. "The problem is, I don't know anything."

Neither did I, except that I didn't feel sick, and my father didn't appear to have any symptoms, either. Maybe there really was something to that notion of hereditary immunity. In looks and build, I favored my mother, with my almost-black hair and dark eyes, traits she claimed came from a great-great-grandmother who was full-blood Ute, while Devin and my father were more alike, hair still dark but not as inky as mine, their eyes a lighter, warmer brown. So why my father and I were the ones with no symptoms, I couldn't begin to guess. Obviously, appearance didn't have much to do with this particular quirk of heredity.

"I don't know anything, either," I said. "But I guess I'll start with checking on Devin."

"And I'll look in on your mother." My father got up from his stool, and I followed suit.

Once I was upstairs, I could tell there hadn't been any real change with my brother. He didn't even seem to have moved, but still lay there with one arm flopped over the side of his bed, eyes tightly shut. In fact, he was so still that I went over and laid two fingers against his throat, worried that I wouldn't feel a pulse. It was there, but thready and fast, which couldn't be a good sign. His hair, cropped short for football season, was damp with sweat.

Something about that thought, the realization that he should be off at football practice right now instead of lying here, fighting a disease so mysterious and strange that it didn't even have a formal name, made the anger rise up in me again. This shouldn't be happening. He should be with his teammates, getting sweaty because his coach had made him do a hundred push-ups for being a smart-ass yet again. And an hour from now, we should all be sitting down at the dinner table together, something families hardly ever did anymore, but which my mother insisted on. I'd been skipping those meals on Tuesdays and Thursdays, since I had to teach a six o'clock class, but I tried to make it when I could.

None of that was happening, though. And it wasn't happening for Devin's girlfriend Lori, or my own friends Elena and Tori and Brittany, or — or _anyone_. All across the city...the country...the world...people were suffering and dying, and no one could stop it.

That realization made the enormity of the whole situation come crashing down on me. I let out a choked little sob and fled my brother's room, running down the stairs to the family room so I could turn on the TV, could reassure myself with the sound of someone else's voice, even if the newscasters were following the commands of people who might already be dead. I had to know a world still existed out there beyond my house, even if it was a world swiftly falling apart.

But when I picked up the remote and turned on the television, nothing came on to reassure me. Some stations blank, others showing a "please stand by" message, others with a test pattern of colored bars. My heart rate sped up as I moved from channel to channel, thinking that there had to be at least one still broadcasting, one that hadn't been abandoned.

AMC seemed to be showing a rerun of _The Walking Dead_ , which had to be someone's idea of a sick joke, as I didn't think that show ever ran before nine o'clock at night due to its content. And that wasn't even the worst. Farther up the band, on a channel I didn't recognize, the screen was black, with words in stark white emblazoned across it:

_And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood...._

I wasn't much of a Bible reader, but even I recognized the quote from Revelations.

Making a disgusted sound, I clicked off the TV, then turned when I heard my father come to the door and lean against the frame, his shoulders slumped.

"It is the end of the world," he said softly.

That couldn't be my father — my hard-nosed, practical father, the one who made sure I knew how to shoot, how to catch a fish and clean it, how to change the oil in my car and swap out a flat tire. Nothing ever fazed him. But now some underlying steel seemed to have given way, his firm jaw somehow loose, his eyes blurred with sorrow.

"Dad?" I said uncertainly.

"She's gone," he told me, voice flat. "While we were down in the kitchen."

The words didn't seem to make any sense. Or rather, my mind refused to make sense of them, because if I understood those words, I'd know in that moment my mother was dead, and I just couldn't face that. Not yet.

For the longest moment, I didn't say anything, only stared up at him as I turned the remote I held over and over in my hand, its familiar rectangular shape suddenly alien, cold and hard. Not wanting to hold it any longer, I set it down on the coffee table.

"No," I said at last.

"Yes," he said softly. "It doesn't look like she suffered. At least, not like some that I've seen. You'd almost think she was asleep."

"Maybe she is asleep," I protested. "Maybe you just thought — just thought she was — " I couldn't say the word. Not in connection with my mother. If I said it, then it would be true, and I couldn't bear that.

He didn't bother to contradict me, only watched me. Something of the no-nonsense father I was used to was clear in those eyes. They said, _I don't want to believe it, either. But that doesn't make it less true._

That hard knot was back in my throat. My eyes burned. For some reason, though, the tears wouldn't fall. They just remained where they were, burning like acid.

Finally, I asked, "What should we do? Should we — " I couldn't even finish the question. This would have been bad enough under normal circumstances, but at least then there was a routine to follow. You called the doctor. The doctor called the ambulance, and then eventually someone got in touch with the funeral home. That was how it worked when Grandmother Ivy — my mom's mother — had passed.

Now, though...now you couldn't even get a call through. And if by some miracle you did, it wouldn't matter, because there wouldn't be anyone on the other end to answer it.

My father wouldn't meet my eyes. "We don't need to do anything," he said, that scary monotone back in his voice. "It'll take care of itself."

And something in the way he said those words made me too frightened to ask what in the world he meant.

# Chapter 4

He went into the kitchen after that. I didn't follow, but instead just stood there in the family room, my entire body feeling as if it had been encased in ice. One thought kept hammering away in my head, over and over again.

_She's dead. She's dead. Your mother is dead._

I wished I could cry.

From the kitchen, I heard the clunk of ice dropping from the dispenser, the sound of liquid pouring, although not from the refrigerator door. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what it was.

My father was not, unlike a lot of cops, a heavy drinker. He and my mother would have a glass of wine with dinner sometimes, and I'd seen him drink champagne at weddings and have a beer after a morning of washing both his and Mom's cars, but that was about it. But there was a bottle of Scotch he kept high up on a shelf, a bottle that rarely made an appearance. One time when his partner Josh was shot in the leg while breaking up a domestic dispute. Or the time my mother found a lump in her breast and had to go in for a biopsy. It turned out to be nothing, a benign cyst, but we'd all been fearing the worst.

And now the worst had happened, although in a manner none of us could have imagined, and he was sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, drinking Scotch on the rocks.

And I was too scared and shocked to even give him shit about it. If he wanted to seek comfort in a glass of Scotch rather than in me, there wasn't anything I could do about it.

Still with that horrible lump lodged firmly in my throat, I went back to the staircase and slowly went up it, each step more and more difficult, as if I were in some horrible alternate dimension that kept strengthening the gravity pulling at me with every movement. Finally, though, I made it up to the landing, then went to Devin's room.

He had shifted and was now lying on his side, half his covers thrown off. They'd probably felt far too hot, but I knew he had to stay warm. I crossed the room and grasped the sheet and blanket, hesitating as my hand paused on the comforter. Maybe that really was a bit too much, since it had been a mild, warm day, and his room wasn't anywhere close to cold yet. I could always put the comforter over him later.

As I began to settle the sheet over his shoulders, though, something felt wrong. At first I couldn't quite figure it out, and then, even as I realized what the problem was, my mind didn't want to acknowledge it. Not this. Not so soon after — well, after.

The last time I'd been this close to him, heat had fairly radiated from his flesh. Now, though, he felt cool, and when I reached down to touch his hand, his fingers were like ice, and somehow already stiff, although logically I knew it was far too early for rigor mortis to have set in.

Then again, what was logical about any of this?

I recoiled, letting go of my dead brother's hand, and backed away from the bed. As my father had told me about my mother's passing, Devin didn't look dead, just asleep. For whatever reason, his face didn't have that sunken look about it that my mother had worn. Maybe his fever hadn't burned as hot?

Not that it mattered, because he was gone, too.

A frightened little sob tore its way out of my throat, and I continued to back away, creeping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind me. I knew I should go downstairs and tell my father what had happened, but for some reason my feet took me in the opposite direction, toward my parents' bedroom. Before I even knew what I was doing, my hand seemed to have reached out of its own accord and was turning the knob. I'd just seen death. I needed to see my mother's, too, so it would be just as real. Maybe then my brain would be shocked out of its current numb state.

The sun was beginning to set, but my parents' bedroom had a window in the western wall, so a warm, mellow light was flooding the space. It was certainly bright enough for me to see where my mother's body should be lying, propped up against the pillows on her side of the bed.

Only...she wasn't there.

My first thought was that my father must have moved her, but why in the world would he have done that? Besides, there wasn't anyplace he really could have moved her, not unless he put her in the bathtub for some reason.

On second thought, that notion wasn't so strange. He could've put her in an ice-cold bath in an attempt to bring her temperature down.

I rushed into the _en suite_ bathroom, but the tub was empty. As I stared down at it, I realized that was a ridiculous notion. Even if my father had put her in the bath, I would have heard the water running, and I'd heard no such thing.

Thoughts racing, first rejecting one idea, and then another, I returned to the bedroom. From this angle, I could now see a pile of fine gray dust marring the surface of the blue and tan striped comforter, the one my father had permitted in the room only because "it wasn't too girly."

Dust? My mother would never allow dust to collect on the furniture, let alone a pile like that right on the bed.

Cold coiled in the pit of my stomach as I stared down at the strange little pile. On a dare from Devin, I'd once peeked inside the urn containing my grandmother's ashes...and they had been almost the exact color and consistency as the ashes now sitting on my parents' bed.

No, that was impossible.

Then my father's words came back to me: _It'll take care of itself._

Was this what he'd meant? That somehow after she passed, my mother would simply crumble into a pile of dust?

No, I refused to believe that. There had to be an explanation. Otherwise....

Otherwise, this whole situation had moved from the unexplainable and tragic to the positively Biblical. Whoever heard of bodies turning themselves to ash, unless it was by some strange otherworldly force?

"You see," my father said. He must have come upstairs while I was standing there, staring down at my mother in shock. His speech sounded a little slurred, but at least he hadn't brought the glass of Scotch up with him.

"What — what happened?"

"It's what happens to all of them," he replied. "Usually within an hour of death." Rubbing at his brow, he added, "Very clean, when you think about it. Much better than having all those bodies lying around, don't you think?"

I stared at him in horror. "That's Mom lying there!"

"No," he corrected me. "That's what used to be your mother. The part of her that was really _her_ — that's gone. To a better place, I have to hope, but after everything I've seen today, I'm beginning to have my doubts."

His voice was sad, but resigned. And as I looked at him, I noticed the way he wasn't completely steady on his feet, the glisten of sweat on his forehead from the last rays of sun coming in through the window. Maybe my mind had registered them earlier, but had dismissed them as effects of the alcohol. Now, though....

_No._ Even as my mind recoiled from the thought, I found myself asking, "Dad, are you sick?"

He gave me a sad smile. "I think I am. Finally caught up with me, I suppose." His gaze moved to the bed. "I should probably lie down, but...."

"Go to the guest room," I said. It used to be my room, but my parents had refitted it as a spare bedroom just the past year.

"I don't think so," he replied. "I want to die in here, next to where she slept."

"But — " I didn't have the strength to mention the ashes, all that remained of my mother, but from the way my father was staring at them, he knew all too well what I was thinking.

"Get her vase," he told me. "The Waterford one I bought her for her fiftieth birthday. She'd like that, I think." He reached out and grasped the doorframe, as if that was the only thing holding him up right then.

I wanted to protest, but I knew that wouldn't do any good. Besides, I didn't know how much time I had until he fell over right there in the doorway. My mother's collapse had been sudden and shocking, and Devin's not much better. So I nodded and pushed past him to run down the stairs and go into the living room, where the vase in question stood on one of the end tables.

After grabbing it, I hurried back up to my parents' bedroom, where my father — through sheer force of will, probably — was still hanging on to the doorframe. I showed him the vase but didn't stop, instead going to the bed and grasping the comforter, then tilting it so the gray dust would tip into the crystal container. During this operation, I didn't dare breathe, but the dust was surprisingly heavy and didn't puff up into the air the way I feared it might. Instead, it slipped down into the vase, filling it approximately halfway. Not letting myself think about what it held, I took it over to the dresser and set it down.

Since there was no way I would put that comforter back where it had come from, I folded it in on itself to trap any remaining dust, and set it on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Okay," I said, my voice shaking.

My father didn't seem to notice the tremor in that one little word, but only pushed himself off from the doorframe and then staggered over to the bed. After pausing to kick off his shoes and remove his belt, complete with holsters and badge, he fell down onto the mattress. That seemed to have taken the last of his strength, because his head fell back against the pillow at once, and his eyes shut. Incongruously, I noted how heavy and thick his lashes were, lying against his flushed cheeks.

"Dad?"

He lifted one hand. "Just tired. I took some ibuprofen on the way up. Not going to do any good, but I didn't want you to have to get it for me."

My heart was breaking. I could feel it...literally feel it. One piece torn away for my mother, the next for Devin. And when my father went, did that mean my heart would finally shatter once and for all, gone to dust like everyone else in the world?

Cramming my fist into my mouth to push back another one of those ragged sobs, I went out to the hallway and staggered over to the carved wooden balustrade on the landing. I wrapped my fingers around the rail and hung on as if for my life. No fever scorched its way through me, but I felt as weak as though my temperature was 110 degrees.

_Beloved, it will all be over soon._

That voice again. It had to be a hallucination, some strange coping mechanism my brain had cooked up, but still I found myself replying out loud.

"Does that mean I'm sick and will soon be dead along with everyone else?"

_No. That is not your fate._

"What is my fate?"

Silence. Apparently my subconscious or whatever it was that had created the soft, reassuring baritone didn't quite have the balls to tell me what my future held. Not that you needed to be a fortune-teller for that. Raging fever, and a pile of dust somewhere. Should I go out on the family room couch, or hike my way back up to my apartment when the time came? That seemed like a lot of unnecessary effort. After all, no one was using the spare bedroom.

I went into the bathroom to get a drink of water and saw the big bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the counter, the cap still off, as if my father hadn't possessed the strength or will to put it back on again. Fingers shaking, I picked it up and twisted it onto the bottle, then put the ibuprofen back in the medicine cabinet. I didn't want to leave a messy house behind.

Messy for whom, I didn't know. From what my father had said, it didn't sound as if anyone was getting out of this alive.

The thermometer was lying on the top rack in the medicine cabinet. I already knew I wasn't sick, but I needed the external reminder. I took it out, opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol, and wiped down one end of the thermometer. Then I stuck it in my mouth and waited.

_98.1._ Up a little from the last time, but still below normal.

I rinsed it off and put it away. Then, moving so slowly I felt as if I were dragging my feet through mud, I went back to my parents' bedroom, half expecting to see a pile of dust there. To my surprise, my father's eyes opened when I came into the room. They were bright with fever and had those telltale dark circles beneath them, but they seemed lucid enough. Maybe he wasn't as far gone as he had thought.

"Dad, I could try some ice — "

A very small shake of his head. "No. Once you have it, you're done." His eyes shut, and I could see how his big frame was wracked with shivers, even though he'd pulled the blanket up to his chin. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" I repeated, wondering what he had to be sorry for. "None of this is your fault."

"No — not that." He shifted under the covers, then opened his eyes again. "Sorry that we'll all be gone, and you'll still be here."

Something in his words chilled me. In that moment, I could see how dying along with everyone else might be preferable to being left in a world with no one to talk to, no one to even know I'd somehow managed to survive. Voice brittle, I replied, "Oh, I'm sure I'm not long for this world, either."

"Fever?"

"No."

He closed his eyes. It seemed as if he didn't have the strength to keep them open and focused on me for more than a few seconds at a time. "You're immune, Jess. Don't know how...or why...."

_That is not your fate._ Despite the stuffiness of the room, I shivered as I thought of those words, spoken gently by someone who wasn't there.

"Write down what's happened. Maybe...there'll be someone left to tell."

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me. "I will."

"Might as well put that English degree to some use."

_Oh, Dad._ Even at the end, he had to make a joke. "All the commas will be in the right place. I promise."

No reply. He could have simply fallen asleep, but I didn't think so. Unlike my mother and Devin, he'd pushed all the way to the end, burned the candle until no more wick was left.

Somehow I put one foot in front of the other, walking slowly until I reached his side of the bed. A finger against his throat, telling me that he had gone, had left this world and was with Mom and Devin. I had to believe that. I'd break apart otherwise.

Since his eyes were closed, I didn't bother to pull the sheet up over his face. Soon it wouldn't matter anyway. He'd be a pile of dust, as no doubt my brother was by now as well.

I didn't recall going downstairs, but the next thing I did remember, I was standing in the kitchen, staring down at my father's half-drunk glass of Scotch. The ice had mostly melted, shifting the color to a pale gold. Without thinking, I lifted the glass and brought it to my lips, poured the liquid within down my throat. It burned, but not as much as I had thought it would.

What did it matter that my father had drunk from that same glass? According to him, I was immune. The thing that had killed him couldn't touch me.

At last I could feel tears pricking at my eyes, stinging like acid, but I knew I couldn't let them fall. If I did, I knew they would never stop. What was that old song, about some girl's tears drowning the world? That would be me, if I wept now. Then again, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Maybe a river, an ocean of tears, would wash away all this death, all the dust of people's lives left behind.

Maybe. In the meantime, I had something I needed to do.

My parents had always loved the big oak tree in the backyard. In the summer, they hung a hammock there, and had a pair of Adirondack chairs they would drag out underneath it so they could sit in the shade and drink iced tea and plan the yearly family vacation, or maybe just a long weekend, so we could do something fun like go hiking up around Angel Fire or visit the museums in Santa Fe, or take the long trip down to Carlsbad Caverns.

All those things we'd done together as a family. Well, I'd make sure my family was together in the end, even if I couldn't be with them. It was the only way I could think of to say goodbye.

My father kept all the gardening tools in a shed next to the garage, since the garage itself was full of camping equipment and tools and the usual crap any family of four tends to accumulate over the years. I went to the shed and got out the shovel, then headed back to the oak tree, staking out the spot where those Adirondack chairs usually sat.

It wouldn't have to be a very deep hole. After all, I was only burying dust, not bodies. The ground was not as hard as I'd feared, mostly because my father had given the old oak one of its bimonthly soakings with the hose only this past weekend. I dug and dug, dirt flying out around me, only stopping when it looked like I was about to hit a big tree root. The hole was far larger than it needed to be, but better that than the opposite.

I leaned the shovel against the shed, then went into the kitchen to wash my hands. After that, I got a clean glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, then drank slowly, deliberately. I knew what was waiting for me upstairs.

There was enough room left in my mother's Waterford vase for the dust my father left behind, so I poured it in on top of my mother's remains. Going back to Devin's room seemed far more difficult, for some reason; maybe it was that I hadn't really been able to say goodbye to him. At least my father and I had shared those last few words.

The sight of the dust didn't shock me anymore, but it was still awful enough to know that my brother had been lying in the same spot only an hour earlier. His MVP trophy from the previous football season seemed about the right size, so I did the same thing I had with my parents' remains, using the bedclothes as a funnel to pour the dust into the receptacle I'd selected. That dust was a dark, cloudy gray, fine as silt, and seemed oddly liquid as I tipped it into the trophy.

I took Devin downstairs first, carefully setting the trophy down on the breakfast bar before returning to the second story to retrieve the Waterford vase. They went into the ground in reverse order, my parents' dust poured into the hole first, followed by Devin's. Grimly, I retrieved the shovel and began piling the dirt back on top of the dust, holding my breath in case any should plume up during the process. At last, though, the hole was more or less filled. I dragged the shovel back and forth, smoothing the surface, attempting to make it as level as possible.

Now was the time to say a few words, but nothing seemed to come to mind. I couldn't even remember the Lord's Prayer, or more than the first few words of the Twenty-third Psalm.

_"The Lord is my shepherd,"_ I began, then shook my head. What came next? The lines were all jumbled together in my head, nonsense syllables that sounded like something straight out of "Jabberwocky." And what did it matter, anyway? We weren't a religious family; we went to Christmas Eve services some years and some years not, maybe Easter. I'd gone to Sunday school when I was really little, but my parents hadn't even bothered with that when Devin came along.

For the longest time I stood there under the oak, the sun disappearing altogether, deep dusk falling upon the yard. Then I moved, and the motion-sensor light mounted to the side of the garage flashed on.

"I love you all," I said finally, then set the Waterford vase and the football trophy on top of their grave.

After that, I went back inside and shut the door behind me. It seemed to echo in the unnatural stillness of the house, and I realized it was hardly ever this quiet — someone always had the TV on in the background, or there was music playing, or somebody talking on the phone. Now the quiet pounded against my eardrums, and I realized how big a three-bedroom, two-thousand-square-foot house could feel when you were the only one in it.

_The only one in the world...._

The thought whispered through my mind, and I did my best to ignore it. Surely if I were immune, and not just having extremely delayed-onset symptoms for some reason, that meant other people had to be immune, too. How many? I couldn't begin to guess. I didn't know the mortality rate of the disease. Even if 99.9% of the population was dead, that would leave around a thousand people still alive in the greater Albuquerque area, if I was doing my mental math correctly.

I turned on the overhead lights in the kitchen, then went through the house, turning on all the lamps. Maybe that wasn't the smartest thing to do — maybe advertising my presence would do more harm than good. But I couldn't sit there in the dark, not after everything I'd been through that day. Besides, when I peeked out through the curtains, I saw mine wasn't the only house on the street that was all lit up. Most likely the others just had their lights on because no one was around to turn them off, but it did make mine seem less conspicuous.

"Are you there?" I asked of the darkness. Even a voice that was only a product of my imagination was better than this deep, deep silence, the kind of quiet you should never hear if you lived in a big city.

No reply, of course. My gaze shifted to the remote control, still lying where I'd last dropped it on the coffee table. I didn't want to turn on the television, not after what I'd seen the last time around. Would it all be static by now, or would that one station still be showing blaring red text with more quotes from Revelations?

I was too much of a coward to pick up the remote and find out.

But there was still the stereo, and all the CDs my parents wouldn't get rid of, despite Devin and me telling them all that plastic just took up space and that they should just rip all their music off those CDs and then play it through Apple TV or something. And now I had to be grateful for their stubbornness, because that meant I could get up and choose something to blot out the silence. My father liked country, but old country, like Hank Williams and Willie Nelson and Patsy Cline, and my mother preferred classical. That sounded better to me right then, so I found her favorite, Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, and put that on.

It actually was better, with the sound of an orchestra and Vladimir Ashkenazy on the piano drowning out that awful stillness. Or at least it was better until I realized that no one would ever play that piece live again, that there would be no more symphony orchestras or Arcade Fire concerts or anything, ever again.

"Oh, God," I gasped, pushing myself up from the couch and running into the kitchen, where I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in my face. As if that could begin to help. It was all too big to comprehend, so awful and enormous that I could literally feel the horror of it beginning to sink in, like some noxious chemical seeping into my skin.

And then it was as though strong, invisible arms wrapped around me, bringing with them a soothing warmth. Unseen lips brushed against my hair, and I heard the voice again.

_Be strong, my love. Be strong for just a while longer._

Just as suddenly, the presence was gone. I held on to the tile of the kitchen counter, feeling the cool surface beneath my fingertips. In that moment, I truly wondered if I'd lost my mind.

What other explanation could there be?

# Chapter 5

More because I knew I should eat something than because I had any appetite at all, I gathered myself enough to put a few slices of wheat bread in the toaster. Once they were done, I buttered them and set them on a plate, then headed back out to the living room, where Rachmaninoff still played to the empty space. Just as I was setting my plate down on the coffee table, the lights flickered and went out, and the CD slurred to a halt. Silence reigned once more.

Heart slamming painfully in my chest, I waited a second, then another. Surely this had to be just a glitch. In a second or two, the power would come back on.

But it didn't. How could the power plants run, with no one left to manage them?

The blackness was absolute. From my camping days, I knew how dark, how _very_ dark, our desert skies could be. This seemed worse, though, because this wasn't the expected dark of a night out under the stars. I was in the heart of Albuquerque, New Mexico. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Luckily, my mother loved candles, and so there were already a pair of pillars in wrought-iron sconces on the mantel, and another pillar candle sitting on a metal leaf-shaped dish on an end table. She kept a long-handled lighter in one of the coffee table's drawers, so I reached in and fumbled around for a few seconds before locating it. As soon as I pulled it out of the drawer, I pressed the button to activate the flame. That pushed back on the darkness a little, and it got that much better when I lit the candle on the table next to me. Then I had enough illumination that I could get up and light the candles on the mantel.

From there I went into the kitchen and found the sugar cookie–scented jar candle sitting on the breakfast bar, and lit that as well. Upstairs — well, I'd worry about that later. At least now I wasn't blundering around in total darkness...and the candle flames weren't bright enough that they would be seen through the drapes and blinds, all of which I quickly closed.

All the same, I knew there was one thing I really needed to do.

On the ground floor was a study that my parents shared, although in reality it was mostly my mother's space, housing her desk and computer and several shelves full of books. On the opposite wall, though, was my father's gun safe.

I knew the combination. He'd trusted me with that, just as he trusted me to be responsible when we went shooting and to clean the guns I used and follow all the safety rules he'd taught me. I wasn't sure if Devin had known the combination, although I somehow doubted it; my father hadn't given me that information until I turned twenty-one. And even though I might be the only person left alive in Albuquerque, no way was I sitting alone in this house without some means to protect myself.

The lock turned easily, of course. My father took as good care of the safe as he did the guns inside. There were a lot, too — in addition to his service Glock, he owned an AR-15 rifle, two shotguns, a small .22-caliber hunting rifle, a Ruger, a Beretta, and my favorite, the Smith & Wesson .357. Sort of an old-fashioned gun, but my accuracy had always been good with it. Besides, with a revolver, you didn't have to worry about the gun jamming.

I set the candle I'd brought with me down on my mother's desk, then opened the safe. Hanging from one of the sleeves on the door was the .357, and on the shelf directly opposite the gun, boxes of spare ammo. My father wasn't exactly what you'd call a survivalist type, but he did believe in maintaining his supplies. If necessary, I could waste a lot of bad guys before I ran out. Not that there were probably any bad guys left. This was more for my own peace of mind than anything else.

After lifting the S&W from where it rested, I pushed the latch forward to release the barrel, then moved the latch outward. As I'd suspected, the chambers were empty — my father didn't believe in leaving loaded handguns lying around, even in the safe. One by one, I dropped the bullets into the chambers, then closed the gun back up.

Habit made me shut the door to the gun safe as well, and make sure the lock was fully engaged. Maybe I was the only person left alive in Albuquerque...and maybe not. No matter what the reality of the situation might turn out to be, I didn't think it was a very good idea to leave a fully stocked gun safe accessible to just anyone.

Picking up the candle with my free hand, I went back out to the living room. My toast was stone cold by then, but I made myself eat it, and then drank some more water. I set the gun down on the coffee table, within easy reach should I need it.

And then I leaned against the back of the couch and shut my eyes, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next. My entire family was gone — I had two grandparents still living, but I had no reason to believe they hadn't suffered the same fate as my parents and brother. Three cousins and an aunt and uncle, all on my mother's side; my father was an only child. Could this strange immunity that seemed to be protecting me have somehow sheltered any of them? Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Susan also lived here in Albuquerque, so it wouldn't be that hard to try checking on them tomorrow, after the sun came up. No way was I venturing outside in the dark.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea — a fool's errand, as my father might have said. But it was the only thing I could think of to try. There were my friends, too...Tori and Brittany and Elena. I had no reason to believe they hadn't suffered the same fate as everyone else, but again, I would never forgive myself if I didn't try to find out what had happened to them.

_There is no point. They're all gone._

"Oh, really?" I snapped into the candlelit darkness. "How are you so sure of that?"

_Because they weren't immune._

"But I am."

_Yes_.

"Why?"

No answer — not that I'd really expected one. It seemed as soon as I asked the hard questions, the voice quickly decamped. Only my subconscious, trying to convince me not to put myself in harm's way? I wouldn't be surprised. Nevertheless, I knew what I had to do the next day.

The next day, a bright sun rose on an empty world. I couldn't bring myself to sleep upstairs, not even in the untouched guest bedroom. Too much death up there, too many reminders of everything I'd lost. Instead, I'd fetched some spare blankets from the linen closet and spread them over me so I could sleep on the living room couch. That, more than anything else, was a sure sign of the apocalypse, since my mother would never have allowed her new sofa to be sullied by someone sleeping on it when she was alive. But the living room faced out on the street, and I reasoned I'd better be able to listen for any signs of life or activity on the road by sleeping there, rather than back in the family room, which was toward the rear of the house.

I got up off the couch, rubbed the kink in my neck, then cautiously pushed the curtains aside so I could get a glimpse of what was going on in the neighborhood. Not much; the sprinklers were on at the D'Ambrosios' house on the corner opposite ours, but I knew that didn't mean anything, since they were on an automatic timer. As I watched, they seemed to shut themselves off, the bright green grass of the yard glinting in the morning sun. Otherwise, everything was completely still.

No, scratch that — I saw the Munozes' shepherd mix nosing around in the grass in front of their house across the street. She was a wily critter and got out at least once a week, but now I guessed it was because she was hungry. Luckily, she was a sweet dog and knew me. The power was out, and we had some leftovers in the fridge that might as well get eaten before they spoiled.

I let the curtain drop and went to open the front door. The morning air was cool, but carried with it the smell of smoke. Something in the city was burning. Here, though, we seemed to be safe enough, at least for the moment. I'd worry about the fire later.

Crouching down slightly, I called out, "Dutchie! Dutchie!" Hector Munoz had been a professor of Spanish literature at UNM, and I think Dutchie's original name had been Dulcinea. The Munozes' little girl, Jaclyn, couldn't pronounce the name, though, and so Dulcinea had sort of degenerated into "Dutchie." A sharp, knifing pain went through me, though, as I thought of little Jaclyn and her big brown eyes and her endlessly asking "Why?"

I had a feeling she wouldn't be asking any more questions.

The dog lifted her head and looked over at me, one ear cocked slightly. No one was completely sure of Dutchie's heritage. Best guess was part German shepherd, part border collie, and part Lord knows what, but she was a beautiful dog, with a silky black and tan coat, and one blue eye and one brown eye. The blue eye seemed to focus on me particularly.

She gave a little shake and then trotted obediently over to me, pushing her head against my knee and giving the faintest of whines. Poor thing had to be hungry.

"You want some breakfast?" I asked her, and both her ears went up. Just like our old dog Sadie, who'd passed last winter. Debates had still been raging at my house as to when would be a good time to get another dog...not that it mattered now.

But Sadie had had an extensive vocabulary when it came to anything food-related, and it seemed as if Dutchie was the same way. She padded after me as I tucked the revolver into my waistband, then went into the kitchen, got a bowl from one of the cupboards, and poured her some water.

At least, that was what I intended to do. When I turned the tap, however, nothing happened. A few drops sputtered from the faucet, but that was it. So the water was gone, too.

That fluttery feeling of panic returned, and I forced it down. When we were at home, we got our water from the dispenser in the refrigerator door, but we always kept a couple pallets of bottled water in the pantry for road trips or even just running around town. I wasn't going to die of thirst anytime soon.

I fetched one of the water bottles and poured its contents into the bowl. Dutchie began slurping it up greedily, so while she was occupied, I got out a plate and then retrieved one of the covered storage bowls in the fridge, the one with the leftover roasted chicken from the weekend. Taking out one of the chicken legs and shredding it onto the plate relaxed me a little, made me focus on something other than the dry tap. If I attempted to turn on one of the burners on the stove, would it light? Or was the gas out, too?

Most likely. Which meant there would be no heat. Yesterday had been warmer than normal, but I'd heard that temperatures were supposed to start dipping toward the end of the week. Conditions might become downright uncomfortable.

_Oh, like they're so wonderful right now,_ my brain mocked me as I bent down to give Dutchie the plate of chicken. She immediately abandoned the water and wolfed down the bits of chicken leg, then looked up at me with pleading eyes when she was done.

"There's no more, you little pig," I said with some affection, reaching to scratch her behind the ears. Her fur was soft and silky, and infinitely reassuring. Somehow everything didn't seem quite so bad if I could have Dutchie with me.

She whined, and I remembered we still had some dog treats up on the highest shelf in the pantry, left over after Sadie died. I got out the step stool, then climbed up and retrieved them. Dutchie watched the entire procedure, tail wagging, and I gave her one of the biscuits.

"Better?" I asked.

No reply, of course, but I figured the way she was hunkered down on the kitchen rug, munching on the biscuit, tail wagging, told me everything I needed to know.

All right. So I had some companionship. Now I had to take care of myself. My appetite was still nowhere in evidence, but I helped myself to some of the leftover chicken as well, then had a piece of bread and butter, washed down with water from another bottle I took from the pallet. Obviously, a shower was out of the question, but I took some of the water and splashed it on my face. It helped a little.

Carrying the half-full bottle of water, I went out the back door, Dutchie following me, and headed up to my apartment. Everything looked so normal there, so unchanged, and I realized I hadn't been there since my parents — since Devin — well, _since_. It was no sanctuary, though, no place where I could hide from what had happened.

That wasn't my reason for being here, though. I set the gun down on the coffee table, got out of my clothes from the day before and stuffed them into the hamper, and then pulled on fresh jeans and socks, and a waffle-weave henley shirt I wore sometimes when I went hiking. My hiking boots were tucked into the far corner of the closet, and I got them out as well and laced them on. I had no idea what I might encounter today, so it seemed smart to be wearing comfortable, serviceable clothes, the kinds of things that wouldn't get in my way.

Speaking of which —

I headed into the bathroom, brushed my hair, and pulled it back with an elastic band. Afterward, I brushed my teeth, being as sparing with the bottled water as I could. No point in wearing any makeup, but I put on some colored lip balm because the weather was dry, and they felt parched.

During all this, Dutchie sat in the middle of my tiny living room and watched me. After I had extracted my wallet from my purse and slipped it into my pocket, then tucked the S&W back into my waistband, I paused and asked her, "Am I crazy for doing this?"

She cocked her head to one side, mismatched eyes shining. Apparently, she didn't have an opinion on my preparations, but was probably hoping for another dog biscuit when we got back to the kitchen.

"Okay," I told her. "I'll see what I can do."

Tail wagging, she ran out the door as soon as I opened it, then practically galloped down the stairs. From what I could tell, she wasn't exactly pining for her former masters. Or maybe she was just so happy to see someone — anyone — that she was willing to be their new best friend, no matter what.

Once we were back in the kitchen, I gave her another dog biscuit, then hesitated at the key rack by the back door. If I was really going to venture out into deserted Albuquerque, I didn't think my little Honda was the best choice in vehicles. My mother's Escape had all-wheel drive, but I knew my father's Grand Cherokee was the sturdiest car we owned.

My hand shook as I took the key with its leather fob from the rack. My father loved that SUV — washed it every week, changed the oil regularly, conditioned the leather seats, the whole thing. He'd never let me or Devin drive it, and even my mother was only allowed behind the wheel if her own car was in the shop for something. But my father was far past caring about the Cherokee, and I knew it was my best bet for getting where I needed to go.

_There is no point,_ the voice in my head said sadly.

"There is a point," I retorted. "I need to know if they're alive or dead."

_You already know the answer to that._

"No, I don't. Not for sure."

_Your heart does._

I didn't want to believe him. In fact, I refused to believe him. Voice tight, I asked, "All right — where do you think I should go?"

The answer was immediate. _North_.

"North?" I repeated in some incredulity. "You do know that winter is coming, right? If I have to get out of Albuquerque, it would make a lot more sense to go south, to Alamogordo or Las Cruces." _Or Roswell,_ I added mentally. _Maybe I can go there and stick my thumb out, see if the aliens might give me a ride right out of here._

_North_. The voice sounded implacable.

"Well, I'll take that under advisement," I said lightly. "For now, though, I have some friends and family to check on."

_It is a mistake._

"Then it'll be _my_ mistake. Come on, Dutchie."

Had I already descended to arguing with the voices in my head? It sure looked that way.

The dog trotted after me as I went out the back door and over to the driveway. Good thing I'd decided on the Cherokee, as it was blocking my mother's car anyway. I went around to the passenger side and opened the door. Dutchie didn't even need an invitation — she jumped right inside, eyes shining, ears up. Her claws slipped a little on the leather seat, and I winced. I had to hope that my father really had gone on to a better place, one where he couldn't see his prized SUV getting scratches on the seats and, no doubt, dog hair everywhere.

I walked slowly around the back of the vehicle, watching, listening. Since the D'Ambrosios' sprinklers had shut off — or, more likely, run out of water — besides the cawing of a few crows as they circled overhead, the neighborhood was completely still. Again, that silence made the skin on the back of my neck prickle, and I hastened to the driver-side door, then got in.

The sound of the engine turning over seemed ear-piercingly loud after all that quiet. At the same time, the radio turned on in a burst of static, and I quickly shut it off, knowing that there wouldn't be anything useful on the radio, any more than there had been on the television. My father had probably been scanning the bands as he came home, looking for a report that would tell him what was going on. Something. Anything.

I paused to slide the gun out of my waistband and into the glove compartment before backing the Cherokee out into the street. On the seat beside me, Dutchie had her head up and was sniffing the air, even though the windows were all the way up. I rolled down the one next to her so she could stick her nose out, then slowed before we'd gone even halfway down the block. I knew what I would find, but I had to check.

The front door to the Munozes' house was locked, but when I went around back, I discovered that the side door which led to their service porch was halfway open. The reason why presented itself soon enough — there was a pile of gray dust just inside, right in front of the dryer. I had a feeling, though, that whoever had gone out there had been looking for more ice, as the Munozes had an upright freezer tucked into one corner, away from the other appliances.

Grimacing, I stepped over the little pile of dust, glad that I'd left Dutchie inside the car. "Professor Munoz?" I called out. "Jaclyn? Maria?"

No answer, of course. In the living room, I saw the reason why — a pile of dust on the sofa, a smaller one next to it. I couldn't know for sure whether it was Maria Munoz or her husband who had expired in the laundry room, or who had been sitting on the couch next to their daughter. I supposed it really didn't matter. They were gone. No wonder Dutchie had started wandering the neighborhood, looking for someone to take care of her.

When I got back inside the Cherokee, I leaned over and gave the dog a fierce hug. "I'm here, Dutchie," I said. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She licked my cheek and let out a whine, but a questioning one, as if asking whether I was okay.

No, I really was not okay, but I couldn't let myself start to lose it now. I straightened, gave her ears a quick scratch, and then started up the SUV, moving down the street so I could get out onto Rio Grand Boulevard and head over to my friend Elena's house, as she was the one who lived closest to me. After that it would be Tori's, and then my Aunt Susan and Uncle Jeremy's house. And after that....

Well, I'd see how much more I could take after that.

It was slower going than I'd expected, mainly because a lot more abandoned cars choked the streets than I'd thought there would be. In my mind, I'd imagined more people would have made it home before they expired, but that didn't seem to be the case. I had to weave in and out of the stopped vehicles, several times being forced up on the curb to make my way around the blockage. And everything so silent, so still, save for the ceaseless cawing of crows overhead.

_No carrion for you to eat, you bastards,_ I thought as I eased the Cherokee off yet another curb.

And in a way, I had to be thankful for that. The Heat might not have killed me to start, but if there had been millions of corpses left behind once the disease had done its work, typhoid fever or cholera surely would have finished the job.

I turned into the residential section where Elena lived, glad to see there were fewer vehicles blocking the streets here. But still I saw no sign of life anywhere, not one person stepping out of a house to flag me down, to let me know at least one other soul had survived the plague that had swept over the world.

Unlike my house, which always had a full driveway and my car parked at the curb, Elena's looked pristine. Then again, her family had more money — her father was a lawyer — and their house had a three-car garage. It wasn't unusual to see no real evidence of anyone being home.

I stopped the Cherokee, then reached into the glove compartment and retrieved the revolver. Dutchie looked at me, wide-eyed, as if wondering what in the world I needed with a gun.

"Good question, Dutchie," I said, but I tucked it into my jeans anyway. "You stay here."

She wagged her tail and didn't try to get out of the car as I exited the vehicle. That was one damn good dog.

After looking around quickly and not seeing anyone, I went up to the front door of Elena's house. Ringing the doorbell was no use, since the power was out all over town. Instead, I knocked, then waited.

No answer, but I hadn't really been expecting one. I put my hand on the latch, and, to my surprise, the door swung inward. It seemed logical enough that the last person to come home had been so ill they hadn't bothered to lock the door behind them, but it unnerved me nonetheless. Swallowing hard, I made myself enter the house.

It was a big Santa Fe–style faux adobe, with tile floors and wood-beamed ceilings. My footsteps echoed through the two-story foyer as I moved toward the center of the building. Something sweet and smoky tickled at my nose. Incense. Elena's mother was a devout Catholic. Maybe she'd burned the incense as she prayed to God to save her, save her family.

Unfortunately, God didn't seem to be listening lately.

The house had built-in art niches, one of which held a shrine to the Madonna. I saw a pile of gray dust immediately in front of it and knew it must be Gabriella Cruz. Limbs trembling, I made myself walk past it, go through the rest of the ground floor: the great room with the kitchen and family room combined, the formal dining room, the living room. No sign of Elena or her father. Which didn't mean all that much. There was still the upstairs.

Pulse pounding painfully in my throat, I mounted the steps. The house had four bedrooms, one of which was an office. In there I found another pile of gray dust, which I guessed must be Eduardo Cruz, Elena's father.

Her bedroom was on the opposite side of the upstairs hallway, two doors down. Truth be told, I'd always envied her that room, with its own bathroom and the little sitting area off the balcony. It felt like a room for a princess, compared to the boxy twelve-by-twelve space that had been mine all through childhood and high school. No wonder Elena had never been too worried about moving out. "I'll go from here to my husband's house," she used to say with a laugh, and the rest of us had pretty much believed her. No one could really imagine Elena trying to scrape by in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, just for a spurious sense of independence.

And it was on the wrought-iron bed, with its filmy topping of mosquito net and matching white embroidered comforter, that I found the third pile of gray dust. For the longest moment, I just stood there, staring down at it, remembering my friend's quick, flashing smile, the annoying way she absolutely could not get through a movie without offering her own running commentary on it. How she'd quietly slipped a wad of money into my hand one day during our senior year so I could get the prom dress I really wanted and not the bargain gown my mother was pushing me into, because "in five years you're just not going to care what you wore."

But I still did care...although mainly because of what Elena had done to help me out, and not the dress itself.

_You see?_ the voice said, its tone quiet and sad. _There's no point in you doing this. You can't save them. They're already gone. Mourn them if you must, but your path lies northward._

I wished then that the voice were real, that it was attached to a real body, so I could grab it by the shoulders and shake it for being so thoughtless. "That's not the point," I said, my own voice trembling. "I need to know...and I need to say goodbye."

It remained silent then...wisely so. I reached out and touched the twisted wrought iron of one of the bedposts, and whispered, "Sleep well." Then I turned away and walked down the hall, descended the steps, and went out the front door, shutting it quietly behind me.

Dutchie's tail thumped happily as I got back in the Cherokee, but I didn't say anything, only reached out to pet her, to feel her silky fur beneath my cold, cold fingers. For a long moment, I just sat there, the key still in my hand, the gun digging uncomfortably into my waistband. Finally, I reached back and pulled it out, returning it to the glove compartment.

Uncle Jeremy and Aunt Susan next. Could I do it? Could I go to the house where I'd spent Thanksgiving and Christmas — Susan was my mother's sister, and they traded holidays so no one family would have to do all the work — and walk in to see my uncle and aunt reduced to dust, and my cousins as well? Well, two of them, anyway. My cousin Shane was in college in California, at Stanford, to be exact, and so he wouldn't be around. He would have died far away from his family.

If _he died,_ I reminded myself fiercely. _He could be immune, too. You don't know._

No, I didn't know. I just wasn't sure how I would ever find out.

Even so, I put the key in the ignition, then turned it, pointing the vehicle north and east, toward Sandia Heights. It was a longer jog than the one from my house to Elena's, but up here the streets didn't feel quite as crammed with abandoned vehicles. There was plenty of evidence of unexpected death — cars crashed into walls, into trees, into one another. And as I gained some height, I could now see that the smoke I had smelled earlier seemed to be coming from the city center. Downtown itself, maybe, or the university. I couldn't tell for sure from this distance, and it didn't really matter. That was miles from where I was now, miles from my house. It might spread that far, but I had a feeling I'd be long gone by then.

As I drove along Academy Road, I passed a PetSmart and saw the strangest sight. All kinds of dogs were converging on the store, and right out in front I saw several of them tearing into big bags of dog food, then beginning to feast. More dogs came to join them, but there was no fighting over the food. In fact, I even saw a big pit bull mix move to one side to let a fluffy little dog — a Maltese, I guessed — come in next to him and start eating.

"What the — " I said aloud, and Dutchie swiveled her head in my direction.

_The animals will be taken care of,_ the voice told me.

I'd been so caught up in my own losses, and so relieved to have Dutchie by my side, that I hadn't even stopped to think what would happen to all those thousands of ownerless pets left with no resources, no one to watch over them.

"They'll be taken care of?" I demanded. "By whom?"

_They will not suffer. They are innocents._

This whole situation was getting stranger by the minute. The way all the bodies of the dead had dissolved into dust seemed to tell me something greater than a single rampaging strain of microbe was at work here, and now, seeing the way the animals were all cooperating, hearing the voice reassure me they would be fine — well, I didn't know what to think.

"Is this a judgment?" I asked. "Some sort of punishment?"

Silence.

"Who's doing the punishing?" I demanded, voice shaking. "And why wasn't I punished along with everyone else?"

Again no answer.

I drove on, knowing I would receive no reply to my questions.

# Chapter 6

My aunt and uncle's house looked intact, Uncle Jeremy's Beemer in the driveway, a little garden flag with an autumn leaf design flapping in the breeze as I got out of the Cherokee. The rest of the neighborhood looked similarly peaceful, but I knew better than to trust that outward appearance of tranquility. I knew what it hid.

Unlike Elena's house, the front door here was locked. I wished I could take that as a sign to turn around and go, but that would be the cowardly way out. Instead, I headed toward the back, to the entrance that opened on the patio. Their backyard wasn't landscaped with grass and trees like ours, but was completely paved over except for some plantings along the edges, with a pergola to protect the area to one side where they had the patio furniture and the barbecue. My hiking boots seemed overly loud as I walked across the flagstones and tested the back door.

Locked. I knocked, then waited. Nothing.

I knocked again, calling out, half in a whisper, "Uncle Jeremy? Aunt Susan?"

No reply, but, to be fair, I wasn't sure if I'd been loud enough for anyone to really hear me inside. Maybe I'd kept my voice down because I wanted an excuse not to know.

I tried peeking inside, but the blinds were closed almost all the way, and so I couldn't really see anything. The planter next to me was bordered with large rocks; I wondered if I should pick one up and smash a window in. Even if by some miracle someone was alive inside, I didn't think they'd get too angry about me breaking a window to check on them. At least, I hoped they wouldn't.

Bending down, I wrapped my fingers around one of the rocks. At the same time, the voice thundered in my head, _Behind you!_

I whirled, rock still in one hand. Standing a few paces away was probably the last person I'd expected to see — Chris Bowman, who lived next door to my aunt and uncle, and who I had always found extremely creepy. He was a few years older than I but still lived at home, and more than once I'd heard my aunt say "what a shame" it was that his parents had to deal with him, but I never was able to find out exactly what she meant by that. I'd always assumed Chris maybe had a substance abuse problem, or possibly mental health issues. Frankly, I didn't want to get close enough to him to find out, as it seemed that every time my family came to visit, he'd have some excuse to be outside, watering the flower border or getting the mail — anything so he could stand there and watch me with his pale eyes until I disappeared inside my aunt and uncle's house.

Back then, his behavior hadn't worried me too much, because I knew if he actually tried anything, my father would have made sure it never happened again. But now, with the whole world dead except for me and Albuquerque's biggest creep?

My fingers tightened around the rock I held, but I kept it behind me and hoped he hadn't noticed as I picked it up. Hard to say, because I hadn't even heard him approach. He was wearing his typical costume of baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt — this one emblazoned with a Captain America shield — and his high-topped Converse apparently hadn't made any sound as he crossed the flagstones of the patio.

"Chris?" I finally managed, because one of us had to say something, and it seemed he was content to just stand there and stare at me with those weird pale blue eyes of his.

Finally, his mouth curved in a smile. His teeth were slightly yellowish, as was his skin and hair. Everything about him seemed vaguely yellow, except his eyes. "You're immune," he said, and made the oddest sound, like a choked little giggle.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "Maybe," I replied. "Or maybe I just haven't gotten sick yet."

"No, you're immune." His pale gaze raked me up and down, and I tensed. The clothes I wore were anything but revealing, and yet the way he was looking at me made me feel as if I wasn't wearing anything at all...that he'd spent way too much time imagining what I looked like naked. "Just like me."

I wanted to retort, _I am nothing like you,_ but something held me back. Yes, I had that rock in my hand. Belatedly, I realized that was all I had, since in my haste to get out of the car and up to my aunt and uncle's front door, I'd left the gun in the glove compartment of the Cherokee. Shit.

"This is perfect," he went on, his tone almost dreamy. "Everyone gone except you and me. Just the way I always wanted it."

Jesus Christ. I could feel the sharp edges of the rock biting into my fingers and palm. If I threw it, would it be enough to knock him out, or at least put him off balance enough for me to bolt to the car? I had no idea. Normally, I'd say I was pretty strong...but was I strong enough?

"Um, Chris," I said, figuring that ignoring his comment seemed safest in that moment, "what about your parents? Your neighbors on the other side?"

An expression of annoyance crossed his lumpy features. "I _told_ you. They're all gone. Everyone on the whole street. I checked." A pause, and then he added, "Your aunt and uncle, too, and your cousins. I went in and looked, then locked the door when I came back out. I figured no one else would be going in there." The annoyed look morphed into one of sly knowing. "So you won't need that rock to break in. Why don't you give it to me?"

I didn't reply. He frowned, taking a step toward me, eyes fixed on my face, greedy, hungry. A pale pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and I felt my stomach heave.

_Now, Jessica!_

Without stopping to think, I whipped my arm around and hurled the rock at Chris's head with all the strength I possessed. It hit him square in the temple, and he let out a shocked cry, eyes wide and disbelieving, then backed away from me as blood began to pour through the fingers he put up against the wound.

That was the only opening I would get, I knew. I tore out of there, bolting as if someone had just shot off a starter pistol at a track meet. Behind me, I could hear Chris cursing, calling me a bitch and worse — but he was also coming after me. And though he was soft-looking and most likely out of shape, he was also almost a foot taller than I, which meant his legs could cover the ground a lot more quickly.

If I looked back, I'd be lost. I could only continue to pound my way toward the Cherokee, one hand scrabbling in my pants pocket for the key as I ran. My fingers closed around the fob, and I hit the "unlock" button while I was still a good twenty feet away. The lights flashed, and from the passenger seat I could hear Dutchie bark — not a friendly bark of greeting, but a sharp, strained one, as if warning me.

A cold, clammy hand caught hold of my bicep and spun me around. Chris's washed-out blue eyes, even more blindingly pale now that they were circled by bright red blood flowing down from the gash in his head, bored into me.

"You're going to regret that."

"Chris, please — " I thought I'd been scared before, watching my family die, wondering when the fever would rise up to consume me as well, but that was an entirely different species of fear from what I was experiencing now. This was far more personal, in a way, because I knew all too well what Chris Bowman wanted from me.

"Shut up." His fingers tightened on my arm, and he began to pull me toward him. Overcome by panic, I struggled against him, tasting the sourness of bile in my mouth, knowing if he touched me in a way that was any more intimate than this, I would be sick. I drove my knee upward the way my father had taught me, and I hoped I could catch Chris in the groin, but he seemed to guess what I had planned and kicked out at me, catching me in the shin and sending me flying to the ground, where I hit the sidewalk with a jolt, pain lancing up through my wrists as I jammed down into them with almost all my weight.

Tears of pain and fury leaped to my eyes, but I couldn't lose it now. I started to crawl toward the SUV, only to feel Chris's hands on me again, this time around my waist. I kicked back at him, but he let go of me with one hand so he could catch my ankle and flip me over.

Then he was looming over me, his horrific bloodstained face getting closer and closer. I knew what he was going to do, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stop him — he was bigger and stronger, and just plain crazy, and I now had at least one, if not two, sprained wrists.

And then...then it was as if a pair of invisible hands caught hold of him, pulling him away from me, flinging him backward as if he weighed nothing, was only a child's toy someone had left out on the lawn. He hit the trunk of the palm tree in my aunt and uncle's yard with a sickening crunch, then slid down, his head hanging at a strange angle. Was his neck broken? No way was I going to get close enough to find out.

I didn't even realize I was saying the words out loud until I heard them coming from my mouth. "What the — "

The voice sounded stern and sad. _Do you see now why I did not want you to come here?_

"Point taken," I panted, and got shakily to my feet. Both my wrists were aching, and I hoped I'd be able to get the Cherokee home. Not that I had much choice. It was the only safe haven I knew.

Wincing, I dug the key out of my pocket and climbed into the SUV, trying to maneuver with my elbows so I wouldn't have to bend my wrists any more than was strictly necessary. Dutchie whined and tried to lick my face.

"I'm okay, sweetie," I told her, more for her sake than because I really believed what I was saying.

Trying to put on the seatbelt would have been excruciating. Besides, with all the wrecks littering the roads, I wouldn't be driving much above twenty-five miles an hour anyway. Somehow I managed to get the car started, then bit my lip in pain as I put the Cherokee in gear. At least I'd been parked at the curb and not in the driveway, so I didn't have to worry about backing out or anything.

The throbbing ache in my wrists prevented me from thinking about anything except getting back to the house. I drove slowly, grinding my teeth whenever I had to maneuver around abandoned cars by going up on the curb. Every jolt and jounce felt magnified a hundredfold.

Finally, though, I made it back to my street and eased the car into the driveway, then turned off the engine. I knew there was no way I could reach across and open the passenger door from the inside, so I slid out and went around the front of the SUV. Dutchie bounded out the second she was free to do so, and I retrieved the gun from the glove compartment before shutting the door behind her and clicking the lock button on the remote.

Limping, since I'd realized in that moment just how much my right knee hurt as well, I went in through the back door and locked it behind me. Then I headed to the front of the house to test the lock there as well. All was as it should be, but I couldn't stop shaking.

Dutchie sat in the living room and watched as I secured the house. Then she tilted her head toward the clock over the fireplace, as if to say, _It's lunchtime, you know._

Despite everything, I couldn't help giving a rusty chuckle. "Soon, Dutchie. I need to take care of me first."

We had a very well-stocked first aid kit in one of the cupboards in the service porch. It hurt just to reach up and get it down, but I made myself do it. First I attended to the superficial scratches on the palms of my hands, gritting my teeth as I swabbed them with alcohol pads, and then I wrapped both wrists with Ace bandages. They still ached, but not as badly. My knee was banged up, but I hadn't torn my jeans, so I figured any bruises I'd gotten would heal on their own.

Afterward, I limped into the kitchen and got Dutchie some more chicken. Besides the leftover dog biscuits, there was also a partial bag of dry dog food in the pantry that I could feed her, but I figured I might as well get rid of the perishable stuff first.

Then it was some water for me, and a makeshift sandwich of wheat bread and butter and the last of the strawberry jelly. My hand shook as I lifted the sandwich to my mouth, but I made myself eat anyway. That burst of panic, of terror, had used up a lot of my reserves.

The silence in the house seemed to press on my ears. I noticed the voice had been suspiciously quiet since I'd returned.

Finally, I set down my water bottle and snapped, "All right, you want to tell me what the hell _that_ was all about? How can a pasty creep like Chris Bowman be immune when everyone else is dead?"

No reply at first. Then it was as if someone sighed quietly, far back in my mind. _We cannot control who is immune, only what happens to them after they have survived._

"'We'?" I demanded, figuring I'd ask the most pressing question first. "Who is 'we'?"

The resulting silence was so drawn out that I was fairly certain I wouldn't get a reply, that I'd asked exactly the wrong question. Finally, the voice said, _That is not important._

"It's important to me." I hurt all over, and I was tired of the sense I'd begun to have that something huge was behind all this, something I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to understand. "Who are you?"

This time the answer came back almost at once. _I am not at liberty to say._

That answer only made the impotent rage within me burn all the hotter. This last evasion was about all I could take at the moment. "What the hell is this — a White House press conference?"

_You are upset. This is understandable. But tell me — have I not done whatever I could to protect you?_

I recalled how Chris Bowman had been torn away from me by invisible hands, thrown up against that palm tree as if he weighed nothing, even though he was six feet, two inches of solid pudge. "Was that you?"

_My only wish is for your safety. That is why you need to leave this place and go north._

So we were back to that again. I had to admit, after this morning's events, I was a little more open to the idea of getting the hell out of Albuquerque and not looking back. Part of me — the stubborn part — still wanted to go to Tori's house, to see for myself what had happened to her and her family. But I also knew I was putting myself at risk every time I set foot out the door. A great deal of the population had vanished during the previous three days, but not all of it...and it was those remnants I had to worry about.

"All right," I said wearily. "I'll think about it."

Maybe I was only talking to myself. Right then, I didn't want to think too hard about the whole insane situation.

That afternoon I dozed a little, and when I woke up, I actually felt better. My wrists didn't ache as much, and the abrasions on my hands already looked completely scabbed over. What the hell? Was this part of the "voice" — I didn't know how else to think of him, or it — watching over me? Did he have some way of making me heal far faster than I normally would?

At any other time, I would have dismissed the notion as crazy, but so many insane things had happened since Monday that I couldn't reject any of them outright. Maybe my particular immunity brought with it certain other benefits, although I couldn't begin to think how that worked. I'd always been a healthy person, so I bounced back from bumps and bruises and sprains fairly quickly — but not this quickly.

Putting that conundrum aside to ponder at a later date, I decided to take stock of what I had in the house, and what else I would need in the way of supplies. We had a good deal of camping gear, so I was set when it came to sleeping bags and Coleman lanterns and all that sort of stuff. The first aid kit was stocked well enough for ordinary scrapes and bruises and strains, but I wondered if I should hit up a few of the local pharmacies and get myself antibiotics, some kind of painkillers, cough and cold medicine...a decent supply of my birth control pills. Not that I was expecting to get laid anytime soon — Chris Bowman's bloodied face flashed into my mind, and I shuddered — but the pills did help to keep my periods manageable. And that was another thing. I'd need sanitary supplies, enough to last me for a while. Making do with rags the way they did in the bad old days was not something I wanted to face quite yet.

Night began to fall again, and I moved around the ground floor, lighting candles. I still didn't want to go upstairs, for some reason felt safer here on the couch. I fed Dutchie the last of the chicken, and snacked on a couple of granola bars, trying to ignore how much my body ached for something more substantial. I wasn't quite at the point of being willing to kill for a cheeseburger, but I could see myself heading down that road in a couple of days.

I spoke into the stillness of the house. "So if I'm supposed to head north, where exactly am I going? Santa Fe? Taos? Colorado?"

_Go north, and I will guide you where you need to go._

"That's not an answer."

_It's all the answer you require._

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

Something that might have been a chuckle. _I have been told that on occasion, if not in those precise words._

"But you're still not going to tell me where I'm going."

_No_.

Well, at least he was being honest. I'd begun thinking of the voice as "him," although it still could have been merely a product of my fevered imagination, of a mind that couldn't handle all the death and destruction around it, and so had slipped into a nice, cozy form of psychosis.

Maybe so, but that didn't explain the way Chris Bowman had been torn away from me, as if some invisible giant had grabbed him and thrown him across the yard.

Telekinesis? Some kind of delayed-onset _X-Men_ action?

Okay, now I was beginning to sound ridiculous even to myself.

"All right," I said. "I'm convinced. Mostly because I'm not sure that creeper doesn't know where I live...if he's still alive." A pause then, while I waited for the voice to break in and tell me that oh, yes, Chris Bowman was dead, and I needn't worry about him any longer.

But I heard no such thing, just a silence that began to echo in my ears. Great. So apparently Mr. Bowman wasn't exactly down for the count.

I took in a breath and plunged ahead. "And anyway, staying here is starting to sound less and less attractive. I'll head out in the morning after I get some more supplies."

_You won't need them._

This was said flatly, as if he didn't expect me to contradict him. "Well, sorry, but since you won't tell me where I'm going or how long the journey is going to take, I need to be prepared. And that means getting a few things. I'll be careful."

_The way you were careful at your aunt and uncle's house?_

Bristling, I replied, "Okay, I was caught off guard. That's not going to happen again."

No reply. I wasn't sure whether that meant the voice had run out of arguments to give me, or whether it was simply tired of me throwing up roadblocks. I decided to take its silence as tacit agreement with my plan. And really, it shouldn't be that big a deal. The Walgreens I frequented was less than a mile from my house. I'd pack everything else I needed in advance, then go there on my way out of town. Surely the voice couldn't have any real problem with that?

It probably could, but unless it woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me everything I was doing wrong, I was going with it.

Falling asleep that night was difficult. The silence rattled me; every creak and sigh of the house contracting as the night air grew colder made me startle, thinking Chris the Creeper had returned to finish what he'd started outside my aunt and uncle's house. Well, the joke would be on him — I had the revolver right next to me on the coffee table, and had gotten the shotgun from the gun safe and was lying with it propped up against the arm of the sofa near my head. He'd be a red smear on the wall before he had time to blink.

But the guns didn't reassure me as much as I'd thought they would. Maybe it was more that I'd begun to pick at what the voice had said to me, how he'd said that "we" — meaning him and others like him, I supposed, whatever or whoever they were — hadn't controlled who lived and who died of the Heat, but that they did have some say in what happened to the survivors. That was a frightening thought. True, everything he'd done so far seemed to have been for my benefit...but why?

I realized he hadn't called me "beloved" for a while. Was that an oversight, or had all my questions and my ignoring of his advice annoyed him enough that I wasn't quite so beloved anymore? The thought bothered me a little...but not as much as contemplating what it might mean to be the beloved of some incorporeal being who spoke to me only in my thoughts.

If he was even real. I really could just be imagining the whole thing. After all, there were accounts of mothers going ballistic and lifting trucks off their toddlers or whatever. Wasn't it possible that I'd been the one to fling Chris Bowman away from me, and my mind had just embellished the event so it seemed as if some kind of supernatural force was involved?

I didn't know. And the worst part was, I had no one to talk to about my situation, except a disembodied voice that might or might not be merely a figment of my imagination. For most of the day, I'd managed to push to one side the pain of losing my family, my friends, but now as I sat there in the dark, one candle flickering on the coffee table, it all seemed to come back in a rush, like a great, gaping wound in my middle where my heart had been torn out. I was twenty-four years old, but right then all I wanted was my mother. I wanted her to hug me and tell me it was all going to be okay.

And then I felt him there, as I had earlier, like a wash of warmth moving over me, strong arms around me, the touch of an unseen mouth against my tumbled hair _. Ah, beloved, you do not believe me now, but it will get better. Sleep now, and leave the pain for another day._

I opened my mouth to speak, but I found I didn't have the strength to form any words. Instead, darkness washed over me, taking me along with it. In that moment, I knew I lacked the strength to fight the inevitable.

# Chapter 7

Dutchie's growling woke me. I startled awake, sitting bolt upright and blinking against the darkness. Only it wasn't completely dark, as the pillar candle still burned bravely in its dish on the coffee table. Thank God for that, because the dog was sitting in front of the door, teeth bared in a snarl, a deep, bone-rattling growl rumbling within her throat.

Without thinking, I pushed back the blankets that covered me and grabbed the shotgun. Yes, the .357 had great stopping power, but I knew anything I hit with that shotgun would go down and stay down. Well, except for the parts that got splattered on any nearby walls. And if I did somehow manage to miss, that Remington would make a pretty decent club.

My heart was hammering away in my chest, but I made myself go to the peephole in the front door and attempt to peer out. Fat lot of good that did — the night outside was pitch black, with not a hint of a moon. I couldn't even see the rose of Sharon bushes on either side of the doorway.

But the whole time Dutchie didn't stop growling, although as I backed away from the door, shotgun still clenched in my right hand, she moved as well, padding toward the back of the house.

Great. The front door was much bigger and heavier than the back door. Anyone sufficiently motivated could kick in the door off the service porch.

I had a feeling that if he was still ambulatory, Chris Bowman would be feeling really motivated right around now. Maybe I was just being paranoid, since I had no idea how he could have even found me. We weren't exactly what you could call listed in the phone book; cops tended to be circumspect about that sort of thing. Then again, Chris seemed like the type who might have mastered the finer points of hacking into secure databases, and considering his apparent obsession with me....

Shit.

Dutchie trotted ahead of me. Her ears were up, nose pointed directly toward the service porch at the rear of the kitchen. And that was when I heard it, too — a faint scratching noise coming from the back door. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was one of the other neighborhood dogs trying to get in. But after seeing that whole "peaceable kingdom" bit at the PetSmart up in Sandia Heights, I knew Dutchie wouldn't be growling like that if it was simply another dog on the other side of that door.

I'd already loaded the shotgun before I lay down to sleep, so all I had to do was pump it to bring a shell into the chamber. Even though I could feel my heart still wailing away in my chest, I managed to call out in what sounded like a reasonably steady voice, "Whoever that is, back away. I'm armed, and I will not hesitate to shoot."

There. My father would've been proud, if he'd been around to hear that.

No reply, of course. Dutchie sat down on her haunches, then looked up at me and gave a questioning whine. It seemed obvious she thought she'd done her job in warning me that something was out there, and now it was my turn to do something about it.

Not unreasonable of her, but no way was I going to reach out and open that door. If I had to stay here all night with the shotgun pointed at the back entrance to the house, I would.

That odd scratching noise started up again. I gritted my teeth, wondering if I should send off a warning shot. But all that would do was mess up the back door, and what if that scratching noise was coming from an ambitious rat or something? I'd look like an idiot, and worse, I would've completely compromised my home's security.

I dragged out the step stool and sat down on it, shotgun still pointed toward the back door. Dutchie stayed where she was, although she did send me an inquiring look over one shoulder. I shook my head at her, and she settled down in a sphinx-like position, still at attention, snout in a direct line with the doorknob. In that moment, I wondered whether I should even be trusting Dutchie's instincts. Obviously, she was a very good dog, but she wasn't _my_ dog. I didn't know if she was a great watch dog or the type to go off half-cocked at every random sound. Yes, there was something outside, but it didn't necessarily have to be anything threatening. For all I knew, it could have been a branch from the willow bush just outside the back stoop scratching on the doorframe or something.

But then the door creaked open, and my breath caught in my throat. Standing there was Chris Bowman, face puffed and bruised, pale eyes glaring at me. Something glinted in one hand, reflecting the faint light from the jar candle I'd left lit in the kitchen.

Lock picks. Son of a bitch. Trust a maladjusted bastard like Chris the Creep to know how to pick locks.

Slowly, I got to my feet, the gun still trained on him. "Get out, Chris."

His eyes were still fixed on my face, as if he hadn't even registered the Remington pump-action shotgun in my hands. "No. We're the only survivors. We're meant to be together."

My finger was resting on the trigger. Just the slightest squeeze, and he'd be splatter on the doorframe. Could I kill someone, though, just like that? Before, when I'd thrown the rock at his head, I'd only meant to slow him down, to give myself enough time to get safely away. The shotgun was an entirely different story.

"I don't want to hurt you, Chris," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, just as I willed my hands not to shake as I gripped the shotgun. "The two of us being immune? It's just an accident of biology. It doesn't mean anything. So please, go back home."

For the first time, he glanced away from my eyes, down at the gun I held. A look of almost comical confusion passed over his puffy features. "But I _want_ you."

My stomach twisted, and right then I was glad I hadn't eaten anything more than that bread and jelly sandwich a few hours earlier...or whenever it had been. I wasn't wearing a watch, and of course the digital clocks on the appliances in the kitchen had died along with everything else when the power went out.

"But I don't want you, Chris," I said, and right then my voice did contain a betraying tremor that I hated, although I couldn't do anything about it. "I told you, I don't want to hurt you. But I will. My dad was a cop, and he taught me how to use this. And I will."

During this little speech, Chris's eyes grew narrower and narrower, as if he was finally processing my rejection of him. His lip curled, and he said, "You don't have the guts," right before he lunged at me.

Without thinking, I let my finger jerk on the trigger. At the same time, it was as if a powerful hand had grasped the barrel, pointing it away from Chris so all I did was blow a hole in the ceiling, destroying the combination light/fan fixture there and raining drywall everywhere. I blinked, sure the creep was going to come after me, now that I'd missed so heinously, but instead something seemed to grab him by the neck, squeezing so his eyes began to bulge and his feet scrabbled helplessly against the linoleum of the laundry room floor.

A few gurgling moans came from his throat, and then once again he was flung away from me, this time with so much force that he flew across the backyard, hitting the corner of the garage before tumbling in a heap into the irises that still half-heartedly grew there. Shaking, I tightened my hold on the shotgun and started down the back steps toward him, only to hear the voice say,

_Stop, Jessica. There is no need._

I paused on the bottom stair. "That — that was you?"

_Yes_.

"And he's — "

_Yes. I did what I should have done back at your aunt and uncle's house._

My breath seemed to go out of me in a _whoosh,_ and I found myself sitting down hard on the step, the concrete cold even through my jeans. Thank God at least I'd gone to bed fully dressed, except for my hiking boots. I looked over at the gun I still held.

"I wouldn't have missed, would I?"

_No. You would have killed him, had I not pushed the gun away. I did not want that on your conscience._

So...a being who would go out of his way to protect me, but didn't think twice about killing someone else. Not that Chris Bowman was exactly a wonderful specimen of humanity, one worth saving.

"Are you an angel?" I asked abruptly.

Another of those low chuckles. _Hardly. But you are safe now, so you should go back inside and try to sleep._

"You seriously expect me to sleep after that?"

_Yes. You are safe now. No one else knows of your presence in this house. You can sleep here, and then leave tomorrow morning._

I knew I'd exhausted all my arguments. After pushing myself to my feet, I glanced over toward where Chris Bowman's body lay, twisted and limp in the ruin of what was once my mother's prized bed of irises.

_I will take care of that. Go to sleep, Jessica._

Bowing my head, I nodded, then went back inside and locked the door. Even though the voice had told me I was safe, I still took the step stool and wedged it up under the knob of the back door. Maybe it was a foolish gesture, but it made me feel a little bit better.

Dutchie looked up at me and wagged her tail, teeth showing in a doggy smile. "Okay," I said. "You get a treat for the warning." I got out a dog biscuit and gave it to her before heading back to my makeshift bed on the living room couch, where I leaned the shotgun up against the sofa's arm once more. Maybe I wouldn't need it, but I knew I'd sleep better if it was there.

Assuming I slept at all, of course.

I did, finally, and awoke to bright sunshine peeking around the edges of the living room curtains. The clock above the fireplace was battery-operated, and so had no problem telling me that the time was ten minutes until eight.

When I'd laid my head down on the sofa pillow the night before, I had no idea I'd sleep in that much. The confrontation with Chris Bowman must have taken more out of me than I thought. Speaking of which....

After pushing the blankets covering me off to one side, I rose and padded in sock feet to the back door. The step stool was still there, shoved up under the doorknob. I removed it and set it to lean against the wall, then opened the door and looked outside, toward the garage. The bright morning sunlight clearly revealed the clump of smashed iris plants where Chris Bowman had landed the night before, but his body was gone. No blood, no nothing.

If I looked more closely, would there be a pile of ashes half hidden among the blade-like iris leaves? But no, he'd died from severe head trauma, not the Heat. The body had been simply...taken away.

Deciding it was best not to contemplate exactly how that had happened...or what had been done with him...I went back inside and poured Dutchie some fresh water from one of the bottles in the pantry, and gave her a good helping of dry dog food. She wolfed it down, tail wagging the whole time, so obviously she hadn't been irrevocably scarred by the events of the night before.

I wasn't sure I could say the same for myself, but I had other things I needed to focus on. The day before, I'd told the voice I would pack up and leave this morning, so that's what I needed to do — assess what I would take with me, based on how much I could fit into the Cherokee. With the back seats folded down, I really could haul a good deal of gear, so I didn't think space would be too much of a problem.

More bread and butter for breakfast, supplemented with some dried apricots I found smashed into one corner of the pantry. My mother had been a very organized woman, but Devin was a source of chaos that could defeat even the most orderly person. I started stacking what was salvageable on the breakfast bar: the rest of that bag of apricots, a pile of granola bars, an unopened bag of blue corn chips, the remnants of the dry food and the dog biscuits for Dutchie. That would get us started, and I figured I could always stock up on a few more things in the food section of the Walgreens.

_Truly, you do not need that much._ The voice sounded almost amused this time.

"Well, until you're telling me how far I'm driving, I'm going to over-pack," I said, setting the half-used flat of bottled water next to the dog food.

_Jessica, do you not like surprises?_

"Not particularly, no." I surveyed the meager pile and thought I really wasn't overdoing it by anyone's standards. True, I could start piling up the economy-sized cans of tomato sauce and beans my mother had bought at Costco, but I could get that stuff anywhere if necessary. It wasn't as if there was going to be a lot of competition for the enormous stockpiles of canned food left behind by the mostly deceased people of New Mexico.

_Well, I think you will like this surprise._

Since that reply just annoyed me — what was I, five? — I made a noncommittal sound in my throat and headed out the back door, up to my apartment. This time, Dutchie didn't seem too inclined to follow me. I guessed the reason why when I saw her nose around the backyard, then squat to pee. The second movement, so to speak, would probably follow shortly, but I didn't see any need to hang around for that.

Like an idiot, I'd left the door to my apartment unlocked, but, as far as I could tell, Chris hadn't made it up here. It was possible that he'd detected the faint glow of the candles from inside the main house and realized that was where I'd bunked down. Just as well, because I didn't know if I could have brought any of my belongings with me if I'd known he'd pawed through them.

In my closet I had one of those airline-regulation hard-sided suitcases, the kind with wheels, as well as two largish duffle bags. I filled one of the duffle bags with underwear and bras and socks, along with a couple of sleep shirts. The other duffle bag got shoe-carrying duty — which turned out not to be much, since I only packed my trail shoes, a pair of knee-high boots with rubber soles, and one pair of flip-flops. And...well, I didn't see where I would ever wear them again, but I didn't want to leave behind my pretty black flats with the scallop detail, or the high-heeled sandals with the jeweled embellishment. Maybe I could just take them out from time to time and fondle them. I loved those sandals.

I filled up the remainder of the duffle bag with my toiletries, although I left behind all the hair-prep tools. What was the point, when there was no more electricity? Maybe if I got really bored I'd invent a solar-powered blow dryer, but in the meantime, that was a whole lot of stuff I didn't need to drag along.

I took the same no-nonsense approach with my clothes: jeans and T-shirts in both short- and long-sleeved varieties, a flannel shirt I'd inherited from my ex-boyfriend (he was an ass, but that shirt was soooo soft), the all-weather anorak I used when going on hikes. If I really was going north, I'd need some protection, so I added my dark green plaid cashmere scarf and lined leather gloves to the pile, along with the black knitted cap that Elena had once complained made me look like I was about to hold up a liquor store.

Getting it all to fit was a challenge, although leaving out the anorak helped. I could always lay it down in the back of the SUV. When my gaze traveled back to the closet, where all my "fun" clothes still hung, looking a bit forlorn and abandoned, it lingered on the black dress I'd worn out for drinks on my birthday. All right, I knew there was no reason I'd ever need to wear that dress again, but I loved the way it fit, the way it seemed to follow all the curves of my body without clinging too much. But it was made of knit fabric and wouldn't take up that much room.

Off the hanger, it did roll up into a surprisingly small ball. I tucked the dress into a corner of the suitcase and then zipped the thing closed. A sound outside on the landing made me start, but it was only Dutchie, coming up to investigate what I was doing.

"Just about done," I told her, lugging the suitcase off the bed and picking up the lighter of the two duffle bags, the one with my underthings in it. I'd come back for the other duffle bag and my coat.

The dog ran ahead of me down the stairs, tail wagging. It seemed she knew what these preparations meant — that I'd be going in the Cherokee soon, and that meant she'd be going along as well.

I set the luggage down by the breakfast bar, then returned to my apartment and gathered up the rest of my things. Sitting on the small side table next to the couch was a wedding photo of my parents, my mother with impossible big '80s hair but looking beautiful even so, and next to it a snapshot taken last year of the whole family at a football game, Devin wearing his shoulder pads, sweaty and grinning proudly. My heart clenched when I looked at their faces, and yet I knew I couldn't leave them behind. What if I began to forget what they looked like?

Fighting back tears, I shoved the pictures, frames and all, into my oversized purple purse; I wasn't sure why I was bringing it, since the backpack I was taking with the rest of the camping equipment was a lot more practical. But that purse seemed to be the last reminder of the "old" me I had — the cell phone, useless now, although a few days earlier I would have said I couldn't have lasted more than a few hours without it; the tube of lip gloss; my wallet; stubs from movies I'd seen over the last few months; a pen and some tissue, because my mother told me I should always carry a pen and Kleenex.

And my keys. I went out onto the landing, closed the door behind me, and then locked it. I couldn't really say why, as I doubted any survivors — if there were more besides me and the late Chris Bowman — would bother coming all the way back here to loot the apartment. Our house was one of the more modest ones on the street; there were plenty of better pickings elsewhere.

But that thought only served to depress me, as if the things my parents had worked so hard for had turned out to be worth very little in the end. The first stinging pinpricks of tears told me I'd better abandon that line of thought, as I still had a lot to do.

And maybe, just maybe, I'd feel better once I was gone and away from the place that now only served to remind me of everything I'd lost.

In the end, the Cherokee was full but not filled. I put two bottles of water in the cup holders, patted the passenger seat so Dutchie would know it was time to get in, and shut the door behind her. After that, I climbed in behind the wheel and closed my own door.

All the exertion had made my wrists start to ache again, but only slightly, which just proved some sort of supernatural healing must be going on. Not that I was going to argue. Heading out into the world while even partly incapacitated wasn't a very good idea.

So...had my unseen guardian speeded up my healing process so my injuries wouldn't slow down my departure?

I didn't know how I should feel about that.

No point in brooding over it now, though. I was just glad that I was able to back out of the driveway without my wrists or hands hurting too much. Today, although the sky was mainly blue, I could see clouds beginning to drift in from the northeast. I hoped they didn't indicate some kind of weather was on the way; bad enough that the voice expected me to head out of town in a direction of his choosing without having to handle driving in heavy rain as well.

He — or it — had been conspicuously silent so far this morning. It could simply be that he had no reason to intervene while I was packing, since I was already doing his bidding by prepping to get out of Albuquerque.

The local Walgreens was around a half mile from my house. Its parking lot backed up to a middle school, and it felt stranger than strange to get out of the SUV and not see a bunch of kids running around on the soccer field and the track. At least it was far enough away that I couldn't tell if those fields had little piles of gray dust scattered around on them. No, I realized they probably wouldn't, as the schools had been closed down fairly quickly...not that it had made much of a difference in the end.

As I approached the drugstore, I saw that the front doors had been smashed in. Glass was strewn everywhere. My hackles went up, and I almost reached back and pulled out the Glock, which I'd tucked into my waistband. The whole incident with Chris Bowman had put me more than a little on edge, and I'd decided to drive with the gun on me. The S&W was way too big for that, though, so I'd gone with the Glock. It would still flatten someone, especially if I hit them with multiple rounds.

But as I entered the store, glass crunching under my hiking boots, it seemed the place was deserted enough. Dark, too — I supposed I should have been expecting that, but in my mind's eye the Walgreens was always brightly lit, blazing with fluorescent illumination. I paused by the checkout counter, which was close enough to the door that I could see what I was doing, and plucked one of the keychain flashlights off the display there. Not as good as my father's Maglite, which was buried deep in the cargo area of the car, but it would do.

I turned on the flashlight, grabbed a cart, and made my way to the back of the store where the pharmacy was located. All around me, I could see evidence of looting — empty shelves, racks overturned, aisles filled with discarded bags of Doritos, rolls of toilet paper, kids' toys. My heart sank. If so much had been taken, what would be left for me to collect?

As it turned out, not a heck of a lot.

There were still some generic medications left in the first aid aisle — ibuprofen, allergy remedies, sore throat lozenges. I grabbed boxes haphazardly and threw them into the cart I'd picked up at the front of the store, figuring something was better than nothing. All was chaos behind the pharmacy counter. I didn't know if all those items had been taken by people who were sick and trying desperately to alleviate their symptoms, or whether any survivors had realized there was a lot of heavy-duty stuff here just ripe for the picking.

Pretty much anything with an opiate in it was gone, I realized as I ran the flashlight's beam over the shelves. I could forget about easing the pain of armageddon with a little Oxycontin. All of the high-powered stuff was gone, except for one bottle of codeine-laced cough syrup high on a shelf. I took that, figuring it might come in handy.

The antibiotics were also ransacked, although I found a couple of bottles of tetracycline. Old school, but it would still work just fine for an infected wound or a bout of bronchitis. They got added to the growing pile in the cart.

A lot of the medications had names I didn't even recognize, so I passed all those by. What I really wanted was the birth control pills, and I found those when I went around a corner, on a set of shelves that were a little disorganized but mainly intact. It made sense; most people probably weren't thinking of family planning when they were being beaten down by the modern-day equivalent of a Biblical plague.

A small sigh of relief escaped my lips when I found the Ortho-Novum, and I gathered up every little packet they had. Enough to last me for a year, from the looks of it. After that, well...I'd worry about that then.

_Like you're really going to be alive a year from now._

I pushed that thought out of my head. Two days ago, I was sure I'd be dead along with everyone else, and yet here I still was. Never say die.

That had been a favorite phrase of my mother's. How woefully inappropriate.

Mouth tightening, I moved the flashlight I carried over the shelves once more to make sure I wasn't missing anything. The problem was, I didn't get sick all that often, and even when I did, regular over-the-counter stuff worked just fine for me. I could be leaving something valuable behind here and wouldn't even know it.

_You can't take everything,_ I told myself. Anyway, it was creepy in here, blundering around in the dark with only a single small flashlight to relieve the gloom. Better for me to just cut my losses and get out. It wasn't as if there wouldn't be more drugstores between here and...wherever I was going.

That thought reassured me somewhat, so I stepped out from behind the counter and made my way two aisles over, where the feminine products were located. I didn't pay attention to brand or type, but just tossed boxes of tampons and packages of maxi pads into the cart until I was almost out of room. That should do me for a while, and I still needed to see if anything edible had been left behind.

I began walking toward the far left of the store, where I knew the food was located. Anything in the refrigerated case would be spoiled — and I was glad the doors were all shut, as otherwise the smell probably would have been nasty as hell — but there could still be chips and crackers and cookies, probably some beef jerky and other things of that ilk as well.

Not the healthiest of diets, but sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Figuring I should try to pick up some food for Dutchie as well, I stopped at the aisle where the drugstore usually stocked dog treats and a few brands of dry and canned food — not the stuff I would have chosen to feed her under ideal circumstances, but it would have been better than nothing. However, for some strange reason, those shelves were completely picked over. I even skidded on some scattered pellets of dry food before I regained my balance and glanced down to see that a big bag of Purina had been torn open, its contents scattered across the floor.

Muttering a curse, I left that aisle and went to the snack food section, which was in slightly better shape, and started gathering up what I could. By the time I'd dropped a couple of packets of beef jerky and a box of Ritz crackers on top of the pile in my basket, it was full, and I figured I needed to get going. It was almost noon, according to the watch I'd fished out of my nightstand and strapped on my wrist. A while back I'd almost stopped wearing watches, since I could just look at my phone, but now the watch was the only thing telling me what time it actually was. Yes, I had the clock in the Cherokee, but that only helped when I was driving.

I'd just passed the checkout counter — trying to quash my very real sensation of guilt over walking out with a bunch of stuff I hadn't paid for — when a shadow filled the doorway. Almost without thinking, I reached back for the Glock tucked into my waistband. Yes, Chris Bowman was still dead and gone, but all sorts of predators could still be out there. Or at least as many as the Heat had allowed to survive.

Then my eyes adjusted, and I saw the shadow was that of a man, probably in his late forties, smiling at me nervously.

"I'm sorry I startled you," he said, seeming to take note of how I remained rooted in the spot where I'd stopped by the checkout. "It's just — I haven't seen anyone else alive for two days. I thought I was the only one."

"There are a couple of us, I think," I responded. He looked pretty harmless, with his thinning dark hair and worried eyes, but I was still wary. "I never heard anything about the mortality rate. Everything went so...fast."

He nodded, his gaze traveling to the cart in front of me and then back up to my face. I stiffened, worried I'd see the same sort of predatory stare that Chris Bowman had given me, but this stranger only seemed relieved that he wasn't the only living person left in Albuquerque. "It was 99.8 percent. Or at least that was what the reports said."

"Reports?" I asked. "What reports?"

"Not on the news," he said. "I worked in the emergency-management bureau downtown. Those were the latest figures we got before everything just...stopped. By then there were only two of us left out of a team of twenty-seven, and Lydia died soon afterward. There was no way to let anyone know...not that there was anyone left to know, I suppose."

"There were a few of us." I had to stop then, the enormity of it threatening to overwhelm me. With a mortality rate like that, it meant there were maybe two thousand people left in Albuquerque. That sounded like a lot, until you realized there used to be almost a million people living in and around the city center. "But you're right — I suppose it wouldn't have made much of a difference. It's not as if we could have stopped it."

"No," he agreed, his features drooping even more.

"So...." I went on, not sure where I was supposed to go from here. It was pretty clear that the voice meant for me to leave Albuquerque alone, but now that I'd met a survivor, could I simply leave him behind? He appeared to be harmless. "Do you live around here?"

The man gave a vague gesture over his shoulder, toward the west. "Off Chavez Road."

That wasn't too far from where we stood. No wonder he'd come foraging over here. "Your first time out and around...after?"

A nod. "I didn't know if it would be safe, but I started to run out of things, and this was the closest store...."

"There's plenty left," I assured him. "The looters kind of tore the place up, but they didn't steal all the Doritos. I'd probably go to a grocery store if you really want something decent to eat, though."

"That was my plan after this, but I could walk here, so I figured I'd come here first." For the first time his eyes took on a certain glint, one I wasn't sure I liked. "That your Cherokee out there?"

There wasn't any point in denying it. For all I knew, he'd seen me pull up and get out of the SUV. "Yes."

"Leaving town?"

A flicker of unease went over me. "I was thinking about it," I hedged.

To my surprise, he didn't seem that put off by my reply. "That might be a good idea. It might be safer where there aren't as many survivors. People are going to get desperate."

_They already have,_ I thought, recalling the way Chris Bowman had broken into my house. Then again, that was a special case of one highly obsessed nut job. The survivors in Albuquerque would probably be a lot more interested in getting supplies than getting into my pants.

"So what are you going to do?" I asked, trying to shift the conversation away from me and my plans.

"I'm not sure. I figured food was the first step. After that?" He shrugged, then offered me a faint smile. "Right now, it's just kind of good to hear another voice."

I almost agreed with him, except I had been hearing a man's voice in my head for the past few days. So what if the jury was still out as to whether that voice was real or not?

"Well, I don't want to leave my dog sitting in the car too long," I said, since it seemed to me that the man wouldn't mind standing here and chatting all day, if it meant he didn't have to be by himself.

He looked startled by the _non sequitur,_ but then nodded. "Oh, of course. It is starting to warm up. You have a good day." The way he said it made it sound as if he wasn't sure such a thing was possible anymore.

Since there wasn't much else I could do, I smiled slightly, then moved toward the exit. For a second or two, I was worried he might put out an arm to stop me, but he only stepped out of the way and headed into the store.

I allowed myself a small sigh of relief before going to the Cherokee and unlocking it, then quickly unloading the loot from my cart into the rear cargo area. From the front seat, Dutchie whined, but I wasn't sure why. It was a little warm in the car, but nothing too bad — I'd made sure to crack the windows before I locked up the vehicle.

When I turned around, though, I almost dropped the car key. The stranger was standing there, holding a pistol pointed straight at me. His expression was no longer mild, but greedy. Not the kind of greed I'd seen in Chris Bowman, though. This man's gaze wasn't fixed on me, but the SUV I'd just closed up.

Without blinking, he said, "Give me the key. Now."

# Chapter 8

At first I could only stand there, gaping at him. From the way he held the gun, a small .22, I could tell he didn't have much experience. One part of my mind began to coolly calculate whether I was fast enough to get that Glock out of my waistband before he fired on me. My father had taken me to the indoor range many times, and shooting up in the hills around town even more, and he'd made me practice pulling the gun from a holster as well as the waistband of my pants. I knew I had far more experience than the man who faced me. But...was it enough?

Stalling for time, I stammered, "W-what?"

"You heard me." He waved the pistol in what he probably thought was a threatening manner. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want the car."

"But — " I kept my hands out where he could see them, knowing that he was probably nervous enough just handling the gun that he might do something really stupid if I made any sudden movements. "There are plenty of abandoned vehicles all over the city. You don't need mine."

"Yes, I do." His gaze shifted from the rear door of the Cherokee to my face, and I could see the desperation in his watery brown eyes. "I don't have to hunt for the key, and it's a four-wheel drive loaded with supplies. I doubt I'm going to find anything better."

Well, when he put it that way.... "It needs gas, though. Do you know how to siphon gas?"

His bemused expression told me he didn't.

"Look," I went on, knowing there was no way in hell I was going to let him have my dad's SUV, "it's been a horrible week. I get that you feel desperate. But you don't need to do this. There are plenty of alterna — "

_BLAM!_ The pistol went off — not pointed at me, thank God, but somewhere over my shoulder and just above the roof line of the Cherokee. Even so, I jumped enough that I could feel the backs of my thighs hit the SUV's rear bumper.

"I'm not negotiating," he said. The look on his face shifted from confused to crafty. "But maybe you could come along. You say you know how to siphon gas?"

I actually hadn't said that I did, but the truth was, my father had showed me and Devin once, when Devin ran out of gas while driving Mom's Escape. It wasn't that difficult, really, as long as you selected a vehicle without a locking gas cap. In the back of the Cherokee, along with the rest of my supplies, was a long rubber tube I'd brought along for that very purpose. With the power out, it would simply be easier to siphon gas from abandoned vehicles rather than attempt to switch the pumps at a gas station over to manual.

"Maybe I do," I hedged, my pulse beginning to escalate.

"You seem like you might be...useful," the man said, and this time his watery gaze remained fixed on my face. It was clear his thoughts were beginning to run in other directions than merely stealing my car.

_Dude, I could put you through a wall,_ I thought, but that inner remark was more bravado than anything else. Yes, he looked like the quintessential wimpy office worker. On the other hand, he'd still managed to sneak up on me, so I wasn't about to underestimate him.

Since I couldn't trust myself to speak without giving myself away, I only shrugged. At the same time, I let my hands drop to my sides, my right hand beginning to move slowly backward, toward the reassuring weight of the Glock in my waistband. Thank God the shirt I was wearing hung loosely enough that the man didn't seem to have noticed he wasn't the only armed person in this little convo.

He stepped closer. Now I could smell the stink of perspiration and fear on him. Maybe I hadn't had a decent shower since before the Heat began, either, but at least I'd tried to wash up as best I could, and made sure to put on deodorant before I got dressed each morning. I couldn't say the same for this useless specimen of humanity.

Were only the weak, the crazy, or the unscrupulous left? And if that was the case, what the hell did that say about me?

I decided I'd think about that later. In the meantime, I had bigger things to worry about. I needed to get away from this guy. Shooting him was not a particularly appealing prospect, but I would if I had to.

No wonder the voice had been urging me to get out of Albuquerque. I wished I hadn't dragged my feet quite so much about that. If I'd left straight away, as he'd told me to do, I would never have run into Chris Bowman...wouldn't be standing here now, with this milquetoast former bureaucrat holding his puny .22 on me and thinking he was Dirty Harry.

And where the hell was the voice? He had saved me from Chris the Creep twice, but was conspicuously absent at the moment. Did he think I could handle this guy on my own?

Time to find out, I supposed.

"Oh, I'm very useful," I snapped, reaching the rest of the way so I could pull the Glock out of the waistband of my Levi's and point it straight at the stranger's face.

He blinked and took a step backward. The gun wavered in his hands, and then he tightened his grip. "You didn't need to do that."

"Well, I kind of did, since you were holding a gun on me." Unlike him, I didn't move, didn't blink. "By the way, my father was a police officer. He made sure I knew how to shoot this thing. So don't think for a second that I'm holding this gun up for show, because I'm not. I know what I'm doing. The best thing you can do is back off and go find a car someplace else. There are thousands in the city up for grabs right now."

No response at first. His mouth opened and closed once, making him look like a fish on a hook. I got the distinct impression he didn't know what he should do — shoot, or turn tail and flee. That made him all the more dangerous, in my eyes, because I really didn't know how he was going to react. I doubted he was someone who'd been inclined toward criminal acts in his past life. But he'd been pushed to the limit by all the death he'd seen, and that made him volatile. Unpredictable.

"Please," I said softly. "Just go."

The gun shook in his hands. I remained motionless, the Glock still pointed directly at his face, my stance square and solid, just the way my father had taught me. Then I saw him twitch, and thought,

_Oh, shit._

A bang, louder than I'd anticipated. Smoke puffed out from the chamber of the .22, and I knew the bullet was going to hit me. How could he miss at such close range?

Time slowed down, or possibly my thought processes sped up. I wasn't quite sure, but it was almost as if I could see the silvery-gray shape of the bullet speeding toward me. My entire body clenched, waiting for the shock of impact. At the same time, my finger clenched on the trigger of the Glock, and it went off with a much more impressive _bang_ than the one that had issued from the .22. My ears began to ring. That was the first time I'd ever shot a gun without wearing earplugs, and damn, it was louder than I'd expected.

Two things happened then — first, it seemed as if the air in front of me shimmered, and the bullet the stranger had fired at me bounced away as if it had hit a pane of bulletproof glass. He had no such protection, however, and the shot I'd fired hit him in the chest, sending him flying backward, blood beginning to run down the front of the sweat-stained dress shirt he wore.

His head hit the pavement with a sharp _crack,_ and I winced. But even as I did so, I realized I was all right. It should have been me lying there on the ground with dark blood trickling from my chest, but it wasn't.

_Are you ready to leave now?_ the voice asked. For some reason, he sounded tired. Well, that made two of us.

I finally lowered the gun. "That was you?"

_I told you I would protect you._

"Couldn't you have stopped him before he fired at me?" It seemed the voice was falling down a bit in the omnipotence department.

_I cannot see everything. Your fear called me to you, just as it called to me last night when that creature broke into your house. When I saw what was happening, I put up the barrier to keep the bullet from touching you._

Just like that. What kind of powers did the voice control, to be able to construct an invisible shield that would deflect a bullet?

Obviously something far, far beyond anything I'd ever heard of.

But then, I'd already sort of gathered that.

Pulling in a breath, I flipped the Glock's safety back on, then stuck the gun into my waistband once again. After that, I looked over to where the stranger lay groaning on the asphalt. From the amount of blood that had pooled beneath him, I guessed he didn't have much longer to live. Should I be feeling guilty for that? I didn't know. At the moment, all I felt was a sort of bone-deep weariness...and the day wasn't even half over yet.

I approached him, then crouched down near his head. His eyes flickered open and fixed on me, pleading and scared. "I didn't want to do that," I said quietly. "You should have just left me alone. There's plenty in this city for everyone."

A strangled sound came from his throat, possibly one of protest. I couldn't tell for sure, since he was obviously beyond forming actual words.

Although I knew I'd acted in self-defense, hadn't even squeezed the trigger until he'd shot at me, it was still hard to see him like this, knowing I couldn't do anything for his pain. "I'm sorry," I said at last, then straightened up and headed back to the Cherokee. The best thing I could do now was get the hell out of here.

I got in the car, shut the door, and pulled out of the parking space. As I drove away, I didn't look back.

_Head north,_ the voice said once I was a few blocks from the Walgreens. _Get on the freeway._

"Are you kidding?" I asked, hands tight on the steering wheel. Right then, I wasn't sure whether I had a death grip on the thing because of all the vehicles choking the roads, or because I was still shaking from that confrontation back in the parking lot. Maybe a little bit of both. "The freeway is going to be worse than the surface streets."

_No, it isn't. Trust me._

Considering he'd just saved me from a speeding bullet, I decided to trust him.

The closest on-ramp was at Paseo del Norte, so I headed in that direction, keeping my speed below twenty-five miles an hour, and sometimes even slower than that, depending on how congested the street around me was. When I got to the on-ramp, I actually had to drive onto the shoulder to get around two vehicles that seemed to have crashed head-on into one another. Now it was impossible to tell whether they'd both been trying to get on the freeway at the same time, or whether the drivers had been so ill that they'd basically plowed into each other at the worst possible spot.

After that, though, the connector was clear enough, and I eased up onto I-25, keeping my speed down. The voice had been right, though — yes, there were still abandoned vehicles here, but they tended to have either crashed into the center divider or drifted over to the shoulder. The middle two lanes were fairly clear, although I still had to slow down from time to time to get around a car or truck that had stopped in the center of the highway.

In fact, the going was easy enough that I thought it safe to risk opening one of the water bottles so I could get a drink. My throat was parched, and I drank half the contents of the bottle without even stopping. In the passenger seat, Dutchie cocked her head and looked at me.

"I'll take care of you when we stop, girl," I told her. Along with the camping gear, I'd stowed a set of collapsible dog dishes in the back of the Cherokee, relics of the times when we used to take Sadie on day trips with us. My father never got rid of anything — which was why none of our cars ever actually lived in the garage — and I'd found the dishes when I was scrounging some of the other stuff.

Dutchie wagged her tail, then sort of collapsed onto the seat, curling up in a smaller ball than I would have thought possible. Up until then, she'd been sitting up and looking out the window, but, truth be told, once you were on the freeway, the sights and smells really weren't that interesting.

"So where are we going?" I asked of the general air around me. Judging by his delayed reaction to the man who'd assaulted me back at Walgreens, the voice wasn't necessarily around at all times. In this case, since I was asking a direct question, I had to hope he was close enough that he would hear me and respond.

_North._

"Besides that," I snapped, irritated now. I'd done what he asked — Albuquerque was dropping farther and farther behind me, since I'd started out from the more northern end of the city sprawl anyway. At this point, I really couldn't see the reason behind the continuing games of evasion. "It's a little early for ski season."

_That is all you need to know for now. I will tell you when it is time to get off the freeway._

I might have growled. But since I knew there was no point in pressing the issue, I took another swig of water and kept my gaze focused on the road. I actually hadn't been about to run out of gas; the tank was nearly full. I'd just hoped that lying about the gas situation would convince the stranger at Walgreens to choose some other prey. So much for that brilliant idea.

At any rate, I knew I wouldn't have to stop for gas for some time. Maybe not at all, depending on how far I was going. What I had in the Cherokee right now was probably enough to get me to the Colorado border, although I sincerely hoped I wasn't going quite that far.

So I continued to drive north on the freeway, pushing my speed closer to forty miles an hour as I left Albuquerque behind, and the vehicles littering the road gradually grew fewer and farther between. Not to say that the highway was completely empty, but it was open enough that I felt safe going a little faster. Wherever I was headed, I wanted to get there as quickly, albeit as safely, as I could.

An hour passed. Dutchie slept in the passenger seat, and I could feel my stomach begin to growl. If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've gotten some of the food out of the back and brought it up here with me, but shooting someone at point-blank range does tend to rattle your logic centers a bit. Ever since I'd left Albuquerque, I'd been telling myself that there was nothing else I could have done, that he'd shot at me first...but those kinds of reassurances only go so far when you're trying to wrestle with the realization that you'd killed someone earlier that day.

_It was not your fault._ The voice was soothing, its earlier weariness apparently gone. I must have been really broadcasting my angst, because in general, the voice only answered direct questions and didn't respond to my inner thoughts. _He forced the issue. You should not blame yourself._

I knew that intellectually. But I also knew that killing, even in self-defense, carried its own weight of emotional consequences. When I was in high school, my father had shot someone while on duty — a drug dealer who'd drawn a .38 Special when he was pulled over for running a red light. My father didn't have much choice but to shoot. Even so, he was in counseling for months after that, coming to terms with what he'd done. Taking a human life was not something to be dismissed lightly. And how much heavier was the burden of doing something like that when so few people were even left alive?

I wasn't sure, but at the moment it felt pretty damn heavy.

_The world has changed,_ the voice told me. _So you must change with it._

"So I'm supposed to not care?" That didn't sound right at all. What was the point of surviving all this, if the only way to do it was to become a person I didn't like very much?

_I did not say that. But there are certain realities you must face. There is nothing wrong with killing, if that is the only way for you to stay alive._

In other words, I shouldn't feel bad about acting in self-defense. Maybe someday I'd get to that point, but at the moment I'd had too many shocks in too short a period of time. I really just wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere and pretend the world didn't exist for a while.

_Here,_ the voice told me. _Take the turnoff for 84 north._

"Santa Fe?" I asked in some surprise. For some reason, I'd thought I'd be going much farther than that.

_Yes, Santa Fe._

Well, thank God for small favors. I did as instructed and pulled onto the highway, which was more that in name than anything else, since in reality it was just a four-lane road cutting through town, with shops and schools on either side. Here I had to slow down again, as there was a good deal of stalled traffic once more. Not enough that I couldn't get around it when necessary, even if I had to pull up onto the island at the center of the street, but it was still nerve-wracking.

_Then turn here, on Cerrillo._

So we were heading into the heart of the town? I knew Santa Fe, although not intimately; my family had come here from time to time, mainly when my mother was tired of camping and hiking, and wanted us to get some culture. And I'd visited the town with Elena and Tori a couple of times, generally when Elena borrowed her parents' timeshare so we could get out of Albuquerque and let our hair down for a few days. Even then, though, I hadn't been the one driving. We always took Elena's car, because she had a Porsche Cayenne, which was a lot more impressive than my eight-year-old Honda or Tori's Ford pickup.

But I did know enough to realize if I stayed on my current route, I'd be heading toward the old town square and the touristy areas around it. Sort of a strange choice, if the voice was really that intent on keeping me out of population centers.

I slowed even more, as the road was getting narrower, and I knew I was about to enter the maze of one-way streets that twisted around Santa Fe's central square. Oddly, there weren't as many abandoned vehicles here. But this was a touristy area — maybe everyone had bugged out for home as soon as the infection began to spread.

_And now down Alameda._

"So I'm not going to the center of town?"

_No._

"Is it far?"

_Not that far._

Good, because I knew I was going to need a bathroom fairly soon. I just had to hope that my destination included those sorts of civilized comforts, even if I wouldn't be able to flush after the first time.

I angled the Cherokee down Alameda, stopping every so often to go up on the curb to avoid yet another abandoned car. Luckily, the south side of the road ran along an open greenbelt, so there were no businesses located there, which meant no parked cars, either. To either side, the trees were brave with fluttering leaves of yellow and orange, but no one was around to admire their autumn finery, and I was too focused on my route to give them more than a passing glance.

The street continued in this way for some time, until I was out of the downtown area and in a more residential district, still heading steadily eastward. Since the voice had given me no further commands, I kept going.

_And right here,_ it said, just when I thought I was going to be on Alameda forever.

I turned as instructed, moving onto Canyon Road. As I did so, I couldn't help wondering just where the heck I was going. This was still a residential area, but with the houses spaced farther apart. The upside was that I didn't have nearly as many stray cars to maneuver around.

_Follow the curve,_ the voice said then.

Veering off to the left, I found myself now on Upper Canyon Road. It narrowed further, but even in my current focused state, I couldn't help being impressed by some of the compounds I passed. They had high adobe walls that seemed to stretch on for a full block. Just the kind of thing for people with fat wallets and a serious need for privacy.

The road wound on and on, steadily rising. It became more rutted, littered with gravel. I slowed down, although I didn't think it was quite time to engage the four-wheel drive. There was still pavement under my tires, albeit pavement that hadn't been very well maintained.

Eventually, though, even that rutted and gravelly pavement disappeared, and the road turned to dirt. I brought the Cherokee to a crawl, put it in neutral, and then engaged the four-wheel drive. After I felt it catch, I sped up again, but cautiously, knowing I should keep it around twenty-five for safety's sake.

Even up here there were scattered home sites, and I wondered if I would be told to turn off at one of them. But then the voice said, _This road,_ indicating a dirt track that branched off from Upper Canyon, heading even farther into the hills.

I slowed down a little bit more, jolting and bouncing along the unpaved surface, which now was only wide enough to allow a single car through. Good thing I probably didn't have to worry about someone coming this way from the other direction.

Dutchie, who'd been dozing for the past hour or more, blinked and got to her feet, pressing her nose to the window. She left quite a smudge, and I winced. Even though I knew my father was far past caring about what happened to the Cherokee, I still couldn't help experiencing some discomfort at knowing the SUV wouldn't exactly be in showroom condition by the time I got to my destination...whatever the hell that might be, out here in the middle of nowhere.

The track kept snaking farther and farther back into the hills. At least I'd had some experience driving off-road, so the rocky, rutted surface beneath the car didn't bother me too much. What did bother me was how far away from civilization this place must be. Had the voice lured me out here to....

_To what?_ I asked myself with some scorn. _If he wanted to kill you or do anything else, he could have done it already. What would be the point in sending you out to the back of beyond like this?_

No point at all that I could tell.

Which didn't mean much.

At least the voice couldn't seem to hear my interior monologue. A minute or so later, it said, _Here_.

Another dirt track, even narrower than this one. It split off from the main road — if you could call it that — and wound up the side of a hill. Around the crest of that hill, I thought I spied a flash of shimmering gold leaves. Aspen trees?

I turned where the voice had directed, crawling along. Nothing about this hill seemed all that different from all the others I had passed. It was studded with juniper trees and yucca, with dry yellow grass in between. Yes, there was something of a road, but leading to what?

A few minutes later, I had my answer. Almost hidden until you came upon it, a compound of some sort was built just below the top of the hill. From what I could see, there was a main building and several smaller structures clumped around it. A high adobe wall appeared to circle the entire property. There was a metal gate with, of all things, the same Zia sun symbols as seen on the New Mexico flag adorning its four quadrants. At the moment, that gate stood wide open.

I brought the Cherokee to a stop. The voice said, _It is all right. There is no one here._

"Why is the gate open?"

_I opened it for you._

Not sure what I should do about that particular statement, I swallowed, then nudged the gas. The SUV moved forward slowly, and in a few more seconds, I was inside the compound. Almost as soon as the rear bumper had cleared the gate, it closed behind me.

"You again?" I asked, hoping I'd kept most of the worry out of my voice.

_Yes_.

Since there was nothing else to do, I took a quick survey of my surroundings. There seemed to be a large house, built in the typical Santa Fe style with sheer walls of thick adobe and a flat roof. Aspen trees surrounded it, their golden leaves fluttering in the afternoon breeze. Just past the house was an outbuilding that appeared to be a large garage with four bays, and beyond that something that looked like an extensive greenhouse.

Everything was very tidy, very neat, except for some fallen aspen leaves on the ground. Here, the driveway was crushed gravel, which crunched under the wheels of the Cherokee as I slowly inched it toward the garage. When I approached, the door to the bay farthest on the left rolled up and out of the way.

This time it wasn't entirely unexpected, but I still felt the skin along the back of my neck prickle as I pulled into the garage. The bay was quite wide, almost big enough for two cars, so I had plenty of room to park and then climb out. It was scrupulously clean, the walls finished. Overhead, a light bulb glowed.

I blinked at it, wondering if I was imagining things. Or maybe that was just more of the voice flexing its power. "Is that you?" I asked.

_No. Look out, past the house._

I did as instructed, ignoring Dutchie's whines to be let out. She could hang on a minute longer. As I paused at the entrance to the garage, I saw that the property was very large, probably at least four or five acres, all enclosed within that high adobe wall. The other structure I'd glimpsed was in fact a greenhouse, but beyond that was a small solar farm, and beyond that still I spied a windmill whirling away.

"There's power here?" I had to fight the words past the lump in my throat; crazy how the mere thought of having electricity could get me so worked up.

_That, and so much more. Come — let me show you._

I nodded, but then hurried over to open the passenger door. Dutchie sprang out, tail wagging, and promptly christened the place by squatting down on a patch of grass next to the garage. Despite everything, I couldn't help grinning and shaking my head.

But then I turned away from her so I could follow the flagstone path that led from the garage to the front door of the house. It was painted blue, and shaded by a long colonnaded façade, with heavy wood beams supporting the roof. Again, typical New Mexico architecture, but it looked heavy and solid. Safe.

I put my hand on the latch. The door was unlocked, and swung inward.

It was all I could do not to let out a gasp. The house was, as Elena might have put it, amazeballs.

Red tiled floors. Wooden viga ceilings overhead. A kiva fireplace in one corner. Big, heavy ranch-style furniture. Navajo rugs.

I stepped inside, Dutchie on my heels, then carefully closed the door behind me. My footsteps echoed off the shining floor as I moved farther into the house. It was the sort of place I might have seen in a magazine, with doorways of sculpted adobe, Mexican star lights made of pierced tin hanging in the entry, every piece seemingly selected for one particular spot and that spot only, unique and beautiful.

"What is this place?" I breathed, after I'd recovered myself enough to move from the living room into the dining room, which was dominated by a copper-topped table big enough for twelve and sturdy chairs of dark wood with leather seats and nail-head accents. Landscapes of the area around Santa Fe hung on the walls.

_It was built by a real estate developer from Phoenix who wanted to make sure he would survive the end of the world in comfort. Unfortunately, his plans did not take disease into account, only war and civil unrest._

What was I supposed to say to that?

Shaking my head, I went into the kitchen, which was roughly twice the size of my little over-the-garage apartment. I heard a faint humming noise and wondered what it might be, then realized it was the refrigerator. Strange how only a few days without those sorts of background noises could render them unfamiliar, alien.

I had to know. I walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. Inside, it was stocked with items that wouldn't spoil easily — cheese, sausage, lunch meats. A six-pack of Kilt Lifter ale sat on the bottom shelf. When I peeked inside the freezer section, it seemed as if it was full of other similar "guy food" sorts of items: frozen pizza, tamales, taquitos. A box of Hot Pockets. A couple of bags of frozen chicken breasts from Trader Joe's.

Dutchie cocked her head, tongue lolling out. I wondered if she'd gotten a whiff of the cheese or sausages in the deli section of the fridge.

"It looks like the owner just stepped out," I said, my tone only partly accusing. "Are you sure no one's been here?"

_Quite sure. The developer died two days ago, and the man he hired to watch over this place passed away yesterday, only three days after the last time he checked in here. You'll find more food in the pantry, and a storeroom in the basement with canned goods, flour, sugar...that sort of thing. The greenhouse has tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, strawberries, and more._

Basically, pretty much anything I would need to keep on living for a good deal longer. And while doing it basically in the lap of luxury.

"How did you find this place?" I asked. I sort of doubted it was the kind of property that popped up on Trulia.

_I knew you would need a sanctuary. So I...looked around._

A sanctuary. Yes, that was what this place felt like. More questions bubbled to my mind, but I wasn't sure the voice would answer any of them.

And in the end, what did it matter? I was here, and I was safe. No one left alive even knew this place existed, and I could hide here for...months. Years, probably. Never mind that I didn't really want to contemplate what it would be like to be out here for years and years with only a disembodied voice and a dog for company.

Well, I didn't have to think about that now. I had other things to do.

"Come on, Dutchie," I said. "Time to unpack the car.

"We're home."

# Chapter 9

In the kitchen cupboards, I found brightly colored Fiesta ware, and heavy blown-glass tumblers and goblets that I thought must have come from Mexico. I poured water — yes, the taps worked, thanks to a well out back that was powered by the windmill — into a bowl for Dutchie, and then tipped some of the Blue Buffalo dry food I'd brought from home into another bowl. She set to, lapping at the water greedily, crunching away at the dog food. I could tell she thought she was home, too. At some point I'd have to see about replenishing her food supply, but that could wait a while. Based on the amount of kibble left in the bag, she'd need some more in about a week. In a pinch, I could defrost some of those frozen chicken breasts and cook them up for her, but it would probably be smarter to head into Santa Fe and go foraging there for some real dog food.

For the moment, though, I was content to explore the rest of the house. It was very large, probably at least four thousand square feet, although I'd be the first to admit that I wasn't very good at judging those sorts of things. But there were three bedrooms, as well as an office, a sitting room, and a family room, in addition to the living room and kitchen. Off the back of the house was another covered patio, and surprisingly lush plantings of various native trees. In a secluded corner, a solar-powered fountain bubbled away. It felt tranquil, sheltered, so far removed from the horrors I'd seen in Albuquerque that I might as well have been on another planet.

Here, I thought I might be able to heal.

After I'd taken care of Dutchie and put all my things away, stowing the guns on a shelf in the master bedroom closet, I treated myself to a long, hot shower. And it was hot, thanks to the solar water heater. The storms I'd feared might be moving in had never materialized, and the day was sun and shadow, but with enough sunlight to keep everything in the house running. I soaked in that shower, letting the water run over me, allowing it to wash away the terror and fear and tragedy I'd left in a place I could no longer think of as home. I would never be able to forget any of it, but now, for the first time, I thought I might be able to focus on what lay ahead, instead of what was behind me.

The softest rugs in the world had been laid down over the tile in the bathroom, and I got out and dried myself off, using the equally soft towels hanging from the rack. If the owner of this place truly had been a real estate developer, it was obvious that he'd spared no expense in outfitting his survival getaway. I had to wonder if he'd actually ever been here, or merely hired people to build and decorate the place to his specifications. Something about it did feel...well, not exactly soulless, because it was too warm and inviting for that, but staged, maybe, as if an interior designer had done all the heavy lifting in making the decorating decisions. And had the developer intended to bring someone with him to share the world after the apocalypse, or had he planned to live in all this luxury alone?

Whatever the case, it was certainly far, far more than I ever could have expected might be awaiting me at the end of my journey. I blotted my hair, found a hair dryer in one of the drawers in the vanity area, and experienced the luxury of actually being able to blow-dry my hair, something I'd thought I'd never be able to do again. I put on clean clothes and my flats, since I wasn't planning to go hiking anytime soon. The next day, I'd roam around and explore the property thoroughly, but for now I was content to cocoon indoors.

When I emerged into the family room, the voice asked, _Are you feeling better now?_

"Much," I replied, although I couldn't help wondering how much it could see. Had it been spying on me in the shower?

No, that was ridiculous. And it had been polite enough to wait to address me until I was in one of the more public areas of the house.

"I'm going to make some dinner," I added. "You want anything?"

Another one of those sounds that might have been a chuckle. _No, thank you. But do enjoy exploring the kitchen._

In that moment, it seemed as if the voice had gone again...if it could ever be said to actually be _here_ in the corporeal sense of the word.

I went on into the kitchen, where Dutchie greeted me with a thumping tail. Had she been here the whole time, waiting to see if I would come back and make some people food?

Apparently so, because the second I opened one package of sausages, her tail began wagging even more fiercely.

"This is not for dogs," I told her in the severest tones I could muster, but she only smiled up at me and cocked her head. Well, that had never worked on my old dog Sadie, either.

I could have nuked the sausages, but for some reason it felt better to rustle out a skillet and cook them the old-fashioned way. The savory smell filled the kitchen, and my stomach rumbled. After digging around in the freezer, I located some frozen home-style potatoes and added them to the mix. Yes, I really needed some fresh fruit or vegetables, but right then I was suddenly too tired to bother with going out to the greenhouse. It could wait another day.

What I did find, tucked under one of the counters, was a wine refrigerator. "Thank you, Mr. Real Estate Developer," I breathed, looking at the gleaming bottles, all chilled to a perfect fifty-four degrees. Not that I knew the first thing about wine, but I did know about needing a drink, and boy, did I need one.

I selected a Black Mesa Montepulciano. I had no idea what a Montepulciano even was, but it sounded exotic. Probably far too exotic for my prosy meal of sausages and potatoes, which were still happily sizzling away on the stove top, but I doubted anyone from _Wine Spectator_ magazine was going to drop in and grade me on my wine pairings.

There was a drawer seemingly dedicated only to wine openers and related gadgets — stoppers, little metal collars with padding inside to keep wine from dripping down the side of a bottle after it had been opened. I'd never been able to manage a waiter-style corkscrew, but there was also one of those "jumping jack"–style openers, and I selected that and went to work on the wine bottle, keeping an eye on the potatoes and sausages the whole time.

The sound of a cork coming out a wine bottle has to be one of the happiest sounds in the world, and I thought I could use a little happiness right then. I pulled one of the heavy blown-glass goblets out of the cupboard and filled it approximately halfway. Everything I'd read and heard said you were supposed to let wine breathe, but I wasn't going to bother with that. I took a sip and closed my eyes. No, I hadn't been much of a wine drinker, had always ordered mixed drinks or tequila shots when I was out with my friends. Now, though, I started to understand the appeal of wine, the smooth darkness of it on my lips, the gentle warmth it seemed to spread through my limbs.

I allowed myself another sip, then went back to the stove so I could turn over the sausages and stir the potatoes around a little. They were basically done, so I scrounged in the cupboard for a plate and dumped everything onto it. Dutchie's tail began to wag frantically, and I couldn't help smiling.

"Okay, we'll see if there's anything left over," I told her, then got out a knife and fork, picked up my goblet of wine, and went into the family room. No way was I going to be the only person sitting down at that massive copper dining room table.

But the family room was a much cozier space, and I settled myself on the couch and placed the plate of food and my wine glass on the coffee table. A flat-screen TV hung on one wall, although it wasn't going to do me much good unless the real estate developer had a stash of DVDs hidden somewhere. He probably did, but in that moment I was too hungry to worry about it. As with so many other things, I'd go exploring later.

There was also a kiva-style fireplace in one corner, with a nice stack of wood in a basket next to it. After I was done eating, I thought I might light a fire and allow myself to simply sit here for a while, quiet, letting my food digest. Hell, maybe I'd even drink that whole bottle of wine. After everything I'd been through, getting drunk sounded like it might not be a half-bad idea.

But no...I knew I wouldn't do that. Just the glass, and maybe half of one afterward. The voice had reassured me I was safe here, and had closed the gate to the compound behind me, but until I'd slept a few nights unmolested, I wasn't about to let my guard down like that. Dutchie had proven to be a good watchdog, and I had a feeling a place like this had some decent built-in security, but even so, being careless seemed like a good way to get myself killed.

Instead, I drank the wine slowly, taking small sips in between bites of my food, until my glass was empty and my plate almost so. There were a few potatoes and the end of one sausage left, and I put the plate down on the floor so Dutchie could have the rest of it. Who cared if that wasn't the most hygienic thing in the world to do? She was deliriously happy about getting some table scraps, and as far as I was concerned, she'd earned them.

Once she'd polished the plate clean, I picked it up, as well as my wine glass, and went back to the kitchen. The plate went in the dishwasher, and I poured enough wine into my goblet to get it to a little below the halfway mark. In the drawer with all the other wine accoutrements, I found a stopper, so I jammed that into the open bottle, figuring I'd finish it off the next day.

And although I was bone-tired, sitting in front of the fire didn't seem so appealing after all. I might as well get more of a handle on this place that was now supposed to be my home. Going back to the family room, I discovered that the large carved cabinet placed up against one wall did in fact hold the real estate developer's Blu-Ray collection. Most of it was fairly typical new-release stuff, with some action classics thrown in. There was also an entire shelf of porn, and I just had to laugh when I looked at it. It was pretty obvious what he'd intended to do with at least some of his time after surviving the zombie apocalypse, or whatever.

I closed the cabinet with one hand, lifted the wine goblet with the other so I could take a drink, and wandered off down the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the office. That was the space which really interested me the most. After flicking on the light — and marveling at how easy that was — I went into the room and took a quick survey. Again, the furniture here was dark distressed oak, a perfect match to the hacienda-style feel of the rest of the house. One wall was mainly window, covered in wooden shutters. Against another wall was a large desk with what looked like a brand-new iMac sitting on it.

There was also a gun safe. I set down my wine glass on the desk, then went over to the safe and tested the lock. I suppose it was silly to think that the thing would have been open, but I couldn't help experiencing a stab of disappointment when the doors wouldn't budge. My father had trained me not to leave guns lying around, and although I was sure they would be fine where I'd put them on the shelf in the closet, I'd feel even better if I could lock them up.

Sitting next to the desk was a file cabinet, and I opened that, quickly rifling through its contents. This was a trove — I found manuals for the computer, the drip setup in the greenhouse, all the appliances, the security system. That seemed to feed into the iMac, so I touched the space bar on the keyboard, waking it up from its sleep. Thank God it didn't seem to be password protected; I was able to find the security program easily enough, which brought up a feed from a number of cameras. At the moment it was showing a grid of all nine of them, although it appeared that I could also expand one image and then rotate through them if I preferred.

Not that it mattered one way or another, as far as I could tell. By then it was completely dark, and the cameras didn't show much of anything. I supposed it made sense not to have security lights blaring around the exterior of the house and the perimeter of the property; that would only serve as a beacon to show that someone was living out here. And actually, after I toggled around a bit, I realized that no lights were needed, as the cameras switched into infrared mode in the dark. Pretty high-tech.

How much had the developer spent building this place? I couldn't begin to guess, but it had to be at least a million dollars. And all for nothing...well, at least where he was concerned. I was more than grateful that the house existed, and that the voice had found it for me, but it still seemed somewhat ironic that so much money had been spent to defend against something which ended up having no defense.

That thought sobered me, and I picked up my goblet and took a large swallow of wine. Dutchie had followed me in here, settling down on the floor in a little ball. There was something almost resigned about her posture, as if she knew that once a human being started mucking around on a computer, they were going to be useless for a good number of hours.

But that wasn't why I'd come in here. I only wanted to know what the room held, and now that I'd seen the kind of security that was protecting this place, I felt a good deal better. Had the system been on when I got here, and the voice had simply disengaged it to allow me to enter, or had he switched it on once I was safely inside the compound? He'd clearly intended for me to come here all along, so I had a feeling it was probably the former. There hadn't been much chance of someone accidentally stumbling across this place, but even so, better safe than otherwise.

Among the manuals was the guide that had come with the gun safe. I flipped through it with one hand, sipping from my wine glass at the same time. When I got to the last page, I saw that some numbers had been written down along the edge of that leaf. The combination?

Only one way to find out.

I put down the wine glass and went over to the safe, then slowly spun the dial around to match the sequence of numbers I'd found inside the manual. There was a soft click, and the door opened outward.

Even though I'd grown up around my father's arsenal, I couldn't help letting out a gasp at what I found. There was — well, an arsenal worthy of holding off an entire horde of zombies. Shotguns and rifles and a parade of handguns, along with box after box of ammo. The problem wouldn't be defending this place if necessary, but deciding which gun to use to do it.

Well, that and trying to squeeze my own meager collection in here.

I closed the safe, reclaimed my wine glass, and finished the rest of it with one swallow. After that, I took the empty glass with me and performed a quick inspection of the other rooms. Nothing out of the ordinary, just bedrooms decorated with the same taste and flair as the rest of the house. Another bathroom, not quite as luxurious as the one in the master suite, but still large enough that two people could comfortably brush their teeth in there or perform other bathroom prep as necessary. It seemed sort of a shame to waste all this space on me, but truthfully, so far I hadn't come across any survivors I'd be willing to share this house with. Yes, there had to be some good people who'd made it through the Heat unscathed. I sure hadn't seen them yet, though.

Suddenly feeling even more tired, I headed back to the kitchen so I could rinse out my wine glass and set it on the counter. For the first time, I noticed a door off to one side; I opened it and saw it concealed the laundry room, which was large and well laid out as well, with a state-of-the-art washer and dryer combo, as well as plenty of storage and a separate wash tub for scrubbing out stubborn stains, or whatever. Inside the cupboards I found what looked like a lifetime supply of detergent, along with all the spare towels and sheets for the various bathrooms and bedrooms. It seemed clear that the developer hadn't been worried about the appliances using up too much of the power the solar farm produced.

Well, if he hadn't worried about it, then I wouldn't worry, either, when the time came. Right now I had enough clothes to last me another week, so laundry wasn't exactly a concern.

The master bedroom had its own kiva fireplace, and I decided it would be better to have a fire there. Having a fireplace in my own bedroom felt deliciously decadent, and the thought of having the flames there to warm me through the night seemed extra appealing.

So I brushed my teeth but didn't worry about my face, since I'd taken a shower only a few hours earlier, and then got some logs from the basket on the floor near the hearth and made a stack the way my father had shown me. There was a lighter on a shelf nearby, so I used that to get things going. Dutchie watched all this with some bemusement, but once the fire got crackling away and began to spread its heat through the room, she let out a contented little sigh and curled up on the rug, her eyes closing almost immediately.

_I know how you feel, Dutchie,_ I thought. Even so, something in me was reluctant to turn off the bedside lamp, as if, once I had done so, I'd never be able to get the light back. Silly, I knew. It wouldn't even be fully dark with the lamp shut off, as the fire was certainly adequate to illuminate the room.

Still, I sat there on the bed for a long time, looking at the glow of the lamp on the bedroom's warm terra-cotta-painted walls, at the gold leaf detailing on the wall where the door was located. Everything felt cozy and quiet and safe, and yet for some reason I couldn't bring myself to reach over to the lamp and turn the knob. Finally, I got up off the bed, went to the closet, and retrieved the Smith and Wesson revolver from the shelf. I laid it on the table next to the bed, then took a deep breath and shut off the lamp.

It wasn't dark. The room danced with firelight, and wasn't even completely silent, between the crackling of the logs and Dutchie's soft snores. I settled my head against the pillow, breathing in the indefinable scent of clean linens. Had the caretaker put fresh sheets on the bed when he'd come by a few days earlier? It certainly seemed that way.

But I didn't want to think about that, because then I'd think about how he was dead, and the man who'd built this house, and Elena and Tori and my aunt and uncle...my mother and father. Devin. Even as I tried to push those thoughts away, I could feel the telltale lump in my throat that meant I was dangerously close to bursting into sobs.

_Don't cry,_ I told myself. _Don't. It won't bring them back. All you can do is keep living, so there'll still be someone around to remember them._

At first glance, that notion might not have seemed very reassuring. Somehow, though, it did calm me, and I found myself falling asleep, succumbing at last to the weariness of the day and the softness of the bed in which I lay. The last thing I heard was a soft _pop_ from the hearth as a log split and settled down on top of the others.

I'd never been much for dreaming. That is, I knew I must dream, because everyone did, but I hardly ever remembered any of those dreams. I was never the one recounting in excruciating detail my crazy dreams about flying or driving my car up the side of a building, or whatever. And I certainly never had _those_ kinds of dreams, the kind you awake from all hot and bothered.

But I did that night.

I dreamed I lay in that bed, with the warm glow of the fire flickering against the walls and the comforting scent of wood smoke in the air. The strange thing was, I dreamed that I slept, and that I awoke to strong arms around me, holding me close, and someone kissing me. In my dream, I didn't think that was strange at all. I opened my mouth to this dream man, tasted the sweetness of his lips, felt him release me from the embrace so he could caress my body, even as I reached over to touch him, to feel his arousal.

And it seemed so natural for him to press me down into the bed, to push himself into me so that we were moving together, my legs wrapped around him, driving him farther into me. This was all done in complete silence; only when the orgasm hit did I finally cry out, but softly. And he said nothing at all, although I could feel the climax shudder through him as well. We stilled, lying in bed, our breaths filling the silence. Then his lips brushed against my cheek, and I heard him whisper, _Beloved_.

I sat up in bed then, heart racing, and pressed my palms flat against the mattress. Shaking, I put one hand to my chest. Unlike in the dream, I was still dressed, wearing the sleep shirt I'd put on before I went in to brush my teeth. My mouth tasted of mint, not...him. And I could tell that no one had touched me. Things didn't...feel...any different.

Just a dream. A horribly vivid dream. In a way, I could even understand it. I was feeling alone, and the voice had been my only real companion for the past few days. All right, I had Dutchie, but that wasn't exactly the same thing. Was it so strange for my subconscious mind to turn that disembodied voice into a sort of dream lover, someone to make me feel as if I weren't the only person left alive on the planet?

Maybe not, but I still felt shaken to my core. I pushed back the sheets and blankets and duvet, then crawled out of bed and went to the bathroom. There, I splashed water on my face, trying to calm myself, and telling myself I should be glad that I was someplace where I had the luxury of running water.

That no-nonsense thought did help me to regain my composure somewhat, and I headed into the bedroom after that, pausing to put another couple of logs on the fire and stir it up a bit with the poker before finally returning to bed. Through all of this, Dutchie had slept peacefully, apparently not discommoded at all by my wandering around.

I got back in bed, then pulled in a deep breath, and another. After everything I'd been through, was I really going to let a dream rattle me? I told myself that I needed to let it go, that everything would be fine.

I just wasn't sure whether I believed those reassurances or not.

# Chapter 10

I spent the next few days really getting myself accustomed to the property and everything on it — the greenhouse, the solar farm, even the garage, which was hiding a Polaris ATV in the farthest bay. When I found that, it somehow made me miss my father even more. He'd always wanted one, but a vehicle intended solely for off-roading was a luxury that just hadn't been in the family budget.

As the voice had told me, there was a good deal of food stored in the basement. Scratch that; there was enough food down there to satisfy the most rabid prepper, shelf after shelf of canned goods and staples such as flour and sugar and cooking oil, and enough spices that I could probably bake something different every day for the next year and still not use everything up. In fact, the basement was so extensive that I got the impression it was actually bigger than the house itself, spreading beyond the walls of the structure directly above it.

The greenhouse was set up on a drip system, one supplied by the same well that gave the house its water. I found a good deal of produce that was at its peak or even just past it, so I harvested that as best I could, eating what needed to be consumed right away and putting the rest in the refrigerator. On the bookshelves in the office, there were a number of reference books on all sorts of topics of interest to the homesteader or survivalist — home canning, sewing, weaving, butchering...even how to make your own bullets. In fact, I found the molds for that very activity down in the basement, along with a quantity of black powder and other supplies. I had to hope none of it would explode and send Dutchie and me sky-high one day.

Although having every conceivable supply on hand should have made me feel better, in truth it only depressed me. I thought of being here so long that I would have to start canning food or sewing my own clothes, of having to go out in the ATV to hunt deer or elk. Even though my father had taken me hunting a few times, I'd never had the heart to pull the trigger. Maybe if I were starving I'd feel differently about the whole thing, but until then I couldn't conceive of killing something so beautiful.

The one thing the compound didn't have was dog food. I wasn't sure what to make of that; maybe Mr. Real Estate Developer wasn't a dog person, although you'd think he would've factored dogs into his survival plan, just because they were good to have around in case things got dicey. Whatever the reason, I was down to about a day's worth of dry food left for Dutchie, which meant I needed to go foraging.

For some reason, the voice had been fairly scarce the past couple of days. I wondered at its absence, thinking that maybe it believed its work was done, since it had gotten me here safely. All the same, I thought I'd better telegraph my plans, let it know I was leaving the compound for a few hours.

"Dutchie's almost out of food," I said as I got the shotgun out of the gun safe. I already wore a gleaming Ruger in a holster on my hip, said armament courtesy of the trove I'd found within that safe. Possibly it would have made better sense to take along a gun I was more familiar with, but I couldn't resist the chrome-plated allure of that Ruger. My father would have known how much it cost, but I didn't have a clue. A lot, that's for sure.

Silence met my announcement, so I went on, "I'm going down into Santa Fe for a few hours. Can I assume the coast is clear?"

Nothing again, and I frowned. But since I'd seen more clouds massing up to the northeast, I didn't want to dilly-dally. Maybe twenty minutes in and twenty minutes out; I'd actually seen a PetSmart down a side street as I was making my way along Cerrillo Road when I came into town, so at least I wouldn't have to waste a lot of time looking for a pet store. Having no cell service and no way to look anything up on the Internet definitely made what should have been easy tasks a lot more difficult.

With a shrug, I closed the safe and locked it, then headed out to the kitchen. I really didn't need anything else in the way of supplies, although the chilliness of the nights even now, in early October, told me that the cold-weather gear I'd brought along might not be sufficient for a full-blown Santa Fe winter. Well, if I had time to poke around, I'd see if I could find something.

As I was getting ready, I debated whether to bring Dutchie along, and then decided against it. She was safe here, and I knew I'd move faster if I didn't have her along. Besides, I needed someplace to stow the shotgun. I wasn't sure if she'd take kindly to being relegated to the back seat so the shotgun could...ride shotgun.

I patted her head, got her some fresh water, and then told her I'd be going out but would be back soon. Since she'd gotten used to me coming and going between the house and the garage or the kitchen and the greenhouse, she took this announcement in stride, lapping up some of the water I'd just poured before she settled down on the rug in front of the oven. That was one of her new favorite spots, which made things sort of difficult when I was trying to cook.

Smiling, I went out the back door and made my way along the flagstone walk to the garage. In my explorations, I'd found the remotes for the garage and the front gate, so technically I didn't need the voice to let me in and out. Still, I couldn't help wondering where he'd gotten to.

With a shrug, I opened the garage door, then climbed into the Cherokee. I leaned the shotgun against the passenger seat, checked the fuel gauge, and backed out, glad that I wouldn't have to worry about getting more gas anytime soon. This place felt like it was out in the middle of nowhere — and it was — but I doubted it was more than five miles one way from here to the city center. I could go back and forth at least twenty more times before I had to bother with fueling up.

The dirt track hadn't improved any since the last time I'd driven over it, and I gritted my teeth as I bounced and jounced along at a steady twenty miles an hour. It was a relief to hit the actual road, even though it wasn't in the greatest shape, either. But at least here I could increase my speed to thirty, slowing occasionally to go around an abandoned truck or car.

Nothing had changed. I wasn't sure why I'd expected it to, except I supposed that was a normal, human thing to think — the world around us had never been static, people and cars coming and going, shifting their positions. Here, though, there were no more people left to change anything. Or rather, so few of them probably remained that it would take some doing to run into any of them. I was a little hazy on the population of Santa Fe before the Heat laid everything waste, but I had a feeling there couldn't be more than a hundred or so people left in the general area, if even that much.

Eventually, I backtracked my way to Cerrillo, then drove some distance down the street before I spotted the PetSmart off to my left. I turned — going wide to avoid a Ford Explorer sitting right in the middle of the intersection — and pulled into the store parking lot. There weren't that many vehicles here, most likely because people had been thinking about other things than feeding their pets when the doomsday disease swept through town.

When I went inside, my father's heavy police-issue flashlight in one hand, I was relieved to see that all the live small animals — the rats and mice and gerbils, the birds and lizards and snakes — had apparently flown the coop. How they'd gotten out, I had no idea, unless this was another example of "being taken care of," as the voice had assured me back in Albuquerque. There was evidence of the food being tampered with, but although anything within reach of a large dog's muzzle seemed to be either gone or half-eaten, there were still bags and bags on the upper shelves. I got a shopping cart and loaded it up, took it to the Cherokee, and dumped the bags there, then repeated the process until my arms ached and I wouldn't be able to see out the back window if I kept it up any longer. That would be enough to see Dutchie through the winter, and after that — well, I'd just come foraging again.

I also grabbed a miscellany of dog treats and dog toys from the displays at the front of the store, and wedged those in and around the big twenty-pound bags of dog food. Dutchie was definitely going to be one spoiled doggie, but I thought she deserved it.

During this whole process, which I estimated took me about twenty minutes or so, I didn't see any evidence of anyone else being around. True, a pet store probably wasn't the sort of place where survivors hung out, but I felt myself relax a little. Maybe this was why the voice had let me alone — it had known I had nothing to fear on this particular trip.

Humming to myself, I got back in the SUV and pointed it northward, back along the way I'd come. When I got to the intersection where I should have turned on Alameda to head back up into the hills, though, I found myself slowing down, and then cutting left so I could drive up Don Gaspar.

Almost at once, I heard the voice in my head. _Jessica, what are you doing?_

Relief flooded through me. So I hadn't been completely abandoned. "I want to see."

_See what?_

"The center of town. I want to see if it's all right."

_Why should that matter?_

"Because it matters," I said, an edge of irritation in my voice. "It was a cultural center. Lots of museums, historical sites. What can it hurt to look?"

Silence for a few seconds. _You may not like what you see._

Ice etched its way down my spine, but I attempted to ignore it, instead asking, "So where the hell have you been, anyway? The Bahamas?"

He didn't answer directly, but said, _You missed me?_

Did I want to admit that I had? Probably not. Hedging, I replied, "Well, I love Dutchie, but she's not the world's greatest conversationalist."

I heard one of those low chuckles. _You may be right in that._

Despite what he'd just said about my not liking what I would see, I couldn't help smiling. That smile faded abruptly, though, as I came around the corner to Santa Fe's famous plaza. In good weather — and even not-so-good weather — the plaza was usually full of people, whether tourists, musicians, vendors, or locals out to get some air. I'd expected it to be empty. What I hadn't expected to see were the obvious signs of looting, of storefronts smashed in, merchandise scattered across the sidewalk.

Mouth grim, I parked the Cherokee in a place that would have been heinously illegal a few days earlier, straddling the curb at the intersection of Palace Avenue and San Francisco Street. There really wasn't anyplace else, as cars still lined the streets, their meters run out long ago. I didn't bother to look and see if there were piles of gray dust inside those cars. If their owners had died outside, the wind would've blown their remains away days earlier.

"I don't understand," I said. "Why would people loot here? Food or medical supplies I can understand, but expensive jewelry and art?"

_I don't know for certain. Perhaps they were attempting to assert some control over their environment as everything was falling apart._

That was one way of looking at it. My hiking boot hit something that clinked against the sidewalk, and I looked down to see that it was a heavy gold cuff bracelet studded with sapphires and diamonds. I thought I even knew which store it had come from, because it was a place where Elena and Tori and I had pressed our noses to the window and gawked at the wares inside, trying to figure out how anyone would pay almost fifty grand for a pair of earrings, even if said earrings were huge drops of tanzanite and diamond that looked as if they should be at the Academy Awards, not a shop window in Santa Fe.

Without thinking, I bent down and picked up the bracelet, then slid it onto my wrist. It was cold against my skin; the day had turned cloudy and dark, the temperature dropping with it. I even thought I felt the first spatter of a raindrop or two against my face.

Or maybe those were tears.

I saw other items scattered around — a lone earring, a trinket box of carved stone. For some reason, I began to pick them up, gathering everything I could find and then taking it into the nearest store, a shop that seemed to have specialized in high-end western gear. It had been hit, too, but not as badly as the jewelry stores.

Again the voice asked, _Jessica, what are you doing?_

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I asked angrily. "I'm cleaning this up."

A long pause. _Why?_

"Because — because someone loved these things once. Someone made them, and someone chose them to sell in their store, and I don't want them lying all over the place like garbage. They deserve better than that." As I spoke, I realized that tears were running down my cheeks, dripping bitter salt into my mouth.

When it spoke again, the voice was very gentle. _My dear, they are just things._

"I know that!" I raged. "But I also know they're the only things _left!_ So I'm not going to leave them here!"

Silence again. Then, _Jessica, do not distress yourself so. I will take care of it._

I don't even know how to describe what happened next. A wind came swirling out of nowhere, seeming to come in and pick up all the detritus in the square — baskets and rugs and loose bits of jewelry and hats and paintings and pots, everything that had been scattered on the ground during the looting. It coalesced into a cloud of debris, snaking through the air and rushing into the open door of a shop, then slamming it shut.

Blinking, I stared at the streets around me, saw how they were clear of everything except a few scattered leaves, all evidence of chaos gone as if it had never existed. Somehow, I managed to find my voice. "That — that was you?"

_Yes._

"But...why?"

_I do not like seeing you in distress._

What could I possibly say to that? I swallowed, my throat dry. The air around me was still once more, heavy and cold. Again I felt the stinging touch of rain sharp against my face.

"Thank you," I managed at last.

_Go home, beloved._

I nodded, then made myself turn around and go back to the Cherokee, to climb behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition. Perhaps there was more damage beyond the plaza, but I didn't want to look. I'd seen enough for one day.

The trip home was uneventful, though, and in a way it felt good to busy myself with hauling all those bags of dog food out of the back of the SUV and storing them in the basement, save for one that I shoved into a corner of the pantry. I also got out a chewy treat and gave it to Dutchie, who wagged her tail ecstatically and settled down on her rug to start masticating.

It wasn't until later, when I'd put away the Ruger I hadn't needed and similarly stowed the shotgun, then sat down to catch my breath, that I stared down at the heavy gold bracelet on my wrist. How much was it worth?

Wrong question, in this time when a pound of beef was probably worth a lot more than a pound of gold. The more accurate question to ask would be, _What did this cost?_

I didn't know. I'd had a small collection of costume jewelry and a few pieces of Native American work, mostly turquoise. When I packed my belongings and left Albuquerque, I hadn't brought any of it along, save the small silver hoops I was already wearing. Just hadn't seen the point.

But this thing, which should have been adorning the wrist of some movie star on the red carpet? Who knows. Probably as much as the Grand Cherokee had cost my father when he bought it brand new.

I twisted the bracelet around and around, and then became aware of something sharp sticking into my left hip bone. Puzzled, I reached into the pocket of my jeans, thinking that maybe I'd stuck something in there earlier and forgotten about it.

My fingers closed around two cool, heavy objects. I drew them out, then opened my hand to see what the hell they were.

For a second or two, I just stared down at them. Then, because I couldn't think of what else to do, I began to laugh.

In my hand were the tanzanite and diamond earrings Elena and Tori and I had admired on our last trip to Santa Fe.

I didn't bring up the subject of the earrings. How could I? That would mean I'd have to ask how the voice knew I'd seen those earrings and fallen partly in love with them, even though I'd known I would never in a million years be able to afford something like that.

No, I'd stowed them in the drawer of my nightstand and tried to put the incident out of my mind. And since in the days that followed, I didn't need to leave the compound, I didn't hear from the voice much. If I was trying to find a certain item, like a screwdriver, I'd ask where it might be located, and the voice would always answer. Otherwise, though, it seemed to be leaving me alone again, allowing me to find some equilibrium in my new life here.

There was, surprisingly, enough to keep me busy. As I'd promised my father, I wrote down as much as I could about the way the Heat had come to Albuquerque, and what the city had looked like when I left. That was a spare and painful narrative, though, and so I also wrote down random memories, just so I wouldn't forget them — the surprise party my father had thrown my mother for her fiftieth birthday. Devin's touchdown at the homecoming game last year. The crazy artist who'd approached me on one of our girls' Santa Fe trips and told me I had an amazing face and that he wanted to paint me. Things like that...bright pieces of a world now gone forever.

In addition to all that, I tended the plants in the greenhouse and puttered around the house and took Dutchie for long walks, which also helped me inspect the perimeter of the property. The wall was in perfect condition, as far as I could tell, and a good barrier against wild animals, of which there were plenty in the area. I could hear the coyotes calling at night sometimes, and one time the snarl of a cougar or bobcat. Needless to say, I hadn't ventured out to investigate, although Dutchie had gone nuts, growling and barking as she moved from window to window, presumably following along as the wild cat moved along the wall that bordered the property.

But none of those animals had gotten close enough to trigger the security system, which was why I almost had a heart attack one afternoon, about ten days after I'd come to Santa Fe, when all of a sudden the house was filled with a shrill alarm. I'd been sitting in the breakfast nook in the kitchen, keeping one eye on the book I was reading and another on the loaf of bread I had in the oven. Bread-making was a new venture for me, but really, what else did I have to do with my time?

I shot a quick glance at the timer and saw the loaf still had around a half hour to go, then bolted from the kitchen so I could bring up the security feed on the computer in the office. After I jiggled the mouse to wake up the iMac, I saw the grid with its images from all nine security cameras, including the one at the front gate.

Someone was standing there, staring up at the house. From the way his mouth was moving, it sounded as if he was calling out, but the security system didn't have audio, only video. And because it was a chilly day, threatening rain just like the time I'd had my meltdown in the plaza, all the windows were shut.

Should I ignore him? Wait it out and hope he would go away? If he'd meant to sneak in and wreak havoc, he probably wouldn't have been shouting for attention at the front gate. Still....

This was the first living soul I'd seen in two weeks. The camera didn't show a huge amount of detail, because the sun was at his back and all I could see was his silhouette, but I hadn't seen any evidence of a gun or any other weapon. Not that that meant much.

Deciding to compromise, I got the shotgun out of the gun safe and then headed out the front door, Dutchie tagging along at my heels. She hadn't barked yet, but maybe that was only because she hadn't yet caught a whiff of the stranger.

I walked down the driveway and paused about six feet from the gate. Because the drive sloped up the hill toward the house and the garage, I had something of a vantage point, could see that this unwelcome visitor was a young man probably around my age or maybe a few years older. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail, warm brown skin, black almond-shaped eyes. Definitely Native American.

And...gorgeous. Like, the kind of gorgeous I would've had a hard time not staring at if I'd been in a club or out with my friends at a restaurant or the movies or the mall. Having someone who looked like that turn up on my doorstep, when I hadn't seen anyone since the man I'd shot outside Walgreens?

Well, let's just say it was a little overwhelming.

But not so much I forgot that I was here alone, sitting on top of a stockpile of supplies that were a damn good incentive for murder, as far as I was concerned. I hefted the shotgun so he could see it, but didn't bring it up to eye level.

"Who are you?" I demanded, while Dutchie sat beside me, wagging her tail. So much for looking intimidating.

"Jason Little River," he said, eyeing the shotgun but clearly attempting to keep a pleasant expression on his face. "My friends call me Jace."

"So, Jason," I said, emphasizing his full name, "how did you find this place?"

He paused, clearly a little disconcerted by the hostility in my tone. "The tire tracks," he replied, pointing at the rutted road that led to the compound. Since it had started raining on the way back from my last trip into town, the tracks I'd left were fairly defined. Damn. I hadn't even thought of that.

But those obvious tire tracks didn't explain everything. "You still had to get a good way out of town to even see where this road started."

"True. I had a friend who lived on Upper Canyon. I came here to Santa Fe — well, I came here hoping he might still be okay. Stupid, I know." Jason paused, gaze lingering on the shotgun before returning to my face. "And when I went to his house...." Under the heavy backpack he wore, the kind of metal-framed thing serious hikers used, his shoulders lifted. "No one there, of course. I was sort of walking around, trying to figure out what to do next, and I saw the tracks on the road going up the hill past his property. I figured I might as well check it out. The tracks seemed too fresh to have been made before...well, before."

I didn't bother to ask him what he meant by "before." For all of us survivors, our lives would forever be divided between "before" and "after." "You say you came here to Santa Fe. Where from?"

"Taos. I lived on the pueblo there." A disarming grin, one that under different circumstances might have made my knees melt. "Well, part-time. I also had an apartment in town. You?"

It was on my lips to say I was the one asking the questions here, but that sounded awfully rude, even under the current circumstances. "Albuquerque."

His eyebrows went up. "How'd you manage to get here, of all places?"

I hefted the shotgun. "I don't think that matters. I'm here now."

He didn't miss the way I'd shifted the gun, just enough to show I wasn't thrilled by his questions. "Hey, it's okay. It's just — I haven't seen anyone for almost two weeks. I'm probably a little off."

_You and me both, honey._ Relenting a little, I asked, "So no one was left in Taos?"

A shadow seemed to pass over his face, but his voice was level as he replied, "No one in the pueblo. When I went into town, I didn't see anyone, except one woman lurking around one of the hotels. She took one look at me and ran off screaming." He shrugged. "Since I could tell she wasn't open to conversation, I didn't bother to go after her. She could have been armed."

"And you weren't?"

Again I saw his eyes flicker toward the gun I held. "No. Well, not besides this." His hand went to his hip, where I could see he wore some kind of leather scabbard, about the size to conceal a hunting knife.

"Let me see it."

From this distance, I couldn't really hear him sigh, but I could tell his patience was starting to run thin. Holding my gaze, he undid the snap that kept the knife in place, then pulled it out of its sheath. As I'd thought, it was a big piece clearly designed for hunting, with a serrated edge. My father had owned one not unlike it.

"And that's all?" I asked.

He nodded, then went on, "Hey, I have a peace offering."

"What?" Saying my tone was guarded would have been an understatement.

"I'm going to get something out of my backpack," he said, laying the knife down in the dirt in front of him. "Okay?"

"Depends what it is," I told him.

A grin, one that showed off a dazzling set of white teeth. I had a feeling he'd used that smile to good effect a number of times in the past, but I had to make it seem as if it wasn't affecting me, even though I could feel a not-unpleasant shiver go through me at the way the smile lit up his dark eyes.

"I think you'll like this."

He unslung the backpack, setting it on the ground before unzipping it and spending a few seconds going through its contents. His back was to me, so I couldn't see exactly what he was doing. Almost at once, though, he turned around. In each hand he held a wine bottle.

"Very nice, but I've got a pretty stocked cellar up there," I said, jerking my chin back toward the house.

"Ah, but this is La Chiripada cabernet sauvignon. New Mexico wine. You have any of that?"

I really didn't have any idea. Besides the wine refrigerator in the kitchen, I'd discovered another trove in the basement, cases and cases of wine, most of it from California and France, from what I could tell, and some odd bits from South America and Arizona. I hadn't noticed anything from New Mexico, but then again, I hadn't exactly been looking for it, either.

As I hesitated, not sure how to respond, I heard the voice in my head.

_He is safe._

"What?" I murmured under my breath, hoping the stranger wouldn't notice me muttering to myself.

_He is safe. There is no reason to keep him out._

"Wait...you actually want me to let him in?"

_Yes_.

To say I was flummoxed would be an understatement. Here it seemed the voice had done everything to keep me safe, to have me avoid other survivors because of the dangers involved, and now he wanted me to allow a strange man to simply walk into my sanctuary here?

"What happens if he _isn't_ safe?"

_He is safe. I promise you._

Even with the voice stating his opinion so flatly, I couldn't help hesitating. True, he had always protected me, argued with me when I wanted to do things he found too dangerous. So I supposed I should be trusting his judgment here.

I sent a sidelong glance in the stranger's direction. He was still standing there, a bottle in each hand, a half hopeful, half anxious expression on his face. There was something so goofy about the combination, so oddly adorable, that I found myself relenting.

"All right," I muttered to the voice. "You'd just better not be playing supernatural matchmaker here or something, or we'll be discussing this further."

No answer to that. I hadn't really expected one.

Not quite allowing myself to sigh, I transferred the shotgun to my left hand and began walking to the gate. There was a manual release there, since obviously I hadn't brought the remote with me.

"Okay," I told Jason. "I've never had La Chiripada."

The look of relief that passed over his face was also adorable, and erased some of the strain I'd seen in his features. "Great. Thanks. I appreciate this. Really." He began stuffing the wine bottles into his backpack, then hefted it onto his shoulders. After that, he shot me a questioning look. "And your name is?"

"Jessica," I told him as I pushed the button to open the gate. "Jessica Monroe."

Another one of those blazing smiles, "Well, Jessica, I am _very_ pleased to make your acquaintance."

# Chapter 11

We headed up to the house after that, Dutchie dancing around Jason, tail wagging and tongue lolling as if her long-lost best friend had just come home.

"I hope you're a dog person," I told him as we went in the front door.

"I am, actually. There were always a lot of dogs on the pueblo. I didn't have one of my own, since I was living in an apartment about half the time, but — " He broke off, pausing a few paces inside the entryway. His expression was so awestruck that at first I thought he was impressed by the house, which didn't surprise me too much. It was pretty impressive. But then he said, "Is that _bread?_ "

"It is," I said, adding, "and I hope I haven't just burned it."

I jogged into the kitchen, Dutchie tagging along at my heels, since of course the kitchen was her favorite room in the house. Jason followed at a more sedate pace, probably because of the backpack he carried.

But when I peered into the oven, the bread looked perfect, golden brown and with just the right amount of loft. The timer said I had exactly thirty seconds to go. So I grabbed some potholders and pulled out the pan, setting it on the stove top to cool.

By then Jason had shrugged off his backpack and leaned it up against one of the cupboards. "That's amazing."

"What is?" I asked, turning to face him.

"The bread. This." He waved a hand, as if indicating the kitchen and the house beyond. "It's like — it's like it never happened."

Again, I didn't have to ask what he meant by "it." "Someone definitely put a lot of work into this house. I was lucky to find it."

A pause, during which I wondered if he was going to ask again how I had found it...and what the hell I should say in response to such a question. Instead, though, he inquired, "Your family didn't build it?"

"Oh, no. We could never have afforded something like this."

My reply appeared to make him relax slightly. Maybe he'd been thinking I was some rich girl from the city or something. There was a joke. But I could see how that might have made things even more awkward between us; I knew most of my state's Native American residents weren't exactly rolling in cash.

Well, neither was my family, so I added, "I found some paperwork when I was going through the house. The guy who built it was a real estate developer from Phoenix. I doubt he's going to be showing up any time soon."

A nod, although I could see the way Jason was surveying the kitchen, from the gleaming stainless-steel appliances to the custom cupboards and granite countertops. I had no idea what he might be thinking. In that moment, I was only strangely glad that I'd been so careful about keeping the place clean. In the past, I hadn't been what you might call the world's greatest housekeeper, but now I found cleaning the house helped to distract me, and used up some of the empty hours.

His next question surprised me. "You came from Albuquerque. We were pretty cut off in Taos. Did you ever hear anything more about the disease...where it started, mortality rates, anything like that?"

That was the last thing I wanted to talk about, but Jace clearly wanted more information than he'd gotten back home. Not that I had a lot to give him. Even so, I thought it best to stall a little while I figured out how much I should say.

"Water?" I asked, and he blinked, clearly startled by the non sequitur, then replied,

"Yes, thanks."

So I got a glass from the cupboard and filled it up with water from the refrigerator door. When I went to hand it to him, I realized how tall he was, how there were definitely some impressive muscles under the loose-fitting flannel shirt he wore. And even though he had to have been living rough for the past few weeks, I could tell he was clean. In fact, I caught the faintest scent of wood smoke coming from his clothes, and something about the aroma made a little thrill go through me.

I definitely needed to get it together.

Stepping away from him, pretending that I needed to go check on the bread, I said, "Things fell apart pretty quickly in Albuquerque, too. We never got a straight story about where it started or anything like that. Afterward...." I let the words trail off as I flashed back to that dark Walgreens, and the man I had confronted there. "I did meet someone who said he'd worked for emergency management downtown. He said the mortality rate was 99.8 percent."

"Shit." With his brown skin, Jace couldn't exactly go pale, but I still saw the blood appear to drain from his face. Then his dark eyes seemed to go sharp as he focused on what I'd just said. "Wait — you _met_ another survivor? Where is he?"

_Shit_ was right. I'd just met Jace. Was I supposed to tell him that I'd murdered a man?

I didn't see much of a way around it. If we were really going to be sharing this house, I wasn't sure I wanted to keep that big a secret from him. He needed to know, so he could decide if it was worth the risk to stay.

"He's dead," I said, my voice flat, harsh. "He tried to take my vehicle away from me, all the supplies I'd put together. He pulled a gun on me. So I shot him."

Silence. Jace stared at me, obviously trying to process what I'd just said. When he spoke, his tone was a lot gentler than I'd expected. "Because he was trying to steal from you, and you would've been dead without that vehicle and those supplies."

The question was, _would_ I have been? I could have gone foraging all over again if necessary, could've found one of the abandoned vehicles and hot-wired it, another skill my father had taught me. I wasn't sure what happened to car keys if they were actually on a victim of the Heat, in a pocket or something, when they went to dust. All their clothes and jewelry seemed to disappear, so obviously the heat in their bodies was so extreme that it could destroy everything around them. Or was the explanation that simple? I hadn't actually stopped to puzzle it out, mostly because I knew in the end it didn't really matter. Those people were gone, and so were the belongings they had on them.

"I thought so at the time," I said slowly. As Jason kept looking at me with that concerned expression on his face, I felt something give way inside, the words flowing out, even though I hadn't meant to mention anything else of what had happened. "And he had this _look_ on his face, and the night before that, crazy Chris Bowman had broken into my house and _attacked_ me, and — "

I couldn't go on, because out of nowhere tears were streaming down my face, and, to my dismay, I'd begun to sob, the horror of it all coming back to me, something dark and terrible that had only been lurking in the murky sediment at the bottom of my mind, just waiting to return and overwhelm me.

Jason crossed the kitchen and pulled me against him, his hand smoothing my hair, his warm voice murmuring my name as I wept into his shirt, the flannel soft against my cheek. He smelled of wood smoke and pine needles, and underneath that, clean male sweat, and I breathed him in, reassured beyond measure at the feel of someone so solid, so real.

And then I realized what I was doing, that I was sobbing in the arms of a man I had just met, and I pushed myself away, shaking my head. "I — I'm sorry," I gasped. "That was just — that came out of nowhere. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said. His dark eyes seemed alight with compassion, with understanding. "I can't imagine how rough this must have been for you. And I'm sorry that you...did what you had to do. But I don't think you can blame yourself for that."

I went to the paper towel dispenser and tore off a partial sheet, then blotted my eyes. Good thing I hadn't bothered with makeup since I'd gotten here, except for some gloss to keep my lips from cracking in the dry, cold weather. "Thank you," I said simply. "But I do blame myself. There had to be something else I could have done — "

"I don't know about that," he said. "Sounds like you were kind of up against a wall." Again I was struck by the warmth in his expression...but it wasn't _that_ kind of warmth, more that he was sorry I'd had to go through anything so terrible. "But I'm glad you told me the truth."

So was I, oddly enough. I'd just told him the worst thing about me, and he hadn't even blinked. That had to be a good sign.

"I'm glad, too," I told him, wanting to put the whole thing behind me. Somehow I knew Jace wouldn't press the issue any further. "Now, how about some of this bread?"

And like that, Jason Little River came to live at the compound. He took over the larger of the secondary bedrooms, putting his meager belongings in the closet there. I noticed that he hadn't brought any personal items with him, no photographs of family or anything like that, unlike the wedding photo of my parents that now lived on the mantel in the living room, or the shot of all of us at one of Devin's football games, which was now sitting on the dresser in the master bedroom.

When I asked him about his family, his expression grew shuttered. "All gone now," he said, and didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore. Since I understood all too well what it felt like to lose everyone around you, I didn't press the issue. Although I didn't know a whole lot about life on the pueblo, I knew it had to be a fairly close-knit community, a sort of huge extended family very unlike what I'd grown up with. His loss was probably even more painful than mine. If he wanted to open up about it later, after he'd had time to work through it in his own way, then I would be there to listen to him.

He was impressed by the compound, by all the lengths its builder had gone to so it would be self-sustaining. Even so, after one morning of walking around and inspecting everything, just a day or two after he moved in, he told me, "We should really be thinking about getting some livestock. This place isn't big enough for cattle, but maybe some goats?"

"Goats?" I repeated, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of my voice. "You're not suggesting we _eat_ a goat, are you?"

His teeth flashed in the morning sun as he grinned at me. It was a bright, brisk day, the sky dappled with clouds, but the sunlight still fiercely bright. Despite the glaring sun, I could feel the bite in the wind, the unmistakable signs that winter was coming...and that it was going to be a lot colder than anything I'd experienced down in Albuquerque.

"The original _barbacoa_ was made with goat," he pointed out. I only raised an eyebrow, and he laughed and went on, "I was thinking more in terms of milk and cheese. The cheese you have now isn't going to last forever."

Well, that was true. We had plenty of other staples, but some of the perishables like the cheese and the butter were about on their last legs. "Do you know how to milk a goat?" I asked.

"No, but I've milked cows. The technique can't be all that different."

The way he said it, halfway arch, halfway teasing, just made me shake my head. "Okay, I'll let you do it. Assuming we can even find any goats. They weren't exactly thick on the ground, the last time I checked."

"Maybe not, but there were probably people on the outskirts of town who kept livestock, and I know I saw animal pens up in Nambe as I came down into town."

"Oh?" I asked. It was the first time he'd made any mention of his journey here. I hadn't pressed, because I knew better than anyone else that there were some things people just didn't want to talk about. Even so, I'd wondered about the long walk from Taos, and what he'd encountered on it.

"Yeah." He wasn't looking at me, was instead staring to the north and east, presumably in the direction from which he'd come. "Part of the reason it took me so long to get here was that I took the High Road down from Taos. I figured it might be safer to stay off the main roads."

"And you walked that whole way?" I asked, staring at him with some incredulity. I'd heard of the High Road, but I'd never been on it. The scenic side trip was one that my family had discussed taking a few times, but those plans had never materialized. My father had always been a Point A to Point B kind of guy and was more intent on the destination than on the road that led to it.

Jace gave me a rueful smile. "Not at first. I had a motorcycle, and I'd ridden it before with my backpack, although I know that's not really recommended. But I thought I could do it if I kept my speed down. Besides, a motorcycle is a lot easier to maneuver around abandoned vehicles."

I couldn't argue with that. But a motorcycle wouldn't have worked for me. I had too much stuff to bring, and besides, there was Dutchie. Well, maybe a sidecar....

Turning away from me, Jason surveyed the horizon again. The wind picked up, pulling strands of heavy dark hair out of the piece of thin leather he had wrapped around his ponytail. His hair hung a few inches below his shoulders, and so far I hadn't seen it in anything but that heavy tail down his back. That hadn't stopped me from wondering what it would look like, sleek and loose over those broad shoulders.

Which was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking. After I'd lost it the day we'd met, and he'd held me and comforted me, we'd maintained a careful distance between us. I hadn't noted even a flicker of interest from him. Maybe I wasn't his type, or maybe it was the far more stark fact that he'd lost not just his family, but his people, his entire way of life. He seemed to be bouncing back fairly well, but it was probably a little self-absorbed of me to think he'd be interested in any sort of romantic entanglements so soon after suffering that kind of shock.

Besides, I wasn't even sure whether _I_ was interested in anything like that. Yes, Jace was extremely good-looking, and he had an easygoing way about him that I appreciated, after some of the high-strung guys I'd dated in the past, but our focus should be on survival first and foremost. Those other sorts of complications were pretty far down my list of priorities.

And anyway, break-ups were bad enough when you had a decent chance of never seeing the other person again. I didn't exactly have that luxury at the moment.

Jace didn't seem to have noticed my preoccupation, since he appeared to be absorbed in studying the far-off outlines of the Jemez mountain range. I noticed that he held something in his hand, a leather thong knotted through a hole in a smooth-polished black stone. His thumb moved over it, the motion reminding me of the worry beads sometimes used by Greek men.

Then he said, "But I picked up something in my tire in Placita. I had a patch kit in my backpack, but it wasn't just a nail that had blown the tire, but a sharp rock. I lost two nights there, trying to fix it, scavenging around to see if I could find anything to replace it with, but that was a no-go."

"No one there, either?" I asked, although I already knew what the answer would be.

"No. Not a soul. I did some foraging to replenish my supplies, which was what delayed me even more. Or maybe I just wasn't looking forward to that long, long walk."

It would have been that. Even with the part of the trip he'd shaved off by riding his motorcycle, he still had to have walked a good forty miles or so. Farther, actually, because it was still about fifteen miles from Nambe to the heart of Santa Fe, and then another five miles to this hidden fold of the hills where the compound was located.

"But you did it anyway."

He nodded, then shoved the polished stone he'd been holding back into his pocket. "There was nothing left in Taos. I wandered there for about a day and a half — I was at the pueblo when the illness hit, and our healers couldn't do anything to combat it. No one could. People were being told to stay at home, that the local medical center didn't have the resources to treat that many victims at once. So...I stayed there and watched everyone die around me."

"And waited to find out when it would be your turn," I said quietly.

Finally, he shifted so his gaze fell upon me, rather than that far-off, jagged horizon. Those jet-black eyes, in their fringe of equally black lashes, were startled, but then he nodded in understanding. "Yes. That's exactly what I did. But then after another day passed, and everyone was gone, leaving behind only dust, I realized I wouldn't be lucky enough to join all my people in the afterlife. I was doomed to drift here, in a world I hadn't chosen."

I probably wouldn't have phrased it that way, but he was right — that's exactly what it felt like. Being cast adrift on dark waters, paddling desperately, although you had no idea why you'd been pushed out onto that black ocean in the first place. "So you left then?"

He nodded, and once again his attention moved back to the horizon, to the mountains that blocked his view of the place he had once called home. "Well, I went from the pueblo to my apartment. At least I'd had the motorcycle with me at the pueblo, so the trip didn't take long. The whole way I didn't see anyone, just cars left along the side of the road. Same thing at my apartment — it was a small building, only four units, but all the hotels were equally deserted."

His shoulders lifted under the leather jacket he wore, although I wasn't quite sure of the reason for the shrug. Dismissing his futile attempts to find any survivors? I didn't know him well enough to guess.

"Anyway," he continued. "I could tell that staying in Taos probably wasn't a good idea. It's a small town...was, I mean...and the chances of finding anyone who'd lived through the Heat were pretty low. I packed what I could and left. I did see that one woman as I was heading out of town, but, as I said, she took off the second she saw me. Maybe she thought I was a ghost." He did smile then, but grimly, just the slightest lift at the corners of his mouth.

_Or a rapist,_ I thought, recalling my own experiences. I didn't say anything aloud, though. Whatever he might be, Jason Little River was clearly _not_ a rapist. "And the wine?" I asked.

"The La Chiripada tasting room was just down the street from where I lived. Since no one was around, I figured it wouldn't matter if I liberated a couple of bottles. I had a feeling I might need a drink in the near future. Or," he added, with a real smile this time, his expression warming as he looked over at me, "a peace offering."

I tried not to blush, but I wasn't sure how successful I was at it. With any luck, he'd think the flush in my cheeks had come from the brisk wind blowing down from the north, and not the way he'd just looked at me. "Speaking of the wine," I said, my tone probably too casual, "we should have something special to drink it with. Frozen tamales probably aren't festive enough."

"You like rabbit?" Jace asked, a gleam in those black eyes.

"I don't know," I replied uncertainly. I had a feeling I knew what he was going to suggest. "I've never had it."

"Well, time to change that." He glanced over at the house, then back at me. "That is, assuming you have a .22 in that gun safe of yours."

At least he didn't ask me to go with him. In the back of my mind, I'd understood that at some point I'd have to start eating game meats, but I wasn't sure I could handle watching Jace shoot a fluffy little bunny and then expect to roast it or whatever a few hours later.

He did take Dutchie along, saying she might as well start to learn what it meant to be an outdoor dog. I knew he was right; her days as a pampered suburban pooch were long over. Anyway, she was more than happy to go along on the hunting expedition, trotting off at Jace's side without even a backward glance toward the house. I only hoped she wouldn't scare off every rabbit in a five-mile radius.

In the meantime, I had to scour the cookbooks that sat on the shelf mounted to the kitchen wall to see if I could find anything about cooking rabbit. Actually, that didn't take me much time at all, because in addition to the standard _Joy of Cooking_ and _Better Homes and Gardens_ cookbooks, I found several specialty ones, including a title dedicated to cooking all sorts of game meats, starting with rabbit and quail and moving up from there.

After that, it was a matter of poring over the recipes and deciding which sounded best — and one for which I had actually had all the ingredients on hand. I decided that the rabbit with mustard sauce variation sounded good. Since I'd already harvested some onions and garlic from the greenhouse a few days earlier, all I had to do was rescue the onion from the fridge and the garlic from the little terra-cotta keeper that sat on the counter.

While I did that, I couldn't help worrying that Jace would come back with a couple of rabbit carcasses and expect me to skin and dress them, his work as the he-man hunter done. I didn't know the first thing about doing any of that. Hell, I could barely cut up a whole chicken properly. My mother showed me how to do it once, but I'd protested the whole time that you could buy already cut-up chicken, so what was the point? Wasting a half hour on that sort of exercise just to save a dollar or so on the price of the meat had hardly seemed worth it to me.

That had annoyed her, I could tell; she was probably flashing back to when she and my father first got married, when she was substitute teaching while trying to get a full-time position, and he was still a rookie right out of the Academy. Money had been tight. I understood that intellectually, but twenty-five years later, it seemed a little extreme to be worrying about a few cents a pound for chicken.

But at least she had taught me to cook — not Cordon Bleu or anything, but how to make a roast and how to prepare a variety of potato dishes and lots of veggies, sauces, that sort of thing. I knew I wouldn't have to worry about poisoning Jace if he did somehow manage to bring back a rabbit, even with Dutchie's help.

Until they did return, I wasn't about to get anything started. I assembled the ingredients on the kitchen counter, went down to the cellar to get some potatoes, and then found a tablecloth and some matching napkins on one of the shelves in the laundry room. This would be the first time we'd sat down at the dining room table, as his first few nights here, Jace had eaten with me at the little breakfast set in the kitchen nook. For some reason, that had felt safer to me. There was a certain ritual associated with sitting down to a real meal at a dining room table.

Maybe I was making too much out of his going rabbit-hunting. It wasn't as if we wouldn't be eating a lot of that sort of thing in the future, if it turned out he really was handy with that .22. Then again, making an occasion out of it might make us both feel a little better about our current situation.

That thought seemed to reassure me, so I went ahead and finished setting the table, completing the setup with the long wrought-iron candleholder that had been sitting on the sideboard. It held five pillar candles, and would provide plenty of light.

_Candlelit dinners?_ I asked myself. _Boy, you really are asking for trouble._

I decided if Jace asked, I'd say it was a good way to save energy.

He returned an hour or so later, Dutchie bounding along beside him, and a very messy bundle of rabbit dangling from a bag in one hand. So he had done the butchering for me, probably guessing that asking me to handle that particular duty would have damaged my delicate sensibilities.

"Thanks," I said, taking the bundle from him. "I found a recipe with mustard sauce. Does that sound okay to you?"

"Sounds great," he replied. He was windblown, but looked far more relaxed and happy than he had when he was telling me about how he had left Taos. Getting out in the fresh air and away from the house seemed to have done him a world of good. "I need to get cleaned up. Can you manage things from here?"

In another world, I might have complained about having to do the typical female thing of cooking, now that he'd bagged his bunnies. Actually, though, I was just grateful that he even had the ability to go out and get us food. He knew how to hunt; I knew how to cook. It seemed a pretty fair division of labor from where I stood.

The bundle of rabbit parts was a little bloodier than something I would have gotten from the supermarket, but I wasn't so squeamish that I couldn't handle it. I rinsed everything off and patted it dry, then sprinkled the pieces with salt and pepper while warming up some olive oil in a pan. As the rabbit was browning, Jace returned to the kitchen, face and hands looking freshly scrubbed, and asked if I needed help peeling the potatoes.

Okay, so much for my worry about thinking he was going to sit on his ass and watch a DVD of Die Hard or something while I labored away in the kitchen.

"Yes," I said. "Thanks."

He went to work, being sparing with the water, for which I was grateful. So far it seemed as if the well could manage just about anything we threw at it, including daily showers for the two of us, but it never hurt to be careful. I used to take long, hot showers, the kind that would basically kill all the hot water in the place by the time I was done, but once I got here, I retrained myself so the whole procedure only took five minutes. Not the easiest of tasks at first, but things did get sped up when you didn't have to worry about shaving your legs.

I risked a glance at Jace, thinking I wouldn't mind having to go back to the whole leg-shaving thing if the situation warranted it. But that day seemed far off — if it ever came at all — so in the meantime, I was pretty sure my five-minute showers were safe.

Neither of us spoke, but it was a companionable sort of silence, him peeling the potatoes, me working away at the sauté pan, following the steps of the recipe. He did stop to ask whether I wanted the potatoes sliced or cut up or whatever, but since I was planning on mashing them, he didn't have to do much besides quarter them and put them in a pot of cold water.

"Don't you need milk for mashed potatoes?" he asked.

"There's evaporated milk in the pantry. It won't be quite the same, but I think it'll be okay."

I could tell by the way his brows drew together that he wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea of evaporated milk, but he didn't say anything, only went over to fetch the box and then mix up a batch for me. Well, if it was that big a problem, the next day I'd send him off in search of any stray goats that might be wandering the area, looking for a home. Dutchie would probably be ecstatic at the prospect of that sort of expedition.

The dog had definitely latched on to Jace. Maybe she'd been more bonded with Mr. Munoz, back in Albuquerque. Or maybe Jace was one of those people whom dogs tended to love. I didn't know, and in the end, it didn't matter. Jace was Dutchie's new best friend. It didn't bother me as much as I thought it might have, simply because Dutchie had proved herself to be a decent judge of character. If she liked Jace, it must mean he was okay.

It was dark by the time dinner was ready. Jace and I carried the various platters and bowls to the dining room table, and I brought out some matches I'd found in the kitchen so I could light the pillars in their wrought-iron holder. Without my asking, Jace turned off the overhead fixture, so all we had was the candlelight. It danced off the heavy glass goblets, the dark bottle of cabernet that sat waiting to be drunk. The walls in this room were a warm parchment yellow, and seemed to reflect the glow of the candles and multiply it.

"Wow," Jace murmured. "I hadn't expected to see anything like this ever again." Then he shook his head. "Wait — I don't think I'd ever seen anything like this _before,_ either. It looks beautiful, Jessica."

"Thanks," I said, my tone almost shy. Now that I was with him in this intimate space, would he take all this for more than I had intended, as some sort of seduction or something?

Well, there wasn't anything I could do about it now. I pulled out my chair — obscurely glad that he hadn't offered to do it for me — and sat down. A second later, he followed suit, lifting the cloth napkin I'd set out and placing it in his lap. Then he raised the bottle of wine, which he'd already opened back in the kitchen, and poured some of the cabernet into my glass first, and then his.

"I think we should have a toast," he said.

"What should we toast to?" Not being dead seemed the obvious choice, but it seemed crass to voice the thought aloud.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, his glass a few inches off the tabletop. The candlelight gleamed against his raven-dark hair, and again I wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through it.

"To sanctuary," he said at last.

I was definitely on board with that. Even if nothing ever happened between Jace and me, we had found a quiet haven here, a place to shelter from whatever might be going on outside in the world. "To sanctuary," I echoed, raising my glass as well and clinking it against his.

A brief silence fell as we both swallowed some of the wine. It wasn't as heavy as the Montepulciano I'd drunk a few days earlier. I could taste the fruit in it, and thought it was probably a good choice to go along with the sharpness of the mustard sauce I'd made for the rabbit.

Then we both dug into the main dish, which turned out to be excellent. I wasn't sure why I'd avoided rabbit before this, because I found myself liking the taste.

_Good thing, too,_ I thought, _because you're probably going to be eating a lot of it in the future._

And the mashed potatoes actually were fine, even with the evaporated milk, and there was fresh bread and butter and roasted carrots. It really was quite the feast, especially considering I'd had to work with what was available in the cellar and the greenhouse. No more popping down to the grocery store to get that one special ingredient.

"This is...amazing," Jace finally said, after making some serious inroads into the food on his plate. "Were you a chef or something?"

"Hardly." I took a sip of wine to cover my embarrassment, cheeks flaming. I really needed to get this blushing thing under control one way or another. "My mother taught me how to cook. That is, she pointed out that it was mostly following directions, at least for the basic stuff. So...that's what I did tonight. Followed directions."

"It's still pretty incredible." Expression thoughtful, he drank some of his own wine. "So what did you do? Before, I mean."

"I was getting my master's at UNM, so I T.A.'d a couple of courses. English — a lot of paper grading, mostly." I broke off a piece of bread but didn't eat it, just sort of rolled it between my finger and thumb. "What about you?"

"I graduated from UNM four years ago, then came back to Taos." He looked at me directly then, as if studying my features, and it was difficult to remain as I was, to not glance away. "We must have been there at the same time, but I guess there wouldn't have been much overlap. You'd have been a freshman when I was a senior."

I could have sworn his expression was somewhat regretful, but I didn't want to read too much into it. That way only lay disappointment.

"Anyway," he went on, "after that I went back to Taos. I conducted tours at the pueblo part of the time, and the rest of the time I worked on getting my business going."

"What kind of business?" I asked, after finally remembering to eat the piece of bread I was holding.

"Website and graphic design. I did some work for the local businesses. Mostly advertising stuff. The tours paid a lot better."

That revelation surprised me. "They did?"

"Oh, yeah." He got himself a piece of bread, then buttered it. When he went on, he wore a rather sardonic smile. "You'd be amazed how much the tourists were willing to part with. On a good day, I could make around three hundred bucks. White guilt is expensive, I guess."

I just stared at him, and he hurried to say,

"No offense. But I think that's part of why they're willing to hand over a twenty — or more — for a half-hour tour of the pueblo." His gaze sharpened on me, and again I had to force myself to look back at him directly. "Anyway, I'd say to look at you, you must have some First Nations blood back in the woodpile yourself. Or am I overreaching?"

So that was it — he was just inspecting my appearance in an attempt to determine my own origins. Fair enough. Would he feel better, knowing I had a Native American heritage of my own? "No, you're not overreaching," I replied, glad I sounded calm and unruffled. "Family legend has it that my great-great-great-grandmother was full-blood Ute."

"Even better," Jace said, a certain warmth in his eyes doing unexpected things to my midsection. "The Ute and the Pueblo were on very good terms back in the day."

What in the world was I supposed to say to that? Was Jace hoping that he and I would be, as he put it, "on very good terms"? Not that I thought I would be opposed to such a shift in our relationship, but we'd only known each other for a couple of days. I certainly didn't intend to rush into anything.

"Well, that's good to know," I remarked. "At least I won't have to worry about tribal warfare breaking out in the laundry room or something."

For a second or two, he didn't reply, only stared at me, and I hoped I hadn't offended him. But then he chuckled, reached for the wine bottle, and poured some more into my glass. Still smiling, he said, "No, I don't think we have to worry about any conflict here."

It was all I could do not to shiver. No matter what he said, though, I wouldn't take for granted this current harmony and goodwill lasting indefinitely.

How could it, when we were such strangers to one another?

# Chapter 12

But somehow, strangely, that cooperation did continue. We fell into a sort of pattern after a few days — rising early, eating breakfast, which was toast or oatmeal most of the time, taking turns with our showers, getting dressed, then doing whatever needed to be done around the place. Jace was full of plans, abetted by some of the books and manuals he found in the office.

"We really should build a henhouse," he said one morning, about a week after he showed up. "I know people in the area had to have kept chickens. Eggs are a good, steady source of protein."

"So are rabbits," I replied, not bothering to point out that we'd been eating rabbit at least every other day. Wile E. Coyote would have been jealous.

"Now they are," he said. "In the dead of winter, it might be more difficult. But those plans I found for a henhouse look dead easy. We just need to get some supplies."

"What, you're a carpenter and a web designer?" I asked, teasing. Sort of. What I knew about building henhouses was roughly the same as what I knew about brain surgery — that is, nothing. I didn't think I was going to be much help.

He shrugged. "I picked up a few things here and there. It'll be fine."

And so, later that morning, we headed down into Santa Fe in search of a Home Depot, which wasn't as easy as it might seem, considering we couldn't exactly Google its location. But we found a yellow pages inside an abandoned dentist's office, and tracked down the store from there. It was a good ways outside the city center, so I was doubly glad that we'd looked it up instead of driving aimlessly all over the place.

Jace had a list of everything he needed, and we "liberated" one of the trailers you used to be able to rent to haul your building supplies home. Thank God my father had invested in a tow package for the Cherokee, even though we'd never actually had any reason to use it. There just never seemed to be quite enough in the family budget to buy a trailer or an ATV.

It took a while to locate and then load all the necessary supplies — partly because we both kept finding things we thought would be useful and figured we might as well add them to the haul. But after the back of the SUV was packed to the rafters, and the trailer similarly loaded down, we drove off, moving slowly through the streets, since I had to keep zigging and zagging to avoid abandoned cars and trucks. We'd left Dutchie at home, much to her dismay, since we'd known we would need all the available cargo space in the Cherokee.

"It's kind of strange, don't you think?" I asked Jace after we'd cut back up on Cerrillo and were heading to Alameda.

"What's strange?" he replied, his attention still on the list he held. Maybe he was worried that we'd forgotten something.

"That we haven't seen _anybody_. I mean, even with a 99.8% mortality rate, there should still be a couple hundred people wandering around Santa Fe, right? Where are they?"

He did look up at that question, his gaze drifting to the empty sidewalks and dark windows of the businesses on either side of the street. "Lying low?"

"Maybe," I said, but I wasn't sure I believed it. By that point, it had been almost a month since the Heat first began to spread across the country. Anyone who was going to die was long dead. You'd think the survivors would be out foraging in earnest, getting ready for winter. "It's just weird that we haven't seen a single person."

"Do you want to find more people?" His tone was almost sharp as he asked that question, as if he thought I wasn't satisfied with his company, that I needed something more.

"I don't know," I replied. It was only the truth. Part of me wanted to know what had happened to everyone, but after my experiences in Albuquerque, I wasn't sure being around other people was such a good thing. Yes, Jace had turned out to be all right — more than all right, really — but could I count on being that lucky a second time?

"They could be hiding," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Or gone to Albuquerque, thinking that maybe if any center of government still existed, it would be there, in a place where there would be more survivors. There are probably a lot of reasons why we're not seeing anybody."

That explanation sounded logical enough. If it hadn't been for the voice urging me to get out, would I have left my hometown, or would I have stayed there in the hope that people might gather in what had been the state's most populous area?

I wouldn't second-guess myself, not now. I really didn't know. Then again, my run-ins with Chris Bowman and the man outside Walgreens might have been enough to convince me that it was time to get out of Dodge.

"You're right, of course," I said, and he smiled.

"It's okay, Jess. _We're_ okay. That's all we have to worry about right now."

Oh, how I wanted to believe him. I just wasn't sure if I did.

The henhouse did go together with surprising speed, and within three days' time, we had a full-on chicken coop with space for six hens to nest, a perch that Jace built from a closet rod, and an enclosed run. He also hung a light overhead so the hens would be encouraged to lay even on gray winter days. It was all perfect, except...no chickens.

So we got in the Cherokee again, this time taking Dutchie with us, and started scouring the rural and semi-rural areas outside Santa Fe for any rogue chickens who needed a home. It actually didn't take as long as I'd thought; about an hour into our search, we found a house with a flock of chickens scratching away happily in the backyard, apparently unaware that the apocalypse had happened and they'd been left on their own. We gathered up six hens and the rooster, who was less than pleased at being plucked out of his yard and put in the back of an SUV. Jace was a little scratched up by the time the procedure was over, but in the end we had everything we needed. All I could say was that I was very glad I'd had the forethought to lay down some plastic trash bags in the bed of the SUV before dumping the chickens back there. If he'd had a proper grave, my father would have been rolling over in it.

It took a few days for the chickens to settle down and start laying, but after that we were able to have eggs pretty much every morning.

"Next, the goats," Jace said at dinner not too long after that.

"Are you still on that kick?" I asked. All right, I had to say that the whole chicken thing was working out pretty well. But the thought of having goats roaming around the property intimidated me more than I wanted to admit. When I was a little kid, maybe five or six, my parents had taken me to a petting zoo. All had gone well until one of the goats decided to eat part of my sweater. I'd screamed bloody murder, and my father had grimly lifted me out of the pen and carried me away. Needless to say, goats weren't exactly my favorite animals.

"Yes, I'm still on that kick. We ate the last of the cheese two days ago." His dark eyes caught mine, and he grinned at me, a wicked grin I'd come to know over the past few weeks...and one that invariably made my knees go a little wobbly. So far I didn't think Jace had noticed what kind of an effect it had on me, but still, I couldn't help getting annoyed with myself for not having better self-control. He clasped his hands together and said in mock-earnest tones, "Jessica, do you want to consign me to a cheese-less future?"

"Oh, for God's sake...." I couldn't help smiling back at him, though, and I spread my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, I give up. So, say we find some goats. How do you plan on getting them back here?"

"Easy," he replied. His grin now had an element of triumph in it. "We'll just find a horse trailer and put them in there."

Easy. Right.

As with the henhouse supplies, we went foraging for the trailer first. There were a number of horse properties in the area, so that wasn't too difficult. The odd thing was, just as I hadn't seen any people on any of our expeditions, so, too, were there no horses in evidence anywhere. They could have bolted, kicked down the fences and gates when it became clear no one was coming to feed them or give them fresh water.

I didn't see any signs of that, though, and the voice's words came back to me: The animals will be taken care of. So apparently I didn't need to worry about the horses. I couldn't help wondering, though.

Just as I couldn't help wondering what had happened to the voice. By that point, I hadn't heard him for more than a week. Now that it seemed I was truly settled with Jace, maybe the voice had moved on, deeming me no longer in need of any assistance.

I wasn't sure why, but that thought saddened me a little. I hardly wanted to admit it even to myself, but I missed the voice. If nothing else, he would have given me someone else to talk to...if he'd stuck around. A few times when Jace was out of the house and occupied with some task or another, I'd tried calling out to the voice. It never replied, though, and at last I'd given up, telling myself that if the voice didn't need me, well, I didn't need it, either. Intellectually, I knew I should let it go. But its absence bothered and worried me, despite my best attempts to think about other matters.

Jace and I hit the goat jackpot on our second stop. Not only did we find a nice, largish horse trailer, but the property actually had goats roaming around, keeping the lawn cropped, doing their usual job of eating anything that wasn't nailed down.

So we hooked up the trailer to the Cherokee, then had a little convo in which we decided having four goats to start should work — three does and a buck. If it turned out the does didn't produce enough milk or whatever, we could always come back and collect more of the herd. There seemed to be fifteen or so of them, although it was hard to get an exact count, what with the way they kept milling around.

Choosing was difficult, because I had no idea what to look for in a goat. Thank God Jace wasn't quite as clueless, and he managed to get two of the does with the most developed milk bags up into the trailer without too much trouble. All right, that looked easy enough, so I started to do my best to urge another doe, a pretty animal with a sleek black coat and fawn-colored tipping, in the general direction of the trailer. She just bleated at me and trotted off, so I followed her grimly, wishing Jace would stop messing around with the two he'd already gotten in the trailer so he could help me.

Then, out of nowhere — wham! Something hard hit me square in the butt, and I went flying onto the ground. I blinked, wondering what the hell had happened, and then realized it was the buck, who was standing a few paces away and glaring at me out of his dark amber eyes. It seemed he'd taken exception to my maneuvering that one doe, and had butted me right in the ass.

From the trailer, I heard laughter, and I scowled. Jace came out, grinning at me where I sat on the ground in a pile of dirt and dead weeds.

"Very funny," I snapped. "You come over here and deal with this bastard."

"Sorry, but the way he got you right in the — "

"Point taken." I began to push myself to my feet, only to be stared down by a very angry-looking buck. Fine. I'd wait here until Jace took care of him.

Which he did, somehow managing to circle the beast and then urge him up the ramp into the trailer. How, I wasn't quite sure. Hypnotism? Some magical Native American goat-charming trick?

Whatever it was, it worked. The buck headed right into the trailer as if it were full of a harem of does in heat, and the last doe, the one I'd been trying to manhandle, trotted after him, tail swishing.

Frigging goats.

Jace came over to me and extended a hand. "Need help?"

I scowled at him but took his hand anyway, letting him pull me to my feet. In fact, he yanked me up with such vigor that I lost my balance and pitched right into him, colliding chest to chest. He took me by the arms and steadied me, holding me for a second or two longer than he really needed to.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Uh — " Was I all right? My rear end ached, and I knew my jeans were covered in dirt, but in that moment all I was really conscious of were his hands on my arms, the strength of the fingers wrapped around my biceps. Our faces were only inches apart. Blood tingled all through me, and I knew all I had to do was go up on my toes, bring my mouth to his....

No, that was insane. This was the first time he'd even touched me since he held me when I wept, on the day he had first come to the compound. Other than a few sideways looks and glances I'd probably misinterpreted, he had done absolutely nothing to show he had any interest in me other than as a companion and friend.

Somehow I gathered myself, saying, "I'm fine," and then gently pulled my arms from his grasp. He didn't try to stop me, didn't tighten his grip or attempt to bring me closer.

Well, there was my answer.

I dug the car key out of my pocket and headed to the driver-side door of the Cherokee, while Jace went around the other side. So far I hadn't let him drive the SUV, and he hadn't pushed the matter, somehow sensing that having control over the vehicle was important to me. Besides, he'd taken to driving the Polaris all over the area around the compound, had used it to bring back a buck he'd shot one Saturday afternoon. The freezers were full of venison. Yes, Jace was very handy to have around.

Even so, I didn't say anything to him on the trip back home.

The awkwardness eased itself soon enough, as it had to. We were so busy with getting the goats set up and then foraging for feed, reading up on their care and what we needed to do to ensure the does were properly producing milk, that the moment we shared back in their corral was soon pushed aside, if not forgotten.

Of course, the awkward part was realizing that we needed to breed the goats now so they would have babies in the spring, and therefore more milk. Oh, yeah, discussing breeding options for farm animals with a guy you have a serious amount of unresolved sexual tension with is a whole new species of fun.

To be fair, Jace was very mellow about the whole thing, and didn't make any rude jokes or indulge in any cringe-worthy innuendo. He spelled out the whole thing logically and factually, and then let the goats do the rest. It really wasn't that difficult; a buck is going to do what a buck is going to do, after all. I was just glad that I managed to avoid seeing them actually do the deed.

One thing we didn't have to worry about was the goats escaping the compound. They might come through and eat the ornamental plants in the garden area directly off the back of the house, but there was no way even the most ambitious goat could jump a seven-foot-high solid adobe wall.

Jace did have to teach me to milk the damn things, which at first scared me to no end, since I was sure I was going to end up with a hoof in my face the second I put one of my unpracticed hands on the animal's teat.

"You can just do it, you know," I told him, hovering nervously in the background as he sat down to give me a demonstration.

"Oh, no," he replied. "Equal division of labor on this farm."

I made a face but didn't argue. It was true; I might have done most of the cooking, but he did the hunting, and even cleaned out the chicken coop when my one foray into doing so proved I didn't have the world's strongest stomach. In return, I happily did his laundry. At least that way I was able to learn that he favored dark-toned boxer-briefs over tighty-whiteys.

"It's not that hard," he went on, his voice almost too coaxing. "Just watch."

He placed his thumb and forefinger near the top of the doe's teat, squeezing it, and then exerted pressure with his remaining fingers on the lower part of the teat. A thin stream of white liquid emerged and went into the glass jar he'd set beneath it. "See?"

"Oh, yeah. Easy peasy."

"Actually, it isn't. You have to exert a good deal of force. But that's okay. She wants to be milked." He did it again, and I watched his long fingers squeezing against her flesh. For a second, I had a brief flash of those fingers cupping my breast, squeezing, and I had to force the thought out of my mind. No way was I going to let myself get turned on by watching Jace milk a goat. He glanced up at me. "You want to give it a try?"

I really didn't. To stall for time, I responded with a question of my own. "Is there anything you can't do?"

He appeared to consider, then said, "I don't know how to play the violin. Now come over here and start learning how to milk this goat."

Heaving a sigh didn't really seem appropriate, given the situation, so I waited while he got out of the way and then sat down on the old packing crate we were using as a milking stool. I did take a breath, though, before placing my fingers more or less in the same position Jace had put his.

"Good," he said, watching my hands, not my face. "Now squeeze with those two fingers while using the rest to push the milk out of the teat."

Oh, boy. I squeezed, tentatively at first, and the goat, who we'd named Aster because of the little star-shaped mark on her haunch, shot me a look of pure irritation over her shoulder. But at least she hadn't kicked me.

"Harder than that," Jace instructed me, but his voice sounded more coaxing than annoyed.

I definitely didn't want him annoyed with me. This time I squeezed harder, exerting so much pressure that I was certain Aster was going to step on my foot in protest. Instead, milk squirted into the bottle, and she seemed to relax slightly, letting me do what I needed to do.

After letting out a little exhalation of relief, I went back to milking her. More and more milk kept squirting out, but within five minutes, the fingers of my right hand were aching like you wouldn't believe. I tried switching to the other hand, but couldn't get the angle right. After another minute, I sat back, shaking my head. "I can't do any more."

"It's okay," Jace said. His hand dropped to my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "It's going to take some time to develop those muscles. I can finish up."

That was probably my signal to relinquish the packing crate to him so he could sit down, but I found I didn't want to move. Not with his warm hand on my shoulder, the pressure of it somehow delicious, even through the flannel shirt and heavy canvas anorak I wore.

He seemed to realize that as well, because he moved his arm, breaking the contact. At the same time, attempting to cover up the awkwardness of the moment, I got to my feet.

"Thanks, Jace. I'll just get back to the house, then."

Grinning, he asked, "How's the butter project coming?"

"Good. I'm just about to break out the mixer and have at it."

Making butter had turned out to be a bigger task than I'd expected, but after some trial and error, I'd gotten enough buttermilk ready to go so I could move on to the next step. At least we had power in the house, and the kitchen had come equipped with a fancy stand mixer. Much better than having to stand around with a butter churn the way they did it in the bad old days.

We'd made the decision to use a good deal of the milk for making butter and cheese, since neither Jace nor I was what you would call a big milk drinker. Both of those projects weren't exactly what you'd call user-friendly, but it was sort of amazing how much extra time you had on your hands when you weren't spending half the day chatting with your friends on Facebook or whatever.

I still hadn't decided whether that was a good thing or not.

A week after that, I stood at the window in the living room, looking out over the drive, past the wall to the landscape beyond. Heavy clouds blocked the sky, and I wondered how much we would get out of the solar panels today. We had a backup generator, but we hadn't needed it yet. I was glad of that — the procedure to switch over from the solar collector to the electric generator didn't sound all that simple. But the oven ran on propane, so I'd still be able to use that, even if we decided to dial back on our power consumption for the day. All the heat came from the various fireplaces and the wood-fired stove in the sitting room, so the interior temperature of the house wouldn't be affected, one way or another.

Anyway, it wasn't the possible loss of power that had me staring out at the brooding vista. What with one thing or another, I hadn't been paying that much attention to what day it was, although I'd dutifully marked off each one on the calendar in the office, just so I wouldn't completely lose track of time. But today, when I'd picked up the Sharpie to draw that thick black line, I'd paused and frowned at the date I was crossing out.

October 31st.

"Something wrong?" Jace asked, coming into the living room. He looked a bit surprised, and I supposed I couldn't blame him. We didn't spend much time in there, beautiful as the room was. Usually we were either in the kitchen or the family room, or, more rarely, the office.

"No," I said, then paused. "It's Halloween."

"And?" His expression told me he wasn't particularly impressed by that piece of information. "Did you want to go trick-or-treating or something?"

"Ha," I replied. My trick-or-treating days were long behind me, although Elena and Tori and I had still gone out on Halloween, mostly as an excuse to get dressed up and go to bars. I'm not going to lie — the year before, we all did variations on the "sexy" something, me as a witch, since it suited my long near-black hair, Tori as an angel, and Elena...well, I still wasn't entirely clear what her costume was supposed to be, except that it was black and red and sparkly, and showed way more leg than I would ever have dared. Needless to say, we didn't have to buy any of our own drinks that night.

"It's not the trick-or-treating," I said slowly. "It's more...I don't know. Like the date is telling me it's been more than a month since...well, since."

The light of humor in his dark eyes abruptly disappeared. "You're right. I guess I hadn't really thought about it, what with everything we've been doing." He closed the distance between us, coming to stand next to me in front of the window. So close, and yet...and yet, he might have been a million miles away. I knew I didn't have the courage to reach out and take his hand in mine, to feel the reassurance of his touch. Then he shifted so he was halfway facing toward me, his gaze fixed on my profile. "I have an idea."

"You do?" I didn't dare move, didn't want him to see any of the yearning currently pulsing within me. I wished it could be different, but I just wasn't brave enough.

"Tomorrow's the Day of the Dead. Dios de los Muertos."

"And?"

He smiled, but it was a grave, quiet smile. "I think there are a lot of dead who need to be honored."

# Chapter 13

We'd been meaning to go back into town anyway, but had been putting it off for one reason or another. Well, today we had a mission.

I drove, of course, since I still felt hinky about letting Jace get behind the wheel of my father's Cherokee. This time we went to a place we'd avoided, the Albertson's grocery store near the center of town. So far, we'd either had everything we needed on hand, or we hunted or foraged for it. Although there were items we could have used from the store, neither of us thought it a very good idea to go in there, not with all that food spoiling inside.

Neither did we know for sure what it would be like now, after having the power cut off for more than a month, but it was the best place we could think of to get some of those saints' candles for our Day of the Dead observance. Maybe Santa Fe had a Hispanic grocery store somewhere, but I remembered the Albertson's because that's where the girls and I stocked up on booze when we came to stay at Elena's parents' timeshare.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Albertson's, then reached down and pulled the bandanna I had wrapped around my neck up and over my mouth. Jace did the same. We looked like we were there to hold up the place, but it seemed the best solution, since we didn't have access to any surgical masks.

"Ready?" he asked.

Probably not, but it was too late to back out now. Besides the candles, there were a number of nonperishable goods we wanted to grab — paper towels, toilet paper, rice, flour, sugar, spices. Of course Jace didn't know the store at all, but I had a hazy idea of where some things were located, based on my previous visits here. I'd just have to hope it would be enough to get us in and out as quickly as possible.

"Ready," I said, my voice muffled by the bandanna tied over my mouth.

We got out of the Cherokee and headed toward the entrance to the store. Shopping carts had been abandoned in haphazard order in front of the building, and we each grabbed one. We also both held big crank-operated flashlights, part of the emergency supplies at the compound, since my experience inside the Walgreens in Albuquerque had taught me that those little pen-sized ones really didn't cut it when you were trying to carry out a salvage operation.

The glass in the door had been broken out and lay scattered all over the place, so it was a good thing that Jace and I both wore heavy hiking boots. Shards of glass crunched underfoot as we pushed our way inside, flashlights bobbing this way and that.

It was fairly cold that day; the outside temperature reading in the Cherokee had put it at around forty-six degrees. Maybe that was a good thing, as it kept the smell from being too overwhelming, even with my nose covered. Oh, it was definitely there, something sickly sweet and yet acrid at the same time, but not so overpowering that I couldn't ignore the odor. It did seem to catch at the back of my throat, and I found myself breathing shallowly, pushing the cart grimly ahead while Jace cut off to the right to canvass that side of the store.

Some people might have said that was foolish, to separate like that, but since neither of us had seen another living soul in weeks, we decided it was a risk we were willing to take. This way we could be in and out more quickly.

As I moved along, panning my flashlight over the shelves, I could again see evidence of looting, of items that had been taken. Breakfast cereals seemed to be popular, for some reason. The vitamin aisle had also been almost cleaned out, although I found some bottles of multis that had been left behind. The same with the paper goods — a lot had been taken, but not all. I grabbed what I could, stacking big packages of toilet paper and paper towels in my shopping cart.

Then I came around the corner and found the real reason why we'd come there: the Hispanic food section. I was sort of surprised to see that all the saint candles seemed undisturbed. Maybe people had been more interested in seeing to their physical needs than their spiritual ones, or possibly it was just that they hadn't thought to use the candles for lighting after the power failed. Whatever. It didn't matter now. What mattered was that I was able to scoop up a dozen of the things, packing them in and around the toilet paper and the boxes of Kleenex and all the other items I'd picked up.

"Got 'em!" I called out.

Jace's voice came back to me from the other side of the store. "Great! Go on out to the Jeep — I'm almost done."

I wasn't sad to hear that at all. This grocery store wasn't quite as creepy as the Walgreens had been, since the flashlight I held was far more effective than the one I'd had then. Besides, I knew Jace would come running the second I gave the alarm, should anything strange happen. All the same, I was glad to get out of there, out of the lingering stench and the mournful realization that nobody would be coming by to restock those shelves or pick up the items that had been knocked to the floor.

As I was beginning to load my haul into the cargo area of the Cherokee, Jace came out as well, his cart full to the brim with those big economy-size bags of rice, boxes of salt, pepper grinders, container after container of spices — you name it, he seemed to have nabbed it from the bakery aisle, including some much-needed tins of olive oil. We had some, but not nearly enough. This would definitely help to extend our supplies for a good many more months.

"Looks like you plan to keep me chained to the stove for a good while longer," I joked.

He slanted me one of those dark-lashed looks I loved so much. "Oh, I might give you time off for good behavior."

"That a fact?"

"Absolutely."

A hint of a smile had been playing around the corners of his mouth, but as I watched, it faded. When I followed his gaze, I thought I understood why. I'd excavated my cart to the point where all that was left were the saints candles. He reached in and picked one up, turning it over in his hands. From her blue robe, I guessed the saint depicted on it was the Virgin Mary, but I didn't know for sure. My family wasn't Catholic.

Elena would have known, but she was long gone.

"I suppose we're done here," Jace said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," I told him. "Let's go."

Although we hadn't discussed our plan in any detail, somehow we were both drawn to the monument at the center of the plaza. It seemed that here, in the heart of the city, was the best place to pay our respects.

Dead leaves had scattered over the walkways, but otherwise the place looked as if it hadn't been touched since the last time I was here, when the voice had summoned the wind to sweep up the mess the looters had left behind. True, many of the stores had their windows broken in, but unlike at the Albertson's, there was no glass scattered on the ground.

I had to wonder how much of that detail Jace took in as we walked from the Jeep to the center of the plaza. Some, it seemed, if the tight lines of his mouth and the puzzled furrow in his brow were any indication. But he didn't ask any questions, only continued to the monument and the low wall that surrounded it.

The day had remained dark, the clouds threatening, although it hadn't rained. It smelled like it might, though, heavy and damp. If it did, then these candles wouldn't last very long. But at least we would have made the effort.

Still not speaking, we each took our burden of candles and placed them at regular intervals along the low wall surrounding the monument. Jace produced a box of strike-anywhere matches from the inner pocket of his jacket, then took one out and used the rough concrete of the wall to get it started. It flared up, and he cupped it in his hand, moving from candle to candle and lighting them one by one. They flickered in the chilly wind but didn't go out.

We'd waited to go out on this expedition until late afternoon, and now it was almost dusk. It was the first time I'd ventured out into the city at anywhere close to dark, and I realized how very black it would soon become, especially with the cloud cover blocking out any possible moonlight or starlight. But we had our flashlights, and, for the moment at least, the candles themselves were giving off far more illumination than I had expected they would.

Jace glanced over at me, and I nodded. This had been his idea, after all, and so I thought he should be the one to make the speeches.

For a long moment, he didn't speak, but only stood there in front of the candle with the Virgin Mary on it, the blue of her robe seeming to glow from within. Then he said, "We honor all those who walk in the paths of their ancestors. Those of us who are left here behind have so many questions, questions we know will never be answered. But our thoughts are with you, and we hope you have all found peace in the next world."

The next words he uttered, I couldn't understand, and I realized he must be speaking the language of the Pueblo. The sound of it was slow and sad, but strong and rich as well, and I found something inside me unclenching for the first time since I'd left Albuquerque. True, I had written something of the time before, in the little sketches I'd jotted down during my first days at the compound. After that, though, I had walled away my grief, thinking that the only way to survive and go on was not to think of everyone who was gone, of everyone I had lost. Now, hearing Jace speak, I knew that had been the wrong approach. I needed to celebrate who they were and what they had done, not pretend they had never existed. That was doing them no service, giving them no honor.

Jace fell silent, and I could see the way he looked over at me, clearly expecting me to say something. How I was supposed to follow that, I had no idea. But no, that was foolish. This wasn't a competition.

"I miss you all," I said simply, then turned and began to walk away from the monument. I didn't bother to turn on my flashlight, even though the sun had gone down by then. The illumination from the candles was enough to light my path.

From behind me, I heard the sound of Jace's footsteps, hurrying a little so he could catch up with me. And then I felt his hand slip into mine, his fingers warm and strong, even though it was cold enough that we really should have been wearing gloves. My own fingers felt as if they'd been dipped in ice water.

Neither of us said anything. It was enough then to walk hand in hand back to the Jeep, to take comfort in the feel of human flesh pressed against mine, reassuring in the dark and the cold. When it was time to pull the car key out of my pocket, I hesitated for a fraction of a second. I didn't want to let go of him, to relinquish my grip on his fingers.

He seemed to detect my reluctance, because he stood there next to me for a moment, his grip tensing. But then he let go and said, "Let's get home."

I couldn't argue with that. The night wind was drilling through the anorak I wore as if it were made of gauze rather than sturdy canvas, and right then the thought of being surrounded in the warmth of our house seemed even more attractive than usual.

So I nodded and unlocked the Cherokee, and we both climbed in. After I'd pulled away from where we were parked and was negotiating the narrow, car-choked streets — a task far more difficult after dark than it was during the day — I felt Jace's hand cover mine where it rested on the gearshift.

"You okay?" he asked.

I couldn't take my eyes off the road, but I nodded. "I think so. That was — " The exact word seemed to elude me. Moving? Sad? Satisfying? All those, and more. "It helped," I finally said, hoping he would understand what I meant.

It appeared he did, because his fingers tightened around mine. All he said, though, was, "Good." And then he let go, seeming to realize that I needed to focus on driving. Although I'd gone back and forth along this route several times, it had always been during the day, and of course there were no streetlights to guide me along my way.

I flicked on the high-beams and slowed down. Good thing, too, because when I finally got to it, I almost missed the turn-off to Upper Canyon Road. Muttering a curse, I angled the Cherokee onto the street at almost the last minute. In the passenger seat, Jace shifted, but he remained silent, as if he knew any comments on my driving were the last thing I needed right then.

We bumped along, and then there was gravel under our wheels as we left the paved road and began to head up the winding dirt track that led to the compound. I slowed so I could shift into four-wheel drive, and when I looked up, I let out a little screech. Three pairs of eyes seemed to glow red as they stared straight into the Jeep's headlights.

"Coyotes," Jace murmured. "It's okay — just drive forward slowly. They'll get out of the way."

Which they did, as I began to inch toward them. Somehow, though, their movements seemed almost leisurely, as if they weren't too worried about me running them over. Almost at the last minute they got out of the way, but they only moved to the side of the road, where they stood and stared as we passed them by.

Something about their posture, about the way they were watching the Jeep, made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It wasn't the cold; I'd turned on the heater as soon as we got inside the SUV. No, their unblinking surveillance just felt...wrong. Unnatural. I'll admit I wasn't the world's foremost authority on coyotes, but in general, wild animals tended to scatter when confronted by something as large and intimidating as a Jeep Grand Cherokee.

I shot a sideways glance at Jace. He wasn't looking at me, though, and instead was staring out the passenger window. I didn't know how much he could even see, since the high-beams were illuminating the road ahead of us, not either side.

"That was weird," I said, once we were past the coyotes and they'd melted away into the darkness.

"A little," he agreed. Then I saw his shoulders lift. "Maybe they're getting bold now that they don't have to worry about getting run over every time they come out of hiding."

That sounded plausible. But still a note of wrongness seemed to echo inside me, and I couldn't help thinking there had to be more to it than that. Then again, the world had ended in a way no one could have ever predicted. Things had been wrong for weeks now.

Well, mainly. I risked a sideways glance at Jace and saw that he was looking out the window again, his fine profile faintly illuminated by the glow from the dashboard lights.

Looking at him, I knew there was one thing right in my life.

Although I cast worried glances from side to side as we approached the compound and I pushed the remote to open the gate, I saw nothing in the darkness, no gleaming red or yellow eyes of various wildlife just waiting to pounce. We came onto the property without incident, although I activated the controls for the gate as soon as our rear bumper had cleared it. The motion-activated lights above the garage door turned on as we approached.

Off in the distance, I did see a shimmer of eyes glowing in the darkness, and I jumped.

"It's okay," Jace said softly. "It's just the goats."

I didn't quite relax, but I did let out my breath. "Oh, right."

Was that a chuckle? When I glanced over at him, his expression was sober enough, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Fine, if he wanted to laugh at me for jumping at shadows — or glowing eyeballs, in this case — I'd let him. I didn't see anything wrong with staying on my guard.

But the unpacking of the Cherokee passed without incident, although it took longer than I'd expected to unload all that stuff and get it safely stowed. Dutchie kept wandering between us, trying to track all the new and interesting smells we were bringing in the house, until at last I bribed her with a chewy treat so she'd get out from underfoot.

By then it was moving on toward seven o'clock, and far past time for dinner. When I had all afternoon to figure out what to make and plenty of time to prepare it, I really didn't mind cooking. Right now, though, I thought I might have sold my soul for pizza delivery. Or Chinese takeout.

Jace must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm for the task at hand, because he said, "It's not that bad. Look what I brought back." And I saw that he held a package of fettuccini in one hand and a jar of vodka cream sauce in the other. "Add some of that rabbit sausage you made a few days ago, and we're set."

I could have kissed him. Actually, I realized I would have loved to have an excuse to go over and kiss him, but I wasn't sure dry pasta and pre-made sauce were a good enough reason. I had to settle for smiling and saying, "That sounds perfect. Can you feed Dutchie while I get this going?"

He nodded, setting the pasta and the jar of sauce down on the countertop. The dog, seeing that he was heading toward the pantry, got up from her rug and went bounding over to him, tail wagging wildly. At least she wasn't the type to turn up her nose at kibble. She still got as excited about it as though we were feeding her T-bone steak or something.

While they were occupied, I filled a big stock pot with water and set it on the stove, then found a smaller pan and dumped the sauce into it, setting it on low heat on the back burner. The sausages were being stored in an airtight container in the fridge, so I got them out and started them cooking, too. Actually, I was sort of surprised that they'd turned out as well as they had. Let's just say that making sausages hadn't exactly been in my cooking repertoire before this, but they really weren't that difficult, once you figured out how it all worked.

They were just starting to sizzle away when Jace came over to the stove and paused to sniff the air. "Those smell good."

"You said the same thing two days ago when we had them for the first time."

One eyebrow went up. "So? Two days shouldn't make them taste any less good."

Maybe not. I wasn't going to argue the point, especially with him standing that close to me, barely a foot away. He'd taken off his jacket, and I could see the way the knit henley shirt he wore molded to the muscles in his arms and chest, the smooth golden-brown skin where he'd left one button undone.

Shit. I shouldn't be staring. Was I staring?

I had a feeling I was staring.

Blood rose to my cheeks, and I turned back to the skillet, making something of a show of turning the sausages over. I also took a pot holder and lifted the lid on the pot of pasta water to check on it, but it wasn't boiling yet.

As I was setting the pot holder down on the counter, I felt a hand settle on my waist, turn me around. Jace was even closer now, dark eyes fixed on my face. The touch of his fingers through the long-sleeved T-shirt I wore seemed to burn like fire.

I swallowed, thinking I needed to say something. But words had fled, leaving me alone with him, with the need I now saw in those dark eyes. I recognized it at once, because I'd felt the same thing myself.

And then...oh, God...he was bending toward me, his mouth suddenly on mine, his lips strong, urgent. I tasted him, felt him taste me, and then I was pressed against him, feeling the shocking solidity of his body, the power of the muscles in the arms that were now going around me, bringing me even closer, as if he needed every inch of me to be touching every inch of him.

_Why now?_ some part of me asked, but the rest of my mind and body and soul, all those parts that had been aching for him for days...for weeks...they didn't care so much. It was enough that here, in this moment, Jace was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, letting him know I'd wanted this, too, more than he could ever know. Every nerve and cell in my body seemed to be responding, pulsing with heat. Had it ever felt like this before? I didn't know, because Jace kissing me seemed to have wiped away my memories of every other kiss I'd ever experienced.

A hissing sound interrupted us, though, and Jace let go of me abruptly. "The water's boiling," he said.

_That's not the only thing boiling,_ I thought, but I didn't answer, only lunged for the pot holder so I could lift the lid on the stock pot and then turn down the heat to a more reasonable level. Those mundane tasks helped me gather myself a bit, although I could still feel the blood thrumming and throbbing in my veins. That wasn't the only thing throbbing, either. I wouldn't say I was the kind of person who got turned on easily — as my asshole ex-boyfriend had complained on more than one occasion — but right then I was so aroused that Jace probably could have laid me out flat on the kitchen counter and taken me there with absolutely no complaints.

He'd backed away slightly, though, seemed content to watch as I dumped some fettuccini into the boiling water and then turned the sausages over once again. It was only after I gave the vodka sauce a quick stir that he said, "You didn't...mind that, did you?"

"Mind it?" I asked. We now stood facing one another, my back to the stove. He looked calm enough, but I thought I could detect a certain hard, bright glint in his eyes that I'd never seen before. Arousal? I couldn't tell.

I realized I didn't know him well enough to guess. Yes, we'd been living under the same roof for almost three weeks now, but we'd always been careful around one another, making sure we didn't cross any lines, didn't blunder through any barriers.

Well, those barriers were pretty well knocked down now.

"I didn't — I didn't want you to think I was forcing you or anything."

Now he appeared almost worried, the gleam gone from his eyes, leaving them sober and dark, so dark I couldn't really tell where the pupils ended and the irises began.

Forcing me? That was a joke. I'd wanted that kiss, but had worried that my growing feelings for him weren't reciprocated.

"I mean, after what happened to you in Albuquerque — "

Time to disabuse him of that notion. I set the spoon down on the little stone rest we used to keep our cooking utensils off the counter, then went over and took his hands in mine, right before I went on my tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. A fast kiss, not like the breath-stealing, knee-knocking one we'd shared a few moments earlier, but still enough that he should understand that I liked kissing him very much indeed.

"This isn't Albuquerque," I told him. "And you're nothing like...either of them." To be fair, I didn't even know for sure that the man who'd wanted to steal the Cherokee had the same designs on me that Chris Bowman did, but I'd gotten the impression his intentions weren't exactly benign. "And I've wanted...this...for a long time. I just wasn't sure it was what _you_ wanted."

The tense set of his shoulders seemed to relax slightly, and he even grinned. "Oh, I wanted it, too. But I didn't want to push you. I could tell you'd been through a lot."

"We both have," I said simply. No need to go into it any more than that. He'd lost everything, and I'd lost everything. Through some miracle, though, we'd both come to this place, come to the one spot in the world where we'd be safe to grow into knowing one another, caring for one another.

And again I couldn't help wondering if this was somehow the doing of my guardian angel, the voice. Had he given Jace the same prompting he'd given me?

Eyes flickering as he seemed to study my face, Jace asked, "What is it?"

Did I dare mention the voice? We'd just opened up so much to each other; the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was crazy, or at least slightly unbalanced by everything I'd experienced since the Heat stole everything I loved. But I didn't want to keep it a secret from him, either.

"Did you...." I began, then stopped. He was still holding my hands, fingers strong and somehow comforting. I never wanted him to let go, although I knew he'd have to at some point, just to let me get back to making dinner. But that could wait another minute or two. His gaze was still resting on my face, expectant, wondering what I was trying to ask. And there was simply no good way to ask.

"Did you ever hear anything?" I blurted. "Afterward, I mean. Like a voice guiding you, telling you where you should go. Telling you should come here."

A long, long pause. At least he hadn't let go of my hands, but I could see him weighing the question in his mind, trying to see if I was serious. "No, nothing like that," he said at last. "Like I said, I came to Santa Fe because no one seemed to be left in Taos, and I had a friend here. The world's longest shot, I know." He hesitated, then asked, his tone soft, "Did you hear something like that?"

I wanted to deny it. But that would also seem like a denial of all the assistance the voice...guardian angel...whatever...had given me. "Yes," I said. "It's how I found this house. I would never have gotten out of Albuquerque alive if not for the voice."

"'The voice,'" he repeated. Nothing in the calm, even set of his features told me what he was thinking, and so I could only stand there in agony, wondering when he was going to let go and back away from me. Away from the crazy woman.

Somehow I managed to stand there, waiting.

"You've been blessed, I think," Jace said at last. "Some guiding spirit looked down on you and knew you were worthy, that you needed to survive."

Relief washed over me. So he didn't think I was crazy. Then again, although I'd never much believed in such things, I guessed that his people thought differently. The dividing line between our world and the world of the spirits was definitely thinner for them.

"You really think that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Up until that moment, I hadn't realized how important it was that he believed me.

"Oh, yes," he replied, pulling me closer to him, his lips finding mine. "So let's make sure our survival matters."

# Chapter 14

Dinner was...well, dinner was wonderful. It might have only been left-over sausage and sauce out of a jar, leavened a little by some zucchini from the greenhouse that I steamed to go along with the pasta, but I might as well have been eating at a five-star restaurant for as exhilarated as I felt. Jace had kissed me. Jace wanted me, had only been holding back because he didn't want to pressure me or frighten me off.

Some people might have said it was inevitable, that if you put two healthy, attractive people of the same sexual orientation in the same place, sharing the same home, eventually they'd end up together. Propinquity, or whatever they called it.

I didn't believe that for a second, though. There were plenty of guys I'd known over the years who, if they'd shown up on my doorstep the way Jace had, I could've lived in platonic harmony with and never had the slightest inclination for anything more than a quick hug on a birthday or something.

Jace, on the other hand...well, I'd been thinking how hot he was from the first moment I laid eyes on him, even as I was confronting him at the gate to the compound, shotgun in hand. That sudden, unexpected flare of admiration had shifted into attraction as the days had gone on, and now was...what?

Far more than simple attraction, even if I was too scared to put a label on it right then.

He'd opened a bottle of wine, some more of the Black Mesa Montepulciano, which, as it turned out, was also a New Mexico wine. I'd been so rattled when I arrived at the compound that I hadn't even read the label that closely. It did go well with the simple meal I'd prepared. More than that, it gave the evening a sense of celebration, that this was just the beginning of something far more.

Was I ready for that? Yes, I'd been dutifully taking my pill every night, knew I'd be protected in that way, if nothing else. Maybe I should've been worrying whether Jace had packed some condoms as part of his "surviving the apocalypse" kit, but for some reason, I didn't think that was necessary. He certainly didn't give off the man-whore vibe. It should be fine.

"Dollar for your thoughts," Jace said, and I startled, knowing I could never tell him I'd been pondering contraceptive options. By then we were winding down, only a few bites left on our plates.

"A whole dollar?" I teased, glad that we were eating by candlelight. With any luck, he wouldn't have noticed the way the hot blood rose to my cheeks.

"Well, a penny's probably worth more than a dollar now, since at least you could melt a penny down and get the copper out of it." He set down his fork and leaned forward slightly, a smile touching those full lips, the ones that had felt so delicious when pressed against mine. "But your choice."

"I — I wasn't thinking about anything in particular," I said.

An eyebrow went up.

"Seriously." I lifted my glass of wine and took a quick swallow.

The other eyebrow went up.

Oh, boy. I could stall and I could hedge, but it was pretty obvious that Jace would see through any of those machinations. "Okay, fine," I told him, setting my wine glass back down and taking a breath. "If you have to know, I was thinking about whether you'd packed any condoms when you bailed out of Taos."

He let out a breath, both eyebrows still raised. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"Well, you _asked_."

For a second or two, he didn't say anything, only looked at me. I tried not to blink or glance away, but damn, that was hard. My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

At last he said, "No, I didn't. Sorry...I guess I was thinking more about the world ending or something than whether I was going to get laid in the near future."

I winced, and he shook his head as if exasperated with himself.

"Jessica, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant." His hands flattened on the tabletop, as if by exerting pressure against the cool copper surface, he could take back what he'd just said. "That is, if we — if we were together, I think you know it would be a lot more than just getting laid."

My heart seemed to start beating again. "It would?"

"You know it would," he said, his tone quiet, but no less intense for all that.

I smiled at him. "It's fine. I'm on the pill."

After that...well, I'm still not sure who moved first, but almost in a single motion, we were on our feet, pushing our chairs away from the table, Jace reaching out to take me by the hand. He pulled me into him, kissing me, his mouth sweet with wine. I felt as if I could never get enough of tasting him.

But he broke the kiss after a few seconds, leading me down the hallway to my bedroom. He'd never been in here before, of course, although I left it unlocked most of the time, except for the occasions when I was getting dressed. Since Dutchie liked to wander between our rooms at night, I didn't have the heart to shut the door. Because of that, though, I always kept it tidy. I knew I didn't have to worry about Jace tripping over a discarded bra or something when we entered.

It was cold, though, away from the fireplace in the family room, which did a pretty good job of heating the dining room as well, since they were right next to each other. Jace let go of my hand — with some reluctance, it seemed — and asked, "Okay if I get a fire going?"

"You already have," I said, smiling, but I nodded. "We could use one. It's probably going to get below freezing tonight."

He went to the fireplace and began expertly stacking some logs within it. We were burning a lot already, but I wasn't too worried. The house had an enormous log room built on the north side, with wood stacked almost to the rafters on every wall. Jace had taken one look at the stockpile and said we could have fires in every room through July if necessary.

So I allowed myself to enjoy the warmth that began to spread through the room after he got the fire going, and not fret over whether we were going to run out of wood halfway through the winter. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't also enjoy watching the way Jace's jeans hugged his backside as he bent over, coaxing the fire to life.

Afterward, he turned around, then came over to me where I sat on the foot of the bed. "Better?"

"Yes," I replied. "Although it'll probably still be smart to get under those covers quickly."

"I can help with that." His fingers tugged my shirt loose from the waistband of my jeans, then undid my belt buckle. At the same time, I was working at his belt as well before undoing the buttons on his faded Levi's. I hooked my thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, easing them down. I could tell he was already aroused, the bulge in the dark gray boxer-briefs he wore evidence that stopping to get the fire going hadn't put him too much off his stride, so to speak.

He stepped out of the jeans but didn't let that distract him from pulling my T-shirt up and over my head. After dropping it on top of his jeans, he reached down and undid the front clasp of my bra, releasing a long, drawn-out breath as his hands closed over my bare breasts.

I gasped, closing my eyes as he caressed me, fingers sliding over my skin. Then he was tugging at my jeans, getting them out of the way, and I stepped out of them, letting him lead me over to the bed. With one hand, he yanked back the covers, and I collapsed onto the mattress, bringing him with me, bare skin to bare skin, our mouths finding one another in the fire-lit darkness. The sheets were icy cold, but I hardly noticed.

Because oh, God, he was reaching between my legs, stroking me as his mouth closed on my nipple. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in great, heaving gasps. I had done all these things before, but never with Jace. And it had never felt like this with anyone else.

My own hand moved lower, touching him, wrapping around him, feeling the heat and the strength of his arousal. He moaned as I touched him, the sound seeming to reverberate through every inch of my body. Or maybe it was just the approaching wave of the orgasm that I could feel bearing down on me, building up until I couldn't do anything except allow Jace to touch me, to flick his tongue against the bud of my breast, and then it tore through me like a swollen river breaking down a dam, my voice calling his name, my body heaving against his.

Yes, it had been a while, but it was more than that. It was Jace, all of it — the way he'd made me come, the way I felt as if I had been some strange half-alive being before this, hiding in the darkness until he brought me into the light.

Then he was shifting, moving, and I could feel him pushing against me, against my entrance. I'd never wanted anything more than I wanted him inside me, filling me. "Please, Jace," I breathed.

That was all he needed. In that instant, he was there, in me, moving deeper and deeper as I rocked my hips against his, drawing him into me, our bodies locked together, finding the rhythm, the perfect push and pull of man and woman, Jace and me. I clung to him, one hand moving up to clutch his neck, feeling the leather cord that held his hair back. One tug, and it was loose, his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, brushing against my cheek, and that was it, the last push I needed. Crying out, calling his name, gasping, my body convulsing against his, and then I could feel him let loose, heard him groan, his hips driving him into me, my legs wrapped around him, until finally he stilled, went quiet, his mouth by my ear, my name a soft breath in the silent room.

"Jessica...."

We lay there for uncounted moments, flesh to flesh, drinking in each other's warmth. Finally, he shifted, pulling away from me, but only so he could lie on his side, his chest touching my arm, as if he didn't want any real distance to come between us. I understood the feeling all too well. In a moment, I'd have to force myself out of bed and go to the bathroom, get myself cleaned up, but right then I only wanted to be next to him, to breathe him in, to reassure myself that he truly was real, that this actually had happened.

He reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from my face. Such a tender gesture, so different from the wild abandon of a few minutes earlier. Because the room was so dimly lit, I couldn't precisely decipher his expression. But I definitely wasn't expecting what came next.

"I love you, Jessica."

Out of nowhere. Or not nowhere, not really. I could have seen those words in the way he looked at me when he thought I wouldn't notice, in how careful he was to listen to my suggestions...in the very reticence that had kept him from making a move until he was certain it wouldn't be rebuffed.

And because he'd been brave enough to say it first, I didn't hesitate. Not now. I'd been denying this to myself, coming up with reasons why it couldn't be true, but there was no point in denying it any longer.

"I love you, Jace." It was true. I knew it, accepted it, let my heart and mind and soul become open to the idea. I loved Jason Little River. The sound of his voice. The crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he laughed. The long, strong fingers of his hands. The way he asked for my opinion on things and never made me feel foolish for not knowing as much as he did about raising animals or gardening or...well, most things. I'd led a sheltered life, while I got the impression he hadn't. His hands were beautiful, but they had the calluses and scars of someone who hadn't spent his entire life behind a desk. I supposed that was from the time he spent at the pueblo, even though his own start-up business had involved computers.

All these details and contradictions, all the elements that made Jace uniquely Jace...they were what made me realize I loved him. And, by some miracle, he loved me in return.

He pulled me against him, and I burrowed my face into his chest, breathing in the warm, delicious scent of his skin, hearing his heart beat, strong and sure. I couldn't remember a time when I'd been this happy.

Happy. Was I allowed to be happy, when most of the world was gone?

I didn't know. I tried to tell myself that my parents would have wanted me to be happy, that they wouldn't have wanted me to wallow in sorrow for the rest of my days, just because they were gone. But even in the warm afterglow of our lovemaking, of hearing Jace say that he loved me, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt.

He pushed a lock of hair away from my face, trailed his fingers across my cheek and down to my mouth. I pressed my lips very softly against his forefinger, and he smiled. But then his expression sobered, and he gave me a very direct look.

"Don't do this to yourself," he said.

"Do what?" But I was pretty sure what he meant.

"You can't beat yourself up just because you've found some happiness in your life. The Dying wasn't your fault. All you can do is live your life to the best of your ability, make your survival mean something."

_The Dying._ It was the first time I'd heard him use that phrase, but it was apt enough. Because that was what had irrevocably changed the world... all that death.

"I know," I whispered. "It's just sometimes...it comes rushing over me like a wave, you know? I put it aside, and I'm fine, because I'm here with you, and I know we're safe, but...."

His arms went around me, keeping me close to him, close to the security of that strongly beating heart and the soothing warmth of his flesh. "I know." The words came in a murmur, gentle. "You're stronger than you know, Jessica. It's human to feel doubt and worry. But...don't let it get between us. Please?"

There was a note of concern in his voice that I hadn't heard before, and I shifted so I could look up into his eyes. "Oh, no," I told him then. "I'll never let anything come between us."

We slept in each other's arms that night, and awoke to a chilly morning where the roof of the garage was white with frost. The fire had guttered down to coals, and Jace wrapped one of the blankets around himself as he got up to set new logs in the hearth and get a fresh blaze going. Dutchie watched all this with approval; it looked as if she hadn't moved since she curled up in front of the fireplace the night before. I got the distinct impression that she was happy with our new sleeping arrangements, since it meant she wouldn't have to split her time between Jace's and my room anymore.

Even with the fire going, I was loath to get out of bed. But I wasn't a city girl any longer; I needed to get moving, shower, check on the goats, start breakfast. All these things were speeded up by Jace and me sharing the shower in the master bath, which was roomy enough that we fit quite nicely. Okay, we didn't save quite as much time as I'd thought, because we got lost in lathering up each other's bodies, running soapy hands over bare skin, until I was pressed up against the wall and he was inside me again, one of my legs wrapped around him, holding him in place while he thrust into me. We had to clean up all over again afterward, but it was worth it.

At last, though, we got out of the shower — mostly because the hot water heater began to run out of steam — and got dressed, then dried our hair. A pang went through me as he fished another one of those leather cords out of his pocket and began winding it around his hair.

"Don't," I said, and he turned toward me with a quizzical look.

"Don't what?"

"Don't tie it up. I like it down."

A slow smile spread over his lips then, and he shrugged and shoved the cord back into the pocket of his jeans. "Okay. But if it starts getting in my face when I'm out in the wind — "

"Then okay, you can tie it back again." I went to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm not totally unreasonable, you know."

"Oh, I know." He gave my own ponytail the side-eye, and I couldn't help laughing.

"Yeah, do as I say and all that."

We went out to check on the goats before breakfast, our breath puffing up into the icy air. They seemed all right, but Jace looked at the frost on the ground and shook his head.

"We need to get them some kind of protection from the cold. It's only going to get worse after this, and when we have our first snowfall...." He didn't bother to finish the sentence, but I knew what he meant. Our little herd needed someplace to go.

"So what are you thinking?" I asked, looking around the walled-in landscape. From within the chicken coop, I could hear the hens clucking away happily. It was obvious they hadn't suffered too much from the cold.

"It doesn't need to be fancy, but some kind of shed, someplace where they can go inside if they need to. The henhouse went together pretty quickly, so I'm sure I can do something like that for the goats, too."

I saw another foray to Home Depot in our near future. We'd stocked up on food just the day before, but if we were going to Santa Fe anyway, I was going to put in a request to raid an outdoor gear store or something similar. My outerwear definitely wasn't up to snuff, and I had a feeling that adding some thermal underwear to my repertoire wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

So I asked about that, and Jace nodded. "I could use a few things, too. So we'll do that first, and then we'll go the hardware store. I need to check the library here, though — I'm pretty sure I saw a book with plans for different kinds of outbuildings, and that'll help me figure out how much to bring back."

With that settled, he headed back into the house to start making notes, and I popped into the henhouse to scoop up some fresh eggs for breakfast, then hurried to the kitchen. At least in there it was relatively warm and cheery. My fingers gradually thawed out as I made scrambled eggs and toast, and a pot of fresh coffee. I reflected then that Jace was right — I couldn't let survivor's guilt get in the way of enjoying the life I had now. I had him, and we had this beautiful place to live, with plenty of food and no one bothering us. In this post-Dying world, that was about as close to heaven as I would probably get.

After breakfast, we patted Dutchie and went out to the garage. I'd been thinking this over while Jace took care of this dishes, and I realized it was time for me to show how much I really did trust him.

"Wait," I said as he began to head to the passenger side of the Jeep. He glanced back toward me, and I opened my hand to reveal the key fob lying on my palm. "You want to drive?"

His dark eyes lit up, but he didn't move. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, and he came back to me, taking the key from my hand as he leaned down to kiss me. Mmm, coffee and the faintest trace of butter, rich and friendly, welcoming, just like the man who was kissing me.

"Thank you," he said, then went to climb in the driver-side door.

It felt strange to go around to the passenger side, to get in and then watch Jace back the Cherokee out of the garage and maneuver it down the steeply sloping drive to the gate. I had a new perspective on things this way, could concentrate on my surroundings rather than merely on the road.

Not that there was a lot to look at up here. The junipers didn't change much with the seasons, and the grass had already been sere and yellow even before the frost hit. But the sky was a deep, deep blue, overlaid with faint traceries of high clouds, and in the Sangre de Cristo mountains above town, I could see the patches of bright yellow aspens now looking faded as they lost more and more of their leaves, settling in for winter.

We came down onto Upper Canyon road and wended our way into town. "Any ideas on outdoor supply places?" Jace asked.

"Not really," I admitted. "When I came here with my friends, we were more interested in partying than hiking. And of course you can't Yelp something after the apocalypse."

His mouth seemed to twitch, but when he turned slightly to look at me, his expression was grim enough. "Is that what you think this is? The apocalypse?"

"Well, close enough as makes no difference." We'd slowed to maybe twenty miles an hour at the most, partly because Jace was weaving in and out of the abandoned cars on the streets, but also because I had a feeling he didn't have any idea where he was supposed to go. "I mean, most of the world is dead, and the life we had back then is gone. No, I suppose there weren't any four horsemen and blood-red moons and flaming swords and all that, but...."

He didn't reply, but I could almost feel him turning over the idea in his head. My knowledge of Native American mythology was scanty at best, and so I didn't know if his people had their own vision of the end of the world. The terminology I'd used was purely Revelations sort of stuff, but that was my only frame of reference. At least, those were the kinds of things you'd always hear quoted in movies dealing with the end times.

"I have an idea," he said, in a very different tone. "Let's stop and go into that hotel. They had to have phone books and local directories at the concierge desk, right?"

He had a point. I couldn't remember the last time I'd used a phone book, since I either used Yelp or Google Maps to find things with my cell phone, but maybe not everyone was as firmly rooted in the digital age as I had been before the world collapsed. Checking at the hotel sounded like a good idea.

So he pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the La Fonda Hotel, in a spot where once bellhops had probably assisted people with their luggage but was now free of cars. And actually, as I got out of the Jeep and looked around quickly, it somehow seemed as if the street wasn't quite as choked with vehicles as I remembered it.

"What's the matter?" Jace asked, seeming to notice the way I was scanning the street. "Do you see something?" His hand went to his belt, and for the first time I realized he was wearing his long knife in its sheath. I hadn't even thought to bring one of the guns with me. Maybe Jace made me feel a little _too_ safe. I was getting sloppy.

"No," I replied, quickly so he wouldn't get too nervous. "That is...I could have sworn there were more cars here the last time I drove through. It's as if some of them are just...gone."

His eyebrows went up, and I could see him look past me to the street the hotel faced. What good that would do, I wasn't sure, because I didn't think he'd even come this way when he passed through town. There were obvious gaps in the lines of cars parked at the sidewalk, but that didn't have to mean anything, except that no one had been parked there in the first place.

"You're sure?" he asked, and now I thought I detected a note of patience in his voice, as if he was trying to humor me.

"No, I'm not sure, because I wasn't memorizing everything I saw when I drove through here. It just feels...off."

"Well, all the more reason for us to see if we can find a phone book and a map, and then get out of here."

I decided I couldn't argue with that logic, and followed him into the lobby of the hotel.

* * *

Luckily for us, the concierge's desk did have an area phone book, as well as a detailed map of downtown and a larger one for the greater Santa Fe area. I took a quick glance around, remembering how Tori and Elena and I had gone up to the rooftop bar for drinks. Back then the place had been packed. Now the tiled floors echoed under our footsteps, and I had to work hard not to look at the flurries of gray ash that stray drafts must have blown against the floorboards and into the corners.

It felt good to be out in the sun again, despite the brisk wind, although we got into the Jeep quickly enough. I paged through the phone book and discovered that there was an REI probably less than five minutes from our current location. Jace seemed cheered by that, and we headed there in silence, although I kept looking at the streets as they passed by, trying to determine if they felt less impacted by abandoned vehicles than I'd previously thought. It was hard to say for sure, as I'd never gone down this particular road. It did seem less crowded than it should be, although I was basing that observation on pure gut feeling and not much more.

The store was located almost on the railroad tracks, just off Market Street. While there were a few vehicles parked nearby, the place still felt far more deserted than some of the other shops I'd visited. Again, people probably weren't thinking of outdoor supplies as they were succumbing one by one to the Heat.

Jace and I got out of the Jeep and headed to the store entrance. The glass wasn't smashed, but the doors seemed to have gotten stuck halfway open. Convenient, since we wouldn't have to worry about breaking in.

When we entered the store, though, I still got the feeling that it had been carefully ransacked, although it wasn't a mess. No, it was more that the stock seemed far leaner than it should have been. The glass case with the GPS devices had been emptied of its contents, and it looked as if a bunch of the mountain bikes were gone, too.

But at least the low-dollar stuff like the thermal underwear and the gloves hadn't been totally depleted. I got a shopping cart and started adding anything in my size, while Jace went to the men's section and basically did the same thing. He dumped in all his items, then went back for a thigh-length down-filled jacket. Before he put it in the cart, he looked at the price tag and shook his head.

"What?" I asked.

"That coat cost more than I paid for my motorcycle."

Ouch. Well, retail prices were definitely a thing of the past, so it wasn't as if we had to worry about whether we could afford any of this stuff. "Yes," I said, "but a motorcycle won't keep you warm at night."

A corner of his mouth quirked, even as a warm gleam came and went in his eyes. "Oh, I've got something way better than a jacket for keeping me warm at night."

I could feel heat as well, running through my core, but I knew we needed to stay focused on the task at hand. "Anything else?"

"That about does it for me. I like my boots, so I'm not going to bother replacing them. You?"

"Same." Maybe there were some fancy outdoor shoes that would have suited me better, but my hiking boots were sturdy and comfortable. They'd cost me a good chunk back in the day as well, come to think of it. Money well spent, as far as I was concerned, considering everything they'd gotten me through during the past few weeks.

So we pushed our haul out to the Cherokee and stowed everything in the back. "Who do you think took that other stuff?" I asked Jace, just as he was closing the hatch to the cargo area.

He shrugged. "Other survivors, I suppose."

"Don't you think it's weird that we still haven't seen anyone?" Something felt strange. I couldn't put my finger on it, since I really didn't have any frame of reference for what things were supposed to feel like after the apocalypse. Still, you'd think that any survivors in Santa Fe would have seen Jace and me coming and going, would have realized we didn't pose any kind of threat. At least, I didn't think we looked terribly intimidating.

"I don't know. Maybe." He turned the key over in his hand, fiddling with it. "I'll bet if you crunched the numbers, you'd realize the odds of us running across any of the few hundred survivors in the area on any given day really aren't that great. We'd have to keep coming down here day after day, looking for them. Are you ready to do that?"

Part of me was. Oh, I didn't really need anyone other than Jace, and we'd done just fine — more than fine — on our own, but still....

I wanted to know.

However, I could tell from the expression Jace currently wore that he didn't share this particular thirst for knowledge, and I decided I'd better not push it. After all, before I'd met him, my run-ins with survivors of the Dying hadn't exactly been all that pleasant.

"No," I said, and gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. "I've got better things to do with my time."

# Chapter 15

Strangely, although at first glance the Home Depot looked exactly the same as the last time we'd left it after we'd gotten the supplies for the chicken coop, when we went to fetch a trailer to haul the lumber home, only one was still sitting there. The other three were gone.

That did take Jace aback; he stood there for a moment, hand on his chin, staring at the spaces where the trailers had been parked. Finally he said, "What the hell?"

"So you'll admit they're gone."

"Of course they're gone. It's kind of obvious, don't you think?" Then he shook his head. "Sorry, Jess. Didn't mean to snap at you. But this is just weird."

That was a good word for it. I could see survivors making off with GPS devices and hiking boots and multi-packs of toilet paper. But equipment trailers?

"Well, at least they left us one," I offered.

That didn't seem to mollify him much. He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, clearly discomfited by this evidence that there were survivors, and that they seemed to be organized enough to make off with most of the store's trailers. I saw the troubled glance he sent toward the entrance at the lumberyard end of the building, and guessed he was worried that the stock inside would be similarly picked over.

We were here now, though, so we might as well go in and see what we could find, once we had the trailer hooked up to the Cherokee. That didn't take long, though, and afterward we headed toward the building, both of us grimly silent.

Several big orange flatbed carts sat near the entrance, so Jace took one and wheeled it in, glass crunching underfoot as he did so. It seemed clear enough, even from a quick glance around, that someone had been in here since our last visit. The battery displays were almost all emptied out, and a lot of tools seemed to be missing, too. But at least the lumberyard didn't look as if it had been raided, so Jace was able to get the supplies he needed. Tools we already had back at the compound, up to and including a belt sander and a jigsaw, so the looters were welcome to take anything that still remained here.

"I wonder what they're doing with all of it," I ventured as he began shifting the lumber from the cart and into the trailer.

"Who knows?" he replied. "They're probably people like us — you know, with a place where they're holed up and safe but still need assorted odds and ends. Actually, I have a feeling they would need more, since our compound was so well stocked when you found it. And you're probably used to seeing stores getting restocked on a regular basis. Things can start to look pretty picked over when no one's coming in with new products all the time."

Well, that made sense. It was true that I didn't have much experience yet of a world where stores weren't magically restocked when supplies ran low. Even so, something didn't feel right to me. Batteries and hammers I could understand. But the trailers? I supposed if they had enough stuff to haul away, it made some sense. But that would have to be a _lot_ of stuff.

Jace finished tying down the lumber, then threw the nails and fasteners and other small items he'd collected into the cargo area of the Jeep. From the way the corners of his mouth were turned down, I could tell he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having to compete with other survivors for supplies we might need to get through the winter.

But no, that wouldn't happen. We were stocked on food, and now we had milk and eggs and cheese and butter, so really, once we got the goats sheltered, we wouldn't have much need to come back down to Santa Fe proper unless we were just dying to. And I didn't see that happening anytime soon.

Thinking about our goats made me recall the herd we'd taken them from. They were just as much out in the cold, although I thought I remembered seeing a few ramshackle outbuildings on the property where they were grazing. Still, it couldn't hurt to check on them. It wasn't that out of our way.

When I mentioned my concerns to Jace, he nodded. "That's probably a good idea. They would have more shelter there than our own goats, but we might as well look. If they're in trouble, we can unload this stuff, get the horse trailer, and then bring them back to the compound. It might take a couple of trips, though."

I said I wouldn't mind that at all, so we got into the Cherokee and drove off, angling away from our normal route so we could get to the edge of town and the small ranch where we'd first found the goats. But when we got there, the animals were all gone. I would have said they'd wandered off on their own, but I could see tire tracks in the dirt, tracks that were fatter and wider than those of my Jeep. Some big off-road truck, if I had to guess.

Jace seemed to be of the same opinion, because he squatted down to take a closer look, one finger digging into the rutted earth. "Probably a half-ton pickup, judging by the tread and how deep it is." He stood, following the tracks along the narrow dirt road that led to the pasture gate. We'd come in that same way, but it looked like the truck had turned and headed west afterward, rather than to the east, the direction of town and our own hidden compound.

"Where do you think they were going?" I asked.

"I have no idea. I don't think there's much out that way, unless they were headed to the highway. And if that's the case, their home base could be anywhere."

"So you don't think they're local?"

For a second or two, Jace didn't answer me. He just stood there, gazing off to the west, straight brows pulled together in a frown. The wind blew his loose hair, turning it into a shining raven cloud around his head, but for some reason, I didn't find myself quite as lost in admiration as I might otherwise have been. Instead, a shiver of apprehension went down my spine. Whatever thoughts might be occupying his mind, they didn't look as if they were pleasant ones.

"I don't know if they're from around here," he said at last. "Maybe, maybe not. Maybe one of the survivors knew this ranch existed, then noticed some of the goats were missing and came back to get the rest before they disappeared, too. And maybe they're holed up someplace remote, just like we are." He turned and began heading back to the Jeep, walking quickly. I practically had to jog to keep up with him.

I almost asked what the rush was, but he seemed to know what I was thinking. Jaw tense, he told me,

"I think it's better that we get back. We've been gone long enough."

Nothing else, but the implication was enough to make me hurry into the passenger seat, to hold on as he drove faster than he really should have on the way home, the trailer rattling and bumping behind us. It was a beautiful, brisk fall day, but I couldn't enjoy the scenery. I just wanted to get home and make sure everything was all right.

If anything had happened to Dutchie....

But when we pulled up and opened the gate, everything looked fine. The goats were still wandering around, eating dried grass, and I could hear the hens clucking away in the chicken coop. Jace maneuvered the Jeep around so he could back the trailer up to the edge of the yard. That way, he wouldn't have to carry the lumber as far. He left it, though, to come with me to the house.

"Let me go in first," he said, and I did as he asked, allowing him to walk in front of me.

All that did was subject him to the first of Dutchie's onslaught. She came bounding up to us, panting, tail wagging, nose busily sniffing the bags we carried. Since all they held was the clothing we'd pilfered from REI, she lost interest soon enough, instead hanging out by the pantry, clearly angling for a chewy treat.

"I think it's safe," I told Jace, going to get the dog her treat. Maybe she hadn't exactly earned it, but I was so happy to see her and the rest of the property safe that I didn't much care.

"Probably. I'll go drop this stuff in the bedroom, though. That way I can check the rest of the house."

I didn't bother to stop him. If it made him feel better, he was welcome to search every inch of the property.

After I gave Dutchie her treat, I paused and surveyed the kitchen. Nothing appeared out of place, unless you wanted to count some water slopped on the floor around the dog's bowl. The world's neatest drinker she was not. Otherwise, though, it was tidy enough, the dishes stacked in the wooden drainer on the counter, everything I'd used to make breakfast either put back in the refrigerator or the pantry.

Jace entered the kitchen then, relief plain on his face. "Everything looks fine."

"Were you really worried it wouldn't?"

"I don't know. I suppose — " He stopped there, clearly trying to decide what he really wanted to say. "I suppose seeing all that stuff taken rattled me. I'm not sure why. Maybe because the last time we were in town, I didn't see any evidence of other survivors. Now, though...." His shoulders lifted; I noticed that he'd taken off the leather jacket he'd worn on our expedition. "I know it's stupid. They have just as much right to help themselves to supplies as we do. But the way they came in and took all the rest of the goats? It feels...greedy, I guess. We only took what we needed."

I could see what he was thinking, but at the same time, I wasn't sure I wanted to ascribe any negative intentions to the people who'd collected the rest of the herd. "Maybe...or maybe they saw them and were worried about them, the same way we were, and took them all because they had more room for them. There could be all sorts of reasons."

"You're probably right." The square set of his shoulders seemed to relax a little, and he came over to me and took me in his arms, holding me tightly against him. Something of the cool juniper-scented wind outdoors seemed to have clung to his hair, and I breathed it in, marveling at how the feel of him could drive all worries right out of my head. Whoever had absconded with the goats, it really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. We had enough to keep our own little homestead going, and would have more goats in the spring, once the does gave birth. Really, in a couple of seasons we'd be swimming in animals and wondering what the heck we were supposed to do with all of them.

"I'll make some sandwiches," I offered, after I glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly one-thirty, past the time when we'd usually eat lunch.

Jace nodded, but I could tell from the way his mouth was set that he was still turning the problem over in his head. Well, if he wanted to brood over it, I couldn't stop him.

I just knew it would be fine. It had to be.

The days seemed to blur after that, running together until I realized that we were less than a week away from Thanksgiving. Jace had spent long hours building the shed for the goats, doing his best to make sure they didn't have to be exposed to the elements any longer than absolutely necessary. And they did seem grateful for the shelter we provided, going in there without any urging from us.

As a child, I'd read all those "Little House" books about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family moving from place to place, homesteading, farming, and although I thought I'd absorbed most of the details, it wasn't until I was doing roughly the same thing myself that I understood how time-consuming having to do everything yourself actually was. And yes, I realized that Jace and I were living in a modern, up-to-date house with a lot of conveniences that Ms. Wilder could never have conceived of. Even so, there was still housework and laundry and cooking and so much more, like making cheese and sausage and butter, collecting eggs, making sure the goats had fresh water and were milked twice a day, tending the plants in the greenhouse and determining what was ready to be eaten and what still needed a few days. By the time we were done with dinner and the clean-up afterward, Jace and I were practically asleep on our feet. Every once in a great while, we'd sit down and watch a movie from the collection in the family room, but that happened maybe every ten days or so, if that. And no, we never watched any of the real estate developer's porn. Jace had looked at the row of Blue-Rays and chuckled, shooting me an inquiring look.

"No way in hell," I'd told him, and he'd let it go. I wasn't about to confess that I actually had tried to watch one of them in the first week I'd been here, lonely and scared and thinking maybe giving myself an orgasm would help to relax me. But about five minutes of looking at the actors with their unnaturally waxed bodies and the women with their fake breasts and equally fake moans made me less inclined toward sex than I'd ever been in my life, and I took the disc out of the player and put it away, knowing I could never watch one of those movies again.

And now, I had no need to.

By some unspoken agreement, Jace and I had begun making love in the morning, while the world was still dark and the day hadn't wrung every last drop of energy from us. Sometimes one of us would wake up in the middle of the night and reach out for the other, and we'd cling together in a sort of frenzy before passing out again, but it wasn't a common occurrence.

Even so, it was a good life. The weariness I felt every day when I lay down to sleep...it was a good kind of tired, the kind you got when you'd spent your day doing something that felt useful, worthwhile. I could tell that Jace viewed our existence the same way, that he didn't have any regrets about the life we were living. In a post-industrial world, this seemed to be the new normal.

Behind all that, though, I still had this nagging sensation at the back of my mind, as if I was missing something vitally important, that if I could only put the pieces together in the right order, I'd figure out what had been bothering me all this time. It was sort of like looking at one of those "magic eye" pictures and attempting to puzzle out what exactly the hidden image was. I was never very good at that, either. No matter how hard I tried, I could only see a blur of color that didn't mean anything.

In the meantime, Thanksgiving came, and we feasted on pheasant, which I found I enjoyed far more than turkey. Maybe that was simply because, although my mother knew her way around a turkey, my Aunt Susan really didn't, and so on alternating Thanksgivings I'd had to eat dried-out bird smothered in cranberry sauce to give it a decent flavor.

No such worries with the pheasant Jace brought home, which was moist and delicious, especially paired with a sauce I made from currants he'd found during one of his hunting expeditions. And combined with wild rice and sautéed green beans from the greenhouse — well, it was probably the best Thanksgiving meal I'd ever consumed, even if I couldn't help looking at all the empty seats around that huge dining room table and thinking it would have been wonderful to have friends and family there to share the meal with us.

But that world was long gone, and if I were destined to spend the rest of my life around only one person, I couldn't think of anyone better than Jace to share it with. During that meal, he'd gone quiet a time or two, and I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing, that Thanksgiving was supposed to be about sharing, about being with loved ones, and now ours were all gone.

Those somber moments were fleeting, though, and I could tell he wasn't about to let the memories of what once was ruin what we had now. He joked about Dutchie wanting to eat that pheasant whole before it even hit the back of the ATV, and praised my cooking, raising a glass to honor my efforts. It did feel good. Before all this, I would never have said I was particularly domestic, but I'd risen to the occasion with more success than I could have imagined.

Also, I'd surprised him by putting on the black dress I'd brought from Albuquerque, and my jeweled sandals, and those amazing tanzanite earrings that had so mysteriously shown up in my pocket after my first visit to the plaza in Santa Fe. Actual makeup, my hair styled as best I could, since I hadn't brought any curling irons or hot rollers with me, thinking I'd never need them again. Jace had taken one look at me and asked, "You expect me to be patient all through dinner with you looking like that?"

I'd given him a sphinx-like smile and continued teetering my way back and forth from the kitchen, bringing food to the table. Funny how just a month or so in hiking boots had apparently killed all my ability to walk in heels.

And after dinner, Jace surprised me by taking me in his arms, actually lifting me away from the dining room table and carrying me to the bedroom, where he proceeded to show me exactly how much he appreciated me, mouth moving with teasing slowness across my skin, his fingers stroking me, finding exactly the right spot to wring moans of ecstasy from a place so deep that before I'd been with him, I hadn't even known it existed. Then we were together once more, bodies locked, moving in a rhythm that had become second nature to us by now.

That was really how it felt...natural, as if my body had been made to fit with his, and the reason it had never worked with anyone else was simply that they hadn't been the _one_. We fell asleep in one another's arms, a perfect end to a perfect day.

A week after that, we had our first snowfall. At first, I didn't even know what was happening, only caught an odd flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye while I was clearing up the breakfast dishes. The skies had been heavy and gray when we woke up that morning, and Jace said it smelled like snow. I'd laughed at him over that remark, although really, he would know more about it than I would, since he'd grown up in Taos. When I was in high school, Albuquerque had been hit by a freak snowstorm that basically shut the city down, but that was my only real experience with snow, save for a light flurry here and there that didn't stick around long enough to cause any trouble.

This, though — it drifted downward, light and delicate, the flakes settling on the goats' shed and the chicken coop and the evergreens in the backyard, giving everything a soft sugar frosting. I stood at the window, a dish still in my hands, and stared at the miracle of it, how beautiful it was.

I was so transfixed that I didn't even realize Jace had come up behind me, not until his arms wrapped around my waist and his breath came warm against my neck as he said, "Looks like winter is really here now."

"And we're all safe and snug inside," I responded, setting the dish in the drain before I could drop it. The sensation of having him there, pressed up against me, was enough to send all sorts of tingles up and down my spine.

"That we are. I'll go out and check on the goats in a bit, just to make sure there aren't any leaks in the shed or anything, but I think we'll ride this out just fine." He shifted, as if glancing up at the ceiling, then added, "But we may not have lights for much longer. With cloud cover this thick, the solar's not going to do us much good."

"Then we'll spend our day by candlelight," I replied. "I'll turn off anything extraneous — maybe that way, there'll be enough of a trickle to keep the refrigerator going."

"Not a bad plan. You may want to go scrounge some extra candles from the basement."

"I'll do that as soon as I'm finished with these dishes."

His lips brushed against my cheek as he gave me a soft kiss, an acknowledgment of my words. Then he let go of me, heading toward the laundry room and the mudroom beyond that, where he could get into his jacket and gloves and brave the snow to check on the livestock.

There really weren't that many dishes to do, so I was done in the next few minutes. After that, I went from room to room, making sure we hadn't left any lights on. In general, we were pretty careful about that sort of thing, but I did realize that I needed to put the computer in sleep mode so it wouldn't draw any more power than was strictly necessary. If something happened to set off one of the periphery alarms, it would turn back on right away, but in the meantime it could hibernate.

After that I got a flashlight from the drawer in the kitchen where we kept them, and headed down into the basement. It had its own lights, of course, but if we really were in for a snowy day, I didn't want to turn them on and waste more power. The flashlight would do well enough, even if it was a little creepy to be wandering around down there with only a narrow beam to show me what I was doing.

I'd come down here once before to fetch the candles, but that had been weeks ago, before Jace had even shown up at the compound. The basement actually was very organized, with rows of metal shelving and the items on them arranged according to use. Even so, I couldn't exactly recall where I'd found the candles that last time. On the left, about five rows down?

Figuring it was worth a try, I shone the flashlight's beam in that general direction, but saw only bins of what looked like bundles of wire and cable, possibly intended for repairs to the home's electrical system, should the occasion warrant. Undeterred, I moved to the next row, only to have my foot bump into a cardboard box sitting on the ground next to one of the shelving units rather than placed directly on it. That was strange, simply because everything else I'd encountered in the basement so far had shown an almost fanatical adherence to order on the part of the person who had put it there.

I frowned and moved the flashlight's beam over the box. It had clearly come from some kind of a manufacturer; there was even a shipping label still affixed to it. Crouching down, I read the name and address.

_Cory Berman_

_28-A Skyline Trail_

_Santa Fe, NM 87501_

Cory Berman. So was that the name of the developer from Phoenix who'd built the property, or the caretaker who'd kept watch over it? Maybe it didn't really matter. They were both gone, after all.

What did matter, as I read the lettering stamped on the box itself, was what had been sent to him.

_Yaesu FT-857D Amateur Radio Transceiver_

Holy crap.

A ham radio?

A way to make contact with other survivors.

Heart pounding, I shone the flashlight around and saw another package, a much longer one, that seemed to contain the antenna to go with the radio. Damn.

I didn't know the first thing about setting up a ham radio, or its antenna, but maybe Jace would. Or at least could puzzle out the instructions. We'd have to wait for the snowstorm to blow over before we could go up on the roof to mount the antenna, but in the meantime we could read up on how to use the radio itself.

This could change everything.

I was halfway to the cellar stairs before I remembered I'd come down here in the first place to pick up some spare candles. After going up and down a few more rows of shelving, I found them — pack after pack of shrink-wrapped pillars and votives and tapers, the sort of thing you'd buy in bulk for a wedding or some other large event. I grabbed a flat of pillar candles and headed back to the stairway, then hurried up to the main level of the house.

Jace was nowhere in evidence as I set the package of candles down on the breakfast table in the nook. When I peered out the window, though, I could see him hauling something from the garage to the shed. A sack of the pellets we used to supplement the goats' diet, it looked like. That made sense — they probably weren't going to head out to forage until the snow stopped.

About ten minutes later, I heard him come in, then waited as he stopped in the mudroom to get rid of his coat and scrape the snow from his boots. In the meantime, I'd gone around the house and lit a number of candles, as it was clear from the lowering skies outside that we probably wouldn't see any sun today. Actually, it was so dark that it almost felt as if dusk was coming early, which of course was ridiculous. At this time of year, the days were short, but they weren't _that_ short.

"What's up?" he asked, almost as soon as he entered the kitchen. I supposed he could tell I was fairly dancing with impatience.

"Guess what I found in the basement?"

One brow lifted slightly. "You know, that question generally doesn't have a good answer."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." But I could tell by the twitch at the corner of his full lips that he wasn't...not really.

"A ham radio," I announced. Jace appeared nonplussed by that revelation, so I went on, "It's still in its original packing...I think it was delivered here but never used. And there's an antenna, too."

"And?" he asked.

I felt a stir of impatience. "What do you mean, 'and'? With that radio, we can try to reach out to any other survivors, find out where they are, how they're doing."

"Maybe they don't want to be found. It seems as if they've done a pretty good job of hiding so far."

"So have we," I pointed out. "But it doesn't mean we don't want people to find us. Or...do we?"

Without replying, he went to one of the cupboards and got out a glass, then filled it with water. He drank some, his gaze not fixed on me, but on the increasingly snowy landscape outside the window. "I don't know," he said at last. "You wouldn't think there'd be much of a struggle for resources, not with so few of us left, but after hearing what happened to you in Albuquerque, I'm not sure I'm willing to trust anyone right now. What if there's a bigger, more organized group out there, one that decides what we have here is better than where they're living? We have weapons, but there are only two of us. Would you be willing to risk that?"

When he put it that way.... Involuntarily, my mind flashed back to the man in the Walgreens, to the greed in his watery brown eyes, and I shivered.

"No," I admitted, hoping Jace hadn't noticed my shudder. "Of course I don't want to do anything that would put us in harm's way. But maybe if we set it up and just listened, didn't transmit?" That seemed like a good compromise to me, but Jace's grim expression didn't change. After a perceptible pause, he said,

"Maybe. But we'll have to wait for better weather. No way am I climbing up on the roof in a snowstorm, just so I can install an antenna."

"Of course not."

"And it may need hardware we don't have, so then we'd have to go back into town."

A prospect I didn't particularly relish, and it seemed clear enough to me that Jace wasn't looking forward to it, either.

"Well, we can figure out the logistics later," I said. "It's nothing that has to happen right now."

He nodded, and I let the matter go, instead went on to ask him what sounded good for dinner that night. Something in the tense set of his shoulders appeared to relax. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was glad that I didn't intend to press him on the issue.

Exactly why, I didn't know. Was he really that worried about the consequences of contacting other survivors?

Or did he have some other reason why he wanted us to stay isolated here?

# Chapter 16

Actually, despite his obvious reluctance to do so, Jace did get to work on the antenna situation a few days later, after the weather had cleared. We bumped along the icy, muddy roads to go back to the hardware store, since, as he'd guessed, we didn't have all the little bits and pieces necessary for the installation.

Although a good deal of the snow had melted by then, there was still enough of it around to make driving treacherous, and I was more than happy to have Jace behind the wheel. He had experience driving in snow and ice, and I sure didn't. And as I stared out at the streets while we drove along, it suddenly hit me, the thing that had been niggling at the back of my mind for so long.

"None of the cars are missing," I said, and Jace took his eyes off the road for just long enough to shoot me a quizzical glance before returning his attention to the icy pavement.

"What?"

I glanced back out the window, wanting to confirm the notion that had finally taken coherent shape in my brain. "You know how I said that it seemed like there weren't as many vehicles around as I remembered, that some seemed to have gone missing, but I couldn't quite figure it out?"

A nod.

"Well, the _cars_ are all here. And sure, there are still SUVs and trucks all over the place. But...." I let the words trail off as I focused on the patterns I now saw on the streets around us.

"But what?"

"I bet if we stopped and made a survey, we'd see that the SUVs and trucks left behind are the ones without much utility. Two-wheel drive, small engines...you know, passenger cars with SUV bodies. The ones that can pull their own weight, like this Jeep — I have a feeling we won't find as many of those around."

By then we were almost at the Home Depot, so Jace didn't say anything until after he'd pulled into the parking lot and stopped. "You mean someone's been coming here and systematically taking the trucks and the four-wheel-drive SUVs?"

"Well, I doubt I could prove it, but...yeah, something like that."

He shook his head and pulled the key from the ignition, then slipped it into his pocket. "In a way it makes sense, I suppose. Whoever and wherever the other survivors are, they're going to have to do a lot more for themselves. So having vehicles that can tow things and haul things and get around on unplowed roads would be vital." His brows had been pulled together as he pondered the conundrum, but then he seemed to relax, and although the air was sharp and cold, a flicker of warmth went through me as he gave me an admiring glance. "That was some pretty good detective work, Jess. I don't think I would have even noticed."

"Well, it's just a theory," I said deprecatingly, trying to convince myself as much as him.

"Better than anything I could come up with." Then he hesitated, looking past me down the street that fronted the store. Of course it was completely deserted, but I could tell he was worried. "Maybe you should stay here. You know — keep an eye on the car."

I really didn't want to do that, but if it turned out I was right about the way the abandoned vehicles were being cherry-picked, then it made sense for me to stand watch. At least this time I'd remembered to bring a sidearm. It was hanging in a holster against my hip, a reminder that we could never relax all the way when we came into town. Jace had one as well, the big S&W, which was better suited to his height anyway.

"No problem," I said. All right, so I didn't sound terribly enthusiastic, but neither had I argued with him.

He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, his lips warm against my wind-chilled skin. "I'll be less than five minutes. I just need some brackets and wire. It'll be fast."

I nodded, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out the car key.

"Just in case."

_In case of what?_ I wanted to ask. I didn't, though, only took the key from him and slid it into my coat pocket.

After that, he turned away from me and headed into the store, walking quickly despite the patches of ice that lingered on the asphalt. I supposed I could have gotten back inside the Cherokee where it would be warmer, but I didn't. Instead, I leaned against the driver-side door, my eyes scanning in all directions for...what? A batch of marauders out of a Mad Max movie, bearing down on me, intent on stealing my SUV?

No sign of anything like that — no movement at all, except a crow that came flapping down the street and then perched on one of the tall lights in the parking lot. It shook out its wings and settled down, fixing me with a baleful yellow gaze.

_Crap on my car, and I'll use you for target practice,_ I thought, but the bird didn't move, only sat on the lamppost, surveying the parking lot. In happier days, it might have had some pickings there — the uneaten fries from some kid's Happy Meal, a spilled Coke. Now, however, the lot was bare of anything except the abandoned vehicles that still remained there, waiting for owners who would never return, and some patches of unmelted snow.

But even though I didn't see anyone else, and I knew I was perfectly safe, I couldn't help the wave of relief that washed over me when I saw Jace coming back out of the store, carrying several bags' worth of supplies.

"It looks like they — whoever they are — came back. More stuff is gone." Jace handed me the bags, and I got the car key out of my pocket and gave it to him.

"Stuff you needed?" I asked anxiously.

"No, everything we came here to get is pretty esoteric. But now the batteries are totally cleared out, and the solar garden lights, and — well, just a lot of different things."

The batteries would have worried me, except that we had flats of the things back in our basement, both regular and rechargeable. And solar garden lights? Our property was outfitted with those, too. It seemed whoever was looting the Home Depot, they were coming from a place of a lot more need than either Jace or I.

But we'd have to figure that out later. Or never. The weather seemed to be holding, and I had to hope it would stay that way for a few days, long enough so Jace could get the antenna installed. Maybe after that we could start to get some answers.

Right then, though, it was a lot more important that we get home. We had no evidence to show that anyone knew of our hideaway, but leaving it unattended always made me feel nervous. Dutchie would bark up a storm, but I doubted her doing so would be enough to scare off anyone who was determined to break in and take what they could.

Either no one had yet discovered the compound, or any survivors in the area had decided it was easier pickings in town, because once again we returned to find everything as we had left it. We gave Dutchie her usual greeting of some scratching behind the ears and a treat, and then Jace went to survey the area outside the office.

"We're in luck," he said, after prodding at the mud and driving a piece of rebar down into the ground. "It's not frozen."

"And that's relevant because...?" I was standing a few feet from him, close enough to see what he was doing but not so close that I would be in the way.

"Because I have to install a ground rod in addition to running co-ax from the antenna to the unit in the office." At my blank look, he sort of grinned and shook his head. "It's a little more complicated than sticking a TV aerial on your roof."

"Can you do it?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I probably should have asked that question before we went to all the trouble of getting supplies.

"I think so. I've read over the instructions a few times. Good thing I learned to solder in my shop class in high school."

And here I'd thought all we'd have to do was install the antenna on the roof, run some wire, and voilà, we'd be chatting it up with survivors around the globe. I should have known nothing would be that easy.

But he got to it in earnest after that, producing a ladder from the garage and climbing up to the roof, then letting me hand the antenna up to him from a point midway on the same ladder. I had to loiter there for some time, waiting so I could catch the bundle of coaxial cable as he tossed it to me once one end had been attached to the antenna. After he was done on the roof, Jace came down and fastened the wire to the exterior wall of the house with a series of brackets.

"I can handle it from here," he told me. "You'd better go inside — your lips are starting to turn blue."

"They are not," I protested, although truthfully, it was fairly cold outside, probably only a few degrees above freezing.

"I can see them. You can't." He grinned at me. "Really, I've got this. Isn't it around time for you to be starting dinner anyway?"

"Chained to the stove, just like I thought," I remarked, but I leavened the tartness of my words by giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Don't stay out so long that _your_ lips start to turn blue."

"I won't."

I had to be satisfied with that, so I went in the house and started rummaging around in the kitchen. Outside, the daylight slanted its way toward dusk, and before it got full dark, I heard Jace come inside, although he seemed to go straight to the office rather than stopping in the kitchen to check on the ETA for dinner. Since I was making quickie rabbit stew that didn't really need babysitting, as it was now in the "let it sit in the pot until you're ready to eat it" stage, I headed back to the office, where I found Jace under the table we'd designated as the ham radio workstation.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," came his voice, somewhat muffled, since he was facing the wall. "Just need to make this last connection."

Since I really didn't have anything better to do, I leaned against the doorframe and waited as he wrenched on something. A few minutes and a couple of muffled curses later, he was pushing himself out from beneath the table and getting to his feet.

"I think that should be it."

"So let's fire it up and see if we can find anything."

He set down the screwdriver he was holding and crossed his arms. "We don't have to rush into this, you know."

"After you just spent all afternoon working on it?" I said, both perplexed and irritated by his reluctance to use the radio. "If you didn't think it was a good idea, then why waste so much time and effort on it?"

"I'm not saying that," he replied, digging in his pocket for another of those interminable leather cords so he could pull his hair out of his face. I wondered why he hadn't done that earlier, but maybe having his hair down on his neck had helped to keep him warm while he was up working on the roof.

"Then what are you saying?" I crossed my arms and tried hard not to scowl. "I guess I just can't figure out why you're so reluctant to even _attempt_ to find other survivors, especially since we wouldn't be talking to them, just scanning to see if there is even anyone else out there."

A long pause. I could tell from the way his mouth tightened and he didn't quite look at me that he wasn't particularly eager to explain himself. Maybe not, but I wasn't about to let this go.

Finally, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and said, "All right, what if we listen in and find some survivors, then decide they sound all right and that we should reach out to them? What if they turn out to not be all right?"

"'Not all right' as in...what?" I asked, wondering what he was driving at. I tried to think of the worst-case scenario and added, "Like, cannibals or something?"

A grim smile touched his lips. "No, I don't think cannibalism is going to be an issue, not with all the wild game to be had around here. More like...." The words died away, and he hesitated again. "More like, what if they turn out to be a bunch of good old boys who aren't exactly thrilled to find an Indian shacked up with a white girl?"

I stared at him. "That's...." I'd been about to say, _That's ridiculous,_ but then I realized maybe it wasn't. It should have been, but...I'd seen enough ugly incidents involving my friend Elena to know prejudice wasn't exactly a thing of the past, even for someone who was beautiful and talented and came from a family with money. The worst incident had been at a frat party in college, when some drunk asshole told her, "Hey, _chiquita,_ you're pretty hot. Why don't you come over here and suck my _chalupa?_ " Luckily, Tori was standing right there and responded by dumping her cup of cheap keg beer over the guy's head, but I'd never forgotten that scene. I knew Elena hadn't, either, even though she'd blown it off at the time, telling us the guy was too wasted to know what he was saying. That wasn't true, though...he'd known _exactly_ what he was saying. And so had she, despite trying to act as if it was no big deal.

So as much as I wanted to brush off Jace's concerns as being completely unfounded, I knew they weren't. Just because the calendar said it was the twenty-first century, it didn't mean that everyone had gotten the memo.

And while intellectually I could understand where he was coming from, I knew I'd never be able to feel that doubt, those misgivings, the way he did, because I'd come from a completely different world. I was a white girl. Sure, I had a Ute great-great-grandmother — if the family legend was even true — but that didn't mean I could relate to his experiences as someone who'd grown up on the pueblo, who'd come at life in twenty-first-century America from a completely different angle than I had.

"So you see what I mean," he said quietly.

"Yes." His expression brightened a little at that, and I went on, "But...can't we just try it to see if it works? No one will know we're doing that if we don't transmit anything, right?"

At least he didn't try to equivocate. "No, no one will know that we're listening in. If there's even anything to listen to. But we'll give it a shot."

Jace went to the ham radio receiver and switched it on. When he'd set it up, he'd told me that it was designed to be portable, that if we could locate a different antenna setup, we could even take it along with us in the Jeep if we wanted. Why we'd want to do that, I didn't particularly know, but it could possibly come in handy one day.

"Well, here goes," he said, pressing the power button.

A soft hiss began to emerge from the small speakers set up to either side of the receiver. Jace began scanning along the bands, going slowly enough that he could stop if he came across something interesting. All I heard was that hiss, sometimes louder, sometimes softer, but even I knew it was all merely dead air.

And then...what sounded like a faint, tinny voice, a single syllable. "Lo — "

It cut off with a screech and was replaced by more static. "Damn it," Jace said, scanning back to the band where the sound had come from. But there was no voice this time, only an angry, crackling hiss.

"What happened to it?" I asked, coming closer, as if somehow I thought my presence would help the tuner lock back on to the signal.

"I don't know." He sounded irritated, and I didn't blame him. All that work, for something that might or might not have been an actual person?

"Keep scanning," I suggested, and he expelled a breath and continued his slow sweep across the bands. Just more hissing, more static.

My stomach clenched, and I told myself to calm down. Just because we weren't picking up anything now didn't mean there was no one out there. The other survivors might not have the skill to operate ham radio equipment, or hadn't managed to set theirs up yet. It wasn't as if Jace and I were alone on the planet — the missing supplies and those mysteriously vanished trucks and SUVs told me other people were out there somewhere, and, from the look of it, they seemed to be fairly well-organized. Sooner or later, we'd have to cross paths. Although now, after what Jace had confided in me about his misgivings on that score, I wasn't sure meeting up with other people would be as beneficial as I'd previously hoped.

"I'm not getting anything," Jace said at last, then shut off the receiver before turning back toward me. "Maybe I screwed up something in the installation, but it's dark out now, so I won't be able to check until tomorrow morning."

"It's fine," I told him, even though I didn't know if it really was. "I think you did have it working. I just think...no one's transmitting."

"Still, I'll investigate more tomorrow." He glanced away from me, sniffed the air. "Smells like dinner's ready."

"Almost," I said, knowing that he'd changed the topic on purpose. Still, what did it matter? We weren't getting anything out of that ham radio tonight.

So we went to the kitchen, which was warm and smelled of good and savory things — proven by Dutchie, who was loitering much closer to the stove than she should be. I shooed her away, and then dished up our food while Jace got her some kibble. Just another normal night...or as normal as things could ever be now.

That syllable was still rattling around in my head, though. _Lo...._ "Lo" what? The transmission had cut off so quickly that I didn't even know whether it truly had been part of an actual broadcast of some sort, or merely a weird distortion that sounded like part of a word but was in fact only a nonsense note generated by a rogue sound wave or something.

I didn't speak of my concerns to Jace, though. The subject of the ham radio was a sore one already, and he _had_ tried. I'd let it go for now, and maybe someday I'd learn if there truly had been someone broadcasting out there...or whether I was only imagining things.

We checked the radio every day after that, but got nothing but static and hiss. It was frustrating — for me, anyway — but as there didn't seem to be much we could do about the communications blackout, we put it aside so we could focus on more important things, like surviving the winter.

Well, it wasn't that bad, but I still could tell I hadn't become acclimated to the cold. Santa Fe probably averaged around ten to fifteen degrees colder than Albuquerque most of the time, but when that difference is between fifty-five degrees and forty, believe me, you can _feel_ it. We had the wood stove in the sitting room going all the time, and the fireplaces in the living room and family room as well, but you could still sense the drop in temperature when you went out of the range of any of them. Jace got in the habit of going to our bedroom immediately after dinner and starting a fire so it would be comfortable enough to get undressed by the time we went in there.

Of course it could have been much worse, and the conditions were certainly endurable, but all the same, I found myself missing the central forced heat at my parents' house or even the wall unit in my studio apartment over the garage. That thing had heated up fast.

But those appliances were long gone, along with a million other comforts and conveniences I hadn't even appreciated until I didn't have them anymore, and so I told myself not to worry about them, that I was damn lucky to be where I was now.

Especially since I could be here with Jace.

We talked about the coming spring, about what we might be able to plant outside the greenhouse to supplement the crops we grew there. Because of the goats, we'd have to build a separate enclosure for another garden, since otherwise it would get eaten before we had a chance to harvest anything, but Jace thought he could manage it, especially if the stores of lumber down at the Home Depot didn't get pilfered by whatever survivors were still lurking around the area.

And occasionally, after I was done hurriedly washing my face and brushing my teeth, because the heat from the fireplace in the main part of the bedroom didn't quite reach into the bathroom, I'd pull out my packet of pills and hesitate before taking one. We hadn't discussed that kind of future, but it seemed clear to me that Jace didn't intend to go anywhere, that he was planning on a future with me in it. Was it crazy to consider starting a family? After all, someone needed to begin repopulating the earth.

But after that wild moment of hesitation, I always popped the pill in my mouth and swallowed it resolutely. Having a baby was a crazy idea. With no doctors, no medical facilities...no epidurals?

No, thanks.

The funny thing was, I'd never been all that invested in the idea of having a family. Elena was the one who wanted to get married and have lots of kids (and a nanny, of course) and do all that domestic stuff, and Tori wanted to be a social worker and focus on other people's kids, not her own. As for me, well, most of the time my main concern had been finding someone to have a few dates with and then break up with before things got serious. I'd tried serious once, and all that had gotten me was taking multiple exams for a bewildering variety of social diseases, thanks to my cheating ex.

With Jace, though...it was different. So different that some days I could barely wrap my head around it. I thought it would probably be wonderful to have a child with him, because I had a feeling he'd be a great father. He certainly possessed the patience and the quiet good humor. I knew I could count on him to be steady under pressure...a lot steadier than I, when you got right down to it.

Also, he was so gorgeous that it seemed a real shame to let all that amazing DNA go to waste.

More important than all that, however, was that I loved him. I wanted to bring something into the world that came from our shared love, that showed our commitment to one another.

I knew better than to bring up the subject, though. One day, the time would be right to discuss a future beyond the next planting season, but I didn't think we were there. Not quite yet, anyway.

The cold days slid past. It snowed here and there, but never enough to completely bury us, just enough to make the world pretty to look at and a pain to get around in. Christmas would be here in less than a week, and I had no idea what to do about that. I wanted to give Jace something, but I couldn't exactly nip out to the mall and buy him a sweater. Yes, we could go into town together and split up while we picked out presents for one another, but that didn't sound very safe.

When I mentioned Christmas to him, that I wished I could get him something, he'd pulled me against him and given me a strong, lingering kiss, the kind that made me want to drag him back to the bedroom and tear all his clothes off, although we'd have to pause long enough to get a fire started before I could safely do that. And he'd said,

"You're the only present I need."

How was I supposed to respond to that statement? By kissing him back, of course, and telling myself that presents didn't matter, that being here together was what mattered.

The next day he went out with the ATV, saying he was going hunting, and since he went on these expeditions a few times a week, I didn't think all that much of it.

But then he returned carrying a beautiful pine tree, a little bit taller than he was, and I realized he had given me my present, the one thing I'd really wanted all along.

"How did you know I wanted a Christmas tree?" I asked, watching as he settled it in a corner of the living room. It had a stand made of two pieces of wood attached to the bottom of the trunk, so he must have stopped at the garage first to hammer those on before coming to the house.

"I guessed. I saw the look in your eyes when you were talking about Christmas, and...." His shoulders lifted, and he reached out to make a minute adjustment so the tree sat more squarely in the corner. "I thought you should have some sort of holiday, even if it can't be like what you were used to."

"It's perfect," I said sincerely. And it was, especially because I knew Jace wasn't Christian, and might not have even had a tree while he was growing up. But he'd still realized how important following these traditions was to me.

"Glad you like it." He stepped back a few feet from the tree, looking at it with narrowed eyes, as if making sure it stood as straight as it possibly could. "I didn't have anything to use as a bowl, so I'm not sure how we'll keep it fresh."

"I'll get some paper towels and dampen them, then wrap them around the bottom of the trunk. It should work okay." I gazed at the tree, wondering what to do to decorate it. Go to town and raid the nearest Michael's? No, that wouldn't work, even if I could convince Jace to take me on such a frivolous expedition. The Heat had struck in late September, and even a store as gung-ho for Christmas as Michael's wouldn't have had any decorations out then. Should we raid random houses along Upper Canyon Road and see if they had any boxes of Christmas decorations hidden in their garages?

That sounded even worse.

Then I remembered the jars of popping corn in the pantry. Perfect. Old-fashioned, but it suited the way we were living now. "We can make popcorn strings, and I'll use one of the spare Mexican blankets in the linen closet to wrap around the base. It'll look great."

Jace nodded. "Sounds good. I'll try not to eat all the popcorn before you get it on the string."

"Better not," I warned him, and went to kiss him on the cheek before heading off to the kitchen. I had no idea how much popcorn to make to cover a seven-foot tree, but I got the feeling I was about to find out.

A good deal, as it turned out, and although Jace didn't eat all of it, or even anything close, I did catch him popping quite a few kernels into his mouth as he worked at making his own strings to decorate the tree. It was so lovely being there with him in the living room, a fire blazing away in the hearth, candles burning on the tables and on the mantelpiece of twisted juniper, that I couldn't even get angry about the way a good portion of the popcorn in his bowl was going into his mouth rather than onto the thread he held. Then again, maybe that had something to do with the half bottle of wine we'd brought out here with us after we were done eating dinner.

Either way, I was feeling more than a little mellow as we hung the popcorn strings on the tree, then topped it with a five-pointed star that Jace had fashioned out of aluminum foil and tied on with some extra thread.

"I want to make a wish," I said.

"Is that a tradition?" he asked. "To make a wish when you put the star on the tree?"

"I don't know if it was for everyone. But we always did it in my family." A flicker of sadness went over me then as I thought of all those family Christmases when I was younger, the wrapping paper strewn everywhere, hot cocoa for Devin and me and coffee for my parents. Regret, too, that they'd never get to meet Jace. I had a feeling they would have liked him.

"All right," he said. "What's your wish?"

So many I could have made — that the world would somehow heal itself, that the Dying had never happened. Those things were out of my hands, though, so I wished for the one thing I truly wanted that was reasonable. "I wish that it will always be like this — the two of us here, together."

A glow touched his dark eyes, a glow that had nothing to do with the flicker of the fireplace or the gleam of the candles all around us. "I think I can make that wish come true."

He moved close, pulling me into his arms, and then he was kissing me, mouth warm, lips insistent against mine. Just like the first time we'd kissed, I could taste the wine on his tongue, and heat flamed through me, awakening a deep throbbing in my core. I knew this was one night when we wouldn't fall asleep exhausted without touching one another.

No, we were hurrying down the hallway to the bedroom, laughing at the chilly air, Jace fumbling with the logs so he could get the fire going.

"You should have come in here right after dinner like you were supposed to," I teased him.

"I would have, except someone insisted I come with her to make popcorn strings."

"Oh, right. Well, I hope that won't take you _too_ long." I pulled the sweater I wore over my head, followed by the long-sleeved T-shirt I had on underneath. It was cold enough that I broke out in goose bumps, but I wouldn't let that stop me. While Jace was busy with the lighter, his back to me, I took off my boots, then stepped out of my jeans. All that remained were my socks and my bra and panties, and I made short work of those.

When he turned around, his mouth dropped slightly. "Damn, Jessica." He took in a breath, then added, his voice husky, "You are so beautiful."

Heat went over me, despite how cold it was in the room. "Th-thanks," I said, my teeth chattering slightly. "Now come over here so I can tell you the same thing."

He was across the room in a flash, my fingers working the buttons of his flannel shirt while he undid his belt buckle and then the buttons of his Levi's. Oh, how I loved the smooth, heavy muscles of his chest, his flat stomach. If anything, he'd gotten bigger and harder during his months here, probably from all the manual labor.

Speaking of bigger and harder....

I sank to my knees, stroking him, and then brought him into my mouth, tasting salt and a faint, faint musk. He moaned and tipped his head back, his fingers tightening on my shoulders. "Man, Jessica," he breathed. "I'll have to remember to bring you Christmas trees more often."

Chuckling, I continued to move my hand up and down his shaft, my tongue swiping over him. After that, he didn't seem capable of speech, only continued to hold on to me, until he pulled himself from my mouth and raised me to my feet, then pushed me down on the bed, his hands warm on my ass.

We didn't have sex in this position very often, but I loved it when we did. He pushed into me, hands shifting slightly so they were wrapped around my hips as he rocked against me, in me, and I gasped, my own palms flat on the bed as I took him in, took all of him, pushing deeper, stronger, until I felt the throbbing warmth growing within me and knew I was close...so close.

As was Jace, because I felt him clench, then cry out, and as he released, I did so as well, my body clamping down on him, pulsing, squeezing. I gasped. "Oh, God, Jace...."

That was about all I could manage before I collapsed on the bed. He slid down next to me, his chest heaving, and then pulled me against him. How perfect the warmth of his skin, the way our bodies fit together. We held each other in silence like that for a few moments, and then he said,

"Happy?"

I didn't even have to stop to think. "I've never been this happy."

He kissed me then, not fiercely as he had before, but with a touch of his lips to my skin as soft as a snowflake settling there. "That's all I've ever wanted. To make you happy."

Because I could already feel myself slipping into sleep, I didn't really stop to puzzle that out, how he could've always wanted such a thing when we'd only known each other for less than two months. Instead, I cradled my head against his chest, and let myself drift into darkness.

# Chapter 17

Voices in the darkness woke me. I blinked and sat up, holding myself still for a second or two, since the room wanted to spin around me. For some reason, I felt positively thick-headed, like the one time in college I'd tried an over-the-counter sleep aid because I was stressed from exams and the breakup with Colin, and I was having a hard time falling asleep. That didn't make sense, though, since I hadn't had anything more than a glass of wine with dinner, and another one while we were in the living room, making popcorn strings.

Instinctively, I reached to my right, where Jace should have been sleeping. But the bed was empty, although I knew we couldn't have been asleep for too long, as the fire was still burning brightly. Dutchie was passed out in front of it, nose and tail almost touching, her heavy breaths not quite a snore.

Once again I heard that strange murmur, and I sat very still, ears straining to make out individual words. But the voices were far enough off that I couldn't catch anything, although one of them sounded like it could be Jace. Had he gotten up and tested the radio, and this time actually made contact with someone? I would have thought he'd come and wake me up for something that momentous, but maybe he'd thought it best to let me sleep.

I blinked, fighting off the last of that strange drowsiness, pushed back the covers, retrieved my panties from where they were lying on the floor, and then went to the closet to get my flannel sleep shirt and thick robe. Yes, lying naked next to each other was very romantic, but by the time 4 a.m. rolled around, it was also damn cold. Luckily, Jace didn't seem to mind the sleep shirt, which was covered in penguins. One time he even told me he thought it was cute. He could have been lying, but I think it was more that he wanted me to know he thought I was sexy no matter what I might be wearing to bed.

As I tied the robe around me, I went to the doorway, then paused. The voices should have been coming from my right, down the hall in the direction of the office. But they weren't — instead, they seemed to originate in the living room.

That didn't make any sense. Even if the unthinkable had happened and another survivor had shown up on our doorstep, I should have heard something, no matter how deeply asleep I was. If nothing else, Dutchie would have barked her head off. But she was passed out on the floor of the bedroom, so conked she looked like someone had drugged her.

Frowning, I slipped out into the corridor, the tile floor icy against my bare feet. It wasn't quite pitch dark, since, in our rush to get to the bedroom, Jace and I had left the pillar candles burning on the coffee table and on the mantel. Because of that, as I approached I could make out clearly enough who was in the living room.

Only...my brain couldn't quite grasp what it was seeing. Two men. At least, they looked like men, but...they couldn't be. Not hovering in midair, approximately a foot and a half above the floor, as if they had no need of solid ground.

One of them was Jace. Or rather, he resembled Jace, except somehow older and harder, his jaw and eyes stern. His hair seemed longer than its current inch or so below shoulder length, almost as long as mine, and floated around him, appearing to wave in an unseen wind, a wind that stirred the branches of the Christmas tree and made all the flames in the pillar candles on the mantel and coffee table dance and sway. Just as when he'd fallen asleep, his chest and arms were bare, but now thick cuffs of silvery-blue metal surrounded his wrists, and he wore full-legged pants made of a shimmering dark blue fabric, possibly silk.

The other man...or whatever he was...stood in profile to me, so I couldn't get all that good a look at him. And actually, I wasn't sure I wanted to. There was something cruel in his hawkish profile, in the set of his jaw and mouth. His hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail and banded with reddish metal — copper, maybe, or even rose gold. More reddish metal gleamed at his wrists, and his pants, similar in construction to the ones Jace wore, were a dark burnt-umber sort of shade.

Stranger than his presence, and even stranger than the way he floated above the floor, however, was the way odd little flames seemed to dance around his feet and swirl in the air directly above his head, as if he were somehow made of fire, and had only taken on physical form so he could have this conversation.

I flattened myself against the wall, glad of my bare feet, which had made no sound as I approached, and the relative darkness of the hallway where I hid. Jace...that oddly altered Jace...and the stranger would have had to look directly at me to see me at all, and it seemed clear enough that they were occupied with one another, not sparing a glance for the supposedly sleeping house around them.

"...wasted enough time here already," the stranger was saying. His voice was deeper than Jace's, harsh, and something about it made chills go up and down my spine. "It is time to come join the rest of us."

"Surely a few days more won't matter," Jace replied. "After Christmas has passed — "

The stranger made a sound of disgust. "Christmas? What foolishness is this? That day means nothing to us, and you have coddled the woman long enough. Tell her the truth, or as much of it as you deem necessary, but we will not wait much longer."

"What is the rush?" Jace crossed his arms and stared directly into the other man's eyes, something I didn't think I'd have had the courage to do. "What does it matter if we wait out the winter here, and then come to you in the spring?"

For the briefest second, the stranger hesitated, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, even as the flames dancing around his feet and above his head flared brighter, shifting from warm orange to an acid yellow. From annoyance...or something else? "Because it may not be safe to do so. We are disturbed by some of the developments among the Immune. They've gathered in a place not far from here, and although we do not know how they are managing it, they are blocking us from scrying them, or indeed from coming within miles of their compound so we might finish them off."

_"The Immune"?_ I thought. _Other survivors? And what the hell does he mean by "finish them off"?_

"That is troubling," Jace said, and it seemed the unseen wind that swirled around him gained in force, wildly blowing at his hair and causing the flames of several of the candles to almost snuff themselves. "No one has been able to get close?"

"No. There is one road in and one road out, both heavily guarded. Several of the Chosen volunteered to investigate, since they would be able to get far closer to the Immune than we would, but we have had no contact with any of them since, and it is feared they have been lost."

It was hard for me to tell for certain, but it almost seemed as if Jace winced when he received that particular piece of information, as if it was more painful to him than the rest of what he had just heard. "That is a grievous loss."

The stranger shrugged. Clearly, he was not overly concerned about the loss of these "Chosen," whoever they might be. "They volunteered for the mission. Their partners will find replacements, if they wish."

From the set of his shoulders, it appeared that Jace wasn't quite so blithe about the fate of the Chosen who had disappeared. "How long has it been? Perhaps you are not giving them enough time."

"Two weeks, as such things are counted here. Time enough." The stranger straightened, his eyes on a level with Jace's. "I am telling you this because your safety here is not guaranteed. Better for you to be with the rest of us." Then he paused, and my heart seemed to stop in my chest as he glanced over in my direction. "Your paramour is awake. It seems she was not quite as deeply asleep as you thought. You will have some explaining to do, I think."

That appeared to be his parting shot, because after he made that remark, the flames which had been licking at his feet seemed to grow and swell, rising until they engulfed him. Then they went out, and Jace was alone in the living room.

His eyes met mine, and I saw him draw in a breath, then lower himself to the floor. As he did so, his appearance shifted back to the Jace I knew...or thought I knew. At the same time, the lamp in the corner of the room flared to life, although neither of us had touched a light switch.

"Jessica," he said, his arms reaching out to me as he began to move in my direction.

"Don't," I retorted, still hugging the wall. "Stay back."

He stopped at once, but I could see the pleading in his dark eyes. "Jessica, I can explain — "

"Oh, you'd better explain." The cool plaster of the wall against my back gave me a little courage. At least this way, he'd have to face me, couldn't sneak up on me from behind. "Who — what are you?"

His shoulders seemed to droop then. He looked so pitiful that, under normal circumstances, I would have gone to him at once and put my arms around him, attempted to comfort him. But there would be no comfort here. Not after what I had just seen.

"Please, come and sit down," he said. "We must have this conversation, but we don't need to have it like this."

I shook my head. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Jessica." This time he sounded different, his voice deeper, the way it had been when he was speaking with that — whoever he was. At the same time, he backed off, going to sit down on the couch. "Look. Here I am. You can sit in that chair. I promise I won't move unless you say it's all right."

For a second or two, I didn't do anything, only watched him through narrowed eyes. He was sitting there quietly, his hands planted on his knees. He certainly didn't look as if he intended to launch at me, but how could I trust him when it was clear he was definitely not who he had pretended to be?

Then again, I did want answers, and if he might be more inclined to give them if I sat down as he'd asked, then that seemed to be what I should do. Not taking my eyes off him, I crossed over to the chair and sank into it. Actually, that did feel a bit better, although the spurious sensation of relief could have had something to do with the rug under my bare, icy feet and the warmth of the fire as it reached out to heat the room.

I pulled in a breath. "So...this you I'm looking at right now. Is it the real you, or the other one?"

In answer, his features seemed to shift and harden, becoming those of the man I'd seen floating above the floor a few minutes earlier. Still handsome...in a way, more handsome, because those features had somehow become more chiseled, more refined, even though he was recognizable as the Jace I'd thought I had known. "This is my true aspect," he said.

Right then, I wasn't sure which was upsetting me more — knowing that Jace wasn't real, was some sort of disguise worn by this...being — or the casual way he flipped from one appearance to the other. I tightened my fingers on my knees, feeling the soft nap of the robe I wore and realizing that now it was giving me absolutely no comfort. "And your true name?"

"Jasreel."

So he was still Jace, in a way...although I doubted I'd ever feel comfortable enough to call him that again. The thought made incongruous tears sting my eyes, and I swallowed. Could I mourn the loss of something I'd never truly had?

Maybe, at some point. Right then, I had to man up and get some answers.

"So what are you?" I asked, my voice deliberately hard. "Some kind of demon...angel...what?"

"Neither." He reached up to touch the smooth stone he wore around his neck, and I wondered then if it was some sort of talisman, rather than the simple souvenir I'd thought it must be. "I am a djinn."

I blinked at him. "What, you mean like _I Dream of Jeannie,_ and the big blue guy in the lamp from _Aladdin?_ "

His mouth tightened. "Not like that at all, even though your people have simplified the idea of the djinn to something as foolish as a being who can grant wishes."

"So you don't grant wishes?"

"When called by a powerful enough magician, perhaps. But we do not enjoy the process and will do whatever we can do free ourselves from such bonds."

Okay. First djinn...and now magicians? My head was spinning. "All right, so you're a djinn. I can't really deny that, not when I saw you floating two feet above the floor and watched your friend vanish in a puff of smoke."

Jace's... _Jasreel's_...brows drew together. "He is not my friend, not in any way you would understand."

I decided to let it go for now. That other djinn had seemed like a nasty customer anyway. There was a far more important question I wanted to ask. "All right, then... _why?_ "

A long, long silence. He stared at me, dark eyes sorrowful. "You should know... _beloved._ "

Every single vein in my body seemed to be filled with ice. I tried to draw in a breath, but it got caught somewhere in my throat, choking me. I stared at him, then finally forced the words out. "That was you? The voice was _you?_ "

"Yes," he said simply. "I had chosen you, and so I would do whatever was necessary to keep you safe."

In my mind's eye, I saw Chris Bowman's limp body being thrown across the yard as if it had been made of rags, saw a bullet stop an inch away from my face, then bounce harmlessly off some invisible shield. Yes, this Jasreel had been there all along, watching over me, then leading me here. But for what purpose? I found it hard to believe that some sort of supernatural, supremely powerful being would go to all that trouble just for a little booty.

"That word," I said. " _Chosen_. I heard your visitor mention it, too. What does it mean, really?"

Jasreel stared at me with those sad, sad eyes. How could I be terrified of him, and angry with him...and yet still want to reach out to comfort him? No, that was crazy. Bad enough that only a few hours earlier we'd —

My brain shut down that line of thought with an almost audible _click_. I could not let myself think about that, or I really would go mad.

"It will be difficult to hear," he said quietly.

"And it'll be even more difficult for me not to know the truth," I replied. "So tell me."

His fingers clenched on his knees. For the first time, I noticed that although his face and body had shifted to those of what he called his true self, he wasn't wearing those silk pantaloon things, but a pair of flannel pajama bottoms he routinely wore to bed when he was pretending to be "Jace." The contrast was jarring.

Then he said, "This world was ours once, uncounted ages ago. When God made man, He — "

"Wait, what?" I broke in. "God? Like, _the_ God?"

"Yes, _the_ God." This was accompanied by a flicker of a smile, but Jasreel's expression sobered quickly enough afterward. "When God made man, the djinn were cast out, and this world given over to mankind. We are not flesh precisely as you understand it, although we can make ourselves corporeal as it suits us. We spent long ages in exile, only coming to this world when summoned, or during brief stolen moments. During that time, the world changed a good deal, and mankind along with it. We watched from our exile, saw how you were destroying this gift you were given. And so, among certain quarters, the decision was made to take back that which had been stolen from us."

That did not sound good at all. I pulled my robe more tightly around me, although I didn't think that was going to do much to combat the chill which seemed to be creeping through every limb.

"Many years were given over to the task, but at last the means of mankind's destruction was perfected — an illness so grave that it would take almost the entire population of the earth with it."

"You — _you_ did that?" I demanded, sour bile churning in my stomach at the thought that this — _thing_ — had been behind the death and destruction of everyone and everything I had cared about. I got to my feet, not even thinking, just knowing I had to get away from him, had to run —

But he'd risen as well, his hand clamping on my arm like iron, preventing me from fleeing. "No, _I_ did not do that. There were those of us who protested, who said we could not support such a vile act. We were outnumbered, though, overruled."

His fingers felt as if they were burning into my flesh. "Let go of me," I gritted from between clenched teeth.

To my surprise, he did release me, raising his hands as if in surrender. "Jessica, I am sorry. The only compromise we were allowed was that those of us who did not support such extreme measures would be able to choose from among the Immune, to find someone who would be under our protection, who would not be subject to the final purge."

"'Final purge'?" I echoed, my stomach clenching once again. Just when I'd thought it couldn't get any worse. "What are you talking about?"

He pulled in a breath, although I noticed he kept his gaze fixed on my face and didn't try to look away. "Those who created the virus knew that no illness would have a perfect mortality rate. There are now perhaps two million people left alive, scattered across the face of the planet. And so the next task is to eradicate the Immune, leaving behind only the Chosen."

It was so awful that I truly couldn't begin to comprehend the scope of what he was telling me. Two million out of seven billion seemed like a paltry number, but obviously the djinn in charge wouldn't be satisfied with even that many human beings left alive.

My legs gave way, and I slumped back down into my chair. "How many?" I asked. "How many Chosen?"

"A thousand."

One thousand people, out of two million. All those who'd thought they had survived the worst, who even now were struggling to pick up the pieces of a world that had utterly fallen apart...they would have all that stolen from them.

"What will happen to the Immune?" I asked. I wasn't sure where those words had come from. It wasn't as if I'd consciously decided to ask that question.

Jasreel sat down as well, expression troubled. In a way, I was surprised I could read his face so easily, since he wasn't even human. But he looked human enough at the moment, and he'd certainly done a good job of fooling me these past few months.

"They will be hunted down," he said at last. "As one of the dissenters, I am not privy to exactly how and why, and truly, I don't wish to know. I cannot stop it."

"You're really that powerless? How many dissenters are there?"

"As many as there are Chosen. One thousand. The djinn do not number anywhere near what mankind once did, but there are still some twenty thousand of my people, far too many for any of us dissenters to even contemplate confronting them." He sent me an imploring look then, as if pleading for me to understand. "Jessica, we did everything we could to stop this thing from happening. It was beyond our power. All we could do was save that chosen one thousand of you."

My protests died on my lips then. Yes, he had lied about who and what he was, but this Jasreel had been by my side for the better part of two months now, and I saw nothing in his face in that moment but regret and sorrow. Whatever horrors his people had perpetrated, he'd wanted nothing to do with them.

Which left only one question. "Then...why me? Why did you choose me? I'm no one."

He was off the couch and on his knees in one fluid movement. So close, and yet I noticed he didn't try to reach out and touch me. He wouldn't, I realized then, unless I told him it was all right.

Whether or not that would happen...even I didn't know for sure.

His voice was pitched low, but no less intense for all that. "Beloved, you are not _no one_. I recognized your beauty and your strength, and I knew you were the choice of my heart, even out of several million survivors."

What was I supposed to say in response to such a declaration? I stared at him, at a face that was like Jace's, but wasn't, at the broad shoulders, the arms thick with muscle. He looked human, and yet I knew he was anything but a mortal man.

"Please," I whispered. "Please don't call me that. I don't — I don't know what to think."

A stillness settled on his features in that moment, as if he'd finally realized that I wasn't simply going to say, _Oh, it's all right, I still love you, too, all is forgiven._ He glanced away from me, over at the fire, and then back. "I realize this is all difficult for you."

"'Difficult'?" I repeated. "I think we passed difficult about ten minutes ago." I pulled in a breath, then pushed the chair back so I could stand up without bumping into him. "I just — I need some time to process this, okay?"

He didn't get up, but remained there on his knees, still staring up at me with that blank expression on his face. A muscle twitched in his cheek as he said, "You can have as much time as you need."

"Good." I sidled away from the chair, moving toward the hallway. "And — don't come to the bedroom. Go back to your old room. That is, if djinn even need to sleep."

With that parting shot, I made my escape, all but running to get away from him. Even so, I couldn't help taking a quick backward glance as I left the living room. He was still kneeling on the floor, but now his head was bowed, his elbows on the coffee table, as if he needed that support to keep himself from collapsing completely.

At that sight, my throat tightened, and the hallway around me blurred, tears welling to my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. I stumbled into the master suite and then fell on the bed — the bed where Jace had made love to me so many times — sobs tearing themselves out of my chest. I didn't even know exactly what I was crying about. The loss of what I thought I'd had with Jace? The realization that the Dying had come about not because of some horrible accident of nature, but from directed, malevolent intention? Or knowing that the Dying wasn't even over, and that the survivors, the Immune, would soon be attacked by the djinn, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it?

All of those, and so much more.

Dutchie jumped up on the bed and licked my face, and I gave a strangled laugh, then pulled her close, burying my face in her soft fur. No, ordinarily she wasn't allowed on the bed, but in that moment, she knew I needed her.

I clung to her the way a shipwreck survivor might cling to a life preserver, and finally let sleep take me to a place where I could try to forget all the horrors I had just been told.

# Chapter 18

I stalled as long as I could. I took a shower, dried my hair, even put on some lip gloss and mascara, things I hadn't bothered with lately, not after I'd swiped some heavy-duty lip balm from REI on our one foraging run there. But all the preparation in the world could only take so much time, and eventually I had to emerge from the master suite, although I noticed that Dutchie had nudged the door open earlier and slipped away.

Or maybe Jasreel had let her out.

Despite my delaying tactics, I knew I wasn't ready to face him. A cowardly part of me was praying that he'd packed up and left, had gone to "join the others," as the strange, cruel-looking djinn had told him to do. Where that supernatural meet-up was supposed to take place, I didn't know. I didn't want to know.

The smell of coffee told me Jasreel was still here, though. I stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and saw him standing at the counter, staring out at the bleak landscape beyond the false lushness of the garden. The goats were already grazing, which meant he must have gone and milked them, taken care of their water, then let them out. Since the snow from the last storm had all melted by then, save for a few drifts directly under the eaves of the house, nothing was stopping them from cropping at the short, yellowed grass.

"You made coffee," I said, my tone flat.

"I thought you could use some."

I noticed he was wearing Jace's clothes — flannel shirt, faded Levi's, worn boots — and yet they couldn't really be Jace's clothes. This Jasreel was just enough bigger, more muscled, that dressing him would require a whole new wardrobe. No, these had to be counterfeits, copies, garments designed to look like what I was used to seeing him wear and therefore intended to put me at ease, when in fact they were doing the exact opposite. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and although his expression was serene enough this morning, his eyes looked shadowed. So could djinn suffer from sleepless nights, or was this his attempt at evoking some kind of pity in me?

Normally, I would have said thank you. This morning, though, I went to the cupboard in silence, got out a mug, and poured myself a cup. Getting some goat's milk and a smidgen of sugar to leaven it used up some more time, a few minutes where I didn't have to say anything. I could feel Jasreel's eyes on me, watching every movement I made, and I didn't like it at all.

At last I turned around and made myself face him, although it was one of the harder things I'd done. Now, in the morning light, I could see more of those differences, see how his brows were just slightly more arched, his jaw just a little more square. There were faint laugh lines around the dark, dark eyes, although they were the same, nearly black, and still circled by the kind of lashes most women would kill for.

"Why are you still here?" I asked abruptly, my fingers circled around the coffee mug I held, desperately trying to claim some of its warmth. My hands felt as icy as the world outside the kitchen.

The question seemed to surprise him. His eyebrows lifted, and he said, "You didn't tell me to leave."

All right, I hadn't, in so many words. I'd said he could go back to his old bedroom, which in his mind seemed to have been an open-ended invitation to stay. Last night, I hadn't exactly been thinking all that clearly.

His voice lowered. "Do you want me to leave?"

Did I? Rationally, I knew I should have ordered him out of the house the night before, but in that moment, all I'd been able to think about was him not following me to the bedroom.

"I — I don't know," I said at last, then added, as I saw hope flare in his eyes, "that is, I still have some questions I want to ask."

Mouth thinning to a compressed line, he nodded. "You can ask me anything."

_Maybe,_ I thought, _but that doesn't mean I'm going to get an answer I like._ I sipped some coffee, letting the heat of it course down my throat and begin to thaw that lump of ice at my core. Who knew I could feel so cold, when before Jace had made me so warm?

"Jason Little River," I said, bringing up something I'd been pondering while in the shower. "Is he just someone you made up, or is he a real person?"

"He was a real person," Jasreel said. From the use of "was" and the way Jasreel's mouth tightened as he said it, I had to assume that the Mr. Little River was no longer with us. "Everything I told you about me was true...about him, that is. He grew up in Taos, went to the university in Albuquerque, split his time between the pueblo and building his own business in town. He was also physically similar to me, and that made it much easier to hold the illusion of his appearance for extended periods." A pause while Jasreel drank some of his own coffee, which I noticed was pure black. "Jace" had always taken milk, like me. "Jason Little River died two days after the Heat came to Taos. After he was gone, I took his appearance, and his motorcycle, and began the journey here to Santa Fe."

That part didn't make any sense. I decided for sanity's sake that I'd leave aside the part where Jasreel clearly knew where and when the real Jason was going to die. "His motorcycle? What the hell for? Couldn't you have just...I don't know...materialized on my doorstep?"

Jasreel didn't smile. Still in that same quiet, intense voice, he said, "I could have, but that journey was important for me as well. I needed some time to become Jason, to grow accustomed to being him. Showing up weary and footsore here made me more...believable."

Something about that comment just made me angry, like he'd known I would fall for his act but decided to hedge his bets, just in case. "All right, you suckered me. So why lie in the first place? Why not tell me the truth?"

He set down his mug. I could see the anguish in his eyes, but all he did was ask quietly, "And would you have believed me? If I had to come to you as myself, told you that my race had destroyed mankind but also that you would live because I wished it, what would you have done?"

What _would_ I have done? In that moment, I honestly couldn't say for certain. When I'd found this place, guided here by the voice, I was thinking more or less five minutes ahead, only wanting to survive another night. I was tired, heartsore, drained. Could I have found it within myself to believe what he told me? Maybe, if he'd given me a little demonstration of that "floating above the ground" trick.

Whether I would have allowed him into my heart and my bed was an entirely different matter.

"I don't know!" I flung at him. "All I do know is that you came here, and you _lied_ to me, made me think you were someone else...made me _love_ you...and now I have to reconcile that with the truth, with the way you used me — "

Horrible, choking sobs rose in my throat after that, and I had to stop, to drop my mug on the counter and turn away from him so I wouldn't have to look into that face, the face that used to be Jace's and wasn't anymore, tears rising up to blind me all over again. A mercy, because then I couldn't see him clearly.

But I could feel him, warm fingers lacing through mine and pulling me against him, his voice rough with sorrow as he said, "Beloved, it was never my intention to hurt you. I thought perhaps it might be easier — "

"Don't call me that!" I gasped, pushing at him, trying to free myself. He resisted for a scant second, and then released me, backing away and holding up his hands as if to show he had no intention of attempting to touch me again. Angrily, I wiped at my tears with the back of one hand.

"Very well...Jessica." He pulled in a breath, and I noticed how his chest rose and fell, as if he were struggling to gain control of himself. Could djinn experience an accelerated heartbeat, or difficulty breathing? One wouldn't think so, if they truly weren't completely tied to this plane of existence, or a physical body. But Jasreel was giving a good enough imitation of it now. Then again, he'd already proved that he was pretty good at pretending he was something he was not.

Looking a little less wild-eyed, he went on, "Jessica, I came to you as Jason Little River because I thought it would be easier for you. I thought we could grow to be comfortable with one another first, and then, when the time was right, I would tell you who I was really was, the truth behind the Dying. It was never my intention to hurt you. How could it be, when I swore an oath as I chose you that your life would be more precious than all the riches in the world to me?"

He took a step in my direction, and I retreated several feet toward the kitchen entrance. That stopped him, and he raised his hands again, almost as if he were as much telling himself to halt as he was showing that he didn't intend to pursue me or reach out for me. As I stood there, halfway toward the dining room, I realized that poor Dutchie, like most dogs who hate hearing their people fight, had retreated under the little round table in the nook and was staring at us with worried mismatched eyes.

For some reason, seeing her reaction to our quarrel made me calm down a bit. Dutchie loved me, but I remembered that she loved Jace — Jasreel — too. And if she loved Jasreel, surely that meant he couldn't be evil, or anything close to it. I'd seen the way she'd reacted to Chris Bowman, so I knew she wasn't one of those dogs who indiscriminately liked everyone. Whatever lies Jasreel might have told me in order to ease his way into my life, I knew then that he'd told them out of a misguided attempt to protect me, to avoid frightening me.

I was angry with him, and I was scared, almost as scared as the night my father died, but in that moment, I knew I didn't hate him. Some part of my soul wouldn't allow me to hate him.

He'd brought me a Christmas tree. That could have been another manipulation, but I didn't think so. He'd done that because he knew I wanted it, wanted some part of my life to feel normal, even when hardly anything in it was normal anymore.

Maybe something in my expression shifted. I couldn't say for sure, but it must have been enough to give Jasreel some hope, because he said, "Do you still wish for me to go?"

I didn't...but I also didn't know how I could begin to process all this with him around all the time. "I don't know," I replied. "A minute ago, I would have said yes. But — "

"But?"

It was time to take a deep breath of my own. "I suppose I want some more answers. What was that — the other djinn saying about the Immune?"

If he was disconcerted by my change of subject, Jasreel didn't show it. He could have simply been relieved that I was willing to go on talking, even if the topic of conversation had moved away from the two of us and where our relationship currently stood, and on to something more neutral.

"His name is Zahrias. He is the leader of our group in this — sector, I suppose, is the best word for it. The region is not quite analogous to your state of New Mexico, but close enough."

"So this Zahrias came here to, what, warn you?"

"More or less." Jasreel shifted, and I could tell he'd been about to step closer to me, but had pulled back at the last second. "In general, we djinn are able to look in on human affairs with very little interference. If we suddenly can't do so with the group at Los Alamos — "

"Lo," I said, and he stopped and shot me an inquiring look.

"What?"

"That was the transmission, wasn't it?" Another spark that could be fanned to anger. Now I thought I understood what I'd heard so briefly on the ham radio. Voice tight, I said, "The people — the Immune — were transmitting from Los Alamos. And you...cut it off."

"Yes," Jasreel replied, sounding resigned. "And yes, I disrupted the signal. Only because I wanted more time alone with you. Until Zahrias came to see me, I didn't know the group there was any kind of a threat. I only knew they must be Immune, and so their time on this earth was limited."

I decided to put that anger aside to be dealt with later. "So they're a threat just because you can't spy on them?"

"It's more than that, Jessica. The Immune simply should not have the capability to keep us from looking in on their doings. And now that some of the Chosen have disappeared, the ones who volunteered to go where we could not — well, you can see how that would be very troubling."

From his perspective, I supposed it was. For myself, I was more intrigued than anything else. What were they doing at Los Alamos that would allow them to evade djinn surveillance? I didn't know much about the town, except that it was still a place for research and had quite a few government contractor–type businesses. We drove up there once when I was in high school, more to go someplace off the beaten path than for any other reason, and it really did feel like I'd just walked onto the set of that TV show _Eureka,_ the one about a town populated by mad scientists.

But I figured the probability of discovering the truth about what the Immune in Los Alamos were doing was roughly the same as waking up to discover this had all been a terrible dream, so I moved on to my next question. "And the djinn? The ones from this sector, I mean. Zahrias made it sound as if they were all holed up somewhere."

Jasreel gave me an incongruous grin, as if that mental image amused him. "Djinn do not precisely 'hole up,' but they are using Taos as their base of operations."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. A touristy little town didn't seem like quite the right spot for a bunch of supernatural villains to be hanging out. "Why Taos?"

"Since its population was small to begin with, it did not have many survivors, and the one or two who were left were...." He let the sentence trail off, but I got the gist.

"Disposed of?" I volunteered.

A grim nod. "Yes. Also, because it was a travel destination, it has accommodations for a number of people, restaurants with good stores of food, and so on."

"They have power in Taos?"

"In a manner of speaking."

I wondered exactly what he meant by that, but I decided the day-to-day logistics of keeping Taos going under djinn occupation weren't my top concern at the moment. "And because the Immune in Los Alamos are up to something you can't figure out, Zahrias wanted you to leave here and go to Taos."

"Exactly. You and I have been safe on this property, hidden from the world. It's exactly why I chose this place as our sanctuary, our haven. But if what Zahrias says is true, then it might be best if we left and took refuge with the other djinn and the Chosen in Taos."

Crossing my arms, I said, "That's assuming I would go with you."

Now the expression he wore was one of resignation. "I will not force you. I can say that it would be safer. But that is your decision to make."

_Oh, thanks for putting it back on me,_ I thought. But hauling me off to Taos without so much as a by-your-leave would have made me far, far angrier. Jasreel was treating me as a peer now, giving me equal say in what we should do next. I could tell that Zahrias' news about the Immune in Los Alamos had Jasreel worried. For myself, I didn't think I had that much to worry about. After all, they were human beings. I was one of them.

Or...was I? Maybe they would look on me as some kind of co-conspirator, a betrayer of my kind. Of course, I hadn't known Jasreel was djinn, but I had no idea whether that kind of excuse would wash with them or not.

"Let me think about it," I said. "I have to go gather the eggs." That had always been my chore, just as watering the goats and lugging their pellets from the garage to the feeding trough he'd built next to their lean-to was Jace's — Jasreel's — job.

He seemed to recognize that I needed some time alone, because he didn't protest, only said, "Of course," and went to get his neglected cup of coffee. I realized then that I'd only had a few sips out of mine. Oh, well. I didn't want to have to go past him to retrieve my mug, so I wrote it off as a loss and went to put on my coat and gloves.

The djinn didn't try to follow me.

The cold air was bracing, but it didn't do a lot to clear my mind or settle the thoughts that kept racing through it. I gathered eggs mechanically, placing them in the basket with practiced care, the familiar stink of the henhouse around me. Glancing down, I realized it would need to be shoveled again soon. If I asked Jasreel to do it, would he? He'd handled the distasteful chore ever since my one disastrous attempt to handle it, but that was back when he was still trying to convince me he wasn't anyone except a guy from the pueblo, someone who was used to taking on a good deal of manual labor.

_Maybe he can just wave his hands and have all this bird poop and dirty straw magically disappear,_ I thought. _That would be convenient._

Problem was, I didn't know if his powers — whatever they were, exactly — worked that way.

But even as I pondered such trivialities, my thoughts kept dancing around the real question, the one I didn't know if I could ever answer.

_Can I forgive him?_

Because it wouldn't be simply forgiving the lies he'd told me. To a certain extent, I could understand why he'd done that. If he'd been watching me for some time, studying me before he made me his Chosen, then he would have known I wasn't the type of person who watched the skies for UFOs or believed in ghosts or any of that other "woo-woo stuff," as my friend Tori used to put it. A djinn? I probably would have burst out laughing — if I hadn't unloaded my shotgun into him first, just to be safe. True, if I'd done that and he'd survived unscathed, then maybe I would have started to believe in his supernatural origins.

No, forgiveness would have to go far, far beyond that. He'd protested that he couldn't stop the Dying, couldn't have kept his people from unleashing their terrible virus on the world. Maybe not; I'd seen this Zahrias, the de facto leader of my little part of the world, and if he was any indicator of the type of people the djinn had running things, then I could understand how pleas for mercy would have fallen on extremely deaf ears. Even so, many would say Jasreel still was guilty by association. It was the djinn who had done this terrible thing, and he was a djinn.

All right, most people would probably think that way. But I wasn't a lot of people. I was me. I had to make this decision for myself, based on what my heart and my gut and my mind told me.

And what they were telling me was that Jasreel loved me. He couldn't save everyone, but he could save me. And he had. He'd saved me, and he'd shown, day in and day out, that he cared for me. In little things, like always making sure he helped clear the table, even though the dishes were my bailiwick, and properly sorting his dirty clothes into the correct bins in the laundry room so I wouldn't have to do it. Bigger things, like that Christmas tree and the aforementioned mucking-out of the henhouse.

The biggest of all...watching over me, keeping me safe, all along knowing that we weren't precisely equals, that he was a being of vastly more power and experience. And yet he had never talked down to me, never discounted my suggestions, always took me seriously. If that wasn't love and respect, what was?

Well, it sounded as if I'd answered my own question.

Feeling lighter by roughly a hundred pounds, I headed back to the house and let myself in the back door, through the mudroom. I scraped off my boots, set down the basket of eggs before I took off my jacket, and then went into the kitchen. Jasreel wasn't there, but I noticed that he'd cleaned out his coffee mug and put it on the dish drain. That wasn't just sucking up, either; he always cleaned up after himself.

"Jasreel?" I called out, the syllables of his proper name feeling strange on my tongue.

"In the living room," he replied.

I wondered what he was doing there. Figuring I'd find out soon enough, I headed in that direction. He was standing in front of the fireplace, which we had going pretty much twenty-four/seven these days. In his right hand he held a log, so it appeared he'd gone in to stoke up the blaze. Dutchie was lying next to him, patting at his leg with one paw. Obviously, someone thought it was time for a belly rub.

Smothering a smile, I said, "So...."

"So?" He set the log on the fire and turned toward me, disrupting the dog's pant-pawing. She gave me a disgusted look and rolled away from Jasreel, toward the hearth.

"So...I'll go to Taos with you. If you think it's for the best."

An expression of such joy spread over his face that, for an instant, all my doubts and worries deserted me. Surely no one who could look like that would ever mean me any kind of harm. He came to me and cupped my cheeks in his hands, turning my face up toward him.

"You're sure?"

Was I? His fingers were warm on my face, reassuring, strong but gentle. No one had ever touched me like that. No one except Jace...Jasreel.

I nodded.

He bent and kissed me then, and it was the first time I had kissed this version of him, the first time I had felt the contours of this particular mouth, the taste of this tongue. Not so very different from "Jace," but different enough that I had to remind myself that it was still him, still the man who had kissed me before, who had made love to me on those cold winter mornings and stood laughing in a field after a billy goat knocked me on my rear end.

But then I felt his body go rigid, and he took a step away from me, one hand going to his throat.

"What is it?" I asked, reaching out to hold on to his fingers. They felt like ice.

His hands had always been warm. Always, no matter how cold it might be outside, as if the weather didn't affect him the same way it affected me.

"Can't...breathe...."

I put my hand on his chest, felt his heart beating wildly within, felt him laboring to pull in a breath. Which he did, a short, shallow gasp. Better than nothing, but it didn't explain what was happening to him.

Dutchie got to her feet, nose pointed toward the doorway. A low, penetrating growl emerged from her throat, and her ears flattened against her head.

_What the —_

I didn't have time to complete the thought, because in the next second, the front door was flung open, and a group of seven men wearing parkas and heavy boots burst into the living room. Six of them carried guns, and the seventh some sort of strange device, no more than a little black box, really, with lights that seemed to flicker deep within it, as if buried under a layer of dark translucent plastic.

The scream that had been building in my throat died when one of the men with the guns stepped forward and said, "It's all right, Ms. Monroe. We're only here for him." He pointed at Jasreel, who had taken a step backward, toward the hearth. Sweat was beginning to drip down his temples.

"Who — what — " I swallowed, knowing I had to keep it together, at least until I found out what the hell was going on. I began again. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

He nodded at the men who flanked him, most of whom were large, burly types, the kind of guys who once upon a time probably could have been found drinking beer at some back-road dive bar. They went to Jasreel and surrounded him, then began dragging him back toward the man in charge and the other one, the one holding that strange box. He, unlike his compatriots, was slender, of average height, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Despite the commotion around him, he didn't look up from the box he held, kept his fingertips moving over the surface, as if controlling it via touchpad.

The leader, who held himself like a military man and had the short-cropped hair to match, said, "Ms. Monroe, we're survivors from Los Alamos. We're collecting as many of these scum as we can" — a jerk of his chin in Jasreel's direction— "and are putting them on trial for crimes against humanity. Seems the least we can do, in the name of those who are no longer around to seek justice."

My mouth was so dry it physically hurt to swallow. But somehow I forced myself to do just that, even as I sent an agonized glance toward Jasreel. He had gone pale under his olive-toned skin, his breath coming in short, labored pants. What the hell were they doing to him?

"He's not guilty," I managed to get out. "He hasn't done anything wrong."

"Beg to differ, miss." The leader of the Los Alamos gang gave a faint nod, and the four men holding him began to drag Jasreel out the front door.

"No!" I began to move after them, but another of the group, one of the two men flanking the guy with the black box, took me by the arm.

"I wouldn't," he said in a murmur. "Right now you have the benefit of the doubt, but...." He let the words die away, but I got his meaning. It was Jasreel these men were after, not me. The last thing I should be doing was provoking them.

I gave the fair-haired man, who seemed to be about my age or a little more, the faintest of nods, then held my position, just a few feet away from the guy in charge. "What proof do you have that he's guilty of anything?"

"His nature is proof enough." He gave another of those chin-jerks at the man with the black box and the two men with him. For the first time, the one wearing glasses looked up from his device, whatever it was, then gave a faint nod, right before they went out the front door. The blond one gave me a warning glance before he turned and took up the rear, as if to tell me that I needed to stay put and keep my mouth shut.

Fat chance of that. Instead, I followed them. As soon as I was outside, the chilly air seemed to bite at me, piercing the thermal shirt I wore, but I ignored the momentary discomfort. Parked a little ways down the drive were two Hummers, one bright yellow, the other red. Clearly, these were some of the vehicles "liberated" from Santa Fe and the surrounding area.

I could see Jasreel being bundled into the yellow Hummer and cursed mentally. What was I supposed to do? There were seven of them — all right, the guy with the box seemed peculiarly uninterested in his surroundings and kept fiddling with the device, whatever it was, so maybe he wasn't much of a threat — but the rest of them were all big enough to take me individually, let alone as a group. And all my weapons were currently locked up in the gun safe.

The leader of the group paused and glanced down at me, seeming to really assess my appearance for the first time. He didn't leer, but I could see the look in his eyes take on a certain glint. "You should come with us," he said casually. "We're trying to in-gather as many of the Immune as we can. You'd be safe with us in Los Alamos. We can protect you."

For a second, I actually considered it. Not because I wanted to go with this bastard and his crew, but because that way I'd be closer to Jasreel. I'd still have to figure out some way to free him, but I thought attempting a rescue would be a lot easier if I were nearby.

_No, beloved._

The words were barely more than a gasp in my mind. I couldn't speak aloud, not with the leader of the band of thugs standing close by, so in desperation I tried to respond the same way. Amazingly, it seemed to work.

_But I want to stay with you!_

_You will be...better able to help me if you stay away from them, and free._

_How?_

_You will need assistance...and you will not be able to get it if you come with me to Los Alamos now. I do not think they intend to kill me right away._

_And that's supposed to be reassuring?_

_Yes, beloved._

I had to ask. _How are we doing this?_

_The bond between us. They have trapped me here on this plane, cut off my powers, but I can still speak to you thus. At least —_

But then the thought-speech abruptly broke off, and I realized it must have been because they'd finally hauled Jasreel into the Hummer and shut the door behind him. So our mental connection was limited — by space, and by physical barriers.

Luckily, the entire exchange had taken place in less time than the blink of an eye.

"Thanks for the offer," I told the leader, my tone as casual as I could make it, as if I hadn't just held a desperate mental dialogue with their captive. "But I've got goats and chickens to tend. I think I'll stay right here."

His eyes narrowed. "You sure? It's not safe for a woman alone."

_And I'd be so much safer in Los Alamos. Right._ Evenly, I replied, "I'll take my chances."

A long hesitation, and I worried that he might try to force me into the other Hummer. But then he shrugged and said, "Door's always open. Come find us there when you're ready."

I nodded, and he seemed to take that as the conclusion of our conversation, because he signaled the three men still waiting outside to get in the red Hummer. Immediately afterward, he crossed to the vehicle and climbed in the passenger seat. A slap on the door, and both vehicles moved off, heading down the drive and out through the gate, which I noticed was standing wide open. They must have shorted out the mechanism or something, although that should have triggered the alarm system. Then again, I didn't know what the black box the weedy-looking man had been holding could do. Maybe it could simultaneously short out the alarm and somehow trap Jasreel here in this world, with no hope of escape. Or maybe one of the men in the Hummers had just stepped out and clipped a couple of wires.

In a minute or two, I'd have to go inspect the gate and see if what they'd done was anything I could fix. In a minute or two, I'd have to take Dutchie back into the house and lock up, and pray that no unfriendly eyes had seen me in my current vulnerable state.

Right then, though, I could only stand there in the driveway and feel the icy tears roll down my cheeks, stinging in the bitter wind that was blowing down from the north. Jasreel was gone.

I turned so I faced west, in the direction the vehicles had disappeared. And although I knew he couldn't hear me, I still sent the words out to him, letting them ride on the wind.

_I will find you...beloved._

TAKEN, Book Two in the Djinn Wars series, is available at your favorite retailer.

* * *

Learn more on the author's website, or go here to sign up for her mailing list.

# NOLANDER

### Emanations, Book One

**Becca Mills**

* * *

Nice girls don't believe in monsters. They're wrong.

Amateur photographer Beth Ryder is in trouble. She's taking pictures of things she can't see, things that aren't human. Beth has her own dreams, but people like her don't get to go free. She's seized by a dangerous organization dedicated to keeping Earth's shadow world—and its frightening inhabitants—a secret. Forced into otherworldly politics and uncertain whom to trust, Beth must come to terms with a radically altered future—one in which her own humanity seems to be slipping away.

_Nolander_ is the first novel in the fantasy series Emanations. The second novel, _Solatium_ , and a short story, "Theriac," are also available.

# Author's Note

I have placed a Glossary of Places, Terms, and Individuals at the very end of this book. For ease of searching, I've alphabetized people according to what the main character, Beth Ryder, usually calls them. For example, Andrew Duff would be found under "A," for "Andy," whereas John Williams would be found under "W," for Williams.

# Prologue

The great beast slid through tall, dead grass.

The wind had led him here. It wanted to show him something.

His once-paws sensed broken asphalt and the hardened earth of early spring in the northlands, the damp soil still mixed with particles of ice.

His crystalline coat moved as the evening breeze greeted it.

The wind was getting reacquainted with him, here. He had not visited the north during the most recent coming of the ice, when the storms scoured the surface of the glaciers, and the land beneath was pressed low and remade. When the ice drew back, the fresh place attracted him. He had spent many days here, of late.

The humans brought newness as well, of course — structures, vehicles, plants and animals from other places. But these things interested him less. They had all come so quickly. Surely they were ephemeral.

As were humans themselves, most likely.

The beast had interacted with them on several occasions. They called him _Ghosteater_.

The idea of being a sound was strange to him. A scent. A posture. A way of looking down and to the side. These were more proper. But he no longer knew creatures who could address him properly, so sounds would have to do.

He looked up at the gray clouds, watched as they pushed and crowded one another across the sky. A full moon would rise soon, but its light would be dim.

He lowered his eyes to the broken place that stood before him. In days past, humans had used it. Now other creatures came and went — bats, mice, coyote, an owl.

But tonight, the wind whispered in his ear, something here would change.

No, that wasn't quite right. He sifted the wind's strange language, seeking understanding.

Things would change, and that change would begin here, tonight.

The wind suggested it concerned him. He could not imagine how. Nevertheless, change was interesting. He settled down to wait.

# Chapter 1

Anyone can take a nice picture of something pretty. Being able to show the beauty in ugliness and the interest in tedium — that's what makes you a real photographer.

The insight isn't my own. I read it on some website right after I won a fancy camera in St. John's Shingles, Fives, and Tens New-Roof Raffle.

I didn't have much money, and I wasn't a particularly eager church-goer, so I hadn't planned on participating. But when dirty water is actually dripping on your church's altar, the social pressure gets pretty strong, if you know what I mean. So I bought a raffle ticket. When Pastor Ezra called my name for the camera, I couldn't have been more surprised. I'd never won anything before.

I had to figure out what to do with the thing, so I went online, and that was the advice I found: great pictures bring out what the eye wouldn't normally notice.

In the time since, I've wondered what would've happened if I'd just stayed home that night, if Shingles, Fives, and Tens had gone on without me. You had to be there to win, so I wouldn't have brought that camera home. Without the camera, I wouldn't have started looking for what's hidden in everyday things. So maybe I wouldn't have started seeing monsters. Not right then, anyway.

But I _was_ there to hear my name called, there to walk up and be handed that shiny new box, there to head back to my chair, blushing and smiling like a dork.

Can you blame me for being excited? I was twenty-three and stuck in a small town, employed but poor, unwed and pretty much undateable, not highly educated, and at least a little lonely a lot of the time. Winning an $800 camera was the best thing that had happened to me in quite a while.

I know that sounds pathetic. I guess I was sort of pathetic, back then.

In retrospect, I wouldn't mind having stayed that way a while longer.

"Betty! How you doing, sweetie?"

Fixing a smile on my face, I closed my porch door and waved at Suzanne Dreisbach, my next-door neighbor. It looked like she was just getting home from the store. She always shopped on Saturday afternoon. You could set your clock by Suzanne.

She waved back and gave me a bright smile, shifting the paper bag she was carrying from one ample hip to the other. Suzanne was a wonderful neighbor — the kind who'll pull your trashcan out and back for you three weeks in a row, and not even mention it.

That said, I really hated being called "Betty."

"I'm fine, Suzanne. How're you today?"

"Can't complain, can't complain."

Actually, Suzanne could complain like a champ. She was a big gossip and always seemed to know something new about everybody in town — with a focus on the titillating stuff. Listening to her "news" was one of my guilty pleasures. But I just wasn't up for it at the moment. It was chilly, and the desire to take pictures was gnawing at me.

"Good, good. Hey, sorry, gotta get going." I raised my camera. "I don't want to lose the good light."

Suzanne nodded obligingly and said we should get coffee tomorrow after church. That was nice. I was on my own, so my weekends got a little lonely, sometimes. I told her I'd come find her after the service.

I made the short walk to what we called our "downtown." Despite what I'd said to Suzanne about good light, there really wasn't any. The late afternoon sun was having a hard time breaking through the cloud cover. Everything looked sort of dismal. Early April is like that in northern Wisconsin — spring in name, but not in fact.

Downtown was a single street of stores, bars, and eateries. Dorf isn't large enough to attract the big chains, so we mostly still had Mom-and-Pop operations. A lot of them were hanging on by a thread. The slightly rundown look of the buildings was sad, but it did make for good photos, so long as you could bring out the rootedness and persistence that gave the place its dignity.

I wandered down the street, taking pictures and greeting passersby. I knew most of them by name — Kathy, the dentist, whose little sister I'd gone to school with; Victor, a forty-something welder, out shopping with his son; Bernice and Frances, a pair of octogenarian "spinsters" who'd shared a home for fifty years, and whom the denser members of the community still hadn't figured out were a couple.

That's what it's like when you grow up in a small rural town. There are only so many people, so many houses, so many jobs. Spend a few decades there, and you'll be able to call the whole place up in your mind — not just the landscape and streets and buildings, but all the people, for better or worse. You'll see their connections to one another in your mind's eye. You'll know their histories, stretching back like long, knotted tails. And you'll be able to see their futures stretching out ahead of them with nearly as much certainty.

It was comforting. Safe. But also oppressive. The future Dorf had in store for me didn't look too good.

I paused across the street from J.T.'s, the seediest of the three bars on Center Street, complete with dented metal siding, crumbling front steps, and ancient neon beer signs in the windows. To my eye, something about the place said, _I have been loved for a long time by people who would never admit it_. But I'd never managed to capture that feeling. In my pictures, J.T.'s always just looked like a sad old dive.

I composed a shot, but just as I took the picture, Jim Foley opened the door and stepped out. Stumbled out, really. I watched him weave down the sidewalk.

_Poor guy_.

Everyone in town knew his wife had left him.

I wanted a picture of the bar alone, so once Jim was clear, I took another shot. Then I lowered the camera and studied the place.

It looked different.

I ran my eyes over the façade, but I couldn't put my finger on what had changed.

Strange.

Really strange.

The hair on my arms went all prickly, and I found myself struggling to take a breath.

_Oh no. Not here._

I sat down on the slushy sidewalk, stuck my head between my knees, and snapped the rubber band around my wrist. It did no good. My heart was beating impossibly fast, and a vise had tightened around my chest. My vision tunneled away to nothing.

"Betty?"

I blinked up at someone's face. It was round and very pink. A woman. My brain wasn't working well enough to figure out who it was, so I just said, "I'm okay."

That's what I always said. It cut down on the ambulance bills.

I got into a sitting position and looked around. I'd been lying half on the sidewalk, half in the gutter. I touched my head. Ice and grit had worked their way into my scalp. A whole lot of people were standing around me.

_Great. Just great._

"You have one of your fits, honey?" Pink Face said.

I stared up at her, trying to place her. I was certain I knew her, but I couldn't come up with a name.

"Yeah. I guess. I'm all right, though."

"You wanna try standing up?" a man said from behind me.

I looked back. It was Jim Foley, the drunk I'd been feeling sorry for not too long ago. He was looking down at me with an expression of pity. Talk about karmic retribution.

"Yeah. Thanks."

A bunch of people hoisted me up.

I swayed a little, still feeling woozy. "Where's my camera?"

"It's right here, hon," said Pink Face.

I took it from her and examined it. Miraculously, it didn't seem to have gotten too wet. Just to be on the safe side, I pulled the battery out. If the thing broke, I'd never afford a new one.

I looked around at the crowd. Their faces had all kinds of different expressions — sympathy, embarrassment, fascination, repulsion. Not one of them was looking at me like I was a normal person.

I mumbled a "thank you" and started walking.

"You sure you're okay to get yourself home?" Jim called after me.

"Yeah." I didn't bother stopping. "I'm good."

I rooted around in the random-junk drawer in my basement, certain my mother had hung onto a bunch of those silica packets that come inside stuff you buy. And she had. They were in the back, in a large zipper bag.

I sat down at the old computer desk I'd put in the driest corner of the basement, across from the stairs, and took my camera apart. I stuck all the parts in the zipper bag with the silica and sealed it up. If any water had gotten inside, the silica should draw it out. Hopefully.

Then I sat there, feeling tired and down.

Panic attacks are a drag in many ways, but one of the worst was how they made me feel afterwards: exhausted, like I'd run a marathon, but combined with sadness and embarrassment instead of pride.

I'd been having them all my life, and I'd never understood them. Crowded places were bad, yeah, but sometimes they happened when I was alone in my house. Sometimes they woke me out of a deep sleep. There was no consistency, no predictability. It was some unknown thing that lurked just under the surface, and when it got hungry, it sank its teeth in and dragged me down. No treatment had helped. I'd certainly tried enough of them. Therapy, meds, strange diets, supplements — everything my mother could afford, and probably some stuff she couldn't. Finally, I'd gotten to a doctor who looked over my history, shook her head, and told me that sometimes panic disorder just doesn't respond to treatment.

It was a horrible thing to hear, but also oddly freeing: it released me from the effort of hoping for more. After that, I could see my life in Dorf stretching out before me, just like everyone else's. My goal became accepting and appreciating what I had.

I climbed the stairs to the kitchen and turned the flame on under the kettle. What I needed was a cup of tea, a grilled cheese sandwich, and some tomato soup. And a good book. That'd give my camera time to dry out, and maybe take my mind off my embarrassment, too.

_That can't be right._

I was down in the basement, looking through the pictures I'd taken. But the one I had open made no sense. I closed the image and went back to the folder I'd downloaded from the camera. There were only two pictures of J.T.'s: the one with Jim coming out of the bar and the one without him.

But the one without Jim showed somebody else walking along the sidewalk. It was a short, slight person — probably a man, given the flat chest. He was sort of hunched over. After a few seconds, I realized what I wasn't seeing: clothes. Weird. It'd be pretty remarkable to walk through downtown Dorf naked any time of the year, but in early April it was particularly bizarre. It'd been no warmer than the mid-forties that afternoon. It's one thing to get arrested; it's another to get arrested and freeze off your naughty bits at the same time.

Speaking of which...

I leaned into the screen, looking more closely, but the guy's leg obscured his groin.

Feeling a little embarrassed at my own prurient interest, I sat back and tried to figure out who he was.

I knew he wasn't from Dorf because his skin was very dark. Dorf had to be one of the least diverse places in the world. Only a few African Americans lived in town, and none looked like this guy. And I didn't think any of them would go for a walk in their birthday suits, either.

Well, an unknown African American wandering around in the buff was sort of noteworthy, in the way any little thing is noteworthy when you live someplace where nothing happens.

I printed up the J.T.'s shots and brought them up to the kitchen to examine under good light. The stranger was very slender, but sinewy — I could see ropey muscles in his arms and legs. His posture was oddly stooped, as though he'd been trying to bend over and pick something up while he walked. He had a long neck with a pronounced Adam's apple and was quite small, less than five feet tall, I thought. He had a tiny nose, a prominent mouth, and a weak chin. He seemed to be bald.

Who could he be? Dorf wasn't on the tourist map. What through-traffic we got tended to be Wisconsinites traveling between Wausau and Eau Claire.

Maybe he was a hunter up here for turkey season. But no, a hunter wouldn't streak in downtown Dorf. More likely a college kid on spring break making good on a dare from his buddies. That made sense.

But the more I looked at the photo, the weirder it seemed. The back of my neck started to feel prickly. After a few more seconds, I actually broke out in a nervous sweat.

I put the picture face-down on the counter and snapped my rubber band.

I didn't understand my own reaction. Okay, he was a stranger, and he was naked, but he'd been walking right through the downtown, not skulking in alleys and peeking in windows. If he was a nut, the police had probably already picked him up.

I felt myself flush — maybe I was anxious just because an unknown black male had shown up in town. God, was I really that much of a racist?

Then again, he had walked right through the picture I was taking, and I hadn't seen him. That was weird, right? Yep, downright spooky — it'd give anyone the creeps.

I decided to stick with that explanation. Better to be kooky than a bigot, right?

The next morning, I slid into an empty seat next to my sister-in-law just as the processional was finishing. I was usually late to church, which annoyed Justine to no end. She expressed her irritation this time by pointedly not looking at me, though my brother, Ben, did shoot me a quick smile from the far end of the pew.

Ben was eight years older than me. We actually didn't have the same father, but Ben still looked a lot like me — we both had Mom's pale skin, dark brown hair, and gray eyes. Ben and Justine had been married twelve years. They had four daughters, ranging from Tiffany, who was on the verge of teenhood, to Madisyn, a squirmy three-year-old.

Ben and I got together sometimes for lunch, but I was rarely invited to his home because Justine didn't like me. I came to church largely because that way I saw my brother and nieces at least once a week. I resented having to do it, though. I wasn't much of a believer, and it rubbed me the wrong way to have to pretend otherwise just to see my own family. In contrast, Justine took her faith seriously. She must have known I was faking it. It probably made her dislike me even more.

It had been different before Mom died. When she was around, her house on Fourth Street had been our gathering place. Justine hadn't liked me much better then, but she hadn't been willing to snub her mother-in-law, so the whole family got together for dinner a couple times a week. I still lived in that house, but the family dinners were a thing of the past.

My eyes wandered down the row toward the kids, and Justine finally glanced my way. The anemic sunlight coming through the windows showed the lines around her eyes and mouth. She looked angry. Angry and mean.

I never could see what Ben saw in her. Maybe what he'd seen was that she'd gotten pregnant with Tiffany by accident, and he'd just had to make the best of it ever since.

The nasty thought was satisfying and left only the slightest aftertaste of guilt. When it came to Justine, I'd long since given up on policing my thoughts. Policing what I actually said was enough of an effort.

After the service, everyone trickled down to the community room for coffee. I got hugs from Ben and the girls and an oops-I-just-got-distracted-by-someone-who's-not-you from Justine.

"Aunt Beth! Guess what?"

Little Madisyn was twisting around and hopping from one foot to the other. Either she was excited to tell me something, or she had to pee. Maybe both.

"What, baby?"

I reached out to tousle her hair, but she ducked away.

"I'm not a baby," she said crossly.

"'Course not. What'd you want to tell me?"

"I forgot," she said with a pout.

"Then tell me something else."

"Okay, but it's a secret," she said in a semi-whisper, looking around. Our fellow churchgoers were standing about, chatting and drinking their coffee. No one was paying attention. Madisyn took a big breath.

"Nanny Hansen's doggie has glass fur."

I really wasn't sure what to do with that. "Really? Wow."

"Uh-huh." She was grinning up at me excitedly.

I wracked my brain for a follow-up. "Does he talk?"

She looked surprised. "How'd you know?"

"Well, lots of dogs can, you know. But they only talk to the very nicest people."

"I don't think most of them can talk," she said doubtfully.

"Tell the truth, Madisyn," Justine cut in. "Dogs can't talk at all."

Her tone seemed unnecessarily severe to me. Then again, it often did.

Madisyn looked up at her mother with a strange expression. Then she looked at her feet, pushing at the floor tiles with one toe, then the other.

"The doggie says Mommy's leaving us."

Shocked, I glanced up at Ben. He just looked back at me, equally surprised. But Justine reacted with fury.

"Madisyn, shame on you! No lying! Go stand in that corner. Not a sound 'til I come get you."

Madisyn burst into tears and ran to the corner. Practically everyone in the room turned to look. Justine flushed in embarrassment. So did Tiff and Jazzy, the older girls. Lia, who was five, just looked confused and scared. Her lower lip quivered.

I got mad. Justine was overreacting, as usual. Madisyn was a really sweet kid, and she wasn't a liar. She just had a weird imagination and the impulse control of, well, a three-year-old. I took a breath to give Justine a piece of my mind, but she beat me to the punch.

"This is what comes of having your influence around," she hissed. "Stay away from us!"

"Me?" I was totally taken aback. "What could I possibly have to do with it?"

Justine didn't respond, but she stared at me with such unmistakable hatred that I backed away a few steps. I'd always known she didn't care for me, but were her feelings that strong?

"Okay, okay, let's all calm down," my brother soothed. "That was a real humdinger, but it's just attention-getting behavior. Let's not make too much of it."

Justine got a crazy look on her face. "Oh, 'attention-getting behavior,' is it? What, you been watching _Dr. Phil_ in your spare time?"

This was the point where their arguments always devolved into the "why are you so jealous?" and "why do you always take her side?" stuff, only with more cussing. And a lot of screaming.

That's probably where Madisyn's comment came from, actually. I bet she'd heard Justine threaten to leave a dozen times. That's got to make a kid anxious.

Ben and Justine were staring daggers at each other. Justine was too proper to have any more of the fight here in church, but she'd certainly be dragging the family out the door ASAP to get her licks in.

There was nothing left for me here this week. Feeling sad and angry, I murmured an excuse about having coffee with Suzanne and left.

My hands were still shaking as I stirred a fourth sugar into my coffee. I wasn't sure why Justine's outburst had thrown me so badly. It's not like I wasn't used to her craziness. I'd been on the receiving end of it since I was a kid. I guess this time it had taken me by surprise. I'd thought we were in strained-but-cordial mode, and I got blindsided.

I looked up to see Suzanne studying me a bit too attentively as she stroked her pretty silver hair. I smiled sweetly and asked her what she'd thought of Pastor Ezra's focus on the metaphor of rebirth in that morning's sermon. Suzanne blinked at me, jolted out of the gossipy tidbit she'd probably been cooking up about how upset I looked after my fight with my sister-in-law.

Gossip about me generally dredged up my mental illness, dead mother, pathetic dating life, or failed try at college — or all four — so diverting Suzanne during her moments of creation was pretty important. It wasn't that she didn't like me — care about me, even. But for Suzanne, all things bowed before the god of gossip.

I reached for the creamer. Dorf wasn't sophisticated enough to have an actual coffee shop, but the ownership of Pete's Eats didn't mind if you sat and talked over a beverage. Unfortunately, Pete's coffee wasn't good — especially the decaf. At home I drank my coffee black. At Pete's I added enough cream and sugar to make it taste like coffee-flavored ice cream. Otherwise, it was too bitter to get down.

Suzanne and I chatted about the weather, which is where Wisconsin small talk almost always starts. From there we moved to the exploits of her son, Tommie, who was a forty-something Milwaukee lawyer and who probably hadn't wanted to be called "Tommie" in several decades. We talked a bit about my work, but since I was always careful not to spread gossip about Dr. Nielsen or my best friend, Janie, who was his accounts manager, that part of the conversation didn't last long.

Suzanne then filled me in on the latest goings-on about town. Samantha Werthauser had left her husband over his affair with Sandy Foley. Josh Smith was thinking of becoming a Catholic. Johnny Cooper, who read meters for the electric co-op, had been caught red-handed trying to steal Godfrey Dingle's best hunting dog. Its collar had gotten caught on the fence Johnny was trying to stuff it over.

"That poor dog set up a yammering you could hear a mile away," Suzanne said. "Even Godfrey could hear it, and you know how deaf he is. Came busting out his back door and nearly filled that boy's ass up with buckshot!"

Suzanne blushed a bit as she laughed. I could tell she was a little proud of herself for saying "ass."

The litany continued. Callie McCallister was trying to organize a boycott of Big Screen Video because they stocked a few NC-17 movies. At the same time, her boyfriend had moved in with her, which was pretty hypocritical. Someone had knocked down fourteen mailboxes over on Marsh Road. Tess Kreugger was in trouble with Animal Control again for putting peanut butter out for the raccoons in her back yard.

"She said it was for woodpeckers," Suzanne said, "but how could woodpeckers eat six pounds of peanut butter? That gal's gonna get rabies if she's not careful."

Dorf was going to levy an assessment on downtown property owners for new sidewalks. The Lakeshore Supper Club had a rat infestation. Sara Goshen was expecting twins. It went on and on.

Some of it was old news. For instance, everyone knew the old mill at Bilford Crossing was still burning — the column of smoke off to the northwest had been visible since Saturday morning. Everyone also knew that Kingston Brown, last year's Frederick High homecoming king, was about to undergo a shotgun marriage to Carly Knavel. But some of Suzanne's items were pretty surprising — the thing about Callie living with some guy amazed me. Others were infuriating. Some were surely untrue.

I rolled my eyes a few times and generally laughed along with her. Suzanne was a pretty good storyteller. Just so long as none of her stories were about me.

When she finally ran out of steam, there was an awkward silence. I could tell she was disappointed I wasn't providing any new material. The economy of gossip worked on a barter system, after all. But that was how I justified my bad habit of listening to gossip — I never provided any and never passed on what I'd heard. Fortunately, Suzanne enjoyed the act of giving too much to let my stingy ways put a hitch in our relationship.

But then it occurred to me that, just this once, I did have something to offer. I didn't know the person involved, so I didn't feel honor-bound to silence. And maybe I could get some info that would set my mind at ease.

"So, I saw someone new downtown yesterday when I was taking pictures. Short, balding African American guy with a slender build. You know who he is?"

Suzanne shook her head, looking intrigued. "No, I haven't run into him yet. Did he move up from Chicago?"

Folks here always seemed to think any black person they encountered was probably "up from Chicago." It was one of those things that gave me Dorf-claustrophobia.

Then I remembered how the picture had creeped me out the night before. Maybe I wasn't any better myself.

"I don't know. I didn't actually talk to him. I just saw him walking in front of J.T.'s."

"Sure it wasn't Grange Consecki or Bob Garter?"

Bob and Grange were the only African American men who lived in Dorf.

"No, he was way shorter than them, and he was really thin. And his skin was darker."

"Like a Hershey bar?"

"No, more like licorice."

_I did not just say that. Oh my god, what's wrong with me?_

"Huh. Well, I'll ask around and see who he is," Suzanne said. Then she winked. "You know Twanda will want to hear if there's a new man in town."

Twanda Sullivan was the only single African American woman in town.

Great. Now Suzanne would talk to Twanda, and Twanda would think I thought she wanted to jump every black man who walked through town, no matter who he was. Why did I bring this up? I needed a fire alarm, so I could escape in the chaos. Or maybe a fistfight. Suzanne would forget all about the mystery man if that happened.

Unfortunately, no one chose that moment to faint or moon us or do anything else the slightest bit distracting.

"Well, we'll just see," Suzanne said, looking like I'd put her on the hunt.

Thank god I hadn't included the nudity thing. That would've had her asking every person in town about him, for sure, and probably calling the cops, too.

It took another twenty minutes to get out of Pete's. I drove home feeling especially shitty for reasons I couldn't exactly put my finger on — some combination of acute racial embarrassment, Justine's outburst, and a nebulous sense of anxiety.

Since the light was better that afternoon than it had been the day before, I picked up my camera and drove out to the old cemetery behind St. Mary's. I shot a whole bunch of pictures. It made me feel better, tamping down my anxiety, as it often did. After that, I headed to the grocery store. There'd be time that evening to hit the computer and get a better look at the images I had taken.

I stood there holding a photo of a nineteenth-century grave marker. The eroded carving wasn't legible in the picture, but I'd looked at the stone many times and remembered what it said: "Daught. Died Dec. 25, 1859. Aged 2 yrs. 9 ds." It was such a strange, sad monument. It offered no name for the dead child, yet told us exactly how long she had lived and that she had passed on Christmas Day.

This time, I hadn't noticed the problem onscreen. I'd printed the picture, expecting nothing unusual. But holding the print, I could see that someone had again walked right by as I took the shot. He'd passed no more than a couple yards in front of me, leaving the frame just as I opened the shutter. His foot, ankle, and a little bit of calf were plainly visible, flexed like he was pushing off for his next step.

There had been no one besides me in the cemetery, certainly not that close to me.

I went and stood right under the bright naked light bulb suspended from the ceiling near the washer and dryer.

The foot was huge and bare. Its pale blue skin was patterned with gray, donut-shaped blotches. It had jagged, horny toenails.

It was a monster foot. Strike that. It was a cliché of a monster foot. If someone had asked me to imagine a monster's foot, that's what it would've looked like.

It had to be some kind of joke. But how? I couldn't think of any way someone could've gotten the foot into the picture.

I looked again at the print. I could see the tendons and muscles of the lower leg flexing. It wasn't just some rubber Halloween-costume foot someone had dangled from a tree.

The basement walls started pressing in on me, and my breathing sped up. I backed up to the wall and sat down on the floor. I gave the rubber band on my wrist a hard snap and started focusing on breathing more methodically. In, out, pause. In, out, pause. Slowly, the room stabilized.

I groped for an explanation. There had to be one.

Someone had tampered with my camera. A joke, maybe. April Fools' Day had been, what, a week ago?

But how? No one could've known I'd be taking pictures at the cemetery today. Besides, even if someone else had put the monster-foot image on my camera's card, the one I took of the gravestone would be on there too.

Some kind of hacking thing, maybe? But I didn't have internet service.

I looked down at my computer, which was Ben's latest castoff. Someone could have connected it to the net wirelessly without my knowledge. Maybe someone was controlling it remotely at that very moment, grabbing my images and altering them as soon as I uploaded them.

I pushed my chair back from the desk, then immediately felt silly. What did I think they were going to do? Reach through the monitor and grab me?

How could they have gotten into my house to monkey with my computer, anyway? And who would do something like that? I didn't think anyone I knew would go to the trouble of such an elaborate prank. I didn't have the kind of friends who would enjoy making me freak out and then laughing about it with me later, and I didn't have enemies committed enough to go to so much trouble.

There was Justine.

I remembered that look she'd given me at church.

I'd never thought of her as an enemy, per se. She'd been more in the category of "family you can't stand, but they're still family." Maybe I'd been wrong, though. Ben and I co-owned the house, so he kept a key. Justine could've used it to get in. She didn't work during the day, so there'd have been plenty of opportunity.

But could she have set up some elaborate computer prank? It didn't seem likely.

_Someone could've helped her_.

I studied the print again. The grass the foot was stepping in was of a piece with all the rest of the grass in the picture: dead, wet, and a bit too long to look well kept. The foot was wet and had little bits of sodden grass stuck to it. It looked real.

Maybe I was hallucinating. The naked guy had also apparently walked right in front of me, and I hadn't seen him. That image looked real, too, but maybe it wasn't.

Serious mental illness often emerged in your early twenties, right? And I already had one — panic disorder. Maybe that put me at risk for others.

But if I really was hallucinating, wouldn't I believe I wasn't?

I slid the photo under the keyboard and sat there, rubbing my hands on my jeans. I couldn't get rid of the clamminess. I tried to come up with another plausible explanation for the monster foot, but the more I thought about it, the more my chest tightened up.

Finally, I pushed the whole issue away, and my mind settled into a fragile state of blankness. Carefully _not_ thinking about the photo, I went upstairs, got in bed, wrapped my arms around my tattered childhood bear, Sniggles, and willed myself asleep.

I woke up with a plan. It was so simple I should've thought of it the night before. I would show the weird pictures to someone else and see if they saw what I saw. If they did, then I wasn't going crazy, and it was just a matter of finding out who was messing with me, and why. And how.

# Chapter 2

"What _is_ that?" Janie said, scrunching up her nose adorably. She was holding half of her BLT in one hand and the cemetery picture in the other.

Since it was just the three of us in the office, Dr. Nielsen always closed up for an hour at lunchtime. Janie and I usually ate at our desks to save money, but every other Monday, we went to Pete's. I'd put my possibly hallucinatory photos in a folder and brought them along.

Clearly, she could see the monster foot. Some clenched-up thing inside me loosened. I quietly slid the other photo — the one of J.T.'s with the mystery man — back into the folder. If the foot wasn't a hallucination, surely Mr. Streaker wasn't either.

"I'm not sure. Someone must be pulling my chain, but I can't figure out how. Any ideas?"

"Dunno." She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are you sure you didn't Photoshop it?"

"Of course I'm sure. I don't even own the program."

"Huh. Someone must've been at the cemetery, and you didn't notice them."

"But they would've been so close to me. How could I not have seen them?"

"Huh." Janie turned the print this way and that. "What do you think, Jackie?"

I hadn't realized our waitress was standing behind me. Jackie, a tall, spare redhead, came around to look at the picture. She rolled her eyes.

"Gimme a break. It's some guy wearing a costume." Jackie looked me up and down, not very flatteringly. "You must've been zoning out, and he snuck up on you."

I blushed at the implication that I was spacey. Then I got embarrassed at blushing so easily, which made me blush more. Jesus, I was such a dork sometimes.

"I only knelt there for a few seconds to get the shot. I don't see how someone could've snuck up on me that fast without making noise."

"Well, if you're not paying attention, you don't hear stuff going on around you, do you?" Jackie said, arching an eyebrow as if I were denying the obvious.

Maybe I was. But my memory of the moment seemed so clear. I hadn't zoned out when I was taking those pictures. I'd felt pretty focused. Photography usually made me feel that way: sharp and observant and detail-oriented. It was one reason I liked it so much.

"Sure, that can happen, but if he snuck up on me while I was lining up the shot, where was he when I stood back up a second after I took it?"

"Behind a tree, maybe?"

"What're you gals arguing about?" Doyle Schumaker asked.

Doyle was having lunch with Billy Wozowski at the next table. Billy and Doyle were police officers. Doyle's K-9 partner, a German shepherd named Abby, was snoozing under their table.

"Someone's trying to put one over on Beth," Janie said. "She took this picture at St. Mary's yesterday afternoon, and it has a weird foot in it."

Janie gave him a flirty smile and tossed her hair a little as she handed him the photo.

I spent a little bit of each work day envying Janie. It's not that she'd dated some guy I wanted, or anything like that. I just wished in general I could be more like her, at least in some ways. She was pretty, yeah, but more than that, she just seemed comfortable in her own skin. She was never anxious, never restless. She seemed grounded, like she knew what was important to her and was sure she was going to get it eventually. For lack of a better word, she seemed satisfied. I'd never felt that way.

Maybe it came from growing up in a big farming family. I used to love hanging out at her place when we were kids. There was always a lot of noise and bustle, and plenty of arguments, but it was clearly a happy, loving group of people. Not that my mother hadn't loved me plenty, but for much of my life, it had just been the two of us. Janie's family was different. With a family like that, you'd never be lonely.

Doyle took the print from Janie and looked at it. His expression turned serious. He looked up at me searchingly.

"What time did you take this, exactly?" he asked, casting a meaningful glance across the table at Billy, then handing him the picture.

"Um... about 2:00 in the afternoon, I think. Is something wrong?"

"I might have to take this in as evidence, Betty."

I felt a little breathless. "Really? Why?"

"About that time yesterday, there was an APB out for a seven-foot-tall bagel monster," he said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

Jackie, Janie, and Billy laughed, and I blushed all over again. Even worse, people at the tables around us started asking what was so funny. Soon the picture was being passed around Pete's Eats to a mixture of guffaws and speculations about Photoshopping.

If Justine had somehow engineered this to make me look stupid in front of the whole town, she'd sure as hell succeeded.

I went back to my meal, watching out of the corner of my eye as Jackie circulated among the tables, laughing with folks — no doubt at my expense. Someone's gaze caught mine. It was Callie McCallister, Dorf's most committed moral crusader. She was holding the photo and looking right at me, fear and revulsion plain on her face. Great. My picture was in the hands of the one person in town most likely to think I'd actually photographed a monster.

Sure enough, on her way out of Pete's ten minutes later, Callie stopped to drop the picture on our table. Her tiny hands were shaking. When she spoke, so was her voice.

"Elizabeth, you have to stop spreading this image. Glorifying hellspawn this way — it's unlawful."

"Callie, come on," I said. "It's just someone's idea of a prank. I'd like to know who, so I can smack 'em."

Callie's expression didn't change one bit. She was a little wisp of a thing, but when she'd made up her mind, she didn't back down. The whole town knew it from experience.

Janie rolled her eyes.

A man reached down to our table and picked up the folder containing the other photo, the one of the mystery man in front of J.T.'s. I looked up at him in surprise. He was standing right beside Callie, but I hadn't noticed him. Maybe this was the new live-in boyfriend Suzanne had told me about.

He was looking at my picture without permission, so I didn't hesitate to give him the once-over. He was a white guy of average height with brown hair and eyes and bland, even features. He was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt. Thoroughly uninteresting. And really rude.

"Excuse me, you didn't ask to see that," I said, reaching for the folder.

He ignored me except to turn slightly, so the folder would be out of my reach.

Just as I took a breath to object, Janie cut in. "So," she said, drawing out the word in a way that made me cringe, "you're the one who's living with Our Lady of Christian Virtue, here? Living together outside the bonds of matrimony? Are you sure that's _proper_?"

_Oh god_. This was the part of Janie I didn't admire so much: she had the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

The man ignored Janie, but Callie sucked in a scandalized breath and turned tomato-red. That heavy, quiet feeling instantly surrounded us, the one that means every person within earshot is holding very still and listening. Two short-order cooks and a busboy stuck their heads out of the kitchen to watch. Jackie paused with her water pitcher cocked over someone's glass. Pete himself stood up from behind the counter, hands full of the straws and napkins he'd been stocking.

"He's not... I mean, we're not... he's just a houseguest!"

"Oh, right, he's a _houseguest_ ," Janie echoed in a knowing tone, added a wink and air-quotes for good measure. "Got it, got it."

"He is! I'd never... you know."

"No, no, _of course_ you wouldn't," Janie said in a soothing tone, which she immediately undercut by snorting loudly.

"Oh," she said, "excuse me." And snorted again.

The man slid the photo back into the folder and reached over to set it on the table. A thick, lumpy red scar ran across the back of his wrist. Yikes. No wonder he wore long sleeves.

Callie stood there another few seconds, stammering out protests. Then the man put his arm around her thin shoulders and guided her out of the restaurant. I could hear her talking as they walked down the sidewalk. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but I could tell from her voice that she was crying.

After another few seconds, conversation and the sounds of eating picked back up. Janie leaned over to me with a grin.

"Whatcha say we tee-pee her house tonight?"

Doyle said "I heard that, missy!" in mock outrage.

"Did you get a load of that guy with her?" Janie said. "Blandy McBlandsville, if you ask me."

"Yeah, I've forgotten him already," Doyle said.

A few people around us laughed.

It was bad. I mean, of course I couldn't let Callie go around claiming I was consorting with demons, or something. Dorf was a fairly religious town, and if people heard that kind of accusation enough, some of them might start believing it. But Janie's way of defending me had been over the top. I had profited from it — before Callie came to our table, I'd been the laughing stock, and now the laughing stock was her. I felt like a shit.

Janie got busy chatting up Doyle and didn't notice how quiet I'd gotten.

We finished up and headed back to the office. Once there, I set about returning the calls on the answering machine, but I didn't give the task much attention. My mind alternated between feeling guilty over Callie and thinking about the photo.

It was good to know I hadn't hallucinated the foot — for Christ's sake, practically half the town had seen the thing.

But there still wasn't a good explanation for how someone'd managed to create the effect. That was a problem: having been humiliated, Callie would probably be out for blood. She'd be spreading all kinds of crazy ideas about me.

I needed a logical explanation for the photo, and I needed it soon.

What with all the commotion, Janie and I had taken more than an hour's lunch, which annoyed Dr. Nielsen. I stayed late to make up for it, then headed over to Ben's house. It was something I hadn't done in years — just drop by unannounced. Justine had made it clear she didn't appreciate it.

But this time I actually wanted to see her, not Ben. Maybe if I surprised her with the photo, she'd admit to engineering the prank. Or at least I'd see a hint of guilt or embarrassment on her face.

It was nearing sunset by the time I pulled up in front of my brother's modest 1930s bungalow. The sun was casting deep shadows across the front yard. It made Justine's decorative lawn tableau of deer and garden gnomes around a wishing well look sort of sinister.

I climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. In my hand I held the folder containing the photos, now stained by a greasy fry I'd dropped on it during lunch.

Lia, the five-year-old, opened the door.

"Aunt Beth!"

"Hi, sweetie."

"Mommy! Aunt Beth is here! Are you here for dinner? Daddy said Susie could eat with us, so I guess you can too."

"No, honey, I just need to talk to your Mommy for a minute. Who's Susie?"

"She's my dolly, _duh_!"

_Good lord_. How nice to see my nieces were learning good manners.

Justine appeared behind Lia and shooed the girl away. "What do you want?"

She didn't open the screened door. I bent the folder open to the cemetery picture and held it up against the screen.

"What do you know about this?" I asked.

She glanced at it and shrugged. "It's a picture. Looks bad, so I guess it's one of yours."

"Look at it."

She sighed elaborately. "That what I have to do to get rid of you? Fine."

She opened the door, took the folder, and looked at the pictures with an obvious lack of interest. Then she stiffened. I could see her knuckles turn white, hear her stop breathing. Slowly she looked up at me. Long seconds passed. She just stared.

It wasn't guilt I saw on her face. It was confusion and fear. No, not fear — terror.

Finally she snapped back to life, as though someone had hit her play button. Without saying a word, she threw the folder at me and slammed the door in my face.

For a few seconds, I stood there amazed. It hadn't been the reaction I was expecting. At all.

I gathered up the pictures and rang the bell again. No one answered. I knocked on the door.

"Justine? Justine?"

I couldn't hear anything at all from inside the house. No voices, no footsteps, no TV. It was as though the whole place had gone to sleep. Strange. I knew at least two people were in there. I went from knocking to something closer to pounding.

"Justine! Lia? Ben? Ben!"

This was weird. Why had Justine freaked out like that? Was she afraid I'd get her in trouble for the prank? Surely not — playing a joke on someone wasn't illegal. I walked around the side of the house. The lights were on, but the shades were drawn. I stopped to listen.

It wasn't just quiet. It was still. Utterly still.

The hair prickled on my arms and my pulse sky-rocketed. My mouth went dry and a wave of dizziness sent me staggering against the house. Terror engulfed me. Without even thinking about it, I turned and lurched back to my car, piled in, and locked the doors. I sat there, gasping for breath, chest aching. Snapping my rubber band didn't help. I couldn't get enough air. I grabbed the little wastebasket I kept on the passenger-side floor and threw up. Then I clawed at my shirt collar, trying to loosen it.

I must've passed out. I came to sprawled awkwardly to the side, clumps of hair sticking to my sweaty face. I sat up, dazed and sick, and did what I always did after an attack — looked around to see who'd witnessed it. In this case, no one. A small favor.

I thought briefly of just going back and knocking on the door like a normal person, but even considering it set my heart racing. I profoundly did not want to get out of the car. I couldn't shake the sense that if I got out, something terrible would happen.

I started the car up and headed home. It was either that or have back-to-back attacks. My hands trembled on the steering wheel the whole way. Just thinking about Justine and Ben's place sent my pulse up. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on my driving.

By the time I parked and got inside my house, the adrenaline rush was fading. It left me exhausted.

_I should call Justine._

That thought made the panic begin to rise.

_The phone's all the way upstairs_ , I told myself, _and I'll have to look up the number_. I never called Ben at home, anymore, and didn't remember it. _I'll call her later_ , I thought. Tomorrow was soon enough, especially after she'd been so rude.

Besides, I had stuff to do. I needed to clean up the basement and make some dinner. Then I'd read a little and go to bed early — tomorrow was a workday. I tried to push the memory of Ben's house and the attack into the background.

After getting a drink of water, I headed down to the basement to neaten up. I'd left my desk a mess the night before, when I'd freaked out about the monster-foot trick. Looked like I'd even left the lights on.

I was most of the way down the stairs when I looked up and saw a man standing at my desk, going through a sheaf of prints. I froze, not really processing what I was seeing.

After what seemed like ages, he looked up at me. He didn't look at all like a burglar caught in the act — there was nothing surreptitious or guilty in his manner. He just stared at me, then set the prints down on the desk.

That motion jogged me out of my paralysis. I turned and ran back up the stairs, trying to remember where I'd set down my keys.

I'd only made it a few steps when my left foot was jerked out from under me and I fell, banging my forehead on a step hard enough to make me dizzy. I lay there, feeling confused and tangled up in my own limbs.

As though from a distance, I felt the man step over me and heard him close the door at the top of the stairs. Then he dragged me back down the steps and over to the desk. He leaned me up against the wall. I promptly slid over onto my side, feeling sick. He went back to what he was doing — looking through stacks of prints. I closed my eyes for a while and just listened to the slippery rustle of photographic paper.

Slowly, the spins and nausea receded. I collected my thoughts a little. It occurred to me that he was probably going to kill me. I'd gotten a good look at him. I'd be able to ID him in a line-up.

My head ached fiercely. It was like I could actually _hear_ it hurting. I thought about pretending to be unconscious, but that didn't seem useful. If he was for sure going to kill me, he'd do it whether I was awake or not. If I talked to him, maybe I could help myself.

I opened my eyes. The man had moved on to the images on my hard drive. He was scrolling through them, studying each one carefully. All my prints were out on the desk in piles.

Something about him nagged at my brain. It took me a minute, but then I realized he had a thick, lumpy scar on his left wrist. And a blue sweatshirt. And jeans.

I stared at him. He was a white guy and had brown hair, but otherwise he looked nothing like the man who'd been with Callie in the restaurant. Whereas that man had been bland enough to fade into a white wall, this guy was anything but. Instead of neat and conservative, his hair looked shaggy and none too clean. His features were severe. He looked a lot bigger, and he was the opposite of unnoticeable. "Dangerous" just roiled off him. If this guy had walked into Pete's Eats, Pete would've reached for his shotgun.

And yet, the scar looked just the same. And the clothes were so similar. Was it the same shirt, or just one very like it? His sleeves were pushed up, so it was hard to be sure. But did it matter? Two men could dress the same, but they wouldn't have the same scar. This must be the same person — a master of disguise, or something.

My god, had "Moral Crusader Callie" gotten herself involved with terrorists?

I took a deep breath. "What do you want?"

No response.

"Are you looking for money? My purse is upstairs."

Silence.

"What are you going to do with me?"

He didn't bother looking up.

I thought about how close my neighbors' houses were. My basement was mostly underground. The few windows were up near the ceiling and only a foot high. Would anyone hear me if I screamed?

As if he'd heard what I was thinking, the man said, "No screaming." He had a slight accent, and his tone was flat, affectless. It sounded unnatural.

He continued going through the images, ignoring me. It took quite a while — I had many more images on the computer than I had prints. I sat there watching, too terrified to think of what to do.

When the task was done, he crouched down in front of me. His face was as blank and emotionless as his voice.

"Where are the pictures you had at the restaurant?"

I hadn't really believed, not completely, that this was the same guy. Taken by surprise, I blurted out the truth. "Upstairs. On the kitchen counter."

Then again, I couldn't think of an advantage to lying. He'd already seen them.

"Have you taken pictures of any other Seconds?"

"What?"

"Seconds," he said flatly, as though I were being evasive. "Beings of the Second Emanation."

Oh my god, Callie had convinced him "hellspawn" were real and I was passing around pictures of them. Or maybe he was the one who'd convinced her. That thought brought a wave of nausea. Callie's moral crusades were annoying, sure, but they were basically harmless. If this guy was the one launching the crusade, there'd be harm. Lots of harm.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing special about my pictures. Someone was just playing a joke on me, sticking that foot in there."

His face was motionless, like a mask. "Why did you photograph the green man?"

" _Green_?"

He looked at me, silent, waiting.

"Come on, this is crazy. That picture shows a black guy walking in front of a bar."

He reached back and grabbed a big handful of my hair, close to my scalp. Then he twisted it.

It might seem like a pretty small thing, almost schoolyardish — someone pulling your hair. But no one had ever intentionally hurt me before. It hurt so much more than I would've thought. It was like, in that instant, I knew I was at the mercy of someone who cared nothing about me, maybe someone who enjoyed hurting me. I had no control over what was going to happen to me. Panic surged through me, and I thrashed and flailed, screaming. I would've told anyone anything. Resistance was unthinkable.

I think he only hurt me for a few seconds, but it seemed to go on forever. It was a while after he stopped before I could get any words out.

"Take the pictures! Erase everything. I don't care. I won't tell anyone. Just leave me alone — please!"

"Tell me why you photographed him."

"I didn't! I was just taking pictures of the bar. I didn't see him!"

For the first time, an emotion crossed his face: surprise. Then he looked thoughtful.

"You never saw it?"

I shook my head. Big mistake — it hurt.

"Did you see the one in the cemetery?"

"No! There was nothing there."

He stood up and leaned back against the counter, thinking. I slumped back against the wall and took deep, shuddering breaths.

"Have you ever taken any other pictures that showed weird things?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I only started taking pictures last year. Everything I've taken is on that computer."

"Any back-ups?"

I shook my head.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"Why did you start taking pictures?"

My fear started receding a bit. It wasn't that the situation seemed better. I think it's just not possible to maintain that level of terror for very long. In its place came exhaustion. I sensed it was almost over, maybe that _I_ was almost over.

I looked up at him, not really focusing.

"Tell me why you started taking pictures."

"I got the camera."

His eyes narrowed.

"I mean, I won the camera in a raffle, so I just started using it." I stumbled, trying to get the words out quickly. "It makes me feel better. Less anxious. I don't have so many attacks. Panic attacks, I mean."

He was silent for a while. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Fuck." He knelt down and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. For the first time, I really saw his face close up. It was harsh and heavily lined. No, a lot of those were scars, not lines. His eyes looked too dark. He was terrifying.

"Someone'll come talk to you about this soon. For now, don't tell anyone I was here. Don't take any more pictures. Don't show your pictures to anyone. Don't talk about them with anyone. Don't leave town. Don't attract attention to yourself in any way. If you do any of those things, you'll die. You understand?"

I couldn't have spoken for the world. I just jerked my head.

He stared at me for another few seconds, maybe to make sure I really got it. Then he stood up and left.

For a long time, I just sat there on the basement floor, staring at nothing. I had no idea what to do. I felt oddly listless and distant, as though most of me was far away, connected to the rest of me by a thin tether.

_What am I going to do?_

_Move. I have to move._

I shifted against the wall, and my body came alive with sensations. None of them were pleasant. My head swam and pounded, my scalp hurt, and my right hand ached where I must've slammed it against the wall. Plus, I was cold and wet. I'd pissed myself.

_This is the worst moment of my life_.

I had no idea what to do. He'd said someone would come for me. Someone like him? Who was he? Some sort of religious vigilante? What was going to happen to me?

A single thought formed: get away. I had to get far away and never be found. Not by him or anyone like him. Once I realized it, I was completely clear on this point. It was essential.

_But no... is that really right?_

He'd said I'd die if I told anyone about him or if I tried to leave. I believed he meant it. He would do it himself. It didn't matter what his motives were. It didn't matter that I hadn't done anything wrong. Dead is dead, even if you're killed by a crazy person for a crazy reason.

But he'd also said someone would come for me. I couldn't sit here and wait for _that_ to come again. I could not. It was a terrible struggle not to run screaming from the house that very moment.

It occurred to me that I probably wasn't being rational. I tried to take a step back.

_What if I sleep on it and decide in the morning?_

The very room reacted to the thought, closing in on me, crushing me. My breath came in gasps, and all the strength left my muscles. Black spots rushed at my eyes from the far wall. I flopped forward, trying to claw my way to the stairs. I didn't make it.

I woke up on the basement floor, not sure how long I'd been there. There was no more question of staying in Dorf. All I needed was a head start. I needed time to pack some things, get my money out of the bank, and put gas in my car. Then I was out of there.

I would call the police. I'd say I'd walked in and found Callie McCallister's boyfriend rifling through my stuff. He'd assaulted me, then run off.

I could make it believable. Billy and Doyle had heard Callie accuse me of photographing "hellspawn" in Pete's earlier. He'd been with her and had shown an interest in my pictures.

It could work. I had a big lump on my forehead as evidence of assault. He hadn't been wearing gloves, so he'd probably left fingerprints all over the place. Maybe one of my neighbors had seen him getting in or out of his car — even when he left, it wouldn't have been totally dark yet.

But would anyone have recognized him? He looked so different.

My mind skittered away from that thought.

Even if the charges didn't stick, I'd have a chance to get out of town before the cops let him go. Doyle was a good guy. He'd let me know if they were about to release my assailant.

I got up slowly, testing my legs. They worked. I went upstairs and dialed 911. Then I sat down to wait.

During the many hours that followed, the police were unable to find the folder with the two photos. The man had taken them.

# Chapter 3

"Betty? Hey, it's Doyle. Honey, the charges aren't gonna stick. Turns out the guy's FBI. Paperwork's going through now. He'll probably be out within the hour."

"He's in the FBI?" I couldn't believe it.

"Yep. Apparently he's up here investigating a meth ring."

"A _meth ring_?"

"Yeah, you know, it's this drug —"

"I know what it is, Doyle. I'm just having trouble believing it. I mean, if he's an FBI agent, where's his partner? And why's he living with Callie McCallister?"

"Beats me. Maybe he was undercover or something. Guess we blew that."

God, was he really in the FBI? Was that who the government was hiring now — thugs who broke into people's houses and beat up women?

"You guys checked this out with the FBI directly, right?"

"Sure thing. The chief called Washington and talked to his supervisor. Who was pretty darned pissed, actually."

Suddenly I felt very alone. Very alone and very scared.

"You believe me, don't you, Doyle? About what he did to me, I mean?"

"Sure, Betty, I believe you. All of us do. I mean, you got that knot on your head."

Did I hear doubt in his voice? Maybe he was thinking about other explanations for that so-called evidence. They hadn't found any way to confirm my story. None of my neighbors had noticed the man's car, and somehow he hadn't left any prints. It was just my story and my injury.

"Okay, Doyle, thanks. And thanks for calling to let me know. I really appreciate it. I owe you one."

"No problem. You hang in there, okay? Just give us a call if something seems funny. Hey, maybe have Janie come stay with you for a few days."

"Good idea, Doyle, thanks. Bye."

I gave myself exactly one minute to sit in my car and cry.

Callie's boyfriend's name had turned out to be John Williams. The cops had picked him up early that morning, after spending the night going over my place and hearing my story. Now it was a bit after 2:00 in the afternoon. What with the things I'd had to do before leaving town, I'd gotten less than six hours' head start.

I wiped my face on the back of my sleeve and got out of the car. I was parked in an interstate rest stop, where I'd pulled off to get gas. Heading over to the parking area for the big rigs, I took a moment to tuck my cell phone behind the cab of one of them. It was an ultra-cheap pay-as-you-go model I'd bought that morning, just so I'd be able to get updates from Doyle. I couldn't risk keeping it now — they could track a cell phone's location, right? It had served its purpose, anyway.

I got back on the road. I was glad I'd gotten most of my money out of the bank before leaving Dorf. If Williams was in the FBI, he'd have a lot more resources at his disposal than I'd imagined. I probably shouldn't use my debit or credit cards.

Then again, if he was in the FBI, he wouldn't be pursuing me, right? He'd stay in Dorf, investigating meth dealers.

Somehow I didn't believe it. Maybe he wasn't really in the FBI but had contacts in the FBI who would lie for him. That sounded more like it. It also sounded a lot more frightening.

I stayed on 90 westbound for another hour, then turned south and headed down into Iowa on county roads. Hopefully the semi with my phone would keep heading west.

I drove until I couldn't stay awake any longer. It was the middle of the night. I stopped in a small town in the southeastern corner of Nebraska. I found a sleazy-looking motel and paid in cash. When I told the clerk I'd lost my wallet and didn't have ID, he just rolled his eyes.

I showered, then made a dinner out of some granola bars and peanut butter I'd brought with me. The sheets were scratchy and the room was cold. My head still ached fiercely from its impact with the stairs. It didn't matter — I hadn't slept in a day and a half, and for a good chunk of that time, I'd been scared to death. I was out as soon as I lay down.

Morning gave me my first good look at America west of the Mississippi. I'd always thought of Nebraska as flat, but in this part, at least, it was hilly.

I felt a lot better than I had the night before. Calmer, clearer. My head only hurt a little.

Standing at the window looking out, I also felt a lot less certain I'd done the right thing. I'd planned my getaway, yes, but I hadn't really thought about it in a bigger sense. In fact, I dimly remembered deciding _not_ to think about it.

Where exactly was I going to go? If I just kept moving, I'd run out of money pretty fast. I needed to settle some place and get work. But how could I do that without getting found? I didn't know the first thing about getting a job without ID, or about getting fake identification, for that matter.

Did I even have enough to rent a place somewhere while I looked for work? I emptied my wallet and the envelope of cash I'd gotten at the bank. It came to $1,264, plus change. That wasn't much when you factored in a security deposit. Could I get a place here in — I looked at the phone book — Sway Creek for that? And wouldn't any landlord want my social security number?

I drummed my fingers on the bedside table. No solutions presented themselves.

What about Ben? I hadn't told him I was leaving, much less where I was going or how to get in touch with me. Ben and his girls were all the family I had. Was I prepared to never see them again?

I'd called him Monday night right after I called the police. He'd come and met me at the hospital, where they'd taken me to make sure I didn't have a concussion. Ben wasn't the most emotive guy, but that night he looked pretty scared. I'd always known how much I needed my brother. It was a big part of why I resented Justine — she kept him from me. But the reverse hadn't really occurred to me: maybe he needed me, too.

I sat still, holding my breath as an awful new thought crawled to the surface.

_If I'm not there to hurt, will John Williams hurt Ben instead? Or the kids?_

Horror settled over me. It was the feeling of having screwed up. Big.

_I have to go back._

No. No, I couldn't. Williams had given me a direct order not to leave town. He'd also ordered me not to tell anyone about him. If he found me, he'd kill me. Twice.

I needed to call Ben and make sure he was okay. I'd tell him to take the family on a little trip. I could do it from a pay phone, then drive in a random direction for the whole day. It was chancy because it might let Williams track me, but it was the best I could do.

"Beth? Oh my god, where are you?"

Ben sounded panicked.

"It's okay. I'm okay. I'm just getting out of town for a while, until that Williams guy leaves. You heard they didn't charge him, right?"

"Beth, Justine's gone!"

It so was not the response I was expecting that it took me a moment to grasp it.

"What do you mean, 'gone'? She left you?"

"No, I don't know, she's just _gone_! She didn't pick the kids up from school yesterday. No one's seen her. Beth, I know something terrible happened to her. She might leave me, but she'd never leave the kids."

I stood there in shock.

"Beth? Beth?"

"I'm here. When's the last time someone saw her?"

"The security camera at the Cenex caught her getting gas a little before noon. That's it. She was supposed to be at the school at 3:30, but she never showed."

Doyle had called me at 2:15 to say Williams would be out soon. "Within the hour," he'd said.

_Oh god, oh my god_.

He hadn't been able to get at Ben. Ben had been at work, surrounded by people. So he'd taken Justine instead.

"Beth?"

"Did you call the police?"

"Of course! Beth... they want to talk to you about it."

It took me another few seconds to understand what he meant.

"They think I kidnapped Justine? Ben, you can't be serious!"

"I know. They're wasting their damned time. But they couldn't find you either, and people saw you two fighting at church." His voice slid from anger to defeat. "I think it's the only lead they have. Could you please just talk to them? Maybe once they let go of that idea, they'll get a better one. Beth, we have to find her. I need her."

"Ben, I'll call you back."

"Beth —"

I hung up on him. Then I stumbled to the curb and threw up my breakfast beside someone's junky pickup. I was in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven — the first place I'd seen a pay phone. What a place to be when you find out you're going to die.

Even taking the most direct route, it took me more than twelve hours to get home.

That morning, I'd bought a bottle of water and rinsed out my mouth. Then I'd called my brother back and told him I'd be there to talk to the police as soon as I could.

Things had been pretty clear to me after I talked to Ben. I'd made a bad mistake when I left Dorf. If I went back now, maybe Williams would let Justine go. Maybe taking her was his way of sending me a message: _Come back, or else_. If he'd already killed her, at least going back now would keep him from hurting anyone else. What he did to me was out of my hands, but maybe I could keep him from doing anything to anybody else. That idea had brought a measure of calm.

That calm was still with me when I pulled into the parking lot in front of the small brick building that served as Dorf's police station.

I sat for a minute, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of my car. It was a '91 Le Mans. It had been my mother's. When I'd gotten the job with Dr. Nielsen, Mom had offered it to me, sort of offhandedly. We were cleaning up after dinner one night, just the two of us. She'd said she thought she'd get herself a newer car, but maybe we should hang onto this one for a while so I could drive to work.

I'd been so ashamed, back then, of failing at college. She'd saved for years for me to be able to go. It's not like you make that much, working at a supermarket. She took extra hours whenever she could, even did some house-cleaning on the side. With my scholarships and financial aid and her loans and savings, we'd just been able to make it work.

But when I got there, the panic disorder flared. I'd always had attacks a couple times a week, but in Madison, I started having them every day, sometimes three or four times a day. Sometimes in the middle of class. I felt like I was floating in dark water, and terrifying things were sweeping by me at random, brushing my legs. The sense of terror was constant, overwhelming — crippling. I didn't last a semester. I didn't even last two months.

It came down to this: I'd thrown Mom's money away, and all her hopes for me too, because I was too crazy to do what millions of eighteen-year-olds did every year.

And there she was, still trying to help me.

I should've gotten in her lap and cried like a baby; instead I shrugged and said, "Sounds good," as if it didn't mean the world to me, how much she cared.

She never got that new car, either. Instead, she got run over crossing Center Street.

I sighed and got out. It was uncomfortably cold. I stood next to the car, wondering if Williams was already hunting me. Maybe he'd shoot me from a distance, and I'd never feel a thing.

After a minute, nothing had happened. I gathered my courage and headed into the warmth and light of the station.

"Yes, Justine and I don't like each other. No, I didn't do anything to her."

The police chief scowled.

I scowled back. I was repeating the same basic information I'd been giving him for the last hour. I'd been scared at first. Then fear had faded to nervousness. Now I was just annoyed. Why was he being so dense?

"So, let me get this straight," he said, consulting his notes. "Right after we brought in Agent Williams on Tuesday morning, you left Dorf, even though we'd asked you to remain available."

"That's right."

"And you did this why?"

"I was afraid of him. He told me he'd kill me if I told anyone what he'd done."

I might be a dead woman walking, but like hell if I wasn't going to let people know who killed me. Well, who was going to be responsible for killing me when it happened, that is.

"Betty, do you really think we're going to accept this story of yours again? John Williams is an agent in good standing. He's never been reprimanded. In fact, he's been decorated three times — I have his file right here." The chief patted one of the folders on the table. "You expect us to believe he broke into your house, assaulted you, and tried to steal your photographs?"

"I don't care what you believe. Fact is, I was afraid of him, and I left town at about 8:00 on Tuesday morning. I drove to Nebraska. When I heard from my brother that Justine was missing, I headed back. That's it."

"Problem is, you have no proof of that, which means your whereabouts are unaccounted for during the time that Mrs. Ryder went missing."

This was infuriating — so not helpful to finding Justine.

_Well, so be it. I guess it's true that no good turn goes unpunished._

"Actually, Officer Shumaker's phone logs should support my story. Since I was so scared Monday night, he was kind enough to call and let me know Williams was getting out. I talked to him at about 2:15 Tuesday afternoon, and I was already in western Minnesota when I received the call."

The chief looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. I couldn't have kidnapped Justine between 11:45 and 3:30 and also been across Minnesota at 2:15.

"What's the number on your phone?"

I got out my wallet and handed him the scrap of paper where I'd written down the number.

"Where's the phone?"

"I left it in a truck after I talked to Officer Shumaker."

"How come?"

"I thought Williams might be able to trace where it was."

The chief looked at me as though he were realizing for the first time that I was the saddest, most pathetic lunatic in Dorf.

"Wait here."

He got up and left the room with the phone number. I felt bad about ratting out Doyle, but I thought he'd probably be okay. The chief was his brother's godfather, so they were family friends.

I sat there for quite a while, twiddling my thumbs. Then, curiosity getting the better of caution, I reached over and opened the folder with the FBI logo on the front. On top was a personnel page, complete with photo. I picked it up.

Special Agent Christopher Duncan resided in Bethesda, Maryland. His middle name was Carlos. He'd been in the FBI for eight years. The picture showed a handsome African American man with short dreads. He was wearing a dark suit and a muted green and burgundy tie.

_What is this?_

I shifted through the rest of the pages in the folder. They all belonged to this Duncan person. I was totally confused. The chief had definitely pointed to the folder I'd picked up.

At that moment, the chief walked back in. Unfortunately, Williams came in right behind him. The bland Pete's Eats version of him, anyway.

"You shouldn't be looking at that," the chief said. "It's confidential."

He reached down and jerked the personnel page out of my hands. I saw him glance at it as he was putting it back in the folder. I sat there, stupefied. What was going on here? Was the guy blind?

"Agent Williams, your suspect," the chief said, gesturing at me disgustedly.

Finally I found my voice. "But that's not his file!"

The chief glared at me.

I shot a glance at Williams, who was standing quietly by the door.

"Chief, that file belongs to someone named Duncan."

"Nonsense," the chief snapped. He jerked his head at me. "She's all yours. I'll be in touch if her alibi doesn't pan out."

"Wait, you can't give me to him," I protested, all my calm evaporating. "What do you mean I'm 'his suspect'?"

The chief eyed me with displeasure.

"Should've known you'd be wrapped up in something like this."

He stalked out.

Williams's blandness seemed to vanish. Suddenly he looked a lot less like a milquetoast and a lot more like a murderer. He grabbed me by the upper arm and proceeded to drag me out of the building.

Not too long before, I'd been pretty cool with the idea of surrendering myself to get Justine back, but self-sacrifice suddenly seemed a good deal more concrete and terrifying. I did a fair amount of screaming on the way out of the station. No one came to help me.

Williams had a full-sized van. Not surprising for someone who probably had to dispose of dead bodies regularly. He lifted me into the back of it and cuffed me to a ring in the floor near the front seats. I had to hunch there awkwardly on my hands and knees.

I knew I was past help. I stifled the impulse to beg.

He drove for about an hour, then pulled off the pavement. I flopped around like a Raggedy Ann doll as the van lurched over the hardened ruts of some dirt road. I realized we were driving to a place where he could dump my body.

I wished I'd stopped to see Ben before going to the police station. Why didn't I think of that? Now I'd never see him again.

Finally we stopped. Williams unlocked and relocked my cuffs so I wasn't chained to the floor anymore. He went around and opened the back doors and pulled me out onto the ground. Then he stepped back.

I ended up on my side in half-frozen mud. Slowly I got up onto my knees, eyes averted. I wasn't ready to look at him, yet.

I was at the edge of a cornfield. Last year's dried, broken stalks stretched out to my left. To my right was a dark copse of trees. Probably a little stream down there. I looked straight up and saw stars. It was a clear, cold night. Everything was washed in dim silver from the bright half-moon.

Finally I looked at him. He was leaning on the van with his arms crossed, looking down at his feet. He was completely still.

"Why," he finally said, "did you do that?"

I could tell from his voice that he was just about as angry as it was possible to be. He actually growled.

I figured "that" encompassed everything I'd done that he'd told me not to do. I didn't know what to say. Couldn't he figure it out?

"I was scared. I thought I could get away."

He stared at me, silent, for several minutes.

Finally he said, "You are a lot of trouble." The words came out at long intervals, as though he were squeezing each one through his teeth with great effort.

"I'm sorry. I'm here now. Could you please just let Justine go?"

He jerked me to my feet. "I'm going to show you something, and you're going to take a good long look at it."

He pulled me into the trees. When I fell, he just kept walking, dragging me over roots and dead bracken until I managed to scramble back to my feet.

After about five minutes, we reached an outcropping of large boulders. They were bunched at a low point in the land, like cattle pressed together at a watering hole. Williams threaded between them, pulling me along by my cuffed hands. The space in the midst of them was filled with the detritus of the forest — dead branches, leaves, twigs. There was a slight smell of decay, as though some small animal had crawled into the pile and died. We stood there in front of the wreckage.

At first, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be looking at. Then the shadowy shapes began to resolve, taking on new meaning. The shards of wood became bones; the dead leaves became twists of dried, shredded skin. The smell of decay mushroomed. It was overpowering. I gagged.

Dead people. I had no idea how many. They were jumbled together, as if each new body had been dumped on the pile and had slowly broken down into pieces and fallen through the mass as it decayed.

"This," Williams said slowly, "is what I do. Every one of those, I put here."

He gave me a shove, and I fell into the pile. The remains weren't as dried out as they'd looked. The stench was everywhere; it was like someone had soaked a wool blanket in week-old blood and stuffed it in my mouth. Things squished under me as I thrashed around in the dark, trying to get my feet and cuffed hands to work together.

I finally managed to get myself clear of the bodies. I lay there on my side, gasping and retching. Williams nudged me with his foot. I looked up at him. He was just a vague silhouette against the starlit sky. I absolutely hated him.

"Do not fuck with me, Ryder. Not again."

He pulled me back to the van and ran my cuffs through the ring again. We drove. I lay there, shocked and exhausted. That terrible smell was in my hair and on my clothes.

I was too afraid to ask again about Justine. Justine could deal with her own problems.

It was some time before it occurred to me that he hadn't killed me.

When Williams dragged me out of the van a second time, it was at Callie McCallister's house. Unbelievable. I could not imagine two people who seemed less likely to hook up.

He frog-marched me up the walk. As we approached the front door, Callie opened it. At first she looked apprehensive. Then, when she recognized me, she looked frightened.

"No. No, no, no. We can't shelter her. The order's gone out."

She blocked the door with her body. I expected Williams to shove her aside, but instead he stopped a respectable distance away.

"Let us in, Callie. I'll explain."

He spoke with the kind of gentle, soothing tone a parent would use to calm a scared kid.

Amazing. I wouldn't have thought he had it in him, even for the purposes of manipulation.

"John, this isn't a good choice."

Williams said, "Callie. Trust me."

Callie stared at him for a long while, then nodded slowly. She stood aside.

Williams only took me in as far as the foyer. Callie closed the door and edged around me, wringing her hands nervously. Williams leaned down and growled "don't move" in my ear. Then he took Callie's elbow and led her farther into the house for a private conversation.

Williams couldn't see me, so I risked looking around. The house was a rambler with an open floor plan, so I could see much of the living space: a large living room to my left, with a dining area just beyond. The kitchen was straight ahead of me. Beyond the kitchen, I could see a den with a fireplace. The bedrooms must be down the hall to the right.

The place was extremely clean and orderly, which didn't surprise me. It was also really nice, which did. I'd never thought about what Callie's house might look like inside, but if I had, I'd have predicted a wall of kitschy porcelain shepherdesses, some Jesus paintings, and a bunch of lace doilies. It wasn't like that at all. The furnishings were simple and modern, very tasteful. Lots of pale colors and wood tones. It was nicer than my place, that's for sure. Mom's decorating had been less Scandinavian Designs, more St. Vincent de Paul.

I stood there, not moving, until my captors came back. Williams told me to go with Callie. She looked nervous but gave me a tentative nod and headed down the hallway. Just as I went to follow her, Williams caught my arm.

"Do not hurt her."

I could tell from his tone of voice that this was a different category of forbiddenness than "don't move" had been a few minutes earlier. The fact that he squeezed my arm hard enough to leave bruises added to that impression. As soon as he loosened his grip, I jerked away, heart racing. His touch was unbearable.

Callie took me to the master bathroom. She told me I could shower, but that she had to stay in the room with me for now. She sat down on the toilet and discreetly looked away as I stripped.

I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it and scrubbed myself. Then I stood there, letting it wash over me. Slowly, the muscles in my back and shoulders began to unknot.

As my body relaxed, all the weirdness, disruption, and terror of the past few days came welling up. Oddly, I didn't have a panic attack. Instead, I started crying and couldn't stop. I just stood there and sobbed, minute after minute.

Finally, Callie reached in and turned off the water, which had gone cold. She helped me out and dried me off, making cooing noises, as though I were a baby. She sat me down on the edge of the bed. By that point, I was so tired I could barely move. I was done. I let her put some sweats on me. They were warm and soft. Then she pressed me down into bed and pulled the covers over me. I slept like the dead.

# Chapter 4

It was early afternoon when I woke up. I felt better physically. A lot better.

Mentally, things weren't so good. I had to sit there and figure out what day it was: I'd fled Dorf Tuesday morning, returned Wednesday night, and it had been early Thursday morning by the time Williams had brought me to Callie's. So, now it was midday Thursday.

Shit. I was supposed to have been back at work today.

I went to the bathroom and found that Callie had left a new toothbrush on the sink for me. I brushed and thought about my situation.

First, a group of religious nutcases had kidnapped me and seemed to have some future plans for me that I probably wouldn't like. Second, my sister-in-law was missing. And then there were some ancillary issues. If I didn't show up for work, I was going to lose my job. I'd seen a huge pile of murdered people but didn't know where they were, exactly. Williams was pretending to be an FBI agent, and the police chief seemed to be in on it. And news had no doubt spread all over town about my supposed involvement in some kind of meth operation.

When I got to thinking about it, it was really a bit much. I felt the panic coming on, so I sat down on the bathroom floor and snapped my rubber band, focusing on my breathing. I had to calm down and figure out what to do.

It didn't work.

Twenty minutes later, I lay on the floor, recovering from the attack. The cool tiles felt good against my sweaty cheek. I stayed down until the nausea receded and my heart rate slowed.

Slowly, my ability to think came back. I tried again to consider the situation.

It all went back to the two weird photographs and the interest they'd generated. If I could convince Williams and Callie that I didn't go around photographing "hell-spawn," maybe they'd cancel their plans for me and let Justine go. Once Justine and I were safe, I could worry about the other stuff.

So, how could I convince Williams and Callie that there was nothing demonic about the pictures I'd taken?

The one showing the naked guy in front of J.T.'s should be easy: all I had to do was find that guy. No one could claim there was anything weird about the photo, then.

But what about the monster foot? Unfortunately, I still hadn't come up with an explanation for it myself. It looked so real. If I couldn't explain it to myself, I'd never be able to convince others it was nothing special.

I retrieved my toothbrush and finished brushing. Then I lowered the toilet lid and sat down to think about it. I wished I had the photo to look at. Damn Williams for taking it. I called the picture up in my mind's eye, which wasn't too difficult, considering how much I'd looked at it. I remembered how you could see the ankle tendons flexing.

_What if it's real?_

I sat very still. Where had that thought come from? Of course it wasn't real.

I needed something to eat. I checked myself over. No piss or barf this time, thank goodness. Callie's sweats were too short in the arms and legs, and too tight all over. I wasn't a particularly big woman, but I wasn't tiny and delicate like her. Whatever. I was covered.

When I opened the bedroom door, I could hear a washing machine running somewhere. Maybe my clothes were in it. Frankly, I'd rather have thrown them away.

I stood there, finding it hard to leave the room. I'd felt relatively safe inside. But that was an illusion: I wasn't really any safer in one room than another. Squaring my shoulders, I headed down the hall.

Callie was in the kitchen. No Williams, thank god.

Callie looked up nervously. She blurted out, "You can't leave," then flushed and seemed to remember her manners. "Would you like some tea?"

"That'd be great, thank you."

Callie made me a cup of tea and then a sandwich, which was nice. She sat down across from me. There followed an awkward silence of several minutes. It felt increasingly weird to eat while she alternately looked at me and stared down at her hands. Finally I couldn't bear it anymore.

"Did Williams go out?"

"Yes. He had something to take care of."

_Torturing a puppy to death, maybe._

"Will he be back soon?"

"I'm afraid I don't know."

Well, so much for the questions I really cared about. I wracked my brain for small talk. "Where did you two meet?"

Callie said nothing for a few seconds. She seemed to be considering whether to answer me.

"I had been taken by Satan's minions," she said at last, "some years ago. They did wicked things to me, sinful things. John rescued me. He told me I could be a warrior against that kind of evil. He has friends who taught me what to do, what not to do. I've been fighting evil ever since."

_Right. Momentarily forgot about the crazy thing._

Well, maybe I could get a better handle on the way these people thought. "So, how do you fight evil?"

Callie flushed and looked down at her hands. "Well, I'm not much of a fighter — not directly. I'm more of a watcher, like a sentinel. When I see evil, I let them know. Sometimes they don't do anything. But sometimes they send John. He's one of the fighters. Sometimes they send others."

I took another bite. It was a good sandwich — sliced turkey and Colby on soft white bread. The mayo tasted homemade.

"Who's 'them,' exactly? Some kind of secret society?"

"I don't know how much I should tell you about that," she said uncertainly.

I hadn't really expected a clear answer.

"So why don't they always send a fighter when you tell them you've seen evil? Don't they believe you?"

I was sure hoping they didn't.

"They believe me. I don't know why they ignore the demons sometimes. I don't understand it, really." She paused, looking troubled. "That creature in the cemetery — it's been there for as long as I've lived here. I keep telling them it's there, but they always say it's okay so long as no one knows about it. I don't see how that could be. It's on holy ground, even."

I stared at her. Maybe my photograph had prompted a full-on psychotic break.

"You could fight it yourself," I suggested.

She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "It's eight feet tall and has teeth like a shark. And claws. And horns. It would kill me."

"Ah. Well, it's probably best to leave it alone, then."

Callie nodded, and a few moments passed in silence.

"John says you can't actually see it?" she asked, cocking her head at me.

It was an oddly birdlike gesture. But then, she was vaguely avian — slender and tiny, with a long neck and pale, sharp eyes. Her light blond hair was even sort of feathery.

"No, I've never seen it."

She looked pensive. "That's really unusual, I think."

"Oh?"

She nodded. "I've heard of people who can photograph demons, but not without seeing them first. It's like you make music you can't hear. Well, not exactly."

She drifted off a bit, thinking.

Whoever these people were, they hadn't done Callie any favors on the sanity front, filling her head with this stuff. I felt sort of angry on her behalf, which was surprising since I didn't even like her. Then again, I'd never talked to her at length. There was something childlike about her. I'd always assumed she was nasty, what with all the moral crusading, but maybe she wasn't. Nutty, but not nasty.

"Callie, did you hear that my sister-in-law is missing?"

"No." She hesitated. "Do you think she's in trouble?"

"I really don't know." Damn, no help there.

"Well, I hope she's all right." She stood up. "Excuse me, I'll just switch the laundry."

She left the kitchen. After a few more bites of sandwich, I followed her. The laundry was in a small room at the end of the hallway. The dryer was running, and she was folding a load of lights.

"Can I help?"

"Oh, no, that's all right. I like folding laundry."

I leaned in the doorway, formulating a plan of attack. I knew I couldn't leave. There was no way I'd try it. Go ahead and call me a coward, but I wasn't going to cross Williams again. I was viscerally afraid of him in a way that made it impossible.

"Callie, I should probably call Ben. I haven't talked to him in more than two days. And maybe my workplace. Would you mind if I used your phone?"

She glanced up at me, unhappy. "I'm sorry, but John said you couldn't."

"He said I couldn't call Ben?"

"He said you couldn't use the phone at all."

"Oh."

I thought for a minute. Maybe there was a way around this.

"He's probably afraid I'll try to tell someone again, but now I know I can't."

She nodded, not looking at me.

"So, I won't tell Ben anything, okay? I'll just let him know I'm all right."

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I'd let you if I could, but the phone won't work for you. You just can't make any calls."

"What do you mean the phone won't work for me?"

"There's a barrier around the house. It's something John can do, a gift from the Lord. You can't leave or make calls or wave at someone out the window or anything like that. I'm sorry."

I stared at her. I went to the kitchen and tried the phone. It was dead. I went to the front door, my skepticism momentarily overcoming my fear. I opened it and tried to step out.

There was something in front of me that I couldn't see. It was like running into a massive blob of invisible gelatin. I stepped back from it. The world swayed.

From behind me, Callie said, "You really didn't believe any of it, did you? He said so, but I wasn't sure."

"No." My own voice sounded weirdly calm and normal to me. "I really didn't."

Callie sat me down in the living room and tried to explain things to me, but honestly, it all sounded like a jumble of crazy. Hell as a vast world full of demons. People like her and Williams as protectors of our world from demons who come here to sow evil and reap souls.

I listened with a fraction of my attention, catching random tidbits. With the rest, I focused on my breathing.

We were still sitting there when Williams got home. He stood there for a second, taking in the tableau — me hunched over, pale and shaking. Callie holding my hand, speaking to me quietly.

"Had a come-to-Jesus moment?" he said nastily.

I stared back at him, too shell-shocked to respond.

"I don't think I'm getting through to her," Callie said. "Can you explain it to her?"

"Nope. Not my job."

He headed into the kitchen, then called out, "Come with me tonight, Callie? I still can't get it closed. Must be stuck on something."

She stiffened slightly beside me. "Is it safe?"

"I just need you to take a look. No need to leave the barrier."

She nodded but didn't say anything. I wondered what sort of demon they were going to send back to Hell that night. The thought struck me as so ludicrous, so cliché, that I got the giggles. Lord help me, I couldn't stop. Even Williams growling "shut the fuck up" didn't do it. I laughed until I cried. Eventually I got up and wandered into the den and turned on Callie's TV. I channel-surfed until I found a dour episode of _Law & Order_. Even then, I kept having to stifle laughter. It kept bubbling up, as though it were washing something away.

At last, I curled up on the couch and went to sleep to the drone of the TV.

Sometime in the wee hours, the front door crashed open. I got into the kitchen just as Williams was setting Callie down on the floor. At first he was in the way, and I couldn't see. When I did, I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. Her face, neck, and upper chest were a dry, grayish white. I couldn't see her features. I could only tell it was her by the gray slacks she was wearing. I didn't understand. What had happened to her?

I came closer and smelled cooked flesh. She had no hair. She had no ears. In a rush, comprehension came — she was burned to char. What I was seeing was ash.

"Not in here," Williams said without looking up.

I rushed out but didn't make it to the bathroom before vomiting. I crouched at the end of the hallway, heaving, for several minutes. Then I gathered myself and struggled back to the kitchen. I was shaking so badly it was hard to walk.

Williams was speaking quietly into a cell phone. He had brought in some couch cushions and put Callie's feet up on them. I looked at her. The unburned parts I could see were a clammy white. Her fingertips were blue.

When he hung up, I said, "Was that 911?"

He didn't say anything.

"She needs a hospital. Right now."

He turned to me. I cowered, expecting rage, but his face was strangely blank.

"You want to be useful? Hold her hand."

That was it. Even though I knew I was colluding in Callie's death, I didn't say another word.

I sat down on the floor beside her and took her hand. It was unnaturally cool to the touch, and sweaty. I listened to the harsh crackle of her breathing. Her airway must've been burned as well. Williams sat on the other side of her with his back against the cabinets, looking down.

There we waited. For hours.

Callie did regain consciousness briefly at one point. Her hand tightened on mine, and she stirred. I saw the opening that used to be her mouth moving and bent down to hear. I couldn't really understand her. She might've said, "Doesn't hurt."

Around dawn, I heard the rumble of a motorcycle outside. Moments later, someone entered the house — a woman. She paused in the kitchen doorway.

"Is she alive?"

Williams didn't answer, so I nodded.

"Thank god. Move over."

I glanced at Williams again for guidance, but he was still looking down.

I got up and stepped back. The woman took my place. She was young — in her late teens, maybe twenty, tops. She was quite a bit shorter than me, five-foot-one or -two. Her hair was shaved close on the sides and bleached almost white. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream. I wasn't sure of her ethnicity. Latina, maybe. She had several facial piercings, and the edge of a tattoo showed above her collar. But for all the tough-chick fixings, she looked nervous.

She picked up Callie's hand and closed her eyes. The ashen surface of Callie's face and chest turned black, then dark brown. Her body seemed to inflate slightly, as though lost mass were returning. The browned skin became hamburger-red, then pink and blistered. New ears seemed to grow from the blackened nubs, like one of those time-lapse photos. Eyelids and lips formed as well. Her nose grew back, red skin and white cartilage pushing out the blackened edges of the ruin that had been there before.

Callie was recognizable again — definitely still burned, but recognizable.

The blond woman moaned and slumped back against the cabinets.

Callie began to stir and whimpered in pain.

The blond woman tried to say something. She was shockingly pale. A sheen of sweat stood out on her face. On the second try, she managed to say, "Bag."

I noticed the small duffle in the kitchen doorway only when Williams stood up and fetched it. The woman must've dropped it there when she came in. Williams had to unzip it for her. It was full of medical supplies. Following her directions, he prepared a syringe and injected it into Callie's arm. After a few seconds, Callie's body relaxed, and her breathing slowed. She was unconscious.

She was also largely healed. I mean, she still had serious burns, but the difference was night and day.

If I'd needed further convincing that there was more to the world than I'd believed, I'd just gotten it.

The blond woman sat with her head between her knees, taking deep breaths, for about fifteen minutes. Then she looked up at Williams.

"Can you move her to a room where I can sleep too?"

Williams nodded and picked Callie up carefully. He took her down the hallway.

When he got back, the woman said, "Let's take a look at those hands."

Williams knelt in front of her and held out his arms. I noticed then that the backs of his hands and forearms were burned pretty badly. The woman examined the wounds, probing gently at bits of burned cloth that had stuck to the skin.

I watched, expecting to feel sick. It didn't happen. I guess what I was seeing was small potatoes compared to Callie's burns.

The scar I'd noticed before on the back of Williams's left wrist caught my eye. As the woman turned his arm, I saw that it actually went all the way around. It looked like his hand had been cut off and reattached. Was that possible?

"These burns need healing, but it'll have to wait 'til tomorrow. I'm shot."

Williams grunted. When it came to languages, he sure had Thuggish down pat.

The woman directed him to a small aerosol can in her bag. She told him to spray his burns, which he did, then pointed to some pills he could take for the pain. He nodded, then thanked her in a serious tone for healing Callie. The blond woman looked a bit surprised. I was glad I wasn't the only one. Then he got up and left the room. A few seconds later, I heard the front door close.

I felt myself relax marginally. I had no idea who the blond woman was, but at least she wasn't him.

She looked up at me and said, "I'm Kara. Who're you?"

"Beth. Beth Ryder."

"Are you new?"

"Um. I guess."

Kara grimaced. "Bummer. Well, we can talk about it tomorrow." She struggled to her feet. "Right now, I need to sleep. That's the biggest healing I've ever done."

She shambled off down the hallway. I heard a bedroom door close.

I stood there, looking down at the floor, which was still smeared with ash and bits of char where Callie had lain.

The house was quiet. I felt alone. I'd been reborn into a world that looked like the one I knew, but wasn't. Terror surged through me, dank and suffocating.

A two-attack day. Not good.

When I could move again, I crawled into bed and lay there shaking until sleep came.

# Chapter 5

I slept even later than I had the day before — well into the afternoon. The house was quiet. I lay in bed for a while. Very irrationally, I was hoping what I'd seen in the last twenty-four hours would somehow go away. My mind kept poking at this heap of impossible experiences, as though it might hop up and say in a funny accent, "Why, excuse me, I seem to have wandered into the wrong universe! I'll be on my way now."

Instead, the pile of impossible just sat there, refusing to leave or be integrated with the rest of my psyche.

I knew I couldn't function that way. But deciding to tackle the situation might've been the hardest thing I'd ever done. Every cell in my body resisted the idea.

I understood why. It was in my nature to withdraw. Maybe my panic disorder had made me that way. In the past, new places and experiences had made it flare, so I tried to stick to routines as much as possible. And when something new and scary did happen, my impulse was to get the heck away from it.

It could have been worse — some people with panic disorder end up prisoners in their own homes, too afraid of triggering an attack to go out. That hadn't happened to me, maybe because I had attacks at home, too. But I did try to avoid the new. I mean, photography was literally the only new thing I'd tried since I was eighteen.

But now "the new" was overrunning me, and I was going to have to confront it. If I didn't start trying to make a place for myself in this new world, it would shred me.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, what I'd seen the blond woman, Kara, do — that was miraculous. What if I could do something like that?

I showered, then went hunting for my clothes in Callie's dryer. Someone's snoring was audible in the hallway, even though all the bedroom doors were closed. I hoped it was Kara, not Williams.

When I got to the kitchen, there was someone new there. A man. He was drinking coffee. He looked up at me, and his face shifted into what appeared to be a friendly smile.

"Hi. You must be Elizabeth. I'm Graham Ryzik. I'm here to show you the ropes."

This was it. I had to confront the new. I seized my courage in both hands and made a bold first move.

"Um. Hi."

_Good lord, I'm going to have to do better than that._

"Um. Coffee?"

He grinned and motioned toward a can of grounds and some filters on the counter.

I turned my back on the scary stranger and made myself a cup of coffee. Then I brought it over to the table and sat down with him to drink it. It was really good. I didn't usually drink the caffeinated stuff.

"Well," he said, "you seem to be handling all this pretty well."

"Thanks."

He smiled again. Big smiler, this guy.

"Want some breakfast?"

"Okay."

He got up and made enough eggs and toast for two.

I watched him. He was good-looking — tall and slender, with brown eyes, blond hair, and a TV anchorman's even, chiseled features. He was wearing khakis and a fitted pale green sweater made out of some fine material. He was maybe ten years older than me and carried himself with confidence. I wondered if he was a lawyer or a doctor. He seemed professional, sophisticated.

He brought me a plate, and I thanked him. We ate in silence.

When we were both finished, he pushed back and sat there looking at me, smiling a little.

I looked back at him. _Confront the new_ , I reminded myself.

"Can you explain things to me?" I said.

He nodded. "That's what I'm here for. I oversee the Upper Midwest. New talent is part of my responsibility."

"Oversee? So this is an organization of some sort?"

"You could say that. Basically, we look out for things that shouldn't be happening and try to fix them. We have a territory with different regions. Each region has an overseer."

"What are you called?"

"What, like the 'League of Justice,' or something?" he said, laughing. "We don't have a fancy name for the organization."

"Oh. Okay." I felt dumb.

He sat for a minute or so, drumming his fingers on the table softly.

"It's always a bit hard to know where to start with newbies," he finally said. "It's particularly hard with you, since you're so much older than most. You have the capacity to understand a great deal — you know, unlike a seven-year-old."

_This happens to little kids?_ God, how horrible.

"But if we get into too much detail right off the bat," he continued, "it's going to be overwhelming, and we also won't get to working on your abilities. As I understand it, your development has been a bit unusual. Figuring that out should be our first priority."

"Okay," I said, "so give me what you think I need for now. I'll ask questions if I need to."

He nodded, looking a little impressed. I was sort of impressed with myself, actually.

"Well, the first thing to understand is that there's more than one world," he said, sounding like he'd rattled this stuff off before. "We call this one the First Emanation, but there's also a Second Emanation. You can think of it as another world that grew out of this one."

"Like a parallel universe?"

"Sort of. They're not as separate as that phrase implies. People can travel from one to the other. And the geography there echoes the geography here, though it's not all from the present time."

I nodded and tried to look like I was getting it.

"Okay. So, the F-Em has a large population of creatures — animals and people."

"FM?"

"As in 'First Emanation.' Big 'E,' little 'M,' as in 'Emanation.'"

"Oh. Right."

So much for getting it.

"The S-Em has a population as well. We call those beings 'Seconds,' for short. Some Seconds look just like you or me, and some look different. The essential distinction between Seconds and the beings of this world is that they can perceive and manipulate something we call essence. Working essence enables them to do things that aren't possible for most human beings. They can reshape reality itself in different ways. Usually the effects are small, but they can be substantial."

"Are you talking about magic?"

"Not really. It might seem magical to humans, but to Seconds it's not mysterious or supernatural." He stopped to think. "You know how we can use our eyes and hands to notice and manipulate stuff on the macro level?" He picked a piece of toast up from his plate and tore it in half. "Well, Seconds have this other ability that lets them sense and manipulate stuff on the ultra-micro level. To them, it's all very normal and reasonable, just like hands."

_Ultra-micro_. "So, essence is cells and molecules and other small stuff?"

"It's more fundamental than that. It's what lies under all matter and energy — the basis of existence itself."

He must've seen my mystified expression.

"Human science can get you part of the way there. See all the things around you? They're all different, right? This is cloth," he said, pointing at a dish towel, "and the table is wood. This plate is ceramic. If you look at them, touch them, they seem different. But those differences are misleading. Actually these things are all made out of the tiny particles that make up atoms, right? Science tells us everything in this room — including us — is just particles and electromagnetic fields and space."

I nodded, but that stuff wasn't a big part of high school physics. Building a bridge out of spaghetti I remembered. The more theoretical stuff was foggier.

"Okay, well if you follow me that far, just imagine essence as what constitutes particles, space, and so forth."

Right. Okay. I guess.

"Are you sure it's not just magic?"

"Yep, I'm sure. Look, what if you went back in time and showed some stone-age people a TV with a remote control? It might seem to them that you were controlling the TV with magic, but to us it's just a piece of technology."

It occurred to me that I didn't really know how a remote control worked. I felt myself blush.

Graham smiled. "Even if you can't explain the details of how a remote works, you know there's a scientist somewhere who could. You don't think it's magic."

Okay, so people in this other world had some kind of amazingly advanced biotechnology, so advanced it seemed like magic. I could accept that. It was like a sci-fi movie.

But what Graham was saying didn't seem to jibe with what Callie had told me.

"Callie described the other world in religious terms."

"Ah." Graham paused for a few seconds. "Callie has her own way of understanding these things. It's what works for her, given her beliefs and experiences, but based on what I know, it's not an accurate picture. What I'm telling you is what the rest of us understand to be true."

For some reason, that was a big relief, maybe because all that judgment and hellfire stuff didn't seem to be part of the equation.

"Given your potential," Graham continued, "it would be better if you had a more precise and nuanced understanding of how the S-Em works."

I nodded, but the thing about "potential" didn't sound good. My feeling of relief dissipated. I didn't want these people to have any more interest in me than was absolutely necessary.

I cleared my throat. "Potential to do what?"

"Be a cop, basically. Humans generally can't travel to the S-Em, but some Seconds can travel here. That's where people like us come in — we police the Seconds who come to the human world. If they break the rules, we take care of it."

So, these people were basically a secret branch of law enforcement? Maybe Williams really was in the FBI — some secret X-Filesy part of it.

Then I thought about the place Williams had taken me.

"By 'take care of it,' do you mean you kill them?"

Graham looked a little uncomfortable. "Most Seconds don't intend any harm to humans. If they come here, they don't cause any problems. But a few of them are dangerous. Sometimes, the only solution is termination."

What he was saying was rubbing me the wrong way. Or maybe it was the pile of decayed corpses I'd rolled around in a couple nights ago that had rubbed me the wrong way.

"Do they get a trial?"

"I'm sure there's a process in place."

Huh. That was pretty vague.

As though feeling the tension, Callie's glass tea kettle cracked with a loud pop. We both jumped. I let out a nervous laugh, and Graham smiled. Steam billowed up from the hot burner as the water drained onto the range.

"I'll get it," he said, standing up and grabbing a dishtowel. "Weird. These things are supposed to be just about indestructible. Anyway, we're able to deal with troublesome Seconds because we're actually like them: some human beings are also born with the ability to sense and manipulate essence. Those of us with the right abilities can meet Seconds on a more level playing field, especially if we team up. And since a number of powerful Seconds support our activities, they can back us up if we get in trouble."

_What kind of trouble?_ said an alarmed little voice in my head.

"What you said about being a cop... am I going to have to —"

Just then, Graham's cell phone rang.

He pulled it out and looked at it. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. Please excuse me."

He headed into the living room and began a conversation I couldn't quite hear. It lasted a while and seemed to prompt several other calls. Finally he wrapped it up and came back to the kitchen's entrance, pocketing his phone.

"Sorry about that. Hey, why don't we do a few tests to see exactly how your development is coming along?"

"Um, you don't think I can 'reshape reality itself,' do you? 'Cause if so, I have some bad news."

"Hold on," he said, laughing. "Working essence can take a lot of different forms. Most of it isn't so spectacular as that phrase makes it sound. Let's just see what you might be able to do."

I could've told him right then that I didn't have any special abilities, other than possibly taking weird pictures. But I followed him to the living room. We settled on one of Callie's comfortable white couches. Graham opened his mouth to say something, then froze, looking over my shoulder.

I turned to look. Kara was standing at the end of the hallway, looking as surprised to see Graham as he was to see her. He recovered first.

"Kara. It's good to see you. What brings you here?"

Kara looked down at her hands, which were gripped together.

"Williams called me early this morning. Callie got hurt. I came to heal her."

"Is she okay?" Graham said, sounding concerned.

"Yeah. I did some more work on her just now. She'll be up and around soon."

"Good, good. So, you'll be heading back to the Twin Cities today?"

"I guess."

"Best not to leave your area unguarded for too long."

She nodded quickly and vanished into the kitchen.

Hm. Kara was afraid of Graham. I studied him a little more carefully as he began to explain the testing process to me. He didn't seem scary. Maybe I was missing something.

Two hours later, I was well and truly shaken.

Graham had asked me to report whatever I saw. Then he'd changed from one person into another as I watched — a heavyset middle-aged farmer, a schoolmarmish old lady, a slinky beauty, a broken-down old man. Each time, I had to describe the person I saw in detail.

Seeing Graham change like that reminded me of Williams, with his Blandy-McBlandsville disguise. I didn't want to be reminded of Williams.

Afterwards, Graham picked up a decorative bowl from Callie's coffee table, and I watched as it shifted from bowl to football helmet to soccer ball, and finally to a living armadillo, which turned its head and looked right at me. I had to describe each one of those things, too.

Apparently finished with the special effects, Graham sat back with a sigh.

"Well, this has got to be pretty unusual. I haven't seen anything quite like it."

"Is something wrong with me?"

My tone seemed to get his attention. He leaned forward and caught one of my hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Elizabeth, I know this must all be very unsettling. It's always like that at the beginning. I promise, it'll start making sense. You'll adjust, and it'll get better."

"Okay," I said, trying not to sound so quavery.

I reminded myself that I was supposed to be confronting this stuff, not just reacting passively and letting my fear of it rule me.

"I'll explain what's going on, as best I can. Remember how I mentioned earlier that Seconds and some humans can sense and manipulate essence?"

I nodded.

"There are two ways to manipulate essence. One is called a 'working.' A working changes essence from one state into another. And remember, essence is the substance of everything. That's why I said we're capable of reshaping reality itself — if you change the building blocks, you change the building."

"Right, okay."

"The other kind of manipulation is called a 'half-working' or 'halfing.' When you make a half-working, you don't change essence fully from one state to another. Instead, you let it oscillate really fast between its original state and what you'd like it to be. So long as the essence has the shape you want more than half the time, that's the shape normal people are going to see."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"It saves a lot of energy. Essence really wants to stay as it naturally is. It takes power to keep it in an altered state. When you disguise yourself, you might have to keep it up for a long time. Halving your energy use can make all the difference."

"And that's what you were doing just now?"

"Some of those were halfings, yeah."

It was hard to believe. I hadn't seen any sort of flickering or blurriness. One moment he'd been himself, and the next he'd been someone else.

"So, moving on to how you're developing," Graham said, "when people like us come into our abilities, it happens in four stages. First we perceive essence that's been worked or half-worked. Once you can see halfings, they won't fool you anymore. You'll still see the worked shape, but you'll also see the original. It's like seeing two things occupying the same space at once."

That thought made me slightly seasick.

"With full workings," Graham continued, "there's no 'original' state of things left to see. Sensing them just means being aware that the essence in that spot has been altered. To me, it feels like a strange eddy in the stream of reality."

"Okay," I said, trying to commit workings and half-workings to memory.

"Typically, people start perceiving changed essence all at once. It's an all-or-nothing thing, like throwing a switch. It's called 'seeing through.' If the essence has been disturbed, they're aware of it. It isn't happening that way for you. You're getting little glimpses, but it's mostly still hidden."

I shook my head. "I'm not seeing either type of thing you described — workings or half-workings."

"But you are — partially. Most of the halfings I just showed you, you didn't see at all. You only perceived the worked shape. But with a couple, you described something that was part of the original, not the halfing. For instance, the young woman I created had black hair, but you said she was a blonde. That means you saw my real hair color instead of the illusion. I bet you've gotten glimpses of reality through other halfings too and just not realized it."

"But I've never seen anything unusual, except in that picture I took."

"Williams led me to believe there was more than one photograph."

"Well, there were two he seemed interested in, but one of them just showed a regular person. I thought so, at least."

"Huh. Can I see them?"

"You'll have to ask Williams. He took them."

Graham frowned. I guess Williams had neglected to mention that bit of thievery.

Suddenly I remembered Williams's FBI file. Maybe when the chief had looked at those pages, they hadn't appeared to describe some other person. Maybe I'd been seeing through a half-working Williams made.

"Okay, never mind." Graham said. He got up and ducked into Callie's dining room. When he came back, he was holding a camera — a little point-and-shoot job.

"You want me to try to take some more weird pictures?"

"Yep," he said. "We're going to visit your spooky cemetery."

A spasm of fear clutched at me. I reached down and gave my rubber band a couple hard snaps. _Confront the new_ , I reminded myself. Exploring what was going on with my pictures was a good step forward.

"So you think the weird pictures are part of this seeing-bits-and-pieces thing?"

"Yeah, I do, and I want to see it in action. Let's wait until dark, though. It'll be easier to disguise our presence."

I sat down and ran through the camera's settings. It was pretty straightforward; using it shouldn't be a problem. We'd see how much trouble my subject matter posed.

After I'd examined the camera, I thought I might ask Graham some more questions. Unfortunately, he was on the phone again.

I wandered down the hallway, curious about how Callie was doing. I found her and Kara in one of the bedrooms. Kara motioned me in. Callie was still deeply asleep. Her skin looked much better — still pink and inflamed, but no longer blistered. I wondered if Williams had been back to the house for healing as well, maybe while I was sleeping away the morning. The thought made me shudder. I didn't want him nearby when I was asleep.

I felt awkward standing there gawking.

"Will I wake her up if I talk?" I whispered.

"No, she's drugged," Kara answered in a more normal tone.

"Is she going to have scars?"

"No. The burn's superficial now. Even if I left it this way, it wouldn't scar. But I won't leave it — it's too painful. I'll do a little more tonight."

I nodded. "What you can do, it's really amazing. If I hadn't seen how bad it was, I would never believe it."

Kara shrugged. She looked uncomfortable. "So, Graham's here training you?"

"Yeah, I guess."

She didn't follow up, so eventually I took my leave and headed to the room I'd been using, which I thought was Callie's. I wondered if she'd given it to me because the en-suite bathroom meant I didn't have to go out into the hallway if I didn't want to. If so, that was really thoughtful. Maybe she understood about being terrified, even if she wasn't scared of Williams herself.

By 9:00, Graham and I were sitting in his sedan behind St. Mary's. It was quite dark — the sun had set more than an hour earlier.

He said, "Stay here a sec," and got out of the car. He turned on a flashlight and walked into the cemetery. I watched him moving through the gravestones; then the dark claimed him, and I could only see the little ember of his flashlight bobbing along.

Before long, he came back to the car and gestured me out. I followed him through the dark cemetery. He led me toward a big maple in the back.

"You see that tree?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Do you see anything near it other than grave markers? Look carefully."

I let my eyes rove around the trunk and the surrounding area. Several stones were close enough to be under the tree's canopy, but I couldn't see anything else. There was only the tree and a bunch of gravestones between us and Gil Jensen's southernmost field, which abutted the church property.

"No, there's nothing else there. Not that I can see, anyway."

"Okay. Take a picture of the tree," he said.

"This little flash isn't nearly enough to light it."

"Just get the trunk."

Feeling a bit silly, I walked to within about ten feet of the trunk, close enough for the flash to do some good, and snapped a picture of it. Then I returned to Graham.

"Here you go. One tree trunk," I said, holding the camera out to him.

He smiled and didn't take it. "Look at the image. What do you see?"

I turned on the camera's LCD screen. The image did show a tree trunk. It also showed a standing figure.

"There was no one there!"

"Oh, but there was," Graham said, grinning. "That's Bob."

In the picture, a large creature was standing in front of the tree. He was furry, had long arms, and was very obviously male. He was smiling toothily and waving.

Goosebumps ran up my arms. My heart rate kicked into high gear, and my lungs seemed to close. An attack was coming. I sat down on the ground and snapped my rubber band. Surprisingly, Graham settled down beside me and put his arm around my shoulders, making soothing noises. That startled me, which actually helped. The oncoming panic paused and hovered, then receded. _Thank god_.

Once I relaxed, Graham scooted away from me a bit, giving me space. I looked up at him and found him watching me with a little smile. A number of seconds ticked by. I really didn't know what to say.

"So," I started, and then cleared my throat. "The abominable snowman lives behind St. Mary's?"

Graham laughed. "Pretty close, actually. Bob's a good guy. Never causes any trouble. But some of his people who aren't so law-abiding do crop up in the Himalayas."

Yet another thing for which I really had no response. I looked at the photo again. Bob was heavily furred on his torso, but the fur thinned out on his limbs, giving way to leathery skin. That skin was pale blue and marked with gray rings. His fur was white with gray rings. Doyle Shumaker had looked at my photo and joked about a "bagel monster." Pretty accurate, actually.

I looked into the darkness beyond the flashlight's glow. Bob the non-abominable snowman might be standing right next to me. He hadn't just disguised himself as something else; he'd made himself invisible. So what else was out there that I couldn't see?

"Elizabeth, it's okay." Graham was looking at me with sympathy. "It's a big adjustment, I know, but it'll be okay."

"Wait," I gasped, and put my head between my knees. I cupped my hands over my mouth and breathed into them, trying to head off hyperventilation. Several long minutes passed before the nausea and dizziness passed, and I could speak.

"Why can't I see it? Why can I take a picture of it but not see it?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of someone photographing Seconds but not being able to see them. I'm guessing it's another way you're glimpsing through half-workings, like I was talking about before. But why your development is working this way, I'm frankly not sure."

He rubbed his face, thinking.

"You know, it might have to do with how late your abilities are manifesting. Most of us see through as little kids. About twenty percent get there as teens. Your abilities are appearing so late that you already have a set view of the world — what's possible and what isn't. Maybe your mind is resisting the 'impossible' things your eyes are taking in."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "I want to start seeing what's in front of me. How do I do it?"

"Well," Graham said, "let's go have a chat with Bob."

I followed Graham back under the maple. It was nerve-wracking to think that a creature like the snowman was out there, and I was blind to it. I kept expecting something to take a bite out of me.

Graham positioned me about ten feet from the tree's trunk and suggested I sit. Then he sat down right next to the tree and proceeded to have half a conversation with nothing. It was bizarre to watch.

"How's it going, Bob?... Really? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. When did you last hear from her?... Ah. No, that doesn't sound promising.... I don't think that would be the best approach, no."

This went on for some time. Apparently Bob was having troubles in the love department. It added new meaning to the word "incongruous." It seemed so absurd, it was hard not to get the giggles. I bit the inside of my lip and tried to sit still.

"Maybe she'd appreciate a small present," Graham was saying. And then, after a pause, "No, that'd be too big. It'd make you seem desperate."

"It makes you look needy instead of confident," I said. "That's sort of a turn-off."

Graham stopped and looked at me. The weird thing was, I could sort of feel someone else looking at me, too. Someone big and sad.

Graham said, "Can you see him? Or hear him?"

I shook my head.

"Then why did you answer his question?"

"I don't know. I don't think I actually heard anything."

"You must've on some level. Before you spoke, Bob had just said, 'What's wrong with seeming desperate if you are?'"

It was such a plaintive, naked question that hearing it took some of the absurdity out of the situation. Poor Bob. I could identify.

But I still couldn't see him.

"You getting anything?" Graham asked.

"I have this vague feeling that someone else is here, but that's it. I can't see or hear him."

"Huh. Any ideas, Bob?"

Graham listened.

"He says you won't see him unless you really want to."

"I do want to!"

"Some part of you doesn't, he says."

Great. I was being psychoanalyzed by a walking piece of invisible deep shag.

"Well, it's not a part that's listening to the rest of me. I don't know how to want to see him more than I already do."

Graham looked pensive. "Hey, let me go make a call, okay? Someone who's been around longer than I have might have more ideas."

"Wait! You're not leaving me here, are you?"

"I'll just be a few feet away. Don't worry — Bob wouldn't hurt a fly. A stray cat, maybe, but not a fly."

Graham grinned at me, then got up and walked toward the car, sliding his cell phone out of his pocket. He faded into the night.

I started to feel very afraid. I couldn't see Bob, but Bob could see me, and he was huge. I reminded myself that Bob seemed more like a schlemiel than a monster. _Sure, a schlemiel with big teeth_ , some other part of me answered. I shivered. I swear I felt him looming over me, reaching for me with ragged claws, breathing dead-cat breath on me.

I sensed another attack coming on and scrambled up.

"Graham? Graham!"

Graham didn't come.

I felt sick and dizzy. I tried to run, but my legs wouldn't hold me up, and I flopped back down to the ground.

Just as my vision started to tunnel, I glimpsed a face, more like a remembered image than the face itself. Then an impression of color — a silvery white. Then a sense that someone was speaking just a bit too softly for me to hear.

Clutching my chest, I stared at the place Bob had seemed to be when Graham was talking to him. It was like looking at that duck-rabbit illusion. I always saw the rabbit and had to force myself to see the duck.

Finally, I saw the duck.

It's not that he shimmered into view. He was just suddenly there. All eight furry feet of him. I sat there staring at him until I could get enough air in my lungs to speak.

"Wow. Um. Hi, Bob."

I could also see his not-thereness, which was bizarre. As I thought about him being invisible, he started being more not-there than there. I quickly focused on his thereness, and he came surging back.

He was smiling strangely. I realized he was probably trying to keep his teeth covered.

"Hello, Elizabeth Ryder. You have nothing to fear from me," he said.

Bob's face was definitely humanoid — a somewhat flattened nose, red lips, and large, dark eyes. But the whole thing was covered with short, white fur. He didn't have eyebrows, exactly, but there were large tufts of curly fur above his eyes. Starting on the top and the sides of his head, the hair got longer, blending with the fur on his body to form a thick, shaggy coat. His mouth looked a bit too large for his face. It probably had to be to fit all those teeth inside. Short, sharp horns stuck straight out from the sides of his head. I could imagine him disemboweling a horse with them.

Graham emerged from the dark, grinning broadly.

"Excellent! Great idea, Bob!"

I turned on him. "You guys did that on purpose?"

"Yup," Graham said. "Bob wondered if needing to see a danger might overcome whatever part of your mind was blocking your sight."

Graham looked pretty pleased with himself.

"Great. That's great. Thanks a lot. You can take me home now."

I stalked back toward the car.

Graham trailed after me. "Hey, don't be that way. You really did want to see, right?"

I didn't say anything.

"Elizabeth," he said, catching my arm.

"Get off me!"

I think my anger surprised both of us. We just stood there, me seething at him, him looking at me with a mystified expression.

"I don't understand why that upset you so much," he finally said.

I suppressed the urge to just let fly with something nasty and instead let the silence stretch until I calmed down a little.

"Look, I've been getting really scared of nothing all my life, but the last few days have been way worse. Now it's not nothing that's scaring me. It's you people. And you're doing it on purpose. I'm sick of it. I didn't have you pegged as someone who was going to do that to me."

His expression softened, then tightened again in anger.

"Williams."

I looked away so he wouldn't see the fear wash across my face.

"It's unfortunate that he found you. Most unfortunate. He's not cut out for dealing with emerging talents."

"Glad to hear you think so," I said caustically.

Graham looked down. Then he said quietly, "He's very good at what he's assigned to do. That's because he's a sadist."

I shuddered. "Yeah."

"Look," Graham said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have played that trick on you. I didn't know you'd been treated so badly."

He looked very sincere.

"Thanks." I forced a laugh I didn't quite feel. "I guess it worked, right?"

"Yeah, but working isn't everything," he said with a small, lopsided grin.

My answering smile felt a little more genuine. "I'm glad you think that."

In truth, I wanted to forgive him. It would help a lot if I could like at least one of these people I'd been thrown in with.

After a few seconds of more companionable silence, he said, "Hey, mind if we go back and chat with Bob a little more? I don't want to leave on a bad note."

"Sure, I guess."

The snowman still made me nervous.

We headed back to the tree. Bob was looking dejected, but he perked back up when he saw us. We spent fifteen minutes making somewhat awkward small talk. He did seem like a nice enough... person? I wasn't sure how to think of him. Definitely not an animal, though it was beyond weird to converse with something so large and furry. He did have beautiful eyes — big and dark and expressive.

He asked me to come by and talk with him again soon.

"I look forward to getting to know you, Miss Ryder," he said. "I have lived here a long while, watching but never mingling. Sometimes I grow forlorn."

"Why don't you go home?" I asked.

Graham gave my arm a little squeeze, as though I shouldn't have asked that.

Bob didn't seem offended, though. He just sighed and said, "There are reasons I cannot."

Poor guy. He was lonely. The idea of visiting him alone sort of gave me the willies, but I said I would and that I was looking forward to speaking with him again.

We said our goodbyes, and he trundled off into the darkness. Graham and I headed back to the car. He told me I'd handled the conversation well.

"You notice how he didn't call you by your first name? Seconds tend to be pretty formal, compared to contemporary American manners. It isn't wise to be impolite when speaking to them, even if it's a friendly one like Bob."

_Thanks for telling me that beforehand_ , I thought to myself.

"If they're so formal, why is it okay to call him 'Bob'?"

"We couldn't possibly pronounce his real name — the ice men are capable of making a number of sounds we can't. He probably chose an F-Em name that was short and simple out of courtesy to us."

We got in the car and headed back toward Callie's.

"Okay," he said, "I think we can feel pretty darn good about the day's work. We figured out where your development was stalled, and we got it moving again. Since you've probably been blocked for a while, the second stage might come quickly. We'll have to do some testing to see if that's the case."

"What's the second stage?"

"Actually being able to do cool stuff."

I smiled, but mostly I just felt scared. Getting a college degree would've been cool. Changing the fabric of reality was on another level.

"Before we get into testing, can I ask you something?" I said.

"Sure, what is it?"

I took a deep breath. Graham seemed to be an okay guy, but I didn't really know that. Still, I got the sense he wasn't a Williams fan. That might work in my favor.

"Do you think Williams could've kidnapped my sister-in-law?"

I could tell I'd taken him completely by surprise. He actually pulled over and turned to face me.

"Why would he have done that?"

"When he first came to talk to me, he told me not to leave town and not to tell anyone about him. But I was so scared that I went to the police, and they arrested him. Then I took off. I was gone about a day. When I came back, my brother's wife had gone missing. She disappeared just after the police let Williams go. I thought he might've taken her to get me to come back here. That's why I came back, actually — I called my brother from the road and he told me she was gone and that the police suspected me. They were interrogating me about it when Williams came and got me — they think he's with the FBI."

Graham stared at me, apparently at a loss for words.

Finally he said, "Well, I've never heard of him using quite that kind of tactic. He's usually more direct. What you're describing sounds like it would take some planning, and he's not the brightest bulb. Then again, I don't think there's much he's not capable of."

He paused for a minute, thinking.

"Let me look into it quietly for a few days. I have some contacts in the organization that don't care much for Williams. I'll get in touch and see what I can find out."

"Thank you," I said, and really meant it. "I'd like to be able to talk to him soon — my brother, I mean."

"Of course you can talk to him," Graham said. "Go see him, if you like. We'll just have to discuss some basic ground rules beforehand."

"What ground rules?"

"Why don't we talk about it tomorrow? It's certainly too late to call or visit anyone tonight, right?"

He pulled the car back out. It was almost 10:00.

"Okay," I said. "Tomorrow."

# Chapter 6

We went to check on Callie when we got back to the house. She was resting comfortably in the guest bedroom. Kara didn't seem to be home, but she'd clearly done more healing. Callie now looked fine. I spent a while standing there marveling at her skin as she slept. It was perfectly restored. In fact, she looked a little younger, as though Kara had taken away some of the years' wear and tear along with the burn.

The memory of what she'd looked like when Williams carried her in rose up powerfully in my mind. The thought twisted my feelings from wonder to anger.

"What was it that burned Callie?" I asked, when I went to sit down in the living room with Graham.

He glanced up at me but didn't answer.

"Graham?"

He sighed. "Williams originally came here to deal with an S-Em incursion Callie reported — a large fire nearby."

"You mean the one at the old mill up at Bilford Crossing?"

I remembered that you could still see the column of smoke on Sunday, more than a day after it had caught fire.

"Yeah, that's the place."

"So Callie got burned in that fire?"

"I imagine so."

"I don't get it. What does the fire have to do with the other world?"

Graham looked uncomfortable. "There's no reason for you to worry about that kind of stuff, yet. Let's just focus on your development, okay?"

It was nice that he was trying to protect me, but it wasn't going to fly. I needed a better picture of what I was facing.

He must've seen my thoughts on my face.

"Okay, okay. You remember how I said that some Seconds can travel from their world to this one?"

I nodded.

"There are several ways that can happen. One way is the opening of a strait. A strait is a place where you can open a passageway between the worlds. Some of them are worked into existence, but most appear spontaneously. You might think of the worlds as having skins that are thicker in some places and thinner in others, and sometimes a connection forms at the thin spots. I've also heard it described as rippling, so that in some places the worlds bulge out and can touch, but in others there's a lot of distance between them."

That confused me. "Well, which one is it?"

"Neither, really. Those are just metaphors. No one really knows how the worlds coexist, spatially or dimensionally. There are different theories."

I nodded, feeling a bit dense.

"The mill is built on a strait, which seems to be stuck open. The human firefighters can't put out the fire because it's actually coming through the strait from the S-Em. They can't get at what's really burning."

"That sounds bad."

"It's actually not too big a deal. It takes a major working to open a strait. You're supposed to close a strait after you go through it, but sometimes that doesn't happen. It's not good to have them sitting open, so closing them manually is something we have to do on occasion."

"So, Williams came up here to get it closed, and just happened to find out about me because he saw my pictures?"

"Yes, as I understand it."

So I'd been an added headache from the get-go. And then I'd kept him tied up with the police for hours. No wonder he'd been so monumentally pissed off. Not that I felt bad about that. Well, not so far as he was concerned. I guess I'd feel pretty bad about it if the result was something dangerous coming into our world through the opening.

Then again, he can't have been working on it too hard, not if he'd been having a leisurely brunch with Callie at Pete's Eats on Monday.

"If closing one of these things is no biggie, why'd he take Callie? You should've seen her when he asked her to go. She was scared. She told me she's not a fighter, more of a watcher."

"Absolutely right. He should never have taken her," Graham said angrily. "It's ridiculous. Apparently, he very nearly got her killed."

We lapsed into silence. I realized I still didn't have a clear sense of what threat the open strait posed.

"So," I said, "the worry is that something dangerous might come through the opening and start, I don't know, eating my neighbors, or something?"

Just as Graham started to answer, the front door opened and Williams walked in.

A shudder rippled over me.

He stopped short when he saw us on the couch. There was no mistaking his anger. "You're finally showing up? I called you a week ago."

"I expected you to handle the situation on your own," Graham said evenly. "I'm here to work with Elizabeth, not do your job for you."

He showed no sign of being afraid of Williams.

The big man looked like he wanted to put his hands around Graham's neck and squeeze. A tense couple seconds passed before Williams turned and stalked down the hallway.

Graham watched him go, then turned back to me with an expression of patience, as though he often had to deal with difficult underlings.

"Why don't you get some sleep, Elizabeth. It's getting late, and this must've been a tiring day for you."

I nodded and trundled off to bed, trying to feel smug about having seen Williams get the smack-down. Unfortunately, I was still deeply afraid of him, so my satisfaction was half-hearted.

I showered and got in bed. It was after midnight, but since I'd slept until well past noon, I wasn't all that tired. I lay there, unable to go to sleep.

When Callie woke and went out to the living room to talk to Graham, I heard their voices. I couldn't quite make out what either was saying. I crept to the bedroom door and cracked it open.

"... has to go," Callie was saying. "I'm certain."

"She's not ready for that, Callie," Graham answered, "not any more than you were. I don't want to risk her without more information."

Was he talking about me? I had to be the most unready person there.

"You say she can see the truth, now. If so, it won't be dangerous. Not if she pays attention," Callie said. "If she doesn't go, things are not going to work out."

Graham made a frustrated noise. "Why does she have to go? How are things not going to work out? Can't you be more specific?"

"I assume she'll be able to see better than I could, but I'm not certain. You know the Lord doesn't show me everything. He gives what He gives, and it's up to us to use it for good, with faith that it will be enough."

There was a pause. Then Graham said, "All right. I'll think about it."

"It has to happen," Callie said more insistently. "She must go. I've seen it."

Graham made an angry sound, but didn't say anything further.

I eased the door closed. Callie seemed to have some precognition. At least, she thought so, and Graham hadn't dismissed it.

I quietly got back in bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

I had a bad feeling the place she wanted me to go was the old mill. That thought made sleep a very long time coming. I mean, confronting the new was all well and good; doing something incredibly stupid wasn't.

I slept briefly and badly. When I woke, it was about 9:00 in the morning. The house was quiet, and I wondered if everyone else was asleep. Callie was up, though. I found her in the kitchen, cooking something. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure how to interact with someone who'd basically risen from the dead.

"Hi, Callie. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said, turning and smiling at me. Then her smile faded, and she studied me for a while. Finally she spoke again. "I was wrong about you, Elizabeth. You do the Lord's work, even though you don't recognize it."

I flushed. It was phrased in Callie-speak, but it was a genuine compliment.

"Thanks, Callie. I don't know that I entirely deserve that, but I appreciate it. And please, call me 'Beth.'"

"Beth," she said, as though trying out the name.

We smiled at each other.

"Callie, I heard you talking to Graham last night about me needing to go somewhere. Can you tell me about that?"

She looked a little worried, so I hurried on.

"It's great that Graham wants to protect me, but I think decisions about where I go and what I do are mine to make. Right? So what is it that you think I need to do, exactly?"

It wasn't really that I wanted to make a decision. I already knew I didn't want to go anywhere near that fire. But I did want to get a sense of what these people were planning for me.

Callie still didn't answer. Instead, her eyes shifted over my right shoulder.

From behind me, Graham said, "Let's you and I discuss this privately, Elizabeth."

Damn it. How had he come down the hall so quietly? I turned and looked at him. He was freshly showered and looked rested. He turned and headed back to his room.

I glanced at Callie. She'd been watching me, but her gaze skittered away. She turned back to the stove.

"Come on, let's talk about it," Graham said over his shoulder.

I followed him back to the other guest bedroom. I wondered in passing where Williams had slept the night before.

Graham sat down on the edge of his neatly made bed and gestured me toward the armchair in the corner of the room. As I turned around to sit, I noticed his eyes were aimed a bit low. Was he checking out my ass? It really sort of looked like he was. I was so surprised that it took me a few seconds to regroup and get my mouth moving.

"I heard some of what you and Callie were talking about last night. I'd like to get the full story."

He nodded. "That's fair enough, Elizabeth." He paused. "I take it you may have guessed at Callie's gift."

"She can see the future?"

"After a fashion. She doesn't see the future in a specific way. It's more like a sensation, a feeling about what we should or shouldn't do. It's not an exact prescription, and there are generally no details."

"Thinking I have to go to the mill, if that's what she was saying — that's pretty specific."

"Yes and no. Where exactly are you supposed to go when you get there? And what are you supposed to do there? Exactly how bad will the results be if you don't go, and how much better will they be if you do? She couldn't or wouldn't tell me any of that."

I nodded. That did leave a lot up in the air.

"Worst of all," he continued, "she doesn't know what the cost will be to you. I wouldn't like it if something happened to you." He paused. "I mean, you're my responsibility. It's my job to protect you until you're really ready for what we do."

"Does she have any sense of _why_ I need to go to the mill? Does it have to do with some ability I might have?"

"She doesn't know, which is part of the reason I think it's a bad idea. I think we should wait and see if she can offer any more information before we take you there."

I nodded. I was still worried, though, because it sounded like Graham was open to the possibility of taking me there later, depending on what Callie came up with.

Graham must've seen I wasn't comfortable with the situation because he added, "The other reason I don't want you there is that we haven't prepared you for that kind of encounter with the S-Em. You've seen firsthand how dangerous that fire is, right? Let's keep you away from it, if we can."

"Yeah, okay," I said, trying not to show how much better that made me feel. I hated to look like a coward, even if that's what I was.

"Hey," he said, "you wanted to see your brother, right? Why don't we do that this morning?"

My mind flew to Ben.

"That'd be wonderful! Also, I should really call my boss. He was expecting me back at work on Thursday."

"Okay, let's go. You can use my phone on the way."

A minute later we were in the car, and I was happily giving him directions to Ben's house. I was so glad Graham recognized that I had no business going near the mill. I mean, I had no idea what I was doing, no idea at all. _Thank god_ , I thought to myself, _at least one of these people is sane_.

"Okay, so I said there are ground rules," Graham said as we turned into Ben's neighborhood. "They're pretty simple: don't tell anyone about the S-Em or about the Seconds living among us. Not anyone, for any reason. No exceptions. Don't tell anyone about your abilities or about anyone else's you happen to know about. Don't talk about essence or workings or anything like that."

I waited for him to go on, but apparently there wasn't any more. I was surprised.

"That's it? I would think rules like that would be common sense. Otherwise you'd all be in mental hospitals, or maybe top-secret government research labs."

"Yeah, you'd think," Graham said. "But we take these rules very seriously, so it's important to make them explicit."

He gave me a searching look.

"It means you can't tell your brother, all right? If you get married one day, you can't tell your spouse. You can't even tell your priest."

"I hadn't thought of that," I said. A small loneliness washed over me. "Sounds like the rules would make marriage and family pretty hard."

"That might be why we tend to pair off with one another," he said, and gave me a little smile.

Was he flirting with me? No, he couldn't possibly be.

"But seriously," he continued, "you have to be really careful. Don't keep any images that show Seconds in their true form. Delete them without putting them on your hard drive, and reformat the card they were on. Don't do internet searches on terms like 'Second Emanation' or on the names of any Seconds you get to know. Don't keep a diary. Not an accurate one, anyway. Always be certain a person is one of us before saying anything incriminating. At least a few governments around the world have suspicions about this stuff, and you don't want to give information to an undercover agent by accident."

I nodded. I hadn't really thought about how many ways there were to slip up. It occurred to me that I'd already broken the rules in a big way by showing the picture of Bob's foot around Pete's, but if Graham didn't bring it up, I sure as heck wasn't going to.

"So," he said, "why don't you make that call to your boss. Let's think about what you're going to tell him."

As Graham coached me, I realized I was going to have to get used to lying a lot more. His advice was to keep it simple — a straightforward excuse or explanation was easier to remember and often more convincing. It could also be helpful, he said, to blame yourself. That way people spent their time being annoyed at you instead of questioning your story.

"The thing is, I don't know if Dr. Nielsen will have found out about how I left town and then was questioned by the police about Justine. If he knows about that, it's going to get complicated."

Graham pulled into a space a few houses down from Ben's. "How could he know about that? It's a police matter."

I rolled my eyes. "Clearly, you're not from a small town."

He laughed. "Well, let's think of how you might handle either situation. That way you'll be prepared to follow the conversation wherever it goes."

After some discussion, I called Dr. Nielsen at home and told him I still wasn't feeling well and might need to take another sick day on Monday.

"Beth, that's fine," he said. "Head injuries are unpredictable that way. But why didn't you call earlier? I was expecting you back on Thursday. I've been worried."

"What, really? I thought I said Monday, not Thursday."

"Janie and I both thought it was Thursday. She was really worried, by the way. You should call her."

"I must've been so out of it that I said Thursday when I meant Monday. I'm sorry."

"That's all right, Beth. You did seem a bit disoriented when we spoke. Please let me know how you're feeling Monday, so we know whether to expect you Tuesday. In the meantime, Judith is happy to fill in."

I thanked him and hung up. When Graham nodded his approval of the conversation, I went ahead and called Janie.

"Oh my god, Beth, I've been so worried about you," she said. "When you didn't come in Thursday, I called your house. By the end of the day, I was tearing my hair out! I went to your place and knocked and knocked, but you didn't answer. Friday, too. Where have you been?"

I gave her my story, explaining that I'd been home but must've been on pain meds and sleeping heavily when she called and dropped by. I apologized profusely and tried to sound embarrassed instead of guilty.

"Jeez, don't worry about it. I can totally understand doing something like that. And," she said, lowering her voice, "I think Mrs. Nielsen is sort of enjoying being back at the helm."

"Yeah," I said, "I bet."

Judith Nielsen had been her husband's receptionist from when he opened his practice in the early '80s until four years ago. That's when she'd decided she wanted more leisure time, and he'd hired me to replace her. She was sort of a dragon lady, so I suspected Dr. Nielsen had been a little relieved at her decision. He certainly got away with being a lot more crotchety with me than he had with her.

"Hey, is it really true that Justine up and left Ben without even telling him?" Janie asked. "I heard it from Suzanne yesterday. I've been dying to ask you."

"Well, I don't really know what happened between them. I guess she might've left him."

"Wow." She paused. "Are you psyched or what?"

I laughed. "No, not really — she sucks, yeah, but Ben loves her, and the kids must be so upset."

"Yeah, yeah, you would take the high road," Janie said. "Mama always said you were too nice for your own good."

I laughed again, though the compliment wasn't justified — I might be the reason Justine was gone, after all. She might even be dead because of me.

"Okay, I'll see you next week. Feel better, okay? Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do, Janie, thanks."

I hung up and looked at Graham.

"Very good," he said. "The one thing I'd change is that you said, 'I've been at home' when you were explaining yourself. But if you were really making the call from home, you probably would've said, 'I've been here,' right?"

I looked at him, surprised at his recall of what I'd said.

"Yeah, I guess I would."

"Also," he said, "a word like 'here' is more flexible. If you get caught in the lie somehow, you can always say you meant something else by 'here' — not your home, say, but a friend's house."

"Wow, you've really thought about this stuff."

"In our line of work, it's an unfortunate necessity. And it's often the small stuff that catches you up — stuff you say without thinking because it seems so unimportant."

He waited until I nodded my understanding.

"Okay, we should talk about how you're going to handle your brother. That's going to be a more challenging situation."

But the visit with Ben turned out not to be so challenging after all, at least not in the way Graham meant. Ben was too wrapped up in his own fear and sadness to be interested in what I'd been up to for the last few days. He was just angry that I hadn't been there for him. He did say the police had told him I had an alibi for the time Justine disappeared. Beyond that, it was all about his situation — whether their fight on Sunday might've driven Justine away, where she might've gone, whether someone might've kidnapped her, whether she was dead.

There was also a lot of focus on how the kids were handling their mother's absence. The short answer was "not well," but I didn't get the short answer.

We both did a lot of crying, Ben from grief, me from guilt. It was awful. Worst of all was glancing up and seeing Tiffany peeking around the banister to watch her father cry. The look on her face was unbearable.

"Denny's?" I asked, confused.

After leaving Ben's, I'd gotten in Graham's car, and he'd kindly left me alone with my misery. I hadn't paid attention to where we were going. He'd driven most of the way to Wausau, and I hadn't noticed.

"Sure. Thought we could get a bite to eat."

As soon as I thought of food, I realized I was starving.

"Okay, yeah."

We were seated and got our coffees. It occurred to me that Graham might be able to help with Justine, beyond just asking his contacts if they knew anything. He talked about Williams as if he'd known him a while. Maybe he could make some educated guesses on places the bastard would stash someone he'd kidnapped.

Unfortunately, we'd been seated in the center of the main dining room and were surrounded by people. Asking about it here would probably break the rules.

The main course passed pleasantly enough. I could tell Graham was trying to distract me from my worries. He asked about my family and my experiences growing up in Dorf. He touched on a sore spot when he asked about my father, and I had to admit I'd never known him. But he recovered artfully and quickly steered the conversation onto safer ground. He really was quite charming. I sure didn't have the social graces he did. I mean, I could eat a meal without dropping food on myself, but that was about it.

I asked Graham about himself and found out he'd been born in North Carolina and had grown up on the Outer Banks. It seemed like an exciting place to be a kid. When I said as much, he got to talking about shipwrecks and hurricanes. And also beach parties, where "all the girls ran around in bikinis." I could've sworn he glanced at my chest during that story.

Dessert arrived — a piece of cherry pie each. After a few bites, Graham sat back and eyed me. Then he asked if I minded a personal question.

"I guess not," I said. "I mean, you can always ask it, but I might not answer it, if it's too personal. But I probably will. Answer it, I mean."

I felt myself blush. I really could find the most awkward way to handle anything.

He just nodded. Then he said, quietly, "Have you been diagnosed with panic disorder?"

I leaned back, surprised. True, I'd had that near-attack at the cemetery, but most people had never heard of panic disorder.

In answer to my unspoken question, he pointed at the rubber band on my wrist. I fingered it self-consciously. It had been the suggestion of one of the shrinks my mother took me to when I was a kid. When an attack started coming on, the pain of snapping the band was supposed to disrupt whatever physiological chain reaction was causing it. It only worked for me sometimes, but sometimes was better than never.

"Yeah. I was diagnosed when I was six. It's really kept me from doing... well, anything."

I looked down, annoyed at myself. I didn't want to sound whiney, but the disappointment was so close to the surface. Sometimes it was hard to keep it in. I loved Dorf, but I also hated it. It was safe and easy, and it kept my attacks at a manageable level. Sort of. But being stuck there was hard. I'd accepted the situation, but acceptance and happiness are different things.

When I looked back up at Graham, he was smiling at me kindly. "I think you'll find you don't have panic disorder, after all."

Annoyance welled up. If I had a dollar for every person who'd told me my panics were either imaginary or my own fault, I'd have a new car. Well, okay, not a whole new car. But new brakes in the Le Mans — definitely.

I took a slow breath and tried to pack away my irritation. "That sounds like wishful thinking to me. So far, it's pretty much dictated my life."

"Yeah, I bet." He paused and looked around. "Let's talk about it in the car."

Curious but guarded, I followed him out. He opened the car door for me, then got behind the wheel and turned to me.

"People like us are in a terrible position before we begin seeing what's really out there," he said. "Even before we can see workings, many of us are able to sense them on some level. Fearfulness, anxiety, panic attacks — that kind of stuff is common in the pre-sighted. The mind doesn't react well to getting contradictory information from the senses, especially about something that could be a threat. Do you see what I mean?"

"So you're saying that every time I have a panic attack, there's a Second nearby that I can sort of sense, but can't see?"

"Maybe. Or it might not be a direct cause-and-effect thing — a Second gets within a hundred feet of you and, bang, you have a panic attack. It is that way for some of us. Others just live in a state of heightened anxiety, and panic attacks are sprinkled in randomly. But in general, the more we're exposed to things we can't see — Seconds, workings, even someone like me, if I'm using a halfing-disguise — the worse the effect. It's very lucky you live in such a small town, where there aren't many Seconds. If you lived in a more populous area, your mind would've been destroyed by now. Late bloomers just don't survive unless they grow up in the boonies."

I sat for a long time, mulling it over. Finally I said, "Have you ever been to Madison?"

"I live there. It's regional headquarters for the Upper Midwest."

"Are there lots of Seconds there?"

"Tons. They like college towns. A transient population makes it easier to blend in."

I sat there, totally at a loss. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know how to feel.

My life had had two central constants — my mother and my illness. I'd already lost my mother. Now the other constant was being rewritten, maybe erased. Losing a bad thing should be a good thing, but instead it was profoundly disconcerting. Like I was losing who I was.

After a few minutes, Graham said, "Elizabeth, I know this is very difficult. You've had to deal with being pre-sighted for far longer than most of us do. It's a testament to your strength that you're as sane and stable as you are."

I nodded dully, not really feeling the compliment.

"But just think," he continued, "real panic disorder can be treated, but sometimes it doesn't go away. If that's what you had, you might've struggled with it all your life. But that's not going to happen to you. Your problem was situational, not biochemical. Your panic attacks are going to stop, now that all your senses are on the same page."

"They're going to stop?"

"Yes, almost certainly."

"They're going to stop."

It was starting to sink in. They were going to stop.

I could date. I could go back to school.

I could leave Dorf.

Lost in a reverie of what my new, panic-free life might be like, I didn't remember to broach the issue of Justine until we were more than halfway home.

"Graham, I know you're checking with your contacts about my sister-in-law, but I wanted to ask you something else about that."

"Yeah, what is it?"

Just at that moment, someone rear-ended us, hard. I was pressed back into my seat, and the fields around us lurched backwards. Then we slowed suddenly, and my seatbelt cut into me. Finally, there was a crunch-bang as we hit a highway sign post and the airbags deployed. We ended up in a ditch. The road sign, which helpfully told us that Dorf was fifteen miles away, was on our windshield.

I looked over at Graham, who groaned and rubbed his head. I saw he'd been wearing his seatbelt as well, thank god.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," he said. "You?"

"I'm okay. We'd better check on the other driver."

_Or drivers, plural_ , I thought. The road between Dorf and Wausau was four lanes. The moron who hit us could've caused a real pile-up.

Fortunately, the other driver wasn't hurt, and hers was the only other vehicle involved. Some witnesses had pulled over and gotten her out of her car. By the time we walked up, she was sitting in someone else's back seat, babbling about her accelerator getting stuck.

"Yeah, sure," a guy standing next to me said under his breath. "Probably drunk."

"In the middle of the day?" someone else said.

"Couple of years ago, everyone's accelerator was getting stuck. Remember that?"

"Dang foreign cars," a fourth person said.

The conversation continued as we waited for the police.

It took more than an hour for things to get sorted and for Graham to get a tow truck. I watched his car being winched out of the ditch. It looked totaled to me. Graham was sitting in the back of a police car, rubbing his neck — whiplash. I seemed to have gotten off lighter.

Graham had the car towed to Dorf. One of the cops gave us a ride back to town. It was nice of her. Or maybe Graham was also a super-secret FBI agent, like Williams. That'd explain why none of the police on the scene looked twice at me, even though I'd been the prime suspect in a possible kidnapping a few days earlier and was now thought to be part of a meth ring. Christ almighty, how was I ever going to get my reputation straightened out?

As we drew into town, Graham asked if I had a car. I told him I did, but that I'd left it parked in front of the police station on Wednesday.

"Mind if we go pick it up?" he asked. "I think we need to have one on hand, and it'll take me a while to get a rental delivered."

"Sure, no problem. Hopefully they haven't impounded it."

Unfortunately, they had. It took more than two hours of dealing with a pretty surly Dorf PD, plus a fine, to get my car out of lock-up. As far as the local cops went, I clearly hadn't been forgiven for allegedly getting mixed up with drugs, making false charges against an FBI agent, and worst of all, wasting their time.

"Hey," Graham said as we finally pulled out of the police impoundment, "if you haven't been home since you left town, maybe you'd like to spend the night there instead at Callie's house?"

"Oh my god, that'd be great!"

"Cool." He turned left and headed toward my neighborhood. "This is good. Not only can you relax and get some fresh clothes, but this'll keep Callie from starting another argument about taking you to the fire."

Boy, did that sound good to me.

# Chapter 7

Graham walked me up to my door, which surprised me a little. Before he left, he gave me a warm smile and stroked my upper arm affectionately, which surprised me even more. The vibe I'd been getting all day from him was a little more than friendly. I hoped I was reading too much into his behavior. Graham seemed nice, and he sure looked good, but I shouldn't get involved with one of these people. There were too many unknowns.

Being on my own was a firmly established habit, anyway. I was the woman who had fits, after all. That didn't exactly give me a top spot on Dorf's datable-women list.

_But maybe it doesn't have to be that way now_.

If it weren't for the panic attacks, things might've been different. Maybe they would be different in the future. If the panic attacks really did stop. _And if I want to have to lie to someone all the time_ , I thought, remembering Graham's warnings.

_Well, no sense in worrying about that right now._

I let myself in. It felt good to be home. I hadn't been gone all that long, but the house had that just-home-from-vacation feeling — the smell was a little off, and it was oddly quiet.

I curled up on the couch with a hot bowl of soup and a cold soda. It seemed like a million years ago that I'd last done this very normal thing. It was great.

I'd only slept a few hours the night before, so I was in bed by 8:00, Sniggles the bear tucked under one arm. My own worn, mismatched sheets had never felt so good.

I came wide awake in the darkness, certain that something was wrong. I slid out from under the covers, then smoothed them quickly, making the bed look unused. Opening the top drawer of my bedside table, I pulled out my mother's old .38.

When Mom was alive, she always stored the bullets separately. Ben's kids came to the house back then, so loaded guns were a no-no. I no longer bothered with that precaution. I checked by feel to make sure the cylinder was full, then moved as quietly as I could across my bedroom and crouched in the corner behind the door.

Mom had made me go shooting at the range in Frederick a couple times a year. I hadn't done it much since she passed. It just didn't seem like a priority. Dorf was pretty darned safe. I carefully settled my finger outside the guard and thumbed back the hammer. It had been long enough since I'd used the gun that these actions were no longer automatic. I couldn't remember when I'd last cleaned the thing.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Surprisingly, the intruder didn't sneak into the room. Instead there was a soft knock and a pause before the bedroom door swung open. The light flipped on, and a female voice said, "Beth?" I peeked around the side of the door and saw bleached-blond hair. Kara.

She looked back out the door. "She's not here."

"She's here," Williams said.

_Shit_.

I waited until Kara left the room, then stood and moved quickly into the doorway, gun leveled. Putting all the steel into my voice that I could, I said, "Stop."

Kara and Williams stilled. They both had their backs to me and seemed to realize I was armed, maybe from my tone of voice. They'd been about to check the second bedroom, which was right across the landing. Both slowly looked over their shoulders at me. Kara's face was very surprised. Williams's was blank. I took a slow step back, so I'd be out of lunging range, and shifted the gun toward Williams. The three of us stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other.

It occurred to me that I wasn't feeling a panic attack coming on. I was scared, but I was also angry. I'd had it with these people, especially Williams. _A sadist_ , Graham had said. I could believe it.

I realized I might very well shoot him. A strange sense of calm descended on me.

Williams's expression changed fractionally. A finger on his right hand twitched. He didn't strike me as a twitchy sort of person. I wondered if he'd just put up some sort of force field to protect himself. It would be just my luck to get killed by my own ricochet.

The moment of distraction helped me get a handle on my anger. Good as it'd feel to shoot Williams, he hadn't actually made a move in my direction, yet. I took two more steps back and pulled the gun back and up to my shoulder, still holding it with both hands.

"What do you want?"

"We just want to talk," Kara said.

I waited.

She smiled nervously. "You need to come out to the mill. We're not getting anywhere with it. Callie says we need you there."

"What, nearly burning one woman to death isn't enough for you?"

If the jab bothered Williams, he didn't show it. In contrast, Kara seemed genuinely upset at the thought.

"That's not going to happen to you! Look, I know it's really fucking scary — it is, totally. But it's also really important. You've got to come."

"How long have you guys been doing this? A year? Ten years? I come along and join your little freak show, and two days later, you can't do it without me? Bullshit."

"I know it's weird. But Callie's never wrong. She doesn't see all that often, but when she does, it's right."

"No."

Williams made a small, exasperated noise and pushed past Kara. Without hesitation, I brought the gun down and fired at him. I only got off one shot before he slammed me back against the wall with one hand and took the gun away with the other. God he was fast.

Either I was right about the force field, or my aim had really gone to hell — he'd been a yard or two away and coming right at me, and I hadn't hit him.

No ricochet had come back at me. I was sort of sorry for that. I'd rather die by gunshot than be burned to death.

Williams dragged me out of the room and down the stairs. Kara followed, looking scared and swearing under her breath. He hauled me around the corner and into the living room, then froze.

Graham was standing in the middle of the room. His expression was only mildly annoyed, but I got the sense he was madder than he looked.

"You're kidnapping my trainee?"

Williams didn't say anything.

From behind us, Kara said, "Graham, we need her out there. Callie says."

Graham cocked his head. "I don't think so."

He brought one hand up and looked at it. At first I thought he was checking out his fingernails. Then I realized he was holding a cell phone.

"How fortunate you just happened to call as you were leaving the house, Kara. I was able to follow along with your progress quite nicely."

Kara blanched. She pulled her own phone out and ended the call she clearly hadn't known was going on.

"Look —"

"Get out." Graham sounded almost bored.

Amazingly, Williams dropped me and stalked out of the house. Kara followed, squeezing to the side, as though she wanted to stay as far away from Graham as possible.

I have to admit, it was sort of weird. They were afraid of him. Well, Kara was obviously afraid of him, and Williams was at least unwilling to challenge him. I still hadn't seen anything particularly scary about Graham. He seemed like a middle-management type — sending people here and there, training newbies, that kind of thing. What had I missed that Kara saw?

He watched them leave. Once they were gone, he turned back to me, looking concerned.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said.

I sat down on the couch and reached back to rub my shoulder where it'd hit the wall.

"Just need an ice pack or two. That's getting to be standard with you people."

"Not all of 'us people' are the same," he said quietly, sitting down beside me. "Of course, you have no idea if that's true or not," he added wryly, as though he could read my mind.

He put an arm around my shoulders but must've felt me stiffen, because he just patted me, then let me go.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am. Thanks for the save. I'd probably be on my way to dead right now if you hadn't shown up."

That got a big smile.

"Did Kara really call you by accident?"

He grinned. "Yep."

"Man. What a loser kidnapper, eh?"

He laughed. "I don't normally want my people to be losers at anything, but in this case I'm delighted. Now," he said, his expression softening, "why don't you take some Tylenol and try to go back to sleep. I'll hang out here, just to be sure they don't come back."

That didn't exactly make me feel better, but what could I do? Saying I'd be fine alone and he should leave would sound silly, considering what had just happened.

Which reminded me that my neighbors had probably all called the police. A .38 makes a big noise on a quiet night.

But everything was still silent outside — no sirens, no Suzanne at her front door, hollering to find out if I was okay. In fact, when I went to the window, I didn't see lights on in any of the surrounding houses.

Again, Graham seemed to know what I was thinking. "They were keeping things quiet. None of your neighbors heard anything."

I must've still looked perplexed.

"We haven't talked much about workings," he said. "One kind is a noise-dampening field. Most of us learn to make those. I'm sure you'll be able to do it yourself, once you get to that stage."

"Wow," I said. "That must come in handy. What else can I learn to do?"

He smiled. "Well, lots of us can open locks." He gestured at my front door. "See? They didn't have to break in. One of them did a working to unlock it."

"Huh. I'm surprised more of you don't take up lives of crime."

He laughed a little too hard — it hadn't been that funny. Maybe Graham was a notorious cat burglar on the side.

"Okay," I said, yawning. "I'm going to try to get a little more shut-eye. There's a blanket and an extra pillow in that cabinet over there. Or you can watch TV in the den. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. Which isn't much."

"Great, sounds good. When you're up and about, let's discuss that abilities-testing I mentioned. I don't want to let too much more time go by."

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night. And Elizabeth," he said as I turned toward the stairs, "I'll be having a talk with the others. This won't happen again."

I nodded. I hoped I looked grateful enough. The way he'd said it gave me a little chill, so I had a feeling the talk would be effective.

I headed up to my room. After a moment's hesitation, I locked my bedroom door. After all, what if he'd told me that thing about opening locks just to make me think there was no point in locking my door? Probably dumb, but hey, it couldn't hurt.

I flipped off the overhead and turned on my bedside lamp. Then I got in bed. Lying back, I noticed a bullet hole in the ceiling. So there had been a ricochet, and it went straight up. I guess bulletproofing was par for the course, too.

Not good. The gun had given me a moment's confidence, had let me put anger ahead of fear, however briefly. If I couldn't even shoot these people, I really was helpless.

I woke at around 7:00 and trundled directly into the bathroom. Callie's place was nice, but I wanted to shower in my own bathroom, with my own shampoo, my own conditioner, and my own shower pouf. I also needed to make serious use of a razor.

When I was clean, I dressed in a sweater and fresh jeans, trying hard not to think about which pair would be most flattering. I was probably wrong about Graham's interest, and even if I wasn't, getting involved with him was out of the question.

When I went downstairs, I found Graham cooking breakfast. He must've actually gone shopping first, since the meal included bacon, eggs, toast, bananas, and OJ, none of which I'd had on hand. He'd also made coffee. It was all delicious.

After eating, I felt like crawling back into bed for a nap, but instead we got in my car and headed east. I think I dozed part of the way. Big meals early in the day always made me sleepy.

Our destination turned out to be Rib Mountain, a four-mile-long ridge just west of Wausau. It took more than an hour to get there, since we had to wend our way up through the state park that surrounded the mountain.

On the way there, Graham told me a little more.

"You remember about the four stages of development, right?" He waited for my nod. "So, we've got you into the first stage, now — you're really seeing through, instead of just getting random glimpses."

I guess I could see through. I'd seen Bob, at any rate.

"The next stage is getting what we call a 'gift.' Kara's ability to heal, Callie's ability to sense future events — those are gifts."

"Does Williams have a gift for shields?" I asked, remembering the bullet hole in my ceiling and how I'd been trapped in Callie's house.

"Yes, but we call that sort of thing a 'barrier.' The word 'shield' is too restrictive for what can be done with a barrier."

Good lord, just what I didn't want to hear.

"So," Graham continued, "what we're going to do today is see if your gift has emerged. Usually people spend a while just seeing through, but since you were stalled, maybe your gift will come quickly."

"What's the difference between workings and gifts?"

"There's no real difference. The word 'gift' is shorthand for a working you can do automatically, without having to actually learn how. Most of us have at least one thing we can just do, without even thinking about it. Sometimes gifted working can be fine-tuned through practice, but the basic ability is always just there from the get-go."

"What about the things you were mentioning last night — making disguises, unlocking doors, and such?"

"Right now you can sense essence that's been disturbed by a working. Eventually, you'll be able to see essence in its natural state. Once that happens, you can begin to do workings aside from your gift. We called that 'learned' working. You can also learn to do half-workings at that point — mainly disguises and false images. Some people devote a lot of time to learned workings and become very adept."

"Are those the third and fourth stages?"

He grinned. "Very good — yes. Sometimes you'll hear the stages called 'castes,' though I don't care for that term, myself."

I nodding, thinking about the possibilities.

"So even if I don't have a gift for healing, I might be able to learn to do it?"

"Definitely. People who aren't gifted healers can still learn to do healing work. Their abilities will probably be much more limited than those of a gifted healer like Kara, but it would still be useful."

We pulled into the parking lot at the top of the mountain. Our car was the only one there. It was too late in the year for skiing, snowshoeing, and other winter sports, and too early to do much else besides slog through cold mud.

That last seemed to be what Graham had in mind. He got a backpack out of the trunk, and we headed into the woods. I think we covered less than a mile, but it took the better part of an hour, since there was no trail to follow.

I realized at one point that Graham must've been telling the truth about the sound-containment thing. I could certainly hear us crashing along through the dead leaves and brush, but nothing else seemed able to — several times we startled wildlife at close range.

At least I wasn't the only one who suffered. About half an hour into our hike, Graham tripped and fell in a pretty substantial mud puddle. He stood up, brushing pointlessly at his pant legs, which were drenched and muddy up to the knees. Then he shot an annoyed look at the snag he'd tripped over.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Darned rock."

We continued on. Finally, Graham motioned to stop. He stood still for about a minute with his eyes closed, concentrating on something. Then he nodded to himself and said, "This is good."

He opened his backpack and got out two large trash bags, which he unfolded and laid on the ground. We each sat on one. My butt instantly got very cold.

"Okay," he said, "I'm going to test you for some common gifts. If nothing shows up, that's no big deal. It just means you haven't hit the second stage, yet."

"Is there something about this place that makes it good for testing?"

"Yeah. This mountain's made out of very hard rock, so it's much older than the surrounding land — approaching two billion years. Its essence has been worked and reworked so many times that it's thick with all the echoes and remnants. That makes it a place of power for people like us — the essence is easier to grasp, and sometimes you can build on the remains of someone else's working, which increases what you can do."

"So, the older things are, the more powerful they are?"

"Age is often associated with thickness, but it's not consistent. Sometimes relatively new sites can get pretty thick. It depends on how much working has been done there and how much of it sticks in the essence. Some places seem to be naturally sticky."

Graham spent the next two hours trying to figure out what I could do. He had me see if I could turn myself into mist, which involved trying to "feel transparent," in his words. That didn't go anywhere. He had me try to change into an animal by visualizing it. I remained stubbornly myself.

From that point, the list of failures just grew. I couldn't communicate with him telepathically. I couldn't heal a tiny cut he made on his finger. He pricked my finger with a pin, and I couldn't heal that, either. I didn't seem to have any effect on water or fire or stone or metal or the weather. I couldn't move things with my mind. I wasn't unusually strong or fast. I couldn't speak or understand foreign languages. I couldn't go invisible. And I couldn't fly.

Which of course made me ask if they really had people who could fly. Graham's response — "none living" — wasn't particularly encouraging.

At the end of the session, he sat back with a sigh. A few moments passed.

"Remember, just because you aren't demonstrating a particular gift now doesn't mean you won't be able to do it later."

"Yeah, okay."

I told myself that was good — the less I could do, the less interest this group would have in me.

"Are there other kinds of abilities people have?"

"Yeah, sure, there are lots of different gifts. The stuff I've been testing you for is big — the things that tend to be too impressive to go unnoticed. But there are tons of subtler, more unusual gifts. Sometimes you hear them called 'quirks.' The word's considered pejorative, though, so I try not to use it. Really, every gift is a gift."

I nodded and wondered if he had a so-called quirk himself. I sensed it would be rude to ask, so I kept my mouth shut.

"At any rate, I suspect you just haven't come into your gift, yet. There's a rule of thumb for figuring out how long someone's going to keep developing: you take the person's age at the time they enter the first caste and divide that number in half. Then you add the two numbers together. When the person reaches that number of years, they probably aren't going to develop much more raw power, though they could keep learning and refining their skills."

"So, if you start sensing workings at age ten, you keep developing up to age fifteen?"

"Yes, exactly. There are certainly exceptions, but it holds true for most."

"So if I'm starting at twenty-three..."

"You have a lot of developing to do," Graham finished. "It's possible you'll be able to fly, but not until you're thirty," he said, and winked.

_Great_. It was all well and fine to develop slowly, but if I could do something now, I'd like to know it. I felt like a guppy who's just realized its aquarium is full of piranhas.

"Is there a way to test for the more unusual gifts?"

"Not specifically. There are literally thousands of them, and some of them are pretty hard to pin down. It's possible that many of us have one or more that we never find out about. For instance, one guy I knew could put anything up his left nostril, so long as he could pick the item up and push it in that direction. But he didn't know about it for the longest time. I mean, who really tries to put a chair up their nose, right?"

"Yeah. Wow."

I hoped that if I had any quirky gifts, they didn't involve bodily orifices.

"Anyway, this last test is open-ended. It might allow an unusual gift to show up. What I'd like you to do is just open yourself to the energy of this place and see what might come to you."

I sat there, feeling dull. "I don't know how to open myself to the energy of a place."

"It's a bit like meditating. Have you ever done that?"

"Nope."

"Well, try closing your eyes and relaxing all your muscle groups one at a time. Then allow yourself to focus on your surroundings — what you feel, what you hear, what you smell. If your mind wanders, just bring it back to those things. Try to notice as much sensory information as you can, but don't think about it. Just notice. That's all you have to do, really."

I sighed and closed my eyes, certain the exercise would be pointless and boring. I tried to focus on my senses. My rear end was going numb, and that occupied all my sensory input at first. Slowly I began noticing other things — the sound of the wind in the bare tree limbs came first. It actually was quite loud, though it had been background noise a minute earlier. The breeze touching my face was obvious, but I found I could also feel colder and warmer spots on my legs, depending on how the wind was striking them. The smell was what I think of as not-quite-spring. It was wet, and that was springlike, but it was still dead, like old leaves. When spring really came, in a few more weeks, it would start to smell like fresh dirt and earthworms in a place like this. Far off I heard a bird call, though I had no idea what kind.

I sat there, just taking those things in. It actually wasn't boring at all. It was interesting and sort of stimulating. I felt energized, more awake to the world than I had in ages. My hands grew warmer, and I could feel my pulse beating in them, which was weird.

After a while, I felt sure there was something in front of me that I needed to pick up. My internal editor immediately pointed out how dumb that was, but I shushed it. Graham was trying to teach me. I'd always been a conscientious student, and that wasn't going to stop now.

Without opening my eyes, I reached down to the ground in front of me. For a moment, it felt strangely slick, as though all the texture had gone out of things. Then my fingers found the dead leaves, dry on top and damp beneath. I brought my hands together in the leaf litter and felt something soft and warm in them. I raised my hands and opened my eyes to see what I had.

It was a small golden-brown mouse. It crouched in my cupped palms, then sat up on its haunches, looking at me and sniffing. It had impressively thick whiskers on its snout. They quivered charmingly. It didn't seem scared at all.

I'd never been afraid of little critters — even snakes and rats and spiders were fine by me. I actually thought this little guy was really cute. Was it a "he"? I checked the back — yep.

"Hi, buddy. What're you doing out this early in the year, huh?"

I looked up at Graham, half expecting him to be repulsed by the fact I'd picked up a rodent. Instead he looked... well, it was hard to describe. There was an element of surprise there, but the word didn't do it justice. Maybe it was a mixture of several feelings. He looked from the mouse to me and back, and didn't say anything at all.

"Um... so, I can tame wild animals?"

He kept staring at me and the mouse, apparently at a loss for words.

Finally he said, "That's really unusual. It's been a long time since I've seen someone do that." He paused. "It's definitely a good ability. Very good."

"Really?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Definitely. Just think how useful it could be."

I was dubious. I mean, what was I going to do, sic a hoard of mice on Williams the next time he came to kidnap me? Maybe Graham was trying to make me feel better about a not-very-useful gift. Come to think of it, maybe the mouse wasn't wild at all. Sometimes people dumped their unwanted pets in places like this.

He got up and opened his back pack to put his trash bag back in.

"You'd best let Mickey there go back to what he was doing."

"Okay." I set my hands down in the leaves, expecting the mouse to hop off, but instead he ran up my arm and into my hair. Like I said, I wasn't afraid of creepy-crawlies, but a mouse in my hair was a surprise, even for me. I reached up, then hesitated. If I dug around in there, he might bite me.

"Graham..."

The mouse wiggled his way inside the collar of my coat and curled up against my neck. He was so warm and soft. Suddenly, I really wanted to keep him. He just had to be someone's pet — he was so friendly.

"What? Did it take off?"

"Yeah."

I just didn't say where. I got up and handed him my trash bag, and we headed back to the car. The mouse seemed content to sleep all the way home.

When we got back to my house, Graham walked me up to the door and gave me a kiss on the cheek. When he started bending over to do it, I was a bit worried he'd touch my neck and squash the mouse, but he touched my shoulders instead.

It turned out to be sort of lingering, for a kiss on the cheek. I felt my body sit up and take notice, against my better judgment.

He pulled back and looked at me, then leaned in again and brushed his lips against mine once, twice. His breath touched my lips, and I tipped my head up to him. He kissed me slowly, tracing a fine line along my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. I opened my mouth, and he deepened the kiss gently until our tongues were stroking together. His hand slid down to my lower back and pressed my body into his. I could feel the hardness in his groin, and felt a warm tightening deep in my belly in response.

It had been a long time.

It would have to be a little longer.

My hormones shouted and waved angry placards, but I pulled back anyway. Getting together with Graham right now just wasn't a good idea. He leaned his forehead against mine and gave me a little smile. Instead of pressing things, he looked pleased I'd let him kiss me at all. That was a nice ego boost. Made me want to kiss him again, actually.

I needed a cold-shower line of thought.

"Do you think Williams will come back?" I asked.

"Not a chance," Graham said firmly, giving me a little hug and then letting me go. "They know I'm onto them."

He looked completely confident on this point, so I accepted what he said. Still, I wish I'd managed to tame a wolf instead of a mouse.

He gave me a warm smile, then said he'd come by that night at about dinner time, if that was okay. I said it was, then immediately thought, _Why did I say that?_ I was going to get myself in trouble.

I stepped inside and leaned against the door for a few minutes, gathering my wits.

# Chapter 8

From the silence, Ghosteater watched the male and female humans kiss. He could smell their arousal. It brought back ancient memories from the time before his difference truly emerged, the time when he still ran with his pack, hunting the great lost beasts of that age, the time when he still hungered to breed and make young. But no she-wolf would have him, even then. They feared him.

He didn't realize, at first, that he was different from the others — bigger and stronger, perhaps, but not truly different.

At some point, though, the hunts began to bore him. Leaping from the tall grass upon a bison or sloth — such creatures presented no challenge. They smelled of rank terror and tasted of it too. When his kin would not follow him against other, more equal creatures, he left them and wandered alone, hunting the great cats and bears. When he returned at last, his kin ran from him, as terrified of him as any other animal would be.

He grieved, then, afraid he would always be alone, a terrible thing for a wolf. And so he had been, mostly. But he had been wrong to fear it. Solitude had its rewards. And he wasn't a wolf — not really. Not anymore.

Still a beast, though. Always that.

He scented the air again.

The male was unfamiliar, but he recognized the female as blood kin to the other humans the wind had shown him. That made sense — it was this young female the wind had brought him there to see.

The wind spoke incessantly, and it liked to be heard. Few things could understand it, so it often sought him out. Usually it simply told him about what it had touched, of late — a months-dead doe just emerging from melting snow, cold drops of water falling toward the forest floor, the line of harder rock protruding from an exposed peak.

But now, for the third time in just a few days, the wind spoke not of what it had touched, but of what it might touch in days to come. When he gave it his attention, it fractured into a thousand competing voices, each running down a different path. Rapid and fleeting, the whispered stories avalanched over him like mist, there and gone before they could be grasped. In the end, he understood only their common thread.

_She-pup, she-pup, she_.

Intrigued, he crept closer, watching as the female disappeared into the house.

He turned his attention to the golden-haired male, who was walking down the path to the car. The man smelled of anxiety. He got into the car and sat for several minutes, drumming his fingers on some part of the interior. Ghosteater could tell his anxiety had to do with the female — it was blended with lingering notes of desire. Perhaps he feared for her. But why? She whom the wind had named.

Finally, the male came to some decision. He smelled of risk and purpose.

He brought the car to its strange, lifeless form of life and pulled out.

Ghosteater followed him. He loped through the silence behind the car, but only so far as the eastern edge of town. He could not run fast enough to keep up on the highway. Curious, he settled down to see if the male would return.

# Chapter 9

First things first: I needed a home for Mr. Mouse.

There was an old ten-gallon aquarium in the basement from one of my brother's childhood pets. I brought it up to the kitchen and shredded some newspaper for the bottom. I added a little bowl of water and a slice of bread. Then I carefully scooped the sleeping mouse out of my collar and settled him in a corner of the tank. I put a couple heavy books over the top, leaving some cracks for air.

I made myself a quick sandwich, then went and knocked on Mrs. Gunderson's door and asked if I could borrow her car to run an errand. I would've asked Suzanne, but I knew she'd never be satisfied with the explanation that I'd loaned mine to a friend. She'd want details, and I'd end up lying and getting caught.

Mrs. Gunderson, on the other hand, was getting a little vague. She was happy to loan me her car, no questions asked, so long as I picked up a few things for her at the supermarket while I was out. That was no problem — I did that for her most weeks, anyway.

There was a pet store in Frederick, and it was open on Sundays. I got a lid for the aquarium, a water bottle, some rodent kibble, a tiny bowl, a little wooden house, and a wheel. I also got a bag of paper bedding — I'd hate for the little guy's nice golden fur to get all newsprinty.

After dropping off Mrs. Gunderson's groceries, I went and got the mouse out of his tank. He was awake by that point and seemed glad to see me. He ran up my arm again and snuggled in my hair while I dumped out the newspaper and arranged his new home. When I put him back in the tank, he ran around sniffing everything and quickly settled on the food bowl as the most interesting item. I left him holding a kibble in his cute little pink hands and nibbling away.

I made a cup of tea and settled on the couch in the den to think about Graham.

That kiss had been really nice, but his attention confused me. I just didn't understand why he would be interested in me.

He was older than me — thirty or thirty-five, maybe — and seemed so sophisticated. He didn't speak like I did, didn't dress like I did.

I was a young, uneducated small-town girl. In fact, I had barely been outside Wisconsin. I couldn't see that my personality was the big attraction. I was nice enough, but I wasn't vivacious or incredibly funny. Similarly, I was smart enough, but smarts don't make up for ignorance. If I'd turned up with some amazing ability, like flying, maybe that would draw his interest, but that hadn't happened either.

I wasn't trying to be down on myself, just realistic. I thought I was reasonably attractive — not stand-out beautiful, but pretty enough. But no way was I attractive enough to overcome what would undoubtedly be a lot of deficits in the eyes of a worldly older man.

I realized I was overanalyzing Graham, probably because it was titillating to keep thinking about him. The long and the short of it was that I didn't trust his motives, and it wasn't the time to be getting involved with someone, anyway. I needed to draw a firmer line the next time I saw him. Hopefully I could do it without having to say something directly, since that would make things uncomfortable.

The phone rang. I thought about letting the machine pick up — I didn't much feel like getting off the couch, which was now nicely warm. It rang again. With a sigh, I unfolded myself and climbed the stairs to answer it.

"Beth?"

It was Ben. He sounded distracted and annoyed.

"Ben. What's wrong?"

"It's Tiffany — she's run off. We're at the mall. I know she's in here somewhere, but I can't find her. The mall people are looking for her, and they've called the cops, too. Can you come and pick the rest of the kids up and take them home?"

I was relieved. It didn't sound like a serious situation, just the kind of minor rebellion an upset kid would stage. Tiff was probably hiding in a dressing room somewhere, starting to feel silly.

"Yeah, of course. Tell me where to meet you."

"We're at security. It's by the Younkers."

"Okay, I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Beth."

The mall was south of Eau Claire, more than an hour's drive. I grabbed my wallet and coat and headed back to Mrs. Gunderson's. I explained that I needed her car again for a family emergency. She didn't mind, though she did ask me to go to the grocery store for her on the way home. Along with the keys, she handed me the same list she'd given me earlier that afternoon. She didn't seem to have noticed that all the items on it were crossed out. I didn't bother mentioning it, just pocketed the list and started driving.

I made it to the mall. I didn't make it inside. Just as I was getting out of the car, the van I'd parked beside opened up, and someone pulled me in. I bet you can guess who it was. I struggled, but it didn't help. I ended up bound and gagged on the floor.

Williams shifted to the driver's seat, and we pulled out. Kara leaned over me worriedly. I tried to put my outrage into my stare, but she didn't seem interested in what I was feeling. Something else was worrying her. Maybe it was Graham. I had a moment of satisfaction, but then I remembered Graham didn't know where I'd gone. _Shit_.

We drove for about half an hour, then pulled off onto a dirt road. After a few more minutes, the van lurched to a stop. It all seemed sickeningly familiar. At least we hadn't gone far enough to have reached the old mill. Not unless we'd gone twice the speed limit.

Williams went around and opened the back door. He grabbed my feet and hauled me out. Kara held my head so that it didn't bounce along the metal floor on the way. Maybe they were setting up a good-cop, bad-cop routine.

I was surprised when I heard the passenger door close, and Callie appeared. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Beth! Are you all right?"

She knelt down beside me and reached for the gag.

"Callie, please get back in the van," Williams said.

She looked up at him, clearly torn.

"She's frightened. Why did you have to frighten her?"

_God, what an innocent_ , I thought. She seemed to have no idea what sort of people she was involved with.

Williams was looking at her with an expression that suggested he might be thinking the same thing. It was probably the only time we'd ever be on the same page. He bent, helped her up, and walked her around the van, speaking quietly.

I took a look at my surroundings. We weren't on a farmer's access road, this time. I found that only marginally reassuring. Williams could have corpse piles scattered all over the Upper Midwest, for all I knew.

We seemed to have pulled into an abandoned homestead overgrown with trees and bushes. A ways to the left stood the ruins of a small house, and behind that a pile of warped wood that might once have been a shed or lean-to. Lone fence posts stuck up here and there, and the ground was littered with rusted pieces of metal. We were completely out of sight of any road. The sun was touching the line of trees on the horizon. It would be dark in less than an hour.

I heard the van door shut again, and Williams came back alone. I guessed he'd convinced Callie to hang tight in the front seat. That brought a surge of fear — Callie's gentle presence might've restrained the man's violence.

He lifted me up and set me down on a stump. Cold moisture from the wood immediately started seeping through the seat of my jeans. I cringed away from him, but he didn't seem to notice — just looked at Kara and nodded, then backed off a little ways and sat down to watch.

I was mystified. What was Kara going to do to me? She didn't look like she had it in her to beat me, physically. She was quite short, and though she wasn't delicate, like Callie, her mass came from a curvy figure, not muscle. Then again, who knows what havoc she could wreak with her ability — maybe healing was only the positive side of what she could do.

Surprisingly, what she seemed to want to do was talk to me. A whole lot.

"We brought you out here because we need to explain some things to you," she said. "I'm sorry it went down like that. We had to make it fast, and it had to happen out of Graham's range. Callie sensed an opportunity, and we thought it might be our only chance to reach you. We figured you wouldn't come willingly."

She'd figured right. I just stared back at her, which she seemed to find a little unnerving. She shot a glance over at Williams, but I could've told her he wasn't going to help her out with this. The guy wasn't much of a talker.

Kara took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She looked sad. She also looked a lot older than her years, sort of worn out.

"Graham trained me too," she said. "He told me that we protect the world from dangerous Seconds. Sound familiar? It's not true. Our job is to keep humans from finding out about the S-Em. He also told me that we have the support and protection of some powerful Seconds. That's misleading. The real story is they control us. Totally. We're basically slaves. The Seconds tell us what to do, who to fight, who to kill. We don't have any choices."

I felt my body go still, like the world had stopped, but only I realized it.

"They don't care if humans are killed, so long as it's kept quiet. I've never been sent on a mission that was supposed to protect humans. The only thing we protect is the secret. I've been sent to kill Seconds that were as harmless as kittens just because they slipped up once, and someone might've seen something funny. And I know of one back in New York who kills a human every couple weeks, but they leave her alone because she's discreet."

I thought about it. Had Graham ever actually said his organization protected humans? Maybe not. He'd said some Seconds were dangerous to humans and some weren't. Maybe I'd jumped to conclusions.

"He tell you about the open strait?" Kara said.

I nodded.

"I bet he gave you the idea we were trying to keep something dangerous from coming through. That's not true. The only thing that matters is getting the thing closed. A fire that can't be put out is too weird — it might lead to discovery."

"You know, they don't even think we're human," she said.

Now that she'd gotten going, the words just kept coming. Every time I thought she'd reached a conclusion, something new spilled out.

"They call us 'Nolanders' because we don't belong in either world. They used to actually hunt us. We moved up from game animals to slaves because they realized that humans pose a threat, and that we could be useful on that front. They use us until we fail at some task they give us. Then they figure we're not useful anymore, and we die."

She took a few shaky breaths. I honestly didn't know what to think. If she was making this stuff up, she was a great actress. But maybe that's what she was. If this group included receptionists, why not actresses, too?

"I bet he's been coming on to you. Yes? That's what he did with me. I was so stupid. Probably stupider than you are. I mean, I was fifteen fucking years old. Why would some hotshot older guy want me? I was so cocky, I couldn't see how absurd it was." She laughed bitterly. "That's how he works. Gets you all starry-eyed and pumps you full of bullshit, then uses you to get ahead. Makes you do the most fucked-up shit, then takes all the credit. By the time you realize he's using you, he's ready to move on to his next mark."

She stopped.

I sat there, staring at her. My fear had faded. Kara and Williams weren't going to kill me. They were trying to recruit me.

The fear was replaced by frustration. Now I had two versions of things that were completely different. I was supposed to be confronting my new reality instead of being a passive victim. But how could I do that if I couldn't get a handle on what was actually going on?

How the hell was I supposed to decide who was right? I had nothing to go on except what two different people had said.

I risked a glance over at Williams. He had his elbows on his knees and was looking at his hands. No help there — I couldn't even see his face. Callie wouldn't be any help either. I already knew her version of things, and it didn't match Kara's or Graham's.

I wanted to believe what Graham had told me. It was neater, simpler, nicer. He hadn't made it sound like I'd be a slave, subject to the death penalty if I couldn't get something done. Plus, he'd made it sound like we did something noble, protecting humanity from monsters.

But maybe his story was too good to be true. Shouldn't I be more suspicious of the nice story than the horrible one? And just a couple hours ago, I'd decided I didn't trust Graham's romantic interest. That resonated with what Kara said.

Jesus, had he really seduced her when she was fifteen? That would be rape.

But suspicion of Graham was one thing. Throwing in with these people was another. Especially Williams. My tendency was to think that any side he was on was the wrong one. At least Graham had never hurt me.

But had he hurt Kara? It seemed like something had damaged her. The hair, tats, and piercings said "badass," but her body language said "broken." She reminded me of Callie, in a way, even though one woman was a conservative Christian adult and the other was a rebellious teen.

I looked down at the long, weedy grass in front of me.

I wasn't sure. I just wasn't sure.

I made a noise to attract Kara's attention, then jerked my head, trying to tell her I wanted the gag removed. She looked at Williams.

He said, "No screaming or running, Ryder," without looking up.

Nervously, Kara came over and cut the gag off me.

"I don't know who to believe."

"Yeah, I know," she said, looking discouraged.

"Do you have any evidence? Anything concrete?"

Kara shook her head, looking miserable.

Williams said, "Ryzik put the hit out on Bob."

I turned to look at him. He was still studying his hands.

"Abominable snowman Bob?" I said. "At the cemetery?"

Bob who was pining after a girl.

"Yup."

I felt cold. "Why would Graham want to kill Bob? He's so nice."

Then Williams did look at me. His stare was icy. "Dozens of humans saw his foot. Think you were there."

"But... how could he have known he'd show up in my picture? It was just an accident."

"That's just like I said, Beth," Kara chimed in. "The point is to keep the S-Em secret. That's all they care about. They send us to take out anyone who creates a risk of discovery, human, Nolander, or Second. It doesn't matter how or why."

I said, more to myself than to them, "I don't _know_ that Bob's dead."

Bob the bagel monster.

Williams said, "Want to see him?"

Then I knew where Bob was and who had put him there. _Oh god_. I put my head down on my knees, fighting back nausea at the memory of the place.

Things shifted in my mind, and the weight of my belief scraped and groaned over to Kara. I couldn't have told you exactly why. Graham had been so nice to me. But I just knew. Maybe it was because no world that gave Williams a prime place could be as bright and orderly as the one Graham had painted for me.

As I sat there, my new reality was replaced by an even newer one. It sucked. I'd been wasting my time on pretty lies.

By the time I was able to straighten up and look the latest version of my world in the face, it had gotten pretty dark. That seemed fitting. I had no idea what lay ahead of me. Before, I'd been imagining some combination of my old aspirations and something new — I'd go back to college and protect humanity on the side; I'd eventually be able to afford a new car, but sometimes I'd decide to fly instead. I know that sounds ridiculous, but those were the kinds of combinations my mind had been trying on for size.

Now I realized the rest of my life was going to bear no resemblance to what had come before. I no longer had a likely future stretching before me, a comfortable path through the streets of Dorf. Nor would I be following any of the getting-out-of-Dorf dreams I'd once nurtured. Instead, there was yawning blackness all around. And I was part of that dark unknown. What was I going to become?

I guess I was someone's slave.

And Graham. Damn it, I'd liked him. I could almost still feel his hand pressing into the small of my back. _Damn_.

I felt used and sad. And very alone. I was nothing to these people. They only wanted me for what they thought I could do for them. Which made sense, if the punishment for failure was death.

"What do you want from me?" I asked Kara.

"We need you to come to the mill," she answered instantly.

I could've guessed that one.

"Graham thought I wasn't ready. He thought I'd get hurt, like Callie."

Kara sighed. She went and pulled a milk crate out of the back of the van and sat down on it near me. Williams didn't move. He was little more than an area of darker darkness.

"Beth, you have to quit thinking that he has your best interests at heart. Graham has Graham's best interests at heart."

"So why wouldn't he want me there? Doesn't he want that strait thing closed?"

The question was met with silence.

"I don't get it. Why would he want it left open? He's just middle-management, right? Won't he get in trouble, too?"

"We don't know," Kara said. "It doesn't make a lot of sense. A strait sitting open can attract human attention in a number of ways. But it really seems like that's what he's doing. I mean, you know Callie's predictions are almost always accurate, right?"

"That's what you keep saying."

"Our lives are on the line. So why didn't Graham rush you out to the strait the minute Callie told him your help was essential? It's weird."

I opened my mouth to object.

"Look," Kara cut in, holding up her fingers to count off her evidence. "First of all, he didn't send anyone up here to close the thing. Callie called him first, but he didn't do anything, so she called Williams. Williams called me. It's like Graham was just going to ignore it. Now he's been here three days, but he says he's here for you, and he hasn't tried to do anything about the strait. The fucker hasn't even gone out to look at it. He's the overseer for the Upper Midwest. Getting it closed should be priority _número uno_ for him. Instead, he's fucking around with a trainee."

"No offense," she added belatedly.

We all sat there for a moment, digesting. It did sound pretty damning.

Finally I said, "I don't understand how I could help with the strait. I mean, Callie's much more experienced than I am, and it nearly killed her. What could I possibly do?"

"Callie's the strongest of us. She can see pretty deep into an open strait. That's why Williams took her there — to see what it was stuck on. She tried, but she couldn't see the snag in this one. We're guessing you'll have better luck."

I felt like laughing, it seemed like such a random hope. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Did Graham tell you that the later your abilities manifest, the stronger you're going to end up being? Callie saw through at twenty."

She must've heard me stop breathing.

"Yeah, I was guessing he skipped that bit."

That was what Graham had meant when he mentioned my "potential." Kara was kind enough to let me sit there a while and come to grips with what she'd said. Again.

I wondered if it was too late to run. If I moved far away, then I could ignore any Seconds I saw and just live as a normal person. Right?

I thought about it and decided my best source of information was right in front of me.

"Could I get away from all this?" I asked, "Go somewhere far away and keep my head down?"

"It's probably too late for that," Kara said. Her voice held a note of sympathy. "You have to understand that they'll want you back really bad, since you have a lot of potential. We all know what you look like, and if they sent one of us after you, we'd have no choice. And if they know about your friends and family, they'll use them to bring you back."

Well, there went that idea. I might as well sign death warrants for Ben and the girls. Janie too.

Still, it didn't mean I had to go to the mill. Burned Callie flashed through my mind. I could still refuse.

Or maybe not. If successfully following orders was the only way to stay alive, maybe I had to throw my lot in with Kara and Williams and help them do what they needed to do.

Or I could stick with Graham. But getting wrapped up in whatever game he was playing seemed more dangerous than fire. If I had such potential in these people's eyes, I might become a bargaining chip as Graham tried to meet his goals, whatever they were.

"If I go to the fire with you, how will you keep me safe? I'm, you know... defenseless."

I hated to say it, but it was god's own truth.

Kara's voice brimmed with relief. "You'll be safe if you pay attention and do what Williams says."

Williams. Damn it. "Williams" and "safe" didn't belong in the same world, much less the same sentence.

"What happened to Callie, that was an accident," Kara continued. "She was trying to get a better look, and she walked through his barrier. She didn't notice until it was too late."

"It was definitely my fault. I just wasn't paying attention," Callie said from behind me.

I started, then wondered how long she'd been standing there listening. If she heard that her colleagues understood the other world in non–Christian terms, would it bother her?

"Williams can make different kinds of barriers — it's his gift," Kara said. "A protective one should be strong enough to withstand the fire at the mill. If he doesn't have quite enough juice, I'll be there to feed him some of mine. You just have to stay inside it."

So Kara would be coming with us. That made me feel marginally better.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, I'll go."

I felt like I was choosing the slower method of suicide. I hoped we left soon. If we didn't, I was going to chicken out.

# Chapter 10

Once we were in the van headed toward the mill, Callie started coaching me on what to look for in the open strait. She said openings sometimes "got snagged," which kept them from collapsing after use. The snags were generally visible in the opening, and once located, they could be unhitched from this end if you "grabbed the strait and shook it just right." No kidding, that's what she said.

Snags generally looked to her like a fold or wrinkle in fabric, she said, but some people thought they looked like spots of irritation on skin or like knots in a piece of wood. Basically, I should look for an anomaly. Once I found it, I should tell Williams exactly where the problem was and how big it looked, so he could grab the strait and close it.

When I asked exactly what caused the snags, she said it was "demons who had escaped Hell and were at large in the primordial deep." Neither Williams nor Kara contradicted her, but I suspected they would've offered a different explanation in private.

Even minus the religious stuff, none of it made a great deal of sense. I had trouble envisioning the physical relationship between the worlds and exactly how straits connected them. I'd settled on an elevator-shaft analogy, with the worlds as different floors in a building, but when I ran it by Callie, she explained that the strait here didn't open into S-Em northern Wisconsin. It might open into an S-Em version of London or Antarctica — there was no way to know. Some straits could connect to just one location, and some could connect to more than one, but they were never just a straight shot between the same spot in both worlds.

I nodded along and hoped it would suddenly make more sense when I actually saw it. If I actually saw it. I was still unconvinced on that front. They all seemed excited about my "potential," but I sure hadn't seen much sign of it. Maybe I'd luck out and the strait would be caught on a mouse.

"Do you have a phone I can use?" I asked the car at large. "I should call my brother. I was going to meet him at the mall."

"Yeah, sure," Kara said. She handed me a little flip phone. I had to call 411 to get Ben's number, which was sort of embarrassing. I rang his house, but no one picked up. He must still be trying to get the thing with Tiff sorted out. I left a message for him, telling him that my car had broken down on the way and apologizing.

Poor Ben. He was really having a rough time. Speaking of which... Williams was driving, so I seized my courage in both hands and addressed his right shoulder.

"I want to know if you took Justine."

"Who's she?"

"My sister-in-law. She disappeared about the time you were getting out of police custody."

"Wasn't me."

He sounded thoughtful, though. Beside me, Kara perked up immediately.

"Is she a Second?"

"Of course not! She grew up right near me in Dorf."

Neither one of them replied, but Kara was clearly thinking.

Annoyed, I said, "Why would you even ask that? She's a normal woman. A great big bitch, yeah, but normal."

Kara answered. "Well, one thing we've wondered is whether the green man you photographed might be what came through the strait. Green men are often bounty hunters — fucking good ones, too. If your sister-in-law took off right about then..."

"No, the picture I took —"

"Did you show her your pictures?" Williams asked.

That stopped me, and not just because it was a complete sentence.

"Yeah. I did."

It was hard to say the next words because I knew they'd latch onto them.

"She freaked out."

"What do you mean?" Kara said. "Don't leave anything out."

Exactly what I was afraid of — she sounded as keen as a hound on a three-legged squirrel.

I described my visit to Justine's house, how frightened she'd seemed, and how I'd gotten scared myself and had driven off.

"Damn," Williams said.

"Yeah, totally," Kara said.

"What?"

"That's textbook pre-sighted stuff — you couldn't see what she was, but you sensed her otherness, and it scared you. Used to happen to me all the time until I started seeing through."

That was the kind of thing Graham had been talking about on the way home from Denny's.

But seriously? Justine?

"Look, I know this stuff seems to fit together, but it's just not possible. I mean, I've known her as long as I can remember. She lived around the block from us. She babysat me when she was a teenager."

"A lot of Seconds can create very convincing disguises. Pretending to be a child wouldn't be hard."

I shook my head. "But I've never had that kind of reaction around her before, even though I have panic attacks constantly."

Kara shrugged. "That is strange, but I still think there's a good chance she's a Second."

"Callie," I said, "I'm sure you've met Justine. You'd have noticed if she was different, right?"

Everyone in the car looked expectantly at Callie.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Beth is right — I've met Justine, and I never saw anything strange. If she's a demon, her true form is beyond my perception."

"So she's not a Second." I paused to make sure I had Graham's explanations straight in my mind. "If she were using a half-working, Callie would've seen through it, and if she were using a full working, it would've looked like some kind of disturbance in reality. Right?"

"Yeah, that's how it works." Kara frowned. "Callie's one of the strongest Nolanders out there. If she didn't see anything, I guess there was nothing to see."

She didn't sound convinced, though.

"Well, I'm sure there's nothing weird about her. She's the most conventional person you could imagine. She's a housewife. She never misses church. She goes to the gym four times a week and gets her hair highlighted once a month. She makes the nastiest-ass tuna casserole —"

Suddenly the van lurched and started shuddering.

Williams said, "Blow-out," and pulled over onto the shoulder. For a few seconds, everyone sat stiffly in their seats, as though afraid. I didn't get it. These country highways did cause flat tires occasionally — sharp stuff sometimes fell off farmers' trucks.

We all got out and stood around while Williams changed the tire. Then we got back in. There was still a tension in the air that I didn't quite understand.

We started up again but hadn't gone more than twenty feet when another tire blew with a bang. This time Williams didn't pull over. Instead, he put the van in reverse and hit the gas, even though we were obviously riding on the rim. He only paused once, putting on the hazards to let another vehicle go around us. The other three were clearly worried, so I kept my mouth shut. After about a quarter mile, Williams did a U-turn and continued back the way we'd come. We went another mile before he finally pulled over.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"That was Graham," Kara said. "He must've gone to the mill."

"Graham can blow out tires?" I said, incredulous. I figured he had one of those so-called quirks, but the ability to cause flat tires was even quirkier than I'd imagined.

"Not exactly. Graham's gift is luck. He's the luckiest sonovabitch who ever lived. We just drove into his range, which is about a mile. He doesn't want you at the mill, and his luck is going to keep you from getting there. Goddamn it."

"You must be joking. Come on — that was a coincidence. Or not even: a box of nails probably fell out of someone's truck back there and scattered all over the road."

"Yeah, that's probably exactly what happened. But it happened because of Graham."

I shook my head. "Callie, are you on board with this?"

"Oh yes, Beth. What they're saying about Graham is absolutely true. I used to think it was a sign of his godliness, but I have my doubts, now. Perhaps he bargained with the enemy."

She shuddered.

"I'm sorry, but this sounds really paranoid."

"Didn't you have any weird experiences when you were with him? Like pocket-dialing your boss just when you're going behind his back?" Kara asked. "Cock-cankers, that sucked."

"Kara, don't be disgusting," Callie said.

I thought about it. I had tended to get interrupted by one thing or another when I tried to ask Graham questions. By his phone, for instance, or a cracked kettle. Or a car accident.

_Sticky accelerator_ , the other driver had said. I felt cold.

"A couple years ago," Kara said, "I was on a job with this other Nolander named Kyle. Nice guy, but sort of dumb. Turned out he'd been doing half-workings to make fake lottery tickets. At first he was careful and just gave himself little wins. Then he got greedy, made himself a Powerball ticket. It was a big jackpot, and he got on the news. The boss got wind of it, put the hit out on him. Graham took it on. Anything to make himself look good, the bastard."

Kara made a disgusted sound, then continued.

"So, I didn't know about any of this, right? I'm with Kyle on this job, and Graham catches up with us in Des Moines. Now, Kyle might not have been the smartest guy, but he was strong. Double gifts: flight and fire. So the two of them square off, right? And Kyle comes rocketing at Graham with a fireball in each hand. Looks like he's moving way too fast for bad luck to catch him. Graham's just standing there like a dope. You know what happened?"

Kara paused for effect.

"A fucking 1959 Cadillac Eldorado fell out of the sky, landed right on top of Kyle." She shook her head. "Right out of a blue sky. Damnedest thing I ever saw. When the police found him, they called a weather guy. Weather guy said the car must've been picked up in a tornado they'd had earlier that day a hundred miles away. Sure enough, it was registered to some old guy in Omaha. That's the kind of thing that happens when Graham's around."

"But you said his range was a mile, not a hundred miles."

"Kyle wasn't a hundred miles away, right? That's what counts."

"But Graham had to influence an event a hundred miles away to get the car up in the air."

Kara shrugged. "Yeah, I know. That's how it works, though. It's like he controls everything without even meaning to. There's probably something happening in Timbuktu right now that will end up helping him next week."

It was hard to believe. Really hard. But all these people believed it, and there was that car accident. I shuddered. Jesus.

"Well, this boss guy you mentioned will just have to come out here and take care of things himself," I said.

Kara snorted. "Come on, seriously? The Seconds never 'take care of things themselves.' If they went around doing workings all the time, they might get discovered, and you know what would have to happen then. That's why they have us. We're expendable."

"So what you're saying is that Graham's won? He's unbeatable?"

"Maybe not," Kara said. "We've thought before that someone with significantly more power might be able to evade the bad luck he sent their way, but we've never tested it out."

"Maybe now's the time for me to see if it's true," Callie said, sounding nervous.

"No," said Williams.

There was a finality to his voice that I sure didn't want to contest. Kara didn't say anything either.

We all thought about Graham for a while.

"So he's at the mill, and we can't get any closer to him — not in a car, not on foot, nothing?"

"That pretty much sums it up," Kara said. "He left Dorf for a while this afternoon, and Callie saw it was going to happen. Otherwise we never would've made it out of town ourselves to come get you. We were hoping he'd stay away, but I guess his luck brought him to the mill. Or maybe he figured out what we were doing and knew we'd try to bring you there. Unfortunately, he's not dumb."

We all sat there thinking again. Finally, I had an idea. The kind of idea you have when you're a new set of eyes looking at an old problem, maybe.

"What we need to do is change something so that it becomes lucky for him if we make it to the mill and unlucky if we don't," I said.

"I guess that would work," Kara said dubiously. "But how on earth could we do that? What he wants is the opposite of what we want."

"Well, you mentioned your boss — the guy who wanted Kyle killed? He sounds plenty dangerous. What if we called your boss up and told him that Graham might be trying to keep us from closing the strait? Then, if we close the strait after all and tell him Graham helped, maybe he'll be reassured. We'd be doing Graham a good turn by getting him out of trouble. His luck should be on our side. Maybe."

"So," Callie said, "we would get him into trouble, then try to get him out of that same trouble?"

"Yeah. And during the getting-him-out-of-trouble part, we'll actually be on his side. Even if he doesn't know it."

There was a thoughtful silence.

Kara said, "Lord knows I hate Graham, but ratting him out... I don't know. He's still one of us, not one of them."

Callie nodded. "He's a human being, with a chance at redemption." She paused. "However slight."

Williams said, "We have to close the strait," and everyone looked down.

I could see the writing on the wall, then — their own skins were on the line, and no one was going to make that kind of sacrifice. _And why should they?_ I reminded myself. Graham was putting them in danger by making their task impossible. If he didn't care about their safety, why should they care about his?

"We could call Graham and threaten to rat him out," Kara suggested.

I thought about it.

"I don't think that'd work," I said. "If we're a threat to him, his luck will try to eliminate us, once we get in range. It doesn't really matter if he agrees to cooperate with us — he'll still be safer if we're not alive to tell tales, and his luck will act accordingly. The only way it works is to go ahead and change the game on him while we're out of his range."

Another silence followed, but I could tell it didn't have to do with thinking of other approaches.

Finally Kara said, "We'll have to call Lord Cordus," and shuddered.

"I will not speak to that creature," Callie said flatly. "Not for any reason."

"Well I sure as fuck am not calling him," Kara said.

Williams pulled out his phone.

"No way," Kara said. "We'll all end up dead if you talk to him."

"Whatever. I'll do it," I said.

In for a dime, in for a dollar, right? I was going to be on the boss's radar soon enough, if I wasn't already. Why not get off on the right foot with him by warning him of a possible traitor?

"Beth," Kara said, sounding uncomfortable. "He's not like a human being. Talking to him — it's not easy."

"What do you mean?"

She squirmed in her seat. "He can play with your mind, make you feel what he wants. He goes in for sex games. It's pretty sick. God, even thinking about it is awful."

"That sounds like rape."

"Oh yeah. It is, totally. Except you want it while it's happening."

Jesus H. Christ.

"So how do you resist him?"

She looked like the thought had never even occurred to her.

"You can't. You'd have to be stronger than he is, and he's one of the great powers." She paused. "Sometimes you catch him on a good day. Then he's okay."

"He's never okay," Callie said flatly. "He's a demon among demons. I've never understood why he's involved with us."

I figured it couldn't be that bad. I wasn't sure where this Cordus guy was, but he wasn't close enough to rape me, even if he made me want him to.

"Look, let's just get it over with. If he makes me do something, you guys can handle it, right?"

I tried to leave the "something" as vague as possible in my mind.

There was a resounding silence.

Finally Kara said, "Yeah, sure we can. No problem."

She handed me her phone again, then undercut her own words by getting out of the van as fast as humanly possible.

An entry in her contact list was highlighted. It read "Boss Man." I made the call.

"Kara Dolores Sanchez."

_My god, his voice_. I was instantly aroused. My hand slid toward my crotch. The urge to touch myself was overwhelming.

"It's Beth," I forced out.

There was a pause, during which I managed to drag my hand back. I might be able to imagine more embarrassing things than getting myself off in a car full of people, but not many.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder," he said in a different tone. He still had a super-sexy voice, but not in a paranormal way.

"Yeah," I said, relaxing a bit. I heard Callie let out a breath, and even Williams's shoulder shifted, as though some tension was leaving him.

"I have been looking forward to speaking with you but did not expect the conversation to occur so soon. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

I took a deep, steadying breath.

"Well, we think we're running into a little problem with the open strait near my town. We're not certain what's going on, so we thought we'd better seek your advice," I said as deferentially as I could.

"I see. What seems to be the problem?"

"A couple days ago, Callie had a premonition that I needed to go to the strait to help. She believes it's essential."

I had to stop myself from getting into how unlikely that seemed to me.

"So she and Williams and Kara have been trying to get me out there, but we think Graham may be trying to stop us."

I tried to suppress the feeling that I was betraying a friend.

_Why did I kiss him? So stupid._

I could feel the surprise on the other end.

After a moment, Cordus said, "What evidence can you offer to support your accusation?"

I got the sense that I'd better have some, and it'd better be good.

I reported the conversation I'd overheard between Callie and Graham, and my own conversation with Graham the next morning. I also said Graham had moved me back into my house in part to keep Callie from pressing me. Lastly I described Graham's intervention when Kara and Williams had tried to take me the night before and the two blow-outs we'd just had. I left out the fact that Graham hadn't been out to the mill himself since arriving. That seemed too damning. I didn't know if Graham's luck would help us if he was beyond saving.

"And how long has this strait been open?"

I thought about when the fire had started. "Since last Friday, so nine days."

The silence on the other end was ominous.

Finally Cordus said, "Please wait a moment," and I heard him set the phone down.

A minute later, he came back on the line.

"I have tried to contact Mr. Ryzik. Apparently, he does not see fit to answer."

His voice was still sexy, but now it also made all the hair on my arms stand up. I realized I had hunched down in my seat, as if someone were shooting at me.

"We may have misunderstood his actions," I said hurriedly.

"I hope that you have, Miss Ryder. I will look into this matter. In the meantime, please do not endanger yourself by trying to approach Mr. Ryzik."

"We'll stay safe," I assured him.

"Good-bye, Miss Ryder. Thank you for calling."

He hung up. I closed Kara's phone and sat there a moment. I never wanted to meet that man. I'd rarely felt so certain about anything. Too bad I probably wasn't going to get my wish.

Williams rolled down his window and motioned to Kara, who got back in.

"How'd it go?" she asked nervously.

I described the call, then looked around at the others. "So, I think it went okay. Now we all need to put it firmly in our minds that we are going to the mill to save Graham. Graham is in big trouble with his boss, so we have to get there and help him."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Having a little trouble really feeling that one," Kara said.

Williams grunted, and Callie sighed.

"We have to do it, right? Otherwise a car's going to fall on us, or something."

Callie said, "What's the worst thing you've ever seen the demon do?" After a pause, "Now imagine him doing that to Graham."

Williams grunted.

"Yeah, got it," Kara said. "Good one, Callie."

Wow. And I knew how much Kara hated Graham. Now I really didn't want to meet Cordus.

Graham-saving thoughts firmly in mind, we started up and headed for the strait. Williams looked straight ahead and drove. The van groaned, squealed, and shuddered. He'd probably need a new one after the abuse we were heaping on it. The rest of us sat there swiveling our heads, looking for weird dangers bearing down on us. The yards ticked by. Nothing happened. Soon enough we were pulling into the mill's parking lot.

We got out of the van. The parking lot was a jigsaw puzzle of broken asphalt and dead weeds. Flood lights, powered by a noisy generator, illuminated the area. Hoses crisscrossed the lot. It looked like the firefighters had uncovered the mill's old well and were pumping water out of it. Several fire trucks were parked in front of us, and a handful of firefighters had a hose trained on the smoldering pile of wreckage. Occasionally a gout of fire would erupt from the pile, and the hose would be trained on that area, only to be moved to a new spot a few minutes later.

"Aren't they going to see us?" I said.

"Williams has a barrier around us," Kara said. "Can't you feel it?"

I shook my head.

Kara looked shocked.

"She wasn't seeing through fully a few days ago," Williams said.

"But I am now," I said. "At least, I thought I was."

"Graham took her to St. Mary's, and she saw the cemetery demon," Callie said.

"Look at me," Williams said.

I looked at him. His Blandy McBlandsville disguise suddenly appeared, competing with his real form. It wasn't quite as disconcerting as seeing Bob's disguise along with the real Bob — with Williams, at least there wasn't simultaneous presence and absence.

"You see my real form?"

"Yeah." _Unfortunately_.

Williams held up his right hand.

"Can you sense this little working?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"What the hell?" Kara said, looking freaked out.

"What the fuck has Ryzik been doing with you all this time?" Williams said.

His sudden anger reminded me how much he scared me.

I shrugged, trying to project submission. "Today he had me looking for gifts."

"Goddamn it."

"John," Callie said, "you mustn't speak that way."

"Could someone please tell me what's going on?"

"You're only seeing half-workings," Kara said. "You're blind to the full ones."

An obvious answer occurred to me. "Maybe that's because I'm really weak."

"No," Kara said. "That can't be it. No matter how weak you are, you always see both. We're all sensitive to essence that's been worked."

Was I just ignoring something I should've noticed?

"What does the barrier look like?"

"Well, it's more a feeling than a seeing," Kara said. "There's this area about ten feet that way that's just... I don't know. Different. Buzzy, or something. Sort of quivery." She tipped her head back. "And it goes up there, and down over there, and there. I can tell it's all around us. Under us, too."

Callie smiled. "John's barriers always make me feel safe. It seems soft and warm to me, like a wall of puppies."

Williams made a disgusted sound.

"I definitely don't feel anything like that," I said.

"So what do we do?" Kara said. "Give up? If she can't see workings, she can't see the strait."

"No, we still have to try," Callie said. "I know it doesn't make sense, but somehow she's going to help. I saw it."

"What if she walks through the barrier, like you did? She doesn't know where it is." Kara turned to Williams. "Can you make one that contains as well as protects?"

"That'd weaken the protection — too risky. Fire turned out to be stronger than I thought it was, last time."

Williams began rooting around in the back of the van. He came up with a rope, which he had me tie around my waist. He tied the other end around himself, leaving about five feet of slack between us.

"This'll keep you inside the barrier," he said. "Don't untie it."

He gave me a look that might've been stern on another face. On his, it looked like the wrath of god.

I was shaken. Obviously something was still wrong with me, and it was a big deal.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the new issue to the back of my mind. Confronting was good, but I couldn't confront everything at once.

We turned back toward the wreckage and stood there for a minute, just taking it in. Slowly, my nerves settled. Kara had said Callie's gift was infallible. There must be some purpose to my being here, even if I was still broken.

"Anyone see Graham?" Kara asked.

"I don't," said Callie.

"We don't need to talk to him," I reminded them. "We just need to do what we can to help him."

Callie nodded and stepped forward. I caught Williams and Kara sharing a look behind her back.

"Callie, why don't you stay here and keep an eye on the van," Kara said.

Callie turned back to us, and I realized she was pale and shaking. Why hadn't I thought of it? She must be terrified. After what had happened to her, she shouldn't even be here.

"Thank you, Kara, but I need to come with you."

"You just think that, or you know it?" Williams asked.

"I know it."

He didn't look happy, but he said, "Okay. Let's go."

As a group, we moved toward the wreckage. We got within about a hundred feet of the pile before Graham stepped out from behind a fire truck. He looked angry. Maybe a little scared, too. My bet was that he'd never expected us to make it this far. He planted himself in front of us, clearly thinking his best offense was to force us to do something he didn't want us to do — walk past him.

But that's just what we did. I said, "We're here to help you," as we went by. He didn't respond but just watched, amazed, as we trooped past.

We stopped about twenty feet from the edge of the wreckage that used to be the old mill. I wasn't sure whether I should focus on Graham or the fire in front of me.

Callie said, "Can you see anything, Beth? The strait's right there."

She pointed at an area near the center of the wreckage, where some part of the structure hadn't collapsed completely.

"Try focusing really hard. It looks to me like a dark blue tube sock, all stretched out like a hose."

A tube sock? Seriously?

I took a couple steps forward and stared at the spot she'd indicated.

My movement seemed to shake Graham out of his paralysis. He made an angry sound and ran right at me.

Things happened fast. Callie lurched toward Williams, her hand stretched out. Before she could reach him, he grunted like he'd been punched and went down. Graham jumped over Williams and tackled me. I fell hard with Graham on top of me and hit my head on the pavement. A second later, I heard a loud sound, and Graham collapsed on me. Something warm and wet washed down the side of my face.

There was a moment when nothing moved. Dazed and terrified, I tried to figure out what was going on. Then I heard voices from my left — the firefighters, shouting. Graham's limp body was rolled off me, and I sat up, holding the back of my head. Kara knelt beside me and took my hand. My head stopped hurting. I looked around.

Graham was lying beside me. A pool of blood was forming under his head. He was either unconscious or dead. A little bit to my right, Callie was helping Williams sit up. The big man was as white as a sheet. He looked sick and shaky.

"Fuck," he said. "No way he should've pulled that off. Barrier was as strong as I could make it, and he still broke through."

I looked at Graham, who hadn't moved. I touched the side of my face, and my fingers came away bloody.

"Did someone shoot him?"

"I think his own luck zapped him," Kara said, and laughed a little crazily. "There was an explosion in the wreckage. This thing flew out and hit him in the head."

She toed a dark hunk of metal that was lying at her feet.

"A fireman got hurt too."

Sure enough, the crew had dropped the hose and was helping one of their own across the lot toward the road. The injured man was hopping along. Maybe some debris had hit him in the leg.

"Come on. We still have to try with the strait," Callie said.

I looked around, trying to gather my wits.

"What should we do about Graham?" I said.

"Leave him," Williams said angrily.

"No, we're supposed to be helping him, remember? If we leave him to die of his injury, we're not helping him. The luck will turn against us."

"Not if he's dead, it won't," Williams said.

Kara sighed. "Too big a chance — he could do a lot of damage before he dies. I can heal the head injury but leave him unconscious."

She put her hands on him for a few seconds, then leaned back. I couldn't see any difference.

I had to admit that I didn't really want to see him wake up. Not right then, at any rate. His attack had really rattled me. He'd seemed like a pretty suave guy. I'd have expected some complex and nuanced assault — manipulation, a trick, something like that. Instead he'd just knocked me down like a schoolyard bully.

I gave myself a mental shake. It was dumb to spend time being disturbed about the specific way someone attacked you.

We got ourselves together. Williams staggered up, and Kara and Callie each took hold of one of his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"He needs help making a new barrier," Kara said. "Getting your working busted that way really takes it out of you."

"We can share our strength with others this way — skin-to-skin contact, plus intent," Callie said. "Kara and I don't have John's gift for barriers. Kara's keeping us unseen right now, but she can't protect us from the fire. John can, but he'll need to pull on our strength to do it."

"You should only do this with someone you trust," Kara added. "Once you open yourself to someone, it's pretty easy for them to pull more than you want them to."

I nodded. Even thinking about doing that with Williams made me feel ill.

When they gave me the go-ahead, I stepped toward the wreckage. The fire was picking up again in the center, now that the firefighters had stopped hosing it down. I peered into the fire, trying to see past it.

"Don't try to look _through_ it," Callie said from behind me. "Look _into_ it. Look deep, not long."

I nodded, though the difference between looking "deep" and looking "long" didn't make a lot of sense to me.

"Remember, you're looking for a catch or hitch — an anomaly of some kind."

I tried to do as she said. I stared at the mound of twisted metal, trying to make out the shapes and colors, the lumps and cavities. I didn't see anything shaped like a tube, much less a tube with a hitch in it.

Fire sprang up in the spot I was studying. I watched it leap and shimmy like a living creature. I noticed its yellow and orange, and the pale white at its heart. There was more to it than what I was seeing, I realized. What I saw was a tiny outpost of a whole world of fire. It drew me. I wanted to see the whole. It was just a little ways away.

"That's good, Beth," Callie said shakily. "I think you're seeing it. When it pulls you, let your sight follow. It will probably look like a tunnel to you."

"It doesn't look like a tube or a tunnel. It doesn't look like anything."

"That's okay," she said. "Whatever it looks like, try to find something out of place."

I again focused on the fire until the pulling feeling happened. I __ looked deeper. Flames suddenly engulfed me, but they didn't burn. Distantly, I could hear voices, but what held my attention was what I saw — not a tunnel, but an expanse of black, craggy ground, sloping gently upwards toward a low hump that convulsively spewed white-hot fire. Red embers spouted up from the white heat, settling in graceful arcs, and pale gray smoke drifted up against a black sky. Long tendrils of orange wound down the slope toward me, pooling here and there like fire-licked mirrors. A distant sound caught my attention — a clattering roar punctuated by sharp pops and booms. It swelled until I couldn't hear anything else. I began to feel heat on my face.

Was this what the strait looked like inside?

I was supposed to look for an anomaly. I glanced right and saw more of the same — blackness and fire. Then I looked to the left and saw the most surprising thing. A folding lawn chair was perched on the jagged rocks. In it sat a man, or rather, a man-shaped creature. His surface was similar to the black rock all around me, except it seemed to be riding on a molten core, which occasionally blossomed through a crack, then cooled and darkened. He was sizzling softly. Impossibly, he was reading a paperback. As I watched, he shifted and crossed his legs, then glanced up. His eyes narrowed and swept over and around me a few times before catching my gaze. A look of astonishment spread over his face. The book in his hands combusted in a puff of ash and smoke.

Frightened by the realization that he could see me, I pushed the heat and sound away and then pushed harder, reminding myself that I wasn't actually standing in that landscape. _It's just a picture in the fire, a picture in the fire_ , I chanted in my head, _Go away, go away, go away._ Slowly the scene shrank and lost its sensory richness until it was just an image. I closed my eyes for a long second, and when I opened them, all I could see was smoldering wreckage. I couldn't see any flames.

I looked away and saw that things around me had changed. Callie was still standing next to Williams, holding his hand, but Kara was lying at his feet. Williams himself looked pretty damned wobbly. The asphalt was slagged to molten tar in an arc around us. I shivered. The fire had come for us, but Williams's barrier had held.

"Is Kara okay?"

"She will be," Callie said. "When the fire surged, John pulled enough to drain her. She'll be back to normal in a few days. Until then, she'll be weak and ill."

It was a damned good thing Callie had come with us, I realized. Williams had needed more than what Kara had.

"We need to back off," Williams said.

It took a while. He gripped Graham by the front of his shirt and dragged him along while keeping a hold on Callie with his other hand. I pulled Kara along by the ankles. She wasn't big, but I wasn't strong, so it was hard. We moved back about a hundred feet before Williams seemed to feel safe dropping the protective barrier.

I was bagged, and Williams looked even worse. Callie might not have been so tired physically, but I could see she was mentally exhausted. I didn't blame her — I couldn't imagine facing that fire again after what had happened to her. I went and sat next to her and took her hand.

"You were really brave to come back here," I told her.

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

Williams said, "What'd you see?"

I described it to them, including the guy in the lawn chair.

There wasn't a moment of stunned silence. There was a full minute of it.

Williams said, "Limu."

Finally Callie said, "You saw _through_ the strait. You saw through and —"

"Talk about that later," Williams interrupted. "We have to tell Cordus about Limu."

"Who's Limu?"

"That's who you saw," Callie said, sounding shaky. "The great demons are territorial. This is Lord Cordus's part of the world. Lord Limu claims the Pacific Rim."

Williams said, "Call Cordus. Now."

"Graham has to do it," I said. "This was all supposed to be helping him, remember?"

"Fuck him. It's over. It doesn't matter."

"Oh my god, don't be so dense!" I said, my exhaustion making me forget who I was talking to. "If we were faking it, his luck wouldn't have helped us. But it did help us. That means we really were helping him. Now is the point when we can actually give that help, so we have to do it. From how the luck shook out, we already know what decision we make at this point. We're just following through with what we already know happens. Got it?"

Williams stilled and focused on me. I felt like one of those red dots from a laser sight had appeared right between my eyes.

Callie interceded. "I don't really understand it either, John, but I think we should let Beth decide. It was her idea, and it did work."

If looks could kill, the one Williams gave me would have. It also would have cremated me and scattered my ashes at sea.

I didn't realize I'd tightened my grip on Callie until she started saying my name and patting my arm with her other hand.

"Sorry," I said, letting go.

_Don't make him angry_ , I reminded myself. Maybe he wouldn't hurt me with Callie right here, but she wasn't going to be with me 24/7.

After an uncomfortable silence, I said, "So, any ideas on how to wake Graham?"

Williams hauled himself up and, ignoring Callie's protests, came over and gave Graham a couple kicks. Jesus, what a monster.

Graham groaned and rolled over, holding his side. Then he saw us, and froze. He looked entirely different than the person I'd come to know over the past few days. The confident, friendly, flirty guy was gone. What I was seeing now was a man stripped of everything — horrified, desperate, like an animal in a trap. It hurt seeing him like that, however much of a liar and user he might be. At that moment, for the first time, I really wanted to protect him.

"Here's what's happening," I told him. "Lord Cordus suspects you of scheming to keep the strait open. You are so deep on his shit list I'm surprised you can breathe. We looked into the opening and saw the other end. We're going to let you call and tell Lord Cordus about our success. You can take credit for managing the operation."

"Tell him it's closed," Williams added.

Was it really? I hadn't realized. I looked back at the wreckage. I couldn't see any flames, but the firefighters were dousing it again. Maybe they'd finally knocked it back.

Graham knelt there silently for a while, eyes shifting back and forth among us.

"Why are you letting me call him?" he finally said.

"Because we're just that nice." No reason to clue him in on his gift's loophole.

He thought about it, then nodded. Clearly he didn't see a way out. Being on Cordus's shit list must be very bad indeed.

I rolled Kara over, got her phone out of her pocket, and scrolled down to "Boss Man."

"Tell him you were waiting for us here, and that when we got here, you coached me on looking into the strait. Then hand the phone to me, and I'll tell him what I saw."

I hit "send" and handed him the phone.

Pale and shaking, he put it to his ear. When Cordus answered, though, Graham's voice was steady. I watched, a little nauseated, as he smoothly constructed a version of events in which he'd done no wrong. He mentioned the green man, as though he'd seen my photo and made the connection himself. Then he brought up Justine. Clearly he'd been thinking along the same lines Williams and Kara had — bounty-hunter shows up in town, local woman disappears, bingo. All that stuff about checking with his contacts had been bullshit. He'd never believed Williams was the kidnapper.

When he was done, Graham handed the phone to me without meeting my eyes.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder," a super-sexy voice murmured in my ear.

My pulse went through the roof.

"I am most impressed. You seem to have found a way to turn Mr. Ryzik's talent against him."

Huh. Cordus had a pretty good bullshit meter.

"I will give Mr. Ryzik a second chance, but only because your strategy has obligated me to do so," he said. "I must ask you not to thus obligate me again. The consequences of such an action would not please you. In addition, I directed you not to approach Mr. Ryzik, and yet there you are, within arm's reach of him. Reliability is as important to me as results, Miss Ryder. Do you understand?"

I squeezed a "yes sir" past the lump in my throat.

"Now," he said, "please describe to me exactly what you saw."

I gave him a detailed account of the place I had seen in the flame. I also described the guy in the lawn chair. I added that Williams said the strait was closed.

He absorbed what I said in silence, then asked, "You heard the sound of the volcano and felt its heat. Is that correct?"

"Yes, especially toward the end. The experience seemed to be getting... I don't know. Richer. Closer. Also, the guy there saw me. I'm not sure how, exactly, but he knew I was there."

"Did he speak to you?"

"No. He seemed surprised, though. He burned up his book."

"Most interesting," Cordus said softly.

"Miss Ryder," he said after a few moments, "Mr. Ryzik's identification of the green man's quarry is likely correct."

"Oh," I said, shocked to my depths. "So it's true? She really might be... one of you?"

"In the sense you intend, yes."

He paused. He certainly had a measured, careful approach to conversation.

Finally he asked, "Has Mrs. McCallister received any premonitions regarding Mrs. Ryder's status or location?"

_Mrs._ McCallister? That was news to me.

"Not that she's mentioned. Do you want to speak to her?"

"I do not believe that would be productive. Should her ability shed additional light on the situation, however, I would appreciate a call."

"Okay," I said, already feeling like an informant.

"Your team may retire and rest. I will be in touch soon with further instructions. Before we disconnect, however, I must speak with Mr. Ryzik once more."

"Okay. Here he is."

"Thank you, Miss Ryder."

I passed the phone to Graham, who paled noticeably. He said, "Yes, Lord Cordus?" then held the phone to his ear for about thirty seconds, just listening. At last he said, "Yes, I do," then closed the phone and sat there staring out into the darkness and shaking. I was really glad not to have been privy to whatever Cordus had said. I had a feeling it would've made "threatening" sound like a day at the beach.

Once we'd recovered a little longer, Williams drove the damaged van into the brush at the edge of the parking lot and set a barrier around it that, according to Callie, would keep it invisible to regular people for at least a few days.

"How're we going to get home?" I asked.

"There's a working over there," Callie said, pointing to the other side of lot. "It's probably a barrier hiding Graham's car."

She glanced at Graham, who nodded, looking a little confused. He must've been wondering why I hadn't noticed it myself.

Williams picked up Kara, and we all walked to the other side of the lot. As we approached the edge, my car appeared right in front of us.

We got in and headed back to Callie's.

When we arrived, Callie had Williams put Kara in the center of her king-sized bed. Then she and I crawled in on either side of her and slept like stones until morning.

# Chapter 11

Unfortunately, by "morning" I mean "very early morning." That's when Kara woke up, lunged over me, and vomited. She got most of it on the floor. Then she flopped back with a groan.

"Fucking Williams. Goddamn fucking Williams fucking asshole..." She drifted back to sleep.

From the other side of her, Callie propped herself up and frowned at me. "I wish Kara didn't use language like that. Taking the Lord's name in vain is wrong."

I nodded, filing away for future reference that blasphemy was a no-no around Callie. Then I wormed my way out of bed, trying not to touch anything Kara might've hit.

I ended up touching it anyway when I cleaned it up a few minutes later. Whatever. Kara'd probably cleaned up what I left in the hallway a few days back.

When I was done showering, Callie had gone back to sleep. I quietly headed for coffee.

Graham was sitting in the kitchen. Damn. Why was he still with us? I'd have thought Cordus would've wanted to keep an eye on him or something. It seemed impossible that he was just going to keep hanging out with his old crew. Talk about painful and awkward for everyone.

He looked up at me with dead eyes. It took him a while to speak. It was like he'd forgotten how. "It was your idea, wasn't it? Calling Cordus."

I didn't see much point in lying. "Yeah."

I waited for him to react, to get angry, but he didn't say anything.

"Kara said they could be killed if they failed to close the strait. You seemed to be putting all our lives at risk."

Again he didn't say anything for a long time, just looked at me. Then he looked down at his hands.

"Callie finding the strait and calling Williams, Williams finding you, Williams calling in Kara — none of that should've happened. No one was supposed to know anything about it. No one was supposed to come here. No one was supposed to be in danger. That's how it should've gone. Things always go the way they're supposed to. Well, almost always."

Huh. Maybe Callie had ended up testing that Graham-luck-evasion hypothesis after all, without realizing it.

"Why were you trying to keep the strait open?"

Graham shook his head. Some secrets were staying secret, I guess.

"What're you going to do now?"

He shrugged. "Same thing I was doing before."

But the look he gave me was so empty my throat tightened. I guess he'd gotten the same sense from Cordus that I had: second chances were pretty much in name only.

I really wished I hadn't kissed him. I wondered how many more times I'd have that thought.

I made coffee for both of us and sat down. He took a sip or two, then seemed to forget about it and just sat there. I watched him. The day's first sunlight came through the crack between the window blinds and touched his hair.

"Why did you lie to me?"

I hadn't meant to ask that. It just popped out.

He looked up at me. For a moment, he looked much older than his years. When he finally spoke, he sounded tired.

"What we do, it's ugly. It's easier if you ease new people into it instead of dumping the whole truth on them in one go."

"Oh yeah? Easier for who?"

He looked away, effectively silenced.

"Graham..."

"Just let it go, Elizabeth. There's nothing I can say to you that'll make it better."

I sat there, surprised and saddened. I wished I understood.

"Beth," I said.

He looked up at me, confused.

"No one who really knows me calls me 'Elizabeth.'"

He smiled a little, accepting my olive branch, then looked back down at his cup.

Seeing an opportunity to escape, I took my coffee out to the living room and curled up on the couch to look out the window.

Now that I had no trainer to ask, I was full of questions.

Why would Graham betray Cordus? If we were all little more than slaves, it seemed like a huge risk.

What about the lava man on the lawn chair? Limu. The boss of another region, Callie had said. One of Cordus's rivals, maybe. Was Graham working with him?

Was Justine truly a Second, and was she being hunted by the person I'd photographed? Cordus seemed to think so, and he should know, right?

If she was, did Ben know? What about the kids? Were they really Ben's children?

And what was wrong with me, anyway? One moment I couldn't see some basic thing the others expected me to see, and the next I saw more than I should — all the way into the other world, if I'd understood Callie right.

Trailing along like someone's forgotten kid brother, one last question came into my head: Was Bob really dead?

Well, that was one I might be able to answer.

I got my car keys and headed out the door, moving cautiously until I was sure Williams's barrier was gone.

_Okay, Bob_ , I thought, getting in the Le Mans, _I'm coming for that chat, like I promised. Please be alive._

I sat down on a slanted stone bench near the sad "Daught." monument and took a steadying breath.

Time had paid no attention to my personal drama. Early April had shaded into middle of the month. Today was the first day we'd had where I really smelled spring. It was earthy and wet and promised renewal.

I'd made several full circuits of the cemetery. There was no sign of Bob.

I felt a strong sense of loss — far more than what I'd feel for some human citizen of Dorf I'd met once and talked to for a few minutes. It was mixed liberally with guilt and anger. If he was dead, it was because of me.

I reminded myself that while Bob's presence would've proven he was alive, his absence didn't prove he was dead.

Then again, Williams didn't strike me as the kind of person who'd bother lying.

It'd been silly to come. I'd wanted to escape Callie's house, with all its tensions and sadness, but really, escape was impossible. The whole situation was dreadful.

I looked down at my hands. My nails had gotten too long. Despite the hot shower I'd taken an hour ago, there was crud under them. I set about cleaning them with my thumbnail.

Depressing thoughts crowded into my mind.

When I'd looked into the strait, I'd done something that had surprised the others. Unless it turned out to be something bad, it would probably make me more desirable to Cordus than I had been before. And I got the idea that my late development had already made me a hot commodity.

So, what would happen to me? What would they try to make me do?

_What we do is ugly_.

How ugly?

I didn't just need a bunch of questions answered, I realized. What I needed was good advice. Even if Graham hadn't turned out to be a liar, I still wouldn't have trusted him to advise me, not when I'd only known him a few days. Kara seemed nice, but maybe not stable and seasoned enough to give clear-eyed guidance. Callie couldn't help me either. Because she read all this stuff through her own religious beliefs, she had no idea what she was actually participating in. Maybe that's what she needed to do to survive, but it wasn't going to work for me.

That left me with no idea what my goals should be.

For instance, what should I do about Justine? I felt responsible for her because my brother loved her and she was my nieces' mother. But if she was bad news, then trying to save her might be the wrong choice. On the other hand, if she was an innocent person being hunted by this green man creature, then I had to try to help her. Then again, if what Kara said was accurate, I wouldn't really have any choices to make about Justine, anyway. I'd be doing whatever Cordus told me to do.

I'd decided to confront my new reality, but really I was still just reacting to what came down the pike. I felt like a victim, and I didn't know how to change that dynamic.

I was sitting there cultivating a headache when someone spoke my first name, and I just about fell off the bench. Looking over my shoulder, I found an African American woman standing behind me. She had long black hair gathered in a ponytail and was dressed in a flattering pair of dark jeans, a tan tank, and a jaunty little jacket that came down to just below her breasts. It was made out of some kind of exotic-looking brown fur. She was older than me and extraordinarily beautiful.

I stood up nervously. She was a few inches taller than me, but then again her boots had heels. I realized I was staring and flushed.

She looked me over with a neutral expression. "I'm Zion. Lord Cordus sent me up here to join your team. I'm a tracker."

"Oh." Then, because I couldn't think of an indirect, non-embarrassing way to ask, I said, "What are you supposed to track?"

She looked at me like I was the slow kid in class. "A Second who's been living in this town under the alias of Justine Ryder, née Jenson."

"Oh, right. Of course."

I stood there wondering why she was talking to me instead of looking for Justine. Zion looked like she was just managing to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

"I'm told Justine Ryder's been masquerading as your sister-in-law. I need you to take me to her home so that I can get her scent."

"Her _scent_?"

What was this woman, a magical bloodhound or something?

Annoyance blossomed on Zion's face, and I quickly ran my memory backwards to make sure I hadn't said the "bloodhound" part aloud.

"Excuse me," she said in a carefully polite tone, "Given your age, it's hard to remember you're... uninformed. 'Scent' is trackers' shorthand for someone's essence trace."

"Okie-dokie, then," I said, getting annoyed myself.

It wasn't my fault I was "uninformed." If these people could get their act together and send me a trainer who did his job, I'd get informed as fast as I could.

"Your car or mine?" I said, probably a little snappishly.

We ended up in her car, but only after she'd taken a good long look at mine and found it wanting. Admittedly, the Le Mans was a little worse for wear. In contrast, Zion had a Porsche Panamera. I was pretty sure the leather inside was too nice to have ever been on a cow, and the engine made a sound that was somehow both a rumble and a purr. I couldn't imagine how much the thing cost.

Ben was upset with me. He thought it was terrible that I hadn't shown up at the mall. I was suddenly glad I hadn't pulled up in my own car, since it was supposed to be in the shop. Ben also thought it was shockingly insensitive that I'd just left a message the night before and hadn't called back to make sure Tiff was okay. She was, fortunately, though she'd made it out of the mall, after all. The cops had picked her up trying to hitchhike southeast on I-94.

Clearly, the situation had been a lot more serious than I'd assumed. I was retroactively terrified. "Kidnapped, then out 'til 11:00 p.m. ogling a lava-man," was unfortunately off-limits as an excuse. I couldn't think of a reasonable substitute, so I spent a long time apologizing and talking about what an idiot I was.

The whole time, Zion wandered around the first story, touching things. She was using a half-working disguise, I realized: I could see the weird doubleness of presence and absence about her, and Ben was clearly unaware of her. I had a hard time not glancing at her — getting chewed out by my big brother in front of a gorgeous and ultra-competent stranger was excruciating.

Eventually, Ben headed upstairs to hurry the girls along, since they'd have to leave for school soon. Zion drifted over to me.

"I'm having a hard time getting her scent. What I'm sensing seems human to me. Has another adult female been living here?"

"Not so far as I know. No, Ben would've mentioned it to me."

"I need to visit her bedroom. That's where her scent will be strongest."

"Okay. Let me offer to stay here with the youngest while Ben takes the other three to school."

Zion's eyes widened and darted toward the stairs.

"She has children? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I'm sorry," I said sweetly, "I assumed you'd been fully briefed."

She glowered at me. "They may well be Nolanders. If so, they'll see through my disguise. I'll have to hide."

The thought of Ben's girls being like me came as a shock. I guess it made sense — if Justine was a Second, her kids would be half. They might've inherited some weirdness. It just hadn't occurred to me.

I headed up the stairs and told Ben I could stay with Madisyn while he took the others to school. That pleased him, since Madisyn, whose preschool started later, was still in her PJs and steadfastly ignoring the order to get dressed.

When she saw me, her face lit up.

"Aunt Beth! Nanny Hansen's doggie says you can find Mommy! Daddy said I couldn't tell you. But now I did. So can you?"

I glanced at Ben, who was rubbing his forehead. Actually, he was rubbing his eyes.

"Oh, Ben," I said, and put my arms around him.

We stood there for a good while with Madisyn looking up at us and occasionally tugging on my pant leg and saying "doggie" in a loud whisper. The other kids gathered at the door and peeked in, looking sad and a little scared. Finally Ben pulled away from me and throatily told Tiff, Jazzy, and Lia to go get in the car. He followed them out without speaking to me. I didn't hear any shrieks from downstairs, so apparently Zion had gone unnoticed.

Once I heard the car pull out, I knelt down in front of Madisyn.

"Sweetie, do you think I should meet Nanny Hansen's dog?"

"Yeah!"

She took my hand and led me downstairs and out into the back yard. She looked around carefully, then crossed over to the fence separating Ben's yard from the neighbor's to the west.

Whoever lived there — Mrs. Hansen, I guess — had a large, overgrown piece of property. Last year's dead grass was thigh-high in places and all gone to seed. In other spots, the snow had packed it down into wet humps. A huge stand of sumac had taken over the back of the yard, and a thicket of honeysuckle covered another part. A big maple and a pine loomed over the small house itself, looking like they could take it out completely, given a big enough storm. Compared to Ben's neatly groomed lawn, it was a jungle.

Madisyn gathered herself. I half expected her to display some strange ability, but all she did was holler.

"Doggie! Doggie! Doggie!"

For several minutes, nothing happened. Then, just as I was deciding Madisyn's canine friend must be imaginary, the sumac swayed gently, as though touched by wind. The honeysuckle rustled, then parted to expose the biggest dog I'd ever seen. It was at least as tall as a wolfhound, but massively boned instead of leggy. It must've weighed more than three hundred pounds. I recalled that Madisyn had said its fur was glass. That could be the case, if glass were flexible and floaty. Whatever the animal's coat was made of, it was translucent white and shone softly in the morning light. The creature's eyes were golden, like a wolf's.

It studied me for a while in silence, then approached the chain-link fence.

Madisyn gave a little squeal and ran over, completely unafraid. "Doggie!"

"Madisyn," the creature said.

I noticed that its mouth didn't move. I felt like I was hearing it in the normal way, though — not like it was speaking inside my head.

Madisyn stuck her little arms through the fence and buried her hands in the beast's coat.

"Hi, doggie. You're a good doggie. Good doggie."

The animal nosed Madisyn's arm. It seemed friendly enough. Slowly, I came over.

"Hello. I'm Madisyn's aunt. My name is Beth Ryder."

"I know you. You are interesting."

The look it gave me out of its unblinking golden eyes was unreadable.

"Madisyn told me you think I can find her mother, Justine."

"Yes," the creature said.

Madisyn didn't react to the beast's confirmation. She just ran her hands through its fur and murmured "doggie" under her breath.

"Madisyn, would you mind if I spoke to..."

I hesitated. The beast hadn't introduced itself, and I was pretty sure it wasn't a dog. I decided to go with a pronoun and glanced down. "If I spoke to him alone for a minute?"

She looked up at me. "Grown-up stuff?"

"Yeah. It's important."

"Okay," she said with a sigh, and retreated to the back stoop. I watch her go, then turned back to the not-dog.

"I've told you my name. May I ask yours?"

"Call me Ghosteater."

I suppressed a shudder. Why couldn't this one have gone with something like "Bob"?

"Ghosteater, I'd like to ask you a question, but I'm afraid I'll offend you."

"You will not offend me."

I nodded. He didn't seem to have Bob's formal impulses.

"Do you know what my sister-in-law is, exactly? There's a tracker here with me, and she's having trouble sensing anything special about her. She says Justine feels like a human woman to her."

Ghosteater cocked his head. "She is unfinished. She smells of fragment."

"Fragment?"

The beast just looked at me.

"Right. Okay. Thank you very much."

The idea of "fragment" having a particular smell or essence trace or whatever seemed weird to me. I hoped it would be enough to help Zion.

"I will ask you a question, now," the beast said.

That worried me a bit.

"When the man left you yesterday, where did he go?"

It took me a few seconds to compute. "Do you mean Graham?"

"The one with golden hair."

How did he know about Graham? Had he been watching me? I wrestled down the impulse to ask. He'd answered my question. Fair's fair.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know where he went. One of the others, Kara, said he had left town, but that's all I know."

"He went east in a car."

That wasn't very helpful. Half the state was east of here.

"Well, we'd just come back from Rib Mountain when he dropped me off. Maybe he went back there. Maybe he'd accidentally left something behind."

Ghosteater looked at me for so long that I was sure he knew I'd given a bullshit answer and was considering eating me. Finally, he turned away.

I hurriedly added, "Thanks for being so kind to my niece."

Ghosteater paused and looked back at me over his shoulder. "I am not kind."

Then he turned away again, and I saw that he had no paws. His massive legs just faded out at the bottom. He melted silently into the bushes.

Well. You couldn't get much higher on the creep-o-meter than that.

Suddenly the idea of Nanny Hansen living in that little overgrown house seemed unwise. I thought for a moment about knocking on her door and telling her to move the hell out because a monster was living in her backyard. But no. She wouldn't move. Instead, she'd call the police and tell them a crazy woman was on her doorstep. Then Cordus's people would kill me for breaking the rules.

Sighing, I went back to Madisyn and led her into the house. I turned on _Sesame Street_ for her, then hurried upstairs to find Zion. I told her about Ghosteater and what he had said about the scent of fragment. She looked at me like I was losing it, but she did sit down on Ben and Justine's bed and give it a try. After a few minutes, a look of surprise and comprehension washed across her face. She spent a minute just soaking it in with her eyes closed. Then she nodded, satisfied.

Just then, Ben got home, so I hurried downstairs with Zion following behind. I apologized again and took my leave. He nodded and patted me on the arm, clearly too worn out to keep chastising me, even though I deserved it. I left him trying to cajole Madisyn into taking off her PJs, the feet of which were now all wet. Hopefully he wouldn't notice and realize I couldn't even watch one of his kids for twenty minutes without muffing it up.

# Chapter 12

Ghosteater watched the she-pup and the other female drive away. Then he slid back into the silence and began moving east. He wasn't the fastest of beasts, but he could run a very long way without tiring. He knew the place the she-pup had mentioned — the ancient rock. His nose would tell him if the one called Graham had gone there twice the day before. If he had, there was the interesting question of why.

# Chapter 13

Zion and I headed back to the cemetery to pick up my car. The Porsche growled grumpily through Dorf's little streets. I could almost hear it muttering, _I'm a supercar, not a golf-cart, damn it!_ What did Zion do that she could afford a car like this? I'd never been in anything so nice.

"So, what do we do now? Get the others and go find Justine?"

"Yes. Then we take her to Lord Cordus." She glanced over at me appraisingly. "Her and you."

_Great. That's just great._

"Where does he live?"

"His court's in New York. He has an estate north of the city."

Dread washed through me. I didn't want to take Justine to Cordus. Who knows what he would do to her? And more importantly, I didn't want to see him myself. Meeting that man, or whatever he was, and spending time in his home was at the absolute bottom of my to-do list.

Damned if I could see a way out of it, though. If I tried to run, Williams could easily overpower me, and if I did manage to slip past him, Zion could find me. She'd already found me once — I hadn't told the others I'd be at the cemetery.

We reached St. Mary's, and Zion pulled in behind my car.

I got out, fired up the Le Mans, and followed her back to Callie's, pulling in behind the Porsche. I sat for a moment, watching her walk inside. Then I followed her, feeling ignorant, poorly dressed, and scared.

The entryway was full of luggage.

"... south-southeast, about fifty miles," Zion was saying to Williams, who was standing in the living room. Graham was sitting in the kitchen, toying with a coffee cup. I wondered if he'd moved at all since I'd left him there.

"Let's go," Williams said. He looked at me. "Get Kara."

I obeyed without even thinking about it. Callie was in the bedroom with Kara, who was sitting up in bed, looking ill.

"Hey, guys. A tracker named Zion showed up. She has a line on Justine, so we're leaving."

Kara groaned. "So long as I don't have to ride with Williams. I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to drain you," Callie said, looking upset. "The fire just came so suddenly."

"Yeah, well, he should've drawn more from you and less from me. Goddamn it. I feel like three-day-old shit." She sighed. "Okay, help me up."

Callie and I supported her out to the living room and set her down on the couch.

I thought about our travel options. There were six of us, and Justine would make seven, if we found her. Kara's ride was a decrepit motorcycle. Williams's van was back at the mill, trashed, and Graham's car was out of commission. If he'd gotten a rental replacement, I hadn't seen it out front. The Panamera seated four. We'd have to take my car as well.

"Who wants to ride with me?"

"Me," said Kara immediately.

"I will," said Graham, getting up.

Great. Many, many hours of guilt and awkwardness. I looked at Callie.

"Oh," she said, looking uncomfortable. "I couldn't possibly go. There's far too much to do here. I have to get the Big Screen boycott up and running. I haven't put any time into that for the last week."

I stared at her in disbelief. She got to just stay here and pick back up with her normal life as Dorf's moral gadfly? I looked around the room. No one else seemed surprised.

Williams stepped forward and touched her arm. "Thank you for letting us stay, Callie. And for helping with the strait."

_Well I'll be_. I wouldn't have thought the man had one and a half vaguely gracious sentences in him.

"Yeah," Kara said, "Thanks. And it was good to see you."

Everyone trooped out. Over her protests, Williams just picked Kara up from the couch and carried her towards my car. I was left standing there with Callie.

"You're really not coming?"

I felt bereft. Callie might be a little nutty, but I was pretty sure she was a genuinely good and brave person. She might be the only one who was. I wanted to have her with me.

She looked down. "I don't go to New York." She paused. "I suppose Lord Cordus regrets his fall, and that's why he works with us. But he still feels evil to me. I won't go near him."

I didn't understand why she got to make that choice. I said my goodbyes as graciously as I could, but I felt resentful.

"So why does Callie get to stay home?" I asked, once we were on the road. "Why doesn't she have to suck it up and go deal with Lord Cordus, like the rest of us?"

No one said anything for a few seconds. I glanced over at Kara and saw her slumped against the door. She'd fallen back asleep.

Finally, from the back seat, Graham said, "Lord Cordus makes allowances for her."

"Why?"

"Her ability is very unusual. It's also quite useful, as you've seen."

He sounded bitter. I realized he probably blamed Callie for his downfall — she was the one who'd called Williams, and Williams was the one who'd found me, and I was the one who'd ratted him out.

"But she's fragile," Graham continued. "If he wants to be able to use her, he has to be careful with her."

I guess that made sense. I wondered if I could masquerade as fragile and get away from Cordus that way. Probably not. I'd never been very good at pretending. Besides, most "fragile" people he probably just got rid of. Head cases were a lot of trouble, and it's not like I could see the future.

I chewed on it for a few minutes, then decided it was dumb to spend time envying Callie, even if she got to stay home. After all, I sure didn't envy whatever experiences had damaged her. It had sounded like rape and torture the one time she'd mentioned it. I shut up and drove.

"Almost due west from here," Zion said.

We were all standing on the side of a small road a few miles north of Stevens Point, on the east side of the Wisconsin River. Well, not Kara. She was still asleep in my car.

Zion squinted. "She's less than half a mile away. She's asleep, I think. At least, she hasn't moved in a while."

_Asleep or dead_ , I thought with a shudder. What on earth was Justine doing out here? The area was all marshland.

When we left Callie's, I'd followed Zion to the old mill. There were no firefighters in sight — I guess the strait really was closed. Williams had transferred some stuff from the back of the van into the Porsche. Then he'd set the van on fire. After that we'd driven over to Wausau and headed south on 39. About fifteen minutes ago, we'd gotten off the highway and onto the small local roads. We'd gone as far west as they could take us. The rest of the way would have to be on foot.

For the first time I could remember, I wished it were still winter — wetlands were a lot easier when everything was frozen.

Zion and Williams opened the Porsche's trunk and started to suit up. Zion donned a chainmail vest. That was an eye-opener. Did she do her shopping at Renaissance fairs, or something?

Both armed themselves with knives and handguns. I would've guessed Williams would go for some big-dick gun like a Desert Eagle, but he had a pretty standard looking 9mm. Then he slid a scabbard onto his back and picked up a riot shotgun. Maybe that's where he kept his big stopping power.

"Graham," he said, as he started feeding cartridges into the shotgun. "No weapons."

Graham shrugged, as though the idea were beneath contempt. "I don't carry weapons. Never needed them."

Williams shot him a look that said something like, _A real man would carry anyway_. Or maybe, _Bet you never needed your cock either_.

There certainly was no love lost between those two.

"Mandatory pause for male posturing: check," I murmured. Then I asked aloud, "Is Kara going to be all right if we leave her here?"

Zion shot me an amused look. Guess my murmur was louder than I realized. "Yeah. Williams will leave her shielded."

She stepped into the brush. Williams gestured for me to follow her. He came next, with Graham bringing up the rear.

First came a roadside ditch with almost a foot of icy-cold standing water. It came in over the tops of my boots. Then came a field of impenetrable waist-high bushes that seemed to have talons instead of twigs. Then a series of marshy oxbows. It sucked. I couldn't imagine why they hadn't left me in the car with Kara. I had no weapons and no abilities, and I wasn't particularly outdoorsy.

At least all the crashing around and swearing I did weren't audible — we passed several large flocks of ducks that ignored us completely. But whatever the others were doing to hide our presence, I couldn't sense it. What had happened at the mill hadn't fixed me.

Eventually Zion stopped.

"In there," she said, pointing to a small stand of aspens. The trunks were slender and densely packed. I had no idea how we were going to get through them. Or how Justine had.

We moved forward another twenty feet or so. Then Williams came to the front. His fingers twitched, but nothing happened, so far as I could tell.

"What did he do?" I asked Graham in a whisper.

"He put a barrier around the trees. She won't be able to get out."

Wow. Useful trick.

Graham was looking at me, puzzled. "Can't you sense it there?"

"Nope. I still can't see workings."

The look of consternation on his face bothered me. I turned away.

We advanced on the stand and almost reached it before something crashed out the far side. I couldn't see what it was at first, but eventually a terrified deer came running around toward us. It kept charging forward and then trying to leap away from the trees, only to hit some invisible wall, then picking itself up and trying again. Poor thing.

"Can't you let it out?"

Williams glanced over at Zion.

"I think..." Zion hesitated. "I think that's actually her. Yes. Yes, that's her."

Justine could turn into a deer? I turned back to look again, then leaned over to Graham. Guess he was still the go-to guy for questions, in this crowd.

"That's a working, right? She's changed herself fully into a deer — that's why I can't see through it?"

"No," he said, watching the animal's increasingly desperate escape attempts. "There's no sign of a working." He glanced at me, clearly at a loss. "So far as I can tell, it's just a deer."

"Looks that way to me, too," Zion said, "but that's what I've been tracking. It's her. How do we catch her?"

Williams pulled his shotgun out of its scabbard.

"Hey!"

He ignored me. I didn't have time to take more than a couple steps toward him before he raised the gun, aimed, and fired. The deer went down, bawling and thrashing. His hand twitched, and she stilled.

I stood there in disbelief. Why had he done that?

Williams walked over and began trussing the deer up with a coil of rope he produced from his jacket. I advanced slowly and saw that the deer was still alive. Her large, shining eye looked up at me, panicked. It took me a few seconds to speak without letting out the sob that was lurking somewhere inside.

"Why'd you shoot her? We're supposed to bring her in."

"Beanbag ammunition," he said, without bothering to look up.

I looked the deer over more closely. Her left shoulder was twitching violently, but I didn't see any wounds. Thank god.

I knelt down and took her head in my lap. I stroked her face, speaking softly to her.

"What are we going to do with her? We can't travel with her this way."

Williams sat back on his heels. "Beats me."

He touched the deer's side, apparently dissolving whatever barrier had been holding her down. She thrashed a few times, but all her legs were bound together, so she wasn't going anywhere.

"She knows you," Zion said. "See if you can get through to her."

Calling the deer "Justine" and asking her to change back didn't do anything. Telling her that her husband and children missed her didn't have any effect, either. Saying that we were there to help her wasn't any better.

We were all just gathered there, wracking our brains, when we heard a strange noise. Something like a laugh, but weird.

Williams drew the shotgun and turned to face the direction we'd come from. Graham turned the other way. Looking perplexed, Zion drew her gun and faced out as well. I stayed down with the deer, out of the line of fire.

"There," Graham said, pointing at a tree about a hundred yards east. I could see something dark and hunched clinging to the trunk.

"Green man," Williams said.

"Son of a bitch," Zion swore, bring her gun around. "Why do I always get the FUBAR assignments?"

Suddenly the hair all over my body stood up. There was a flash and a deafening roar. The tree the green man was on exploded into burning splinters.

My god, had that been _lightning_? Out of a blue sky? I looked up and saw the leading edge of a massive, anvil-shaped storm cloud thousands of feet above us. It must have been moving really fast — it hadn't been visible a few minutes earlier.

Zion started shooting. The green man was skittering toward us on the ground, unharmed. It ran on two legs, but strangely hunched forward. Its movement had a spastic, random quality that turned my stomach. Lightning struck twice more. Each time the thing leapt and contorted itself out of harm's way.

I could finally see why it was called a green man — it looked dull black most of the time, but when the light caught its skin just right, it flashed brilliant green. The effect was like a hummingbird's gorget.

Zion came up empty and started reloading. Williams, who'd held back, started firing the shotgun. The green man evaded, twisting and moving bonelessly. Williams switched to his pistol.

The thing was really close. A huge, protuberant mouth full of small, sharp teeth took up half its face. A thick gray tongue hung out, bobbing to the side of its head. Its nose was almost non-existent — just nostril slits. It was laughing, its eyes gleeful and insane.

Williams got off one last shot. The thing jerked to the side, then screeched and fell. Trying to dodge the bullet, it had stepped in a leg-hold trap. I processed the metallic clang a few seconds after the fact.

A big-game trap? Set out in the middle of a field on public land? What were the odds?

The thing lunged at us, slavering and cackling, but the trap jerked it back.

Williams reloaded his 9mm and started taking rapid, methodical shots at the creature. It didn't try to dodge, but the rounds seemed to have no effect. By the time he'd emptied his clip, the big man was swearing under his breath.

I glanced at Graham.

"It's holding a barrier," he said, "deflecting the bullets back at us."

The green man grinned up at us, swaying back and forth in its crouch, hissing softly.

"I can't break that barrier," Williams said. "It's too strong." He scooped up the deer and started backing off. "Come on. Stay together."

We all followed him, clustered in a bunch. The green man began jumping around in a frenzy, jerking and pulling against the trap. We got a couple hundred feet away before it calmed down and bent over to examine the trap's mechanism. After a few seconds, I heard the sound of rusty metal scraping.

Williams dropped the deer and grabbed my hand.

I understood. He wanted to use my strength.

The green man or Williams? It should've been no contest. Nevertheless, fear surged through me. I fought the urge to struggle and tried to calm myself.

I felt him reach into me somehow. It was like I was a dog-food can, and a big, filthy mutt was sticking its tongue way down inside to get the last bits at the bottom. It was horrible. I held my breath and tried not to fight it. I felt him drag something out of me. Whatever it was didn't want to go. It hurt tremendously, like he was ripping part of my insides out.

His fingers twitched. This time, I could feel the barrier. It materialized around us, a sphere of compressed, densely packed charged particles. It was both a defense and a weapon. I'd never perceived anything so extraordinary.

A second later, the green man launched into the barrier and rebounded explosively. Through Williams, I could feel the impact as physical pain, though I couldn't tell what part of me hurt. But the barrier held. The green man landed about twenty feet back and lay there, motionless. It must've gotten a huge electrical shock.

I bent over, feeling sick.

Williams jerked on my hand. "Offer it. Don't make me drag it out."

"I don't know how!"

"Let me," Zion said.

"You don't have enough."

"I'll do it," Graham said.

There was a heavy pause, as we all considered. Graham wasn't safe from the green man. Otherwise his luck wouldn't have come to bear, and it surely had — the leg-hold trap had to be him. He also wasn't strong enough to defeat it alone. The failed lightning strikes had to be him, too. Therefore, he needed us.

Apparently coming to the same conclusion, Williams reached for him and let me go. _Thank god_. The barrier vanished from my perception.

We started moving again. Zion and I wrestled the deer along, which wasn't easy — it wasn't a big one, but it certainly weighed a hundred pounds. Fortunately, Zion was pretty strong.

There was no sign of the green man pursuing us, but I got the sense Williams was keeping the shield up, anyway.

When we reached the cars, we dragged Kara out of mine and put her in Zion's backseat. Then we stuffed the deer into my backseat. Williams took shotgun in my car, and we peeled out. I drove as fast as that little Le Mans would go.

The wheel vibrated in my hands. The temperature gauge was near the red. I'd been going between eighty and ninety for six hours. Even so, Zion kept surging ahead and then slowing down when we dropped too far behind. I was afraid the Le Mans wouldn't last much longer — if it had ever been built to go this fast, it wasn't up to it now.

I wished Graham were still in my car. I had some questions I wanted answered. No way was I asking Williams.

As though he could hear me thinking about him, he turned from the window and leaned over toward me. My heart rate sped up, and I shrank away. He looked at the dashboard in front of me, then sat back. I relaxed.

_I wish I weren't so scared of him_ , some part of my brain said.

_I wish he weren't so scary_ , the other part answered.

Good point — it wasn't like I was being unreasonably wussy. He was genuinely terrifying.

He got out his phone and placed a call. Up ahead of us, I saw Zion bring her phone to her ear.

"Get off at the next rest stop," he said, then hung up.

We were somewhere in western Ohio. A rest area came up in about fifteen miles. Zion exited and parked at the very edge of the lot. I pulled in beside her. She and Williams both opened their windows. Hers glided down smoothly. His squeaked as he cranked it open in fits and starts.

"Go get another vehicle," he said to Graham.

Graham got out. He looked a little pale. It had taken us almost fifty minutes to get back to the car with the deer in tow. Maybe he was feeling the strain of having helped power that strong a shield for that long. He walked slowly across the parking lot toward the building.

I saw with a pang that this particular rest stop had a Wendy's.

When I was a kid, one of the things I'd wished for at every birthday was a Wendy's in Dorf. Mom explained that Dorf was just too small for a fast-food franchise, but I didn't really get it. I mean, I would go every day, right?

Graham was gone for about twenty minutes. When he came back, he was driving a late-model minivan. He also had a big pile of Wendy's bags.

Well, that was one small upside.

"I am not leaving my car behind," Zion said.

Williams shrugged.

Knowing there was no way to argue for my car, I pulled it off onto the grass at the edge of the lot and got into middle row of the minivan with Kara. Williams settled the deer in the way-back, then got behind the wheel. Graham rode shotgun. We pulled out, and Zion followed in the Porsche.

I wondered if Williams had put some kind of invisibility working around my car. Either way, I doubted I'd ever see it again. The maintenance people would start mowing the grass in a month or so, and when they did, they'd find it the hard way.

Kara, who'd woken up for the change of vehicles, glanced over at me.

"Tomorrow you should call and report it stolen."

"Yeah."

She and I rooted through the food and chose our poisons. I got a cheeseburger and fries.

"Kara, did Zion fill you in on what happened back there?"

"Yeah. In between all the swearing, I think I got most of the story. I'm glad I missed it. She's usually pretty cool about stuff, but she was shitting herself."

She grinned lopsidedly and looked a little like her old self. She must've needed the food.

"Do you think the green man is still following us?"

"Oh yeah. It'll never give up on your _dear_ sister-in-law. Get it?" She grinned at her own pun and stuffed a handful of fries in her mouth. "Green men are the best trackers out there, and that one's really strong. Plus, it was totally waiting for us back there in the marsh. I bet it wants to bag us, too."

I couldn't suppress the shudder. "So what do we do?"

"Hope it was hurt bad enough that we got a good head start. It's not like they can fly or something. It'll have to follow us by car."

The thought of that spastic thing driving was unsettling.

"Can you tell me anything else about them?"

"Sure. They're body-snatchers. When they catch you, they spread themselves all over you like a second skin and sink right in. Once they're in you, they can control you. This one probably planned to catch Justine that way and then walk her right back through the open strait. Probably just means to kill the rest of us. That's my guess, at least." She shrugged. "I've never actually seen one. You're getting the textbook version of things."

She turned to the front seat. "Anything to add, fuckface?"

Both men glanced back, which was pretty funny. Neither one said anything.

"So it would've found the nearest person with a car and taken them over, then followed us?"

"Yep. And before you ask, switching cars like we did won't help."

"How can we get away from it, then?"

"We can't. We need to reach Lord Cordus or some other worker who's strong enough to kill it."

She settled back in her seat and shot an angry glance at the back of Williams's head.

"All right, seeing as how I was _drained_ , I'm going back to sleep, now."

I tried to give her a smile, but my mouth didn't want to make the shape. The thought of the creature hunting us through the darkness, crazed and inhuman and relentless, was horrifying.

Someone touched me, and I jerked awake. It was Williams.

"Your turn," he said, holding out the keys.

Groggily, I got out. How long had we been driving? It was pitch black out. I checked my watch. It was after 10:00. The minivan's GPS said we were in central Pennsylvania, so we were pretty close.

"I have to pee," I said, embarrassed.

Williams jerked his head at the side of the road. I hesitated.

"I'll go with," Kara said, sliding gingerly out of her seat. "You'll probably have to help me."

For some reason, that made it less embarrassing.

It didn't make it any less scary, though. As soon as I went around the cars, all I could see ahead was darkness. Which I now knew contained monsters. You might think turning my back on all that night and dropping trou would've been a great "up yours!" moment, but instead it just scared me.

By the time we got back, people had shuffled around. Now Williams was driving Zion's car and Graham was riding with him. Zion had claimed shotgun in the minivan and was almost asleep already. Kara stretched out in the middle row, and I climbed into the driver's seat. I hoped there wasn't too much farther to go. From up here I wouldn't be able to check on the deer.

We started up. The Porsche pulled out first, and I followed. Driving the minivan hardly felt like driving. It was more like floating along on a cloud. I had no problem hitting ninety and keeping it there.

Unfortunately, my enjoyment of the vehicle was short-lived. We went under an overpass, and something hit the roof with a crash, denting it way in, then swung down hard against the passenger side. The van rocked wildly to the right, and everything slowed down as the world tilted. Then the roof crunched again and we crashed back down onto all four wheels. Zion shouted something, but I couldn't understand her.

The roof peeled away with a weird tearing noise, showering us with pebbled glass. The air rushed in. Instinctively, I jammed both feet down on the brake. The antilock brakes kicked in with a stutter. Something large and dark flew off us and skidded down the road in front of me.

The green man.

"Go, go, go!" Zion shouted.

She wanted me to run it down.

It righted itself. Its dark form was hard to distinguish from the road, but I could see its teeth glimmering in the headlights, and patches of its skin blazed green as it moved.

I noticed it had talons. "Rip-the-roof-off-your-car" talons.

No way was I driving at that thing. It would tear the van apart. I cranked the wheel left and drove into the median. The minivan took it like a champ, bouncing over the uneven ground without tipping. We came out on the westbound side and I hit the gas.

I thought we'd made it. Then the van lurched and the green man's head popped up outside what was left of Kara's window, like some sick jack-in-the-box, grinning and cackling. It was clinging to the side of the van. Kara yelled and brought her gun up, but the creature ducked and climbed back along the side. I could hear its claws ripping through the metal. Kara took a couple shots at it, then Zion started shooting toward the rear. The inside mirror was hanging broken, so I couldn't see where the thing was.

I yelled, "Don't shoot the deer!"

We were coming back to the underpass. I thought the green man had climbed around to the passenger side — I could see a dark shape in the outside mirror. I veered back into the median and aimed for the underpass's central pillar.

Zion looked forward and shouted, "Shit! Ryder!"

We reached the pillar. I was a little closer than I'd planned to be, so we not only lost the mirror, but also the door handles. The van rebounded into the eastbound lanes.

"Did I get it?" I shouted.

"I don't see anything in the road," Zion shouted back.

"I think it's still on us!" Kara yelled, sounding panicked.

"Can you see it?"

"No!"

_Shit_. Plus we were driving the wrong way on the interstate. Good thing it was the middle of the night. A truck barreled past us, horn booming. No one was keeping up our barrier, I guess.

I slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel, aiming to do one of those power-slide turns you see in the movies. Instead we spun out and ended up sideways, halfway off the shoulder. Heart pounding, I turned back onto the road and gunned it.

"Where is it?" I yelled.

Zion and Kara were huddled toward the center of the vehicle, one watching the passenger side and the other the driver's side. I glanced in the only mirror we still had, on the driver's side. Nothing along the outside of the car, there.

"It's in! It's in!" Kara shrieked.

"Get down!" Zion shouted, and opened fire.

Ears ringing, I risked a look back and saw the horrid thing flowing over the ruined rear window, right into the space where the deer was lying. I jerked the minivan into the median and stopped. We all piled out and ran around to the back of the van. Zion had her gun trained on what was left of the rear door. Kara gave her gun to me and got out her phone.

"Zion. Don't shoot her."

"Like hell I won't," she said, her voice shaking.

"I'm serious. That's my sister-in-law. Don't."

The Porsche roared up, and Williams and Graham jumped out.

Something moved inside the van, rocking it slightly. Then a dark shaped leapt out and hit the ground running. Williams reached out and the shape tumbled to the ground.

We all approached. It was the deer, but now it was the color of the green man — dull black, like a chalkboard, with shimmering patches of green where a passing headlight caught it just so. Williams must've encased it in a small sphere. I couldn't sense the barrier itself, but the deer was all balled up.

Kara sat down heavily.

"Girl, that was some sick driving. Sick."

I hoped she meant "sick" in a good way.

Oddly, I didn't feel frightened. Maybe it was because I'd been the one doing things instead of getting things done to me. I remembered I hadn't felt afraid after the thing at the mill, either.

Graham and Williams turned to survey the minivan.

They were holding hands.

_Oh my god, hilarious_. I put both hands over my mouth to hold in the laughter. It was so not the time for that. If I pissed Williams off right now, I'd get to play battery instead of Graham.

The van was trashed, so we abandoned it. Williams stuffed the green-man-covered deer, still in its barrier, into the Porsche's trunk, which was already pretty full of gear. Then he and Graham got in back. I perched in between them, though there wasn't actually a seat there, just a flat console for drinks and doo-dads. Kara took the front passenger seat, and Zion drove.

"Sure not falling asleep anymore," she said, shaking her head. "Damn."

Graham lasted about an hour. Then he started to look sick and faint. I held my hand out to Williams, absolutely dreading it.

"Just relax. Let it happen," he said impatiently.

I nodded, but the advice didn't really help. If anything, realizing that he was already annoyed with me made me tenser.

Some part of him slid into me and pulled something out. The barrier he was working sprang into my awareness, small and dense and rigid in the trunk of the car. He pulled more out of me. It hurt just as much as last time, only this time it didn't stop.

"Goddamn it," he growled, frustrated.

I tried to allow it, tried to be open. Lord knows, I didn't want Justine to get away any more than he did. But it seemed wholly out of my control. It was like I couldn't tell what he was taking, so I couldn't release it to him.

It was beyond horrible — the pain, the sense of violation. Soon enough, I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Kara leaned back between the seats.

"Beth, I'm going to sedate you, okay?"

I nodded, hiccupping and gasping. She took the arm Williams wasn't holding and injected something. Almost immediately, my muscles loosened. I slumped back against Graham and drifted, only vaguely aware of what was happening to me. I knew it was something bad, but it didn't seem to matter much anymore.

# Chapter 14

I surfaced slowly. I was lying on a hard surface. Something was buzzing. Someone was bending over me. Focusing was a struggle. Annoying. I turned my face away. The floor was pleasantly cool and solid. My arms and legs felt heavy, immobile. There was a touch. Someone was touching me. I didn't want to be touched anymore. No more invasion, no more pain. I pushed away, whimpering. I felt myself held and began to struggle.

Suddenly, my head cleared. A strange man was bending over me, touching my face. He was the single most arresting person I'd ever seen. He had a languid, almost bored expression, but I also got the sense of tremendous energy running beneath the surface.

He was astonishingly beautiful — to the point of unreality. He was more like a work of art. Every lock of glossy black hair hung just so around his face. His mouth looked sculpted with light in mind, so that shadows would offset its shape. His nose was bold, faintly aquiline.

I looked into his eyes. Each brown iris contained a tawny starburst pattern, which shifted as his pupils contracted. His complexion was olive and completely even, like he'd not only never aged, but never had a pimple, never scratched a bug bite, never gotten razor burn.

He was no more human than the green man.

This must be Cordus.

I stared up at him, awestruck.

He held my gaze for several long seconds, then looked away, releasing me.

"Have you stolen her capacity?" he asked.

That was definitely the super-sexy voice I'd heard on the phone. His tone reminded me of the one Graham had used when he confronted Williams and Kara in my living room — barely interested, yet menacing. So this was what Graham had been imitating. Palely.

"No, My Lord," Kara said from behind me. "She consented, but she didn't know how to share. It was hurting her, so I sedated her. She consented to that, too."

You couldn't mistake the fear in her voice.

There was one of those long pauses I remembered from talking to him on the phone. Then he looked back down at me.

"Is this true?"

I nodded.

I couldn't have spoken for the world. He terrified me in a way Williams didn't. With Williams, I was frightened of getting hurt, getting killed. Those were terrible things, but at least I could conceive of them. Cordus made me aware that I could suffer the unimaginable.

"Very well," he said.

Kara let out a shaky breath.

He straightened and moved away from me. I stood up and did a quick survey. I was in the grand entryway of what seemed to be a large, opulent house. Everything was white marble shot with pale gray. The central space was at least sixty feet across. Matching staircases swept up either side. A massive silver chandelier sparkled above us, its tiny lights irregularly spaced. It was a beautiful room, but cold and impersonal.

Kara and Zion were standing behind me. Williams and Graham were standing behind them. Neither man looked happy to be there, but the similarity stopped there. Graham was trembling and looking down, clearly terrified. Williams, in contrast, was tracking Cordus like a wolf watching its prey for weakness.

Boy, talk about getting things mixed up — like a wolf stalking a T. rex.

The deer, still wearing the green man, was standing behind everyone, as though it had bolted for the door. It was clearly immobilized.

Cordus walked over to it. "A green man, hunting one of my people, within my territory. How singular. Your ambassador will have much to explain."

He gripped the loose skin at the deer's throat and tore the green man off of it. The deer collapsed and lay still. For a few seconds, the green man hung there like a flayed deerskin. Then it shivered into its familiar shape. Cordus had it by the neck. It dangled from his fist, for a moment, then began squirming and snapping and hissing.

Its talons caught Cordus in the side.

He flinched, then smiled and said, "That was ill-advised, young one."

The green man brought its right hand up and flexed its clawed fingers. They were tipped with Cordus's blood.

Then the creature reached across its body and, screeching, dug a chunk of flesh out of its own left arm. It dropped the tissue on the floor with a wet plop and dug out another piece.

I watched, horrified.

"Why is Lord Limu hunting this individual?" Cordus asked, drawing the green man's face close.

It continued mutilating its own arm, writhing and screaming as it did so. With a terrible shock, I realized Cordus was forcing the creature to injure itself. I swallowed convulsively, struggling not to throw up on that nice marble floor.

Cordus gazed into the green man's crazed eyes for several long minutes as it tore away chunk after chunk of its arm, until only bones and ligaments remained. He seemed wholly unbothered by its agony.

Then it started in on its belly. Cordus set it down on the floor, and we all stood there, watching it kill itself. It ripped away almost its entire abdomen before it finally died, its hoarse screams fading into whimpers, then gurgling breaths, then silence.

The stench of blood and feces was overpowering. I couldn't believe what I'd just witnessed.

Cordus said, "Mr. Williams."

Williams's fingers twitched, and the green man's remains drew together into a ball. He bent and picked the mass up by whatever invisible netting was holding it together, and headed outside with it.

Cordus turned to us. If he'd found something out from the creature, he didn't share it.

"You may refresh yourselves and rest in your quarters. I shall speak with you in the morning."

Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he turned to me.

"Miss Ryder, you will attend me now."

I stood watching Cordus examine the deer. He'd had it carried to what looked like a guest bedroom and laid on the bed. He'd spent some minutes passing his hands over its body without actually touching it.

I found myself mesmerized by his fingers, which were long and graceful, like a pianist's. I was terrified of him but couldn't stop looking. My eyes strayed to his side, where his shirt was ripped and a little bloody. I wanted to touch him.

"She is alive, but weakened," he said, jolting me back to attention. "I assume her trip here was neither easy nor pleasant."

He turned to me.

"Miss Ryder, do you believe this animal to be your sister-in-law, Justine Jenson Ryder?"

God, I was going to have to talk to him.

"Um, I don't know." I searched for something else to say. "Zion was sure it was her."

"I sense only an animal. _Odocoileus virginianus_ , to be exact." He tilted his head to one side and studied me. "Why was Zion so certain?"

Haltingly, I told him about taking Zion to Ben's house, and about her inability to sense anything other than a human woman there until I passed on the advice from Ghosteater.

Cordus observed me again in silence. Finally he said, "'Unfinished' and 'fragment'? The beast used those words, specifically?"

"I think so. That's what I remember, anyway."

"Fascinating," he murmured, turning back to the deer.

He passed his hands over it once more without touching it and then reached down and cupped its nose in his palm.

The reaction was sudden and violent. The deer's eyes shot open and it took a great, shuddering breath. Then it exploded into hundreds of small blue spheres that looked soft, almost fluid, like globules of paint. A few more spheres popped into existence, then all of them regrouped and became Justine. She lay naked on the bed, moaning groggily. The entire transformation took maybe three seconds and made no sound whatsoever.

Slowly, I got up off the floor. I didn't feel too bad about my reaction. Even Cordus had taken a quick step back when the deer exploded. He stood there, looking down and rubbing his chin. No more bored look — I could see his eyes tracking back and forth. He was thinking furiously.

After a few seconds, he went to Justine and touched her arm. She relaxed into unconsciousness. Then he turned to me.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder, I charge you to reveal nothing of what you have seen here. You will not speak or sing of it or depict it in a work of art. You will not encourage another to guess at it. You will not allude to it indirectly through the use of analogy or any other figure of speech. You will take no action that you suspect might violate this charge, even if I have not specifically forbade that action herein."

All that seemed to call for a formal response, so I said, "I understand."

He stared at me. "You must not only understand the charge, Miss Ryder, but agree to abide by it."

"Right. Yes, I agree," I said, flustered.

He looked around. "I shall have a second bed brought to this room. I am certain Mrs. Ryder will be confused and frightened when she wakes. Perhaps it will help if she is greeted by a familiar face."

"Okay," I said, "but she doesn't like me. I don't know how helpful it'll be to have me here."

I flushed and looked down, annoyed with myself. Why had I told him that? I didn't want him to know any more about me than he already did.

"Why does she dislike you?"

I shrugged. "Jealous of the time her husband spends with me? I don't know. It doesn't matter."

He did the head-tilt thing again. "Perhaps she recognized you for what you are and feared you would reveal her."

That hadn't occurred to me. Huh.

"I shall leave you for the night. Members of my household will see to your needs. Until tomorrow."

He inclined his head, then turned and walked out.

I let out a long breath. That hadn't been nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

Then again, the green man probably would have disagreed.

Cordus wasn't entirely right about Justine. She was confused when she woke up, all right, but "angry" would have been more accurate than "frightened." She basically just sat up in bed and started screaming at me — since I was right there, clearly the whole thing was my fault. The central points of her tirade were that I was going to jail for kidnapping and that she was going to sue me.

I wasn't surprised. I also wasn't upset — with what I'd seen in the last week and a half, Justine in full threat display just wasn't disturbing anymore.

"So," I said, when I could finally get a word in, "you don't remember turning into a deer and running off into the woods, abandoning your husband and children?"

She stared at me, seemingly speechless.

"You're crazy. Oh my god. You've gone crazy."

She bunched a bed sheet around herself and backed toward the door, feeling around behind herself for the knob. The door swung open, and she darted down the hall, yelling for help.

Too bad I couldn't scare everyone else off that effectively. It'd be nice to be feared instead of fearful, for a change.

I didn't bother going after her. I had a feeling people didn't leave Cordus's home without permission. For the moment, Justine wasn't my problem. Thank god.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed but jerked my feet up when they touched cold marble. I looked around the room, which I'd been too tired to take in the night before. It was large — big enough to hold two queen-sized beds, a large sitting area, a standing mirror, a desk, and several bookcases without feeling cramped. Daylight streamed through three tall, sheer-draped windows, giving the pale carpets and bedding a soft glow and making the quartz veins in the floor glitter. The dark woods of the furniture stood out richly against the pale fabrics.

In addition to the exit, the room had two doors. Padding over to one, I found a spacious walk-in closet. The other revealed a bathroom with two sinks and a tub separate from the shower. It also had something I guessed was a bidet. The floors, counters, and walls were marble.

I stood in the entrance to the bathroom, looking around and feeling uncomfortable. The place was luxurious, yes, but it felt impersonal, like a hotel. I noticed a thermostat on the wall and went over to kick it up a few degrees, but it was already set above room temperature.

A hot bath or shower would do the trick. And since Justine was busy running around shrieking, I got first use of the bathroom. I guess there are some benefits to having people think you're nuts.

I locked myself in, then drew a bath and eased in. The water was hot and the shape of the tub was perfect. Slowly, I warmed up. I can't say I totally relaxed, but it did feel nice.

My mind bounced around and settled on Graham. He'd been so scared the night before, standing in Cordus's foyer. I remembered the look on his face. He didn't think Cordus was going to give him a true second chance. You could see it.

But he'd really helped us on the way here. Without his weird luck, the green man would've caught Justine north of Stevens Point, maybe killing one or more of us, too. If it'd gotten her then, Williams never would've been able to keep a shield on her long enough to reach Cordus. Apparently I could give him enough power for an hour or two, but for twelve? Surely not.

And Graham had nearly let Williams drain him, too. Well, maybe he didn't have a choice. Kara had said it was hard to limit what someone took, once you let them in.

I sighed and shifted in the tub. I felt bad about Graham. Yeah, he'd been up to something, but after what I'd seen Cordus do to the green man the night before, I wasn't sure I blamed him. If you worked for a monster, betraying your boss was understandable — maybe even laudable.

But the way Graham went about the betrayal had endangered others. That was profoundly selfish. I shouldn't make him out to be some noble freedom-fighter.

Then again, he hadn't intended to endanger anyone. He'd assumed no one would find out about the strait.

But what about lying to me and trying to seduce me? If he'd been on the up-and-up with me, the thing with the strait might seem more like a one-time lapse, less like a larger pattern of deceitfulness.

_Damn_.

The bath had relaxed me too much — it had let some stuff come up that I really would rather not have thought about. After all, what could I do?

There was a fluffy white robe hanging on the door. I got out and put it on. The fresh scent was comforting. I wondered if Graham had a fresh, fluffy robe in his room.

_Jesus, my brain needs an "Escape" button_.

When I came out, Justine was sitting on her bed, looking scared. A tall, muscular white woman was guarding the door. She looked to be in her late thirties, and I could see she'd lived through some serious injuries. One particularly nasty scar ran from her jaw up into her hairline, pulling her left eye a little askew. She was almost as tough-looking as Williams. Maybe she did the same kind of work. No wonder Justine looked scared.

When she spoke, though, she sounded calm and rational — not exactly friendly, but certainly not psychotic.

"I'm Gwen. You're Elizabeth?"

"Yeah. Hi."

She nodded civilly. "The staff brought both of you some breakfast and some clothes that should fit. Lord Cordus will visit you soon, so you'd both better eat and get dressed."

She gestured at the untouched breakfast tray on Justine's lap. A similar one was waiting on my bed.

"Cordus?" Justine said in a strange tone.

Gwen and I both turned to look at her. She'd visibly relaxed, and the expression on her face was sort of vacant.

"You know Lord Cordus?" I asked.

She frowned. "I don't know." Her eyes roved around, as though searching for some lost thing. "No," she decided, "but he sounds trustworthy."

She started tucking into her breakfast.

"Mmm, this is good."

I looked back at Gwen. "Did you tell her anything about Lord Cordus?"

She shook her head, looking a little perplexed.

Well, whatever. Cordus could work it out.

As it turned out, he couldn't. Justine seemed perfectly relaxed in his presence, even happy to see him, yet maintained that she'd never laid eyes on him. She claimed to have no memory of running away or of turning into a deer. The very idea clearly struck her as ludicrous. Such things were simply impossible, and even if they weren't, she was a normal woman — they were impossible for her.

And yet, when Cordus mentioned returning to Dorf, she blanched and said she couldn't.

But she couldn't come up with a reason why not.

"I just can't," she said, shaking her head and trembling.

The three of us were perched in the suite's sitting area. Cordus had shown up about half an hour after I came out of the bathroom. Gwen had opened the door for him, then left. He'd questioned Justine extensively, while politely declining to answer any of her questions or to let her call Ben.

"Would you feel safer," Cordus said slowly, "if I were to tell you that the green man is dead?"

Justine again visibly relaxed but at the same time said, "Who's the green man?" A second later she said, "I still can't go home."

Then she accused me again of having kidnapped her and flirtatiously asked Cordus to have me arrested.

He sighed, then reached over and casually brushed his fingers over the back of Justine's hand. Instantly, she slumped over, asleep.

_Okay, that's unnerving_.

He sat back, legs crossed, and gently bounced his foot, thinking.

Finally he said, "I do not know what to make of Mrs. Ryder. When she denies any knowledge of me or of what she calls the 'supernatural,' she is telling the truth, yet her own body gives signs of the very knowledge she denies." He looked up at me. "What are your thoughts?"

"You're asking me?"

"Miss Ryder," he said with patience, "you are the only other person who witnessed Mrs. Ryder's transformation early this morning. Thus, you are uniquely positioned to help."

He leaned back again, waiting for my response.

I didn't think the transformation had told me anything except that Justine really was a Second, but I tried to put on my thinking cap. It was either that or sit there staring at him, and if I did that any longer, I was going to have to start thinking about why I was staring.

"Well, it sort of seems like someone erased her memory but didn't get everything. Is that possible?"

He steepled his fingers and watched me. Suddenly I felt like I was being tested.

"There are those who can manipulate memory," he said, "but none I know would do so incomplete a job. Furthermore, her mind bears no sign of meddling."

I thought again.

"Well, she seems to be made of those blue ball things. What if they got put back together in the wrong order, and it messed up her memory?"

"An intriguing possibility," he said. He kept bouncing his foot, though. Apparently, I was expected to come up with a third idea.

"Maybe she's hypnotized herself not to remember certain things."

That sounded pretty lame, even to me, but Cordus looked thoughtful. He tapped his index fingers together in time with his bouncing foot for a while.

The way he used his body was striking. He seemed to cycle between rhythmic motions and intense, pointed stillness. The motion hypnotized me. Then I'd get pinned by the sudden, unexpected focusing of his attention.

Even as I had that thought, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, freezing me in place.

"None of your suggestions account for all the facets of the situation, Miss Ryder, but they are useful nonetheless."

I shifted uneasily under his gaze. Talk about lukewarm praise.

"So," I said, taking the bull by the horns, "what sort of being is she, exactly? I mean, the green man could spread itself all over someone like a second skin, but even it had flesh and blood inside when you... um..."

I stopped, unable to come up with a phrase that didn't sound judgmental.

He looked at me for quite a while. I started to worry.

Finally he said, "Miss Ryder, you will need to learn that it is considered impolite to ask 'what sort of being' a Second might be. We are, each of us, what we are. Some of us are unique in our persons and abilities, while others, such as the green men, breed true and have produced a group of similar individuals."

I must have looked chastened, because he dismissed my _faux pas_ with a wave.

"I know that you do not yet understand such issues of etiquette. I sought to educate, not to criticize. To answer your question — which is, of course, quite relevant — Mrs. Ryder is likely among the unique. I have never encountered another like her. That said, I am not old, even among human-derived Seconds, so there may be much I have not yet encountered."

I was surprised by his candor.

"Is it rude to ask someone's age, too?"

"Yes. Extremely."

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

After some time, he said, "Do you have cause to believe Mrs. Ryder is the biological mother of her children?"

"Definitely. I mean, my brother was in the room when she gave birth to them. Plus, I think her youngest might be one of us," I said, remembering how Ghosteater had sought out Madisyn.

"By 'one of us,' do you mean the child is a Nolander?"

I nodded and tried to suppress a grimace. _No-lander_. Kara hadn't made it up — they really did think of us as homeless floaters. The realization immediately shifted the dynamic between Cordus and me, reminding me that this was not a conversation between equals, or between teacher and student, or even between employer and employee. He was the master, and I had no rights.

"Nolanders account for slightly more than one in one hundred thousand human births," he continued, "so for another to appear in your small town is statistically unlikely. That said, the potential can run in families, so perhaps your brother is the source of your niece's ability."

"I guess."

I doubted it, though. I was pretty sure Ben couldn't do anything out of the ordinary. If he could, he'd sure kept it quiet. But maybe the curse could skip a generation or only appeared in the family's women. Who knows?

After another bout of quiet thought, Cordus stood and told me he expected me to make a court appearance that evening. At first my mind jumped to the idea of legal proceedings, but then I remembered Zion mentioning he had a court, like a monarch. It would be hard to imagine something less up my alley.

"That sounds great, but I don't have anything to wear," I said, hoping for an easy out.

"My staff will prepare you appropriately."

I nodded, trying not to look grim.

"What about Justine?"

"She will be moved to another room and will remain there, under guard, until I understand why she prompted the green man's incursion into my lands."

_What about Graham?_ I thought to myself, but I didn't say it.

Cordus touched Justine to awaken her, then inclined his head politely to me and left.

Surprisingly, I only had to listen to Justine's accusations and complaints for fifteen minutes before Cordus's staffers showed up to move her out and get me ready. That didn't strike me as a good sign — he'd said I'd be going to court in the "evening," and it wasn't quite 2:00 in the afternoon. How much preparation did I need?

The answer: a lot. Cordus's staff was more like an army. At least five people had been working on me, and it had been hours. They wove around one another like needles, darting in and out, stitching together a new me.

Six hours later, I had been given another bath. My hair had been cut, styled, and pinned in a loose up-do. My brows had been plucked. My fingernails, toenails, and cuticles had been shaped and, oddly, oiled lightly rather than polished. Every inch of my skin had been gone over with tweezers, exfoliators, and moisturizers.

I had been made up meticulously. My pale skin was completely even. Every blemish had been eradicated, not with makeup but by an actual healer — I guess Kara wasn't the only one with that gift. My lips were a muted pink, only a little different from their actual color. What at first seemed like an odd combination of smoky and light pink eye shadow made my gray eyes look arrestingly pale and strange, instead of boring.

The dress they put on me was like nothing I'd ever seen, much less worn. It was made mostly of muted black silk that hugged my upper torso, was belted loosely with a ribbon, then fell in a soft sheath to the floor. A high side slit showed a substantial amount of leg. The thin shoulder straps and the breast were a creamy silver color and were finely detailed with delicate crystal-and-pearl florets. The unadorned black body of the dress made the decorative top stand out beautifully. The top, in turn, made me stand out quite nicely, pressing up my modest breasts and making the most of them with a tastefully small V-shaped central slit. It didn't so much show cleavage as suggest it.

The dress was matched with a pair of open-back black satin pumps with a slender T-strap. Small leaves created from tiny white gems were scattered down the central strap and across the tops of the toes. The shoes put me within a couple inches of six feet, which was cool. So long as I didn't fall down.

Despite the obvious expense of everything else, the sheer black thigh-highs were somehow the biggest shock. I'd never worn that kind of stocking before. They felt perverse — like they'd been invented for the sole purpose of letting you have sex without taking off a scrap of clothing.

The stockings exemplified how strange I felt as I stood in front of the mirror, ogling myself. If I'd seen yesterday, hanging on a wall somewhere, a framed picture of what I was seeing now, I truly wouldn't have recognized myself.

It was disconcerting.

In the last few days, I'd found out that I was someone different on the inside than I thought I was — potentially powerful but flawed, not free, maybe not mentally ill but maybe not quite human. Now, who I thought I was on the outside had vanished as well. I mean, even if I came back to my room tonight, showered, and put my jeans and sweater back on, I'd always know I _could_ look like this.

I turned this way and that. Maybe my womanly sensuality and power had been brought to the fore, giving me a whole new set of weapons.

Or maybe I'd just been gussied up into high-class arm candy.

The latter seemed a lot more likely.

I heard a low whistle from the doorway and looked up. Kara and Zion had come to collect me. Both were gawking.

"You look really different," Zion finally said.

I wasn't sure it was a compliment.

Kara elbowed her.

"What Zion means is you look totally hot."

Zion shook her head. "Not 'hot.' 'Hot' sounds trashy. That isn't trashy."

A tailor was still on his knees making the last alterations to my dress. Zion and Kara stood there watching him work.

I could tell that neither of them had had the benefit of the full "staff" treatment. Kara was wearing a pretty little black cocktail dress and heels. The dress had a slender line of white ribbon running along the neckline. It looked really nice on her, showing off her great curves without revealing too much, but even I could tell it wasn't an expensive outfit, and it hadn't been custom fitted.

Zion had probably sunk quite a bit more into her vintage black flapper dress and strappy heels. Plus, she was wearing a truly extraordinary diamond barrette in her long hair. Given the Porsche, I was guessing the stones were real. The dress hung beautifully on her tall, lean frame. Strings of tiny black glass beads tinkled all over it as she moved. It was really striking. She also had a fur coat, whereas Kara's was wool.

But I had a feeling what I was wearing could buy the best house in Dorf. Maybe the second- and third-best houses, too, with the Porsche thrown in as a bonus. And there was all the special attention to my skin, hair, and makeup, too.

I started feeling like some 4-H kid's hog going to the county fair. I'd been washed and brushed like crazy, and now I was going to be paraded around so the judges could assess the depth and leanness of my ham. I was Cordus's latest acquisition. He was going to show me off to my best advantage — or rather, to his best advantage.

Zion must've noticed the look on my face. "Court appearances get easier after the first one."

I nodded, appreciating the effort. Zion seemed like a tough customer. She probably didn't put on the comforting hat very often.

I noticed Kara didn't say anything, though she did give me a little smile and a shrug when I caught her eye. She looked pale, actually.

"You okay, Kara? Are you back to normal now?"

"Not really. I mean, I'm okay to be up and around, but I need another day or two to be a hundred percent."

The tailor finished working on the dress and went over to the huge rolling wardrobe he'd brought with him. He pulled out a coat made of some short, glossy black fur.

"Let's get this show on the road," Kara said, squaring her shoulders. The tailor helped me into the coat, and Zion, Kara, and I headed down the hall. After a few steps, I realized Kara was shaking. Either she was less well than she'd said, or she was terrified.

I had imagined Cordus "held court" in some ballroom in the huge house we'd been staying in, but the coats suggested otherwise. Kara and Zion walked me down three floors, into an underground basement, through a tunnel, and then up into a massive garage. We found the Porsche and headed out. Several other cars had left just before us. I could see their tail lights winding downhill as we drove away from the house.

The drive was pleasant — mostly woodlands, with an occasional development or shopping center on the right.

As we drove, Kara gave me some pointers. Some seemed like common sense: don't stare at Seconds; don't touch them; be polite and deferential. Some were less obvious: don't ask any questions, not even in making small talk; don't withdraw from a conversation without leave; never show surprise; don't eat or drink unless they do; don't turn your back on them unless you're at least ten feet away; don't agree to do anything for them.

"What if they ask me to point them to the bathroom or to get them a drink?" I said.

She shook her head. "Definitely don't get them anything to eat or drink. And they can find the bathroom on their own. Just say you don't know."

Zion added, "Say something like, 'I'll just ask Lord Cordus which of his wines he thinks you would like best.' That tells them you're onto their game. Unless they're looking for an excuse to get into it with him, they'll back down."

I'd never felt more like a rube. I'd need luck to get through the evening in one piece.

The traffic didn't seem heavy, though I knew we must be close to New York City. After about fifteen minutes, we crossed what Kara said was the G.W. Bridge, then took a highway that put the river out our right window. Unfortunately, I couldn't see much — just the twinkle of lights on the far side.

We went around a traffic circle and dove into the city proper. I'd never seen anything like it. The buildings pressed in on us from all sides, and there were cars everywhere, especially taxis. They seemed to have no sense of a safe distance from other vehicles. I was constantly sure one was going to clip us.

Although it was night, the streets were brightly illuminated. I found myself wondering how anyone ever got to sleep in such a place. Blackout curtains on every window?

Perhaps strangest to my eye was the lack of greenery. Small trees dotted the sidewalks, or lined the center median, but mostly it was stone atop stone, punctuated with metal. It all looked hard and alien.

Our destination turned out to be an imposing building, massive and boxy on the bottom, but topped with slender matching towers. It curved partway round a big traffic circle. The many lighted rectangular windows gave it a stacked look that reminded me of Legos.

We turned onto a street that ran along one side of the building. I'd thought from the front that it contained commercial space, but the entrance we pulled up to looked residential.

A valet, a buff young Asian guy, was waiting to take the car. He gave me an appreciative look as I stepped out. I felt myself blush.

"Hey, Koji," Zion said as she got out of the car. "Not going to scratch her up, are you?"

Koji eyeballed the Porsche. "Fugly car like that, you should thank me if I did."

"Huh. I hear envy."

"Not even. That thing looks like a station wagon."

Zion snorted. "You get your GT-R yet?"

"Nah. Almost ready to take the plunge, though. Any day now."

"Perfect car for you, Koji: a ricer for a —"

"Don't say it, woman. Your hotness will not save you."

She grinned.

"Hey," she said, sobering up, "anything we should know?"

Koji glanced around. "Lady Innin's up there."

"Seriously?" Kara asked.

"Yep. Keep your heads down."

Zion grimaced. "Thanks."

At that point, Koji looked at me over Zion's shoulder, so she turned and introduced me. I put my hand out to shake and blushed all over again when he swept it up dramatically and kissed it, then winked at me.

A doorman let us in. Zion and Kara seemed to know him, too, but didn't stop to chat. He took us into an elevator, using a special key to send it to a top floor.

After he stepped out, the doors closed and the elevator began to rise sluggishly. To pass the time, I asked if Koji and the doorman were Nolanders.

"Yeah," Zion said. "Couldn't you feel it when you touched Koji's hand?"

I shook my head.

"That's... strange," Zion said, looking appalled.

"She also can't see workings," Kara said. "Halfings, yeah, but not the full ones. Weird, huh?"

"Yeah," Zion said. "I've never heard of that happening."

She looked me over, eyebrows knit. I felt like someone with a rare disease surrounded by astonished medical students.

"Graham didn't even try to do something about it — just tested her for gifts. As if she'd get a gift before seeing workings. Can you believe that?"

"I don't think he knew —"

Zion cut me off. "Sure I can believe it. He didn't want her looking into that strait you had sitting open up there, right? You can't see workings, you can't see a strait — simple as that."

Kara looked stunned. Then her surprise turned to anger.

"That bastard! He really was trying to get us killed."

"What does seeing workings have to do with knowing someone's a Nolander?" I said, feeling uncomfortable and hoping to get them off the subject of Graham.

Still steaming, Kara explained that normally you can get a general feel for someone else's capacity to work essence by touching them. "It's like your power senses their power. You can definitely tell if they're able to work essence or not. Often you can tell how strong they are, especially if they're weaker than you. That's why you won't see Seconds touching each other very often — not skin to skin."

"I guess that's another way my development's screwed up."

"I'm sure it'll be okay," Kara said.

"Do you think I'll get a replacement trainer?"

Zion cleared her throat. "I heard Lord Cordus wants to teach you himself."

Kara shot me a glance that was pure horror, then quickly looked away.

"As for telling who's a Nolander," Zion said, filling the uncomfortable silence, "just look for black clothes. Seconds generally don't like wearing black, so that's what we wear at events where we'll be mixing with them. Those of us with significant strength wear a little silver or white, like my barrette or the trim on Kara's dress, but that's it."

Koji and the doorman had both been wearing all black. I looked down at the beautiful beaded top of my dress. Not only were the straps whitish, but the top four or so inches of the dress were too.

"Yeah," Kara said, following my gaze. "That's a lot of white."

"Am I going to get in trouble?" I would've thought Cordus's staff knew the rules.

Zion shook her head. "If that's what Lord Cordus's staff put on you, that's what he wants you to wear." She paused. "It just means you're very strong — the more white, the more power. He's decided to advertise your potential."

"I wonder how much white he'd put on Callie. If he ever got her down here, I mean," Kara mused, looking at my dress.

Before I could think of anything else to say, the doors hissed open. The elevator, along with several others, emptied onto a marble hallway. There were attendants waiting at one end to take our coats. They both looked like tough customers, so maybe they were guards as well as coat-checkers.

After handing off my fur, I followed Zion through a short hallway into a large room, with Kara trailing behind.

I'd been vaguely imagining some medieval scene — everyone standing around watching Cordus sitting on a dais at the end of some ornately decorated hall. Maybe he'd even be on a throne, like a king.

What I'd walked into looked more like a hoity-toity cocktail party. We were in what seemed to be a very large living room. It stretched dozens of feet to both the right and left. The floor was carpeted, and people were standing around in clusters, chatting and drinking. Some were seated at various furniture groupings. Some stood alone or with just one other, near the walls. A few were standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the cityscape. I couldn't see much, with all the people in the way, but it seemed we were up pretty high.

The good news was that no one paid us the slightest attention when we came in. The bad news was that the room was full of Seconds. Most had a human shape, but some were bizarre, and a few were terrifying.

I saw a green man standing off to the right. The fact that it was holding a glass of wine and chatting cordially with someone made it all the more disturbing. Something in the room's lighting made its skin fluoresce green all over, as though it were made of foil. Or maybe it could control the effect and was showing off.

I saw a snowman that reminded me, with a sharp twinge, of Bob. The snowman was speaking to something that looked like a miniature elephant.

Across the room, a towering, pale pink, batlike creature hulked near the windows. I could see its grossly long folded arms, pouchy with membranous wings, jutting up above the heads of those standing nearby. I was staring at it, so of course it looked my way. Incongruously, it had the face of a jowly old man, complete with rheumy eyes and a thin, gray comb-over. I quickly looked away.

"Big crowd," Kara said softly at my shoulder.

I nodded. Zion moved away, into the press, but I stood there frozen.

Even the human-shaped Seconds were clearly _other_ to my eyes. As with Cordus's impossible beauty, there was something about each of them that was off. The more I looked at them, the more disturbing they became. They were the non-human stuffed into almost-human packaging. It was eerie, wrong. The idea of walking among them was frightening.

Kara moved forward and took my arm. Again, I could feel her shaking.

"Come on, let's get a drink," she said.

We threaded our way through the crowd to a small bar set up in one corner. Kara introduced me to the barkeep, a pleasant-looking middle-aged white guy dressed all in black. His name was Hank. He too gave me an admiring once-over. My feeling of being on display intensified.

Glasses of white wine in hand, we moved to the windows. The view was stunning. Directly ahead, we looked down on several smaller skyscrapers, then a mixture of tall buildings and smaller ones. Looking slightly left, far taller buildings marched away for blocks and blocks, including some that looked familiar, even to a girl from small-town Wisconsin.

"That's the Empire State Building," Kara said helpfully.

I could see the top of it clearly, bathed in white light. We stood for a few minutes in silence. Kara kept bringing her glass to her lips, then lowering it. I imagined she really wanted to down it, but kept reminding herself it wouldn't be a good idea. That was certainly what I was thinking.

The reflection of movement behind us caught my eye. I looked back to see the snowman I'd noticed earlier looming over us.

"You are Elizabeth Ryder, are you not?" it rumbled.

"Yes," I answered, bowing my head in a way I hoped looked respectful. I felt Kara draw closer behind me.

The snowman observed me quietly for several seconds. It made me uncomfortable, but at least there was nothing overtly sexual in its perusal.

"I have heard that you brought death to one of my people," it said at last.

I looked up at its face. Its expression was not as neutral as its voice had been. Despite the inhumanity of its features, I could see sadness there.

I teared up. I couldn't help it.

"I guess I did," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Will you offer no reason?"

I explained about the photograph I'd taken of Bob's foot and how it'd been passed around in Pete's Eats.

The creature sighed. "A more absurd cause of death can hardly be imagined. Who ordered the execution, and who carried it out?"

"With all due respect, Lady Ambassador," Kara said from behind me, "that's something you should probably take up with Lord Cordus."

The snowman's eyes flicked briefly over my shoulder at her, then focused on me again.

"I certainly shall. But for now I am asking Miss Ryder."

I took a deep breath. "All I've heard is hearsay. I won't pass that along as though it were fact. I'm sorry."

Kara stopped breathing. I felt her take hold of my elbow.

"Perhaps this is an issue we should discuss privately, Lady Ambassador," a super-sexy voice said from behind the snowman.

The creature stepped aside with surprising grace, revealing Cordus.

"Gnaeus Cornelius Marci Filius Cordus," it said, and bowed. "I will look forward to discussing the fate of my kinsman, at your convenience."

It nodded at Kara and me, inclined its head to Cordus, and moved away.

Cordus turned toward us.

"Elizabeth Joy Ryder, you look quite lovely," he said, looking me slowly up and down.

You'd think I'd have been used to it by that point, but I blushed hotly. His eyes dwelt on my face and neck, perhaps enjoying my evident embarrassment. Usually I looked down when I blushed, since it made me so self-conscious, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. I just stared back.

Finally, his gaze shifted over my shoulder.

"Kara Dolores Sanchez," he said in a different voice, one that tugged at my insides even though it wasn't directed at me.

Kara gasped, and her hand tightened painfully on my arm. I felt her press her face against my bare shoulder. Cordus let the moment hang. He seemed to be enjoying it.

Then he smiled slightly and said, "I would speak with Miss Ryder alone."

Cut free, Kara wrenched herself away from me and stumbled off into the crowd.

Cordus watched her go, then turned back to me. He was wearing a slim-cut white shirt and dark pants. I absolutely was not going to look down to get more specific than that on the color. My heart was still racing from catching the edge of what he'd directed at Kara.

"You handled your interaction with the Lady Ambassador reasonably well, Miss Ryder. However, the death of the ice man in Wisconsin is not your responsibility. You had no cause to apologize."

Burgundy. His pants were burgundy.

_Oh my god, what is wrong with me?_

"On the next such occasion, it would be best simply to refer the matter to me, as Miss Sanchez attempted."

Huh. It would've been nice if he'd complimented Kara, rather than tormenting her and then praising her once she was gone.

"Come," he said, holding out his arm.

I really didn't want to touch him, but there wasn't much choice. I settled my hand on his forearm — which was covered by his shirtsleeve, thank god — and followed along as he led me through the crowd.

Over the next two hours, he stopped and spoke to at least twenty guests. He greeted each one formally, but the long names quickly blended together in my mind. Not a single one of them addressed me, but most seemed to notice me. Several gave my dress a pointed look. A few others revealed displeasure before schooling their features.

They all made me nervous, but the last — a tiny, caramel-complexioned woman with curly black hair and pretty, delicate features — was the only one who really scared me. She was wearing a pair of loose blood-red pants and a matching sleeveless top. The female Seconds seemed to prefer gowns, so her look stood out. They also seemed to like height, but this one was making no effort to look taller than her five-foot-nothing: she was wearing red beaded flats.

She studied me very directly as Cordus greeted her, which the others hadn't done. Finally she turned to him and nodded, greeting him by name.

Then, apropos of nothing, she said, "I will give you Florida for this one."

I was shocked, then flooded with horror. I didn't want to go with that woman, whoever she was. I glanced at Cordus and saw that he was quite surprised himself. He'd actually arched an eyebrow.

A pained silence ensued. Was he considering it? Surely it was a good deal — I couldn't really be worth a whole state.

Finally he said, "Thank you for so handsome an offer, my Lady, but I must decline."

Then he stood there chatting with the woman. She wasn't much of a small-talker, so the conversation was a bit stilted. Maybe she just had trouble keeping up her end because she was so busy staring at me like I was a prize steer.

Cordus finally moved on from the tiny woman. Instead of greeting another guest, he steered me to a dark corner, where a large someone in all black was standing. It was Williams. Great.

"Miss Ryder needs to rest," Cordus said to him. "Keep her company."

Cordus smiled briefly at me — _Good girl_ , I imagined him saying — and moved back off into the crowd. I was left standing there awkwardly.

Well, whatever. At least Williams was human. Sort of.

"Do you know who that small black-haired woman is?" I asked him.

"Lady Innin."

Shit. The one Koji had mentioned.

"Is she someone important?"

"A great power. Controls the Caribbean and the Gulf — Florida, eastern Mexico, Central America, northern South America."

Wow. I wondered if she was stronger than Cordus. I felt chilled.

"She just offered to trade Florida for me."

Williams turned and looked at me. Perhaps I'd actually surprised him. Or maybe not. After a few seconds, he shrugged and said, "Florida's gonna be underwater in fifty years, anyway."

No doubt he was trying to be an asshole, but it struck me as funny. Or maybe laughter was just my response to stress. Whatever the reason, I had to clap my hands over my mouth and turn to the wall until I got a handle on myself.

Not much happened for the remainder of the evening. Kara found her way back to me, and we hung out quietly near Williams. Gwen and Zion both drifted by, drinks in hand. Just to be sure, I asked Kara if Graham were there.

"Are you kidding? That sonovabitch is in a world of hurt. No way is Lord Cordus letting him out to play."

I saw the memory of our elevator conversation flit across her face.

She frowned. "Ratfink bastard."

I stifled the impulse to defend him. What did I know? Maybe he'd been negligent not to realize I didn't start seeing full workings along with halfings.

After another hour or so, guests began to leave. Eventually, only Cordus and his people were left. Cordus headed into his study to make some calls, and the rest of us hung out in the living room while our cars were brought around.

I got to put names to some new faces. In addition to Hank, there were two other bartenders, Hortensia and Bud. Kristin, James, and Rafiki had been circulating with drinks and hors d'oeuvre. Mary and Valerie had been working in the kitchen. The bruisers taking coats were Andy and Theo.

Looking around at everyone, I started to get a sense of how things worked. Nolanders with less strength or power, or whatever you called it, did lower-status jobs: the waiters, caterers, and bartenders were all wearing all black. Koji and the doorman, who was named Grant, had been too. I'd bet Cordus's estate staff were in the same category.

In contrast, Kara, Zion, Gwen, and I, who were all wearing some white, had been circulating freely among the guests. Andy and Theo, the coat-checkers-slash-guards, were also wearing white — folded pocket handkerchiefs and silver cufflinks. Maybe we were the security detail, or maybe we were just assets to show off.

Though everyone seemed cordial enough, I noticed that people tended to group according to clothing color. Maybe the members of each group worked with one another more often and had gotten to know each other better.

As the rest of us talked, Williams leaned against the far wall, looking down. He seemed to be profoundly antisocial.

I realized as I watched him that he was an exception to the color-coding — he'd been circulating, and Kara had implied he had a lot of strength, but his clothes were all black.

Grant called up to let us know the Porsche was ready, so Zion, Kara, and I got in the elevator. It went down a lot faster than it had gone up.

When we saw the car, it appeared to have a big scrape along the driver's side. It turned out to be masking tape — Koji had put it there to see Zion's reaction. Everyone had a good laugh except Zion, who cuffed Koji on the shoulder. Not hard, though. I could tell she was only pretending to be mad.

As we crossed the bridge out of the city, I asked Kara and Zion whether they ever hung out with any of the dressed-all-in-black people.

"I'd sure like to hang out more with Koji — he's hot," Kara said. "But I guess it can get a little weird with them sometimes. They're all pretty nice, though," she added.

"How about you, Zion?"

"I don't 'hang out' with any of you people. We're coworkers, not friends."

"Fuck you," Kara said. "That's stupid. There's no one else for us to be friends with."

Zion shrugged. Kara chewed her out a little more, then lapsed into resentful silence. After a minute or two, she said something else pissy.

Zion lost her temper. "You know what, Kara? You need to grow the hell up."

"What does that mean? You think you're too good for everyone else?"

"What do you think this is, high school? Like we're in different cliques or something? You people are blind."

I was more curious than offended.

"Blind? What do you mean?"

Zion rolled her eyes. "Lord Cordus gives some of us higher status and makes us advertise it to the others. That breaks us into groups that resent each other — we resent the weaklings for not doing the dangerous work, and they resent us because they're menial labor and get paid a lot less. So now there're factions instead of unity. That makes us all easier to control. See?"

The ensuing silence was profound.

Finally Kara said, skeptically, "He pays us more?"

"He pays you more if you ask, dumbass. You should be making four times what I make — you're at least that much stronger. Instead, you're probably making what Grant makes."

The genius of Cordus's system started to become clear to me.

"So," I said, "to get the extra pay, you have to ask to be treated better than the others. That means you're the one who has to go to him and claim they're not your equals."

"Got it in one. Bonus for the new girl."

"But why?" Kara said, sounding choked up. "Why would you do that? We're not better than them. I'm not better than you. Beth's not better than me."

"Seriously. That part of the system would fall apart if no one asked him for the raise," I said.

"Who should I answer first," Zion said angrily. "The woman who drives a twenty-year-old Pontiac, or the one who can't afford a car at all?"

"Zion, that is so fucked up. I don't even know you. Jesus Fucking Christ."

Kara slumped back in her seat.

I was still thinking through Cordus's system.

"He gives the strongest people the most perks. That makes them feel more invested in the status quo. That makes sense, since they'd be the most dangerous to him if they rebelled."

"'Rebelled'? We can't rebel — don't even think about it," Zion said. "He would crush us all without lifting a finger."

We stopped at a light, and she turned to give us both a hard stare.

"You two need to get it through your heads that there's nothing we can do about our situation. Lord Cordus can do whatever he wants with us. At least the weak ones live to be old. The three of us are going to live short lives, and we're going to die hard. We'll be lucky to make it out of our twenties. All we can do is try to enjoy what we can, while we can. There's nothing else."

Kara didn't say anything. She'd crossed her arms and drawn her knees up to her chest, physically withdrawing from the conversation.

I thought about Williams. I wondered if he was resisting the system by not wearing white. Maybe he was a little smarter than he looked. Or maybe he was just contrary.

"It seems like Williams gets away with ducking the clothing thing," I said. "He's got to have enough strength to wear white, but he wasn't tonight."

"Yeah, well, Williams is Williams," Zion said. "I don't know why Lord Cordus lets him get away with that shit. He sure wouldn't stand for it from me. Wearing white isn't a choice."

"Is his ability with barriers rare and useful, like Callie's precognition?"

Zion frowned. "I don't think so. He's great with barriers, and that's definitely useful, but most of us can do at least a little barrier work, and there are some others with real strength in that area, like Andy. Callie's literally one in a thousand. Williams isn't."

She thought some more. "He does have a lot of raw strength. Second only to Callie, probably. Maybe that's it."

_Third is more like it_ , I thought, remembering how Graham had broken through Williams's barrier to attack me.

I sat back and let the Porsche's muted rumble seep through me.

I could understand Kara's horrified reaction. What Cordus was doing was so wrong that it was hard to put into words.

But I could also understand Zion's position. I'd seen what had happened to Callie, and I'd noticed how scarred up Gwen and Williams were. And how young everyone seemed to be — Gwen was definitely the oldest person wearing white, and she looked to be in her late thirties. The lives of those who hunted Seconds were probably nasty, brutish, and short. Why not enjoy what small pleasures you could?

It all hinged on whether Cordus really was as unbeatable as Zion said. If he was, then resistance would be nothing but a symbolic sacrifice, and no one was likely to do that. But if he wasn't unbeatable, then colluding with him wasn't nearly so forgivable.

# Chapter 15

The next morning, I received a letter from Cordus. I could tell from the initialing that it had been typed by a secretary for his signature. It informed me that I was to consider myself a member of his household until further notice. I was not allowed to leave the premises without permission. I was being given that day to wrap up my pre-existing affairs. My wages would be $32,000 per annum, from which my monthly room and board of $2,000 would be deducted. My household membership came with a credit card and a fancy cell phone, which were attached to the letter in a padded envelope. The card was for pre-approved work expenses only. A list of recommended clothing items was also attached — mostly things I'd put in the "business casual" category, though I noticed with a chill that black undergarments were included.

Cordus had added a hand-written note at the bottom: he would be conducting my formal training, and it would begin the following morning. Gwen would be in touch with me about the specifics of my schedule.

I put down the letter and its attachments and just sat there. I'd kept repeating to myself that I had to confront my new reality. But now that reality had been given paper form and slipped under my door, and it clearly had no room for any part of who I'd been — not my house, my job, my family, my friends, or even my existing wardrobe.

I resented it profoundly.

Also, it scared me.

I sat there, expecting the thought of my future to trigger a panic attack, but it didn't. It occurred to me that I hadn't had one in a while. Maybe Graham had been right, and I didn't have true panic disorder after all.

_That's a pretty big silver lining. I might be losing a lot, but that's a huge gain_.

It was hard to think positively, though. The losses were too big and too new.

Sighing, I picked the letter back up, wondering how much I could get done in a day. I turned it over and jotted down a to-do list that started with "quit job" and ended with "black panties."

If I knocked enough things off the list this morning, maybe I could go shopping. The letter said a percentage of my salary could be advanced if I needed funds for clothes or other essentials. I thought of the $1,200 I'd been carrying around in my wallet for the last week. If I spent it carefully, hopefully it would be enough. I didn't want to ask Cordus for an advance. He might decide to treat it as a request for a raise.

Okay, top of the list. I sat there for a while thinking about various lies I could tell the people back in Dorf, especially Ben and Dr. Nielsen. It was hard to come up with something that sounded even vaguely reasonable. In the end, I decided to keep it as simple as possible — I was very upset about having been attacked in my own home and had decided to leave Dorf for a while until I got over the experience. I didn't know where I was going to go, and I'd rather not have people contact me.

Given my well known mental illness, an extreme reaction like that might seem plausible, at least to some people. I went over the story several times in my head, then decided to let it sit for a bit, while I did other things.

Cordus's letter had included a mailing address I could use — a post-office box. I used the cell phone to file a mail-forwarding order online. Then I stopped my home phone service and changed the mailing address for my gas-and-electric bill.

I called the Ohio State Highway Patrol and reported my car stolen. I got a call back twenty minutes later: my car had already been found. Maybe Williams hadn't bothered with a barrier. I thanked the trooper and told her I wouldn't be reclaiming the car. She asked why I hadn't reported the theft earlier. I could tell she thought something fishy was going on. I just played dumb. In the end she told me they'd keep the car for ninety days, then donate it to a program that provided job training for at-risk youth.

So much for my mother's last gift to me.

I went back over my story. It still seemed like the best thing I could come up with, so I called Suzanne and tried it out on her. Not surprisingly, she was brimming with questions, but I just kept repeating the party line — I'd be away for a while, I wasn't sure where or for how long, I'd prefer not to be contacted unless it was an emergency. I gave her my cell number and asked her to turn my thermostat down and keep an eye on my house.

Then I remembered the mouse. How could I have forgotten? Poor little guy. I thought quickly about just asking Suzanne to let him go in the backyard, but there were so many cats running loose in the neighborhood. Instead I asked her to hire a trustworthy kid to feed and water him and clean his cage. I told her I'd send her some money to cover it.

After she agreed, we said our goodbyes, and I hung up. I took a deep breath. That had been relatively easy.

Calling Dr. Nielsen was a lot harder. He was intensely worried about me and quite unwilling to let me "just disappear following a traumatic experience," as he put it. I stuck to my guns but had the feeling he'd be calling the police when we hung up. Well, that would come to nothing — I was pretty sure the Dorf PD had written me off.

The next call was Ben. That conversation was awful. He was worried about me, yes, but he was even more worried about his family. How could I just disappear, right when he and the girls needed me most? Sticking to the party line didn't do any good. It just infuriated him. It was horrible. In the end, he hung up on me in disgust.

After about fifteen minutes, the cell phone rang. The caller ID showed Ben's number, but when I answered, it was my eldest niece, Tiffany. Jesus, it was really my day for punishment.

"Aunt Beth?"

She spoke in a low, muffled voice, as though she was crouching in a corner and whispering into the phone.

"Hi, sweetie. How're you doing?"

She ignored my question. "Ghosteater said you could find Mom. Did you?"

You'd think, after the last two weeks, I'd have stopped getting caught by surprise. Unfortunately not. I sat there holding the phone, wondering what on earth to say. Just as I was about to answer, Graham's and Kara's warnings about the rules came back to me. I shut my mouth and thought some more.

"Beth?" Tiffany whispered, sounding desperate.

I decided I had to take a hard line. Tiff was twelve and had a good head. She could take it.

"Who else is going to find out what I tell you, Tiff?"

"I won't tell anyone except Ghosteater."

"Not Madisyn?"

Tiff paused. When she spoke, she sounded sad. "No. She's not old enough to keep the secret. It's started too young for her."

_That's a good thing_ , I thought to myself. If I understood what I'd been told, it meant she had very little strength. If Cordus got a hold of her, she'd get one of those low-paid but safe household positions.

"Are Jazzy and Lia like you and Madisyn?"

"Not yet. It only started for me last year, though."

She'd have been eleven. I wondered where that put her, strength wise.

"Tiff, do you know how serious the rule is about keeping the secret?"

"Mom said I could never tell anyone about anything special I could do."

"Did she tell you that there are people who will come and kill you if you do tell anyone? Anyone at all, even your Dad?"

From the silence on the other end, I guessed Justine hadn't been that explicit. Maybe she didn't know it herself. She seemed pretty out of it.

"I understand," Tiff finally said in a shaky voice.

"Okay. The good news is that I did find your mother. She's not hurt, and she's staying someplace I think is safe for her. The bad news is that she's not going to be able to come home right now, and there's no way you can visit her or speak to her."

"Why?"

"Honey, that's in the can't-talk-about-it category. I'm sorry."

"Are you with her?"

"I'm staying at the same place she is. I'll try to see her as often as I can." I paused. "I'm sorry I can't give you better news. You know, I didn't find out about the special stuff until just the last couple weeks. It's all new to me, and I don't understand a lot of it. I don't know what I can do for your Mom, but I'll try my best to help her and keep her safe."

Tiffany took that in. Finally she said, "Okay," in a small voice. She sniffled, then cleared her throat. "Can I call you?"

"Absolutely. If I don't answer when you call, leave a message telling me when I should call you back and at what number, okay?"

"Okay," she said, sounding marginally better. "I love you, Aunt Beth. I want you to come home."

"Oh, sweetie, I love you too, so much. I hope I'll be able to come home soon."

There was a big sniffle, then, "Bye."

I set down the phone.

_Damn_.

I took a long, hot shower, trying to rinse away the aftertaste of having lied to and disappointed everyone I cared about.

When I was done, I put on the same clothes I'd been wearing when Williams, Kara, and Callie grabbed me at the mall, days back. The house staff had been laundering them each night, but I was getting pretty tired of them.

I opened my phone's address book. It was programmed with numbers for all the Nolanders I knew so far, and quite a few I hadn't met yet. I called Gwen and told her I'd like to use the afternoon to find some of the clothes on my list. She said she'd check with Cordus, and that if it was all right with him, someone would take me shopping. Half an hour later, Kara and I were on our way in a generic black sedan.

Not surprisingly, the area turned out to have a variety of shopping options. Despite Kara's objections, I started at Kohl's.

"There's no reason to pay a lot for bras and panties," I said as we rooted through the lingerie section. "I don't have that much to spend, and there's a lot on this list."

"Yeah, but..." Kara paused awkwardly, a black bra in each hand.

"What?"

"The lingerie is the most important stuff."

I lowered my voice to a hiss. "Lord Cordus is _never_ going to see it."

"He will, Beth. I'm sorry, but it's going to happen. There's nothing you can do about it."

She turned away before wiping quickly at her eyes.

I felt cold inside and tried not to think of Tiffany and Madisyn. I waited until I could speak firmly.

"Then look for the cheapest stuff. A rapist doesn't deserve to see a $13.99 bra."

Kara laughed weakly. "You're a braver woman than I am. Here're some on sale, two for nine bucks."

"Perfect."

Kohl's provided not only all my new black underwear, but also some in lighter colors. I found several pairs of jeans and a bunch of black clothing: three pairs of slacks, two sweaters, and a slinky blouse. I was careful to make sure each item was entirely black. I also got three pairs of pants in other colors and a handful of nice knit tops in muted tones that Kara labeled "tasteful."

Kara insisted on Saks for one item on the list — a black suit. While there, I also got what she identified as a "nice" pair of jeans. Those and the suit knocked me back as much as everything I'd bought at Kohl's.

For shoes, I put my foot down — Saks was out of my league. Kara took me to Nordstrom. Still a lot of sticker-shock for small-town me, but not quite so bad. I left with heeled boots and a pair of pumps, both in black.

Our last stop was a sporting-goods store, where I got most of the other things on my list: sweat pants, running shorts, sports bras, socks, and athletic shoes. That stuff gave me a bad feeling. I'd never tended to put on weight, so I'd never gotten into working out. I didn't particularly want to start.

Then I remembered trying to haul unconscious Kara along by her feet at the mill. Maybe getting a little stronger wasn't such a bad idea.

We didn't have time to buy the one thing left on the list, a black coat. I'd just have to hope spring came on quickly.

We headed back to the estate.

"So," I said to Kara as we drove, "Do you live here most of the time?"

"Thank god, no. I'm based in Minneapolis. Williams and Callie and I are part of the Upper Midwest group. Graham too. He was in charge of it, actually. I'm sure that's going to change, now."

"Oh. Does that mean you'll head back there soon?"

"I sure hope so." She must've seen the expression on my face. "I'm sorry, Beth, but I couldn't stay here with you if I wanted to. And god, I don't want to. I'm sorry."

"I know. I understand."

I did understand, but I felt very alone. I liked Kara, but liking someone only mattered so much. Real friendships must be hard when any of us could be sent anywhere, anytime, and where fear was such a dominant force. Another part of Cordus's control system, maybe.

"You'll get to know the New York people. They're good folks. Maybe you'll get to hang out with Koji."

She gave a half-hearted whistle as tribute to his hotness.

"Yeah, maybe so," I said, and tried to smile.

Gwen knocked on my door at 6:00 the next morning. She suggested I shower and dress, then come with her to breakfast in the dining room at 7:00.

The staff had been bringing my meals on a tray, but I guess that was too good to last.

Noting that Gwen hadn't been wearing black, I put on a pair of beige slacks and a white knit top. Pairing them with the black heels wouldn't have been my first choice, but beggars couldn't be choosers — it was either that or boots.

Breakfast was served in a huge dining room on the second floor. It took up a corner of the house. Tall windows looked out over the front lawn, which swept down and away to the distant tree line. When I stopped by a window and commented on how big the property looked, Gwen said it was over a thousand acres and had been parkland when Cordus took it over in the 1970s.

"He took over a park? How?"

Gwen looked a little uncomfortable. "Lord Cordus is gifted at influencing others."

I'd seen that gift firsthand with the green man, but that was just one mind. I remembered that it was indelicate to ask about Seconds' abilities. Still, how was I going to find out about these things if I didn't ask?

"But millions of people live around here. Can he really influence that many people?"

"He doesn't have to. A few key people needed influencing. I think they believe it's a top-secret military installation. Everyone else still thinks it's a park. But if they decide to come hiking here, they end up changing their minds at the last minute. If they notice cars coming and going, they forget about it. The roads and buildings don't show up on satellite photos. The barrier around the property takes care of that sort of thing."

At that moment, as I looked out across the lawn, it occurred to me that there might not be any meaningful limit to what Seconds could do in our world. What if one of them decided it was in their interest to assassinate a president? To cause a recession? To start a war? Maybe they'd been shaping our history from behind the scenes for a long time.

It was a shocking thought. I stood at the window, trying to collect myself.

"Come on," Gwen said. "I'm hungry."

There were between twenty and thirty people eating, and I knew fewer than half of them. The room was equipped with a variety of tables, some round, some square or rectangular. You could sit with just one other person, or as many as seven. All the tables were elaborately set with white linens and multiple dishes, glasses, and pieces of silverware. It was going to be a headache figuring out which things to use.

Gwen steered us toward Andy and Theo, the guys who'd been taking coats at court. They were alone at a four-top near the edge of the room. Once we all sat down, the three of them made me feel wispy. Gwen was very tall, and she looked like a bodybuilder. Andy and Theo were big men, both tall and brawny. I felt like a reed in comparison.

A waiter came and began serving us. Coffee and tea were offered, as well as water and a selection of juices. We placed orders for one of a handful of available entrées. I chose the omelet. Fruit and cereal, either hot or cold, were served while we waited for the main course to arrive. It was certainly the most elaborate breakfast experience I'd ever had.

Once I felt confident I wasn't going to be approached with yet another set of food choices, I relaxed a little and turned my attention to my companions. I realized, seeing Theo and Andy up close, that they looked quite a bit alike.

"Are you guys brothers?"

"Yeah," Theo said. "You got any siblings?"

"Yeah, an older brother."

"Is he a Nolander?"

I shook my head.

"Too bad," Andy said.

"Why's that?"

"Families grow best if everyone gets some manure," he said with a wink.

I laughed.

Theo and Andy might've reminded me a little of Williams when I first saw them, but they turned out to be quite friendly and perfectly capable of normal conversation.

After some questions about Dorf and life in rural Wisconsin, Andy asked what I was doing for the rest of the day.

"I guess Lord Cordus is going to start training me today," I said.

Both men's forks stopped halfway to their mouths. They glanced at Gwen, but she was looking down at her plate, concentrating on mopping up her egg yolk.

"He's training you himself, is he?" Theo said.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Andy said, recovering himself. "It'll be fine. Just listen carefully, try hard, and be really polite."

I nodded.

"And don't be afraid to ask questions," Theo added. "Just, you know, skip the dumb ones." He grinned at me, breaking the tension.

Still, it wasn't the most auspicious start to the day. By the time we finished and Gwen walked me to Cordus's office, I was scared. I felt like I was walking into the proverbial lion's den, except this den belonged to some sicko rapist lion.

She knocked on the door, then opened it a crack. "Lord Cordus, I've brought Miss Ryder."

"Thank you, Miss Hegstrom. You may go on to other duties, now."

"Yes, sir."

Gwen opened the door wider and nodded at me to go through. She even gave me an encouraging smile, which looked a little odd on her stern, weathered face.

My return smile felt more like a grimace. I blinked hard and took a deep breath. Then I headed in.

"Miss Ryder, your development is indeed anomalous."

Cordus removed his fingertips from my arm and leaned back, studying me.

He and I were sitting in leather armchairs at one end of his office.

Actually, it was more like a library than an office — there was a desk at the other end, with several straight-backed chairs in front of it, but most of the room was given over to floor-to-ceiling shelving in some beautiful, dark wood. From what I could see, most of the books on the shelves looked old. Very old. Unlike in the dining room, there were few windows. The effect was cavelike.

It was the only room I'd seen on the estate that had any personality. I liked it. I wondered what it would be like in there on a winter night with a fire in the fireplace. Cozy. So long as Cordus wasn't in there with you.

That said, once again, Cordus's behavior hadn't matched the horror of his reputation. He hadn't tried anything inappropriate; in fact, he'd been polite.

I felt confused. Confused and fascinated. Fascinated and repulsed. It was hard not to stare at him, but when I did, I remembered that same stunning face impassively watching the green man tear itself apart.

At a loss, I'd retreated into the role of student. I was good at being a student, and I liked it. Good students didn't think much about their teachers, and especially not their teachers' looks. Instead, they thought about what they were studying.

He'd begun with exercises similar to what Graham had had me do at Rib Mountain — deep breathing and concentration. Then he'd asked if I could describe my sense of the worked-essence barrier he'd placed around us to keep our lesson private.

I'd told him I wasn't aware of the barrier at all. That was when he'd touched me.

"How is it anomalous, exactly?" I asked.

"Did Mr. Ryzik explain to you the stages of development?"

I nodded.

"And he explained what it means to 'see through'?"

"Being able to perceive workings and half-workings."

"Correct. And did he explain what the term 'capacity' means?"

"Someone's strength?"

"Yes. Capacity is a measure of one's ability to work essence. When one is born, a tiny capacity is present, and it grows over time. When it reaches roughly two-thirds of its full potential, one achieves full sensory perception of worked essence."

"What about gifts?" I asked.

"They usually remain latent for several more years."

No wonder Graham's approach to training me had struck a false note with the others.

"So why aren't I developing like everyone else?"

"I believe your capacity lies at the root of the problem. As I said, one sees through when one's capacity has reached roughly two-thirds of its full potential. I believe you began to see through significantly before your potential reached that mark. Therefore, your perception of worked essence is incomplete."

"But aren't I old for all this to start?"

"Yes. Seeing through in one's early twenties is quite rare."

"But..."

"Please ask your question, Miss Ryder."

"It seems like I already have a fair amount of capacity. I had enough to power Mr. Williams's shield for some time when we were on our way here."

He looked at me in silence for several long seconds. Finally, he said, "Your perception is correct."

A chill ran through me. How strong was I going to be, when all this was said and done?

He allowed me to sit in silence for several minutes, digesting. Then he started back in.

"It would be useful to know what triggered your premature seeing through. Can you describe what, in retrospect, you believe to be the first signs that something unusual was happening?"

"There weren't really any signs. I just took these two pictures that showed Seconds. It all seemed to happen suddenly, over a weekend."

"According to Mr. Ryzik, you were diagnosed with panic disorder."

"Yeah, but that was when I was six."

"Did your condition worsen recently?"

"It got really bad when I tried to go to college, but that was years ago. Once I came home, it went back to what it was like before."

"How do you feel between episodes?"

"Normal, I guess."

"There has been no change?"

I thought about it. "Well, I guess I have been feeling a little antsier, lately. The photography helps with that. I figured Dorf was just getting to me, you know?"

"No, Miss Ryder, I do not know. Please explain."

I felt myself flushing. "Well, it's a nice town, but it's really small. I never wanted to stay there my whole life. I wanted to see new places, new people. Do something meaningful. But after what happened in Madison, I realized I'd have to stay in Dorf. It was hard to accept."

Cordus tilted his head. "And only five years later did your situation begin to 'get to you'?"

"I guess..." It was sort of strange. "Maybe it was cumulative?"

"Perhaps. I take it you cannot trace your increasing discomfort to any particular moment or event?"

I shook my head.

"And how did you come to see half-workings with your own eyes?"

"Mr. Ryzik got me to see them. He took me to visit a Second I couldn't see and then left me alone with him. When I got scared enough, I saw him."

Cordus was surprised. The eyebrow went up.

"That approach was unwise," he said. "Trying to stimulate someone's capacity through fear or other powerful emotions can have unpredictable and dangerous results. I shall have to speak with Mr. Ryzik about his training methods."

"I don't think he knew that's what he was doing. He seemed to think my conscious mind was just suppressing what I was seeing."

Cordus looked at me in silence. I took it to mean the subject of Graham's mistakes was not open for discussion.

Finally, his point seemingly made, he said, "I believe it is safe to proceed, so long as we move carefully. Our lessons must offer your capacity the opportunity to stabilize and grow without applying undue pressure."

"Okay," I said, stifling the impulse to ask how sure he was about the "safe" part.

He held his hand out between us, palm up.

"I have made a small, spherical working three centimeters above my hand. The nature of the working is to create heat: the air within the sphere is twenty degrees warmer than that in the room at large. Focus your attention on that spot. Try to sense the disruption in the pre-existing state of reality."

I concentrated on the air above his palm. It looked perfectly normal. It didn't feel safer or buzzier; it didn't _feel_ any way at all. It was just an empty space.

After about thirty seconds, Cordus closed his hand and had me relax for a few minutes. Then he had me try again, but with my eyes closed. No go. The third time, he had me reach out and touch the air above his hand. I could feel that it was warmer, but couldn't sense anything else.

After five rounds, he sat back, and I got the feeling we were done.

"Miss Ryder, please do not attempt to sense workings, except during our lessons. Gentle stimulation of your capacity should do no harm and may help. Doing more than that would be unwise. Is that clear?"

I nodded. He held my gaze for a moment, apparently to convey how very much he meant it. Then he rose and retrieved a folder and a book from his desk.

"We shall meet again at the same time tomorrow," he said, "and every day thereafter. In the meanwhile, please read the document in this folder. You will return it to me tomorrow. You may write on it, but do not copy it or take separate notes."

I nodded and accepted the folder. It was slender. There couldn't be more than a few pages in it.

"This," he said, holding up the book, "is a textbook of Baasha, the common language of the S-Em. You will comprehend the first chapter before our next meeting. Please keep this book and any notes you make out of sight. Most Nolanders do not have the opportunity to pursue this line of study."

I accepted the book with some trepidation. I'd taken French in high school and loved it, but the idea of being given an "opportunity" others didn't get made me nervous. I took it to mean I'd end up doing things they didn't have to do.

"Lunch is served in the dining room between 11:30 and 1:30," Cordus continued. "I have asked Miss Hegstrom to accompany you to that meal today and to give you a tour of the estate afterwards. I hope you will learn your way around quickly."

I nodded and stood and, after a hesitation, thanked him for his time. It seemed the polite thing to do, even though the lessons were clearly compulsory. He nodded graciously, accepting my thanks, and I left, relieved to have gotten through the first lesson without pissing him off or becoming another unwilling notch on his bedpost.

"Can you ride?" Gwen asked.

She and I were leaning on the top rail of a white wooden fence, watching a handful of horses graze.

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, I've never had lessons or anything, but my best friend grew up on a farm. They had horses, and we used to ride them a lot. Mostly just bareback around the farm."

I turned back to watch the horses.

"I really like them. They smell good."

Gwen looked at me like I had a screw loose, and I blushed, suddenly feeling like an eight-year-old with a bedroom full of unicorn posters and My Little Ponies.

"Well, different strokes, I guess," she said. "I've had to do stable duty before. What comes out of the back of them sure doesn't smell good."

I wouldn't mind doing stable duty — I thought horse shit was pretty innocuous. But I didn't say so.

We'd already walked over some of the grounds, and Gwen had pointed out several trailheads for biking, running, and hiking, warning me to stay alert for the barrier that surrounded the estate. I wasn't to try crossing through it for any reason — doing so would be dangerous. I didn't mention that I probably wouldn't know it was there until I ran into it. I figured I'd just stay near the house.

She'd also shown me the garage, tennis court, and outdoor pool. The stable was the last stop.

After seeing the grounds, we embarked on a full tour of the house. It had four wings, one of which held Cordus's private quarters. That was a no-go zone, except when invited. The other three wings were full of suites and small apartments for Nolanders. The place could house well over a hundred comfortably and three times that number if people shared space.

Gwen had taken me to see her apartment, which was much larger and fancier than mine. It was also full of weapons — not only guns, but also blades, bows, spears, axes, and other things I couldn't have named. Apparently Gwen was a serious collector. Many of the more beautiful items were displayed on the walls, but she also had an entire room dedicated to storage.

We talked shop about some of her guns. I didn't know much about the more exotic firearms she showed me, but it's hard to grow up in a rural area and not get acquainted with rifles and shotguns — hunting is a big part of life in northern Wisconsin. And even though Mom's handgun was pretty basic, she'd enjoyed browsing the newer models whenever she took me shooting. I'd picked up enough over the years to hold up my end of the conversation, which I hoped made me seem less little-girly in the wake of the horses-smell-good thing.

In addition to the apartments, each wing contained recreation areas; a small kitchen; laundry facilities; and a walk-in supply closet full of bedding, towels, toiletries, and cleaning products. Gwen pointed out the unscented shampoo, conditioner, soap, and deodorant to me and explained that many non-humanoid Seconds had very sensitive noses. It was considered rude to wear perfumes around them, so the policy was to avoid scented products entirely. Smoking was prohibited for the same reason.

The central part of the house had several subbasements. I'd visited one of those levels briefly when we used the underground tunnel to the garage. Most of the basement space was dedicated to athletic facilities: an indoor pool; extensive weight and cardio rooms; racquetball and basketball courts; and several rooms set up for martial arts, gymnastics, and other punishing activities. It all gave me a sinking feeling that I'd soon be getting a lot sweatier than I liked.

The basement also housed a sophisticated medical facility. Gifted healers like Kara, as well as regular doctors and nurses, were present at all times to deal with emergencies and dispense routine care. Next to the "clinic," which really looked more like a mini-hospital, was a large lending library. That was a much happier discovery for me. I didn't have a chance to explore it, but I hoped they had some things I'd like to read.

Above ground, the main part of the house was all public rooms. A vast ballroom took up the center, but there were at least a dozen smaller rooms for meetings, receptions, parties, and so forth. The Nolanders' quarters had been sized for humans, but the public rooms seemed to have been built to accommodate larger creatures — all had at least twelve-foot ceilings, and the doors were oversized. So was some of the furniture.

The central part of the house also had a number of bathrooms. Some of them had facilities I'd never seen before. Gwen paused to chat with someone, so I poked around in one of the strange ones. It had a toilet that was basically a three-foot-wide sunken tub. When you flushed it, which you did with a floor pedal, a large central hole opened up and tons of water cascaded down the sides.

What sort of creature would require such a thing? I tried to picture Ghosteater squatting at the edge and pooping. It was hard to imagine.

Then again, what about this whole thing _wasn't_ hard to imagine?

I thought about the document Cordus had given me, which I'd read before lunch. It had turned out to be a short, handwritten early history of the other world.

According to what I'd read, the world I was standing in right now was called the "First Emanation" because it had emerged through natural processes. The cosmos had come into being, galaxies had formed, the Sun had been born, planets had consolidated around it, life had arisen and evolved on Earth, and so forth. All that sounded familiar.

But after that, the story diverged from what I'd learned in school. On Earth, the document said, living things began to appear that had the capacity to manipulate essence, which was defined — more poetically than helpfully, I thought — as "the grain of is-ness." The Second Emanation emerged not from the unguided processes of nature, but through acts of creation by these new beings.

At first, just a few places on Earth gained echoes or shadows — other-space environments generated when essence-workers reshaped their surroundings to the degree that their place no longer meshed properly with the rest of the world. Over time, more and more echoes were created. The Earth's landmasses and oceans accumulated multiple versions as different essence-workers reshaped the same places at different times. The duplicated environments — called strata — came in contact with one another, establishing connections until they formed a world of linked but discrete spaces.

The document compared the S-Em to a pile of autumn leaves. Its strata were multilayered, shifting, disordered. They came in many shapes and sizes. No one would ever count them all.

Passage between here and there was difficult. It took a super-strong worker to open a strait. Once you were in the S-Em, movement between strata was usually possible, if challenging. Sometimes, though, a stratum got completely separated from the rest of the S-Em — a little world unto itself.

What had surprised me most was the idea that the S-Em began to emerge billions of years ago. Countless species had contributed to its creation. The ability to work essence wasn't limited to human beings or even to intelligent animals. Essence-workers appeared among dolphins and crows and elephants, sure, but also among bacteria and trees and goldfish. That meant the other world was the product of a lot more than the human imagination.

I thought about getting stuck in a bacterial stratum — not fun. And what kind of world would a tree invent for itself? One with twenty-four-hour sunlight and no caterpillars?

I looked down at the tub-toilet and shook my head. My new reality was a strange place.

Gwen had told me when dinner was served, and I'd said I'd meet her there at 7:30. I walked into the dining room ten minutes late and didn't see her. I looked around the room and didn't recognize anyone. Except Graham. He was sitting at a table by one of the windows, looking out. No one was sitting with him. No one was even sitting nearby. He'd become a pariah.

His untouched place setting suggested he'd only just gotten there himself. After a moment's hesitation, I went over and asked if I could join him. He looked up at me, surprised. Then he nodded at the empty chair across from him, and I sat down.

An awkward silence ensued. Both of us seemed to be trying to think of something to say.

Thankfully, a waiter came to take my order, which was a rather lengthy transaction. I had to choose dishes for four courses, as well as beverages. When the waiter described the entrées, I didn't recognize some of the things he mentioned. The process left me a bit flushed and embarrassed.

After the waiter left, Graham gave me the ghost of a smile.

"I wouldn't have guessed you liked snails."

"Snails?"

"The chicken breast comes with escargots."

I must've look dismayed, because he said, "Don't worry, they're on the side."

The waiter filled our water glasses.

"So, how are you settling in?" Graham asked.

"Okay, I guess. It's all..." I paused, at a loss.

"A bit much? Really, really weird? Exciting and terrifying at the same time?"

"Yeah," I said, "all that."

He asked what I'd been up to for the last few days. My first course — an onion soup — arrived as I described my experience at court and my first lesson with Cordus.

Graham nodded. "Any questions?"

I hesitated, perplexed. "Do you still think of yourself as my trainer?"

"No. But I can answer questions."

I must've looked dubious, because he gave me a sad smile and added, "Just don't ask me something I'll have to lie about."

I gave him the laugh he was looking for, though his comment was painfully close to what I'd actually been thinking.

Well, why not ask some of the questions that had occurred to me over the past couple days, some of the things I couldn't ask Cordus himself? It's not like I had to believe Graham's answers, if I didn't want to.

I lowered my voice. "Why does Lord Cordus let Williams get away with wearing all black?"

Graham looked at me blankly. "I hadn't realized that was happening. Williams doesn't go to court much. I guess I never noticed." He thought about it. "I don't know why Lord Cordus would allow that. If you qualify to wear white, you have to."

Our entrées came. My chicken breast was indeed accompanied by a dish of snails, each sitting in its own bath of melted butter. Graham showed me how to fork one out of its shell. It was actually pretty good.

"Do you know anything about the snowman ambassador?"

"They're actually called ice men. And no. Sorry. She's quite new to the job."

"Good thing you helped with the snail, 'cause a fat lot of good you are on the questions," I said, leaning back.

He smiled a little.

"Is Lady Innin stronger than Lord Cordus?"

"No idea. They keep that kind of information to themselves, understandably."

"I thought you could tell if you touch someone."

"Ah, right. First of all, I've never touched Lady Innin. Second, it's more complicated than that. If you touch someone who's weaker than you, you'll probably get a pretty good sense of how strong they are. If you touch someone who's stronger, you'll know they're stronger, but you won't get as accurate a sense of what they can do. Touch someone like Lord Cordus or Lady Innin, and you'll just feel overwhelming power. The differences between them won't be discernible."

Okay, that was helpful.

"Do you know how old Lord Cordus is?"

"He was born in Constantinople in the 330s or 340s, I think."

My mind went blank. It was like he'd started speaking another language.

"Going on seventeen hundred years," Graham added, when he saw I wasn't getting it.

"That's impossible."

"Nope. The most powerful Seconds can live just about forever if they want to. Some of them are millions of years old. Hundreds of millions, maybe."

I stared at him, amazed.

"How can that be?"

Graham shrugged. "You're talking about beings that can rework the world itself. Reworking their bodies seems like small potatoes next to that, doesn't it?"

It made intellectual sense when he put it like that, but on a gut level, the idea of living forever felt profoundly wrong. Like they were ignoring a law so fundamental that it should've been unbreakable. I mean, the world changed. That was the way of things. Everything that happened changed it. But mortality itself? No.

"Isn't the S-Em overpopulated?"

"Not so far as I've heard. Keep in mind we're only talking about the most powerful Seconds, here, not your run-of-the-mill S-Em shopkeeper."

I popped a snail in my mouth and chewed slowly, contemplating this new wrinkle.

"I guess I don't understand why they're so worried about humans finding out about them. Remaking the world, living forever — they seem more like gods than people. Surely they don't have anything to fear from us."

Graham turned and looked out the window. At first I thought I'd strayed into something he couldn't talk about truthfully, but eventually he spoke.

"I saw a nature program a few years back. There were these big birds — toucans, or something — that laid two eggs in a hole in a tree. When the chicks were old enough to stick their heads out, some ants crawled up the trunk. The chicks killed every one of them. The narrator said that if even one ant got back to its nest with news about the chicks' hole, all the ants would come. Later in the program, they showed the nest again. One of the chicks had fledged and flown away, but the ants had gotten the other one. It was still there, sticking its head out of the hole, but it was skeletal, picked clean."

Graham turned back from the window. "The ants were so tiny, and the chick was so big, but it only took one getting away."

"And the Seconds are like that chick? Trapped in a hole? Defenseless?"

"It wasn't defenseless. It killed hundreds of ants. But in the end, when they came back by the millions, it couldn't kill them all."

I had to admit it was a shudder-inducing image.

"Okay, yeah, I get it. But what beings like Lord Cordus can do — it's way beyond having a big beak, or whatever that chick had to work with."

Graham shrugged. "You say they're godlike. Maybe so. But humans kill their gods." He looked up at me. "Humans kill everything. They're nature's own weapon of mass destruction."

The way he said it gave me goose bumps.

We sat in silence for a while as we finished our entrées. Conversation picked up again when our desserts came, but we stuck to lighter topics — the quality of the gym downstairs, what sort of books and movies the library had, and so forth.

Graham and I parted ways awkwardly at the dining room doors. I was glad I'd made the effort to sit with him but relieved he didn't offer to walk me back to my room.

I reminded myself that even if betraying Cordus wasn't a bad thing, Graham's way of doing it had put Kara and the others at risk. That was no good. Furthermore, he'd physically attacked me.

I did feel bad, though. Nothing he'd done struck me as deserving capital punishment, and that was probably what he was going to get. I imagined Cordus doing to Graham what he'd done to the green man. It was an unbearable thought.

# Chapter 16

A week or so passed. Every day followed the same schedule, so it was easy to lose track of which day it was. Each morning I got dressed and headed down to breakfast by 7:00, often with Gwen, Andy, and Theo, who seemed to be on the same schedule. Then I had a half-hour lesson with Cordus, followed by a workout. Then lunch, several hours of personal time, an hour of combat training, a shower, and dinner.

The personal time was mixed. I spent a little of it browsing the lending library, which was fun. I found plenty of good books and a bunch of movies I'd like to watch, if I ever had a couple free hours. A few times I hung out with Kara, which was nice, or poked around the stables.

On the other hand, I also used my personal time to visit Justine, who'd been given a first-floor suite not far from my room. Those visits were the opposite of fun. She still seemed unaware that she was anything but human. She swung irrationally back and forth between accusing me of kidnapping her and begging me to protect her from some unspecified threat.

She also mooned over Ben and the girls. That grated on me. Why had she gone and married a human man, anyway? Just to make her cover more convincing? It wasn't fair to Ben or to the half-human children she'd borne.

Several times, Cordus came to see Justine while I was there. Her reaction to him was weird. She claimed not to have met him before the previous week, yet she clearly found his presence comforting.

She flirted with him shamelessly, which annoyed me. She was married to my brother, for god's sake. Couldn't she at least save it for when I wasn't around?

At least he didn't respond to it. Mostly he just asked her the same questions in slightly different ways. As the days passed, she noticed the repetition. I could see the questions were beginning to annoy her a little, though it helped that the asker was so attractive.

The fact that she remembered the questions she'd been asked earlier suggested to me that her mind and memory were working normally. I said as much to Cordus and got his version of "uh-huh" in response — "Your assessment is apt, Miss Ryder."

I also spent a fair amount of time on the phone with Tiffany, which always left me feeling like a heel. I could tell that Ben was having trouble keeping things together. I thought about telling her about Callie, so that there'd be someone in Dorf she could talk to about her abilities. But that would mean exposing her to another person in Cordus's organization, and I didn't want to attract more attention to her and her sisters than I had to. I also wasn't sure Callie's religiously inflected understanding of things would be a net gain for Tiff. It might just confuse her more. Lastly, fingering Callie as a Nolander would be breaking the rules.

I tried to phone Ben a couple times. He seemed to be screening my calls. I couldn't blame him, but it hurt.

So that was my personal time — mixed at best. The rest of my schedule pretty much sucked.

The lessons with Cordus were increasingly frustrating. I still couldn't see any workings, and he only let me try a few times each day. Instead, we spent most of each half-hour working on Baasha, which turned out to be about a million times harder than French.

It just didn't feel like I was making any progress, even though being a student was the one thing I'd always done well.

Plus, Cordus disturbed me. Every day I half expected him to pull his mind-control trick and take advantage of me. The thought of that scared me sick, and I was always knotted up with anxiety before entering his office in the morning. But once inside, I regularly found myself staring at him, my fears forgotten.

My fascination with him was distressing. I suspected he was a monster inside a pretty shell, and I didn't want to find him attractive.

The physical fitness program was a total bummer. Gwen was in charge of that part of my day, and she was a fiend when it came to working out. She made me jog, lift weights, and try out various complicated machines that simulated rowing, skiing, and other forms of torture. It was unrelenting. I was sore all the time.

The combat training was ridiculous. My instructor was one of the people I'd met during my evening at court, Hortensia Tolosa. She was eighteen and went by "Tezzy." Cordus had gotten her in a trade of some sort with another Second soon after she saw through at age five.

If Gwen was a fiend, Tezzy was an ogre. She must've studied taekwondo in the womb. She made me feel utterly incompetent. I wanted to empathize with someone who'd been traded like livestock when she was a little kid, but it was pretty hard to feel anything but resentful.

I had bruises everywhere. They weren't from Tezzy hitting me — she didn't do that. They were from me falling down while she tried to get me to hit or kick her, or rather, a pad she was holding.

By my fourth lesson, she'd backtracked to just trying to teach me how to stand still. She'd have me assume a particular stance, then coach me on making it solid and resilient. Then she'd walk up to me and try to push me down. I always fell down. Always. I could tell she didn't know what to do with me. It was the pits.

One morning — I think it was a Friday — Andy and Theo were looking sort of worried when I joined them in the dining room for breakfast.

"Hey, what's up? Something wrong?"

"Lord Limu's in the city," Andy said. "Hank saw him last night."

Limu. That's who Williams and Callie thought I'd seen at the other end of the open strait.

"It's bad that he's here?"

"Dunno. We're trying to figure it out," Theo said. "It's definitely unusual. The regional powers don't enter each others' territories without a good reason, except for formal events."

"Maybe he was invited," I said, remembering how Cordus had asked the green man about him.

Theo cocked his head. "You know something about this?"

"Who, me? I don't know anything about anything," I said, kicking myself.

The two men sat back and studied me, then shared a look. They clearly weren't fooled.

Andy said, "Should we be worried?"

"I honestly don't know. I'm sorry. You know how new I am to all this."

He nodded, but an awkwardness came over the table that hadn't been there before.

"Can you tell me anything about Lord Limu? Just public-knowledge stuff?"

"Well," Theo said, "he controls most of the Pacific Basin. So, the Aleutians and southern Alaska; the west coast of North America; the west coast of South America down through northern Chile — that's all him. And the coast on the other side, from Russia down through Papua New Guinea, and the little islands, like Hawaii. And all that ocean."

"Australia, too?"

"No, someone else holds Australia and New Zealand."

I tried to pull a map together in my mind. Embarrassingly, I didn't know where the Aleutians or Papua New Guinea were.

"He's gifted with minerals and fire, and he's strong. Some say he's the strongest of the powers holding F-Em territories. He's a real bad-ass — aggressive, irrational, maybe unstable. Not a good guy, not safe to be around."

A fire- and mineral-worker. I thought back to the lava-man in the lawn chair. No wonder Williams and Callie had recognized him from my description.

Andy said, "We heard he was holding a strait open up near where you're from."

Dorf wasn't the only place where gossip traveled fast.

"I don't know that it was him."

"Fine, be that way," Andy said, looking annoyed.

"Give her a break," Theo said. "She's a newbie. She's too nervous to gossip."

"Don't worry," he said to me. "You'll get a sense of who you can trust and what it's safe to talk about. FYI, Andy and I are definitely on the trustworthy list."

He winked at me and smiled. A lot of the tension drained away.

I rolled my eyes but smiled back. I didn't know if Theo and Andy were trustworthy or not, but they were certainly likeable.

Just then, Gwen walked in. She joined us and immediately said, "Y'all hear about Lord Limu?"

The conversation that morning had a circular quality.

Cordus leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

I'd completed the day's five fruitless attempts to sense the little heat-working hovering over his hand. I wondered if he was as sick of the exercise as I was. I'd never seen any annoyance in his manner, but that might just mean he had more self-control than I did.

Afraid to look at his face, I focused on his hands. They were as beautiful as the rest of him. Apprehension crawled over me. Just because he hadn't done anything to me so far didn't mean he wasn't going to do something right now.

My nervousness quickly got the better of me, which led to babbling.

"How come I can't tell if someone else is a Nolander by touching them?"

He glanced at me. "Your capacity is almost always dormant. It awakens only when you see a half-working. You would be able to identify another Nolander if you touched him or her during one of those brief moments of awakening."

"Oh. Okay."

Another minute or two of silence ensued. I somehow managed to keep quiet.

"Miss Ryder," Cordus finally said, leaning back, "you will appear in my court this evening."

Outwardly, I nodded. Inwardly, I groaned.

"We will be entertaining an important guest."

"Lord Limu?"

"Yes."

I hesitated, then plunged in. "I'm delighted to be there, of course, but why me? I mean, is there something you want me to do? Of all your people, I seem... uniquely incapable."

"That perception is inaccurate. Do you not recall looking into the strait near your home in Wisconsin and seeing Lord Limu at the other end?"

"Sure, but all I did was see him. That doesn't seem particularly useful. And it's not like he was trying to hide, or anything. He was right there."

Cordus pondered me in silence for at least a minute before answering. He was close enough that I could see the paler starburst pattern in his brown eyes. I found myself staring at it and jumped when he spoke.

"He was not trying to hide, Miss Ryder, because it never occurred to him that someone might be able to see him. He was in the heart of his domain, and he knew that I was here in New York. Who else in this part of the First Emanation could possibly see him through a strait? He felt as safely hidden there on his mountain redoubt as I feel sitting in this room."

I thought about it. He had looked awfully surprised.

"What does that mean, exactly? I mean, what does it mean for me?"

God, only I could use "mean" three times in two short sentences. Almost a quarter of what I'd just said was "mean."

"Now is not the time for that conversation," Cordus said flatly. "But rest assured that your abilities are of value to this organization. As for tonight," he continued, "I suspect Lord Limu will recognize you. We shall see how he reacts to your presence, shall we not?"

I sat in the back of the limo with Cordus, trying not to fidget.

I had gotten the full-on staff treatment again. The hair and make-up were similar, but my dress this time was more revealing. It had a plunging neckline that snaked down between my breasts, all the way to my navel. My breasts had actually been taped in place. I'd tried my best to ignore the staff members' hands as they glued me into shape, but it had been distinctly unpleasant. The whole neckline was edged in at least two inches of pearl beading. The beading wrapped around the dress's collar, then snaked down to a point at my ass.

The dress made me feel less like high-class arm candy and more like a pricey hooker. The fact that I was going to show up alone on Cordus's arm underlined that impression. This dress also had even more white than the last one, and the fur stole they'd given me to wear was white, too. I felt highly uncomfortable.

At least Cordus was occupied on the phone. I couldn't hear what he was saying, so I just looked out the window and tried to think of a name for a transparent barrier that blocked sound. By the time we arrived at the building, I'd come up with sound-wall, shush-shield, silentasphere, and hushification.

We pulled directly into an underground parking structure. The driver came around and opened the door. Cordus helped me out. I didn't want to touch him, but I pretty much had to — my dress made it hard to get up without falling.

Grant was waiting at the elevator to key us up to the penthouse. The damned thing rose as slowly as it had the last time. I swear it took five minutes. As we stood there, Cordus turned and looked me up and down. Very thoroughly. My pulse shot up, and I blushed. He didn't say anything.

The elevator opened on Williams, who seemed to be standing guard. Again with the all black. He glanced at my flushed face. His upper lip lifted slightly.

_Is he sneering at me?_

Like any of this was my fault! Anger coursed through me. I balled my hands up and glared at him.

Cordus didn't seem to notice Williams's lack of either manners or white clothing. He just nodded at him and walked by. Fuming, I followed.

Andy was at the coat check, and Theo was in the living room, unobtrusively watching from a corner. I saw Hank and Kristin circulating with drinks and hors d'oeuvre.

There were far fewer Seconds present than last time — sixteen, by my count. Most looked familiar from the circuit I'd made with Cordus the last time. I was relieved not to see Innin, the tiny woman who'd wanted to trade Florida for me.

A green man was lounging on one of the couches. I thought it might be the same one who'd been present at my last visit. As before, the brilliant color mechanism of its skin — scales, maybe? — was all active, so that it glittered like green tinsel. Horrifyingly, Cordus put his arm out for me and headed in that direction.

He stopped to speak with several other Seconds on the way, but all too soon he settled me on the couch across from the green man and sat down beside me.

"We greet you with honor, Gnaeus Cornelius Marci Filius Cordus," it said in a raspy voice, licking its lips with a dry gray tongue.

Cordus answered it with a long string of sound that must've been its name, and the two began to converse.

I studied the thing. What the hell was a green man, anyway? I couldn't imagine how I'd ever looked at the small, stooped, naked figure in my picture and seen a human being. The creature in front of me was more reptilian than human. It had no nose and a long, skinny neck with a pronounced kink. Its arms were strangely long and bumpy. And how had I missed all those claws? Each was more than an inch long and shaped like a talon.

I shuddered, remembering what they could do to flesh.

The thing sitting across from me shifted, and its skin twitched, flashing green light in my eyes. I realized what I was seeing: feathers. They were mostly tiny, no bigger than a ladybug. The bumpiness on the arms came from an edging of larger ones.

The green man glanced at me. I realized I'd been staring and looked down, abruptly scared. Kara had warned me not to stare. Idiot.

"My Lord, why does it accompany you if it is not yet trained?"

"My apologies, Ambassador. She will be disciplined."

Cordus spoke in a cool, offhanded tone, as though my future punishment was almost too obvious and uninteresting to mention. I felt goose bumps run up my arms.

Cordus and the green man returned to a discussion of events in "the Float of Charms," whatever that was. I kept my eyes trained firmly on my hands, which I'd locked together in my lap so they wouldn't shake. I tried not to think about how Cordus might "discipline" me.

After about twenty more minutes, during which the green man moved on and several other Seconds came over to pay their respects, an expectant pause swept over the room. I looked up and saw Limu coming toward us. Several individuals I hadn't seen before trailed behind him — his honor guard, maybe.

Cordus and the woman he was speaking to rose, so I did as well. Limu stopped a few feet from the furniture grouping and greeted Cordus by name. He sounded distracted and annoyed. I thought he left out one of the names, actually. Nevertheless, Cordus nodded cordially and greeted Limu by what had to be his full name. I swear it had twenty words.

By the end of it, Limu was practically jigging with impatience. I wondered if Cordus had added some titles, under cover of good manners, just to tick him off.

The woman who'd been sitting with us excused herself. As Limu sat down in her place, my initial impulse was to scramble back: surely the couch would ignite. Of course, it didn't — he'd been walking across the carpet a moment before, hadn't he? It wasn't like that'd gone up in flames.

He looked different than he had when I'd seen him before — less rocky, more metallic. His surface was a glowing orange-red, crusted here and there with craggy, blackened material and ash. In the center of his torso, the color shaded toward blazing yellow. When his mouth opened, I saw white fire inside.

His eyes burned with that fire. They were far too bright to look at directly, but I could tell they were focused on me. He was staring at me even more intensely than Innin had. It was deeply disconcerting. Innin had looked acquisitive. Limu looked vengeful. There was no doubt that he recognized me.

I felt a sudden surge of resentment at Williams and Kara. They'd walked me right into making an enemy of this terrifying creature.

No, to be fair, they hadn't asked me to look through the strait. They'd asked me to look into it. The rest I'd done myself, damn it.

Limu accepted a glass of wine from Hank and leaned back, slowly twirling the stem between his molten fingers. He sipped, then set down his glass, as though dissatisfied with the wine.

"You have something of mine. I have come for it."

"Do I?" Cordus said. "I was not aware. What is the item?"

"One of my people."

Cordus waited. Obviously that wasn't much of a description. Instead of elaborating, Limu let out a rumbling growl, flexing his hands as though they were cramping.

"Do not play with me. Give her to me."

Cordus shrugged. "So far as I am aware, those standing behind you are the only members of your household in my lands at this time."

"Fool! Always the same with you — games and playthings. Give her to me. The one calling herself Justine Jenson Ryder. Now."

Cordus leaned back, crossed his legs, and began slowly bouncing his foot.

"If Mrs. Ryder is the person you mean, then we have nothing to discuss, My Lord. She has been living in my lands for at least twenty years. I have no reason to believe she belongs to you." He glanced up at Limu. "Unless she bears your stricture, of course."

"She does not," Limu said, seething.

"Then what possible claim can you have upon her, my honored guest?"

"She is my wife."

I saw Cordus's eyebrow go up. I know I was shocked. In what state of mind would Justine marry a being made of fire? I was pretty damned scared just being in the same building with him, much less the same bed.

"Is she, indeed? My congratulations. Nevertheless, marriage does not constitute ownership."

Cordus's tone suggested boredom.

Apparently Limu didn't care for it. Enraged, he threw his head back and roared. The sound was an avalanche of rocks and iron crashing down an endless slope. A fountain of yellow and white fire surged out of his mouth and flowed over the ceiling as though it were liquid. Near the living room door, Williams made a quick circular motion, then closed his hand into a fist. As he did, the fire boiled back in on itself and winked out, leaving a large scorched area on the ceiling. A wisp of smoke was left curling in mid-air.

I sat there, stunned. It was like death had come visiting, then been sent packing, all before I had time to react.

I wasn't the only one who took the threat seriously. Most of Cordus's other guests backed away, but a few moved forward. Andy and Theo advanced from the corners of the room, taking up positions behind Cordus. Williams stayed in the doorway, the shadows hiding his expression.

"My Lord," Cordus said coldly, "such behavior is unproductive."

Limu was leaning forward and staring at Cordus, hands clenched, breathing out waves of heat. Cordus must've been shielding us from it. I couldn't feel it, but I could see the shimmer in the air.

Comically, the air-conditioning kicked in.

After almost a minute, Limu straightened up and sat back. Slowly, he opened his fists.

"She is a thief."

"Mrs. Ryder stole something of yours?"

I glanced at Cordus. The eyebrow was back up.

"Yes."

"What did she steal?"

"That is none of your business," Limu snapped. "It is my right to pursue a thief."

"Certainly, so long as the thief remains in your lands," Cordus said. "Once he or she crosses into another power's territory, it becomes a matter for local law-keepers. And," he added, "for possible extradition. Sadly, we have no extradition agreement, My Lord, despite my repeated suggestions that we discuss one."

Limu responded with a rumbling growl.

I got the sense that Cordus was goading him. Why would he do that? It didn't seem wise. Yeah, Williams had apparently contained that last outburst, but it hadn't been a directed attack on someone, just vented frustration.

"Even if you could offer evidence supporting your accusation of thievery, which it seems you will not or cannot," Cordus continued, "given the regrettably lacking state of our treaties, the criminal would remain under my jurisdiction."

"Law-keeping and treaties!" With a disgusted sound, Limu spat a globule of fire onto the coffee table in front of us. It guttered instantly and went out, leaving a charred spot. "You have spent too long among humans, whelp. As though power comes from rules and symbols. Power does not _come from_. Power _is_."

Cordus leaned forward, all pretense of indifference gone. His beauty seemed to blaze around him, inhuman, terrifying.

"As you say. So then, take her from me."

The room went silent. Not a creature in the place breathed.

Limu's eyes widened. He stared back at Cordus for several seconds. Then, with a howl of fury, he exploded into enveloping fire, boiling and seething just in front of us. I cowered away from it, pointlessly shielding my face with my arm.

The fire seemed to grow ever denser, hotter, and brighter. Malevolence radiated from it. The fire wanted to expand, to consume. But it didn't. It was being restrained. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cordus, still sitting beside me, staring intently into the flames.

Was he holding Limu back? Yes, he must be.

After a standoff of about thirty seconds, the ball of fire — now so dense it shone like a mini-sun — convulsed and began to dim. Slowly the flames died down, revealing Limu's shape underneath, now pale yellow all over.

Rage and humiliation were plain on his face. Clearly, he'd been bested, and he hadn't expected it. He didn't say anything, just stared at Cordus, shot me a venomous glance, then stalked out.

I think the Seconds arrayed behind us were as surprised as he was. Everyone just stood there. With a sharp crack, the warped steel bars of the flambéed coffee table snapped, and the thing collapsed. Everyone jumped, then started murmuring.

Cordus sat silently for a moment, pondering the burned remnants of furniture in front of us. Then he turned to me.

"Miss Ryder, if Ambassador Cra of the First Kingdom is still present, I would very much like to speak with him again."

_He must mean the green man_.

Fresh out of words, I nodded, and went to find the repugnant little bird-creature. Funny how much less frightening the prospect of speaking to Cra seemed than it would have an hour earlier.

I was less uncomfortable on the ride home than I had been on the way to court. It wasn't that sitting in a plush limo with Cordus had become routine. I just had bigger things to think about.

Cordus had interrogated Cra about the item Justine supposedly stole from Limu.

I'd been only marginally less surprised than Cra when Cordus included me inside the barrier he set up to keep the conversation private.

Leaning back nonchalantly on the remaining couch and using a cool, bored tone, Cordus had hypothesized that the green men surely wouldn't have agreed to send one of their hunters on such a risky mission — risky both individually and diplomatically, Cordus pointed out — without understanding something of the stakes.

At first the ambassador had maintained ignorance, but under Cordus's silent stare, it eventually allowed as how it might've heard a few rumors — wholly unsubstantiated, of course. The scuttlebutt was that Limu had been working on a powerful weapon. Justine had wormed her way into his affections and stolen it from him. Then she'd disappeared.

After Cordus had gotten this information out of Cra, he'd spent a while circulating, but guests started dropping away quickly. I got the feeling they all wanted to get home and hit the Second equivalent of Twitter to tell others about Limu's humiliating defeat.

I sat in the limo, pondering the idea that Justine was some sort of master thief. It was almost beyond belief.

When Cordus spoke, I jumped.

"Miss Ryder, I am remembering something the one you call Ghosteater said to you when describing the scent of Mrs. Ryder."

"That she was 'unfinished.'"

"Yes, and 'fragmentary.' I ask you again, are you certain those are the terms he used?"

"As certain as I can be, given that it wasn't something I thought I'd need to remember." I paused. "I might be able to ask him, if I went back to Dorf. I got the impression he'd been hanging out there. He might still be in the area."

Cordus didn't respond to the offer. Instead he leaned back and stretched out his legs, then studied his shoes as he tapped them slowly together.

"I begin to have an idea of what Mrs. Ryder may be." He looked up at me. "If I am right, we are facing a rather serious situation."

He focused again on his feet. Tap, tap, tap.

I sat there wondering if there was a way I could avoid getting sucked into his "rather serious situation." Unfortunately, I didn't think so.

"You read the document I gave to you."

I nodded, though it hadn't really been a question.

"Human species have been producing essence-workers for some millions of years — not only _Homo sapiens_ but other members of the genus _Homo_ , as well as several other genera. Some humanoid Seconds are, thus, comparatively old, though the reptiles would scoff if they heard any of us lay claim to that adjective."

I nodded, amazed for about the hundredth time in the last few weeks. So there were Neanderthal Seconds. People who'd been alive for tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of years. Like us and yet different. How extraordinary.

"That said, many walk among us to whom the lives of our greatest elders would seem but moments. Some of these are old enough to have passed into legend, so that we cannot be quite sure whether they ever existed. They are, in effect, our gods."

_Gods to the gods._ What a thought.

"One such legend is known as 'Eye of the Heavens.' This ancient being is said to be made of the sky itself. As the legend goes, in times of desperation, the sky looks down upon the creatures crawling in the mud beneath it and takes pity on their miserable lives. It shapes a piece of itself into a champion and sends him down to save and protect those in need."

"You think Justine is this Eye of the Heavens?" I shook my head. "If the sky sent her down here to be our champion, the sky has a pretty sick sense of humor."

Cordus frowned. I guess it wasn't a matter for levity.

"Remember that what I have just recounted is legend," he said. "The legend may be no more than an attempt to concretize and embody vague memories of a being that no one understands, that no one has seen in millennia. Memories, for instance, of an ability to shape-shift so fully that all trace of the original form is lost, memories of a creature whose true matter appears to be a group of sky-blue balls."

_Well I'll be damned_ , I thought. The hair prickled on the back of my neck.

"Do you remember..." I replayed the event in my mind. "Right after the deer exploded into those balls, just a second later, a few more balls seemed to appear out of thin air? Each one made a little flash."

"Yes, I do remember that."

I sat there trying to draw my idea into words.

"Thinking in terms of the legend, it's like the sky only needed a certain amount of itself to make a deer, but it needed more to make a person. So it reused the deer material but had to add some more, too. I mean, Justine definitely weighs more than the deer did."

Cordus nodded. "In addition to sheer mass, she is more intelligent and has a store of existing knowledge that a deer would not have."

I could've quibbled on the "more intelligent" part but let it go.

"But where did her human memories go while she was a deer? Is she really made of sky?"

"That does not seem likely, unless we think of the sky as something other than an expanse of air, clouds, and so forth."

His face was still aimed at his tapping feet, but he was looking up at me out of the corner of his eye. I realized he was waiting for me to catch up to his conclusions. I slipped into student mode and thought about what we already knew and what we still needed to know.

"You're thinking that there's even more of her somewhere, right? And that part — the part that's not in her now — it knows something. Who she is, maybe, or what she stole and where it's hidden."

"Exactly, Miss Ryder. Very good."

"Then we have to find her missing parts."

Cordus studied his feet a while before answering.

"Perhaps, but we must not move precipitously. Lord Limu presents a threat, and it is easy to assume that the enemy of one's enemy is one's friend. Unfortunately, that cliché rarely proves true. I would like to research further the legend of Eye of the Heavens before trying to trigger any changes in Mrs. Ryder."

I nodded, but my mind had doglegged down a different track.

"We should also try to figure out what kind of weapon Limu was making," I said. "Is there any way we can get more information about that?"

"You are certainly correct, Miss Ryder. That line of research must parallel my work on Eye of the Heavens, though we must again proceed with caution. And with absolute secrecy," he added, shooting me a pointed look.

I quickly nodded, afraid he might brainwash me into silence. Frankly, I couldn't quite see why he didn't — he hardly knew me well enough to trust me.

Actually, I couldn't see why he was sharing all this with me to begin with. Maybe he foresaw needing my help later. Even so, it was weird and discomfiting. Being the only Nolander Cordus took into his confidence was worse than being the only Nolander learning Baasha, by an order of magnitude.

"For the time being," he continued, "I can tell you one thing about the weapon: it is likely a thing of great power. Lord Limu seems to have put a noticeable amount of his strength into it. He is markedly weaker than he was when we first became holders of territories in this world, and he is not one who would surrender capacity lightly."

I thought about how easily Limu had let himself be goaded into attacking. Perhaps he'd assumed he could win. Maybe he'd always been the stronger of the two.

But wait.

"You can put your capacity into an object?" I asked. "How is that possible?"

"It is an ancient art, now lost — or so I believed. I can think of no other explanation for his comparative weakness."

He thought for a few seconds, then shook his head.

"Whatever this weapon does, I suspect it will perform its function... what is the contemporary expression? 'To the nth degree.'"

"And it must be really important to him."

"I imagine so. He has made quite the sacrifice."

"So, we have to stop him from using it, right?"

Cordus turned to look at me directly, his cold gaze meeting mine.

"That depends, Miss Ryder, on his intended target, does it not?"

# Chapter 17

At the end of my lesson the following morning, my day took an unexpectedly nice turn.

"You may now pay a short visit to Justine Jenson Ryder," Cordus said. "For the remainder of the day, you will work in the stables as a reminder not to offend the likes of Ambassador Cra."

I schooled my face, trying to look chastened. Inside, I did a cartwheel. Shoveling horse manure instead of getting hounded by Gwen and knocked down by Tezzy? He couldn't have given me a nicer surprise if he'd shopped all day. God bless Ambassador Cra.

I made a quick stop in my room and changed into jeans, sneakers, and a sweater for my upcoming stint in the stables. Then I headed down the hall to see Justine.

"Hey, Koji," I said as I approached. "You feeling okay?"

There was always a guard outside Justine's door. It was never one of the white-wearers. The guards didn't seem intended to overpower Justine, but just to guide her back to her room, should she wander too far.

This morning, it was Koji. He looked awful — ashen and sweaty.

"Hey, Beth. Touch of flu. No biggie."

"You sure? You look like you should be in bed."

"Nah, I'm fine."

He swallowed hard a few times.

I sighed and headed on in. What was it with guys? They always had to prove how tough they were. Ben had to be practically dying before he'd take a sick day.

Justine was sitting in front of her mirror, doing her makeup. She was wearing a pretty green silk dress and heels. I felt underdressed.

"Beth! Thank goodness you're here."

She hurried over to me, looking around with a frightened expression.

"Am I safe here? I just don't feel safe. I feel like I should run away. Please, can you do something?"

_Oh, man_.

As much as I hated her yelling at me for kidnapping, I preferred that mood to this one. Now I would have to reassure her, knowing all the while that she would be as scared when I got up to go as she was when I arrived. Maybe it was because she didn't understand why she was scared, or maybe my reassurances made no sense. After all, there was so much I couldn't say. Whatever the reason, my efforts to calm her never made much of a difference.

And this terrified, pathetic Justine was so not the woman I knew. Don't get me wrong — I couldn't stand the woman I knew. But at least she was a familiar face, a remnant of my old life. Terrified Justine was just another stranger.

The suite had a nice sitting area. We settled down on the loveseat, and I held her hand while I told her how large and well guarded Cordus's estate was, how Cordus was the most powerful man anywhere nearby, how we were working hard to try and make her even safer.

I really wanted to mention Limu and Eye of the Heavens to see if she reacted, but I obediently stifled the impulse. By some miracle, Cordus hadn't touched me yet. I was going to do everything possible to keep it that way.

I heard the door open.

"What's up, Koji?" I said, turning.

"Beth?"

It wasn't Koji. It was Graham, looking surprised.

"Graham... what are you doing here?"

"The door was unguarded. I was concerned."

"Oh. Koji did look sick. I bet he had to take a bathroom break."

Instead of leaving, Graham stood there, awkwardly passing a tennis-ball-sized rock from hand to hand and staring at Justine. He was wearing leather gloves. A bad feeling started to come over me.

"Graham, I think you need to leave. Graham."

His eyes jerked over to me.

"Stay out of this, Beth."

He rushed Justine.

I jumped up with a shout. There was a loud sound, and the floor heaved under me. With a shriek, Justine disappeared downwards, and a second later, I fell too. I landed in mud and threw my arms over my eyes, scrabbling to keep my face clear as soil and debris poured over me. I couldn't see Justine anywhere, but Graham was above me, teetering on the edge of the vast hole I was in. Arms wind-milling, he lost his grip on the stone ball. It sailed across the pit, bounced off the top of the fallen coffee table, and plummeted down at my face. I threw a hand out to block it, and it hit my palm.

I took a breath before I realized I was under water. Fluid flooded into my lungs, heavy and burning. I thrashed, found the bottom with my knees, and tried to thrust myself up. My head broke the surface, went under again, emerged again. I floundered and managed to stand, choking and panicked. Water poured out of my mouth and nose. Leaning over, I coughed and coughed as my lungs emptied themselves.

Finally I straightened up and tried to wipe the water and tears from my eyes.

I was standing in seawater up to my midriff.

_What the hell?_

I could see rocks sticking out of the water only a little ways off, so I started swimming that way. After just a few body lengths, the water became too shallow to swim, so I waded until I could drag myself up onto the rocks.

My brain just shut down for a while, and I lay there, panting.

Finally I sat up and looked around. I was at the edge of a rocky shoreline. It stretched a long way before the land started to rise and a dense forest took over. I was in a sort of cove. Towering headlands rose to either side, blocking my view. I looked out to sea. Nothing but water as far as the horizon.

It was raining steadily.

Had Graham's rock brought me here, wherever "here" was? Yes, it must've. Touching it was the last thing that had happened.

Was Justine here too? She'd fallen into the hole before me, and I thought she'd been buried. I hadn't been able to see her, at any rate. So she couldn't have touched the rock, right?

God, I hoped she hadn't suffocated under all that dirt. The thought made me sick.

Unsteadily, I stood up. I pried my phone out of my dripping jeans. It was dead. I didn't know all that much about cell phones, but it was hard to imagine it recovering.

I began picking my way toward the trees. The rocks were studded with tide pools, which were full of anemones, starfish, snails, and small fish. Here and there, an octopus scooted into a crevice and changed colors to match its hiding place.

Eventually the pools grew more shallow and then petered out. The narrow beach beyond the pools was a mixture of gray sand and rocks. Just past the beach, a wall of huge trees rose. It looked almost impenetrable.

_Where was I?_

Shock gave way to anger.

Graham. I'd gone out of my way to be nice to him. I'd felt sorry for him. I'd invented excuses for him. And all the while, he'd been plotting to send Justine to this place. Why?

I looked around, half-expecting Limu to show up and roast me alive, but I was alone.

After a while, I took my clothes off and wrung them out as best I could, then put them back on. After I'd done that, I sat down on the sand with my back against a rock and waited for someone to come get me.

It took me too long to admit that no one was coming.

I huddled on the beach, getting rained on, for the rest of that day and the whole night. By the middle of the night, I was so cold I had to get up and jog in place.

As the wee hours of the morning ticked by, my anger at Graham was replaced by fear. Fear became terror. Then I succumbed to despair. Finally, having run through all my emotions, I went numb.

Near dawn, the demands of my cold, thirsty body forced themselves front and center. The numbness receded, replaced by pragmatism. Clearly, I couldn't stay where I was. I needed water, I needed shelter, and I needed help. In comparison, my emotional life didn't matter.

I'd already seen that walking along the beach would be impossible. The cove lay between two rocky promontories, and I sure wasn't going to try climbing one of them. It would have to be the forest. Hopefully, I'd find a road quickly.

At first light, I gathered some dead wood and made an arrow pointing toward the trees. They'd probably send a tracker after me. If they didn't, at least there'd be some sign I'd been here. Then I headed in.

The forest was like nothing I'd seen before. Huge pine trees shot straight up to a canopy far above. All the branches below the canopy were needleless and coated in hanging moss. The trees grew very close together, so that the dead, mossy branches intertwined. Many of the trunks hosted brightly colored lichens. The ground was covered in moss and dense ferns. There were insects everywhere. Some were startlingly large. Several times, a massive dragonfly hovered in front of me, as though checking me out. Lizards, snails, and frogs were also abundant.

Almost immediately, I found rainwater that had collected in a pocket between two roots. I kept moving uphill and was rewarded with more fresh water. In fact, there were pools and rivulets everywhere. Check one necessity off the list.

The pools tended to be covered with tiny floating green plants, so it was easy to mistake them for dry ground. I found a long stick and began probing in front of me as I went. Progress was slow. There wasn't much underbrush besides ferns, but neither were there paths. Huge fallen trees in various states of decay littered the forest floor. Thank god I was wearing sneakers.

After an hour, I hadn't found anything I thought I could eat, but at least I was a bit warmer. I sat down against a tree trunk and took off my shoes, which were saturated. I propped them against the tree, soles up. It wasn't like they'd dry off in the rain, but maybe they'd get a little less wet. After some thought, I took off all my clothes and rinsed them with fresh water, then cleaned the salt off my skin and out of my hair as best I could. I put my wet clothes back on and settled down to rest.

I must've drifted off, sitting there. I awoke with the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. I opened my eyes and looked around. There was no sign of any living thing bigger than a slug. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling.

When I finally saw the creature, I froze. It was on a tree trunk right across from me. It was about the size of a dinner plate and was perfectly camouflaged with the colors and pattern of the tree's bark. After some looking, I found its eye, which had a large, oblong pupil. Once I had that, the rest of the animal began to make sense. It was an octopus, of all things. I could see its tentacles coiled around it, adhering to the tree bark. It was definitely watching me.

I looked around and saw several more of the things. Once I'd gotten the sense of how they were camouflaged, I could pick them out by looking for protuberances on trunks. I twisted around to make sure there wasn't one on the tree I was sitting against. It looked clear. Then I just sat there, not sure what to do.

I'd assumed I'd been sent some place on earth when I touched Graham's stone. Somewhere in Limu's territory — Oregon, maybe. But these creatures weren't like anything I'd heard of.

Could I have been sent to the S-Em?

If so, maybe these octopuses were more than octopuses.

I got up and stood there uncertainly. Then I nodded at each of the creatures I could see.

"Um... hello there. I don't know if you can understand me, but I don't mean you any harm."

Not surprisingly, no one responded.

"Okay then. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but I need to find food and help, so I'm going to keep moving."

I started walking again, still heading uphill. All along the way, I kept seeing octopuses. I nodded politely at each one I saw, though I felt sort of stupid doing it.

By early afternoon, my legs were shaking. Not only had I found nothing to eat, but I'd been climbing steadily uphill. I sat down to rest, trying to suppress the growing fear that I was lost forever in the S-Em.

_Cordus will come get me_ , I told myself. _I'm valuable to him_.

_But what if Graham got away?_ my pessimistic side responded. _What if Cordus can't find me?_

_Then Graham will come get me_ , I told myself firmly. _He wouldn't abandon me here_.

_Will he? He was trying to get Justine, not me_ , pessimistic Beth said.

Pessimistic Beth was too smart for her own good. Huddled on the forest floor, I started to cry, and once I did, I couldn't stop for the longest time.

What finally got through the sobs was the feeling of being tapped on the leg. I looked up and discovered a tree-octopus perched on the large root beside me. It had reached out a tentacle and touched me. As I watched, it reached out again.

I jumped up and backed away, hurriedly wiping my face. The tree-'pus retreated up its root a bit, eyeing me.

"I'm sorry to be rude, but what do you want?"

It didn't say anything.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

Again, no response. What did it say about me that I'd thought I might get one?

Slowly, it unfurled one tentacle toward me. Nestled among the suckers was a large snail.

"Oh. Is that for me?"

The tree-'pus put the snail down on the crushed ferns where I'd been sitting and withdrew its tentacle. Cautiously, I edged forward and reached a hand out. The tree-'pus backed away a bit, so I picked up the snail. Turning it over in my hands, I saw the shell was neatly cracked. I lifted half the shell away, revealing the snail inside. It was still alive, though it didn't seem to be in good shape.

"Is this to eat?" I brought it up to my mouth. "Eat?"

The tree-'pus just looked at me.

"Um... thanks. I think this is a gift. I'm sorry if I'm misunderstanding you."

I put the shell halves back together and stuck the snail in my pocket.

"I do want to eat it, but I want to cook it first, okay?"

I sat back down, hoping the thing didn't squish. Once I was sitting, the tree-'pus started approaching me again. It came slowly, stopping and looking at me every few inches, so I held still. Eventually it touched my leg, then withdrew its tentacle and looked at me.

It was pretty, actually. When I first saw it, it had been dark gray, like its root. Now it was an iridescent blue with cream-colored blotches.

I thought about it. I really didn't see how such a small creature could hurt me. I mean, I guess it could wrap around my neck or something, but it was soft-bodied. It looked like I could hurt it pretty easily with my bare hands.

When I didn't pull back, it undulated onto my calf.

Maybe this was part of the possible animal-taming thing I'd discovered on Rib Mountain. I'd pretty much dismissed that "ability" as a figment of my imagination. Maybe I was wrong.

I reached out a finger and touched the tree-'pus gingerly. It was quite cold and had a slimy coating. Oh well, we can't all be koala bears, right?

It kept moving up my leg, which was a weird feeling. Eventually, it settled in my lap. I looked into its eye. The pupil reflected light back like mother of pearl.

"You're a very attractive octopus," I said to it. "It's nice to meet you."

We sat there for another ten minutes or so, and then I told it I needed to get up and keep moving. When it didn't move, I slowly stood. It stayed affixed to the front of me, as though I were a tree trunk. I felt its tentacles shift, wrapping around my waist and ass.

_Great. Groped by an invertebrate_. Well, plenty of women had that experience, come to think of it.

"All right, little fellow. I have to get going, okay? You'd better hop off."

From its station on my hip, the tree-'pus stared up at me with one funny pupil. I guess it wanted to stay where it was.

"I'm going to keep walking, okay? You want to get down, just squeeze, okay?"

I took a dozen steps, then looked down at the 'pus. It showed no sign of wanting down. Looked like I had a passenger.

I continued up the forested slope for another couple hours. Eventually I realized it would be getting dark soon. I could worry about the big picture — where the hell I was and how I was going to get home — later. For the time being, I needed to get a fire going so I could stay warm overnight. And cook my snail.

First I went looking for dry tinder. Unfortunately, nothing in that place was dry. Eventually, poking around a fallen tree, I found a bunch of dead moss that was only slightly damp. Then I tried to find dry pieces of wood to use as a board and spindle.

I'd never actually made fire that way, mind you, but I'd seen people do it on TV.

There simply was no dry wood. Not even a scrap.

I sat down and had another cry.

It occurred to me that I'd probably cried more in the last couple weeks than Madisyn had. It was pointless and self-indulgent. That thought helped me get a handle on myself.

I got up and started gathering more of the hanging moss, looking for the driest bunches. After about half an hour, I had a huge heap of the stuff piled beside a large tree. When the time came for bed, I'd just crawl into the pile. It was the best I could do. Hopefully it would keep me warm.

I reached into my pocket and pried out the snail. It had died, but it hadn't gotten squished. I never in a million years would've thought I could eat a raw snail, but I suppose serious hunger has way of clarifying the mind. Holding my breath, I picked it out of its shell and swallowed it down in a couple bites. It was slimy and left a nasty aftertaste. I rinsed my mouth with water from a pool.

"Thanks for the snack, little fellow," I said to the tree-'pus, which was still clutching me.

Then I sat down carefully and tried to think of something I could do that would make the next day a little better than this one had been. There was so much I needed — fire, dry clothes, food, a weapon, a way of signaling for help. I really couldn't think of a way to get any of those things.

Something touched my shoulder, and I just about jumped out of my skin. It was another tree-'pus. It was clinging to the trunk above me. Once it had my attention, it held out a dead slug.

"Hey, thanks, that's really nice," I said, taking the slug.

It was intensely gooey. I really didn't think I could eat it.

As I sat there, other tree-'puses approached me with offerings. By the time it started getting dark, I'd been given three large moths, a dragonfly, a lizard, two snails, and an earthworm. I thanked each 'pus profusely.

When the gifts stopped arriving, I retreated to my moss pile with my collection of food items. My passenger 'pus climbed off me and settled on the trunk over my head, changing color to blend in. I began to eat my gifts. The slug was just too huge and slimy, but the worm, snails, and moths went down the hatch. The lizard I offered to the tree-'pus who'd been riding around on me.

It just stared back at me in the dim light.

"Hey, I've taken you pretty far from your home. I think you deserve to get some dinner, don't you?"

It stared at me a while longer, then accepted the lizard, which disappeared under the fleshy skirt that connected the tops of its tentacles. I heard a muffled crunch and wondered exactly how octopuses eat.

"You can have the slug. I'm really full," I said, and held it out. After a short hesitation, it too was accepted and consumed.

I went and got a drink from one of the many rainwater collections around me. Then I climbed into my moss pile.

"Thanks for your help," I said to the tree-'puses, many of which were still parked on the trunks around me. "I really appreciate it. You're wonderful hosts, and you have a lovely forest. Very, um, moist."

Of course, nobody responded. I was starting to get used to talking to myself, though.

"Okay, well, I'm going to get some sleep. Maybe I'll see you guys in the morning."

# Chapter 18

_Sought, sought_ , the wind whispered.

Ghosteater lifted his head.

_Run_ , the wind sighed.

How long had it been since the wind said such a thing?

He opened his mouth, smelling, tasting. He didn't know the one seeking him, but it was a creature of power. Male. Young.

How strange. No one sought him any longer.

Interested, he rose to seek the seeker.

The wind brushed through his fur, mumbling its warnings.

The wolf crouched in the silence, watching a dark-haired man walk down a street in the place the humans called Dorf. He didn't know the man but recognized him for what he was: a power, an émigré. An equal.

Equals were dangerous. His hackles lifted.

Ghosteater had not encountered many dangers of late. The great predators of this continent had vanished, and truth be told, such creatures had stopped posing a meaningful threat when he learned to walk in the silence. Even the cats. How easy it had been to step out in their midst and destroy a whole pride. It had quickly ceased to interest him.

As for humans, despite their strange machines, they were absurdly easy to kill. Soft, blind — it was hard to believe they had multiplied so swiftly, driving so many other creatures from the face of the earth. One day they had appeared, roving in a few spare bands, curious and inventive, but often starving. The next they had overrun vast stretches of the continent. Now even the land they didn't occupy bore their mark in one way or another.

The same thing had happened in the other world, to a lesser degree. There were still places there where humans didn't go.

The other world. Unwelcome memories rose. Not many years earlier, enmeshed in the affairs of others, he had shed his blood there. He had met with true danger, in those days. But now those ties were gone.

Sometimes he felt the lesser for it.

He told himself it was good to be free.

The wind agreed, murmuring the word back to him. _Free_.

As though he too heard the wind, the émigré paused, looking slowly up and down the street. The man had been seeking Ghosteater for two days. He had driven slowly through the countryside, stopping and looking. He had walked all the streets of Dorf several times, wearing different human faces.

For much of that time, Ghosteater had stalked the stalker, mystified by his actions, intrigued by his persistence.

It had been hard to go unseen. The man's sight was sharp.

He crouched now at the moment of decision: should he turn back into the silence and forget the strange things the wind had shown him in this place, or should he bite the matter and wrestle it down until he understood it?

The wind shifted, blowing from the north. Sharp and pungent, it tempted him with a taste of the boreal forest — the quiet of the deep woods, the sensation of late snow beneath his once-paws, the hot blood of a wolverine in his mouth.

The wind had brought him here, and now it wanted him far away.

He didn't understand it. The wind didn't lie. It didn't jest. It had no mind for such things.

Ghosteater shifted his weight, uncertain. He should probably heed its latest advice. In his experience, the wind didn't speak of danger lightly.

And yet, what he had seen in this place intrigued him: the woman Justine, who smelled like nothing he'd ever encountered; the pup, Beth, who seemed insignificant, and yet walked all the paths; the golden-haired man; and now, a human émigré, walking alone in the first world.

Ghosteater's curiosity ate at him.

Coming to a decision at last, he slipped forward, showing himself. "Émigré."

"Elder beast," the man replied, stopping and bowing. "You honor me with your presence."

Ghosteater cared nothing for honor. "You seek me."

"I do. I have come to ask your assistance."

Ghosteater cocked his head, waiting.

"One of my people, the woman Elizabeth Joy Ryder, has disappeared from my home. I believe she has been taken by a traitor, but my trackers cannot follow him. I know you met Miss Ryder, spoke with her. I ask you to help me find her."

Ghosteater sat down, tucking his tail over his once-paws. He studied the man for some time.

These human émigrés weren't like him. They made rules, played games. They spoke words they didn't mean. They fought with subterfuge and indirection, not tooth and claw.

Until they did fight with tooth and claw. Then they destroyed everything. Repugnant.

The she-pup, though — she had interested him. She who walked all the wind's paths.

"A man was here," Ghosteater said. "A marrow-worker. Slender, golden hair, your smell."

The émigré nodded. "The traitor."

"He went to an ancient place. He found a carven strait."

The man stared at Ghosteater. He smelled astonished. Finally he gathered his wits.

"I had not thought any of those devices were still at large, in this world or the other."

Ghosteater chuffed with annoyance and said nothing. This species thought itself all-knowing. Many such workings were lost and forgotten eons before his own source species appeared, much less this man's.

"Elder beast, do you know where the companion strait is located?"

"No."

The man stood silently, thinking.

"Would you be willing to track the traitor for me?"

Ghosteater tilted his head. Becoming entangled with the émigré was dangerous. The wind had said so. A thrill ran through him, a pale echo of his first hunts, of his last battles.

The émigré seemed to sense his excitement. "The man is exceedingly dangerous. Any who track him will be struck down, unless their strength exceeds his. None of my trackers is strong enough."

A hunt. A true hunt.

"If it is as you say, I will track him."

The man nodded. "The debt is mine."

Ghosteater was not, by nature, a keeper of accounts. He would help the émigré because the situation interested him, not out of benevolence or because he wanted a favor in return. Nevertheless, he said nothing. His long life had taught him some caution.

"The trail begins near the eastern edge of this continent," the man said. "We can get there most quickly in my airplane."

The great beast rose and came forward. The émigré stepped back, watchfulness and caution evident in his posture.

That was as it should be.

Ghosteater looked out the small window. The man, whose name was Cordus, had warned him of the airplane's fragility, so he kept his once-paws carefully silent. He stared down at the tiny lights beneath, clusters connected by slender strings, sprinkled all over with single stars. Small pools of darkness marked bodies of water, and then a long darkness came as the airplane crossed one of the great freshwater seas the ice had left behind.

He sat back on his haunches.

How strange to pass over the land from far above. How deeply strange.

The aircraft struck him as insubstantial, ephemeral. He could have destroyed it with ease. Yet for all its frailty, it did something he would have thought impossible.

He felt unsettled. He had paid little mind to the humans who came to these lands mere millennia ago, thinking them a passing blight. Perhaps they deserved greater attention.

Outside, the violated wind howled by, its voice muted by the plane's walls.

_Danger_ , it said. _Run_.

# Chapter 19

I wasn't nearly so cold as I'd been the night before. Despite the dampness of my clothes, the heap of moss provided good insulation. I woke feeling cramped and filthy, and with a headache and a stomach ache, but at least I'd slept.

When I pushed my way out of the moss, I was met with an audience — dozens of tree-'puses covered the trunks and larger branches all around me. Several had even come down onto the ground, turning green to blend with the ferns and mosses.

As soon as I appeared, the closer ones began to hold out offerings. I didn't feel much like eating, but I collected worms, snails, frogs, moths, and other creatures, thanking each 'pus for its gift. The cache included several more huge dragonflies. Their bodies were longer than my hand. I'd never seen ones so big.

No, that wasn't quite right. I had seen huge dragonflies before — in drawings of the prehistoric Earth.

Maybe some essence-worker had made this place millions of years ago.

How many millions?

I looked at my collection of dead creatures. There were no mammals or birds.

Well, whenever the place had been made, I still had to find help. I stood up and squared my shoulders.

"Guys," I said to the tree-'puses, "I'm going to keep heading uphill, today. I need to find a village or a road or something, someone who can help me get back to my world."

Dozens of oblong pupils stared back at me silently.

"Thank you for taking care of me. I really appreciate it."

I gathered the food offerings up and was momentarily stymied on how to carry them. Eventually I took off the T-shirt I was wearing under my sweater and bundled the creatures up in it. Hardly ideal, but it should keep them contained. I would eat them as soon as my stomach settled.

I looked for the tree-'pus who'd accompanied me the day before and found it on the same trunk. It reached several tentacles out to me.

"Are you sure you want to come with me, little guy? I'm taking you farther and farther from your home."

It kept stretching toward me, detaching a few more tentacles to reach out.

I was torn. It might be helpful to have the 'pus with me, but if I found help, I might have to leave it someplace where there was no good habitat for it.

The 'pus had seven tentacles stretched out to me and was clinging to the trunk with just one. Its skin was pulsing from blue and cream to pearly white.

"Okay, okay," I said, going over so it could climb onto my hip. "I hope you understand, little fellow."

It settled itself on my jeans. One of its tentacles snuck under my sweater, and its suckers gripped my bare skin — damp and shivery.

Waving goodbye to the other tree-'puses, I headed uphill.

As it turned out, my 'pus had nothing to worry about — I found nothing all day except massive trees, rain, and a steady incline. I stopped a few hours into my walk to eat the more bearable of my food choices, giving the extras to my passenger. Then I continued on, hour after hour.

By late afternoon, I hurt all over. Not only was every muscle in my body screaming, but as I grew more fatigued, I fell down more, so I had a lot of new bruises. Fortunately, the 'pus proved adept at flinging itself away from me when I fell, so I hadn't landed on it.

When evening approached, I assembled another moss pile for sleeping. I was again provisioned by the tree-'puses.

As I ate, I felt my mind worrying a bad thought that hadn't quite emerged from my subconscious.

_Well, best to keep it buried_ , I thought. Likely there'd be nothing I could do about it, anyway. I crawled into my moss and went to sleep.

Unfortunately, when I woke up, the bad thought was parked in the center of my mind, all touched up with fresh paint and a body kit.

The S-Em was made up of multiple strata, Cordus's document had said — layered versions of parts of the world, as reshaped by different workers. Most of the strata were connected to others, but some weren't. My thought was this: what if I couldn't get from here to somewhere else? More importantly, what if others couldn't get from somewhere else to here?

I'd assumed there would be people here, even if this part of the S-Em was made before humans evolved. After all, humans were nothing if not colonizers. All of the Earth had been around for eons before humans evolved, and we'd covered the whole planet.

But what if people had never found their way to this place? What if I was the only vertebrate here bigger than a frog?

_Should I have stayed down near the shore?_

No, what would be the point of that? I had to look for help. It was either that or hunker down and wait for a rescue that might never happen. And hope the tree-'puses remained generous. That was no way to confront my situation. I'd be back in passive-victim mode.

It was better to try to find help. If Cordus had sent a rescue party, they'd be tracking me and would probably catch up to me quickly.

I just had to keep looking for people — a village, a shack, a road, anything.

Resolved, I gathered up my 'pus and the morning offerings, and headed uphill.

By the end of the day, I still hadn't reached the summit. The mountain seemed to go on forever.

As I bedded down for the night, I watched the 'puses on the trees around me. There was a period every evening, right around dusk, when they abandoned their camouflage and put on a short symphony of color. It started as I lay there. Pulses and flashes of color lit up the trunks and branches as far as I could see. They hit every shade in the rainbow, and then some, the colors moving across the forest in vast waves.

The display was completely silent and quite beautiful. Even as exhausted and frightened as I was, it was hard not to be filled with wonder. How many people got to see something like this?

_Not many_ , I thought.

_Let's just hope you're not the only one, ever_ , pessimistic Beth chimed in.

# Chapter 20

"A sink hole formed here, without warning," Cordus said. "Apparently an underground spring shifted and began to saturate the soil some months ago. The earth liquefied just as Mr. Ryzik joined Miss Ryder in the room. That is the kind of event his gift creates."

Ghosteater tasted the air in the room and was surprised. "The woman Justine was here."

"Yes. She was staying in this room."

Ghosteater circled the hole, then jumped down into it, sniffing carefully.

Justine had been under the dirt. The scents had been trampled by those who came to dig her out, but he could still read them — her burial beneath falling earth, the place where the she-pup had lain, the carven strait falling toward the bottom of the pit, the moment the she-pup touched it. He tasted the slightly burned scent of her passage through the strait. He smelled Ryzik's scramble down into the hole, his brief effort to uncover Justine, his terrified flight with the carven strait hidden in his clothing.

"I will track him. You cannot keep up with me. I will track alone, then return for you."

"If you carry this device with you, I can follow you by car." Cordus held out a small, dark, boxy thing. "It is a tracking machine. It poses no danger to you."

So, the émigré wanted to be there at the end of the hunt to best the prey and claim it for himself. Ghosteater didn't object — he had no use for Ryzik. He permitted Cordus to put a loop of rope around his neck and clip the object to it. He could slice it off in an instant, if need be.

He stepped into the silence and loped out of the house, allowing Ryzik's scent to guide him over the lawns to the edge of the property, where he went through Cordus's barrier with an uncomfortable tingle. He passed the blood the barrier had cost the man, smelled his pain.

The trail led to a highway, where he could tell the man had entered a vehicle. He followed more carefully, then, since human habitations were thick.

He found that the car had passed over a river by bridge. Would the silence truly hide him on that slender span of rock and metal, teeming with cars? He wasn't sure. Best not to take a chance.

Quietly, he slipped into the water.

Ghosteater slid into an alley at the last moment. The runaway city bus careened past him and struck a building. He moved away from the stink of fuel and the screams of the injured.

He'd been working his way through the great city for more than a day. The unusual gift of the one he tracked created havoc all around him. Accidents befell him at every turn — cars ran up onto the sidewalk, heavy things fell from windows, tall poles came crashing down, hordes of rats emerged from sewers, gunfire sowed panic, scaffolding collapsed, riots blocked streets, gas leaked from beneath the ground and exploded.

Each time, he had avoided injury, but the delays mounted. Ryzik was still at least an hour ahead and had kept moving.

Ghosteater wondered where the émigré was. Perhaps he had rethought his desire to follow. It wouldn't be surprising. Trailing Ryzik was far more challenging than Ghosteater had thought it would be, and the human powers were known for caution.

The beast leapt sideways, avoiding an avalanche of falling masonry. At long last, the man had stopped moving. Ghosteater had tracked him to the basement of an old building in the southern reaches of the island. The falling stone had blocked the window he had been about to slide through. He circled the building, looking for another way in.

There were no other windows into the basement. Instead, he used the building's main entrance, drawing his claws from the silence to carve through the locked door. He padded around the ground level until he found the stairwell leading down. He pushed the door open and paused. With a shudder and crash, the staircase collapsed.

Turning away from the heap of rubble, he found another shaft leading down. He cut his way in, then jerked back just in time as the building's elevator went hurtling past. Once it hit bottom, he jumped down onto it and dug through to the basement. His claws were strong, but they were not meant for steel. The process took a while, but Ryzik's own luck had trapped him down there.

When the wolf at last saw his quarry, he was saddened. The man lay against a wall, exhausted, filthy, trembling, covered with wounds. Ghosteater understood — humans were not designed to run, without sleep, for four days. Nevertheless, it was a depressing end to a challenging hunt. The man had proven far worthier than the beast had expected. Dangerous indeed.

He advanced, then jumped aside as a heavy pipe fell from the ceiling.

Ryzik's eyes opened halfway. "Saw you cut them down," he whispered. "Shadows of Marshwren. Only thing that made them bleed."

Ghosteater paused, surprised. If this man had been at Marshwren, he was older than expected. Older than the émigré knew, perhaps. He approached the man and nosed him, inhaling, searching for the subtlest of clues. Yes, from the other realm and quite old for his kind.

"Why are you here, native?"

The man touched Ghosteater's foreleg. "Strong," he whispered.

He was almost drained, close to losing consciousness.

"Native, why are you here?" Ghosteater repeated.

"Fugitive."

The wolf understood, then, to some degree. The humans made laws, snared one another in them, punished those who transgressed. Sometimes the transgressors escaped. This world had long provided a hiding place for fugitives from the other.

It was such a one who had ensnared him in years past and led him to the rending fields at Marshwren and elsewhere.

Ghosteater pushed the memory away. The man here before him was another.

He thought instead about laws. Their virtue escaped him. Beasts had a different way — the strongest ruled until a stronger one emerged. To structure and bind existence in a system of laws and submit oneself to them — this was repellent to him. A law had no claws of its own. It had no teeth. Thus it should have no sway.

Whatever rules Ryzik had broken didn't matter to Ghosteater. He thought about the situation.

Initially, this man had not interested him enough to squabble with the émigré. Now he did — so worthy an adversary. Looking down at the crumpled figure, the beast laid claim to him as prey taken. Now he alone had the right to kill him, and that he chose not to do, at least for the time being.

"Rest, fugitive. I will guard you."

Two hours later, someone used an essence-worked barrier to punch through one of the basement walls. Ghosteater raised his head and watched Cordus and several of his people climb through the hole. The fugitive was sleeping behind him. Ghosteater yawned expansively, showing off his teeth.

"Émigré."

"Elder beast," Cordus said, "I am sorry to have been delayed. The device I gave you stopped functioning before you reached the city."

Ghosteater looked back at him, not feeling a response was needed.

Cordus's eyes shifted. "I see you have found him."

"Worthy prey," Ghosteater said. "He is mine."

An uncomfortable silence fell. The beast studied the people Cordus had brought. One of them was a barrier-worker. He had some strength. Nevertheless, none of them posed a threat. The émigré, of course, did.

Finally Cordus said, "I recognize that you claim him as prey, but Miss Ryder must be recovered. You will not prevent me from doing so, even at the cost of Mr. Ryzik's life."

Ghosteater thought about it. In his eyes, Cordus had no particular right to the she-pup — he could find what he was sharp enough to track, keep what he was strong enough to hold. Other claims didn't matter.

On the other hand, the she-pup interested him even more than Ryzik did. He wished to see her again.

"Agreed," he said, and moved aside.

"Miss Hegstrom," Cordus said, "examine Mr. Ryzik, but do not go through his clothing."

One of the émigré's people came forward and checked the man over.

"He's drained, exhausted, and dehydrated, and the barrier did some damage. I don't see any mortal injury."

Cordus nodded.

Ten minutes later, they had propped Ryzik up in a corner. He was semi-conscious, and the older female — Hegstrom — was spooning broth into his mouth. Cordus and Ghosteater stood back, waiting.

"Mr. Ryzik," Cordus said.

The man mumbled something unintelligible. Hegstrom gripped him under the chin and forced his face up. He blinked blearily.

"Yeah," Ryzik said, slurring.

"Where is Miss Ryder?"

"Carven strait. Dunno where it took her."

"Where is the strait?"

"Pocket."

"Mr. Williams, bring the strait to me."

The barrier-worker pulled on a pair of gloves before taking the stone ball out of Ryzik's pocket. He brought it over to Cordus, who examined it while Williams held it. Eventually, Cordus reached out and took it, not bothering to cover his skin. Everyone in the room felt the strait grasp at him, but with a concentrated expression, Cordus overpowered its pull.

He held the ball for a while, studying it.

Finally he said, "The corresponding strait is in an ancient stratum or isolate of the S-Em. It is functional."

"Fresh water? Predators? Food supply?" Hegstrom asked.

Cordus shook his head. "That I cannot tell."

"I'll go," Williams said. He smelled annoyed.

"Perhaps," Cordus said.

Williams frowned. "It's been four days. Good chance she's dead already."

"Nevertheless, this situation requires some thought and planning before anyone enters the strait. Elder beast, I suggest we return to my home. Mr. Ryzik can be cared for there, and we can consider how best to retrieve Miss Ryder."

Ghosteater stood, assenting.

About six hours later, Ghosteater stood in a small room with Cordus and a handful of his people.

Ryzik was sleeping off his ordeal in the estate's healing facility, across the hall. So long as he was here, the émigré would keep him drained by force. Ghosteater found the idea unpleasant, but he accepted it — the ways to detain a powerful worker were few.

Cordus had decided that Williams and two others would enter the fragment. The one named Zion was a tracker. She would find the she-pup. The other, Sanchez, was a healer. Williams, the barrier-worker, would protect the group. The team had been equipped with weapons and survival gear.

Ghosteater surveyed the rescue party.

He did not like company.

On the other hand, the idea of entering an ancient stratum piqued his interest. He had explored some parts of the other world, but he found travel there tedious. So many distasteful strata had to be crossed to get to the few good ones. And some strata — the isolates — were entirely disconnected from the main body of the other world. There was a good chance he'd never seen this place.

"I will go."

Cordus turned to him, surprised. "You care for Miss Ryder?"

Ghosteater looked back at him, silent. He knew better than to reveal his motive. His inclination to curiosity had been exploited before.

"Will you help track Miss Ryder? Her retrieval must be your first priority."

"I will track her and guard your people."

"Very well, elder beast," Cordus said, still looking perplexed. "Zion, you will work with the beast to track Miss Ryder."

Zion nodded, smelling wary.

Williams went first. Gun drawn and barrier already in place, he approached the strait, which was sitting on the floor. He crouched down and touched it, disappearing with a smell of burned space. Sanchez followed after thirty seconds, also with her weapon ready. Zion went next.

Ghosteater walked to the stone ball and lowered his nose to touch it. He felt the strait open and try to grip him. He resisted, inhaling. Saltwater. Oxygen-rich air and life, abundant life.

"The companion is in the sea," he said to Cordus. "The place is older than dragons."

He let the strait take him.

Fifteen minutes later, the rescue party stood on the rocky beach. Ghosteater shook himself and looked over his shoulder at the three humans. Williams had not crafted his barrier to keep out water, so they were wet.

Ghosteater lowered his nose and quickly found the place the she-pup had huddled all night, then followed her scent to the edge of the forest. He sat down to wait for the humans, who were still wringing the seawater out of their clothing and packs.

Once the party was ready, they entered the forest.

"Look at that," Sanchez said, pointing to a boneless sea creature incongruously perched on a tree trunk. She looked around. "There are tons of them."

Ghosteater approached to sniff the creature and was met with a punch in the nose. He backed away, shaking his head. The animal was powerful, and he knew by scent that there were millions of them in the forest.

"Water-worker?" Williams asked.

"Yes," Ghosteater said.

The creature had created a small wall of water, then propelled it into his face at high speed. The effect was like being hit in the nose with a rock.

"What do we do?" Sanchez said, looking around nervously.

"Wait 'til they decide we're not a threat," Williams said, settling on a root.

Ghosteater lay down in the ferns, then stretched out on his side, exposing his belly. Sanchez and Zion sat down next to Williams, smelling nervous.

After about an hour, one of the creatures approached them. It reached out a tentacle and touched the healer's hand.

"Ugh, gross!"

The creature withdrew.

Zion made a disapproving sound. "Be nice to them, dumbass."

"Easy for you to say." Sanchez wiped her hand on her pants. "It touched me, not you."

Williams slowly held his hand out to the animal, which had bunched itself up defensively.

"Peace, little one."

Tentatively, it touched his hand. When Williams didn't react, it coiled a tentacle around his wrist and began moving up.

"Oh my god, you've got to be kidding," Sanchez said.

"Shhhhh."

"Fuck off, Zion."

Ghosteater thought the soft creatures recognized him as a predator, so he lay still and said nothing. The human females' bickering annoyed him. Perhaps he could eat one of them. It depended on how powerful Cordus actually was and how much he would mind losing a lesser minion.

Williams had the soft creature in the crook of his arm and was explaining to it that they were there to find one of their people and bring her home.

"Do you really think it can understand you?" Zion said.

The man shrugged. "Dunno."

After another half an hour, Williams shifted the animal onto a tree and gave the order to proceed. The soft creatures didn't react as the group got up and moved out.

Half an hour later, they found a place where the she-pup had paused.

"I think she stopped here a while," Zion said.

"She slept," Ghosteater said. "Then she went on."

"Goddamn it," Williams said.

"What?" said Sanchez.

"She should've stayed put."

"She was probably trying to find help."

"There's no help, here."

"How do you know?"

"Just do." He looked around. "This is an isolate."

Ghosteater looked up the trail, impatient with the humans' conversation and the slowness of their travel. He could cover this terrain ten times faster than they could.

As they moved out, the females fell back to sniping at each other. He had spent too long alone to tolerate such annoyances.

"Tracker, I will find her. Follow my trail."

Not waiting for a response, he trotted away through the trees, picking up speed in increments when the soft creatures didn't react. Soon he was racing through the forest, leaping pools and fallen logs with ease. In ten minutes, he found the place where one of the creatures had befriended the she-pup. Ten minutes later, he reached the place she'd stopped for the night and noted that the creatures had fed her. Then he ran on through the dim forest.

# Chapter 21

On my fifth day in Octoworld, as I'd started to think of it, I finally reached the summit. I didn't realize it at first. There was no pointy top where I could stand and survey the land for miles around, just a gradual flattening out of the terrain.

I stopped and looked around. The trees had changed, I realized — they were shorter and more spaced out. Instead of the clutter of pools and mossy fallen logs, the ground was dry and covered with pine needles. Dense patches of tall ferns grew here and there. For the first time, it wasn't raining.

As I stood there, the tree-'pus gave me a hard squeeze. I looked around and didn't see any other 'puses.

"What's up little guy? Do you need to get off?"

It looked up at me out of its oblong pupil. As usual, it had nothing to say, but it did squeeze me again.

Sadness welled up. Okay, it was an octopus. But it was my companion and provider. Now I was going to have to leave it behind. I'd be well and truly alone.

Afraid it would be too dry for the 'pus where I was, I headed back the way I'd come. After ten minutes, the ground began to slope down again, and the rain picked up. I found a big tree with a nice pool near its roots.

I sidled up to the trunk to let the 'pus transfer itself. Instead it detached several tentacles and waved them in the downhill direction. When I didn't move, it added a few more, stretching insistently. It pretty clearly wanted me to keep walking back into the rainforest.

"Your forest is really nice, little guy, but I can't stay there. I'm pretty sure there's no one there who can help me get home."

It kept waving.

"I'm sorry, buddy, but I have to keep looking. It's either that or just give up. There might not be anyone coming for me."

Finally it stopped waving and flowed from my hip onto the tree trunk.

"Bye, little guy. Thanks for all your help. I really appreciate it. I guess I probably won't be back this way, but I hope I'll see you again, somehow."

The 'pus didn't pay any attention to my farewell speech. Instead it moved down the trunk, lurched over the roots to the pool, and plopped in. After a few seconds underwater, it climbed out, shimmering strangely. I knelt down to get a better look. It was covered with a thick shell of water.

The 'pus crawled over the ferns to my foot and started to climb up my leg. Instead of soaking into my clothes, its coat of water stayed intact. It seemed like magic to me, but it was probably a working.

"Wow, portable fishbowl. That's some trick. So, you want to come with me? Is that it?"

It stared up at me, the water making its eye look even stranger.

I stood there, ambivalent. It obviously couldn't live unassisted in the terrain beyond the rainforest. How long would it be able to sustain itself with its water jumpsuit? If it ran out of water, it would probably die.

"I really appreciate the help, but I don't think you should come. It's too dangerous. Besides, I might not come back this way."

It didn't move.

"Why don't I just put you on this nice trunk, here?"

I pried one of its water-coated tentacles off my waist. At that point, I learned just how tenacious an octopus can be. Try as I might, I couldn't get it off me. Every time I broke a tentacle's grip, the slimy thing would whip out of my hands and wrap back around me. In the end, I gave up, afraid I was going to hurt the 'pus if I kept pulling at it.

"Okay, little guy. Thank you. I really hope I'm not going to get you killed."

With its thick coating of water, the 'pus weighed a lot more than it had before, so I urged it to climb onto my upper back, like a living backpack.

Then, at last, I headed out of the rainforest, trying to feel hopeful about what lay ahead.

Two hours later, I stood on a ledge and surveyed the land beneath.

Walking down the dry side of the mountain, I'd noticed a rocky outcropping jutting out to my left. I'd backtracked up to its highest point of contact with the main slope, then walked out along the top of it, trying to get a view over the trees.

I'd had great hopes of seeing a city, a village, even a column of smoke — anything that would suggest human habitation. My hopes were disappointed.

All around me, the land fell away sharply, the pine forest thinning out as the mountain gave way to a lush, green river valley. On the far side of the valley, I could see more wooded hills. I stood there scanning the terrain for some time but couldn't find any sign of people.

I thought about what to do. The rainforest was a known quantity. If I went back, I could use the moss to stay warm, and the tree-'puses would probably provide me with food, at least for a while.

But whatever the rainforest had going for it, I just couldn't make myself turn back. Sitting there and doing nothing, day after day, waiting for a rescue that might never come — no. The thought made my skin crawl.

Waiting for whatever happened to me to happen — that's what I'd been doing ever since I ran home from college. I couldn't afford to be that person anymore. Whatever I might've lost, at this moment, I had the power to make a choice, and I was going to choose action, not passivity.

I could follow the river. People often built cities and towns along rivers or where rivers met the sea. Maybe that would be my best bet. The river would be good for the 'pus, too — plenty of water.

Decision made, I walked back along the outcropping to the main slope and continued down the mountain.

After about forty-five minutes of easy downhill walking, I heard movement off to my right. Since leaving the rainforest, I hadn't seen any creatures larger than a dragonfly, so I crept closer to investigate. When I got near enough, I peered cautiously around a tree trunk.

What I saw could only be a dinosaur. It was small — its back might've come up to my knee — and bipedal. It had a narrow, snakelike head, which it was using to root around in the thick carpet of dead pine needles. Everything about it looked light and agile, from its long neck and tail to its small body and slender limbs. It was covered in downy feathers, and its forelimbs hosted a winglike panel of thick plumes. As I watched, it used its clawed hands to shift a small fallen branch, then snapped up a lizard that had been hiding underneath.

The creature pumped its head, gulping down its prey like an owl swallowing a mouse. Then it caught sight of me and froze, staring at me with large yellow eyes, a bit of lizard tail sticking comically from the corner of its mouth. Then it whirled and darted off. The dark-brown-and-rufous pattern of its plumage blended perfectly with the surrounding forest, and I quickly lost sight of it.

"Well, what do you know about that?" I said to the 'pus. "I guess there are some larger vertebrates here, after all."

But except for one mini-dinosaur, the forest seemed strangely empty. Maybe I'd entered mini-dinosaur paradise — all the lizards you could eat and no competition.

After about another hour of walking, the tree-'pus gave me a hard squeeze. I stopped and surveyed the terrain before me. I couldn't see anything. It squeezed me again, harder, and I turned a slow circle, looking behind and to the sides. Nothing.

I walked on, spooked. The 'pus kept squeezing me, but every time I stopped to look around, there was nothing there.

Finally, about twenty minutes later, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly and saw a patch of ferns swaying, as though something had just darted into them. I saw another movement to my left and spun around, this time just catching a bit of feathery tail as it disappeared behind a fallen log.

Minis-dinos. They were following me.

My heart rate shot up, and I quickly reached for my rubber band. It wasn't there. At some point it had come off, and I hadn't even noticed. I took several slow breaths, reaching for calm.

I hadn't been afraid of the one I'd seen. It'd be like fearing a housecat. Sure, it had teeth, but it was quite small. It might bite me, but do serious damage? No. Furthermore, it had seemed afraid of me.

A whole pack of the things was a different matter, though. I backed away slowly, picking up a few fist-sized stones as I went.

Over the next few minutes, they grew bolder about showing themselves. Finally, one darted at me, feinting at the last moment and retreating. Several more emerged from the ground cover. They came forward slowly, crouching a bit, heads held low and weaving slightly. It sure looked like stalking behavior to me. Not good.

"Okay, 'pus, hold on," I murmured.

I gathered myself and rushed them, shouting and throwing stones. They immediately spun around and raced back into the ferns. Once they were out of sight, I turned and sprinted downhill, hoping I'd scared them off.

I wasn't counting on it, though. After a few minutes, I slowed and began looking for more rocks. I pulled off my T-shirt and knotted it into a little bag, which I filled with stones.

Within half an hour, they were back on my trail — I could tell by the 'pus's squeezes. They trailed me for about an hour before they began getting bold enough to show themselves again. Several times I drove them off by shouting and throwing stones, but eventually that tactic lost its effect, and they began darting in, nipping at my ankles or jumping to snap at my hands.

I knew I was in trouble. Now that they were getting close, I could see they had a formidable array of teeth — small but sharp and numerous. Their claws also looked perfectly capable of cutting skin.

I considered climbing a tree, but what if they didn't lose interest once I was up there? I couldn't stay in a tree forever. Besides, they might well be able to climb.

Afraid to keep my back to them, I turned to face them, walking backwards slowly. I was taken by surprise when one rushed in from behind me and bit my calf. I shouted and lost my balance. I twisted and swung my arms wildly, trying not to fall. By sheer luck, my bag of rocks caught the mini in the head as it let go of me and feinted to my right. It weaved around, disoriented. I lost my battle with gravity and fell right on it.

I scrambled to my feet. My attacker lay there, twitching. I'd crushed it.

Heart racing, I backed away as at least a dozen other minis advanced. But when they pounced, their target was their dying comrade, not me. I turned and ran.

Five minutes later, I had to stop. The stitch in my side made it impossible to breathe, and my leg hurt. I could tell it was bleeding from the squishy feeling in my shoe.

I stood there, bent over, gasping. If I got out of this situation, I was never going to complain about Gwen's workouts again — clearly, I needed them.

Only after a couple minutes did I realize I was lucky not to have left the tree-'pus behind. Usually it bailed out when I fell. This time it hadn't, but I hadn't stopped to think about it before I ran.

"Sorry, buddy," I said, reaching through its watery casing to pat the limb it had wrapped around my chest.

Feeling very shaky, I limped downhill. Hopefully the minis would be satisfied with their meal. If not, I didn't think I could escape. There was nothing at the bottom of the mountain but fields of grass. Nowhere to hide.

The dead mini bought me more than an hour. I pushed as fast as I could with my injured leg. By the time they caught up with me, the slope had begun to flatten out. The trees were growing sparser, and the patches of ferns came more often. I was leaving a trail of bloody footprints.

This time, they came on without hesitation. I heard the rustling in the ferns and didn't even get fully turned around before they were darting in all around me, clawing and biting. I swung the sack of stones and connected a few times, but there were too many. They started leaping up at me, aiming at my face and neck. I staggered back and fell, and they swarmed me. Instinctively, I threw my arms up to shield my face and neck, even though it was pointless.

Something wet shuddered past me with a deep _whump_ , and a force pressed me down into the ground for a split second. The biting stopped.

After a few moments, I raised my head. Everything within a forty-foot ring around me was destroyed — there was nothing but flattened ferns and downed trees. A few minis were lying some distance from me, moving feebly. The others were out of sight.

I looked for the 'pus and found it a few feet behind me. Its watery coating was gone, and it was coated in pine needles.

Painfully, I rolled over and stood. I'd been bitten many times and could feel blood running down my legs. I gathered up the 'pus and staggered on.

Half an hour later, the ground leveled and the trees petered out. The lush, green valley I'd seen that morning stretched out ahead of me. The greenery wasn't grass, as I'd assumed — it was ferns, a dense sea of ferns.

I limped out past the last of the trees, moving toward the river I remembered seeing. I badly needed water, and the 'pus's skin had taken on a dry, sticky feel that couldn't be good.

Once out in the ferns, I looked back.

There were the minis, grouped near the last tree, stretching up to watch me over the fronds. I stood for a moment, frozen with terror. If they attacked again, I didn't think the 'pus would be able to save me. I wasn't sure what it had done the last time — an explosion of some kind — but it had clearly used up its water doing it.

The minis didn't attack. They watched me for a minute and then turned and retreated back into the forest. The trees seemed to mark the edge of their territory.

So whose territory was this? I looked around with renewed fear, but couldn't see anything but waves of soft green, moving gently in the breeze.

I tucked the 'pus up under my sweater. Maybe the poor critter would stay a little moister under there. Then I struggled on, desperate for water.

I found the river fairly quickly, thank god. I was so thirsty, and was starting to feel sick and dizzy, as well.

Knee-high ferns grew right up to the banks. Their dense roots formed a spongy mat that kept my feet from sinking into the mud.

When I reached the water's edge, it occurred to me that there might be aquatic predators to worry about. I took a few steps back and surveyed the river. It was wide, slow moving, and very clear. For some ways out, it was only a foot or two deep, but then the water darkened, as though with great depth.

I couldn't see anything moving out there, but that didn't really mean anything.

I sank to my knees and pulled the 'pus out from under my shirt. I lowered it into the water. It sat there stiffly for a minute, and I was afraid it had died. But then it unfurled its tentacles and relaxed into the water, its oblong pupil staring up at me.

"Drink it up, little guy," I said.

I leaned down and drank as well.

After a few minutes, the 'pus started crawling back up my arm, its cocoon of water reformed around it. I pulled it up onto the shore but was too weak to lift it — it must've weighed thirty pounds with its watery coat. So I sat back and let it crawl into my lap.

Jesus, I owed my life to an octopus.

At least for the time being. I wasn't in good shape.

Why the hell had I left the rainforest? I'd been safe and well fed, there. Now I was injured — in a minute I'd have to try to figure out how badly — with no food, no shelter, and no possibility of retracing my steps. And so far as I could tell, I was no closer to finding help than I had been before.

I seemed incapable of making a good decision.

Moving slowly, I set the 'pus aside and stripped down to my underwear. My legs, hips, and rear were covered with bites and scratches, and I had some on my back and arms, too. None of the wounds were deep, but all were bleeding. From my woozy feeling, I thought the loss was adding up.

I sat there, stupefied. I had no idea what to do.

_I should clean the bites_ , I thought.

The only thing I could clean them with was river water, and who knows what bacteria it held. Then again, I'd just drunk it. But what might I attract if I got into the water with open wounds?

I realized I was probably going to die pretty much where I was. I was too weak to keep going. It was late afternoon. The sun had already sunk behind the mountain. It wasn't as cold as it had been in the rainforest, but it would be chilly overnight. I had no food.

Really, what could I do?

I sat there a while, hurting and deeply angry at myself. Then I heard a strange, rasping noise behind me. I twisted around to look, too exhausted and low to be as afraid as I probably should've been.

The ferns were moving weirdly. I staggered to my feet, expecting a mini to come darting out, but after a second, I realized it was the plants themselves that were moving — not just near me, but as far out along the plain as I could see.

I stared in disbelief as they writhed.

Not long ago I'd wondered what kind of world a tree would invent for itself. The idea that a fern might work essence seemed even stranger. A tree had size, longevity. But a fern?

All the movement had purpose, I realized — the ferns were churning up the soil. The plants closest to me pulled something up with a small explosion of dirt. They grappled it upright and began to coil around it, like vines. They climbed to the top, then shot out feelers, questing for something else to grip.

I'd recognized the object before they covered it. It was a massive bone, half as tall as I was.

With another burst of soil, a matching bone emerged and was propped up and covered. Then two much bigger bones were passed up and woven into place atop the initial ones. Then two more. I backed away. More fern-vines boiled out atop the twin columns, which were by then two or three times my height. More and more vines grew, until a seething mass of green loomed over me, stretching forward as the columns swayed and bent.

As the ferns proliferated, more bones were brought up from the soil and passed into the mass of plant matter, which bucked and writhed itself into shape to accommodate each new arrival. As vertebrae were added, the mass stretched to create a torso and tail. Rib bones gave the torso depth and form.

I looked away from the spectacle, hoping to see an escape route, but similar constructions were underway all across the plain. I wasn't sure what to do. Were these things going to attack me?

I stumbled back as, almost at my feet, the plants churned up a massive skull. It was gigantic and had dozens of serrated teeth. As thousands of tiny vines passed it toward the growing creature, I scooped up my clothes. If this thing turned out to be friendly, I'd be surprised.

The 'pus grasped my calf and started climbing up. I limped downstream as fast as I could go, stealing looks over my shoulder at the growing monster I'd left behind. The skull was being hefted into place, vines wrapping around it at incredible speed. Even before it was fully covered, the creature shuddered and flexed, as though coming to life. It stepped forward and swung its head back and forth. Was it seeking me? All over its body, vines shot into the air and rewrapped themselves in a frenzy, creating a churning corona of green.

Across the plain, other creatures were on the move toward me. The skeletons the plants had resurrected were all dinosaurs. Some were unbelievably large, dwarfing the huge carnivore that had been constructed closest to me. Others were small. Minis were well represented. They must've learned the hard way to stick to the woods. Many of the creatures looked like plant-eaters, but that didn't reassure me — some of them were enormous beyond belief.

Ahead of me, several reached the river bank and stopped, swinging their heads over the water. One of them was as tall as a five-story building. Panicked, I stopped. Others closed in from the side and behind.

I waded out into the river. I'd have to swim across. It was a long way to the other side, and I didn't know what was in it, but that was my only hope.

About twenty feet out, there was a sandbank. The water there was less than a foot deep. On the other side of the sandbank was a drop-off. I stood looking into it. Things were swimming in the deeper water. Really big things.

Dozens of plant-dinos were massing where I'd stepped off the bank. They opened their mouths, as though roaring, but the only sound was the rasp and slap of fern vines. I was paralyzed, too terrified to jump into the deep water, with its huge, unknown creatures, but clearly unable to go back to dry land.

One of the dinos stepped into the water. Jolted into action, I turned and splashed my way down the sandbank, but I ran out of bank long before I'd passed the crowd of creatures waiting on the shore.

The splashing seemed to key them into my location, and more began stepping into the river. Desperately, I turned back to the deep water. Something huge was swimming in there — something twenty feet long, at least. I just couldn't jump in. I stood there trying to make myself, and I just couldn't.

I felt the 'pus tighten around my waist. A wall of water rose out of the river and, faster than my eye could follow, smashed into the nearest dinos. An avalanche of bone and shredded vines blasted back through the assembled creatures. The river churned, almost knocking me down.

I couldn't sense whatever was happening, but it had to be the 'pus.

More dinos surged forward, and the 'pus flung another water wall at them. Then it did it again. And again.

Behind the carnage on shore, I could see the vines putting the destroyed dinos back together. The 'pus wasn't going to save me. It was just delaying the inevitable.

And the delay was brief. Its sixth strike was noticeably weakened, and its seventh did little more than knock a couple dinos down. It tried once more, and only succeeded in misting the creatures with water droplets.

Its grip on me tightened for a moment, and then it just fell off. It landed in the water, slid off the sandbar, and sank.

With a cry, I lunged for it, but it had disappeared into the deeps.

I knelt there in the water, stripped of every hope. I held my hands up at the oncoming creatures.

"Stop! Please!"

They didn't stop.

Things seemed to slow down. I saw the way individual plants unwrapped and rewrapped themselves over the bones as the creatures picked their legs up and stepped toward me through the shallows. I saw the gleam of their ancient teeth as they opened their mouths in soundless calls. I saw my own bones being passed through the ferns, being picked clean and buried in the peaty soil, locked in this place forever. I saw them resurrected into some horrifying parody of my body to destroy other intruders and add them to the sentinel horde.

The very core of me said, _No_.

Inside me, something tore. In front of me, something exploded. A roaring sound deafened me, and a wave of superheated air threw me back into the river's deeper channel. Disoriented, I struggled for the surface, panicked and flailing.

When my head came up, I saw fire. Not just a little fire — flames everywhere. The air scorched my lungs. I ducked back beneath the surface and swam for the shallows. When I reached the sandbar, I crawled out onto it.

The far bank of the river was untouched, but the side where I'd walked was a work in devastation. The ferns near the river were gone — only blackened earth remained.

Unsteadily, I stood.

A wall of flame hundreds of feet long was marching away from me across the valley, toward the mountain. The bank was littered with bones. The smaller ones were burned almost to ash. The larger ones were still burning.

The wind kicked up from behind me and, in the space of a minute, rose to a gale that almost knocked me down. It howled past me, plastering my wet hair across my face. The fire accelerated and grew. As I watched, it reached the tree line and began sweeping up through the canopy.

I'd done this. I didn't know how, but I had.

Exultation coursed through me.

Those things had tried to kill me, and I'd killed them instead.

I started shaking. It took several long seconds to realize why — I was laughing. I sat down in the water and let it take me, the weird, crazy laughter.

Finally, the laughing stopped, and I just sat there, too exhausted to move.

Eventually I realized I was quite cold, so I waded back to the bank and pulled myself out onto the warm, blackened ground. I had no idea where my clothes had gone, and there was no sign of the 'pus, so I just sat there, shivering, as late afternoon became night.

# Chapter 22

In the wee hours of the morning, Ghosteater padded across the burned plain, the fine ash and crunchy cinders not quite shifting beneath his once-paws. He had almost reached the valley the evening before, but the firestorm had sent him racing back up the mountain. The soft creatures' rainforest had protected him from the flames, but reaching it in time had been a near thing. His only other hope would've been to shelter in the silence, and that might not have worked out so well.

He saw the pup from far off, huddled on the bank, shuddering with cold. He noted her lack of garments and thought it strange. Then, ever cautious — or usually cautious, at any rate — he sat down and considered her.

She was undoubtedly the source of the working. The marrow of the valley had her scent to it. A fire-worker, then? He opened his mouth, breathing deeply and tasting the scents. No, not fire — heat. The marrow was thrumming with the echoes of the energy it had been worked to produce.

The isolate's cinder-filled wind played through his fur. The language it spoke was ancient and strange.

He looked back at the girl, curled up on the blackened earth.

_Hatchling_ , the wind sighed.

_Flee_.

# Chapter 23

"Pup."

I just about jumped out of my skin, then scrambled around trying to get up.

"I will not hurt you," the voice said.

Finally I managed to get to my knees. It was hard going — my muscles were cramped from the cold.

I stared into the night, my breath coming in gasps. I couldn't see whoever'd spoken. There were about a million stars in the sky, but no moon. It was very dark.

I tried twice to speak before I managed to make any sound.

"Who's there?"

"Ghosteater."

My mind wrestled with the word, trying to understand. Madisyn's giant doggie? Here?

"Ghosteater... from Dorf?"

He materialized out of the darkness, silvery coat luminous in the starlight, and walked toward me on his footless legs.

"Did you come here for me?"

Stupid question. Why else would he be here?

"The émigré Cordus sent people. I came too."

He looked up at the stars and took several deep breaths. Then his golden eyes came back to my face, and he studied me in silence for some time. Finally, he walked up to me, circled like a huge hound, and lay down.

"Lie here," he said. "I will warm you."

He'd get no argument from me — I was freezing. I lay down next to him and nestled my back up against his belly, which was soft and very warm. I was still cold, but it was a lot better than before. I fell asleep immediately.

In the morning, Ghosteater used his keen nose to find my jeans and sweater, which had drifted some way downriver. While he was off retrieving them, I searched up and down the river for the 'pus but couldn't find it.

After Ghosteater returned with my clothes and I laid them out to dry, he gave all my bites a thorough cleaning with his tongue. I had trouble thinking of him as an animal, so it seemed weirdly intimate. I tried to squirm away, but he put a massive foreleg across me and held me down. Then he caught a large fish in the river and watched as I ate it. I felt like a toddler under the eye of a stern parent.

Once I'd pulled my still-damp clothes on, I started to search again for the 'pus.

"What do you seek?"

"I had a tree-octopus with me yesterday. It fell in the river right about here."

Ghosteater waded into the water, passing his nose delicately over the surface.

"It is dead."

"You can't possibly know that!"

The great beast stood in the water, looking up at me in silence. Then he came back to shore and shook himself.

"Scent tells the story. There are great fish in the river. They eat small creatures."

I stared at him, not wanting to believe it. He just looked back at me, matter of fact, emotionless.

I sat down. All the exultation I'd felt the night before turned to bitterness. I'd managed to save myself from my own idiotic decision to leave the rainforest, but I'd gotten my friend killed. It'd died trying to save me. With all the power it had, no fish could've gotten it if it hadn't depleted itself fighting the plant-dinos.

Ghosteater sat nearby. For a time he watched me in silent interest.

"Big things eat little things," he said at last. "Big things die. Then little things eat them."

"It wasn't just a 'little thing.' It was my friend. It sacrificed itself for me. It's my fault it died."

He pondered me, tipping his head to the side like a dog. He seemed to find my attachment to the 'pus mysterious and interesting.

"Can you tell if it was male or female?"

Ghosteater thought for a few seconds, seeming to roll the remembered scent over his tongue.

"Female."

I nodded, feeling empty. I wished I'd known before.

My rescue may have been well in hand, but the next day and a half weren't pleasant.

I didn't really understand Ghosteater's explanation of how Graham's rock had brought me here. He could speak to me, yes, but communicating complex ideas seemed beyond him. I could only take his word for it that some of Cordus's people were coming.

I wanted to leave for the coast immediately, but the beast refused. It would take me several days to climb back up the mountain, and we had no way to carry water. Furthermore, my wounds had left me weak and in a lot of pain.

So there we stayed, waiting for the rest of the party to catch up. Ghosteater caught fish. I watched. He ate them. I ate them. He drank water. So did I. I tossed and squirmed, trying to find a way to sit or lie that wasn't painful. He sat and watched me, always silent unless I asked him something. At night, I curled up against him and tried to stay warm.

On my third day in the valley, I saw Zion, Kara, and Williams coming down the mountain. It was humbling. The walk that had taken me five days had taken them less than three.

I got up and walked across the blackened plain to meet them, Ghosteater by my side. When they saw me coming, they broke into a jog. But despite the hurry, when they reached me, there was an oddly awkward moment where we all just stood there, looking at each other. I was thinking it seemed weird to see people here. I don't know what they were thinking. Maybe they were amazed I was alive.

Kara broke the silence. "Beth, are you all right?"

It seemed like a bizarre question. There were a dozen ways in which I was and wasn't all right. I thought about it. In the end, I just said, "Yeah."

She came forward and took my hand. Her eyes widened. "Jesus, what did this to you?"

Williams studied me with an unreadable expression. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's covered with cuts and puncture wounds. It's like something bit her all over."

"Mini-dinosaurs," I said.

That was greeted with silence.

"We didn't see anything like that," Zion finally said.

"They were in the dry forest," Ghosteater said. "The fire killed them."

Had I really killed them all? I felt sick.

"Okay, then. Let me just fix those cuts," Kara said, sounding disturbed.

It was a quick healing. When she was done, I felt a million times better. She even took care of my sunburn. Then we walked back to the river.

Ghosteater declared the huge fish in the river harmless to humans, so the rescue party members bathed. I sat there feeling beyond pathetic for not just swimming across when the plant-dinos were after me. Then again, there were ferns on the other side of the river, too.

Zion built a fire and Williams set up tarps and sleeping bags for the night. Ghosteater fished. We roasted what he caught over the fire.

Eating cooked food was good, but it felt wrong not to have the 'pus there to share it with.

While we ate, night fell. I finally got a comprehensible explanation about Graham's rock: it was one-half of a "carven strait," a rare and ancient device used for traveling. They didn't have to be opened with a working. Instead, they generated their own opening: if someone touched one stone, they'd be transported to wherever the companion happened to be. Apparently the art of making them was lost, and Cordus had been extremely surprised to find a set of them at large.

So although I hadn't noticed it, there had to be a stone ball in the sea where I arrived that matched the one I'd touched in Justine's room. Touching the one here would take us back to Cordus's estate, where Graham's rock was now.

After these explanations, an uncomfortable silence fell. No doubt they wanted to know what had happened to me, but I didn't want to talk about it, especially not about the fire. Kara asked me a few questions, and I answered monosyllabically. When she persisted, I just got up and walked away, tossing them some lame excuse about stretching my legs.

I kept going a ways, well out of the circle of firelight. When I finally stopped, I looked up at the stars. There were so many of them. The Milky Way stretched across the sky in a blaze of white light, mottled with red and gold and swirls of darkness. I didn't recognize any constellations.

I could taste soot at the back of my throat. The wind blew the stuff all over the place.

I had done this. I'd come to some little corner of the S-Em. I'd found Octoworld, Miniworld, and Fernworld, and I'd destroyed at least two of the three. I'd made a generous friend and gotten her killed.

At the same time, I'd survived. I'd survived what Graham did to me, and I'd survived my own bad choices.

The wind found the holes in my sweater, chilling me.

Eventually, Kara came looking for me, and I went back to the fire.

Everyone except Ghosteater crawled into a sleeping bag. No one said anything.

Climbing back up the mountain took almost two days because everyone had to stick to the slower pace I set. As we finally crested the summit, I was terribly afraid I would find the tree-'puses' rainforest burned as well, but it was intact. The fire damage stopped abruptly as we walked into the rain: there were blackened earth and torched trunks on one side of an invisible line, lush ferns and towering trees on the other.

"Is there a barrier, here?"

"Yes," Ghosteater said.

I wondered why we could go through it but the fire couldn't. I didn't ask, though. If I raised the subject, it'd invite questions.

We stopped for the night shortly afterwards. The forest was too dense and wet to build a fire, so we huddled under the tarps, eating dried meat and fruit. Once everyone was settled in their sleeping bags, I slipped away into the darkening forest and found a 'pus. I coaxed it into my lap and then explained what had happened to the one I'd carried with me — that she'd saved my life, and that I knew it was my fault she was dead, and that I was sorry.

The 'pus stared back at me, its strange oblong pupil reminding me of my friend's. Not surprisingly, it didn't respond. I had no idea if it understood me.

When I was done talking, I sat there for a long while, stroking the 'pus and feeling strange. Part of the feeling was sadness, and part of it was remorse. But there was also a striking sense of having been changed in ways I couldn't understand. I was at a loss.

Eventually I got up to head back to camp. Oddly, the 'pus wanted to come with me. When I got in my sleeping bag, it settled on a root near my face.

I woke up several times during the night, and each time it was still there.

In the morning, it was gone.

A day and a half later, we reached the shore.

Williams led us out to the point where rocks and water met. We waded into the gentle waves until Ghosteater indicated the strait was beneath us. I looked down. The water was clear, but it was impossible to pick the stone ball out of the rocky seabed. As I watched, Ghosteater dove down, kicking vigorously to reach the bottom. We all watched as he touched a certain place with his nose, then disappeared. The water tossed violently as it filled the space he'd occupied, and I lost sight of the spot he'd touched.

"Ryder," Williams said. "Go."

Taking a deep breath, I bent down to the place I thought the strait was and began feeling around with my hands. On the third try, I must've touched it because I found myself sprawled on the tile floor of a windowless room beside a stone ball — the matching strait, the one Graham had been carrying.

"Move away," Ghosteater said from the corner.

I scrambled over to the wall and waited while the others appeared one by one.

Once everyone was there, I thanked them for coming to get me.

"Sure," Kara said, "no problem."

Zion shrugged. "Not like we had a choice, right?"

Ghosteater cocked his head and stared at me.

Williams said nothing — just grabbed a towel from the pile that had been left in the corner and walked out.

"Don't mind them," Kara said. "They're assholes. It's not your fault you ended up there."

"It is your fault we had to go so far to find you," Zion said, toweling her hair. "Next time, stay put."

Her words stung. I felt defensive, even though I'd been berating myself for that exact mistake.

"I didn't know if anyone would come for me. Or if Graham or Lord Limu might be the one who came, if anyone did."

"Exactly," Kara said staunchly. "I would've been on the move, too."

Zion rolled her eyes and left.

Kara and I dried off, then stood there awkwardly.

"Well," she said, "we'd better go find Lord Cordus. I mean, you'd better go find him. Hopefully he won't need to talk to me."

"Yeah. Okay."

She gave me a pained smile and left. Ghosteater slid out behind her, leaving me alone in the quiet room. The carven strait sat on the floor, shining dully. It was a profoundly anticlimactic ending to ten days of wonder, terror, and pain.

# Chapter 24

Cordus straightened up, closing his hand.

We were sitting in his office in our usual training spot. He'd spoken briefly to me the day before, then sent me to my room to rest and recover. Today, I was resuming my old schedule. Our lesson had gone as usual: I still couldn't see workings.

He sat in silence for a time, then broached the subject I'd been dreading.

"As I understand it, you may have manifested a gift while in the isolate."

Knowing the subject was unavoidable, I described all that had happened to me and what I'd apparently done.

Cordus didn't seem shocked by my having incinerated a vast stretch of land and everything that lived there, but he did ask a number of very detailed questions. At last, he sat back and started some serious foot-tapping.

Eventually, I couldn't stand the silence. "So, am I a fire-worker, like Lord Limu?"

"I think not, Miss Ryder. Based on your description, I believe you are a worker of light."

You could've knocked me over with a feather.

"I did that with _light_?"

"Not the variety of light humans are capable of seeing."

He got up, went a bookcase, and pulled out a volume.

"An explanation based on human science will be easiest for you, at this point."

He paged through the book and then brought it to me, opened to a colorful diagram.

"The electromagnetic spectrum," he said, sweeping his hand over the pages. "At the center are the wavelengths that human eyes can detect. Some creatures can see more broadly, of course."

I nodded as though I'd known that.

"I suspect you produced a powerful burst of electromagnetic energy in these wavelengths," he said, pointing to the infrared area of the spectrum. "Such a burst would ignite or incinerate flammable material, such as plants."

_Plants, bones, minis._

"Or people?" I said, looking up at him.

He looked back at me, expressionless. "People are indeed flammable, Miss Ryder."

I sat there for some time, reading the diagram's brief descriptions of infrared and other waves.

For once, Cordus was the one to break the silence. "With time, you may be able to produce energy across the entire spectrum."

I looked up at him, then back down at the book. Microwaves. X-rays. Gamma rays.

"I don't want this."

I wasn't sure where the words had come from. Some deep, instinctual place. They surfaced and demanded expression. I spoke them without thinking.

"You have no choice as to the nature of your abilities, Miss Ryder," Cordus said softly. "When you have learned to control them, however, you will be able to choose how and when you employ them."

I was surprised at the obvious lie. There'd be no choice. I'd have to do exactly what he told me to do, and if that meant incinerating or irradiating people, then that's what I'd have to do. I doubted I could even choose my own death instead. He could get inside my head and control me like a puppet, so that disobedience would be literally impossible. That's what he'd done with the green man.

I suppose he took my silence for acquiescence, because he went on. "As you know, the emergence of gifts is the second stage of Nolander development. You are now in the radically anomalous position of possessing a gift without being able to sense workings. You can make what you cannot perceive."

I nodded dully.

"Given the life-or-death situation you describe, I believe your capacity was once again forced into untimely growth. As a result, it seems to have become even more irregular in its shape."

"So, I'm lopsided?"

"I suppose that is as good a term as any other. In fact, the metaphor is useful. As you know from mundane experience, lopsided things tend to be unstable. Likewise, your capacity is unbalanced and is likely to function unpredictably for some time. Our lessons should be safe enough, but I must ask you to continue to refrain from attempting to sense workings outside my presence. In addition, you must not use your gift. Any such attempt could be extremely dangerous."

_So far as I'm concerned, I'm never using it again_.

"Don't worry," I said aloud. "I wouldn't know how to use it if I wanted to.

During the ensuing days and weeks, I slid back into my routine — workouts with Gwen, combat training with Tezzy, lessons with Cordus.

My "spa week" in the S-Em, as Gwen called it, had brought improvements to two out of the three areas of my education. I'd lost fat and gained muscle, which pleased Gwen. I'd also apparently gotten something Tezzy called "focus." She talked about my "deepened commitment to the art" and my "predator's eye." It sounded like mumbo-jumbo to me. I think she basically meant I wasn't quite as easy to knock over.

In my lessons with Cordus, however, I remained unable to sense the little heat-working he held out. My progress with Baasha was slow — even mastering the alphabet was a struggle. Fortunately, he remained patient.

I went back to visiting Justine, who'd survived being buried in the sinkhole. She continued to vacillate between fear and anger, and I continued to dread seeing her. I also reconnected with Tiffany, who'd been frightened when I stopped answering her calls. Ben still didn't want to talk to me, though Tiff said things seemed to be getting a little better.

As I returned to my routine, the estate around me appeared to assume its usual condition. Ghosteater disappeared. Williams and Kara went back to Minnesota. Cordus held court weekly.

I knew things weren't wholly normal, though. Cordus never looked ruffled or distracted, but his desk, once a model of neatness, was increasingly piled with old books and papers. Sometimes strange people visited the estate, and he spent hours talking to them privately. I was certain he was trying to find out more about Eye of the Heavens and Limu's stolen weapon.

The few times I asked him about it, he shut me down immediately: "That conversation must wait, Miss Ryder," or, "This is neither the time nor the place, Miss Ryder." I figured it was Cordus-speak for, _Jesus Christ, woman — shut up!_ So I stopped asking.

It was hard not to feel tense about the situation. Limu scared me. Was he still in New York? Every time we drove into the city for court, I wondered if he was going to pop out of an alley and torch the car. And Justine just weirded me out. She both was and wasn't my sister-in-law. It was disturbing.

There wasn't much I could do about Justine and Limu, so I focused on small goals: running a faster forty-yard dash, mastering the ready stance, convincing the stable master to let me go riding.

And I thought about things a lot.

I knew what had happened had changed me. Heck, that much was obvious: my life had been altered in nearly every way I could imagine. But my experience in the S-Em had done something on a different order of magnitude. It had reached way down deep inside me and shifted something. The closest I could come to pinning it down was this: death had come for me on that sand bank, and I'd said "no," and death had listened.

I'd survived. I'd won.

It wasn't a pure feeling. It was mixed with guilt and horror at what I'd done, with frustration at my mistakes, with anger at all that had been done to me, and with fear of what the future would bring.

But despite the guilt and anger and doubt, I still felt like I'd made it over some kind of hurdle. I knew it was important, but I wasn't sure what it meant. That I was on my way to something, maybe. But what?

I looked up at Gwen, seeking reassurance.

"S'okay," she said. "He really is helpless. You'll see."

I nodded and knocked on the door she was guarding.

"Come in."

I opened the door slowly and peeked around it. Graham was sitting on a couch at the far end of the room. He looked surprised to see me.

I stepped in, closing the door behind me. I approached the sitting area and chose an armchair.

Long seconds of uncomfortable silence followed.

"How are you?" he said.

"Okay. You?"

"I'm okay."

He didn't look okay. He looked sick. Cordus was keeping him nearly drained. I didn't know how you drain someone against their will. Maybe it felt like what Williams had done to me. At any rate, the effects were clear. Graham looked too weak to stand, much less cause trouble.

We sat there in silence.

"Beth," he finally said, "why are you here?"

I searched for an answer. "I'm not sure."

I'd come planning to demand an explanation.

The more I'd thought about what Graham had done to me, the angrier it had made me. A lot of what had happened to me could be categorized as "my fault" or "just the way things are." Even the many cruelties I'd experienced and observed were the result of individuals acting according to their overt natures. Graham stood out from that. What he'd done — sending me to that place and leaving me there — seemed different. It felt like a betrayal.

But sitting across from him, that distinction seemed silly. He too had been acting according to his nature. I'd just been too naive to recognize his nature for what it was.

"Were you hoping I'd confess my sins?" he said, his voice taking on an edge. "Do you think you'll get 'closure,' or something?" He made sarcastic air quotes.

I stood and walked to the door.

"Wait," he said. "Wait."

I stopped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just tired."

He cleared his throat. "Hey, I haven't had any visitors. Why don't you stay a bit? You can tell me about where the strait took you."

"Would that be entertaining? Hearing the story of how you almost killed me?"

He flushed and dropped his eyes.

I waited for a few seconds, then realized I was standing there hoping he'd produce a sincere apology. God, when was I going to learn? I turned to go.

"Beth, wait," he said, sounding upset.

Against my better judgment, I stopped again.

"I'm sorry I did that to you. It wasn't supposed to happen, and I just panicked. I should've come after you."

"Yeah, you should've. It would only have taken you a couple seconds."

"But I didn't know where you'd gone. I mean, the companion could've been inside a volcano. It could've been in outer space."

"Nonsense," I snapped. "Limu wants Justine alive. You wouldn't have done something that stupid."

He stared at me, and I saw that expression on his face again, the one I'd seen at the mill — the trapped-animal look. At last he looked away, his expression bleak.

"There's a death sentence on my head. Limu figured that out and gave me a choice: be his man in Cordus's organization or face the music."

"Why were you sentenced to death?"

He shook his head and didn't answer.

I stood there a while and thought about what he'd said. Did it make me feel better about what he'd done? Maybe. A little. Trying to escape a death threat was a less-bad motive than greed or ambition, I guess. I remembered how I'd gone haring off to Nebraska after Williams had assaulted me. Profound fear could make you do things ranging from idiotic to evil.

Then again, why was I believing him? I opened my mouth to question his story. What came out was, "Did you really seduce Kara when she was fifteen?"

A second later, my brain came back on line. Why the hell had I said that?

"Yeah." He shrugged, as though it was no big deal.

"Because you wanted to control her?"

He looked at me like I was nuts. "No, because I wanted to screw her. Isn't that why that kind of thing usually happens?"

_Wow, classy_.

"She was just a kid. It's statutory rape."

"Not where I'm from," he said, sounding exasperated. "I probably shouldn't have done it. Whatever. It's all water under the bridge, now."

Unsteadily, he stood and walked over to the window, clearly annoyed with my moralizing. A silence stretched between us.

"What's Lord Cordus going to do with you?"

"Hang onto me, for the time being," Graham said. "He has a dispute with the elder beast over my ownership. Once he gets clear title, he'll execute me himself."

I frowned, confused. "Elder beast?"

"Giant wolf, a million years old, no feet. I think you know him."

_A million years old?_

"You mean Ghosteater?"

"Yeah. He hunted me down in the city and claimed me. Cordus found some loophole. I think they're deadlocked, at this point. I'm being held until they find a neutral arbitrator."

I turned and walked to the door, then looked back. Graham was watching me. The soft June sunlight illuminated one side of his face. The other side was contoured with shadow. Even pale and sick, he was striking.

"Good luck, Graham."

"Beth," he said, as I reached for the doorknob.

I turned back one last time.

"That mouse you picked up on Rib Mountain? Don't tell anyone about that."

"Why?"

"Just don't."

An apprehensive shiver passed over me. I stared at him for several long beats, but he'd looked away. Disturbed, I opened the door and left.

"Are you certain, Miss Ryder? Your visit was an anomaly in Mr. Ryzik's schedule — the only anomaly, in fact. Are you sure he said nothing of an impending escape?"

I was sitting on one of the straight-backed chairs in front of Cordus's desk. The man was doing something I'd never seen him do: he was pacing. He strolled from one side of the bay window behind his desk to the other, hands clasped behind his back, gaze distant. It looked leisurely and contemplative. I wasn't fooled for a moment.

"No, Lord Cordus, he didn't say anything. I'm quite certain."

Four days had passed since Graham's absence was noticed. His escape was a mystery. A tracker had followed his trail from outside his bedroom window to the edge of Cordus's property, but there was no sign he'd crossed the barrier. Zion, called back from an assignment in northern Virginia, had confirmed the trail but hadn't been able to get a fix on Graham's current location, which suggested he was far away. Cordus had people combing the city anyway and was checking with more distant members of the organization. No one had turned up anything.

Back and forth he walked. Back and forth.

This was the first time he'd questioned me. Only that morning had Gwen told him about my visit to Graham. Weirdly, she'd forgotten about it, and apparently no one else had known of it. I hadn't mentioned it myself. I hadn't thought it mattered.

"Why did you go see him?"

"I was hoping he'd explain what he'd done. It was bothering me."

"Were you lovers?"

I bristled. What business was that of his? Rather than snap at him, I just didn't answer.

He looked at me sharply, like some bird of prey seeing movement in the grass. Slowly, he came to a standstill.

"And what story did he spin for you, pray tell?"

"He said he'd been sentenced to death, and Lord Limu used that to blackmail him."

Cordus cocked his head, continuing to stare at me.

Did he really think Graham would've told me about his escape plans? That wouldn't make any sense.

"What else did he tell you?"

"He said he'd slept with Kara."

"And what else?"

I stared at Cordus, trying to decide how to answer. Graham had said not to mention the mouse, but it was just a mouse. Why should it be a secret?

I thought of his face, pale and lovely, touched with sunlight and shadow. And suddenly I knew: at the very last, he'd said one true thing. A tiny gift, one without cost. But perhaps priceless.

"He didn't say anything else."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Cordus stalked toward me. He loomed over me for a moment, then reached down for my hand and pulled me up. He stepped closer, then closer still, leaning into me. I couldn't look away. I watched the tawny starbursts in his irises expand as his pupils dilated. My heart rate spiked. He traced a pattern on the back of my hand with his thumb. I jumped as his other hand slid around behind my neck and into my hair. He lowered his lips to my ear. On the way, they brushed against my cheek. A little sound came out of me before I could stop it.

"Miss Ryder," he whispered, nuzzling my hair, "why are you lying to me?"

His breath was warm. Awareness of him flooded my body. I saw only him, heard only him, felt only him. Desire pooled in my belly, hot and insistent.

"Tell me what he said."

His lips brushed over my cheekbone to my temple. He released my hand and drew his fingers lightly up my arm. His thumb brushed the side of my breast. I shuddered.

"Why would you lie for him?" he murmured, his lips moving slowly down to my jaw line. "He sent you to an isolate. He searched for Limu, intending to buy his freedom with your life."

He kissed my cheek, ever so lightly, then moved toward my mouth. My legs would barely hold me up.

"He sent you to a land of monsters. Did he try to save you? No, not once during all those days."

His breath was sweet. When he spoke, his lips moved against mine.

"And yet you lie for him?"

I stood there, eyes squeezed shut. If I spoke, if I moved, if I looked at him, it was all over. Second after second, we stood there, me shaking, my breath coming in gasps, him utterly composed.

Finally, he stepped back.

"Very well, Miss Ryder."

I reached out and grabbed the back of the chair I'd been sitting in, almost upsetting it.

He moved away, unconcerned.

Warily, I watched him retreat behind his desk and begin to sort some papers.

"It may interest you to hear that Mr. Ryzik went through the carven strait. Two different trackers confirmed his use of it this morning. I had thought the strait wholly out of reach. It seems that little is impossible when it comes to that one."

He tapped a sheaf of paper on his desk, then slid it into a folder.

"He is trapped in an isolate, and I shall very much enjoy hunting him down. You may go."

I made my way to the door, feeling like I was about to fall down. As I turned the knob, his voice stopped me.

"Miss Ryder."

Filled with dread, I turned.

He looked up, meeting my eyes.

"I hope you will remember what did not happen today."

Mouth too dry to speak, I nodded.

He looked down.

I opened the door — too fast — and left. I made it around the corner before my legs went all bendy, and I had to stop and lean against the wall.

_Oh shit_. _I'm so screwed_.

He hadn't used his mind-control thing on me. He hadn't needed to.

Someone knocked on my door. A few seconds passed. I heard Gwen call my name.

I'd been lying on my bed feeling miserable for what seemed like hours. I glanced at the clock. Actually, it really had been hours.

I sat up and smoothed my hair back into its ponytail. "I'm here. Come on in."

Gwen opened the door. Andy was right behind her, and I could see Theo over his shoulder.

"Hey..." She paused, and a look of concern came over her face. "Are you okay? You look pale."

"Yeah. I'm fine."

She stood there, clearly worried.

Andy stepped around her. "Right. Well, whatever's wrong, we've got the cure. Get your Nikes. We're going trail-running."

"Trail running?"

"Yeah. You know. It's running. On trails."

"For fun?"

Andy and Theo both laughed. Even Gwen cracked a small smile.

"Yup," Andy said. "Come on."

I pointed out there was no reason to run anywhere, nowadays — there were plenty of perfectly good cars around.

That just made the guys laugh again, and Gwen started saying stuff like "No pain, no gain!" and "Go for the hurt!" so I dragged myself over to the closet to find my sweats.

By the time we'd stretched and walked around the house once to loosen up, it was the warmest part of the day. The sun was high and bright.

We picked up a jog.

The fresh air cleared my head a bit. I saw, with a little, primal spark of happiness, that the trees were leafing out. Here and there, dandelions were popping up.

All the way down the estate's long, sloping lawn, the brothers argued over whose shoes were manlier — Andy's, which were blue and green, or Theo's, which were mostly black but had a pink stripe running through the sole. They got sort of annoyed with each other about it, even though they were kidding around. It was funny and rather charming.

We reached the tree line and headed south through the woods. Theo pointed out old concrete walls and tunnels and even the occasional building, long since abandoned and returning to the uses of nature — ruins of an old military base that had occupied the land before it became a park.

I sort of hated him for being able to talk while jogging. If what he was doing even counted as jogging. I think the three of them could've walked and still kept up with me.

"Why'd the base close?" Andy said.

Theo shrugged. "Dunno. Too close to the city? Or maybe it just got old."

"Things change," Gwen said, shooting me a glance. "There's no stopping it."

If I could've gotten enough air, I would've snorted.

Then again, cliché or not, what she'd said was true. Even if you're a thousand years old — or a million — change does come. It shouldn't have made me feel better, but oddly, it did. My situation might seem bad, but it could change. _Would_ change.

_That's right_ , my internal pessimist murmured. _And the change might be for the worse_.

I gritted my teeth. The Debbie Downer part of my mind really needed to take a short walk off a tall cliff. Yeah, sure, things might get worse. But they might also get better.

"This way," Andy called, bearing right at a fork in the trail.

Gwen paused, jogging in place. "That way looks really muddy."

Andy grinned at her over his shoulder. "Yup!"

She shook her head and jogged after him.

Theo and I followed along. The mud squished under my feet with every step. The air smelled like fresh dirt and earthworms and the night's rainfall — like spring.

# Epilogue

Ghosteater emerged from the silence into the springtime forest.

He had left the émigré's home some days before, angry at the man's refusal to hand over Ryzik, the golden-haired native. The émigré had spoken for hours. Laws had been invoked, wrongs had been weighed, a compromise had been sought. None of that meant a thing to the beast. Either blood would be shed over the matter, or it would not.

In the end, Ghosteater had chosen not to defend his claim. He'd staked it on a whim, and fighting the émigré might be fatal. It just wasn't worth it.

But anger, oh yes, there was anger. And disgust at these late-born creatures who knew no honesty. Their brains were too big for it. Revolting.

As the beast left the émigré's land, the wind had curled around his ears, whispering, suggesting a path. Ghosteater panted, taking in the air, tasting what it offered. Incompletion, fragment. He knew that scent: the strange woman, Justine. Tears and sunlight. He knew that one as well: the pup, Beth. Heat and serpents: the émigré. Old blood. Salt water. Bronze and burning sand. The breath of one with an empty stomach. Other scents, too.

Intrigued, he turned aside and took one step on the wind's path, then another. Soon he was on his way.

The path led a few hundred miles north. After several days of travel, he recognized his destination — a strait that had appeared recently in a small human structure some ways inland. He had noticed it during his last wanderings through the area, perhaps two hundred years ago. Made of heavy logs locked together, the structure had been built as a place of refuge during warfare. Perhaps the rage and hatred and blood of the place had drawn it closer to the other world. It was hard to say. Wild straits were strange, fickle.

Ghosteater stepped into the roofless dwelling. Unlike the carven strait, which contained its own capacity, this one did not tug at him. It would have to be forced open. His ability to do such things is what made him, like the man Cordus, a power and an émigré. Once, in the distant past, he had opened a strait without understanding what he did and had crossed through, finding himself in another world.

The other world. Unlike most émigrés, he did not consider that place his home. This continent of this world would always be his place, however changed it might be.

Still, the scents on the wind were interesting, its words tantalizing.

Nosing at the air, he could barely feel the strait's presence. It was so young. He sensed the very edge of it and seized it, then adjusted his grip. When he had it firmly in his mind's teeth, he touched his vast strength and worked the marrow of being, sending a filament of space spooling out through the silence between worlds, connecting the place he stood to somewhere on the other side.

Where it went, he didn't know, but it smelled of trees and horses and dusty roads and fat, stupid deer. And of incompletion, tears. Sunlight, serpents. Vast sky.

He cocked his head and listened again to the voice of the wind. Then he stepped through.

_Solatium_ , the sequel to _Nolander_ , is available at your favorite retailer.

Learn more on the author's website.

# Glossary of Places, Terms, and Individuals

**Andy (Andrew) Duff:** A Nolander who belongs to Cordus's organization. An air-worker.

**Baasha:** The _lingua franca_ of the Second Emanation.

**Ben Ryder:** Beth's brother, older by ten years. He manages a hardware store in Dorf, Wisconsin. His wife is Justine Ryder, and his children are Tiffany, Jazzy, Lia, and Madisyn.

**Beth (Elizabeth Joy) Ryder:** A member of Cordus's organization. Until age twenty-three, a receptionist at a doctor's office in Dorf, Wisconsin, and severely afflicted with panic disorder.

**Bob of Dorf:** An ice man who lived in the graveyard attached to a Catholic church in Beth Ryder's hometown.

**Callie McCallister:** A member of Cordus's organization who lives in Dorf, Wisconsin. Gifted with prescience.

**capacity:** A measure of someone's strength as an essence-worker.

**carven strait:** A set of two stones (or other objects) invested with the ability to transport people from the location of one to the location of the other. Their making is thought by Cordus to be a lost art.

**caste:** The level of essence-working ability attained by an individual (the term is thought inappropriate by some). Reaching the **first caste** means being sensitive to worked essence to the degree that one can "see through" a half-working and recognize the presence of a working; many workers never leave the first caste. One enters the **second caste** upon manifesting a gift. Achieving the **third caste** means becoming sensitive to natural (unworked) essence. A worker who has mastered a significant number of learned workings is said to have entered the **fourth caste** ; few workers reach this level, which requires great time and study as well as natural strength.

**Cordus: A** great power born in Constantinople around the year 330 or 340. Gifted in mind-working. Styles himself "Lord." His full name is Gnaeus Cornelius Marci Filius Cordus.

**court:** A formal reception space established by a power. Cordus holds court in a penthouse suite at the top of the Time Warner Center in Manhattan.

**Dorf:** The small town in north-central Wisconsin where Beth Ryder grew up. A strait is located nearby, at an old mill at Bilford Crossing.

**Doyle Schumaker:** An officer in the Dorf police force. His K-9 partner is a German shepherd named Abby.

**dress code:** At formal events, Nolanders are expected to wear black. This clothing distinguishes them from Seconds, who usually wear more colorful outfits. Nolanders must wear small amounts of white if they possess significant power; the greater their power, the more white they are permitted to wear.

**Dr. Nielsen, Ivar:** A family doctor. Beth Ryder's employer in Dorf.

**émigré:** An entity originating in the First Emanation but possessing enough power to open a strait and travel into the Second Emanation. All émigrés are powers, but not all powers are émigrés (many powers were born in the Second Emanation and don't need to emigrate).

**essence:** The fundamental constituents of the universe. Defies easy explanation. Essence-workers conceive of essence in different ways; they often rely on metaphors that make sense to them as individuals. The human sciences of cosmology and particle physics have, over the years, constructed their own approaches to the subject.

**essence-worker:** An organism capable of manipulating the fundamental constituents of reality, or at least aware of others' manipulation of those constituents. Often called "workers," for short. Workers occur in all kingdoms of life.

**Eye of the Heavens:** An ancient (perhaps mythical) entity of the Second Emanation. Cordus believes that Justine Ryder is Eye of the Heavens.

**First:** A person, animal, or other entity native to the First Emanation.

**the First Emanation:** Earth and its universe, as we know it; the normal world. Nolanders tend to call it the "F-Em."

**Ghosteater:** A wolf power born in North America about a million years ago. He is gifted with the abilities to speak with the wind and to pass into what he calls the silence. Over time, he has modified his body in several ways and has gained some ability to use language and think symbolically.

**gift:** A working someone can do automatically, without study and practice. The emergence of a gift marks entry into the second caste. The weakest essence-workers do not have gifts. Some workers have more than one.

**Graham Ryzik:** A high-ranked member of Cordus's organization, in charge of the Upper Midwest region and stationed in Madison, Wisconsin. Gifted with luck. Assigned as Beth Ryder's first trainer.

**Grant Hillam:** A Nolander who belongs to Cordus's organization. Often operates the elevator leading to Cordus's penthouse court.

**green men:** A Second Emanation species with birdlike features. Their trackers often become bounty hunters and assassins.

**Gwen Hegstrom:** A Nolander who belongs to Cordus's organization. A firearms expert. Capable of making small objects disappear.

**half-working:** A working that does not attempt to maintain essence in an entirely altered state, instead allowing fluctuation back and forth between natural and worked states. Sometimes called a "halfing," for short.

**Hank (Henry) Jarrett:** A Nolander who belongs to Cordus's organization.

**ice people:** A species of giant, horned, apelike creatures native to the Second Emanation, famed for their water-working. The males are known as "ice men" and the females as "ice mothers." They are a cold weather species. Their home stratum is Fur.

**Innin:** A power controlling territory in the First Emanation, including the Florida peninsula, the Caribbean, and the northern coast of South America. Styles herself "Lady."

**isolate:** A stratum that has no straits and no ligatures to other strata. A stratum can be created as an isolate or can become one over time. Pronounced īsələt, not īsəlāt.

**Jackie (Jacqueline) MacAuley:** A server at Pete's Eats, in Dorf.

**Janie (Jane) Breitenbach:** Beth Ryder's best friend and co-worker, back in Dorf.

**Jazzy (Jazmin) Ryder:** One of Beth Ryder's nieces, second daughter of Ben and Justine Ryder.

**Justine Jenson Ryder:** Beth Ryder's sister-in-law, suspected by Cordus of being Eye of the Heavens in disguise. Her true shape appears to be a collection of floating blue balls. She is capable of workings that leave no trace in the fabric of reality. Whatever she actually is, she seems unaware that she is anything other than a normal human woman.

**Kara Dolores Sanchez:** A member of Cordus's organization. A powerful healer.

**Koji Noguchi:** A member of Cordus's staff.

**learned working:** A working mastered through study and practice (rather than functioning automatically, like a gift). Some learned workings, such as unlocking doors, are common, but most workers never acquire many. A worker with quite a few learned workings under their belt is said to have entered the fourth caste.

**Lia Ryder:** One of Beth Ryder's nieces, third daughter of Ben and Justine Ryder.

**ligature:** A doorway between two different strata of the Second Emanation. Unlike straits, ligatures do not need to be opened by a power — they remain open all the time.

**Limu:** A great power holding territory in the First Emanation (the Pacific Ocean, its archipelagos, and its coastal rim). Gifted in fire- and mineral-working. Styles himself "Lord." Claims to be the true husband of the person now calling herself Justine Ryder. Claims that she stole something from him. Sent a green man bounty hunter to retrieve her.

**Madisyn Ryder:** Beth Ryder's youngest niece, fourth daughter of Ben and Justine Ryder. A Nolander who saw through very early, a sign she has little power.

**mini-dinosaurs, or minis:** Beth Ryder's names for a small theropod species of dinosaur that attacked her in the Octoworld isolate.

**mouse:** A friendly creature Beth Ryder found while meditating on Rib Mountain, in Wisconsin. Graham Ryzik advised her not to tell anyone about it.

**Nolander** : A person born in the First Emanation who is able to work essence, at least to the degree of seeing through, but who is not strong enough to open a strait and emigrate to the Second Emanation. Organized by Seconds into quasi-police forces responsible for keeping the existence of the Second Emanation a secret.

**Octoworld:** Beth Ryder's label for a nameless isolate inhabited by sentient, water-working octopuses, as well as other creatures.

**the old mill at Bilford Crossing** : An abandoned building near Dorf; location of a strait.

**the one law:** The rule that the human population of the First Emanation must not be allowed to discover the existence of the Second Emanation. Agreed upon in 1956 by a gathering of the major powers, the one law prompted the development of Nolanders as quasi-police forces to help keep the secret under wraps.

**Pete's Eats:** A coffee shop in Dorf.

**power:** An essence-worker with sufficient capacity to open a strait between the Emanations. The strongest of powers are known as "great powers." Powers are born among all species of plants and animals, not just humans.

**quirk:** A derogatory name for a gift that strikes people as silly, useless, or weird.

**Rib Mountain:** A four-mile-long quartzite ridge southwest of Wausau, Wisconsin.

**Second:** A person, animal, or other entity native to the Second Emanation.

**the Second Emanation:** A multi-layered parallel world, connected to the familiar world by passageways called straits. The Second Emanation (Nolanders tend to call it the "S-Em") was created over eons by makers of many different species. A particular maker's creation is known as a "stratum." Strata are connected to one another by ligatures.

**seeing through:** The moment when a person who can work essence first becomes sensitive to workings and that person's continued ability to perceive them. Seeing through half-workings means recognizing the reality beneath a disguise. Seeing through full workings means recognizing that a working is present. Seeing through marks entry into the first caste. The weakest workers — individuals such as Madisyn Ryder — will never do more than see through. Workers usually see through when about two-thirds of their total capacity has developed. Thus, the later a worker sees through, the more powerful they will be.

**the silence:** A mysterious space Ghosteater can visit. He usually keeps his feet there.

**stipend:** Cordus pays Beth Ryder the basic Nolander salary of $32,000 per annum, from which monthly room and board of $2,000 is deducted. As one of the more powerful members of his organization, she could receive much more, but she would have to ask for it, which she has chosen not to do.

**strait:** A passageway connecting a place in one Emanation to a place in the other. The natural state of a strait is to be closed, and it takes a great deal of power to open one up. Most straits connect two fixed places. A few are only fixed on one end and are able to connect to several different locations on the other; the strait Limu opened to send the green man to Dorf was an example of this second kind.

**stratum:** A discrete portion of the Second Emanation (the plural is "strata"). Strata have been created since the earliest life arose on Earth. Many strata are not conducive to human existence. Most preserve landmasses and geological features that no longer exist in the First Emanation. Countless species no longer extant on Earth persist in various strata of the S-Em.

**Suzanne Dreisbach:** Beth Ryder's next-door neighbor in Dorf, Wisconsin.

**Tezzy (Hortensia) Tolosa:** A member of Cordus's staff. Beth Ryder's martial arts instructor.

**Theo (Theodore) Duff:** A Nolander who belongs to Cordus's organization. A water-worker.

**Tiffany Ryder:** Beth Ryder's oldest niece, daughter of Ben and Justine Ryder. A tracker.

**tree-octopuses, tree-'puses, or 'puses:** Beth Ryder's names for the dominant creatures of the western rainforest in the Octoworld isolate; powerful water-workers.

**unworking:** The effort to undo or destroy someone else's working.

**Williams, John:** A member of Cordus's organization. Gifted in barrier work.

**working:** A complete alteration of reality through the manipulation of essence. Sometimes called a "full working."

**Zion:** A member of Cordus's organization. A tracker. "Zion" is her entire name. She had it legally changed because it annoyed her to be referred to by her original full name (Zafirah Innocenté O'Sullivan-Namanworth), something Seconds tend to do.

# TWIN SOULS

### Book One of the Twin Souls Saga

**DelSheree Gladden**

He avoids her because of the strange physical pain he feels when they touch. She avoids him because the way everyone seems to do what he says scares her. But when Claire needs to escape a bad situation Uriah is the first person she thinks of, and he is eager to rescue her. Faced with each other for the first time, both Uriah and Claire find it impossible to listen to their fears and stay away from one another. They soon find out, though, that there is more than they ever thought possible trying to keep them apart.

Following tradition the pair approaches the Elders of their Tewa tribe to ask permission to marry. Everyone is shocked when the shaman refuses them, claiming they are not Twin Souls. Confused and angry Uriah refuses to listen, and promises them that he will never abandon Claire. When Claire is poisoned by her vindictive father his resolve is tested. Ancient Native American myths and legends spring into reality, doing everything they can to keep Uriah from saving Claire's life, while beginning to reveal the truth behind the lies he has been told all his life.

# Chapter 1

### Anything

Chaos streamed out of the double doors of the high school. The way everyone ran for their cars and sped out of the parking lot looked something like terrified masses running from a bomb scare. Nothing as interesting as that happened in San Juan Pueblo, though. It was just the last day of school. Everybody was in a hurry to start their summer vacations except me.

Living on a ranch meant my summers were spent watering the alfalfa fields and looking after the sheep and horses we owned. Not to mention mucking out stalls, cutting and binding alfalfa, hauling stock, and a dozen other things. I didn't really mind the work, but sometimes I wished for the freedom to go tearing off to Santa Fe on a whim like some of the other kids did. Like Claire Brant did.

I watched her long, chocolate colored hair bounce around her shoulders as she climbed into Jonny Begay's Jeep Wrangler. I wondered if they were dating now. She laughed at whatever Jonny said and reached down to help Dana climb up behind her. Turning back to look at Jonny, Claire's eyes swept over me. Her smile seemed to brighten when she saw me, but that was probably just my imagination.

There were plenty of reasons I should have caught her eye. I had more sports trophies than anyone else in the school, decent enough grades, good looks as far as I could tell, and the build of a football player, thanks to working on the ranch with my dad. For some reason, though, I had never managed to say more than a few words to her.

It wasn't that I was shy, it was hard to be too shy when sports constantly put me in the spotlight, but there was something about Claire that made it impossible for me to approach her. With any other girl, I was confident and comfortable. Claire was different, though. And since I was hopelessly in love with her, I didn't date much.

Backing out of his parking space, Jonny let out an enthusiastic yell as they drove toward me. He revved the engine as if he was going to speed out of here, but the line of waiting cars held him at bay. Dana and Beth were standing up in the back of the Jeep with their hair flying around their faces. Spotting me, Dana leaned over the frame alluringly and said, "Hop in, Uriah. We're heading out to the bluffs for the bonfire tonight."

She never quit. "Sorry, Dana, I've got stuff to do at the ranch. Hauling hay bales into the barn and things," I said.

The exaggerated pout on her lips was amusing. She knew I wasn't interested, but she still tried. Too hard, most of the time. "Will you come later? I'll be disappointed if you don't."

"Maybe, I don't know."

Dana looked like she was going to keep pressuring me, but my frown made her hold her tongue. I liked Dana well enough, but it really bothered me that she tried to push her attention on me when she knew very well I didn't want it. Bouncing back quickly, Dana just shrugged and went back to talking with Beth. I started walking again, my gaze sliding along the Jeep to Claire. I realized she was looking right at me and froze. This time I didn't have to imagine she was really smiling at me. Raising her hand she motioned toward the Jeep and said something but Jonny's theatrical engine rev drowned her out. I took a step forward hoping to hear her better, but the Jeep jerked forward onto the main road.

Was she asking me to come along? She could have been motioning toward the car, or just pointing back at Dana and Beth. Jonny, and his stupid engine. I wished he could figure out how to not act like a total delinquent once in a while. What had she said? Dana asking me to go was easy to turn down, but Claire, I couldn't refuse her. I should, but I wouldn't.

I didn't feel like hauling hay bales suddenly.

Abandoning the dirt road that led me home, I let myself wander toward the one spot I could clear my head and think. The river was completely out of my way, but I needed the quiet sound of the water lapping against the bank right now. Every time I saw Claire I felt different. Being around her made me feel weaker for some reason. It actually hurt me to touch her.

The first time it happened, when I bumped into her in the hallway in fifth grade, I thought she must have just shocked me. The next time I touched her I had tapped on her shoulder to get past her. My light touch had been like tiny daggers shooting through my arm. The affect she had on me was undeniable when she grabbed my arm by accident, her bare skin against mine. I lost every ounce of strength and had to cover myself by saying I had tripped. The few other times we came in contact were the same. It was as if my body was trying to tell me that it couldn't handle being near her.

I didn't think Claire had any idea about the way she made me feel, but she almost never went out of her way to talk to me or be around me. If I was too near her, she would get up and leave. When we saw each other in the hallways, she inexplicably found someone to talk to on the side furthest from me. She was one of the only girls in the high school who had not asked me out at least once. That was why her looking at me from the Jeep was so frustrating. The one time she sought me out, I had no idea what she had said. I knew my own reason for staying away from her, but all the way to the riverbank I wished I could figure out what hers was.

My shoes and socks were left in a heap next to my backpack. The soft grass that grew naturally in so few places in the New Mexican desert rippled under my bare feet. Its coolness was such a stark contrast to the hot summer sun. Just thinking about the heat seemed to make it ten times worse. Slipping my feet into the lazy rills of the river, I contemplated tugging off my shirt and jumping in.

The thought barely formed before the sound of flying gravel hit me. Turning around to see who had invaded my favorite spot, I was surprised to see Jonny's Jeep skidding to a stop on the side of the road. And even more surprised to hear Claire yelling at him as she jumped out of the cab and slammed the door behind her. Jonny was right on her heels.

Slowly getting to my feet, I walked toward the still running car. Claire's raised voice caught my ear.

"Just leave me alone, Jonny! I swear if I hear another word come out of your mouth, I'll slap you," Claire said.

"Knock it off, Claire, you're acting like a total-" Jonny didn't get to finish.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Claire yelled. And true to her word, she slapped him.

I went from a walk to run. I knew these two well enough to know where this was going. Jonny's anger flamed in his eyes, carrying him toward Claire as his arm reached forward and grabbed her shoulder. She tried to break away from him, but he yanked her back.

"Let me go!" Claire's other hand came around and smacked Jonny on the shoulder. She didn't do enough damage to make him let go, unfortunately. Instead he grabbed her chin, pulling her face up next to his.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," Jonny seethed. "Now, get back in the Jeep."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Claire said. Jonny's free hand balled into a fist, but Claire stared him down.

I didn't think he would hit her, but I had never seen Jonny this angry before. One more quick step brought me to his side. Grabbing his arm tightly, I snatched it back. Jonny spun around as his other fist came up. I caught that one too and forced it back down. He stared at me in shock for a few seconds before letting his hands fall to his side. Dana and Beth, still huddling in the back of the Jeep, sighed in relief.

"Ur-Uriah," Jonny stuttered, "where did you come from?"

"I was here before you were," I said. "What's going on? You looked like you were about to hit Claire, Jonny."

His face paled and he started shaking his head vigorously. "No, man, I was just...I wasn't going to hit her. We were just arguing."

"About what?"

"Nothing. It wasn't a big deal. I just got carried away, I guess. I didn't mean anything by it," Jonny assured me.

Claire's narrowed eyes and attack stance clearly disagreed that it was no big deal. She looked ready to rip his spiky black hair right out of his head. No need to see that happen today. "I think you should probably apologize to Claire," I said.

For all I knew Claire had started the entire fight, but Jonny nodded hurriedly and looked over at a still very angry Claire. "Sorry, Claire, I didn't mean to piss you off. I didn't mean it, okay? Let's just forget about it." Even though his apology was to Claire, Jonny looked to me for approval. I nodded and his shoulders sagged in relief. He didn't waste any time trotting back around to the driver's side. He was back in the seat before Claire had time to react.

His buckle clicked into place as Claire responded. Grabbing the side of the Jeep, Claire pointed at Jonny. "Where do you think you're going? You just say sorry and take off? You're such a creep, Jonny. Get back over here, you jerk!"

"Claire." I took her hands off the jeep, feeling that odd, painful sensation sweep through me. I had to grind my teeth together to keep from letting her see the effect she had on me. I desperately wished I knew what it was that made me feel so strange. "Just let him go," I said, "he isn't worth the fight."

Anyone else would have backed off, but not Claire. She yanked her hands away from me, making the pain evaporate and bringing my strength back immediately. She spun back to the Jeep, but Jonny had seen his chance to escape and taken it. He was already out of reach.

"Thanks a lot, Uriah. You let him get away. I wasn't finished yelling at him yet, that stupid prick."

"I..." My mind struggled to come up with anything to say to her. I thought I was helping. Shouldn't she be thanking me? Yeah, she hadn't asked for my help, but she definitely looked like she needed it. She had been half a second away from a nasty black eye. Sometimes it was hard to think around Claire, but I suddenly had a moment of clarity. This road was nowhere near the way out to the bluffs. "You're pretty far away from the bluffs. How did you end up here?" I asked.

Claire bottled up her irritation in a flash and replaced it with pure embarrassment. Her mixed Anglo and Native American heritage gave her lighter skin than any of the other Tewa Indians on the reservation. I loved the unique look it gave her, but now I had another reason to love her skin. The light color made it much easier to see her blushing. It was almost enough to make me forget that she hadn't answered my question.

"Did you know I was here?" I asked. The blush spread from her cheeks to her ears. She turned away to hide it from me, but I had already gotten my answer.

Being around her made my thoughts fray into straggling bits of thread, and touching her sapped my strength and made my skin burn. Fate, or some other power, obviously wanted me to stay away from her. I was having a hard time listening today. I didn't know how she knew I would be here, but it was apparent that she had led Jonny right to me. She seemed determined to avoid me most of the time, but when she needed protection, she thought of me. Whatever else loving her did to me, I would do anything for her.

# Chapter 2

### Romance or Zombies

For the longest time we just stood there in the grass, me in my bare feet, and Claire in a pair of designer sandals. She stared out at the desert landscape, or pretended to stare at least. Most likely she was avoiding looking at me until she calmed down. I didn't have to pretend to stare at anything. I was freely staring at her. Denim shorts left most of her long, sinuous legs bare, but the soft curves of her shoulders were barely visible under the cascade of her hair. Every inch of her skin called to me. Even the defiant way she stood made me want to reach out and pull her into my arms. I doubted she would appreciate that, though, so I kept my hands to myself. Plus, I had no idea what having that much of her body in contact with mine would do to me.

When she finally faced me, every hint of her embarrassment had disappeared. Folding her arms tightly against her chest, she looked at me in a way that seemed to dare me to ask her what all of that with Jonny had been about. Since I didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of her slaps, I left it alone for now. After a few seconds, Claire nodded her approval and let her beautiful smile slip back onto her lips.

"Where are your shoes?" she asked.

I couldn't help but laugh. That was really all she had to say to me? "There, over by the bank," I said. "Let me get them and I'll walk you home."

Walking with me to get my shoes and backpack, Claire didn't say anything. She just waited patiently while I tugged my tennis shoes back on and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Sure."

We were about a mile out of town, with Claire's house being on the opposite side of San Juan. The distance didn't bother me any, especially walking it with Claire, but I worried that she might get tired or bored along the way. I wanted to say something to her. Nothing came to mind, though. Except for the one time we ended up in the same homeroom class, this was the longest amount of time we had ever spent together. Basketball and football games she came to didn't count, because I knew she wasn't there for me.

"So, are you going to the bonfire tonight?" Claire asked.

I stared at her incredulously. After what happened with Jonny, was she seriously still considering going? "Uh, I doubt it," I said, "are you?"

"Not anymore." Silence fell between us again.

I was dying to know what had led to Claire jumping out of Jonny's car. Claire never missed a bonfire or movie night. She was usually one of the ones organizing these get-togethers. And tonight was the annual end of the school year bonfire. Everybody went. What could Jonny have possibly done that would make Claire mad enough to miss it?

"Thanks," Claire said suddenly.

"Huh?" I wondered if I had missed something she'd said.

"For, uh, getting rid of Jonny. I should have said thanks earlier."

She was back to pretending to be extremely interested in the piñon trees crowding around the road. "No problem," I said. I knew I probably shouldn't, but I made myself ask her again. "How did you know I would be at the river?"

"What do you mean?" Claire asked. The overly innocent tone of her voice made me smile. It wasn't often I saw her on this side of an awkward conversation.

"So, Jonny just happened to be driving by the pullout to the river when he decided to piss you off? I thought you guys were heading to the bluffs, in the opposite direction." My teasing brought a smile to Claire's face. She knew she was caught.

Slipping her hands into her back pockets, Claire looked up at me, her guilt and amusement mixing in her eyes. "Okay, so maybe I tricked Jonny into driving to the river, but I had to get away from him and I knew he wouldn't let me leave without a fight."

"But what made you think of me?" I asked. I should have just been glad of the fact that the one girl I wanted most had dropped into my lap unexpectedly. Doing what I should wasn't always easy. I should have been home hauling bales of hay into the barn. I wanted to know her reason before I counted myself too lucky. If she said it was because I could knock Jonny out for her, well, that wasn't the answer I wanted.

Claire seemed surprised by the question. She took a few moments to answer, but when she did, it was my turn to be surprised. "Because I knew Jonny would back down if you told him to."

"What? Why would Jonny do anything I said just because I told him to? We aren't even that good of friends," I said. Especially not after today.

"But he did, didn't he?" she asked.

My argument died in my throat. She was right, I guess.

"Everybody does what you tell them to. Maybe it's because they know you could break them in half if you wanted to, but everybody knows you would never hurt a girl, and the girls act the same way. Even the teachers and coaches listen to you," Claire said.

What was she talking about? I hated to sound conceded, but Jonny, and other guys like him, probably only ever listened to me because I was twice their size. And girls, girls always went after the top athletes. My coaches were great, but they realized that I knew the games as well as they did, so when I made a suggestion, they respected me enough to listen. Claire was making it sound like something more than what it really was.

"Claire, I..." What did I even say to that? I had no response, so I went back to my original question. "How did you know I was at the river? You keep avoiding answering me about that one."

I was avoiding answering to what she had just said, of course, but I hoped she didn't think to call me on it. The hint of pink in her cheeks made me think she was too distracted to notice. "I saw you heading this way when we left the school. And I know you like to hang out at river," she said, "so I figured this was where you would be." She ended with a shrug, like everyone should have known I would be hanging out at the river.

Maybe it wasn't that hard for her to guess, but I chose to think that maybe she had been paying a little more attention to me than I thought. Fear of finding out I was wrong kept me from pushing any harder. "Well, I'm sorry you have to miss the bonfire tonight," I said.

"Oh, I don't have to miss it," Claire said, "I'm choosing to miss it. Jonny being an idiot isn't what's stopping me from going to the bonfire. I could make myself deal with him if I really wanted to."

"Then why aren't you going? I thought you liked going to stuff like that?" I asked.

Claire looked at me, not shyly, exactly, but more like she was considering something, then looked ahead again. I watched her seriousness soften as she turned back to me with a smile. "Because I think I found something better to do," she said. Her steps brought her a little closer to me and I dared smiling back at her as we reached the edge of town.

We walked through town without speaking. I was too afraid to say something that might make her change her mind. Always nice enough to me from a distance before today, I knew there was something keeping her away from me. Today she had been the one to seek me out, and the one to admit to wanting to be around me. Whether it was luck, or something else entirely, I didn't want to lose this chance.

The big double doors of Claire's massive house loomed before us more quickly than I expected. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now. I had only offered to walk her home. Were the doors my cue to take off, now that she was safe again? We reached the top of the short flight of steps leading up to the door before I could figure it out.

Claire hesitated, and then asked, "Do you want to watch a movie or something?"

Well, there was my answer.

"Yeah, sure, that sounds great." I started to follow her to their den, but I stopped after a few steps. "Could I use your phone, though? My parents were probably expecting me home a while ago."

"Of course," Claire said. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she tossed it to me. I caught the pearly pink, rhinestone encrusted cell phone with one hand. Letting my mom know where I was only took a few brief seconds. Her happily telling me to stay as long as I wanted and not to worry about the hay took a lot longer than it should have. I think it worried her that I didn't date as much as she thought I should. Even though I tried to hide it, my mom knew how I felt about Claire. I said goodbye and flipped the phone closed before she could embarrass me too much.

Claire was already settling into the couch, the previews of whatever movie she had chosen playing in the background. The huge den had three couches to choose from. The only one I was interested in was the suede loveseat holding Claire. Sitting so there was plenty of room left, she looked over at me. I didn't keep her waiting.

Making sure not to touch her, I sat down next to Claire. My heart was pounding, but I forced myself to relax, or at least look like I was relaxed, as I leaned into the soft cushions. I handed her cell phone back to her with my thanks, and asked, "So what are we watching?"

"Well, it was a choice between romance or zombies," she said. "I thought you might like the zombies better. Cole chose it, big surprise. My brother loves anything with gore and undead people in it. This one was supposed to be pretty funny, though."

"Zombie movies usually are pretty funny, even when they don't mean to be," I said.

"I know, right? We watched Night of the Living Dead in English and half the class laughed through it," Claire said.

"What was the other half doing?"

"Sleeping."

That was pretty much the same thing that had happened in my class last year. Claire was a year behind me in school, something I often forgot when I saw her since we were practically the same age. She had missed the school district deadline by two months. More than once I had wished she had been born in August, rather than October. Next year would be my senior year, but only Claire's junior. The idea of leaving her behind for college made my heart ache. The previews finally ended and we both turned our attention to the TV. I was a lot more focused on the small amount of space between me and Claire than the movie.

Twenty minutes into the movie, though, we were both laughing hysterically. I was enjoying myself so much that the few times Claire leaned into me to say something or brushed my hand with hers that I barely even noticed the pain-filled shiver that ran through me.

As the number of zombies dwindled and the sappy romance between the main characters took over, Claire let her head fall onto my shoulder. Pain radiated through my side, but reflex brought my arm around her shoulder before I could stop myself. I worried immediately that I had been too quick to move, but Claire only leaned against me more heavily, doubling the intensity of my reaction. I found myself very glad to be sitting down at the moment.

Her body pressed so gently against mine made my hand start to tremble slightly from the pain. Balling my hand into a fist and tucking it away where she couldn't see it, I refused to move away from her. The feel of her against me was worth any amount of pain.

# Chapter 3

### A Vague Feeling

I wasn't really sure what I was doing. Uriah freaked me out for some reason. Well, not for some reason, I knew the reason. In not so subtle terms, I had actually told him today why I had never hung out with him before. He acted like the way people changed when he was around them was just because of his size, or something, but I didn't believe that. The way people acted around him, it was almost like his mere presence had some kind of control over other people.

Being controlled was something I dealt with every day of my life. My dad had my entire life planned out for me, and was willing to do just about anything to make sure things happened exactly the way he wanted them too. What I wanted couldn't have mattered less to him. I certainly didn't need more of that from a boyfriend. Uriah flat out made me nervous.

But that wasn't the only reason I usually kept away from him. When most girls talk about the man of their dreams, they were delving into the fantasy of who their perfect match would be. I never thought about the man of my dreams, only the man in my dreams. For as long as I could remember I had dreamed of his face. He was completely nameless in my dreams and his blonde hair and blue eyes did not belong on the reservation, but I waited for him to come to me in my dreams every night. My rational mind told me they were only dreams. My soul told me they were so much more than that. Since most people who know me would admit I was not always the most rational person, it should be no surprise to anyone that I chose to believe he was real. His image in my mind had kept me from getting serious with anyone, especially Uriah. Uriah was the one guy I was afraid could make me forget my dreams.

Why I was sitting next to him with his arm around me was hard to explain. Up until now, I had carefully avoided Uriah as much as possible. Mainly because of the weird vibe, but also because I thought he was just about the most gorgeous, sweet, amazing person I knew. If I found myself doing whatever he wanted, I wasn't sure I would have the desire to stop. Lately, staying away was getting harder to do, though. Even without considering my dreams, something about the way people reacted to him told me that I should stay away from him. When I had to get away from Jonny today, he was the first person I thought of.

Spending time with Uriah was nothing like I thought it would be. The only difference I felt at being around him was excitement. I didn't feel like I was doing anything I wouldn't normally do, or acting strangely at all. His arm felt good around my shoulder and I wanted it to stay there. And that was purely my own desire. The delicious throbbing I felt all over my body made me sure of that.

Sooner than I would have liked, the credits started rolling. Uriah didn't jump up to leave, or try to make out with me like a few other guys had done. I appreciated his self-control, even if I was a little disappointed he didn't try to kiss me. Part of me wanted to see how long we could stay like this, but that would probably make Uriah uncomfortable after a while.

"Well, that was better than I thought it was going to be," I said. "Did you like it?"

Uriah seemed to take that as his cue to let me go. He took his arm back and sat up straight before answering. I held in a disappointed sigh. "Yeah, it was pretty funny," he said. "It reminded me a lot of _Shaun of the Dead_. Have you ever seen that one?"

"Living with Cole? Of course I have. I couldn't stop laughing when I watched it." I knew that awkward moment where Uriah would be wondering whether he should stay or go was right around the corner, so I tried to get a jump on it. "Do you want to watch another one? The only other new one we have is a romantic comedy, but there's always more zombie movies, thanks to Cole, if you want."

Uriah laughed. "I think I'm all zombied out for today."

"Romantic comedy it is, then," I said. Usually Uriah's expressions were very easy to read. Not right now, though. I wasn't sure whether Uriah looked relieved that I had asked him to stay longer, or worried, but he didn't make a run for it either way. I took that as a good sign. Reluctantly getting off the couch, I looked toward the kitchen. "How about some popcorn and sodas to go with this one?"

"Sounds good," Uriah said as he stood up next to me. "Need any help?"

For a brief second, I considered telling him I was fine, I hated looking helpless, but I liked the idea of being away from him even less. Letting him put a bag of popcorn in the microwave was hardly going to make me look like a wimp. "Sure," I said, "follow me."

The honest pleasure in Uriah's face made me smile. He seemed nothing like what a lot of my friends had told me. Dana and Beth both said he was outgoing and fun when they went out with him, confident, engaging. Dana said they spent most of their date talking and laughing. No girl that I knew of ever regretted going out with him. The only thing they ever regretted was that they never went out again. Uriah never dated a girl more than once, which left plenty of them wondering what on earth they had done wrong. I thought it was more like he was just trying them out, waiting for the right one to find him. Seeing Uriah so, almost shy, and quiet, around me was bizarre. It made me worry that I was doing something wrong.

Entering the kitchen, I went right to the pantry and pulled out a package of microwave popcorn. I stripped off the wrapper and tossed it to Uriah. He caught it effortlessly, of course. I had watched just about every home football, basketball, or baseball game he had ever played in. I could at least do that and feel safe. He was so much better at everything than everyone else it was ridiculous. If our tiny school wasn't way below the college sports radar, he would have scouts knocking down his door every day.

"Would you throw that in the microwave," I asked. "Just push the Popcorn button." He nodded and I heard the almost too loud hum of the microwave behind me as I opened the fridge. "What do you like, Coke, root beer, Crush, Sprite?" I asked.

"Um, Coke is fine."

I handed him the soda and set my own on the counter to find a bowl for the popcorn. The warning beep that there was only thirty seconds left on the timer sounded. "Oh, shoot. Uriah, would you..." I was closer than he was. "Never mind, I'll get it," I said.

But Uriah had already guessed I was talking about the popcorn and moved to get it right as I turned around. I bumped into him, putting my hand on his chest to keep from crashing into him too much. He shivered and shook his head as if he had to shake off my touch. I snatched my hand away quickly.

"Sorry," I said as the final beep rang. I could smell the faint scent of burnt popcorn emanating from the microwave. It burned every time if we didn't take it out early.

"No, it was my fault," Uriah said. "I'll get it for you." He hesitated for a second before brushing his fingers across my cheek. I swear he shivered again, but if he did, it was so slight I almost didn't see it. Smiling with a strange kind of pride, he turned away and went after the popcorn. I had no idea what that was about.

Trying to hide my mixed up feelings, I busied myself with finding a bowl. Uriah was nothing like I thought, but that certainly didn't mean I had any clue what he was really like. I was more confused than ever about him. I was still searching the cupboards when I heard the front door open. Cole was setting up for the bonfire. Mom was shopping with a friend in Santa Fe. That only left my dad. Cursing under my breath, I hoped he would head right back out. Maybe he just forgot something. The click of his dress shoes on the kitchen tile made me cringe. His feet stopped moving and I forced myself to stand up and face him.

Harder than usual, his eyes stared past me to Uriah. "I thought you were going to the bonfire tonight, Claire," he said, still not looking at me.

"I was, but..." Should I tell him about Jonny? And why was he glaring at Uriah like that? "Um, I got in a fight with Jonny and didn't feel like going anymore."

He didn't really seem to hear me. "Uriah, what are you doing here with my daughter?" my dad asked.

Okay, this was beyond weird. "Dad, what's your problem? We're watching a movie. Is there something wrong with that?" His eyes narrowed as if there was indeed something wrong with me watching a movie with Uriah. "Shouldn't you be at work anyway?" I asked. "What are you doing home so early?"

"I thought everyone would be out. I came home to work in my study. There were too many distractions at the casino," he said.

Of course, the one day my dad wants to work from home is the one day I actually want to hang out here. "Well, we'll be all the way in the den. You won't even know we're here," I said.

"I can go if it's a problem," Uriah said to my dad.

My dad was not going to ruin this for me. I said, "No, you're fine, Uriah," just as my dad said, "I think that would be best." My eyes snapped to my dad's with a threat he knew I could fulfill, but he was still glaring at Uriah. Uriah just nodded politely before turning to me.

"I've got chores to do anyway, but thanks for having me over, Claire," Uriah said. He started for the front door, leaving me staring at my dad.

"What is wrong with you?" I hissed at my dad. "You wouldn't have even been able to hear us in the den."

"I would rather you didn't hang out with Uriah Crowe," my dad said.

"What?"

Dropping his keys and attaché on the table, my dad walked past me in his usual cold manner. "I don't approve of him, and I better not see you together again." Like that was the end of the discussion, he starting walking across the kitchen toward his study.

"Well," I said sarcastically, making him turn back to look at me, "it's a good thing I always do what you say, then, isn't it?"

"Claire," he warned, but I had already rushed away from him.

I threw open the front door and I spotted Uriah halfway down the driveway. "Uriah!"

He turned around quickly, but waited for me to approach him. I wanted to grab him and yank him back to the house, but I pulled up just short. "Sorry about my dad, he can be a real jerk sometimes," I said.

Uriah hid a smile and nodded politely. My dad sponsored most of the teams Uriah played on, so he knew as well as anyone what my dad was like. Plenty of people respected my dad because he owned the biggest trading post in the area, as well as the casino outside of town, but I didn't think you could pay any amount to actually get someone to like him.

"It's okay," Uriah said, "I have a truckload of hay to unload anyway. I had fun, though."

It was probably the most laidback, kind-of-date I had ever been on, but it was definitely the best. "I did too," I said.

As he started to turn away I had the strongest urge to sink my lips against his. I didn't want him to leave, especially if this was the last time I would see him. That thought had nothing to do with my dad, but everything to do with Uriah's track record. I didn't want him being pushed out by my dad to be the last thing he remembered me for. I was considering how to stop him from leaving when he turned back.

He opened his mouth to say something, but frowned and closed it again. I waited with my breath held against fear of what he was going to say. Shaking his head once more, Uriah looked at me. "Can I see you again?" he asked.

Breathing out too quickly with relief, my answer got stuck in my throat. I swallowed, and said, "Of course, I would love that."

"Great," Uriah said. "My dad and I are cutting alfalfa this weekend, but maybe we can do something next week."

"Sure, just give me a call."

Half smiling and frowning at the same time as if he wasn't sure about what he had just done, Uriah turned and walked away. It took some real effort to walk back to the house calmly. I had a million questions about Uriah, and a vague feeling that seeing him again wasn't a good idea, but knowing I was the first girl he had ever gone on a second date with was so intoxicating it overpowered everything else. Even my dreams. I wanted to be with Uriah no matter what being around him eventually revealed.

# Chapter 4

### Controlling Hand

It was the first night I didn't dream of his face. Every second of my dreams was filled with Uriah that night. I woke up thinking about Uriah, and for some reason that scared me. Only after replaying the all too real dreams of Uriah in my head a few times did my mind bring my dream guy's image back to my mind, as if trying to make me guilty for my lapse. For a brief moment, I really missed not seeing him. My head was still too filled with Uriah to dwell on it for long, though.

Waiting for Uriah's call was torturous. Only knowing that he would be baling and hauling alfalfa all weekend kept me from dashing over to his house for a surprise visit. I didn't tell my mom what was making me so antsy, but by Saturday morning she knew I needed to get out of the house. Always happy to have an excuse to spend a day in Santa Fe, Mom told me to pack an overnight bag and whisked me off to her favorite hotel, the one that had a full day spa.

We spent Saturday getting covered in mud and cucumbers. It helped some. Eventually, my mom wheedled out what was bothering me and we spent the rest of the day talking about Uriah. Talking to her helped more than anything the spa did to me. I spent most of my free time with Dana and Beth, but my mom was my true best friend. I never had to question the motives behind her love, and she battled my dad for me constantly. The only thing we didn't talk about was my dad's weird reaction to me hanging out with Uriah. That was barely even worth mentioning.

As soon as I fell into the plush hotel bed Saturday night my eyes closed and my mind conjured up the image of the wrong person.

At first it was just his hands sliding over my shoulders. Then it was his whole arms wrapping around me and pulling me against his chest. For a few moments we stayed there feeling utterly complete in each other's arms. He was always the same age as me and he always knew what I needed. When I was upset he would hold me and stroke my hair until my worry or anger disappeared. If I was in a playful mood he would dance with me, spinning me and laughing until we both collapsed. When I needed to know that someone truly loved me, he would show me his love in every caress and kiss.

Tonight I was not upset or playful. My mind and heart were fully focused on love.

Gently his lips pressed against the hollow below my ear, making my head fall to the side so he could explore my skin more easily. His fingers joined his lips on my neck and slowly traced their way down to my shoulder. His touch felt familiar and inviting, but something about the way he kissed me felt different. More insistent than usual, more demanding. I didn't respond right away and he noticed my hesitation. When his guiding hands turned me to face him, I saw the question in his eyes, the fear that I did not want him and need him as much as I once did.

I woke from the dream with a tremendous sense of guilt hanging over me.

Not even spending another day in the spa could relax me then. Going back home Sunday night ramped up my anxiety even more. Every noise that night woke me from dreams that had nothing to do with Uriah. Sleep deprived hope made me reach for the phone every time. I woke up Monday morning tired and cranky, but all of that disappeared when my phone rang and I saw Uriah's number on the caller ID. I stumbled excitedly through our conversation, barely even hearing him ask me to go horseback riding with him. Mom laughed as I tore through the house to change clothes. I was riding my mare, Daisy, off our property in record time.

Some of my pent up energy cooled as I reached Uriah's house. Walking Daisy around to the front of the house, I slid off and tied her reins to the fence next to Uriah's waiting horse. I had planned to go knock on the door, but I spotted Uriah in the sheep pen next to the house and headed over to him, all thoughts of dreams forgotten. He didn't notice me until I climbed up on the fence and sat on the top rail.

"Claire," he said when he saw me, "I didn't realize you were here already."

"Sorry, I'm probably a little early." Would he realize just how quickly I had run out of the house to come see him? I hoped he didn't think I was a huge dork if he did.

The lamb Uriah was holding bleated in his ear, making Uriah laugh. "No, it's perfect. I could use your help actually."

"My help?" I asked. My face must have looked incredulous. That was how I felt, at least. I knew absolutely nothing about sheep.

"If you don't mind," he said. "This rascal got in a fight with a bunch of burrs. I got most of them off, but there's a couple I need to clip out."

Climbing over the fence, I approached the lamb cautiously. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just hold Ishla's shoulders so he doesn't run off. There's two burrs on his belly that I can't get to while I'm holding him," Uriah said.

The lamb's cuteness didn't lessen my fear any. I wasn't afraid of the animal, just of accidently hurting it. Gently, I took the animal's shoulders and pressed lightly. It wiggled under my grip so I pressed down a little tighter until it stopped moving around. Uriah smiled encouragingly, and picked up his scissors. The lamb flinched when Uriah clipped the burr out of its wool, but held still for the most part. Finished with his work, Uriah patted the lamb on the back, touching my hand as he did.

With a sharp bleat, the little lamb tossed its head back and jumped right into Uriah's chest. Falling back in surprise, Uriah made no move to catch the little guy as it scampered away. He stared after it looking confused. I reached out and pulled Uriah back up. He flinched when I touched him and I worried that he was hurt. "Are you okay?" I asked. "I'm sorry. I should have held him tighter."

"Don't worry about it, that little one is a handful," Uriah said. "He doesn't usually act like that around me, though." Shrugging at the oddity, he forgot it and dusted off his clothes. "Let me just grab something from the house and we can get going."

He hurried away before I could ask if I should go with him, so I walked back to Daisy and fed her a carrot from my pocket while I waited for Uriah to reappear. He walked back out of the house with his saddle bags slung over his shoulder a few minutes later. The edge of a blanket peeked out from under one of the flaps. By the way the other bag bulged, I was guessing there was a picnic lunch in that one. A ride through the bluffs could only last so long, but a picnic could last as long as you wanted it to.

Trying to hide my grin, I let my hair fall over my face as I swung into Daisy's saddle.

"Ready?" Uriah asked. I nodded, resisting the urge to push my hair behind my ear.

The ride out of town was filled with idle small talk that most people would have found unimportant. To me it was anything but. Talking about our plans for the summer, the books we were supposed to read, things we liked and didn't like, and a dozen other things, were all little bits of the puzzle that was Uriah Crowe. Nothing he said gave me any hints about some of the bigger mysteries surrounding him, but the way he laughed and talked so easily with me today gave me hope that he wouldn't disappear on me like he had other girls.

By the time we reached a secluded valley that was perfect for a picnic, I felt like I had been friends with Uriah for much longer than a few days. Uriah jumped down from his mare and took a step toward me. Expecting him to offer to help me down, I slid off Daisy before he had the chance and landed lightly in the sand. The corner of his mouth twitched, and I hated myself for letting my dad control me once again. I couldn't stand letting anyone help me because of him, but that just ended up letting my feelings for my dad dictate how I acted anyway. I couldn't win against him.

Uriah's quick frown tore at me. I actually would have loved to feel his hands on my waist as he lifted me down. Why didn't I let him help me get off the horse? Pushing him away was exactly what I was afraid of doing. I wanted to kick myself, but that would only embarrass me further, so I pasted on a smile and went to help him with lunch.

"So what are we having?" I asked.

His dark skin didn't hide his blush. "I don't know, actually. My mom packed it for me. Picking burrs out of Ishla's coat took longer than I thought it would."

That certainly wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. Helping that poor lamb was more important. I spread the blanket out on the rough desert grass and watched Uriah set the saddle bag down in the middle. Moving the bag over some, I sat down on the side, making sure the only open space large enough for Uriah to sit was right next to me. Uriah sat down in the right spot, but was far enough away that he wasn't in any danger of touching me. I really hoped he was just being polite.

"Well, let's open it up and see what we have," I said.

The roast beef sandwiches and potato salad his mom had packed were delicious. What was even better was lying on the blanket with Uriah after all the food was gone. Still careful of the distance between us, Uriah laid next to me. The heat of the desert pressed all around us, attempting to burn away the desire I felt being so close to him. It didn't work.

All the heat did was make me think of the soothing warmth I had felt come over me with Uriah's arm around my shoulder a few days ago. I wanted to feel that again. He had yet to really touch me even once today. The sun beating down on my closed eyelids was a poor substitute. When I felt Uriah shift next to me, I opened my eyes to find him propped up on his elbow, gazing down at me. My smile was timid and shaky as I wished he would move in closer.

"Thanks for coming with me today," he said.

"Thanks for inviting me." Now kiss me, I thought.

Some part of me wondered if I was falling for whatever everyone else fell for around him, but a bigger part of me really didn't care. Just as I knew I wouldn't. The memory of him touching my cheek on Friday had haunted me all weekend. Why wouldn't he touch me like that again? A very good reason popped into my head. My dad.

The desire to strangle something had me grinding my teeth. He had to be the reason Uriah was keeping his distance today. I was not about to let my dad have any part in my relationship with Uriah, what tiny bit we actually had.

"Uriah," I started, "I'm really sorry about the way my dad acted the other day. I don't know what his problem was, but he was incredibly rude to you."

"Oh, that's all right. I don't think your dad has ever liked me very much," Uriah said.

"Why not?" I asked. Uriah was practically the town hero. He was pretty much the only reason our little high school got any kind of recognition in the sports world. With my dad being so heavily involved in sports, I thought he adored Uriah like everyone else did.

Uriah didn't seem to understand it either. He just shrugged in answer to my question.

"Well, don't worry about my dad. The day I actually listen to him about anything is the day San Juan turns into a swampland."

"I take it you and your dad don't get along, then?" Uriah asked.

Rolling my eyes, I laughed. "Saying we don't get along would be an understatement. I can't stand him because he tries to control my life and he despises me because I'm not the perfect little china doll he expected me to be."

That last part came out a little too filled with venom. Uriah frowned as he watched my face tighten in an effort to hold back my anger. Just talking about my dad made me want to scream. Especially after he had spent the weekend calling and hounding me to make sure I wasn't trying to see Uriah. My dad being at work today was the only reason I was able to leave without him tailing me. Putting him out of my head today seemed to be impossible. I couldn't even go five minutes without him crowding into my mind and spoiling my day. Why couldn't my dad love me for who I was like any normal parent?

Despite my best efforts, a tear slipped down my cheek. I turned away from Uriah to try and hide it. His fingers slid along my cheek and gently turned my face so I was looking at him again. Tears stayed frozen on my skin as I held my breath. So light I could barely feel it, Uriah swept his fingers across my cheek, taking my tears and anger away.

"Hey," Uriah said softly, "it's okay. I didn't mean to upset you."

My lips quivered into a smile. "You didn't." I don't think Uriah could ever upset me even if he tried. "I just hate the way he treats me."

"What does he do?" Uriah asked.

"He tries to control my life," I said. I hated the sharp tone of my voice. I couldn't seem to shake it, though.

Uriah smiled as he ran his hand up to my hair. "Isn't that what all parents do?" He seemed to be focusing very intently on me now.

"Whatever other parents do, my dad is ten times worse," I said. "He has my entire future mapped out. What I want doesn't matter to him at all."

"He's probably just doing what he thinks is best for you," Uriah said.

Sitting up on the blanket, my motion pushed Uriah away. The way I was glaring at him didn't help either. "My dad has to approve of my clothes, hairstyles, makeup, everything, because he refuses to let me look 'average.' Looking like a model is more important to him than getting good grades. He's never once come to any of my school functions. The only reason he plans to send me to college is to make sure I find a rich husband. I can't even choose where I want to go. He's already decided I'll go to Boston because that's where he went and he has friends there he can hand me off to.

"I wanted to play volleyball, but he refused to let me because it wasn't ladylike enough. He gave me the choice of ballet or piano lessons. He controls who my friends are because he controls most of the parents. If he doesn't like someone I'm hanging out with, he talks to their parents and suddenly that person won't even speak to me anymore. And he does it all just because he wants me to live up to his family name. His grandfather was the last Tewa Chief and that means I'm screwed. I have no freedom because of who my ancestors are. My dad isn't doing what's best for me, just what he thinks is best for himself."

Uriah sat in stunned silence for a few seconds. His hand had fallen away from me when I sat up so abruptly, and it stayed away now. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. The rise and fall of his broad chest had stopped, holding in the breath he had taken. I had done it again. If he got up and left right now, I could only blame myself. My dad's controlling hand felt tighter around my neck than it ever had before. I let him do this to me.

Embarrassment and shame slumped my shoulders. I felt like such an idiot. All I wanted was to spend a peaceful afternoon with Uriah, and I had ruined it. Tears fell and I didn't even try to stop them. Uriah's arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest. He held me in his arms. I barely knew Uriah. I never should have dumped all of my problems with my dad on him, but there was nobody else. Nobody outside of my dreams. Despite the warnings, I trusted Uriah.

Still hidden against Uriah's chest, I said, "Maybe if I thought my dad actually loved me I could stand the way he acted, but I know he doesn't."

Lifting my chin so that I was looking at him, Uriah's serious eyes captured me completely. "No matter how your dad treats you, he does love you. How could he not?"

"He's never once told me that he loves me."

"Some people just have a hard time saying it," Uriah said. Even he didn't sound very convinced by his words. My dad didn't say it and he didn't show it. He used me like he did everyone else. What point was there in arguing? Maybe Uriah figured that out, or maybe he just wanted me to stop crying, but he changed the topic.

"So what are you doing here with me?" he asked. "Your dad obviously doesn't approve of me, not that that bothers me any, but here you are, sitting on a blanket with me out in the hills."

With his arms around me, even. As angry as I had been a minute ago, I found it surprisingly easy to smile now. Uriah raised an eyebrow as he waited for my answer. Grinning guiltily, I dipped my head to avoid Uriah's teasing smile. "Well, I guess maybe I have a little more freedom than I made it sound. I do try to irritate my dad every chance I can get."

"Is that the only reason you came today?" Uriah asked.

I looked back up at him to gauge whether he was joking or serious. Seeing his expression, it was easy to tell. His emotions stood plainly on his face no matter what he was feeling. Friendly teasing hovered on the surface, but honest desire to know the answer was layered underneath.

"If I won't date a guy just because my dad wants me to, I'm certainly not going to date someone just because he doesn't want me to," I said. "I came because I wanted to."

That was obviously the answer he had been hoping for. Peaceful pleasure washed over him and seeped into me as Uriah lowered himself back onto the blanket. I followed, resting my head on his shoulder. Uriah didn't say it, but somehow I knew that regardless of what my dad wanted, Uriah wasn't going anywhere.

# Chapter 5

### Subtle Invitation

I shook my head at myself as I stared at the wall surrounding the Brant home. In the failing light, the plaster covered wall that was usually a light tan color looked blood red. Hopefully that wasn't an omen. Placing my hands on the plaster, I launched myself to the top of the six foot wall. I took a brief second to look around the garden-like yard and make sure no one could see me before dropping to the ground, smashing a clump of flowers as I did.

The backyard lights were all off like Claire said they would be. Darting across the lawn, I stopped at the edge of the covered patio. "Claire," I whispered loudly, "are you up there?"

My answer was seeing her head pop over the edge of the porch roof, a brilliant grin on her face. "You came!" she whispered.

"I told you I would, but you better not make a habit of this." I was serious. My heart was pounding in fear that Thomas would suddenly have the desire to sit on the porch and watch the sunset. Claire just giggled and flipped herself back up. A second later her feet were dangling off the roof, waiting for me to grab them.

Every minute I spent with Claire made touching her more bearable. In the month that we had been seeing each other, my tolerance for her had not improved quite as much as I hoped it would, but I was definitely getting better. Flexing my fingers in and out several times, I tried to prepare myself. Slowly, I reached up and grabbed Claire's legs. My right knee started to shake faintly, but I was sure it would be fine. The real problem was the horrible ache rushing down my arms. It wasn't as bad as the shocking pain I had felt at first, but holding someone up when it felt like my arms were about to dissolve was difficult, to say the least.

Claire started scooting herself off the porch roof when I had a tight hold on her, probably tighter than necessary. My confidence was as wobbly as my arms. She hung above me, supporting herself with only her hands on the roof, and asked, "Ready?"

My left knee was shaking now. "Go for it."

All at once her entire weight was in my hands. Barely a hundred and ten pounds, the weight was no big deal. Her body sliding down mine...that was a huge problem. Lowering her slowly so I didn't drop her, inch by inch more of her body was pressed against mine. Ache turned into searing pain spreading from my chest to my head, and down to my legs. My weaker right knee betrayed me and buckled, pitching me sideways before I could catch myself.

My arms wrapped around Claire to protect her from getting hurt a half second before my back thudded into the grass. A deep groan slipped from my mouth, but I wasn't sure whether it was from the pain of the fall, or from having so much of Claire's body crushed against mine. Head to toe, my entire body was burning. Claire lying on top of me was a position I should have been thrilled about, but I had to get her off me. Gently, I pushed her up and rolled myself up to a sitting position. The relief from not touching her finally let me take a deep breath.

Claire watched me with one eyebrow cocked. "Sorry, I really didn't think I was that heavy."

I laughed now that the pain was gone. "You're not, I promise." Then I had to lie. "I, uh, just twisted my knee earlier. I must have hurt it more than I thought."

Her face clouded with concern immediately. "Uriah, you should have told me. I could have jumped down on my own."

"And twisted your ankle, probably. I'm fine. Don't worry about it." To show how fine I was, I jumped up and dusted bits of grass off my backside. Claire watched me step toward her carefully, trying to gauge whether or not I was lying. For once, my expression didn't give me away. Perhaps my relief that the gate unlocked from this side painted over my deception.

Slipping out of the overly green yard, back into the desert, Claire grabbed my hand and towed me down the road. After the shock of having her on top of me, holding her hand seemed so much less painful by comparison. I thought that was interesting. I felt like there was a plan of some kind hidden in that information. Push the limits and drown myself in pain for a few seconds to make the less intense seem even more innocuous. It involved a lot more pain, but a lot more of me being able to touch Claire.

We reached my truck before I could really cement my thoughts. I had something else to figure out first. Claire climbed in and pushed herself over to the middle seat so she was closer to me. There was no pain, but the tired, weakening sensation remained even when she didn't touch me. Looking over at me expectantly, Claire's eyes asked why I hadn't already started the truck.

"Why did I just break you out of your house?" I asked. Maybe I should have asked that before actually helping her escape, but I couldn't resist anything Claire asked me to do.

"Just my dad, again. Forget it," Claire said. Her rolling eyes accentuated her point, but the way her jaw clamped down after she spoke told the truth.

Pointedly shoving my keys back into my pocket, I turned to face Claire full on. "Tell me what happened."

Her anger spread over her face, making her eyes glisten and her ears flame red. I folded my arms across my chest to wait.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me," I said.

Wrinkling her nose and glaring at me, Claire pressed her lips together. She was waiting, and I knew exactly why she would do that. Claire was still convinced that I could make people do what I wanted them to. She refused to be one of those people. Any time I tried to tell her to do anything she turned into a mute statue just to prove that I had no effect on her. The ridiculousness of what she was doing would have annoyed me if her infuriated pout wasn't so adorable. Every time she did this I just ended up laughing, which only made her madder.

Since I did want to make it out to meet Tyler and Lana some time tonight, I held back my laughter and rephrased my words into something less commanding. "Claire, would you please tell me what happened with your dad?"

Her statuesque demeanor melted. "Fine, if you really want to know I'll tell you," she said. "Jonny called and wanted to take me to dinner tonight. I told him I'd rather eat a lizard and hung up."

Jonny was a creep, but I had no idea what that would have to do with me having to sneak Claire out to go meet Tyler. "And?" I asked.

Claire shrugged as if I should have figured it out already. "And my dad grounded me for a week."

"For turning down a date?"

"Yep. Jonny is the current 'Thomas Brant approved male' for me to hang out with. He told Jonny to take me out tonight. I got grounded because I refused to go."

"Jonny tried to hit you. Your dad knows that," I said.

"He doesn't care. Jonny's mom is his biggest weaving supplier." Claire shook herself, clearing away her anger. "Anyway, let's not talk about it anymore, okay? Let's just go find Tyler and Lana."

Thomas Brant had to be the biggest idiot I had ever met. Turning the truck on, I pulled onto the road and headed straight for the bluffs. Fifteen minutes later, we were pulling into a valley lit up by a spectacular bonfire. I could feel a wave of heat from it wash over me as soon as I opened my door. Tucking Tyler's present under one arm and Claire under the other, we braved stepping around the cab. Holding Claire only hurt slightly more than the heat of the fire.

"Could you have gotten that thing any bigger?" I asked Tyler. "How are we supposed to roast anything? I can't get within ten feet of it without singeing myself."

"I guess you're just not man enough to handle my fire, then," Tyler mocked. "Lana's already roasting away."

Glancing over at Lana, I saw her with a marshmallow speared on the end of a roasting stick taller than she was. Her hand was in front of her face trying to fend off the blistering heat of the fire. She grimaced behind her hand, but tried to look like she was doing just fine for Tyler's sake.

"Where's your stick?" I asked Tyler. "Is your girlfriend tougher than you are?"

"No." His indignant expression quickly broke into a grin. "Just hungrier."

"Shut up, Tyler, you told me to start. He wanted to make you feel bad for taking so long to get here," Lana said to me. "Did you have trouble breaking Claire out of the Brant Family Prison?"

"No, just took longer than I thought," I said. Claire didn't even seem surprised that I had told Tyler and Lana about her being grounded. Maybe that was because she already knew I had told my parents about it. I didn't like lying to people, so when Tyler asked why I wanted to move his birthday bonfire back to dusk, I told him. He thought it was funnier than my parents did. My parents weren't thrilled with the idea, but they both knew Thomas and figured he was just being a tyrant as usual. They trusted my judgment on this one.

Tyler grabbed a bag off the blanket and held it up to us. "So, you want some marshmallows?"

"I think I'll wait until this beast burns down a little," I said. Claire nodded next to me. Lana dropped her stick and muttered her agreement. Looking a little dejected that no one appreciated his masterpiece as much as he did, Tyler dropped the bag and plopped down on the blanket. We skirted around the fire to join them.

I tossed Tyler his present and he immediately tore into it, pulling out the pair of climbing shoes he had been wanting for months. "Thanks, man, these'll be great for tackling the cliffs next weekend. Ron and Doug are coming down to go climbing with me and Lana."

"The shoes are from Claire, too," I said. I told her she didn't have to worry about getting him anything since she didn't know him very well, but she had insisted on at least chipping in for the shoes.

"Thanks, Claire. Hey, you two should come with us next weekend," Tyler said. "You climb, don't you, Claire?"

Her face went oddly white in the firelight. "Uh, not really. I've never tried it before," she said, stumbling through the words.

"It's a blast, you should try it," Lana said.

Her encouraging voice didn't take the horrified pallor from Claire's face. "I can't, my mom and I are going to Denver next weekend to visit my aunt," Claire said in a relieved rush.

"Maybe next time. We go all the time," Lana said. Tyler grabbed Lana's attention, then, showing her the shoes and letting Claire off the hook for the moment. Seeing Claire so shook up was amusing. She was fearless, and daring, a daredevil almost. She had talked me into things I never would have done otherwise, yet she seemed to be honestly scared of rock climbing.

Taking advantage of Tyler being distracted, I turned to Claire. "Are you afraid of heights?" I asked her. She shook her head. "Then what? I think climbing is a lot of fun."

"You've gone before?" she asked.

"Sure, lots of times. Do you want to try it? I'll help you."

"No!"

I couldn't help it, I laughed. Claire smacked my arm. "Why not?" I asked.

"I'm afraid of falling," she blurted out. Her eyes closed, trying to shut out her embarrassment. Apparently that wasn't enough. Falling down onto her back, she covered her face with her hands as well.

Slowly, I ran my hand along her arm, all the way to the fingers covering her eyes. My fingers felt numb by the time I got there, but the silky feel of her skin against mine brought the rest of me to life. I slipped my hand under hers and pulled her hands away so I could see her face. Shame glittered in her eyes. I smiled and stroked her hair until she smiled back.

Leaning in closer so my face hovered a few inches above hers, as close as I could stand to get, I asked, "Do you really think I would let you fall?"

Brows wrinkling, Claire thought about her answer. She was so determined to prove to everyone that she didn't need help, that she was in control of her own life. So many times she pushed me away to keep from looking weak. I think she was honestly afraid that one day she would find herself completely under the power she thought I held, but I wanted more than anything to be the one person she trusted not to take away her beautiful spirit.

I tried to wait patiently for her answer. The throbbing echoing through my body from being so close to her was making me anxious. "Claire, I wouldn't let you get hurt," I said. "I'll always protect you, whatever it takes."

Her thoughtful frown turned up slowly. Absolute faith blossomed on her lips. "I know you will," she said softly.

Seeing her hand reaching up to my face, I braced myself. From the tips of her fingers to her palm, her hand slipped into place on my cheek, hesitating there before continuing its path across my jaw to wrap lightly around my neck. Her fingers moved back and forth across my skin, sending electric ripples through my spine as she gazed into my eyes. I could feel the pressure of her hand increase so very slightly, pulling me toward her.

A subtle invitation to kiss her, but it was one I didn't think I could take. Holding her like I was had my entire body stiff as a board. She was so hard to resist, though. Thinking about my earlier theory, I considered giving in, bringing my mouth closer to hers slowly and carefully. Half an inch away from kissing her, my vision started to swim. I couldn't do it. Turning my head aside, I settled for crushing her against me, pressing her cheek to mine. I heard Claire sigh almost imperceptibly. The pain I felt from touching her was nothing compared to the monumental disappointment of my failure.

# Chapter 6

### The Inevitable Fight

Thomas Brant's money and power didn't scare me, except in one regard. The possibility that he could find a way to keep Claire away from me was worse than the debilitating feeling I got when I touched her. For years I had watched Claire and wished I could figure out why I felt so strange around her. I thought I would have to get over that before I could be with her, but when I finally had the chance to really spend time with her, I realized I wasn't willing to wait anymore.

Taking her away from me now would be more than I could handle.

That was why every time we were together I forced myself to watch her slip back into her house from a distance. In a town as small as San Juan, Thomas would find out about us eventually. Claire's mom was helping us out a little with that, but we did our best to keep him in the dark. Both of us wanted to delay the inevitable fight we would face when he finally cornered us. For that same reason, we saw very little of our school friends as well. Tyler and Lana were the only ones we trusted enough not to tell.

So all summer long, whenever football practice or ballet, ranch chores or trips to Santa Fe didn't get in the way, we found each other and pretended that nothing was standing in our way. The delusion only lasted as long as summer did.

Standing in the parking lot on the first day back at school, I waited for Claire. Managing a ranch didn't produce nearly as much money as owning a casino. My family had what we needed, but money was always tight. We only had one vehicle, and that was needed for work on the ranch, leaving me to walk to school every day. I never minded until that morning. I would have liked nothing more than to be able to pick Claire up for school every morning. Instead, I showed up early and kept an eye out for her silver Lexus.

When she finally arrived, I walked over and opened her car door as soon as the engine cut off. Claire bounced out with a grin. Her arms slid around my waist and pulled me against her. After all summer together, the pain was down to a manageable ache. Dodging her backpack, I pulled her against me even tighter. The smell of her hair had long ago become my favorite scent, and I drank it in now.

"You ready for this?" Claire asked. "Dana and Beth called me this morning to see if I wanted to ride with them. When I told them no, they both started badgering me about why. I think both of them think I've gone nuts, or something, with how I've been avoiding them all summer."

"You know as soon as they see us together the whole school is going to know," I said.

That meant her dad would know too, if he didn't already. Claire only grinned. "I know, and I don't care. I'm tired of having to sneak around to see you."

The obnoxious rumble of Jonny's engine flooded the parking lot. Claire and I stepped apart and watched it roll in. Jonny pulled into a space behind us and kept the car idling as the song they were listening to finished pulsing over the roar. As the last beats faded, Jonny finally turned the Jeep off. The silence left in its wake only lasted until Dana spotted Claire and I. Leaving Jonny behind, Dana and Beth floated across the blacktop to us.

"Claire, Uriah, you two are here awfully early," Dana said, the words oozing out in search of information. "Did you come together?"

"No," I said honestly.

Dana's catty smile deepened. Turning back to Beth, Dana threw her a superior look. "I haven't seen much of either of you this summer. I was starting to wonder."

Beth rolled her eyes at her friend and pouted. Apparently, Dana had just won an argument. Or at least she thought she had.

Reacting to the way Dana was behaving, Claire said, "What's there to wonder about?" and slipped her hand into mine.

The girls' reactions were interesting. Beth choked on a scoffing laugh while Dana's face went absolutely livid. I had expected Dana, especially, to be a little unhappy to find out about Claire and me, but as I looked at her now, I almost expected electricity to start crackling around her. Saying she was upset would have been a huge understatement. Homicidal would have been a much better choice.

Hearing the warning bell ring, I was ready to back away from her. Claire wasn't. "We better get to class, girls, but you're more than welcome to join us for lunch if you want to," Claire said. "Uriah and I will be sitting together, obviously."

Claire turned away after that, prompting Dana to step forward after her. The expression on her face startled me. "Dana," I said sharply. She stopped right away and looked up at me expectantly. "You should probably get to class, too."

Dana frowned at me, but nodded, grabbed Beth by the arm, and stalked off in the opposite direction. Pulling on my arm, Claire tried to make me follow her, but I gently pulled her back to me. She turned around looking rather pleased with herself. That faded when she took in my own expression.

"Was that really necessary, Claire?" I asked. "You knew she was already upset."

A hint of shame hid in her eyes, but righteous indignation tried to overpower it. "I knew Dana would be mad about us, but the way she looked so happy when you said we didn't come to school together, it made me sick. You have no idea what she says about you when you're not around. She's obsessed with you, Uriah."

"I doubt that," I said. At the most, it aggravated Dana that I hadn't fallen all over her like other guys did. She was only mad because she thought she had lost something just now. I was never even close to being hers to start with.

"I'm serious, Uriah. She talks about you all the time. She's always talking about how she's going to be the one to finally pin you down, and I'm pretty sure she meant that literally," Claire said.

Shaking my head, I tried to get that image out of my head. Dana always did talk too much. "Either way, you shouldn't have said it."

Her jaw tightened up, the same way it did every time she bit back a nasty comment around me. Claire had a temper that spiked every time she thought someone was treating her like her dad did. I could imagine she was probably about to say something like "Don't tell me what to do." She tried very hard to keep her temper at a minimum around me. I really appreciated that since she was about the only person who ever yelled at me or tried to push me around. It was a little hard to get used to.

I knew the final bell was going to ring any minute, but that didn't stop me from pulling Claire into my arms and holding her there. My chest and arms throbbed. "Claire, I don't care what Dana says about anything. I'm here with you, and nothing she says or does is going to change that. Okay? I don't want any of the other girls here. I only want you. You're the only one I've ever wanted."

"Really?" Claire asked. "Why?"

I hesitated just long enough for the bell to ring and save me from having to try and explain everything I felt when I was around her. Claire tried to protest as I spun her around and started pulling her to the school but I just kept going. The look on her face when I pushed her toward her first class said our discussion was far from over.

Every time she caught sight of me between classes she would try to pull the answer out of me again. She spent the entire lunch hour guessing everything from the color of her eyes, which was definitely part of it, to the type of car she drove, which had absolutely nothing to do with it. By the time we were walking to the cafeteria, my resolve not to tell her everything was waning. I actually found myself slightly disappointed that nobody risked sitting with us at lunch.

That was how the rest of the day went as well, Claire offering guesses, and anybody who was friends with Dana pointedly avoiding us. That turned out to be most of the high school, unfortunately. Tyler and Lana were the only ones who didn't seem to care about Dana's mood swings. At least we had a few allies left.

Overall, the day actually went better than I expected. Claire snuggled up against me as we walked across the parking lot to her car at the end of the day. I was laughing at another one of Claire's nonsense guesses when I felt her go rigid beside me. Stopping right away, I started to look down at her when I saw what she had.

Thomas Brant stood leaning against his daughter's car. The scowl on his face told me everything. Word sure travelled fast in small towns.

# Chapter 7

### Should Have Known

"I thought I told you to stay away from Uriah," Thomas said to his daughter, though his eyes were too busy boring holes into me to look at her.

"I thought I told you I didn't care," Claire said.

Thomas's eyes flared and snapped to his daughter. "Watch your tongue, Claire. I don't have time to deal with your childishness today."

"Oh, but you had enough time to leave work and show up at my school just so you could embarrass me?" Her body was shaking against mine. I could tell she was getting close to snapping.

"Go home," Thomas demanded.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Thomas glared at her and I started to worry things were about to get out of hand. Squeezing her shoulders, I tried to keep her from doing or saying anything too rash. Claire held her temper for me, but I knew she was more than willing to let it loose on her dad. I was all for Claire standing up to her father. The middle of the high school parking lot really wasn't the best place for that, though. Taking charge, I stepped forward, leaving Claire behind me so she was out of her father's view.

"Mr. Brant, it's nice to see you again, sir. Would you like to talk to me about something?" I asked.

"I certainly would," he said.

"Why don't we talk over by your car," I said. It was at the edge of the full parking lot, a good hundred feet from Claire's car. Thomas nodded and started walking in that direction. I moved to follow him until I realized Claire was moving even more quickly than I was.

I grabbed her arm as she tried to zip past me. Spinning around, Claire glared at me. That look got me often enough, but I wasn't giving in this time. Claire's spite for her father and flair for a fight would only make things worse. I held on and refused to let go.

"Claire, stay here. I'll handle this," I said.

"Oh, no you won't. He's my dad. He's my problem."

"You're my girlfriend. I should have talked to him a while ago." Claire had a response ready for that, but I didn't let her get it out. "If you end up grounded for yelling at him in front of the whole school, you'll miss meeting my cousins this weekend. And I won't help you sneak out to see me like last time."

Knowing I was serious, Claire relented. Her shoulders drooped dramatically as she settled into a pout adorable enough to make me smile, but not enough to make me change my mind. Running my fingers along her jaw one more time for luck, I smiled at her reassuringly before I turned away. Thomas was rich, and a ruthless business man, but he was weak and selfish. Whatever problem he had with me, I was sure it had no merit. If I could just make him see that he would have to give in. I stalked toward the only man I had ever feared, determined to make him change his mind.

Thomas's frown was just as intense as before, heightened somehow by the casual way he leaned against his Mercedes Benz. Everything about him said success. The tailored clothes, impeccable haircut, even the way his hand reached up to swipe the sunglasses off his face, all told me I was about to lose everything to him. He was so confident. He had no idea just how much I loved his daughter, though. Thomas Brant was the one in for a fight.

"Uriah, my daughter is strictly off limits to you," Thomas said.

"May I ask why?"

Slipping his sunglasses to hang down the front of his shirt, Thomas finally looked up at me. "Does it matter why? I said she's off limits. The why shouldn't matter."

"It matters to me," I said.

He seemed to consider the merit of that for a moment. "Fine, if you must know, you're not good for Claire. She doesn't belong with you."

"Don't you think Claire should be the one to decide that?"

Thomas laughed. "Claire is an immature child who makes decisions based on what she thinks will get a rise out me. I trust her to make her own decisions about as much as I trust a coyote in a sheep pen. Claire is only teasing you with her affection because she knows I don't approve of her dating you. I told her as much that day you showed up at my house a few months ago. Seeing you again today likely just reminded her of that and she thought she'd try to see if I really meant it. And I assure you I do. So let's just stop this before it really gets started. Save everybody the headache."

"Stop this before it gets started?" Maybe I had been letting Claire influence me more than I thought, but I couldn't help correcting him. "This started a while ago, Mr. Brant. Claire and I have been dating for three months. Since that day I showed up at your house, actually. I think it's a little late to talk about saving anyone anything."

"Three months?" Thomas muttered through his clenched jaw. "I would have thought better of you than that."

I scoffed at his double standard. "If you think so highly of me then why do you have a problem with me dating your daughter?" I asked. "You know me, Mr. Brant. We've worked together through sports for years."

"That's exactly it, Uriah. I know you. I know who you are, and I won't let my daughter get tangled up in your life," Thomas said.

The bizarre sincerity in his words caught me off guard. He knew who I was? What was that supposed to mean? He said it as if that should mean something to me, but it only confused me even more. _Who I am is Uriah Crowe._ Take away sports, and I was just a rancher in love with a girl. What more could he possibly see in me than that?

"Thomas, I care about Claire. I won't do anything to hurt her. I can promise you that."

"You can't promise me anything about what might or might not happen. You have no idea what your future holds, Uriah."

I was getting tired of his vague, cryptic objections. He had no reason to think I would ever harm Claire in any way. I wasn't about to let his paranoid fears keep me away from her. Planting myself close enough to him that he would have to push me back to step to the side, I locked him in my gaze.

"Thomas, there is nothing you can say to me that will make me change my mind about Claire. I don't understand why you can't see what an amazing girl she is, but I can. She's strong and independent, smart, funny, compassionate, kind, and beautiful. I want to be with Claire, and I have no intention of backing off from her," I said. "And if you have a problem with that, you better give me a better reason for it than that you disapprove."

Thomas opened his mouth, but whatever objection he wanted to throw at me didn't make it past his lips. Seconds passed with him standing there with his mouth open. Just as I expected, not even he could come up a good reason why I shouldn't be with Claire. Even I was having a hard time finding a reason any more. I wasn't sure if the strange way I felt around her was actually starting to fade, or if I was just getting used to it, but it no longer bothered me as much as it once did. Claire was worth any kind of pain.

Having given him a fair chance, I said, "Since you can't think of anything, I expect you to back off and let your daughter be happy for once."

His struggle to win seemed to spring up once again when I saw his anger flash across his features, but he managed to quell it quickly enough. "Fine, Uriah, date Claire if you really want to. Nothing will make me like this, but I doubt I could keep you from her even if I wanted to. You'll realize sooner or later what a mistake you're making with her." He shook his head then, as if he was surprised he had just given in. The feeling must have passed, because his usual sneer crept back onto his face.

"I should have known better than to try and convince you of anything, Uriah." Flipping his sunglasses back onto his face, Thomas glanced past me toward Claire. "Just watch yourself. Because despite what Claire thinks, I do care about her, and if I put my mind to it I can make even your life miserable."

I watched him slide back into his Mercedes and drive away, more confused than ever about why he hated me so much. His rapid mood swings and bizarre statements left me scrambling for something that made sense. Before I could figure anything out, Claire ran up behind me. Even though she was ready to attack her dad only minutes before, her eyes were wide with anxiety now.

"Where's he going?" she asked.

"Um, home, I guess, or back to work. He didn't say." As long as he was away from me and Claire, I didn't care where he was.

Claire's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "What did he say?"

More than he should have, probably. "Well, we talked about it, and he's fine with us dating now," I said. "He shouldn't cause any more problems for us."

"Clearly you don't know my dad very well," Claire said, "but what do you mean he's fine with it? I have never once seen my dad change his mind about something after he decides what he thinks is right. There's no way he just said it was fine."

"Well, this time he did. I asked him if he had any good reason that we shouldn't date, and he didn't, so he had to back off," I said.

Claire didn't seem convinced. She studied me as if just watching my expression would reveal some mystery behind what had just happened. In the end she just shrugged and smiled. "I should have known you would convince him. What was I worried about? I should bring you around when I'm fighting with my dad more often."

# Chapter 8

### The Business of Kissing

Winter in the high desert usually didn't really hit full force until after Halloween, but this year it seemed to be making an exception. It was barely the first week of October and the air was already filled with the harsh bite of ice. The sky was blanketed with low, snow-filled clouds, but everyone expected the storm to pass us by like it usually did.

Uriah's clear voice called to me from across the school parking lot. "Claire! Wait up." His long legs carried him to me in a few short seconds.

There was no need for him to ask me to wait. I had been watching for him, just as I did every day after school. We spent most afternoons at Uriah's house, helping each other with our homework and watching television. Because Uriah's parents only had one vehicle, and his pride refused to let me drive him around, I usually drove to his house every morning then handed over the keys. It was one of his few flaws, but I preferred to let him drive anyway, so I let it slide. Actually, I really would have preferred leaving my car at the school and walking the distance. The longer I could keep Uriah's hands on me the better. Even if all I ever got from him was hugs and him holding my hand. The freezing winter temperatures today did make me happy to take my car instead.

"Ready to go?" I asked after accepting a warm hug, even though I was dying for something more. We had been together for five months and Uriah had yet to kiss me, except in my dreams, when they weren't overtaken by someone else, which didn't happen that often anymore. Dreaming of Uriah was slowly becoming the new norm, but if I spent too much time away from him, my blonde haired, blue eyed man pushed his way back into my thoughts. Every time he did, I woke feeling like I had betrayed them both. My dream guy because he was in my heart first and should have won my loyalty, and Uriah because I shouldn't have been thinking of anyone but him anymore.

Shaking away anymore thoughts of dreams and guilt, I brought myself back to the problem of Uriah not kissing me. At first, I thought it was because of my dad making some kind of threat, but I was starting to think there was more to it than that.

"Let's go," Uriah said. He grabbed the keys I was offering him and hurried me into the car. Running over to the driver's side, he slid in and shut the door quickly. "How'd your algebra test go today?"

Usually I did well in math, but my second year of algebra was proving a little more difficult for me than I had expected. It was hard to grasp the problems when everything was so abstract. Uriah's tutoring was the only thing keeping me afloat.

"I think it went okay," I said

"I'm glad." Uriah took my hand and I leaned into his shoulder. "No more talk about school, though. I don't want to even think about homework until Monday."

"Sounds good to me."

"What are we going to do for the next two days?" Uriah asked.

"I have a stack of movies ready, and if it ever warms up enough, Cole told me about a couple of really great riding trails we can check out. What else do you want to do?"

"My parents are planning to go down to Santa Fe on Sunday. There's supposed to be some big play my mom really wants to see," Uriah said. "Do you think your parents would let you come with us?"

My dad would most likely throw a fit, but I was sure my mom would allow me to go. And if they couldn't agree, I'd just make sure Uriah was there to settle it. "Of course, that sounds like fun."

"Good," Uriah said with relief. He pulled into his driveway and came to a stop. "Come on. Let's get out of the cold."

Hand in hand, we walked quickly down the gravel driveway up to Uriah's house. His parents had gone to Espanola for the day to meet with someone about a horse they wanted to buy. The frigid desert temperatures had meant very little privacy for us lately. I loved Uriah's parents, but I was looking forward to nestling against him by the fire. Maybe even figuring out how to get him to kiss me.

Reaching the house just as I was starting to lose feeling in the tip of my nose, Uriah opened the front door and ushered me in. "I'll be right back with some firewood," he said before disappearing around the house. He was back within minutes, and I watched him build the welcomed fire. The couch I was sitting on was angled comfortably between the fireplace and the television. Thinking about my plan to get a kiss today, I dug the book I wanted to read out of my bag and propped myself against the arm of the couch as I thought.

"Are you hungry?" Uriah asked.

I shook my head. Uriah was always hungry. Sometimes I thought I could see him growing. In the past year and a half he had shot up nearly six inches, while I had added maybe an inch to my minimal height. Many of the boys we knew had grown a lot as well, but most were just plain lanky now. Uriah was not. Working with his father was building new muscle, making the girls I knew stare at him behind his back even more than they did before.

I loved that Uriah seemed to think of himself as an ordinary guy, someone nobody would ever really notice if it weren't for him playing sports. For myself, I knew that wasn't true, but none of the other girls thought him ordinary either. Everyone but Dana watched what they said around me now that they all knew Uriah and I were together, but before, I had heard all of the gossiping the other girls did about him.

Thinking of it flushed my face. I couldn't help but be a little jealous of their interest in him. Dana still smiled and flirted with him every chance she got. Unfortunately, her being in the same grade as Uriah made sure she had plenty of chances from what Lana said. Uriah was completely oblivious to anyone but me.

Which was why him not kissing me every chance he got, like I wanted him to, made no sense. I think the idea that my dad might do something to separate us made Uriah nervous about doing anything to set him off, but I was the only one who would know if he kissed me today, and I certainly wasn't going to tell my dad.

Plus, even though Uriah thought my theory about everyone doing what he said was pure imagination, he knew my dad always backed down when he confronted him. He had done it when he first found out about us, when Uriah asked me to go to homecoming with him, and even when I wanted to go with Uriah's parents to watch him play football out of town. No, something else was making Uriah hold back.

Today, I was going to find out exactly what that was.

Interrupting my thoughts, Uriah plopped onto the couch next to me, a sandwich piled high with meat balanced in his hands. Flipping on the television, he settled in to eat. I turned my attention back to my book, though it was always hard to focus on anything with Uriah nearby. Tired from a long week of work and school, Uriah was breathing heavily in a deep sleep before I could think of any way to bring up the business of kissing. The slight smile on his lips as he slept was adorable. I smiled despite my disappointment and immersed myself in 18th century Europe until my own eyes started to droop.

_He smiled as soon as he saw me. I shouldn't have, but I smiled back. In a few short steps, he was by my side. His arms wrapped around my body and held me like he had a thousand times before. There were no words between us. There never were. We didn't need words. We were connected in a way that made speaking unnecessary._

_His hands slipped down to mine and he began leading me out of the nothingness where we always met and into a garden so luscious and flower-filled that the air was thick with their syrupy scent. In the center of the plants there was a blanket lying on the velvet grass. We laid down and my head immediately fell to his chest. His heartbeat matched mine exactly, slow at first, then speeding up as he began trailing, first his fingers, then his lips down my neck._

"Hey," Uriah said, shaking my shoulder gently a few hours later, "it's snowing."

Blinking rapidly, I guiltily tried to clear thoughts of my dream guy from my mind. How did he even get in my head today? Usually being with Uriah kept him away. I tried very hard not to remember the way he had been stroking my skin. "It's snowing?" I asked Uriah.

"Yeah, let's go see it." Handing me my jacket, Uriah was already pulling on his own wool lined coat with a smile. I loved his enthusiasm. It was infectious enough to make me push the dream out of my mind. Most likely, whatever snow did fall would be gone by morning, but I had to admit that the hope of seeing the tiny flakes so early in the year had me smiling, too.

"Come on," Uriah said impatiently.

"I'm coming," I laughed. We bounded out the door and were immediately swallowed up in the storm. It was really snowing. Not just the lazy flecks we usually saw in October, but real thick, wet snowflakes. I felt like a little ceramic figurine inside a snow globe. A girlish giggle escaped my lips and I blushed under Uriah's gaze. His grin outmatched mine.

"I wonder if it will stick," Uriah said, gazing at the darkening sky.

"Probably not," I said, "but it sure is beautiful. I wish it would snow here more often." Santa Fe was only forty minutes away, but it got a lot more snow than we did. It made me a little jealous sometimes.

"But that's what makes it so special." Uriah smiled. "I doubt people in Colorado get as excited about snow as we do here."

"Probably not," I said. I could hear the bleating of Uriah's sheep and wondered if they were enjoying the scene as much as we were.

"Maybe we'll go somewhere where it snows all the time someday. That would sure be a change from the desert, wouldn't it?" Uriah mused.

I loved it when he talked about our future together. "We could live high up in the mountains of Colorado, or maybe all the way to Alaska," I said.

"Alaska," Uriah said, "I could do a lot of fishing in Alaska."

"I wonder what that would be like, to be so far away from the pueblo."

"I can't really imagine it," Uriah said.

"Do you think we'll ever leave?" I asked.

"I don't know."

I would love the chance to get away from my father, but leaving would mean leaving my mom and my brother, Cole, too. For Uriah, it was an even more difficult choice. Not only did his parents love him, they needed him. The ranch would be too much work for them alone. He felt guilty about wanting to leave, even for college. Uriah's sense of responsibility and devotion to his family set him apart from so many of the other guys his age. I looked at him and wondered how he could ever think he was ordinary.

Uriah's dark eyelashes and hair were dusted with snow, slowly melting as his body heat reached them. A snowflake fell on my cheek. Uriah brushed it away, but his fingers lingered. I felt my face grow hot at his touch. Stepping closer to him, I was unable to resist his warmth. Rising to my toes, I reached my hand behind his neck and started pulling his lips to mine. Uriah dodged me and pulled me into a hug instead.

Irritated, I pulled back. Forget having a plan, I needed to know. "Uriah, why won't you kiss me?"

Surprised by my question, Uriah hesitated. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"We've been dating for months now, and you still haven't even tried to kiss me, and every time I try to kiss you, you find a way to distract me. Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Of course I do," he said. "It's just that...I...I don't know if I can."

I sometimes pretended that Uriah had never kissed anyone else, but I knew for a fact that he had. Twice. I don't think either kiss was initiated by him, he only dated girls once before dating me, but knowing that, a couple of girls had tried to change his mind about that the first chance they got. Dana was one of the two. Another reason I couldn't stand her anymore. A really strange girl named Leslie was the other one. She apparently did that to every guy brave enough to take her out. I had no idea what Uriah meant when he said he didn't know if he could kiss me.

"I think you might need to explain that," I said.

Frowning as he thought, Uriah looked away from me for a few painfully long moments before turning to face me again. "I don't know how to explain this without sounding like a complete idiot," he said.

"Try."

"When I'm around you, Claire, I feel different, like something's pushing me away from you. That sounds stupid enough, but when I touch you it gets worse. It honestly hurts. My strength disappears, and my body feels actual pain when I'm touching you. Most of the time, I don't notice it anymore, but when I really want you, it's almost too much to handle. I have never felt anything like this before."

He looked at me with his soft, beautiful eyes, searching for some indication of what I was thinking. I was a lot better at hiding my emotions than he was, but he probably saw my confusion anyway.

"Look, I know this sounds really stupid, but I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what will happen to me if I do kiss you," he said.

Well, I was the one who wanted an answer. I wanted to tell him that it was just his imagination, or, hopefully, him falling in love with me, but I was also the one who had tried to tell him I thought he had some kind of power over people. Although, his weird control never seemed to work on me. I argued with him about all kind of things, sometimes just to make sure I still _could_ argue with him. Why would I be the only one able to stand up to him, but the only one who hurt him just by being around him, too?

Did anything I was thinking even make the remotest bit of sense?

I had no idea how to respond to what he had just told me, but for some reason, I found myself believing him.

Hesitantly, Uriah brought his hand up to my cheek and held it there. I was instantly concerned about hurting him, and it must have showed on my face. A small shake of his head told me not to worry, but I did anyway. The space between us closed as Uriah pulled me nearer. Leaning down, he brought his lips closer to mine.

"Uriah, wait," I said. It was a halfhearted protest, though. I would never want to hurt him, but I wasn't totally sure what he said made sense. And I really did want him to kiss me.

Bringing his lips close enough that I could feel his warm breath pulsing against my skin, he paused. "I want to kiss you, Claire."

"But..."

"I need to know," he whispered.

So did I.

Uriah's arms slid around me, pulling my lips to his as the snow fell around us. The icy chill in the air disappeared. Heat coursed through me as my mouth drank him in. My hands ran up Uriah's chest to his hair, tangling in his dark locks. Every part of me felt alive, free. In that moment I could see the possibilities of my life blossom into paths I had never even dared dream about. Uriah was my key to the happiness I had always wanted.

Standing in the middle of the snowstorm, completely alone, part of me wanted to push him further, but the beauty of the moment would have been broken. I could have stayed right there forever. Uriah slumping against the fence kept that from happening. He had to grab the railing to keep himself from sliding to the ground. Lost in the exhilaration of his kiss, I had completely forgotten about what the cost might be. Focusing, I stared at Uriah.

I could guess that the way he was trembling had less to do with the kiss than the effect I had on him. "Uriah, are you okay?"

"I'm great," he said. He was grinning at me, but not as widely as he usually did.

"No you're not. You're shaking. What's going on?" I demanded.

The slow shake of his head wasn't answer enough, and he knew it. "I don't know. That hurt more than I expected, but it felt amazing at the same time. I should have kissed you a long time ago."

He looked like he was ready to try it again. Pushing him back against the fence, I said, "Stop it, this is freaking me out."

"I'm sorry, Claire. I don't know what else to say. I've never felt this way around anyone else. Just you," he said. "But it gets easier. The first time I really touched you, skin to skin, my knees buckled. But now when I touch you, I just get this sensation like I'm really tired and sore, or I have an old bruise. I barely even notice it anymore unless...well, unless I'm really wanting to be with you at the moment. All I have to do I keep kissing you, and eventually all I'll feel is your amazing lips against mine."

Amazing lips, huh? Shaking my head, I tried to stay focused. "But where is this coming from?" I asked.

"I have no idea," he said. "Maybe you're just too incredible for me to be around."

"Yeah, right." Although, I did like the sound of that.

Shrugging, Uriah said, "Well, maybe the Shaxoa cursed me or something. How about that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Uriah. You know I don't believe in witches and crap like that. I'm being serious."

"So am I. I don't know why I feel like this around you, but I don't care. And now that I know I can survive kissing you, I plan to do it a lot more often," he said.

He was brushing this off now that he knew kissing me wouldn't kill him, but I didn't think I could let this go as easily. "Uriah, please."

"Claire, I've tried to figure it out, believe me. My parents have always told me stories about Tewa heroes and legends. I've tried so many times to find one that told about something like this. There aren't many books, but the few my dad has, I've read. And I found nothing," Uriah said. "I wish it would go away and just let me be with you like I want to, but I don't think it will. I just have to learn to deal with it, I guess."

Bringing me back against him, he kept me close. His eyes held me. I could see that the worry that had been there before was gone. Once again, I only saw how much he cared reflected back at me. "Claire, whatever this is, me being too weak to stand being around you, or some ancient Tewa trick to keep guys away from the chief's daughter, I don't care. I won't let you go just because I get a little woozy when I touch you. You mean too much to me."

"But I'm hurting you," I argued.

"You're worth it."

To prove his point, he kissed me again, deeper and more passionately than the first time. I hadn't even thought that was possible. White puffs of snow melted on our skin as we held each other. I knew I wouldn't dream of anyone else but Uriah for a long time after this. Losing myself to him immediately, every other thought but one fled my mind. Whatever made me hurt him, I would find out what it was.

# Chapter 9

### Three Words

Birthdays in my family were a small affair. It wasn't that we didn't enjoy celebrating the day, it was just a more private occasion for us, a time for family. Every year on my birthday my mother made me a special dinner, which we ate together as a family, followed by my favorite desert.

My gift was always waiting for me on my nightstand when I woke up. I was given a reprieve from my chores and allowed to spend the day doing whatever I wanted, within reason. The day ended every year with my mother sitting next to my bed and telling me of my great grandfather, who I was named for. I had never met him, but I felt as though I knew him very well at an early age, and was proud to bear his name.

My seventeenth birthday had passed just like all of the others. The only thing that had been missing was Claire. That was only because we hadn't started dating yet. I wished she had been there, thinking I was being foolish at the time, never expecting that we would be together only a few short months later. What mattered, now, was that today was Claire's seventeenth birthday, and she was dreading it. Normally, parties and Claire got along great. Dating me had changed that.

Partly, I think Claire would just rather spend time with me than a pack of other teens, but the rest of it was that most of her old friends had completely abandoned her, thanks to me. Her birthday was making her especially nervous because of her dad. He agreed that we could date but that didn't stop him from trying to change her mind about me every chance he got.

After the early cold snap, it had been fairly mild weather for the last week, but we both knew it wouldn't last much longer. Our walk to her parent's home in the crisp October air was filled with the sound of Claire's voice as she told me about the legends she had been studying in hopes of finding some clue about why I reacted to her like I did. It wasn't my favorite topic, and I could only make myself listen with half an ear to her story about a legendary warrior who had received a blessing from the gods, the tremendous strength of a bear, to defend his tribe from a raid. I just hoped that Claire wasn't now trying to add my physical strength to her list of things to explain.

There was absolutely no mystery behind my muscle. Or my quick reflexes. Claire had already tried to add those to her list, but I refused to listen to her on that one. Working on the ranch with my dad and playing every sport available made it nearly impossible not to be strong and quick. Spirits of animals or gifts from the gods had absolutely nothing to do with it. Frankly, it kind of annoyed me that Claire thought it did. It being her birthday was the only reason I didn't ask her to stop talking about it.

We had spent the afternoon hiking the bluffs, hiding from her enthusiastic mother and trying to get a little alone time, which seemed hard to come by lately. Claire's mother, Sarah, had invited me to dinner tonight, which I appreciated, but the prospect of spending the evening with Claire's father made me want to head back out into the desert. Claire practically dragged me up to the wide, double doors of her home.

"Are you sure we have to do this?" I asked.

"It won't be that bad, I promise," Claire said with a smile. "My mom won't let him do, or say, anything stupid tonight. And neither will you. If he acts up, just tell him to knock it off and he will."

It was another not so subtle reference to my supposed abilities. I tried to tell her it was nothing out of the ordinary, but ever since telling her about the way touching her affected me she was more convinced than ever. She had spent the last two weeks searching books about Tewa mythology in her dad's library. Of course, she didn't find anything useful, just like I hadn't. It was just a weird fluke.

Neither of us actually believed in any of the old stories. They were just bedtime stories. That didn't stop her from reciting legend after legend to me today to see if I thought any of them held a clue she had missed. I hated hearing the myths of our people, but I forced myself to bear it today. I refused to get mad at Claire on her birthday. Maybe dealing with her dad tonight would at least take her mind off figuring out what was wrong with me.

"Okay, let's get this over with," I said sullenly.

Claire smiled. She found my fear of her father strangely amusing. With a deep breath, Claire pushed the door open. Lights, music, and laughing faces ambushed us. It took me a few seconds to realize it was a surprise party and not an attack. Claire laughed, hugging the guests one by one. Relief drew a deep sigh from my chest. This would make it much harder for Thomas to corner me and make his usual threats.

Claire was back by my side, pulling me into the crowd, introducing friends and family I had never met before. Shaking hands, I knew I would never remember any of their names. Finally we made our way to Sarah. She was grinning as she pulled Claire into her arms.

"You don't mind do you?" she asked with a guilty smile. "I know you don't really like big parties anymore, but I just couldn't resist. Every girl should have a great party for her birthday, a real party, not just dinner with your boring old parents."

"It's great, Mom, thanks," Claire said, throwing me a wink. She knew I had not been thrilled not at the prospect of having to spend the night staring at her dad. "I don't think I even know half of these people, though."

Glancing around the room, my eyes settled on a group of nervous looking people standing near the fireplace. Claire was watching them as well. "Who are they?" she asked.

"Oh, you know your father," Sarah said with a slight frown, "he invited some business friends. He's always on the lookout for opportunities to make new friends and business deals. Don't worry about it. Just enjoy your party."

"Thanks, Mom. Everything looks great," Claire said.

Despite Sarah's claim that the strangers were business friends, I couldn't help but notice that each of the families happened to have a son close to Claire's age. I hoped that Claire had not made the same connection. In the few short months since she had confided in me how much her father's attitude and comments hurt her, Claire had gotten much better at handling the way he treated her. His behavior still stung her, but she said that having me around made it easier to brush off the way he acted. Even still, she would not be happy if she found out her father was trying to set her up with guys who were not me. She was still pretty touchy when it came to things like that.

"Are you hungry?" Claire asked. Her face was flushed with pleasure. She must not have seen the eager young men. "Mom said there's food in the den. I'm starving. Do you want me to get you something?"

Her father's business friends were in the den. I did not want them pouncing on her and ruining her night. "How about I get you something? You just enjoy the party."

"Thanks, Uriah. I'm going to say hi to my Aunt Valerie. I can't believe she came all the way from Denver for my birthday party," Claire said excitedly. Valerie was Sarah's sister. I had met her once before and instantly liked her. She was exactly like her sister, kind and enthusiastic. Hopefully Valerie could keep Claire occupied for a while.

"I'll be right back. Tell Valerie hi for me." A quick peck that barely even affected me, and I was heading for the buffet tables stacked along two of the walls in the den. Even if Claire hadn't been able to find out anything about the weakness and pain I felt around her, it turned out I was right about practice making perfect. The more I kissed Claire, the easier it got. Crossing over to the buffet tables, I grabbed a couple of plates. The spread looked delicious. Claire's mother had really outdone herself. And by that I meant the caterers had outdone themselves.

"Well, maybe you should go find her," I heard someone whisper. It came from the direction of Claire's wannabe suitors. It took considerable effort not to look over at them.

"I don't even know her. What am I supposed to say to her?" a young man whispered to his mother.

"Tell her happy birthday for starters. Her father said he thought you would be someone she would get along with. And when Claire transfers to the high school in Santa Fe next semester she'll want a friend to show her around. Mr. Brant is a friend of your father's. Don't embarrass him," the young man's mother hissed.

Great, I thought, Claire was about to be ambushed by teenage boys who all thought they were going to be her new boyfriend. And what on earth was that woman talking about? Claire wasn't transferring high schools. If Thomas even tried to bring it up, Claire would freak out. He knew that. He must be getting desperate to get her away from me. Thomas would never cease to surprise me. I really wished I knew why he hated me so much.

Filling two plates, I hurried away from the pair, hoping the boy's nerves would keep him away for the whole night. Scanning the room for Claire, I found Cole instead. Dodging a few dancing teens, I stepped closer to him.

"Hey, Cole, could you do me a favor?" I asked.

Peeling his attention away from the young woman coyly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, Cole managed a quick, "Yeah, sure. What is it?"

I didn't recognize the girl he was talking to, so I leaned close to his ear, fearing she might be related to the guy in the den. "Your dad invited some friends, who have teenage sons. I think they're here to try their luck with Claire. Would you keep them away?"

"Can't handle the competition?" Cole asked.

"Your dad told them Claire is transferring to Santa Fe High and wants to make some new friends. I think we can both guess how Claire will react if she finds out why they're here," I said seriously.

Cole nodded. He had to live in the same house as Claire and Thomas, and knew exactly how heated their fights could get. "No problem."

"Thanks."

I spotted Claire walking across the kitchen with Valerie then. She was coming toward me. Putting distance between me and the den, I walked over to her, stealing a kiss before handing her the plate of food.

"Uriah, sweetheart, how have you been?" Valerie asked. Slipping her arm around my shoulders, she kissed me on the cheek. I blushed instantly. Claire giggled at my response. Valerie had greeted me the same way last time we met, and I had reacted exactly the same. I think she thought it was funny.

"I'm fine. How are you, Valerie?" I asked.

Wrapping her other arm around Claire, she said, "I'm great. You two should come and visit me in Denver sometime. Maybe over Christmas vacation. I'm sure you guys could use a break from Thomas." Valerie had never cared for her sister's choice in a husband.

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah right, Val. My dad would sooner cut off his own hand than let us go to Denver together."

"Oh, your mom and I might be able to change his mind. We're very persuasive," Valerie said.

Not that I doubted that Valerie, a successful defense attorney, was very good at getting what she wanted, but I knew she would never succeed in getting us to Denver. Claire shared my opinion. "Good luck with that," Claire said. Valerie merely shrugged.

"So what have you two been up to lately," she asked, "other than driving Thomas crazy, that is?"

"School mostly, hiking, riding, and hanging out at Uriah's house. The usual stuff," Claire said. "How long are you staying?"

"Unfortunately I have to head back tomorrow," Valerie said. "I wish I could stay for a few more days, but I'll be in court Monday and I need the rest of the weekend to prepare. Next time I'll stay longer, I promise."

Popping into place next to Claire, Sarah said, "Claire, honey, Grandma has a gift she wants to give you. I told her she could just leave it on the table, but she really wanted to give it to you herself. Do you mind running over to her for a minute? She's tired and won't be able to stay much longer."

"Sure, Mom," she said. "I'll be right back, Uriah." Handing me her plate, Claire rushed into the den. It took a second for me to remember why I did not want Claire going into the den. Cole was nowhere to be seen. So much for _his_ help. Quickly, I set the plates down and excused myself. I hurried over, not wanting to cause a scene by running through the crowded house, but trying to prevent an explosion.

The milling people blocked my view of the sunken den. I politely pushed my way through, seeing Claire sitting next to her aging grandmother. She had already opened the gift and was clasping the necklace around her neck. She hugged her grandmother warmly, kissing her wrinkled cheek. Claire stood just as the nervous young man I had overheard earlier approached her. My steps quickened.

Stuck behind a group of chatting teens I couldn't hear what he said to her, but Claire politely extended her hand. I was almost to Claire when her face turned beet red. I saw her mouth open, and I had a pretty good idea of what was coming next. Grabbing her shoulders, I spun Claire toward me, sweeping her into a desperate kiss. She was stiff with anger, and the young man behind her was staring at me with his mouth open, but I didn't let up. Slowly, Claire's shoulders released their tension and she pressed her lips closer to mine. I pulled back only when I could feel that she was completely distracted. My knees were trying to drop me, but I held onto Claire hoping it would pass quickly.

"There you are, Claire," I said. I turned to the shocked guy who had managed to close his mouth finally. "Excuse us, please. I need to borrow Claire for a minute." The young man nodded slowly and silently. I had no desire to explain.

Claire remembered what had set her off in the first place and sputtered furiously as I pulled her through the den and out the front door. The cool air was a relief after the crowded house. "That guy," Claire began. I ran my hand along her jaw line, trying to calm her down, but Claire was too worked up to even notice. "He said my father told him to come and talk to me. He told him I was transferring to Santa Fe next semester. How could he tell him that? What is wrong with my dad? I could kill him right now!"

Pulling Claire into my arms, I stroked her hair. "It's okay, Claire. Just forget about it." Claire made a noise that said she didn't appreciate the suggestion. "If you go back in there and confront him, it will upset your mom. If you pretend nothing happened, your dad will be ticked off that his plan didn't work and he'll go back to sulking for a while. We both know he's never going to convince you, or your mom for that matter, to transfer to Santa Fe. I won't let him take you away. Don't let him ruin your party. Your mom is really excited about this."

"He makes me so mad. He thinks he can control my life, but he can't. I won't let him," she said. "Why won't he just leave us alone? I don't understand it."

"It doesn't matter what stupid ideas your father comes up with. They won't work. I love you and I won't let your father come between us." I felt Claire freeze. I glanced behind me, worried that either her dad or another one of his lackey suitors had followed us out, but I saw no one. Looking back at Claire, I saw her head come up, her eyes wide and teary.

"You've never said that before," she whispered.

Confused, I replayed the words in my mind. Claire didn't wait for me to figure it out. "You said you loved me."

Her words struck me. Had I really never said those words out loud before? I had thought them at least a thousand times, probably more. I loved everything about her. I always had.

"Do you really mean it?" she asked.

I was amazed that she even had to ask. "Of course I do."

Claire grinned. Her earlier anger had disappeared completely. "I love you, too."

I already knew Claire loved me, but hearing her say it was electrifying. Her reaction to me a second ago made perfect sense now. The world around me had disappeared in the face of her love. Wishing this feeling would last forever, I promised myself that I would tell her everyday how much I loved her. I never wanted her to forget, either. Music from Claire's party drifted out to us, but we were happy to stay where we were.

Reaching her lips up to me, Claire sealed her love with mine. My hands pulled her against me more tightly as our mouths moved together. A rush of debilitating pain swept through me, but I didn't care. The chill of the night disappeared beneath the heat of our bodies pressed together. As my hands traced down the curve of her back I lost myself in her. Our lips finally parted and I pulled Claire against me, partly because she was keeping me upright, but mostly because I never wanted to lose contact with her again. Our heavy breaths misted the air around us. Neither of us was thinking about her father anymore. The only thing that mattered was that we loved each other. That was stronger than anything that would come against us.

At least I hoped it was.

# Chapter 10

### Stay Calm

My dad stood checking the shears he was holding. I led the first sheep up onto the platform, patting its head as it calmly waited for spring shearing to begin. "Claire didn't want to come watch?" my dad asked. "You two are practically inseparable these days."

This was the first weekend in months that we wouldn't spend together. "The sheep don't seem to like Claire very much," I said. At least not when we were together. Claire tried to help me bottle feed one of the early lambs last week. I started out trying to show her how to hold the lamb and position the bottle, but little Ayashe kept squirming and kicking so much that it was impossible to get her to eat. It wasn't until I went to get a blanket to wrap around the lamb's body that she finally settled down. The second I put my hand on Claire's shoulder to see how she was doing, Ayashe starting wiggling again.

My dad had seen the whole thing, and he laughed as he remembered it, now. "Claire just needs to spend more time around them. I bet they're jealous of her. Animals can be like that."

I wasn't convinced. I knew Claire had already added it to her list of strange things we couldn't explain.

"Things seem to be going pretty well between you and Claire," Dad said. I nodded. "That's good. Your mother worried about you, you know? Thought you spent too much time alone. Now we can barely get a chance to talk to you without Claire being two steps behind. But it's good. I'm glad you two are getting along so well."

I didn't say anything. Nothing he was saying was new. Claire and I had been together for almost a year, now. I knew my dad well enough to know that this idle chatter was leading up to what he really wanted to say.

"How serious are things between you two?" Dad finally asked. "I know your mom and I have both talked to you about sex, but I also know it's easy to forget what your parents say when you're with the girl you love."

Not this again. I had already had to endure being cornered on my eighteenth birthday by Claire's dad. He flat out told me that if I had sex with his daughter he would call the police and have me arrested now that I was eighteen and Claire wasn't. I wasn't sure that would really stick, but if anyone could find a way to convince a judge, it would be Thomas Brant. Added to that were loving, but serious threats from my own mom, and less forceful, but more meaningful words of wisdom from my dad. Plus the fact that even though kissing Claire got easier every time I did it, I was pretty sure sex would, at the very least, knock me out. I was going to have to work up to that somehow.

"Dad, we're not sleeping together." That was as much discussion as I was interested in having about that topic.

My dad nodded. There was no questioning in his face. I never lied to him. He took what I said at face value and moved on. "You're leaving for college after this coming summer, and, well, I want to know what you're planning when it comes to Claire."

A grin spread across my face before I could stop it, making my dad regard me closely. "I plan on marrying her," I said.

Nodding as if he had expected that, he stroked the sheep standing in front of him. "That's what I figured you would say. You realize that she still has another year of high school left, right?"

"Of course I do, Dad. I'm planning on asking her next summer after she graduates. We can get married, and then we'll go back to Las Cruses for school," I said.

"You'll have to ask the Elders for permission first," he said.

The Elders. I hadn't even thought about them. I didn't want to think about them. "Dad, you don't really expect me to go to the Elders and ask permission, do you? Getting Thomas to agree is going to be hard enough. The Elders' permission really doesn't mean anything anymore."

"It's part of your heritage, Uriah. You need to respect that." The serious set of his jaw told me how much he meant what he had just said. Tradition was very important to him. His family had lived here for centuries. Myth and legend were a part of him just as much as me and Mom were. Going against tradition would be like going against him. I didn't want to do that to him. If he wanted to see us speak to the Elders, I would consider it.

"But, Dad, if I go to the Elders next summer, they'll make us wait a year before we get married. That would make it two years from now. I don't want to wait that long. I would have to ask Claire to marry me this summer," I said. I wanted to spend my life with her more than anything, but was she ready to have me propose to her? Was I?

"That would be your choice, then. You need to think about what you're ready to do, and what you're not willing to wait for," Dad said. "And you need to consider that other things could stand in your way. More than just time. You have to be ready for everything that might come at you, not just Thomas or the Elders."

What other things? My dad had always tried to teach me what he thought I would need to know. Physical combat that he learned in the military, shooting, shearing sheep, being a good person that others would respect. The lessons I had learned from him were countless, but I didn't understand what he was trying to say. I knew Thomas would fight me when I asked to marry Claire, but what else could there possibly be?

"I think that going to the Elders would help you, Uriah. Quaile can help you. I really think you should consider it." Dad folded his arms across his chest then, having said what needed to be said.

"I'll think about it, okay?"

Dad nodded, probably expecting that I would eventually do as he asked. I usually did. Not because I believed in stories about the Trickster or the legendary love of Twin Souls, but because I loved and respected him. Eventually I always saw the wisdom in what he wanted me to do. Facing the Elders, though, made me more than a little nervous. The shaman, Quaile Faimin, was a beast of a woman on her best day. I wasn't sure how my dad thought she could help me, but he was right about these kinds of things more often than not.

"Well, we better get started," Dad said. "I'll do the first batch then I'll hand the shears over to you. I want to see you get the whole coat off in six minutes this year. Last year it took you eight."

"Six minutes? That's how fast professionals do it. I can't shear a sheep that fast."

"I can do it in six minutes," he said. "I'm no professional."

"No, you've just been shearing sheep for forty years, that's all." Not a professional? Yeah right. My dad was one of the best sheep handlers around. Except for a tour in the Marines in his twenties, he had spent his entire life around sheep.

"Just watch me first, and when it's your turn, do what I did. It's not that hard."

My dad's confidence in me was always welcome, but I think it was a little misplaced this time. I just shook my head, though. "I'll try, Dad, but I'm not making any promises."

Satisfied with that, the electric shears buzzed to life and my dad started carving the wool away in one big piece. I kept an eye on my watch as he did. Five minutes and fifty-eight seconds later, the first whole piece was off. Not a professional, my foot. We went on like that all morning, me leading the sheep to my dad, and him buzzing away their thick winter coats. The stack of fluffy white next to us grew.

Rubbing his shoulder and wincing, he said, "My arms getting tired. One more for me, and then it's your turn."

"Alright, but don't get your hopes up too high, all right."

"Just do your best."

Hoping to test his six minutes, I grabbed the largest sheep in the pen and led him over. Dad smiled at my choice. He knew why I had chosen this one. Holding the sheep with one hand, he turned the shears on and brought them close to the sheep's shoulder. Before he could start, though, something snapped in the shears and the whole thing started twitching wildly. My dad sighed and shook his head.

"I left the screwdriver in the barn. I'll be right back," Dad said.

We were out in the far field, today, at least a quarter-mile from the house. It would take him a while to get all the way back up to the barn, fix the shears, and make it back to me. I figured I might as well do something useful while I waited so I started bundling up the wool Dad had already cut. I was halfway through the pile when I heard something coming from the barn. The barn was so far away, I shouldn't have been able to hear anything that was happening in it, but I knew instinctively that was where the sound had come from.

Standing very still, I listened again. It was faint, but I could hear my name being called. It sounded like my dad. There was something wrong with his voice. The sound came again, louder, more urgent. Something was definitely wrong. He needed me. An anguished cry sent me rocketing over the fence and toward the barn. Before the sound faded, I had sprinted the entire distance, stumbling into the barn to find my dad lying on the floor in agony.

"Uriah, what happened?" my mom was asking, shaking my shoulder to try and get me to respond.

I looked up at her then down at my dad. I was holding his head and shoulders in my lap. I didn't remember coming over to him, or kneeling down, or trying to pick him up.

"Uriah, what happened?" Mom repeated hysterically. Tears were running down her cheeks as she stared at her husband. "We heard you screaming and ran out to find you like this. What happened?"

I didn't remember screaming either. "I...I don't know, Mom." I shook my head, but my thoughts stayed murky. "I can't remember. I ran up to the barn when I heard Dad calling my name. But I don't remember what happened after I saw him."

"It's just the trauma, Uriah. Focus on your dad, right now," Sophia, the local nurse, said.

I looked up and started when I saw her. I hadn't even realized she was here. She was busy working on my dad as she spoke. Stethoscope in her ears and an aspirin bottle open next to her, it looked like she had already been working for a few minutes. I had forgotten she was even at the house today.

"What's wrong with him?" I finally asked. I could still see the pain in his eyes, but the glassy film that was there now clouded them so much.

"It's his heart. I think he had a heart attack. I gave him some aspirin, but his vitals aren't good. I already called an ambulance. They'll be here soon," Sophia said. The grim determination in her face barely hid the panic.

Mom was crying and squeezing Dad's hand as she whispered that everything was going to be all right. I couldn't even focus enough to do that. A heart attack. I should have seen it earlier. He kept rubbing his shoulder and wincing when he took too deep of a breath. I knew his heart was weak. I should have recognized the signs. I thought he was just getting tired. He had been working too hard lately.

"I should have seen it," I said to myself.

"Hush, Uriah. You can't think like that," Sophia said. She pressed the stethoscope against his chest again and listened. Her frown wasn't very optimistic. Mom started crying and I could see my hands shaking, but I couldn't feel them. I couldn't feel anything anymore.

"You said you heard your dad calling you?" Sophia asked, trying to keep me from losing it. "Where were you?"

"In the far field. The shears broke, and Dad came up here to fix them. I heard him calling my name and I ran to him," I said. How had I gotten up here so fast?

"You heard him all the way out there? We didn't hear him yell anything," Sophia said.

Confusion crowded in with my fear. "I know I heard him," I said. Sophia wasn't paying much attention to me anymore. She was staring at my dad like I was. He was lying too still now. I could barely even see his chest moving anymore. I couldn't lose him. Tears started falling down my cheeks.

Sophia looked over at me, her eyes desperate to offer me something. "Just stay calm, Uriah. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes."

I tried. I really tried to stay calm. How did we go from talking about whether or not my dad was a professional shearer to him lying in the dirt? I felt so responsible for not seeing the warning signs earlier. Sophia had to do something to save him. She kept listening to his heart, telling us the ambulance would be there any minute. Mom was crying. She told Dad over and over again that she loved him. I just sat there with tears running down my face, wondering if this was my fault.

# Chapter 11

### Less Than Five

"Yes, I think your wife will love the weaving," I said. I didn't know his wife and I had no idea whether or not she would like it, but the guy buying it seemed pretty happy about his purchase. Tourists usually did. Native American art was particularly new and exciting to people who had never seen it before. I had been around it so much I didn't get quite as excited as this guy did anymore. It was a beautiful rug, though.

I watched him walk out to his car and picked up my book again. It was going to be a long boring weekend. Normally, I avoided my dad's trading post religiously, but with the arrival of spring, Uriah was needed at the ranch as much as possible. Knowing that I would see so little of him for the next couple days, and how lonely I would be without him, I gave in to my mom's suggestion to try and build a better relationship with my dad. Plus, I needed something to distract myself while I was away from Uriah.

My dreams had been focused on him lately, but I was afraid that being away from Uriah all weekend would invite someone else back in. He slipped in rarely anymore, but when he did...just thinking about the intensity of my last dream brought a blush to my cheeks. It sounded bizarre, but I could have sworn he was fighting to keep me from forgetting him. I wasn't sure I wanted to remember him anymore, though. Whether he was truly out there somewhere or not, I had Uriah now. The fantasy of my dream man finding me one day lost more of its allure every minute I spent with Uriah.

So, when one of the girls who worked at the trading post called in sick, I agreed to work in my dad's store for the weekend. I really only braved coming here because I knew my dad spent very little time at the store now that he had the casino to keep him busy. At least manning the cash register gave me a chance to search my dad's collection of Tewa related books. Prepared for a boring afternoon, I grabbed a couple more books off the shelf that I wanted to read. A few of them actually looked promising. It was a little early in the year for the tourist rush, so I was counting on having plenty of alone time this weekend to try and ferret out some answers.

I had searched everything I could find at home and at the library over the past few months and gotten nothing. Well, not nothing, I guess. My mom wasn't Tewa, so she never told me any tribal stories, and my dad never had the time to tell me much about my heritage. In the books, I had discovered the wondrous stories and myths of my people. It felt good to finally know more about who I was.

The stories about Twin Souls turned out to be my favorites. The idea of a single soul split into two bodies, in the hope that they would find each other on earth, were too captivating to put down, even though they had nothing to do with the answers I was trying to find. Once I thought the man in my dreams was out there searching for me, but I felt sure I had already found the one person I wanted to be with forever.

It was the stories of the heroes of our past that gave the most relevant hints about Uriah. Unfortunately, those were the ones Uriah wanted to talk about the least. I didn't understand that at all. I wasn't even close to giving up, but in a world of men gushing water and fish out of their body, people turning into animals for various reasons, and White Corn Maiden and Deer Hunter being shot into the sky on arrows to chase each other through all eternity because of their selfishness, Uriah seemed to be unique even then. I was actually starting to believe that the kind of stories I was looking for might have been hidden purposely, just to irritate me to death.

Uriah still thought I wouldn't find anything, but I kept digging. Making people do what he said, not being able to touch me without feeling like he was going to pass out, and the way the animals freaked out when he and I were together was too much for me to ignore. Flipping another page, I read a story about a legendary warrior that was blessed by the Great Spirit to be able to speak to animals. That wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but I kept reading.

I was fully immersed in the story of a man trying to save his village from a raiding tribe when the door slammed open. I looked up to see Cole dashing up to the counter in a panic. Usually so carefree, the worried expression on my brother's face set my nerves on edge. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's Uriah's dad," Cole explained as he tried to catch his breath. "He had a heart attack. Sophia tried to help him, but the ambulance took him a few minutes ago."

Dropping my book on the counter, I was already on my way out the door. Cole grabbed my hand, shoving a set of keys between my fingers. "The ambulance just left for the hospital in Espanola. Uriah's mom went with them, and Uriah's following in their truck."

"Espanola?" I questioned. "He needs to go to Santa Fe if he's had a heart attack."

"They don't think he'll make it that far," Cole said seriously.

My breath caught in my throat. Tears filled my eyes. Uriah and his father were closer than any father and son I had ever met, including my own dad and Cole. I knew Uriah would be devastated without his father. There was no way I could let him face that alone. "Thank you, Cole," I said before sprinting out the door.

Driving from San Juan to Espanola only took ten minutes, usually. I made it in less than five. The little hospital had a very small parking lot, too small to fit the number of cars there on a daily basis. Cursing at whoever's idea it was to make it so tiny, I parked at the very back of the parking lot and sprinted for the entrance. Unfamiliar with the building, I searched the lobby, wondering where they would have taken Uriah's father.

"Can I help you, miss?" a receptionist asked. The polite smile on her face flinched when she saw my frenzied expression.

"Where's the emergency room?"

"It's right down the hall," she said, pointing to a black and white sign fifteen feet away. It read "Emergency Room" with a black arrow pointing down the hallway. I wondered whether I had thanked the woman for her help as I ran down the hallway. The thought was fleeting. Rounding the last corner, I knew I had reached the right place.

People milled around the small room, some in white coats and scrubs, others sniffling or coughing. A phone rang above the din. Searching for the source of the sound, my eyes fell on the main desk, tucked away in a corner. I tried to walk, but the relative calmness of the room grated on me. My hands were twitching nervously when I reached the desk.

"Notah Crowe?"

The receptionist's face wrinkled with concern. "Room three, dear. Down the hall to the left."

"Thank you," I remembered to say before following her directions deeper into the hospital. Running past several nurses, I turned the corner without slowing.

"Claire!"

Skidding to a stop, I looked around. Strong hands grabbed my shoulders, turning me around and crushing me in a trembling embrace. "Uriah," I said, not needing to see his face to know who the arms and chest belonged to. "I came as fast as I could. How's your dad?"

Uriah's chest heaved as tears splashed on my face. His choking sobs terrified me. "He's gone, Claire. They couldn't save him." Uriah's arms tightened around me. I could barely breathe, but I squeezed back.

"I'm so sorry." I didn't know what else to say to him. I had never lost anyone close to me before now. Even though Uriah's father was not an actual relative, I loved him like a father, more than my own, probably. I had planned to be part of his family in the very near future, but now he was gone. My heart was breaking for my own loss, but it was nothing compared to the hurt I felt watching my gentle Uriah in such exquisite pain.

Uriah leaned heavily against my small frame. I knew I couldn't support his weight if he collapsed. "Uriah, let's sit down," I pleaded. A slight nod was the only response he could muster. Pulling back from him just a little, I searched the hallway for a place to sit. A few yards away I spotted two well-worn chairs. Moving toward the chairs, I pulled Uriah along. After a few steps he looked up, realizing where we were going. Suddenly he was pulling me.

Uriah fell into the chair. I moved to sit in the chair next to him, but Uriah pulled me onto his lap. Wrapping me tightly in his arms again, he nestled his face in my hair. Breathing deeply, he tried to shut the world out. Uriah was strong, physically and emotionally, but when he felt overwhelmed he tried to limit his thoughts to one simple thing, the scent of my hair. I often wondered what he had done to calm himself before we were together.

We sat there in the hallway, quietly consoling each other until Uriah's tear streaked mother emerged from the hospital room. An elderly doctor held her arm warmly as he led her through the doorway. Knowing Lina needed her son, I pulled myself out of Uriah's embrace, leaving him free to go to her. His tears flowed again as he went to her. I watched them silently, not wanting to intrude on their grief.

Their words were hushed, neither one capable of speaking above a pain-filled whisper. Reaching up to kiss her son's cheek, Uriah's mother tried to calm her tears. She nodded and gestured toward the hospital room. Uriah turned to me, his expression begging me to come to his side. Quickly, I stepped forward to answer his plea.

Before I could find Uriah's hand, his mother snatched me away, her shaking arms pulling me close. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Crowe," I said quietly.

Her sniffle cut off quickly as she pulled back and forced a weak smile onto her lips. "Thank you for coming, Claire. Notah loved you like you were his own daughter. He would have wanted you to be here."

"I loved him too," I said. Loved. I loved him, not, _I love him_. Notah Crowe was gone. He would never give me one of his shy hugs again. It was hard to look Uriah's mother in the eye and not burst into tears. She pulled me into another hug, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. After a few seconds, she squeezed my hands tightly before releasing them and glancing at Uriah. Following her gaze, I saw Uriah reach for me, needing me.

Taking my hand, Uriah took a hesitant step toward the doorway. His breathing was ragged, but he steeled himself and crossed the floor to his father's bedside. Wires and tubes sprung from his father's body. It pained me to think that none of them had been able to do any good.

"I can't do this," Uriah whispered. "I can't say goodbye to him." I squeezed Uriah's hand gently. Any words I might have offered were stuck tightly in my throat.

"What am I going to do without him?" Uriah said.

"It'll be okay, Uriah," I said finally. "You're strong, and so is your mom. You _will_ get through this."

Uriah crumpled, his head falling onto his father's bed. His free hand grasped his father's tightly. "He has been my guide and my friend my whole life. I don't even know how to begin going on without him."

"You'll find a way," I promised. "I'll be by your side to help."

Looking up, Uriah turned to me. "Do you promise? I don't think I can do this without you, Claire."

"Of course I will. I'll always be here for you."

His expression softened. Turning back to his father, Uriah closed his eyes as he touched his father's hand for the last time. His farewell was private, but I could feel the strength it took for Uriah to offer it.

Slowly we walked from the room. I didn't know how a person got over losing their dad, but I knew Uriah was strong enough to survive this, even if he didn't. He always said he was just a simple rancher. He never saw how much strength he really had. Perhaps he would realize that now.

# Chapter 12

### A Small Box and A Letter

Claire and I were the only ones left at the gravesite. Someone had pulled my mom away a while ago, probably Sophia or Claire's mom. I wasn't sure where anyone but Claire was anymore. Claire was the only thing keeping me together right now. I literally had not let go of her since my dad died. Not even Thomas objected when Claire didn't come home night after night.

In the week since leaving the hospital, she stayed by my side through the long days, where everything I saw reminded me of him, and the torturous nights that gave me dreams of fishing or hunting with my dad again. I felt like a child huddling on the couch with her, but I couldn't let go. And for once, touching Claire didn't affect me at all. The pain of losing my dad outweighed everything else.

"Uriah," Claire said softly, "are you ready to go?"

When we left, the mound of dirt sitting to the side would pour back into the hole and seal my dad away forever. I would never sit on the riverbank with him again. We would never spar with one another and laugh about the bruises we gave each other. The last talk we would ever have would be of me asking Claire to marry me.

At the time, I hadn't been sure whether I would go to the Elders or not, but there was no way I would ignore my dad's advice, now. I still thought it was pointless. The Elders' permission didn't mean very much to me. Knowing I had followed my dad's last piece of advice meant everything to me, though. He loved the traditions of our people, and thought they should be kept close so they weren't lost to the future. I would go to the Elders this summer.

"Uriah," Claire said again, "let me take you home, okay?"

I nodded, feeling slightly better than before. Leading me away from the gravesite, Claire slid in close to me and let me hold her under my arm. I didn't need to tell her that I wanted her close. The brief moment she let go of my hand to walk around to the driver's side brought back the full intensity of my pain. I should have been able to bear it better when I wasn't touching Claire, since I felt my strength rush back in when she left, but the opposite seemed to happen. Claire stole a part of me when I put my arms around her, but having her near me gave that part back along with all of her own strength that she let me borrow from. In the face of the pain from losing my dad, I actually felt stronger with her near me.

"I talked to my parents about helping you and your mom out at the ranch after school, and over the summer," Claire said. "I know the animals don't really like me, but maybe I could do other stuff, like helping in the fields or mucking stalls. I at least know how to do that already."

"But, Claire, you have dance after school. And we finally convinced your dad to let you play volleyball. You have preseason camp all summer. I don't want to interfere with that. Me and Mom will figure it out," I said. Sophia had mentioned a couple of people who might be able to help us out regularly. It meant paying wages, but it was just what we were going to have to do for now.

"I don't care about ballet, at all, you know that. I only did it because I hated piano more. And volleyball, it's not that important. I've never even played before. I just thought it would be fun." Starting the engine, Claire pulled onto the road and headed out of the cemetery.

Volleyball was important to her. She had been so excited when I finally talked her dad into lifting his "unladylike" ban on the sport. She only had one year left of high school. It was probably her last chance to play. "We'll be fine. There's a couple guys around town looking for work. I'm sure one of them will be able to help us. You can't give up everything just to come feed sheep and brush horses."

"I'm hardly giving up everything, Uriah," she said. "I want to help. I love you, and I promised I would be there for you. Besides, I have to get used to living on a ranch eventually, right?"

The teasing smile she gave me actually made me smile. She knew I wanted to marry her. The fact that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together was no secret. The timing was the only thing she didn't know about, yet.

"Are you sure, Claire? I don't want you to do it just because you think you have to. We'll keep the ranch running either way," I said.

"But having me there will make it easier."

"Sure, but..."

"There's no but, Uriah. I'm part of your life. You need help, and I want to be the one to help you. I love you," she said. She had been so strong for me all week, but tears suddenly filled her eyes. "And I loved your dad, too. I want to do this for him as much as I do for you."

I knew she missed him too, but I had been so concerned with my own pain that I hadn't even attempted to help her with hers. I felt like such a jerk. Squeezing her hand even more tightly, I said, "Okay, Claire. It would be great to have you help out. Summer will be pretty busy, but things should calm back down in the fall, and maybe you can still try out for the volleyball team."

Claire shook her head. "Uriah, you'll be gone in the fall. Your mom will need help even more than ever. I don't want you to worry when you're gone. I'll be here to take care of her."

"I'm not going," I said.

"What? You have to! Your mom will never let you stay here. You know she won't," Claire said. I didn't know why she looked so shock. My dad just died, leaving me and my mom to run the ranch by ourselves. The two of us working together was going to be hard enough. I could never leave her to take care of everything by herself. I knew Claire was right about what my mom would say.

"I'm going to do some classes online," I said. "I can't get the whole degree online, but I could do the first couple years, at least. Maybe by then things will be going good enough that I can leave without dumping everything on my mom. I know Mom won't like it, but that's how it has to be right now."

Claire was quiet, then. I wondered if she was feeling the same way I had when I first thought about staying here. Not leaving for college meant staying here with her. The reason I was making this choice was the worst one ever, but the idea of being here with Claire for the next year did take some of the pain from my heart.

The quiet that spread through the car when Claire parked and turned off the engine felt heavy against me. If Claire didn't agree with me, I would have an even harder time trying to convince my mom. Finally Claire reached over to me and hugged me across the seats.

"You have to promise that you'll finish college. I know you plan on running the ranch forever, but I know how much you want to be a vet, too. Things can change before you know it. Plus, your dad wanted you to get your degree. I'll only agree to this if you promise you'll finish," Claire said.

I kissed her lips, borrowing from her strength again even as she stole it away. "I promise."

She nodded and let go of my hand so we could both get out of the car. Making our way past the myriad of vehicles that had brought everyone here from the funeral made it difficult to keep a hold of her. She turned and twisted however she needed to so she could keep her hand in mine. When we reached the house, stepping into the heat of dozens of bodies made me nauseous. People patted my shoulder and told me how sorry they were, but I didn't stop to respond. Instead I pulled Claire back toward my bedroom so I could find some space to breathe. Sophia caught Claire before we got halfway across the living room and asked her to help with the food. I motioned that she should go, and turned away to escape the crowd.

I was about to drop onto my bed when I noticed a small box and a letter sitting there. Curious about what it was, I sat down on my bed and picked the letter up. In my dad's sharp script I saw my name printed on the front. Below that was a careful note from my mom.

_"Uriah, I found this in your dad's closet this morning. He was planning to give it to you when you graduated, but I thought you might want to have it now. Love, Mom"_

Turning the envelope over, I lifted the flap and slid the single sheet of paper out. The fresh creases unfurled to reveal my dad's handwriting.

"Uriah,

"I have been struggling the last few months about what to say to you when you graduate. It's been a difficult year, knowing that you'll be leaving for college soon. Watching you grow has been such a joy for me and your mom. You've always been an amazing kid. In more ways than you know, probably.

"I'm proud of the man you've become, Uriah. I hope I have been the reason behind at least some of why you turned out so great. Your mom can probably take most of the credit, though.

"I wish I knew what to tell you before you leave home. I know that there are some things in your future that will be wonderful, and other things that will be incredibly difficult. I've tried to prepare you for what you must do one day. It's hard to know if I've done enough, but I have faith that wherever I've failed, you will fill in the gaps with your own incredible talents. I had hoped to have more help from Quaile in this, but she has always been a very strange woman. When she feels the time is right, I have no doubt she will give you the guidance you need to face your future.

"But hopefully all of that will still be a while off.

"Right now, I see you with Claire and I am proud of how much you love and care for her. I never knew for sure that the two of you would end up together. Maybe you shouldn't have, considering the way things are. You always seemed like an unlikely pair to me even without that, but it just shows I don't know everything. It's plain to see that you love each other, and I truly hope that the two of you will be able to stick by each other through everything you'll have to face. You're both strong. Just hold onto each other and everything will work out.

"I've probably gone on long enough, now, but just know that you have the strength you need inside of you. Treasure your heritage and the lessons that go with it. The stories we told you as a child might seem silly to you now, but they will help you through your life. Be strong, and be careful.

"I love you, son.

"Dad"

My dad gave me advice all the time when he was alive, but this letter was completely beyond me to understand. The words were plain enough, but half the letter felt like he was trying to tell me something important, but couldn't bring himself to do it. That wasn't my dad at all. When he had something to say, he just came out and said it.

What did he mean when he said he thought Quaile was going to help them more? Despite the fact that she scared me to death, she was a close family friend. I remembered her being around our home since I was a baby. She always seemed too involved in what we were doing for my tastes, but my dad seemed to think she should have done more, and eventually would when the time was right. What did that mean?

It seemed like every other line said something about my future, whether I was prepared, what I would have to face, the strength I would need. The whole letter felt like a warning about something. Of what, though, I had no idea. What on earth would my dad need to warn me about? If he really thought he needed to give me a warning, why wouldn't he just tell me what he thought might happen? And why couldn't I remember what happened before he died?

Maybe my mom would be able to tell me what the letter was about. Placing it carefully back into the envelope, I set it aside. The box was still on the blanket next to me. The dark wood was beautiful. Whatever was inside, the box was part of the gift, made by my dad to carry something precious. I gently lifted the lid and peered inside.

A thin strip of beaded leather lay inside the box. Tears welled in my eyes when I saw it. To anyone else, it would look like a simple piece of beadwork, maybe even just something for an artist to practice on. I knew what this was. I had wanted to have it since the first time I saw it. The long, thin leather strips on each end would tie the leather band to my wrist, a bracelet given from father to son when the son had reached manhood.

Whatever the letter was supposed to tell me, I kept it in the back of my mind as I stared at the gift. This treasure had not come to mind once in the last week, but if my dad had died without ever giving it to me, I would have been crushed. It was a tradition our family had carried on for generations. Dad always did like to have things ready ahead of time. If he hadn't already set this out for me I might never have gotten to have it. It was a piece of him I could always keep with me.

I laid down on my pillow and felt something close to peace for the first time in a week. Following that closely was exhaustion. Clutching the bracelet against my chest as I laid there let me breathe in my grief and not feel consumed by it. I stayed there unmoving for a long time. At some point Claire crept into my room and laid down beside me, holding me, and completing the elusive feeling that I was going to make it through this.

My biggest question now was whether I could survive whatever my dad had been trying to warn me about in his letter.

# Chapter 13

### Proposal

The graduation ceremony was only scheduled to last an hour, and even that was too long. My graduating class was not very big, only a few dozen eager young minds. My foot was tapping anxiously on the floor. Barely a month after my dad died, I was being forced to sit through a ceremony he should have been here to see. If my mom hadn't pressured me to come, I think I might have skipped it. They mailed home the real diplomas anyway.

I waited for my turn to walk, thinking, like I often did lately, about my dad's letter. Part of me wanted to tell Claire about it right away, but another part of me had been afraid to tell her. I didn't need Claire worrying about me or trying to uncover any more mysteries for me right now. She worried about me too much already. After the funeral I tried asking my mom about it when Claire had fallen asleep on the couch.

She was the one who gave me the box and letter, so I thought she would be able to explain it. I couldn't have been more wrong. Knowing it was meant only for me, my mom hadn't read Dad's letter before giving it to me. When I offered to let her read it, she took the letter gratefully. By the time she finished reading it, though, the way her lips were pressed together so tightly was a pretty good indicator of how much she was going to tell me. I tried to ask her about the things Dad had written, but she refused to tell me anything. The most I got out of her was something she mumbled under her breath about my dad knowing better than to say anything. And that was the end of it. Every time I had brought it up since then she left the room.

That was when I turned to Claire. She had been digging around in Tewa writings for months. I thought she might have some idea about what the letter might mean. Unfortunately, stories about Badger beating Coyote in a contest, or why rattlesnakes have rattles had not prepared her for the confusion of the letter. She was as lost as I was. Not to mention more worried than ever. I wanted to try and figure something out, but with the extra work at the ranch, finals, graduation, getting ready to follow my dad's advice, and everything else, I really didn't have much time to put into it.

Brooding in my thoughts, I almost didn't hear my name called. I quickly banished the letter from my mind and stood up. I walked across the stage without fanfare. A few people clapped, probably my mom and Claire, as I shook the principal's hand. I carried my fake diploma across the stage and returned to my seat. My impatient foot tapping started again. Claire was waiting for me. Thinking of Claire let me put everything else away and shut out the questions that seemed to have no answers.

Finally the ceremony ended, caps thrown in the air, family rushing forward. My mother reached me first, wrapping me in a hug and bringing tears to my eyes at the mention of how proud my dad would have been of me. Claire hugged Cole and politely congratulated the other graduates she knew, which was pretty much everyone, even Dana, but her eyes never left mine for long.

Slowly we made our way to each other. Claire's hand slipped into mine and I pulled her close. I felt so much better with her around. "Congratulations, Uriah," she said, trying to speak over the noise. Leaning close, as if to hear her better, I stole a quick kiss. "You can do better than that," she said with a smile. "This is a celebration."

I felt his hard eyes on my back immediately. His patience with me after my dad died had waned pretty quickly. He was back to his grating, obnoxious self all too soon. Thomas was hardly the only reason I was forced to scale back my affection for Claire, but him glaring at me constantly certainly didn't help. I refused to meet his gaze, but Claire understood my hesitation and turned a glare as fierce as Quaile's on him. It lasted only a second before her sweet smile enveloped me once again. I would do anything for her, even if meant dealing with her father later.

Scooping her up in my arms, I pressed her lips against mine, kissing her with only a portion of the tidal wave of passion I was longing to release. The taste was intoxicating, and threatened to overcome me, but my awareness of my mother standing nearby as well, was enough to make me pull back. Releasing Claire's legs, I gently set her back on the ground, but was forced to catch her arm as she stumbled a little. Usually, I was the one trying to stay on my feet after kissing her.

Claire stared at me, her eyes hungry for more. I had never kissed her like that before. Always careful with my emotions before Dad died, before I knew something worse than the pain touching Claire brought, I had not wanted to push myself, or Claire. Not to mention I was still scared of angering Thomas. Every time he looked at me he seemed to be reminding me of his threat to call the police if he had reason. I knew he would follow through on his promises, but being raised by my parents was an equally real barrier that kept me from unleashing my desires.

Holding back was difficult enough, normally. I realized, now, how much harder I had just made things for myself. I wanted more. Just having her near me made it almost too hard to resist the soft curves of her body and eager eyes. "I'm so sorry, Claire," I whispered.

"Don't be," she said quietly. "Don't be sorry for that." She took a deep breath and squeezed my hand tightly. "Let's just get out of here. Tyler and Lana should be ready to go by now."

The last few seconds had completely erased our plans from my mind. Irritation swept over me once again. Tyler and Lana were our best friends, but I had wanted to spend the evening with Claire, only Claire. Of course Thomas had refused. I hadn't been able to change his mind because he darted away as soon as he said no. It was hard to convince someone of something if you couldn't even find them.

"Santa Fe will be fun, Uriah, even if we have to go with Tyler and Lana," Claire said.

I squeezed her hand. "I know. Let me tell my mom goodbye first." Claire nodded and pushed me gently in my mother's direction. My conversation with my mom was brief, ending in a hug and a plea to be careful, and then I was back at Claire's side.

Once in the hallway, I stripped off the graduation gown and tossed it on a table. The gowns were cleaned and used again by the next set of graduates. The cap was mine to keep. Tucking it under my arm, I pulled Claire along the linoleum lined tunnel and out the door.

"Claire, Uriah, you guys ready to go, or what? We've been waiting out here forever," Tyler complained.

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Graduation only ended five minutes ago. Didn't you even say goodbye to your families?"

"It's not like we're not coming back," Lana said.

Actually, she and Tyler weren't coming back, at least not for good. Both were heading south to Las Cruces for college. I should have been joining them. At one time I was excited to go. Things can change quickly, though. It had not been easy telling Mom that I wasn't going, but she looked more relieved than disappointed in all reality.

"Get in the truck," Tyler said, opening the tiny extended cab's door with a flourish.

I hated sitting in the back of his truck. It was not designed for someone my size. Claire pulled me to the car. "Hurry up," she chided, "before my dad changes his mind about letting me go at all." Remembering what I had just done right in front of him was enough to kick my feet into a higher gear. I was sure he would step out of the auditorium doors at any second and grab Claire. We were on our way in less than a minute.

I spent the next forty minutes scrunched behind Tyler. The only consolation was that Claire was pretending to be just as uncomfortable, turning so her body was nestled snugly against mine. By the time we reached Santa Fe, I was actually reluctant to leave the cramped seat. My growling stomach urged me to unwind myself.

As we waited for our table in the foyer, I watched Claire, finally seeing her in full light. The silk dress she wore was a deep blue, shimmering with every slight movement. She had teased me with the dress for weeks, not letting me see it, only telling me that it was special, just for my graduation. It was special, not because the fabric detailed every curve of her body, or because the color was a beautiful contrast to her light brown skin, but because she wore it only for me.

Because of her father's constant reminders that her beauty would win her a wealthy husband if only she would leave me behind, Claire rarely dressed up anymore, preferring blue jeans and t-shirts to the dainty dresses most of the other girls liked to wear. I loved her sense of style. It was much more suited to fishing on the river bank, but still, I couldn't take my eyes off her.

The fact that she had done this for me made it hard to resist carrying her out of the restaurant right then. Claire turned and caught me staring at her. She grinned, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on me. I put my hand under her chin gently and raised her face. "You look beautiful," I said, though it was a significant understatement.

"Do you like the dress?" she asked.

"I do." I wanted to tell her just how much I liked it, but I kept those thoughts to myself.

"Our table's ready," Lana chimed.

I groaned, despite my appetite, and followed them to the back of the restaurant. We slid into a secluded booth. Laying her hand gently on my knee Claire tucked herself under my arm. I held her close and tried to remind myself that we weren't alone. Thankfully the food arrived quickly.

Dinner was great. I hardly noticed the food, but every second was engraved in my memory. When the dessert plates were brought out, my palms started to sweat. Tyler glanced at me knowingly. Claire, always perceptive, asked if I was okay. Tyler rescued me by changing the subject, describing the apartment he and Lana were going to rent down in Las Cruces.

Claire was swept up by their enthusiasm, no doubt wishing she was just a little bit older. Born two months sooner and she would have been celebrating her own graduation along with us. I was thinking of my future as well. All too soon the dessert plates were cleared and we were on our way out of the restaurant. The day's heat had cooled into a pleasant evening. Claire drifted into my arms, kissing my lips lightly before turning back to our friends. "So, what are we going to do now?"

Tyler pulled Lana into a bear hug. "Lana and I are going to watch a movie. You and Uriah..." Tyler left the sentence hanging, giving me a much too obvious wink. He was not the most subtle person in the world. This would be the last time I asked him for a favor. "Maybe we'll meet up at Fusion later? I heard they're doing an all-night graduation party, so underagers are welcome."

"Yeah," I said, ready to be rid of Tyler, "we'll see you there later."

Tyler pulled Lana down the street, glancing back with a ridiculous grin. I rolled my eyes, irritated that I would still have to ride home with him.

"What was that all about?" Claire asked.

"Nothing," I said. "I just asked Tyler to leave us alone for a while. I haven't seen you all day, and I wanted some time with just the two of us." Claire's warm smile washed over me. Normally that was all it took to calm me down, but not tonight. The slight tilt to her lips made me wonder if she knew. "Let's take a walk," I said quickly.

"Okay." Claire took my hand and leaned in close to me. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. Let's just walk for a while."

Santa Fe's streets were busy with summer tourists. Filled with galleries, museums, and artists, Santa Fe attracted people from around the country. We walked, admiring the artwork in the galleries and listening to the myriad of street musicians. Claire followed my wandering lead without question.

Slowly we left the busier streets behind, moving away from the showier side of downtown and into the everyday storefronts of regular businesses. Claire glanced up at me, wondering at my choice, but said nothing.

There was the sign. "You know," I said, "I was here in Santa Fe a few weeks ago."

"Really?"

I had expected the surprise in Claire's voice. It hadn't been easy to not mention the trip before now. We had spent almost all of our free time together in the last month, and even when we were not together it was rare that we didn't know where the other one was.

"Yes. I came here to pick up a gift for you."

"A gift for me? Why? It's your graduation, Uriah, not mine. You can give me a gift next year," she said. Her gift to me had been waiting for me when I woke up that morning. Actually it was from her family, all except her father, of course. The laptop computer was a complete surprise, but a welcome one. I really did need one for my classes, and money was tight enough with the cost of tuition. I hoped her gift would be a surprise, too.

"I didn't want to wait another year to give you your present."

"What is it?" she asked, her brow creasing with worry. She knew I had spent a good portion of my savings on school.

"The man at this store thought you would really like it, and so do I," I said, hoping she would understand the hint I was giving her.

"This store?" Turning her head she stared at the store window. Her eyes widened. "The man at _this_ store?"

"Yes."

"The man at _Sandoval Jewelers_ thought I would like my present?"

Claire gasped as I bent down on one knee. The silver band I presented to her wasn't grand, but Claire wouldn't have liked it if it had been. The princess cut diamond sparkled almost as much as Claire's tear filled eyes.

"Claire Brant, will you marry me?"

Her hand flew to her mouth and she started hopping up and down. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she said, her excitement bubbling over. "Of course I will, Uriah." She held out her hand and I slipped the ring onto her finger. She held it up, staring at it as tears splashed on her hand. "It's beautiful. I love it. I love you!"

Relief swept over me. It had been two weeks of torture carrying the ring around, wanting to give it to her the moment I bought it. Rising to my feet, I swept Claire into my arms and kissed her fiercely. The kiss in front of her father was nothing. Our lips moved together, my fingers winding in her hair, pulling her closer.

Only the not so quiet snickering of a group of tourists kept me from going any further. I pulled away, leaving a pout on Claire's face. _Please don't tempt me_ , I begged silently. The cautious regard I had always had around Claire was now way beyond my reach. Suddenly, Fusion's graduation party sounded like a good idea. I needed other people around me. I pulled Claire along the street, making my way back to the busier section of town. If I was alone with Claire much longer tonight, I wouldn't be able to keep my promise to her father.

Claire hurried along beside me, completely oblivious to my haste. Staring at the ring, she was smiling widely. "My dad is going to die when he sees this," she said. That thought brought me to a dead stop. Claire bumped into the back of me. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Let's not talk about your dad right now," I suggested.

"Good idea," she agreed. "Let's go tell Tyler and Lana, though. I've got to tell somebody!"

In my excitement to finally propose to Claire, I had completely forgotten that we would actually have to tell her dad. I wouldn't take the ring back for anything, but I really didn't relish the thought of showing it to Thomas. As we wound our way back to the club, I wondered what the chances were of convincing Claire not to tell her dad and just elope with me after her birthday.

# Chapter 14

### Warning

Her piercing scream swept over the ranch. The sheep in the pasture froze and looked up at me, but I was already sprinting away from them. I knew where she would be. Feeding the horses was her favorite chore, and she always saved it for last.

The old split-rail fences blurred past me as I ran. Desert sand swirled around my feet, trying to trip me with every step. Harsh, grating growls pushed me forward. Another desperate shriek rang out again and I lost all other thought as I flew around the corner of the barn. Cold numbed my legs, and I stumbled to a stop in front of the barn. What I saw slowed time and sent my fear soaring into the sky.

Holding my mom's leg in its jaw, a mountain lion snarled at our ranch hand, Hale. The pitchfork he was waving at it was doing nothing to scare it away. Blood streamed out of the gashes running up and down my mom's calf. Crimson streaks ran from the open door of the barn to where the cougar held her now, a good ten feet away. Ignoring Hale entirely, the creature looked desperate to carry her off.

No, I can't lose her too! I would not watch her die like I did my dad. I had to save her. My mind was locked in indecision. Rush in and I could make the animal panic and attack her even worse. Wait too long and the blood pooling on the ground would steal her life away. I had to do something. But what?

Unaware of my presence, the mangy animal was focused on the pitchfork. Hale made a lunge at the animal, trying to stab it, but the wiry and desperate animal swung its hips to the side in time to dodge the blow. The sudden jarring made my mom cry out in pain again, waking me from my terrified trance. The weakness in her voice shocked me. I had to move quickly.

Stepping carefully, I made my decision to approach the cougar. I needed a weapon of some kind first. Searching the ground around me, I saw the broken off end of a four by four wooden fence post sticking out of the ground. Hale had backed into it last week and I hadn't gotten around to fixing it, yet. I moved slowly, wrapping my hands around the thick chunk of wood and tugged softly. It didn't budge. I'd forgotten it was cemented in.

A quick survey of the ground showed me there was nothing else. I couldn't try to draw it off without a weapon. It had to be the post. Gripping the wood harder, I jerked it down, breaking the post off the chunk of cement. I stared at the broken piece of wood. It broke so easily. I didn't expect that to actually work. The mountain lion was too occupied with trying to survive to hear the splitting of wood, but Hale stared at the post in my hand. The shock on his face was disturbing.

Ignoring Hale, I looked back at the animal. I was ready now. I took a step toward the beast holding my mom. I felt my muscles tense as I drew closer. I had no idea what it might do. The cougar was skin and bones, starving most likely, which explained why it had risked coming into town. That made it even more dangerous than usual. Moving up, I took a risk and kicked a rock at it, drawing its attention to me. I braced myself in case it decided to attack.

Instead of attacking or making a run for it, the cougar froze. Dropping my mom's leg from its jaws, it sank down to its belly and started whimpering. Hale straightened and stared at the cougar in disbelief. I wasn't sure what it was doing either, but I wasn't going to stand there and wait for it to change its mind. Reaching into the barn, my fingers closed around the stock of a shotgun kept there for exactly this reason. I held it out of view while I spoke to Hale.

"Hale, get my mom. Get her away from the mountain lion," I said.

"Uriah, how did you do that?" Hale asked.

"I don't know," I whispered harshly. "Just get my mom out of here!"

Hale opened his mouth again to say something, but my mom's broken sobs kept him from finishing. Letting the pitchfork fall to the ground, Hale reached down and carefully scooped my mom into his arms. Both eyes on the cowering animal, Hale stepped back toward the barn. I watched him set my mom down in one of the empty stalls out of the corner of my eye. The rest of my focus remained on the animal. Shaking on the ground, it looked too terrified to move.

Bringing the gun up, I leveled it at the animal. At this distance it would be nothing at all for me to kill it. It needed to be done, but the way it mewled and groveled held me back. Cougars did not act like this, not even ones that were starving. It was acting like a dog waiting for its master to reprimand it. The miserable animal actually looked as if it were expecting me to punish it for attacking my mom, as if it were aware it had done something wrong. It should have been attacking me, or at the very least, running off as fast as it could.

"You have to do it," Hale said from behind me.

"I know. It's just..." I wasn't even sure what it was that was holding me back. The cougar had attacked my mom.

"It's tasted human flesh, Uriah. It has to be put down or it will come back and attack again. You know that. We've seen it before." Hale's words were cold, but he looked relieved that it was me holding the gun instead of him.

"Why is it just lying there?" I asked, just as much to myself as to Hale. He merely shrugged and looked back at my mom. It didn't matter. I had to do it. Bracing the butt of the gun against my shoulder, I fired.

The cougar barely moved. It simply sank down deeper into the dirt as blood darkened the sand around it. It had to be done. I knew it was true, but I couldn't feel quite right about the way it had just sat there waiting for it to happen. I didn't have time to think too hard about it, though. Tossing the gun to Hale, I rushed to my mom's side. Breathing slowly, if shallowly, she had fallen into unconsciousness. Her dark skin looked pale and was shimmering with sweat. Glancing down at her leg, the bleeding looked like it was slowing, but the dirt and grime caked on it was undoubtedly going to lead to infection.

"Hale, go get Sophia. I'll get my mom into the house," I said.

Hale nodded and ran off toward the driveway.

Usually Sophia's blend of modern nursing and traditional Native American healing was all we needed here in San Juan Pueblo. I hoped it would be enough today. It hadn't been enough for my dad, but there was nothing anyone could have done then. Cradling my mom in my arms, I started out of the barn. The dead cougar caught my eye and made my stomach churn, but I turned away and rushed to the house.

The old screen door clattered back against the frame as I laid my mom on the couch. She wouldn't be happy about the blood stains that were quickly forming. There was nothing to be done about that now. Panic was trying to work its way into my mind, but I had taken care of enough injured or sick animals to know what to do. Gathering a bowl of warm water and several washcloths, I started cleaning her leg.

Swollen puncture wounds ran up and down her calf. Each stroke I made elicited a moan or twitch of pain. I cringed along with her and hoped Sophia would get here soon. Rinsing my mom's leg one last time, I set the bowl aside and stroked her hair while I waited for Sophia to arrive. Thankfully the door banged open a few seconds later.

"How's she doing?" Sophia asked as she pushed me out of the way.

"I cleaned the wounds, but she's still asleep." I wasn't sure whether or not Sophia actually heard me. She was too busy inspecting my mom's leg and digging through her medical bag. I held my mom's hand as I watched Sophia spread ointment over her leg and wrap it carefully in layers of bandages. Flinching as she slid a needle into my mom's arm, I had to look away as the pain relieving fluid was sent into her veins. Memories of my father's last minutes tried to assault me. I made myself push them away.

"Get a pillow and put it under her leg," Sophia said. Placing her supplies back in her bag as I got the pillow, Sophia checked my mom's pulse again. "Just let her sleep for now," she said. "She needs to rest."

"You don't think we need to take her to the hospital?" I asked.

Sophia huffed and shook her head. "You think she would actually go?"

My mom never liked hospitals or doctors, but after my dad died, she pretty much refused to go near any kind of medical building. "She can't object if we take her while she's still asleep," I said.

"I'm afraid waking up in a hospital would be too traumatic for her," Sophia said. My hands tightened with worry and Sophia's expression softened. She knew better than anyone what losing my mom would do to me. She had been there for us after my dad died, and she still blamed herself for not being able to save him.

"Uriah, she's going to be okay. I'll send Hale down to the pharmacy for some antibiotics to keep her from getting an infection. Plus, I called Dr. Harrell in Santa Fe on my way over. He's going to come out and check for any nerve or tendon damage. He should be here in half an hour. If he thinks there's a problem, I'll make sure your mom goes to the hospital right away. I promise." Sophia took my free hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "She's going to be okay. From where the bites are, I don't think there'll be any lasting damage."

I let out a breath that had been trapped behind a wall of anxiety. A nurse practitioner, Sophia often said she was a poor excuse for a doctor, but she handled everything on the reservation from colds to broken bones. If she thought my mom was going to be okay, I trusted her judgment. She had dealt with worse.

"Where is Hale?" I asked. Sophia had mentioned wanting to send him for a prescription, but he hadn't come back in with her.

"He's out taking care of the mountain lion," Sophia said. Her eyes drifted toward the back of the house just as mine did. I was glad I wouldn't have to take care of the carcass myself. Just thinking about it made me shiver.

"Hale told me about what happened, how the animal just cowered down when you walked up," Sophia said. Her appraising eyes bored into me. "Is that really what happened?"

I shrugged and nodded. "I don't know what was wrong with it," I said. "One minute it was trying to drag my mom away then it just dropped her and started whimpering."

"I've never heard of a mountain lion acting like that before," Sophia said.

"It looked like it was starving or something. There must have been something wrong with it," I said. It made sense, but for some reason that didn't fit either. At least Hale didn't say anything about the post I snapped in half. Maybe it was the tribal stories my mom told me as a child until I knew them all by heart, or maybe it was the trauma of what had just happened, but the memory of the animal hung in my mind like a warning.

I knew what really bothered me about it. It was one more thing to add to Claire's list of strange things that happened around me. That and breaking the post off. I knew I shouldn't have been able to do that. Claire hadn't been able to give me any insight about the letter, but maybe there would be some story or legend she'd read that would explain these. I shook my head. Was I really looking to myths to explain things in real life? I don't think that was what my dad meant when he said the tribal legends would help me.

Sophia studied me as I thought for a few seconds before shaking away any more thoughts of the animal. "I'll stay with her, Uriah. Why don't you go get ready? You can't go to the Elders looking like that. You're covered in blood."

Looking down at my ruined work clothes, I realized I had completely forgotten about the Elders. "I can't go now," I said, "not after what just happened. I need to stay with her."

Sophia stared me down, refusing to waver. "Your mother will have your hide when she wakes up if you don't go. You know she doesn't want you and Claire to have to wait until next year."

I started to object, but Sophia cut me off. "After everything that's happened in the past few months, your mom could use some good news. She needs something happy in her life right now. Now, go get ready. I'll take care of her while you're gone."

My eyes lingered on my mom's still body. She had already been through so much. She wanted this almost as much as Claire and I did. She did need something to bring her some joy. Sophia was right. She was more than capable of taking care of my mom, and speaking with the Elders was sure to bring the good news we both wanted and needed to hear. I should have been comforted by that idea, but I walked back to my bedroom consumed by the memory of the animal.

# Chapter 15

### The Chief's Daughter

Thomas Brant's eyes bored into me as I walked down the street toward the hundred year old adobe mud-brick building. I knew I would feel my father's absence today, but I had at least hoped my mom would be here to help me through this. Now, I didn't even have that. Asking the Elders for permission to marry on tribal lands was an outdated ritual, but sweat had my traditional homespun shirt and doeskin pants clinging to my body. Facing Thomas alone today was not how I'd hoped this would go. Breaking eye contact with Thomas, I straightened to my full height and walked toward him, determined to make him see me as a man.

Claire smiled worriedly at my arrival. Her father's grimace deepened, and he held her arm more tightly against his body. He wasn't anywhere close to happy about this. Sarah and my mom had insisted that we meet with the Elders today. Thomas flat out refused, balking at even consider letting us get married. I honestly thought our moms could convince him. He was a stubborn man, though.

I still wasn't sure I believed in Claire's ideas about me, but I had been willing to put her theory to the test for this. After listening to hours of arguing from Thomas I finally stood and walked right up to him. My entire body had felt like it was about to crumble from the fear gripping me. I could only hope Claire was right.

Thomas seemed to think she was. I had pushed Thomas to give in before, and I think he saw what was coming. He tried to back away, but I caught his arm and held him. In plain words, I told him that Claire and I were getting married and there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to fight it. His mouth moved, trying to get out the words he wanted to say, but all that came out was a deflated "fine." Sarah's jaw dropped and Claire gave me a look that said, "What took you so long?" She never doubted I could change his mind. The real surprise, though, was the smug look on my mom's face. It was almost like she knew I could do it just as surely as Claire did. That brought my dad's letter to mind immediately, but Claire's excited hug had pushed it back out just as quickly.

The sharp bark of a stray dog was immediately followed by the screeching mewl of a cat, tearing me out of my thoughts. Turning to see the pair barreling toward us, I stepped back, not wanting to get in their way. Thomas darted back in disgust. He hated animals almost as much as he hated me. Claire just smiled at the display. About to catch the cat, the dog yapped eagerly, then, for no apparent reason, they both slowed to a stop and stood staring at me.

My eyebrows rose in surprise. I had always had a calming touch with animals, as long as I wasn't touching Claire at the same time, but this seemed odd even for me. And eerily familiar. The two animals stood within two feet of each other, but the fight had completely drained out of them. The dog sniffed a few times then turned away and scampered off in the direction it had come. Winding itself around my legs twice, the cat then headed in the opposite direction. What was going on with the animals around here? Thoughts of the dead mountain lion rolled around in my mind, bringing back that sickening feeling.

Thomas just snorted at the odd display and went back to glaring at me. Whatever was happening with the animals would have to wait. I had to face Thomas and the Elders first. My palms began to itch, and my clothes seemed much too tight under his gaze. Claire's bright face had the opposite effect. Her dark eyes were warm and kind. Her hands smoothed her dress, though it already looked perfect. I had never seen her wear the beaded ceremonial frock before. Her mother must have surprised her with the new clothing, just as mine had done.

She looked so beautiful. I couldn't pry my eyes away from her. Her silky brown hair shifted in a soft breeze and her fingers came up to brush it away. I loved her chestnut hair. It was incredible how her hair color matched her eyes so perfectly. Her eyes were absolutely amazing, capable of capturing me and holding me in their gaze forever. I felt all of my nervousness fall away immediately. Shaking her father's protective hand away when I finally reached them, Claire ran to me, wrapping her arms around my body.

"Uriah, we heard about your mom. How's she doing? Sophia said she thought she would be okay, but we've all been worried," Claire said.

"She was still sleeping when I left. Hale picked up some medicine for her, though, and Dr. Harrell finished checking her over right before I came," I said. "That's why I was late. I didn't want to leave before I knew she was going to be all right. Sorry for making you wait."

Shaking her head, Claire brushed away my apology. "Don't apologize. Your mom is more important. I wasn't sure you would even want to go through with this today." Her eyes came up to mind, concern filling them. "We can wait if you want. We don't have to do this today."

"No," I said quickly, "I don't want to wait. Nothing will help my mom recover quicker than having a wedding to plan."

Claire smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. Taking her chin in my hand, I tilted her face up to look at me. "She'll be okay," I said. "Dr. Harrell said there wouldn't be any permanent damage. Let's just try to focus on seeing the Elders for now."

"We'll give her the good news together as soon as we're done with the Elders then," Claire said confidently. "She'll be so excited."

I loved Claire so much. She had stuck by me through more than I could have asked, and always did it with such love and compassion. I would never have survived the last couple months without her. The desire to kiss her and show her just how much I loved her was overwhelming. As usual, her angry father glaring at me over her shoulder held me back.

Not wanting to anger Thomas any further than was absolutely necessary, I embraced Claire carefully. Her face turned up to look at mine, faith that everything would be okay shining in her eyes. Her soft hair cascaded down her back, tickling my hands like tiny feathers, bringing a slight smile to my lips. The black sweep of her eyelashes touched her cheeks as she closed her eyes and reached up to kiss my cheek.

I reveled in her touch, but the heat from her father's stare stiffened my body. Why couldn't her mom have come instead? Tradition. My mom had only gotten permission to come with me because my dad wasn't alive to present me. I ground my teeth, wishing this tradition would miraculously die out in the next few minutes.

Claire's lips pursed at my reaction, her eyes opening and turning back to her father. "He's going to have to get used to this eventually," she said.

"He will," I replied, "but let's not push our luck right now." Refraining from returning her kiss, I hugged her tightly, pulling her close to my body.

Leaning her head against my chest, Claire spoke quietly. "Are you nervous, Uriah?"

"Yes," I said honestly. Her brow crinkled, and I felt the need to clarify. "I just wish my mom and dad could have been here with me. I don't want the Elders to look at me and think I'm just a kid."

Claire pulled back a little, looking me in the eyes. "I doubt anyone would look at you and think you were anything but a man."

I knew she was talking about my physical appearance, but the Elders would surely consider much more. In some ways, I knew why Claire's father wanted me to walk away. I should have been planning to leave for college in a few weeks like Tyler and Lana. Thomas knew I was going to stay here and get started on my Pre-Vet degree online. He was less than thrilled with the prospect of me sticking around for another year. I don't know if he thought I was weak for not going, or not serious enough about becoming a veterinarian because I was doing it from my laptop, but he looked at me like a piece of scum more than ever since finding out.

Thomas had most likely been hoping that in the year it would take Claire to finish high school, she would forget about me and move on. I think he knew it would take more than distance to break our relationship, but he had still hoped. Thomas wished she had chosen just about anyone but me. His money gave him power, but being the grandson of the last Tewa Chief made him very prideful of his family name. I think he thought of himself as the unofficial chief of our tribe. My only guess was that he thought the chief's daughter deserved better than me. He did not want her marrying a rancher.

The creaking of a wooden door banished any more guesses about why Thomas despised me. Wauneta Begay emerged from the building, her face serene. Wauneta's husband had passed away last winter in a car accident. Married less than a year, she was devastated. Moving on had seemed impossible to her at the time, but slowly she came to accept his passing. Because she and my mom were friends I knew that she had been planning to consult the Elders about ending her mourning. The discussion must have gone well. I was glad to see her smiling again.

Watching Wauneta, Claire squeezed my hand. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," I said. Glancing at Claire's father, I watched his face twist in agony. I couldn't help smiling at his pain. "Is your dad?"

A quick giggle brought her hand to her mouth. Her father stood, his fists clenched and clamped to his sides. "Like I said, he'll get used to it eventually," Claire said.

"I sure hope so."

Leaving his perch, Thomas held his hand out to his daughter. "Claire, you will enter with me."

Sighing, Claire released her grip on me and walked over to her dad. Her brilliant smile did nothing to improve his mood, but it lifted away any uneasiness I felt. How could the Elders reject our petition? I followed my love into the Council House, sure of our future.

The foyer seemed much too dark after coming in from the noonday sun. I stood blinking my eyes, waiting for them to adjust before attempting to walk any further. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass myself by tripping over a table or stepping on someone's foot. Slowly, the dim light of the wall fixtures reached my eyes. A young man stood next to the doors leading to the main chamber, a bored expression on his face. Claire stopped next to her dad, though she had little chance of going anywhere else.

Holding her hand so tightly that Claire's fingertips were a deep red, Thomas Brant looked straight ahead. Claire was pretending not to notice him as she glanced around the room casually. I followed her lead. I had never been in the Council House before. The walls were covered in a thick plaster that was surprisingly still in very good condition for its age. Beautiful pottery, weavings, Kachina dolls, and sand paintings decorated almost every inch of the space. Many of the items were Tewa Indian artifacts, but others were from neighboring tribes. The collection was breathtaking.

"Thomas Brant, Uriah Crowe, you may go into the main chamber to speak with the Elders now," the young man said.

He waved us forward. I paused, letting Thomas lead. Having no parent to present me to the council, I would not move in front of him. Smirking at the allowance, he stepped forward grandly. I took a deep breath and tried very hard to ignore him. Moving confidently, I followed Thomas into the main chamber.

The five Elders of our tribe sat against the opposite wall. Their high backed chairs had held the Elders of San Juan Pueblo for many generations. The hard oak table that stretched in front of them had been smoothed and polished by age. Three men sat on the council, Tansin Amory, Dale Hatch, and Samuel Atcity. Nestled between the men were the two female council members, Anise Yazzie and Quaile Faimin, our tribe's shaman. Quaile stared at our group with dark searching eyes. She would be the one to answer our petition. Her eyes were fixed on me now, bright and intent under heavy, wrinkled lids. My heart sped up, my composure beginning to crack.

Quaile leaned forward and spoke. "How is your mother doing, Uriah? Mrs. Brant informed us of the attack."

Some people hated small towns for the fact that everybody knew your business, but I actually found it comforting. Not surprised that they had already heard about it, I answered quickly. "Sophia is taking very good care of her, and Dr. Harrell has already seen her and said there won't be any lasting damage to her leg."

Every member of the Council nodded in relief. Quaile's compassion disappeared quickly, though. "I'm glad to hear Lina will be alright. You are not here to discuss your mother, however. Let us move on with this proceeding." Placing her hands on the table in front of her, Quaile stared at me. "Why have you come before the Council this day?" Quaile asked, although she already knew the answer. She seemed as eager about this as Thomas did.

Grudgingly, Thomas stepped forward. "I, Thomas Brant, come before you to present my daughter, Claire Brant. She asks permission to marry Uriah Crowe."

Quaile nodded and turned to me.

"I, Uriah Crowe, come before the Elders to ask permission to marry Claire Brant." I stepped back again, glancing at Quaile before bowing my head respectfully. Her gaze lingered on me again. Her mouth turned down in a frown. Sweat seemed to spring from every pore in my body. I fervently hoped no one would notice.

"I must consider your request," Quaile said. Closing her eyes, her whole body relaxed. The age she carried visibly lessened. Her face smoothed as her gaze turned upward.

My mother had told me that Quaile's visions could last a few seconds, or take hours. I didn't actually believe in Quaile's ability to see the future any more than I believed in most of the tribal myths my mom and dad had taught me as a child, but tradition was important to them and I would not shame my parents by mocking it.

To me, however, it shouldn't have taken more than a second to know that Claire and I were meant for each other. For everyone around us, never mind her father, it was easy to see. I had loved Claire since before I was even old enough to understand the concept, and could imagine myself with no one else. I knew she felt the same about me.

Quickly, I stole a glance at Claire. She watched the shaman with hopeful eyes. I smiled at her eagerness. Afraid of nothing, she was always the first to try something new. Her wild spirit bounced against my sensible self, forcing me to grow and expand just to keep up with her. Her face turned to me unexpectedly, beautiful and confident. She reached for my hand. Unsure whether it was appropriate or not for me to take it, I hesitated. Her smile widened, encouraging me. I took her hand, feeling only her confidence radiate into my body this time.

Abruptly, Quaile's eyes snapped wide. Her hands fluttered to her face nervously. Her eyes were still unfocused, searching for something. The other Elders watched her carefully. The man to her left, Dale Hatch, hovered on the edge of his chair. I wasn't sure if this normally happened, but the tense hush that had fallen over the room made me think it wasn't. Finally, Quaile's hands quieted and fell back to her lap. Her eyes were stilled and focused once more. Sagging with weariness, Quaile took a deep, calming breath.

Dale touched her arm gently. "Quaile, are you all right?" he asked.

The concern in his voice made me wary. What just happened? Something didn't seem right. Did she actually see something? I had never believed in most of the tales our tribe told, but the fear in her eyes had come from somewhere. Why would Quaile have any reason to fear our marriage?

"Yes, Dale, I am fine," Quaile responded kindly, or as kindly as she ever spoke to anyone. Quaile turned her attention back to our small group. Her face clouded again, her teeth clamped down tightly. My stomach lurched. Unsure of why she would react this way, I met her eyes, trying to allay any fears she might have about me. It was apparent by the other council members' faces that this was not the normal response to a marriage request.

"Miss Quaile," I asked, bringing a hard look from Claire's father, "did you receive an answer?"

"Yes, Uriah, I did." She looked down at her lap, hesitating again before looking back up at me. "No. You may not marry Claire."

# Chapter 16

### Denial

"What?" I asked. Blood drained from my face as Claire's hand tightened around mine. Her crushing grip squeezed my fingers painfully. "What do you mean I can't marry Claire? I love her. We want to get married next year."

"Yes," Quaile answered tightly, "I can see that you both love each other very much, but I cannot allow you to marry her. She is not your Twin Soul."

Claire gasped. Everyone in the chamber looked shocked by her announcement. I couldn't believe it. Never had a couple who came before the council been denied the right to marry, never. Asking permission of the Elders was just a pointless tradition. It didn't even matter. Most people didn't even bother asking the Elders. They just got married somewhere else. At that moment, I sincerely wished we had been one of those. How could she deny us?

"What do you mean we aren't Twin Souls?" Claire demanded. Her father yanked her behind him, but Claire tore her hand from his and stalked up to the table, stopping in front of Quaile. "You can see how much Uriah and I love each other. Who are you to tell us we can't be married?" Her voice was sharp and serious. Claire's aggressive streak had cooled a lot in the last year, but it popped back up now. Her father hissed at her to hold her tongue and step back. I don't think she even heard him.

Pushing away the shock and searching my mind for reasons for her denial, I approached Quaile as well. "Do you think we're not ready yet? Do you want us to wait a little longer before we get married, come back at the next meeting? Maybe that's why your vision, or whatever it was, said we shouldn't be married. I love Claire more than anything. You have to see that. I don't really believe in Twin Souls, but if there was anyone out there meant only for me, it's definitely Claire. You have to see that."

"It is not because you are young, Uriah," Quaile said. The pity in her voice was torturous. "I have known you all your life. You are a strong and wise young man. It is not a matter of waiting. My vision was very specific. Claire is not meant for you. I cannot allow you to marry her. I am so sorry, Uriah."

I stepped back in disbelief. Not meant for me? Of course Claire and I were meant for each other. There was no one else I had ever wanted, or would ever want. There had to be something behind this. Without realizing my thoughts had turned into actions, I turned to glare at Thomas. Blood rushed to my face as I considered what he might have done. I raised my finger in accusation, but before a single word could escape my lips, Quaile spoke.

"This has nothing to do with Thomas, Uriah. He would be lucky to have you as his son." Thomas snorted in response to that, but Quaile's threatening glare silenced him at once.

"I don't understand," I said. Trying to calm my scattered mind, I took Claire's hand again. Her frightened expression tore at me. I pulled her close to me, refusing to release my claim on her.

"I will be honest, Uriah. I do not understand all of this either," Quaile said, "but that is my decision. You may not marry her."

Dale Hatch suddenly spoke up. "Quaile, I mean no disrespect, but are you sure?"

I would have expected Quaile to reprimand him for questioning her, as she did everyone else, but she merely sighed. "Yes, Dale, I am sure."

"It's just that this has never happened before," Dale said slowly. "Never in our history has the shaman denied a couple the right to marry on tribal lands. You were told specifically that Claire and Uriah should not be allowed to marry?"

"Yes," Quaile said. "My vision was very clear on that point. On everything else..." Her voice faded as her thoughts turned back to her vision. I stared at her hard, hoping for more of an explanation. What else had she seen? Snapping back to the waiting crowd, Quaile continued. "They are both destined to meet their Twin Souls. They cannot marry."

"Both?" Anise Yazzie asked. "It is rare enough for one person to meet their Twin Soul, we haven't even seen a Twin Soul in three generations, but you believe both Claire and Uriah will meet their Twin Souls?"

"I believe nothing, Anise. I know it. The vision showed me that Claire will be the first to meet her Twin Soul, then Uriah. If these two are allowed to marry now, they will only be torn apart later," Quaile said.

"But surely they must be allowed to choose," Anise said.

"No," Quaile said forcefully. "I know that not everyone believes in Twin Souls as strongly as I do, but they are very real. When these two young people meet their Twin Souls, the pull will be too strong for either of them to resist. They will abandon the other without a backward glance."

"I would never abandon Claire. You know nothing about me, Quaile," I said. My fists and teeth were clenched tightly, trying to hold in my anger. The other Elders stared at me, some with pity, some with confusion. Quaile ignored my comment entirely and turned to her fellow Elders.

"Think, Anise. If we let them marry and they do not meet their Twin Souls for a few years, think of what might happen during that time," Quaile said. Anise cocked her head to the side. Her expression was uncomprehending. "Children, Anise. What if they have children, and are then ripped apart. The children will suffer as much as anyone. There is just too much to risk."

Anise's face turned down in a frown and I knew we were losing her support quickly. "Do you know when they will meet their Twin Souls?" she asked. "If it isn't for many years, perhaps the joy they could have before then would be worth the pain of separation later."

"I don't know when it will happen," Quaile admitted. "There are too many factors involved to predict with any exactness. It could be thirty years from now, or it could be tomorrow. All I know is that it will happen. That is definite."

"I see," Anise muttered. "Yes, I think the risk is too great."

"What are you even talking about?" Claire demanded. "We should be the ones deciding whether the risk is too great or not. If Uriah and I want to get married then we will get married. We really don't need your permission to do it either. Your decision won't stop us."

"This is not up for debate, Claire," Thomas said. The satisfaction in his voice matched his smug expression. Claire's fingers squeezed my hand tightly as her determination faltered.

"Claire, Uriah, I'm sorry, but I think we all agree with Quaile." Dale Hatch's quick glance around the table saw that his fellow Elders were nodding in agreement. "We will not allow you to be married."

"This is for the best, Uriah," Quaile said.

"I'm sorry, Miss Quaile," I said forcefully, "but I will not accept your answer. I only came here today because my dad wanted me to. It was one of the last things he asked me to do before he died. Claire and I will be married. If we have to leave to do it, then so be it." Claire sparked back to life. She threw her arms around me in defiance of the council and of her father. The smile on her face challenged everyone in the room to oppose us.

"Uriah, please don't do this. You can go to Santa Fe and have no problem finding someone to marry you, but it will only bring you misery. You will both find your Twin Souls someday, and when you do, you will break each other's hearts. You will abandon Claire, and she you. Neither of you will be able to stop yourselves."

"I will never abandon Claire. Never."

"You will have to. Claire will beg you to forget her, to leave her. Would you ask her to give up true happiness for you?" Quaile stared at me, accusing me.

"I wouldn't have to ask her anything. She would never ask me to leave." I held Quaile's stare, refusing to back down. Finally, her eyes lowered with a weary sigh.

"You are making a very big mistake, Uriah."

"I don't care what you think," I said. I knew my mother would be horrified at my behavior, but I could not stand there for another second listening to Quaile's accusations. Still gripping Claire's hand, I turned and stalked out of the room. Claire was almost running to keep up with me.

"I would never leave you either, Uriah," she said with surety.

I smiled down at her. "I know." Slamming the doors open, I was glad to be free of the cloying chamber. The doors didn't have time to slam back against the frame before Thomas shoved them back open.

"Get your hands off my daughter, Uriah. The Elders said no. You have no right to her now!" He grabbed for Claire's hand, but she lithely pulled it away.

People going about their business in the town glanced in our direction. I stepped toward Thomas, pulling Claire behind me. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I did not want Claire facing down her father quite yet.

"Thomas, calm down. I need to think," I said quickly. None of this made any sense. I had to figure out what to do before I lost control of my own life.

"There's nothing to think about, Uriah. Let go of her, now."

"No. I need to talk to my mom first," I said. She would know what to do.

"Mine too," Claire said. Her father glared at her. She stiffened and glared back. "Have you ever heard of the Elders denying anyone the right to marry on tribal lands?"

Her father hesitated, briefly. "It doesn't matter. Quaile said no, and her word is final."

"I'm going to go with Uriah to speak with Mrs. Crowe, and then we'll come to the house and talk about this with Mom, too. She only wanted us to ask the Elders because it's tradition. She's not going to agree with you," Claire argued. "Don't try to stand in our way, Dad. Uriah won't let you, and you know it!"

I had missed Claire's intensity lately. I couldn't believe she was actually using me as a threat, though. Would I really be able to change his mind again? Things were getting so bizarre and out of control that I didn't know what I was capable of anymore.

"Fine," Thomas growled, "you may go and see Uriah's mother, but get home quickly after that. Don't keep me waiting." He stepped closer to me, his eyes tinged with fury. "If you even think of taking off with my daughter, Uriah, I will call the police and tell them you kidnapped her. I'm still her father and she's still only seventeen."

Claire rolled her eyes and turned away from him. I watched Thomas carefully. Claire's father was not a strong man in morals or physical strength, but he did have significant influence with the local law enforcement. If I did run away with Claire, I might never be able to come back. I knew what that would mean for my mother, as did Thomas. I nodded, showing that I understood the implications, and turned away as well.

Claire pulled me down the street. Her ferocity diminished slowly as the events of the afternoon started to sink in. The walk through town was quiet at first. I kept glancing around me, wondering if the townspeople watching us already knew of the Elder's decision. Word spread quickly in small towns, and despite the changes the casino caused, San Juan was still a small town.

During my early childhood, less than seven hundred people had lived in San Juan. As a child, every adult knew my name and the names of every child in the community. I knew most of the adults' names as well. When the casino was built just outside of town eight years ago, it brought with it a population boom, swelling the town to nearly six thousand. Still much smaller than many other cities, the original San Juan residents were still adjusting to the sudden change.

The main street through town was one of the few areas that had been updated with the arrival of the casino. I walked down the road, taking little notice of the new store signs or the flashy window displays. Regardless of how much San Juan had changed, my life had just been changed even more.

Reaching the outer edge of San Juan, the summer crowds began to lessen and I was able to put the people and town out of my mind. Claire's demeanor changed as well. Her fingers wound more tightly around my hand. Her face turned toward mine.

"Uriah," she began softly, "will you really take me away from here if the Elders won't change their minds?"

Thinking of my mom briefly, I answered, "Yes. I'll find a way for us to be married."

Claire's beautiful smile spread across her face. "I don't believe a word Quaile said, do you?"

In all honesty, I had never believed that Quaile possessed any power other than wisdom from old age, and even that I wasn't sure about. Even now with her strange denial, I could not bring myself to believe she had seen any vision, but I couldn't figure out why she would deny us either. "No. I don't think Quaile can see the future. I just don't understand why she's doing this to us."

"It was probably my dad," Claire said flatly. "He would do just about anything to keep us apart."

"Why does he hate me so much?" I asked.

"Because you make me happy and you've ruined his clever plans for my future," Claire said. She pulled her body closer to mine. "If there's more to it than that, I have no idea what it is."

"He's serious about calling the police if we leave, you know," I said.

Claire's face lost a little of its luster. Her chin dipped, but only for a second before popping back up with a brilliant grin. "I know he is, but he can't keep us apart forever. I turn eighteen in less than three months. After that, we can do whatever we want."

"Three more months isn't so bad," I said with a tempered smile. I would marry Claire right now if I could, but our mothers had been insistent that we wait until Claire graduated from high school. With everyone else against us, I wondered if we could really last until next summer.

"Let's see what my mom says first," I said. "I'm sure your mom will be fine with us getting married still, but my mom really believes in what Quaile says and sees."

"Your mom knows us better than Quaile. She'll side with us," Claire said. Her surety was comforting, but I was still doubtful of what my mom would say.

The day had turned out so different from what I expected when I woke up this morning. First the attack, now this. My thoughts whirled, trying out plan after plan, a different one for every reaction my mom might have. Uncertainty lingered in my mind. How many nights had I gone to bed as a child listening to my mother tell me stories of Twin Souls, legendary warriors, and great shaman of our tribe? She would not pass off Quaile's warning easily. I hoped Claire was right. My mom knew us well. She had to side with us. With everything my mom had been through lately, I couldn't bear to abandon her.

Claire leaned into me, and I held her close. Her head reached only to my shoulder, but her body seemed molded to mine. I held her and wondered how anyone could think we didn't belong together.

# Chapter 17

### Amazing Enough

The rust colored adobe house where my mother lay wounded came into view and our pace quickened. Claire's hand tightened around mine despite her earlier confidence. We crossed the gravel driveway as the sound of Sophia's voice carried through an open window. She was singing. I didn't recognize the song, but the reminder that her gentle healing arts were caring for my mom took a little of the weight off my shoulders.

I was glad Sophia was still at the house. She had said before I left this morning that she would stay with us until my mom got better. It was a lot to ask, though. Having other patients to attend to, it would be a sacrifice to devote so much time to my mom. Her guilt over my dad's death was probably a big motivation. I felt bad playing on her guilt, especially since it was unfounded, but I really did need her help.

Feeling absolutely no guilt about pulling Sophia into our battle with Quaile, I hurried toward the house. I knew she would side with us. She didn't seem to care much for tribal beliefs, and was even less enamored with Quaile. Quaile's opinions on pretty much any matter meant very little to Sophia.

I pushed open the front door, a little less nervous than before. Sophia's song drifted off soothingly when we entered. Keeping her voice to a whisper, she asked, "The Elders weren't too upset that you were late, were they?"

"No," I said shaking my head, "they didn't care about that."

Finding the words to tell her what had happened seemed too challenging as I looked down at my mom. I had been hoping to return with news to cheer her up. Instead I was bringing her one more problem neither of us had the strength to deal with right now.

"Uriah," Sophia said, "what happened?" I didn't look at her right away. It took her soft touch on my shoulder to bring my gaze up to her. Shifting as her eyes fluttered opened, my mom looked up at me and the answer to Sophia's question stuck in my throat. I couldn't tell her.

"Uriah, Claire, what's wrong?" my mom asked. Her weak voice was the only sound in the room. She struggled to prop herself up, but Sophia immediately settled her back down on the pillow.

"You need rest, Lina. Don't try to get up," Sophia commanded.

My mom scowled, but didn't try to get up again. Sophia nodded and sat back in her chair rather than going back to cleaning. She kept both eyes pinned on me, but let my mom ask the question this time. "What happened?"

"The Elders denied us," I said slowly, trying to utter the words without screaming them in anger. My mom's tired face wrinkled in confusion.

Sophia stared at us, her round face hardening into a frown. "They did what?"

"Quaile won't allow us to be married. She said Claire isn't my Twin Soul," I said, anger building again. "As if that even matters. Neither of us actually believes in the old myths anyway. They're just stories to teach kids how to behave better, or fairytales to help them fall asleep at night. I just don't understand why she told us no."

My mom looked down, her hands twisting together as she considered the news. Sophia stood up, scraping her chair across the floor, and stepped closer to Claire and I. "I can't believe she would do that," Sophia spat. "Quaile thinks she is the absolute authority on everything. How dare she tell you that you can't marry Claire."

Sophia and Quaile had never gotten along. Quaile openly disapproved of Sophia's attempt to mix traditional medicine with modern science, and Sophia seemed to consider Quaile's leadership outdated and useless. My mother, however, had the upmost respect for both women. Seeing what Sophia had done for my mom this morning compared to Quaile's actions at the Council House, I was inclined to agree with Sophia. I would never say as much to my mom, though.

"I can't stand that woman," Sophia muttered.

"Sophia, hold your tongue, please. Let me think," my mother said. Her hand moved wearily to her head. Sophia huffed in irritation, but didn't comment again.

I stood with Claire, too upset to sit. I waited, not entirely patient, but also not wanting to rush my mother's decision. Claire fidgeted nervously by my side. I couldn't leave my mom to fend for herself, but I won't give Claire up, either. Finally, my mom looked up at us. I steeled myself for her reaction.

"Uriah, what do you want to do?" she asked.

Surprised by her question, I was slow to answer. Claire squeezed my hand, prompting me to speak. "I want to marry Claire, of course."

My mom smiled. "Yes, I know, dear. How do you plan to accomplish that? Will you wait until the next meeting when the Elders reconvene and ask again, or will you leave?" Her last words came out as a whisper. Tears welled up in her eyes.

My heart sank. Could I really leave? Avoiding the second part of her question, I asked, "Do you really think waiting would help? Would Quaile actually give a different answer next time?"

My mom shook her head slowly. She already knew the answer to that question. Quaile never changed her mind about anything, even when everybody knew she was dead wrong. "Where will you go?" she asked. "Claire is still seventeen. You know she can't get married without her parents' permission. Will you at least wait until she finishes school?"

I looked at Claire. She had the same questions in her eyes. Remembering Thomas's promise, I could only stutter out a quick answer. "I...I don't know."

Walking toward my mom, I kneeled next to the couch. Claire, still keeping a tight grip on my hand, knelt beside me. As much as I wanted to rush off to Santa Fe, I knew I couldn't disappear and leave everything hanging on my mom. "I won't leave you by yourself, Mom. If we can convince Claire's parents to let us get married somewhere else, we'll go and come right back here. If her dad won't agree, we'll decide what to do then. We weren't planning on getting married until next summer anyway, after Claire finishes school, and I think we should stick with that for now. We don't have to rush into anything right now."

I tried desperately to remind myself of that fact. I felt like my world was tumbling out of control, but nothing had to be decided right this moment. Time, at least, was still on my side. Even dealing with Thomas could be managed given enough time and persistence, and whatever else it was I did. "I'm sure Hale will help with the ranch when we go," I said, knowing we would certainly have to leave sooner or later.

"Hale can manage the ranch on his own for a few days," Sophia said. "He's a good kid, trustworthy. I spoke to him already about staying on full time until you're better, Lina."

I flinched at that, thinking of the cost. Having Hale help us out a couple of hours a day was already a stretch on our budget. We would find a way to make it work. I did need the help.

"Thank you, Sophia," I said. I had expected her to side with us immediately. She always disagreed with Quaile, but I knew she was honestly trying to help in any way she could. I appreciated her more than ever.

"Uriah," my mom said quietly, "do you believe in Twin Souls?"

I stared at her. Was she going to tell us no? I considered my words carefully. "I guess, in the literal sense, no. I believe in Twin Souls in the sense that Claire is the only woman I would ever want to be with."

A soft expression crossed my mom's face. Glancing at Sophia, she sighed. Sophia shrugged her shoulders, obviously unconcerned with whatever my mom was thinking. "Twin Souls are real, Uriah, in the literal sense. Sadly, most people will never find their Twin Soul. When a couple goes to the Elders for permission, they think they are going there to make sure that they are Twin Souls, but in fact, the shaman's vision tells her whether either of the individuals will ever actually meet their Twin Soul.

"If the vision shows the shaman that neither person will meet their Twin Soul, she will give them permission to marry. However, if even one of the pair will meet their Twin Soul, the shaman must refuse their request." My mom considered what she had said and perhaps what she had not. Her brows knit together as she struggled with her thoughts. "Did Quaile tell you when you might meet your Twin Souls?"

"No," I said, irritated that we were even discussing it. Hadn't she already given us permission? "All she said was that one day we would meet our Twin Souls and we wouldn't be able to resist them. I don't believe her. I would never do that to Claire, and neither would she."

"It wouldn't even be a choice, Uriah. A Twin Soul is not just the person who is the most perfect choice for you. It is truly the other half of your soul, separated before you were born to this earth. I know you may not believe that, but it's true. I won't stop you and Claire from getting married, but I want you to do it understanding that one day you'll find your Twin Souls and you will abandon each other."

I could feel the heat spreading across my face. My hand tightened around Claire's in anger at my mom's words. "How can you say that? Do you really think I would hurt Claire?"

Her hand reached out and settled gently on my arm. Her face was full of compassion and love. "Uriah, you are one of the most loving and kind people I have ever known. I know you love Claire with all your heart and that you truly believe you would never leave her. I'm just trying to explain that as much as you love Claire, without your Twin Soul your heart can never truly be full."

I didn't understand what she was saying. How could I love someone more than I loved Claire? I would do anything, give up anything for her, including my own life. I would give it willingly. I stared at her with questions there seemed to be no answers for. Why couldn't Claire be my Twin Soul? Maybe Quaile was wrong. I looked at Claire, still pressed against my side. Her face was as uncomprehending as mine.

"Look, none of this Twin Souls nonsense matters to either of us. Will you give us your permission to go to Santa Fe and get married despite the Elder's decision?" I asked.

"Of course I will, Uriah. I wasn't trying to change your mind, just make sure you knew what you were risking," she said. Her voice wavered as she spoke. She was too tired to be dealing with this right now.

"We don't believe it will be a risk, Mrs. Crowe. I feel the same as Uriah. Nothing could separate us from each other," Claire said.

I wondered why my mom believed in Twin Souls so deeply. Most of the tribe members considered it only a superstition, a way to have control over young couples eager to marry. I don't think most of the couples who went to the Elders even knew that they were being checked to see if they were Twin Souls. So much of our beliefs had fallen to the past. Everyone probably just thought they were simply being respectful and asking permission to get married. Twin Souls were only in bedtime stories. Weren't they?

Thinking of how dedicated my parents had always been to each other, I asked "Were you and Dad Twin Souls?"

Even before getting to know Claire's parents, whose relationship was beyond me to understand, I had known that my parents were absolutely devoted to each other. I thought their relationship was what marriage was meant to be, but perhaps there was more to it than that.

A sad smile crossed my mother's face, but only briefly. Her hands folded tightly against her chest. "No, we weren't."

I didn't know what to say. I grew up watching my mom and dad and I knew they loved each other deeply. My dad had doted on my mom, living just to make her happy. My mom had always found joy in helping him and doing what she considered small things to make his life infinitely happier. Was she saying that she wasn't as happy with Dad as it looked like she was? If they were not Twin Souls, I had no idea who else to look for as an example. "How can you really believe that?" I asked her.

The accusing tone in my voice snapped her eyes up to my face, before they settled into a glare. "Do not misunderstand me, Uriah," she said in a voice equally hurt. "I loved your father as much as you love Claire, and he loved me too, but in the face of true Twin Souls, our love was a candle next to the sun." Closing her eyes, my mom calmed her emotions. When she spoke again the anger was gone from her voice.

"I'm sorry, Uriah. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just so tired," she said. Rubbing her forehead briefly, it took a moment before she was able to continue. "Most people have never met true Twin Souls, so they can't be blamed for not knowing the difference. Myself, I was incredibly lucky to have met Twin Souls. You never met them, but your father's parents were true Twin Souls. Before your grandparents died, they came here to live with us so we could take care of them in their final days. The second they stepped through the door I felt it.

"Their love was so strong, everyone around them could feel it, almost see it. They rarely had to speak to each other. They were so in synch that it just wasn't necessary. Both of them often spoke about the sensation they felt when they finally met. Grandma Saqui said she felt such an overwhelming sense of completion when she met Grandpa Chua that she could not imagine her life without him. She felt that she would cease to exist if they were ever separated."

Claire looked up at me, the question clear on her face. Was my mom being overdramatic to make us consider our course more carefully, or was she being serious? I shook my head slowly. I wasn't sure myself. I never knew my dad's parents, so I had no personal witness to their extraordinary love, but my mom never lied or overstepped the truth, even in the smallest degree.

"I was so confused by this," Mom continued, "so I went to Quaile, seeking her wisdom. She confirmed my fears. Your father was not my Twin Soul as I had believed." A tear escaped her eyes, but a deft finger brushed it away.

"I was devastated, but Quaile was quick to reassure me. She told me that, although I would never meet my Twin Soul, your father loved me dearly and would always take care of me. It was her way of saying that he would never meet his Twin Soul either. She said that I should count myself lucky to have been in the presence of true Twin Souls. It was such a rare gift.

"I wasn't sure about that, as it left me feeling so incomplete, but the more I was around them the more I understood. It was an honor to have known them, to know that such true and pure love could exist filled me with joy and hope. And even though I couldn't have that with your father, I came to realize that it didn't matter. Your father made me happy and I knew our love was pure and full, if not as intense as your grandparents' love."

My mom watched our expressions. Mine, at least, was mystified. Why was she telling us this? Even her own words seemed so conflicting, as if she didn't know what she hoped to accomplish with the story. Did she want me to give up because I was not Claire's Twin Soul, or find happiness with Claire despite never being able to share such an intense bond with her?

"When you and Claire fell in love, I hoped she was your Twin Soul. I didn't feel the same in your presence as I had around your grandparents, but I didn't know whether that was something that developed over time or happened instantly," my mom said. "Now we know for certain, but still, I will not stop you from leaving, Uriah. I don't know that I'm right to let you go, but I will not take away your right to choose. You need to be able to choose as least some of what will happen to you in the future. "

"Uh, thanks, I guess." I was so confused. Did she want me to leave, or not? Why tell me about this amazing love she believed I could never have with Claire, if she was fine with me leaving and disobeying the Elders? And what did that last comment mean? It sounded like she was saying there would be some things in my future I wouldn't get to choose. Did that have something to do with my dad's letter? I wished she would just tell me what I needed to know.

I couldn't deal with all of this talk of myths and fantasy. I looked into Claire's eyes and smiled. In all honesty, I didn't care about my mom's story, not in the way she seemed to. I cared about Claire. Even if my Twin Soul walked into the room that very second, I did not believe I would find her so irresistible. I would turn my back, with Claire in my arms.

My mom smiled. My reaction must have been what she was wanting, though I could not understand why. Her whole demeanor lightened and relaxed. Claire leaned closer to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, and holding me tightly. I could tell that my mom's words had disturbed her as well. Would we receive the same cryptic permission from Claire's mother? Or would she just refuse us entirely? It was time to find out.

"Mrs. Crowe, thank you for giving us your permission to get married," Claire said politely. "My parents are waiting for us, though. My dad doesn't want us to go through with this, of course, but we still need to at least get my mother's permission before we decide anything for sure."

"Of course, dear." My mom tried to push herself higher on her pillow, but stopped when pain made her grimace. Instead, she stretched her hands out to my soon-to-be bride. Claire instantly reached out to her. Their embrace was warm, despite the earlier mood.

"It will take you some time to plan everything, but I'll do what I can to help you. Have your mom call me later so we can start planning." Claire smiled at her optimism. I was not quite as enthusiastic. Thomas was a stubborn man, a stubborn man who thought he had won today. It might take more than I could do to convince him this time.

"Thank you, Mom," I said. "I'll come back as soon as we talk to Claire's parents. You just rest and let Sophia help you." Sophia snorted at that. We both knew how well my mom took instruction from anyone but my dad. I knew Sophia was more than capable of keeping her patient in line. Thomas made me nervous. Having Sophia angry with me would honestly scare me.

"Hurry back," my mom said with a smile. "There are so many plans to make." Helping Claire to her feet, I promised we would be back with news as soon as we could. Good news, hopefully. I knew Claire's father was deadly serious when he threatened calling the police if we left without his permission. Claire's shudder revealed her similar thoughts.

"Don't worry, Uriah," Claire said. "Even if my dad tries to fight us on this, I know you'll be able to change his mind. He can't stand up to you anymore than anyone else can."

"I don't know, Claire."

Patient frustration lined her features. "Why don't you believe me about this? I've seen you do it a hundred times. No matter what the problem is, you tell people what to do and they do it. It's worked on my dad before. It will work again."

"It doesn't work on you," I said. That was the most bizarre part of Claire's theory. I didn't want to believe her and accept that there was a part of me that had no explanation, or that I didn't understand, but even stranger was the fact that Claire seemed to be the only person who was absolutely immune to it. I told her to do things, but if she didn't think I was right she just ignored me.

"I don't know why it doesn't work on me," Claire said, "but I know it will work on my dad. You know it will, too. I don't know why you argue with me about this."

"Because it freaks me out. That and the other stuff, it all makes me feel like there's something waiting for me, like I should know something about myself, but I don't," I said. "It scares me."

Claire didn't say anything for a few minutes. All the weird things that had been popping up over the last year bothered her too. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn't figure any of it out. There was something about me that neither of us understood. I just had to hope that whatever it was wouldn't interfere with marrying Claire. That was all I cared about right now.

"My dad will give in," Claire said softly. "I know he will."

"I hope you're right," I said. Maybe I could convince him, but what I really wanted was to have him agree on his own. Thomas looked at me with an expression that clearly said he did not think I was good enough for his daughter, and even though I knew I had no chance of ever proving myself to him, I couldn't help but want his approval. I did not want to start off mine and Claire's life together with a bitter fight between me and her dad.

Claire walked beside me, her usual talkative nature subdued. I tried to forget Thomas as we walked. All too soon Claire's home appeared. The creamy off-white stucco looked brilliant against the deep red terra cotta roof tiles. The lush lawn and rose gardens that surrounded the house were a testament to Sarah Brant's East Coast roots. Few others bothered with so much greenery in the dry Southwestern desert.

Claire stopped at the end of the paved driveway and looked up at me. "Are you ready?"

"No," I said, "but let's go in anyway. It can't be any worse than facing Quaile." Claire just grimaced. We could ignore Quaile and go somewhere else to get married. She might not like us for it, but it wasn't like we had to see her all the time. She could think we were idiots, from a distance, all she wanted. Whether I liked it or not, I was going to be stuck with Thomas for the rest of my life. One way or the other.

"You'll convince him. Everything will be fine," Claire said. She pulled me toward her home, but as we approached the door even Claire paused. "But if it isn't, just remember that I turn eighteen in three months. We can make it three months. If we absolutely have to."

"Are you doubting me, now?" I asked. "This was your theory. You can't doubt me now."

She laughed and kissed me. "Not doubting, just wishful thinking."

"What?"

"My dad saying no would be the only thing that would make you willing to go against our mom's and run off with me to Santa Fe," Claire said. "And I, for one, would be more than happy to marry you in October instead of next August."

I couldn't keep myself from smiling.

She tried to keep her playful grin but it slowly turned more serious. "But seriously, Uriah, you can do this. I know you can. I don't know why, or how, but there is something truly amazing and special about you. It scared me at first, but whatever this is, it feels important. You can't hide from it anymore."

"But I don't want to be special or amazing, Claire. I just want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. For me, that's amazing enough. You are the most important thing in my life." I didn't want whatever this other stuff was. I was just a rancher, and hopefully someday a veterinarian, too, but that was all I ever wanted to be. I didn't want strange abilities or vague warnings about my future. I wanted to make Claire happy and raise my sheep. Why was that so much to ask?

Every trace of her smile was gone, now. Claire held my face in her hands and held me in her gaze. I had never seen her look so serious before. This wasn't a theory or joke to tease me with anymore. Our future together was in jeopardy. "If you want to marry me," Claire said, "then you're going to have to embrace this other side of you, because nothing short of you forcing my dad into letting us get married is going to work."

I nodded and reached for the door. It was time to see what I could really do.

# Chapter 18

### The Chance to Fight

"Absolutely not! I will never allow it, Sarah."

"Sit down, Thomas." Sarah Brant's voice was calm, but edged with steel. This same fight had raged for weeks once already. We had all thought it was over, but not anymore. Thomas sat down with a huff. Sarah's icy glare melted away, replaced by a sweet smile when she turned back to me and Claire. I shifted on the pale pink, antique couch.

"I have a few questions for both of you before I decide," she said.

There was no point for Sarah to even try to make Thomas see reason. That was blatantly apparent. Him, I would deal with in a moment, but I wanted Sarah to give her approval freely. The fight she had just put up for us was a good indicator. Thomas undoubtedly saw Quaile's refusal as his chance to change his wife's mind, but Sarah was not about to budge for a myth she didn't even believe in. She respected tradition, but I doubted she would let it interfere with Claire's happiness. As much as Thomas ignored and belittled Claire, Sarah doted on her.

Sarah would make her own decision and Thomas would be forced to live with the knowledge that he had tried to stop us. "When we first discussed you two getting married, you were planning on waiting until next summer, after Claire graduates. Those are still your plans?"

Claire and I nodded in unison, but Claire's hesitation told me that she was thinking of her eighteenth birthday just like I was. Her mother smiled at our half-hearted response and continued.

"Now, I am fully aware that the only reason you are even asking our permission is because Claire is still only seventeen and can't get married without one of us signing for her. Otherwise, I suspect you two might have been on your way to Santa Fe by now."

I could feel my face heating up, which brought another knowing smile from Sarah.

"If Claire had already graduated, I would be happy to sign for her, but she still has another year of school left. Even though Claire turns eighteen in October, I would still like you to wait until next summer to get married. Are you honestly both okay with that?" she asked.

"Of course, Mom," Claire said quickly. "As long as we know you're behind us, we can wait until next summer." Her mother's gaze fell on me.

"Yes, Mrs. Brant. We're both willing to wait until next summer. I don't want anything to interfere with Claire finishing high school," I said. I meant it, even though I hated making the promise. Claire and I were going to have to make some new friends if we were going to get through the next year. With Tyler and Lana leaving in two weeks, I had a feeling we might need a few distractions as the days wore on.

"Wonderful," Sarah said. Her smile widened.

"You can't give them permission by yourself, Sarah. I am the head of this family," Thomas said. A quick look from his wife cut off his arguing. Thomas's money and power worked on a lot of people, but Sarah wasn't one of them.

"Now, Uriah, darling, while I have the upmost respect for Miss Quaile and Tewa traditions, I would be thrilled to give you my permission to be married outside of the tribal lands. As for Thomas, he may still need some convincing."

Still wary of Thomas's anger, I kept my eyes carefully trained on Sarah. "Thank you, Mrs. Brant."

"Don't think you've won anything, Uriah. My influence goes well beyond San Juan Pueblo," Thomas threatened. "I will never give my blessing for you and Claire to get married."

That was it.

"Yes, you will." I had sat and listened to him criticize me and point out all my faults for two hours. I was sick of it.

"What...what did you say?" Thomas stuttered. "I won't."

His voice was dangerously weak, but I had actually expected him to just agree right away.

"You heard me, Thomas. I said that you will give us your permission." His face was pale, but his jaw was tight enough to crush the teeth right out of his skull. "This is what Claire wants. She wants me. You have no right to tell her she can't marry me."

Thomas still wasn't ready to give in. "Claire doesn't know what this will do to her. She doesn't know. I can't let her marry you!" Thomas said.

"Why not?"

"Because I know who you are! You aren't right for her. You're only going to hurt her."

"I'm not going to hurt her," I argued. "And what do you mean, you know who I am? That's the second time you've said that to me. What do you know?"

Thomas choked on the breath he had just taken. "Nothing! I mean, I just meant that I know you aren't the right person for her. Don't ask me to let Claire marry you when I know it isn't right. Quaile told you this wasn't right."

I didn't understand whether he was honestly talking about me not being Claire's Twin Soul, or not. That couldn't have been what he meant the first time he said it, but I had no idea what he might mean if that wasn't it. Did he have the answers Claire and I had been looking for? Did that have something to do with why he hated me so much? I doubted he would want to tell me if he did know anything, but if I could get him to let us get married, maybe I could find out what he was hiding, too. His permission first, though.

I was so tired of dealing with him. "Thomas, I'm not going to waste any more time arguing with you. You know that Claire should get to choose who she marries. You know it! Give us your permission, now, and I don't want to hear another word about it from you," I said.

He looked absolutely sick. He knew I was right. The fight to control his daughter's life drained out of him. "You'll regret this, Uriah. You'll figure out one day what a mistake this is. But if you really want it, you have it. You have my permission to marry Claire. You knew you would get it anyway," he said, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "At least you gave me the chance to fight it."

Thomas sunk down into his chair. He knew he would give in. Did he know about Claire's theory, or was it just experience that had taught him? Or maybe it was part of what he refused to tell me. He knew something about me, and I was going to find out what it was.

It took a few moments for what had just happened to sink in for Claire and Sarah. Claire's reaction was a little more active than mine. She jumped out of her chair and ran over to her mom. The ecstatic hug knocked Sarah into the back of her chair, but didn't diminish either of their excitement. "Oh, thank you," Claire gushed. There weren't going to be any hugs for her dad.

After extracting herself from the strangling hug, Sarah turned a slightly bewildered look back to her husband. I couldn't help but follow it. "Thomas, why don't you go and get some tea from the kitchen? We should drink to our daughter's good news, and since they're not old enough for anything stronger, tea will have to do."

I watched as the scowl on his face suddenly brightened at the mention of the tea. My thoughts clouded immediately. I doubted that he really liked tea enough to overwhelm his dislike for me. Perhaps he was just glad to get away from me before I made him agree to anything else. Claire brought my attention back to her with a crushing hug.

"Oh, I'm so relieved," she said. "I was actually kind of worried for a moment there, but I should have known you would handle him and make him see that he isn't in charge of who I marry any more than Quaile is. Now we don't have to wait the year, at least. I'd rather we got married in June anyway. Maybe things will still work out for the best regardless of Quaile."

I was, of course, just as thrilled as Claire was that her parents wouldn't stand in our way, but when her dad returned, still wearing his strangely optimistic expression, I found it hard to return her enthusiasm. Nobody else seemed to notice Thomas's odd behavior. Claire was back at her mother's side discussing a date for the wedding. Slowly, Thomas set the tray on the small, elegant table between him and his wife.

He passed out the dainty cups, though not with the ease of a practiced hostess that his wife possessed. I took a small sip of the tea after watching Thomas take a drink from his own cup. I really had no idea what he might do. I seriously doubted that his efforts to keep Claire away from me were over.

"Claire?" Sarah's voice sounded slightly off. "Claire, darling, are you all right?"

Tea sloshed over my hand as I snapped around to look at her. Stunned by the look on her face, the cup slipped to the floor, my hand reaching out to clasp Claire's. "Claire, what's wrong?" The color in her face was fading rapidly. Her hand stiffened and seemed to lose its heat. "Claire," I called, my voice tight and shaky. "Claire, please look at me. Tell me what's wrong."

Her entire body crumpled, falling back into the chair. Sarah screamed and flew to her daughter's side. She began tapping her face gently, calling her name, pleading with Claire to answer. My mind cleared in an instant and my fury rose, lifting me out of the chair. I turned to Thomas. His superior smirk disappeared quickly as he jumped out of his seat.

"What did you do to her?" I yelled. He moved to grab the phone, but I snatched his hand from his side and held it, feeling his knuckles grind together sickeningly. His stuttering denials didn't even reach my ears. I squeezed harder. His pleas changed into frightened squeals. "What was in her tea?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Sarah Brant's furious gaze snapped to her husband. There was no doubt in her mind that Thomas was responsible for the scene before us. Unwilling to leave her daughter's side, the accusation in her voice was more painful than anything I had done. "Thomas Brant, you explain yourself this instant, or I will call the police myself!"

I pulled the quivering man closer, twisting his arm painfully to bring him within inches of my face. Words escaped me now. The blood thudding through my veins urged me to snap the pitiful man in half. He must have seen what was coming.

"Zarafen gave it to me," he cried out. This did little to ease his pain.

"Shaxoa," Sarah hissed.

"The witch?" I yelled. I couldn't believe that Thomas would even risk speaking her name, let alone actually going to her. I knew Zarafen dealt in many things Quaile would curse as evil, but until this night, until I saw my precious Claire fall silent and still, I didn't actually believe in her potions or curses.

The mention of the evil woman's name was enough to tear Sarah from Claire's side. She flew at her husband in a rage. Her small fists beat at his face and body. I did nothing to stop her. "How could you?" she screamed. "She's your daughter, you monster. How could you do this to her?"

As if Thomas was just now seeing Claire, his body sagged. "Is she...dead?"

"No," Sarah spat. Her gaze was still livid, but she seemed to realize that action was more important than dealing with her husband at that moment. "I can't wake her, though. What did you give her? Tell me the truth, Thomas, or you may not live long enough to regret lying to me." I only half doubted her threat.

"Shaxoa Zarafen, she said that it would make her forget Uriah, that she would only want her Twin Soul. She never said it would hurt her. I promise you I would never harm Claire, not on purpose," he said, his voice pleading for understanding. He found none.

Slapping her husband across the face, Sarah turned away from him with disgust. "We need to get Claire to Sophia," Sarah said quickly.

"She's with my mom," I said. I was still holding Thomas captive.

"Good. Take Claire to your house so Sophia can look at her. Perhaps she'll know what to do to help her," Sarah said, pulling me toward Claire's body.

Forcing myself to release Thomas's arm, I knelt next to Claire. Her lifeless expression tore at me. "Don't worry, Claire," I said, "everything will be okay." I reached down and slid my arms under her body, nearly blacking out when I did. The pain was back. I thought it was gone, that losing my dad was horrible enough to make touching Claire seem inconsequential. The idea of losing Claire was enough to bring it all back. It felt even worse than before. Her small frame felt so light in my arms. I cradled her to my chest, feeling her slow and steady heartbeat.

"Hurry, Uriah. Get her to Sophia." Rounding on her husband, I could hear the venom in her voice as she spoke. "Thomas, you and I will go find Quaile. If Sophia can't help, I think Quaile might be able to tell us what's happening. The Elders can deal with you later." Thomas reached out for Claire with a shaking hand. Sarah pushed him away, hard enough to send him sprawling into a chair. If I hadn't been cradling Claire, I wouldn't have let him off so easy. My hands were itching to slam into his face.

"Get your hands away from her. You'll never set a finger on her again if I have anything to say about it, Thomas," I growled. The man sobbed quietly. Disgusted by him, Sarah turned away.

Pushing a set of car keys into my hand, Sarah squeezed my arms tightly. The fear and worry in her voice made me tremble as she spoke. "Take care of her, Uriah. We'll bring Quaile as quickly as we can." Her shaking hands pushed me out the door.

I ran.

The black SUV was only a few feet from the door, but my steps seemed slow and unnatural. Reaching the passenger's door in a haze, I gently settled Claire into the seat, strapping the belt around her limp form. I barely noticed anything as I climbed into the driver's side except Claire's steady pulse.

The rocky unpaved roads made the journey twice as long as it should have been. Avoiding potholes, and scraping over the uneven ground, I raced through San Juan. Townspeople stared as I flew past them. A few called after me, but I ignored them. I had wasted so much time being afraid to talk to Claire. One year with her wasn't enough. This couldn't be the end for us. Sophia would help her. She had to. I focused on each of Claire's heartbeats as I drove, terrified that the next one would be her last.

# Chapter 19

### No Other Way

Sophia cried out in surprise when I slammed the door of the house open. My sleeping mom was startled awake. Her hand flew to her mouth when she saw the burden I carried. Stumbling into the room, I stopped. My mom was lying on the only piece of furniture currently in the room. Dad's overstuffed recliner that used to be in the corner had been moved out to the garage because neither of us could bear to use it. I stood staring, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, Sophia was there, rescuing me from my stupor.

"Lay her down, Uriah. Hurry," she demanded.

I looked down, realizing Sophia had already set out several woven blankets and a pillow on the floor. Carefully, I dropped to my knees and laid Claire's still body on the hastily made bed. The pain slipped away and my strength returned immediately, leaving me lightheaded.

"What happened, Uriah?" Sophia asked.

The words stuck in my throat as I tried to force myself to say out loud what had happened. "He poisoned her," I croaked. Falling to my knees, I slipped my arms around Claire's body. I didn't care about the pain. It was the only thing keeping me sane.

"What?" both my mother and Sophia asked in unison.

"Thomas. He went to Zarafen." Both women hissed at the mention of her name. "She gave him a potion to make her forget me. I guess he put it in her tea, and a second later she looked like this," I said. My words tumbled out, nearly incoherent. "She's so still." My hand brushed her hair back gently. My lips touched her forehead. _Open your eyes_ , I silently pleaded.

"Her heart is beating," Sophia said trying to comfort me.

I nodded my head. That was the only thing I did know. Even still, my hand slipped down to her slender wrist. Feeling the gentle flow of her blood overpowered the pain and held back my tears. How long could she stay like this? "Can you help her?"

"I'll try," she said. I heard the uncertainty in the healer's voice. Closing my eyes, I begged whatever god would listen to save her. My parents had never held too closely with any sort of religious devotion outside the tribal beliefs, so I called on the ones I was familiar with now.

The minutes dragged by as Sophia prepared herbs for teas and retrieved chemical solutions in little glass bottles from her bag. Until my mom's shaking hand touched my shoulder, I didn't even realize she had moved from her sick bed. I looked in her eyes and saw such fear, worse even than when she had lain in the grip of the cougar's jaws. I knew she shouldn't be up. I needed her near me, though. Her injured leg stuck out at an awkward angle, but she draped her arm around my shoulders, holding me steady when I feared I was slipping away with every faint beat of Claire's heart.

Sophia crouched beside Claire and began applying her healing herbs and piercing her skin with needles. I watched, hoping for some response in her limp body. The smells mingled, strong enough to sting my eyes, but did nothing to rouse my precious Claire. I watched the clock hands tick by, counting the long minutes as Sophia worked. Nothing changed. I started to wonder what was taking Claire's parents so long to get back with Quaile. Perhaps Quaile wouldn't come after we refused to follow her council. My breathing grew more ragged as I felt hope sliding away from me.

"Uriah."

"Uriah," Sophia called more urgently. "Calm down, child. Let go of her wrist. You're squeezing it too tightly."

Startled, I released my grip, but not feeling her heart beat under my fingertips was too much to ask of me. I replaced my hand, careful of the pressure I applied, ignoring the unnatural pain that assaulted me. A sharp rap on the door was followed quickly by the familiar creak of its hinges.

"How is she, Sophia?" Sarah asked, rushing to her daughter's side. Kneeling next to Claire, she looked expectantly at Sophia.

"She's no different from when Uriah got here with her. I don't know what's keeping her unconscious," she admitted. A pang of terror struck me.

"Your herbs will do no good," Quaile said shakily.

Her voice was normally so sure and strong. The tremor of fear I heard now was absolutely stunning. I stared back at her and realized Claire's father was huddling in the doorway. The urge to grab him and inflict the pain I was feeling back on him was almost too strong to resist. Going after him meant letting go of Claire.

Sophia's indignant huff drew my gaze. "How can you know...?"

"I do not doubt your skill, Healer," Quaile's voice interrupted, "but this is no disease or sickness. Neither herbs nor Anglo medicine will cure her. This is magic stronger than I believed Zarafen capable of."

"What do you mean?" Sophia asked.

I was shocked that she didn't argue about Quaile's claim of magic. While Sophia did not hold with many of the modern medical practices, despite being a nurse, she was still a practical woman. Her herbs, she argued were given to us by the gods to use for healing. There was nothing magical in them. It was the natural way to heal wounds and sickness. I had always thought that her anger towards Quaile was that she claimed some pathway to mystical power. I wondered now how Sophia accepted the idea of magic so easily.

"I have heard of this potion, but I've never seen it used before. I would not have thought anyone foolish enough to try it," Quaile said. Her fiery gaze was leveled at Thomas. He cowered under her stare, backing away until he reached the far wall. "Zafaren told Thomas that the potion would make Claire forget Uriah. That is true, in a way. What the potion has done is cast the child into a deep sleep, from which she will not awaken without being given the antidote."

"There's an antidote?" My voice cracked as I spoke, but I felt such unbelievable relief. I stroked Claire's cheek and a soft sigh escaped her lips. Whatever was necessary, Claire would have the cure.

"Yes, there is," Quaile said slowly.

"Well, tell us what it is, woman. We're not here for theatrics," Sophia said harshly.

"The antidote is very simple. Mint, rosemary, and lavender steeped in a tea, but," Quaile said, raising a finger to quiet Sophia's interruption, "the tea must be...administered by her Twin Soul, or else it will not work."

"That's it?" Sophia said. There was a searching question in her dark eyes. "All her Twin Soul has to do is give it to her? There must be more to it than that."

"Do not question me, Sophia," Quaile said. "Claire's Twin Soul is the only one who can save her. Nothing else will work." Her voice was surprisingly shrill and tight as she spoke.

"No," I said, "you're only saying that to make me give up on Claire. I won't do it! Sophia, hurry up and mix the tea." I waited expectantly for Sophia to move, but she stood, twisting her hands silently.

"I've already tried giving her those herbs, Uriah. They did nothing."

"Uriah, I am not trying to trick you about this. I would not do that. I would not have tried to stop you from taking Claire away from the tribe to marry her, either. I only tried to warn you of the consequences," she said. A weary hand crossed her face, as if brushing away unpleasant thoughts. "Uriah, I am telling you the truth. Claire will stay asleep without the antidote, but this is not a natural sleep. Claire's soul is locked away from her body by the potion, and without her soul, her body will waste away as her mind dreams of her Twin Soul. Uriah, if you do not find her Twin Soul in time, Claire will die."

The room was absolutely silent except for a quick sob from Thomas. I had heard every Twin Soul story there was growing up. I knew exactly what would happen if Claire's Twin Soul was brought here. "But," I began, struggling to find the words I needed, "if I find her Twin Soul and let him give her the herbs, she'll belong to him. She'll forget about me."

"Yes," Quaile said. There was no satisfaction in her voice. "I am asking you to give Claire up in order to save her life."

The words sunk in slowly. How many times had I said to myself that I would do anything for Claire? Never, had I even considered that I would be asked to give her to another man. But how could I refuse? I couldn't sit by and watch her die. The words stuck in my throat. I couldn't bring myself to say it. Was there no other way?

"Where is he?" I asked, my rigid throat barely letting the words slip out. I heard my mother start to cry. Her quiet sobs shuddered against my shoulder. Sophia muttered something under her breath that definitely did not sound complimentary. Sarah lowered her head, level with mine, her eyes pleading.

"I...I'm not sure," Quaile said.

Sophia growled at the elderly woman.

"I mean," Quaile corrected, "I do not know where he is right now, but as Claire weakens he'll be drawn to her. He'll want to save her. In my vision, I saw Claire meeting him in Tucson, Arizona. I don't know if he will be there now, but it's a place to start, at least."

A place to start? The Tucson area held more than one million people. And what if he wasn't even there? Where was I supposed to go next? Hopelessness washed over me.

My gaze was pulled back to Claire. I stroked her soft hair. It had fallen in rolling waves, swept to one side of her face. Her expression was surprisingly peaceful. She really did look as if she were simply sleeping. If only she would wake up. Running my fingers along her jaw as I had done many times before, fresh tears slipped down my face. Strangling fear gripped me as I wondered if this would be the last time I would touch her so fondly. I gently kissed her lips, my tears wetting her copper skin.

Reluctantly, I pulled back from her. I stood and turned away from Claire, unable to look at her any longer, not if I would only have to give her up. "Sophia, will you talk to Hale about helping out on the ranch while I'm gone?"

Sophia nodded. I trusted her. I needed her right now. I was leaving so much behind.

"My truck has to stay here. It's the only vehicle we have and Hale needs it to do the work on the ranch." I had to leave. There was no telling how long Claire might have. I had to leave right now, but there was so much standing in my way.

"Take one of our vehicles," Thomas said. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard, but the desperation behind his words was deafening.

I nodded curtly. I wasn't about to thank him, not when all of this was his fault. Sophia returned from the kitchen. I hadn't even seen her leave. She carried a bulging pack and canteen. Shoving them into my arms, she tried to remain stoic, but worry shone in her eyes. The canteen sloshed as I accepted the packages with my thanks. "Go and change your clothes," she ordered, "I'll gather whatever else I can find."

I looked down, realizing that I still wore my ceremonial clothing. Had it really only been earlier that afternoon that Claire and I stood before Quaile? Dazed by the flood of events, I carefully set the food and water down. Somehow my feet carried me to my room. I undressed in haste, though I felt as if time had slowed to a hazy crawl. I was leaving. I was leaving my injured mother and my poisoned fiancée behind.

When I reemerged from the room, clothed in my regular work clothes once again, the scene had changed considerably. The old recliner had been pulled out of the garage and covered with blankets and pillows. I was thankful for the blanket covering it. It was still hard to look at that chair and not feel the pain of my dad's death.

My mom was resting in the chair, her injured leg propped up carefully under a pile of pillows. Claire's body had been moved from the floor to the couch, closer to the fire. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat. It made her look more alive.

"Cole is on his way with a car. He should be here soon," Sarah said. She gripped my hand and held me with her eyes. "Maybe Quaile is wrong about losing Claire to this other man. You have to have hope, Uriah."

My jaw tightened to keep it from quivering like a scared child. Burying her face in my chest, I could feel her tears dampening my shirt. My arms instinctively wrapped around her small shoulders. "I won't let her go without a fight," I said.

Sarah pulled away from me with a firm smile. Handing me my pack of food and supplies, she said, "I know you won't, Uriah. And neither will she."

I went to my mom next. Looking up at me, her face was hard. She was scared. I was sure that my own expression mirrored hers. I wanted to apologize to her for leaving, tell her it would be okay, but her eyes told me it was unnecessary. She knew my fears and regrets because she shared them.

"Go, Uriah. I'll be fine. Hale is a good worker, and Sophia will stay with me as long as I need her. Go." I knelt by her side and wrapped her in my arms. "Just be careful. There's no telling what you might come across out there," she said gravely. "Come back to me. Come back to Claire." Not wanting to stay in the room any longer, I turned to face the door. I needed to leave, but my feet denied my desires and carried me back to my precious Claire.

Leaning close to her, I whispered, "I love you." My lips touched hers for a brief second before the pain was too great and I bolted out the door.

# Chapter 20

### A Chance

The air flowed into my lungs more easily outside. I looked around, hoping to see Cole on his way with one of his family's vehicles. The night was quiet and the moon revealed every rock in the road. I stood in the driveway staring down the uneven dirt road. Shouldn't Cole have gotten here by now? Taking a step toward the road, I decided to go after him. The seconds ticking away were precious heartbeats Claire could not spare.

"Uriah," a tired voice called out. "I need to speak with you before you go."

"Quaile?"

"Uriah, there was more to my vision this morning than I told you at the Council House," she said.

I stopped, waiting for her explanation.

"I have known you since your birth. I was there. Did you know that?" she asked. I shook my head. "No? Well, I was. I try to attend the birth of every child in the tribe."

I shrugged impatiently. Was this important, considering the situation? She nodded as if reading my thoughts.

"Sometimes when I attend a birth I am given a glimpse of the infant's future," she said. "Your birth was especially unique for me. Usually if I see anything, I see only a few random images, if any tragedy will befall the person, when they will die, who they marry, major events that will affect them. But you, your birth was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

"As you took your first breath I was swept up in a vision so strong it left me with no strength afterward. I saw you as a young man fighting your way through thick forests. I could not tell what was attacking you, but they were more than mere animals or even men. You were searching for something, but you could not get away from your enemies.

"There was such strength in you. The evil beings were terrified of what you might do, and were conspiring to stop you. Then, suddenly, the vision changed. You were standing in a barren valley, surrounded by beasts and monsters. A man stood on a hill above you laughing as if he had gone mad, holding a young woman, daring you to rescue her."

"Claire?" I asked, enraptured by her vivid story.

"No. I have never seen the woman before," Quaile said.

I wanted to push her out of the way and tell her to quit wasting my time. "Then what does all of this matter?" I needed to get out of here.

"I do not know, Uriah. I don't fully understand the dreams, but one thing was made clear to me, today, when you approached the Elders. The same vision repeated this morning with one small difference. It began with you taking the first steps of this journey to save Claire's life. I did not know that Claire would be poisoned today. I only saw her injured and in need. If you leave tonight, you will be setting yourself on the path the vision foretold. There is more to you than you could ever have imagined. This journey will reveal that to you," the shaman said. "This decision will change your life, Uriah. You will not be able to turn back once you begin."

"I don't care, Quaile," I said, exasperated with the entire conversation. "What would you like me to do, stay here and let Claire die?"

"Of course not. I am merely trying to warn you. My vision held many dangers, physical and otherwise. There are good reasons why so few find their Twin Soul. There are forces in this world that will do anything to keep Twin Souls apart forever. You should not walk into that kind of situation blindly," she said. Her withered frame leaned heavily on her cane. Quaile's eyes closed for a second and she sighed as if finally letting go of a heavy burden. I couldn't understand the relevance of what she had just told me.

Clenching my jaw in frustration, I took several deep breaths. Warn me? What exactly had she warned me about? I might end up in the middle of a forest, or fighting hoards of evil beasts to rescue a woman I had never met. How did that help me? I was still as blind as I was before she told me of her cryptic vision. I'd had more than enough of this woman for one day.

"Quaile," I said through clenched teeth, "thank you for your warning. I intend to leave tonight, regardless. If you have any useful information that will help me save Claire, her Twin Soul's name, maybe, I would be more than happy to hear it."

Her wrinkled eyes narrowed and her lips thinned into an irritated line. As nice as I thought I had been, Quaile didn't seem to appreciate my tone. Prideful and frustrating to the end, that was Quaile. Blowing out a breath I had been holding without realizing, my stance softened. Obviously accepting the change as the only apology she was going to receive, Quaile touched my shoulder gently.

"I'm sorry that you have to do this, Uriah. If there was anyone in this world who deserved a life of peace and joy, it would be you. You have always been such a strong and kind young man," she said. Pausing, she reached into her pocket and drew a thin line of dark string out. "Claire's Twin Soul does not have to see her to complete the connection. All he has to do is touch some part of her."

Gently, she laid the token in my hand. The cold strands tickled my palm as I realized it was not a simple string, but a strand of Claire's hair.

"If he touches this, he will come. He will have to come. His name is Daniel."

I wanted to throw the strand away, wanting nothing that would seal Claire's fate. My hand sat open, though, and I stared at the lock of hair. Could it really be that simple? One touch, and Claire would forget every kiss, every caress we had shared, and every dream we held deep in our hearts. Would she even notice my heart breaking and falling at her feet?

"Perhaps," Quaile said softly, "you will not need this. Maybe you will convince him to come without it and find a way to keep the connection from forming. There may still be hope."

Though her words were optimistic, the quiver in her voice revealed her true feelings. Unfortunately, that was exactly what I was hoping to do, save Claire without losing her forever. My hope was barely more than Quaile's, but I was clinging to it fiercely. "I won't lose her," I said. Her expression melted into a mask of pity. Wanting to shake the look off her face, I instead simply said, "Thank you, Quaile."

The shaman's lips parted, about to speak again when the purr of an engine reached us. Quaile grimaced, disturbed by the interruption. Turning away from her, I walked closer to the road. Cole wasn't far away, now. I silently pleaded with him to hurry. Glancing back toward the house, I jumped when I realized Quaile was still standing behind me.

"Just be careful, Uriah," she whispered, then turned and headed back into the house.

Her quick departure made me pause. Knowing that she had wanted to say more, I wondered about what had been left out. Was there more to the vision? Stepping toward the house, I wanted to ask her for the whole truth. The scattering of rocks and cut of an engine stopped me.

# Chapter 21

### Unwanted Companion

"Uriah," Cole called out. "What's going on? My dad said Claire was sick, or something, and told me to bring you something to drive. I came as fast as I could."

Forgetting the frustrating shaman, my direction changed, rushing over to the massive truck Cole was climbing out of. Thomas's Dodge Ram Mega Cab was his pride and joy. A part of me was thrilled to be taking it away. I held my hand out for the keys, but was quickly stalled when Cole snorted at my request. Claire's brother or not, I really wanted to punch him. What was I supposed to drive then?

"Yeah right, Uriah. My dad would die if I let you take his truck," Cole said. Shutting the cab door, he hurried around to the truck bed. Moonlight glinted off the smooth curves of a Harley Davidson Sportster. Thomas had made such a big deal about the bikes a few weeks ago when he brought them home. Accusing him of being in the throes of a mid-life crisis, Sarah had thrown a fit. They had not been allowed to leave the garage yet. Happy to cause Thomas pain of any kind, a rueful smile snuck onto my face.

Cole had the bike unloaded before I was done enjoying my small moment of vengeance. Tossing me a helmet, he asked, "So what's going on?"

Forgetting the bike immediately, my gaze turned back toward the house. "Claire was poisoned," I said, unable to come up with any better word for the situation. "I have to go find someone who can help her." Snatching the keys from Cole's hand, I climbed onto the bike and brought the engine to life.

"Poisoned?" Cole asked. "By who?"

"Your father," I growled before kicking away the stand and twisting the clutch. Not used to such rough treatment, the bike leapt forward when I slammed the gas down as far as it would go. Leaning into the wind, I kept the sleek bike running hard. The cool night air rushed into my face and lungs. I struggled to clear my head, to force away thoughts of Thomas's betrayal. It wasn't until I heard a second roar coming up behind me that I eased up on the gas. Cole's voice crackled in my ear through a set of speakers wired into the helmet.

"Damn it, Uriah, you're going to overheat the engine before we even get off the reservation if you don't ease up. They're not used to running so hard. There not used to running at all, actually."

Slowing my pace, I stared at Cole in confusion. I forgot Thomas had brought home two of the motorcycles, thinking he would be forgiven if he claimed it was for father-son bonding. "What are you doing?" I asked.

Cole's eyebrows rose. His shoulders shrugged as if I had just asked him why the sky was blue. "I'm coming with you," he said as if the answer should have been perfectly obvious.

Eyeing the pack strapped behind his seat, I realized what had taken him so long to get to my house. He had taken the time to pack extra clothes before running off. I doubted there was anything useful in the pack. As usual, Cole was more concerned about staving off boredom, and looking good while doing it, than being on time. I sighed. That was harsh. Cole didn't deserve my anger, though he was still plenty irritating.

After admitting to myself this afternoon that I could make people do what I wanted I decided I should try very hard not to tell people to do anything, just ask them. I was willing to put that on hold for Cole. Picking the pace back up, I turned on Cole. "Don't be such an idiot. I barely have enough supplies for myself, and I'm not even sure where I'm going. Your parents need you. Go back," I said firmly.

Cole was only about eight months older than me, but his pampered lifestyle as Thomas Brant's only son had always made him seem much younger. There was no way I was letting him tag along behind me the whole way. Seeing that he was still following, I came to an abrupt halt. The bike fishtailed and nearly threw me to the ground. Cole slowed as well, driving back a few yards to stop beside me.

"I'm not going back, Uriah," he said. The fact that he didn't just turn around surprised me, and ticked me off. His easy nonchalance irritated me even more than usual.

"I am not asking you to turn back, Cole, I'm telling you. You are not coming with me." I moved to start riding again, but Cole quickly steered his bike in front of me. "Stop being a jerk, Cole. I'm not babysitting you so you can get out from under your dad's eye for a few days."

Swinging his leg around, Cole stepped off his bike and sauntered over to me. Why wasn't he listening? I told him to go home, but he was still arguing with me. Was there some kind of obnoxiousness filter I couldn't break through with him? Cole planted himself in front of me with a smirk. His casual arrogance electrified my mind. Ready to push him out of my way, I didn't even realize Cole was moving until a sharp pain slammed into my face. I felt air rushing past me as I fell backward. The bike came with me. Crashing into the rock strewn ground blasted the air from my lungs.

I was laid out on the ground, gasping for breath, watching the stars swim in frenzied circles. I tried to pull myself up, ready to launch a fist at my unwanted companion, when I realized six hundred pounds of motorcycle had pinned my leg to the ground. Cole waited for me to ask him to help me up. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. Straining against the metal, I heaved it up in one swift push. Cole's jaw dropped. Watching Cole's smirk disappear made the pain in my leg inconsequential. Using the bike for support, I started to stand up.

The glint of black steel under Cole's light jacket stopped me cold.

"I'm not leaving," Cole said fiercely, unaware of what I had seen.

"Where the hell did you get that?" I said, still shocked by the look of violence etched in his features.

Cole stopped, confused by my angry question. Following my gaze, he realized what I was staring at. "Did you even bring a weapon?" Cole asked.

"What are you talking about? Why would I need to bring a gun? I'm just going to find some guy that can help Claire," I said. Every minute I spent talking was time I wasn't looking for Claire's Twin Soul. "I don't plan on killing anybody along the way, Cole. I don't need your help. Especially not that kind of help."

"If you think you can just wander through the desert alone, with no weapon, you're a fool," Cole said. His tone was dark.

I suddenly wondered why I was listening to him. Cole knew nothing more of the world outside the reservation than I did. Traveling to Santa Fe once or twice a week with his dad hardly qualified him to give me advice on the dangers of travelling alone. My finger raised, I voiced my demand one more time.

"Go home, now, Cole."

"You're not the only one who loves her, Uriah." Pure determination was etched in his face. His sister was in trouble, and he was going to help. Maybe his obnoxiousness wasn't what was keeping him from listening to me. Cole's hands swung down fluidly, out and away from his body, turned up in a peaceful gesture.

The immature, flighty Cole I thought I knew had disappeared, replaced by this determined rescuer, casually carrying a gun and speaking of the dangers of the road. I had wondered whether this was about Claire as much as a chance to get away. There wasn't any doubt anymore. Suddenly Cole's talk of danger reminded me of another's warning. It had only been a few minutes earlier that Quaile stood before me, warning me of wars and beasts. I hadn't even considered needing a weapon before rushing away. What else had Cole planned for that I hadn't?

"Fine," I said, my anger dissipated somewhat. Calmly nodding his thanks, Cole sauntered over to my bike and held a hand out to me. I took it and pulled myself back up. Having Cole along with me still didn't make me very happy, but I had to respect his desire to come. Spending too much time with Cole made my head want to explode. He could talk for hours about cell phones and cars, neither of which I had or cared about. Back on the bike, I wanted to get going before anything else tried to delay me.

A quick pull on my arm had me turning back toward Cole. Pointing to my helmet, Cole said, "Keep the headset on."

I wanted to throw the helmet into a pit of rattlesnakes if it meant I wouldn't have to listen to Cole the whole trip, but I knew my mom would be furious if she knew I was riding without one. I took a moment to adjust the helmet so it would ride more snugly on my head. The chirp of Cole's voice in my ear renewed my desire to punch him in the face. I didn't even hear what he said. Wanting to floor it, but knowing how foolish that would be, I eased the bike back onto the road. Looking over at Cole, I asked, "Do your parents even know you left?"

His serious demeanor cracked, the corners of his mouth turning up. "They'll never even notice I'm gone."

I shook my head wearily. That was the Cole I knew. Of course his parents would notice when he didn't come back. Most likely, Thomas would blame me for Cole's brash decision and set the police on me the second I stepped back in San Juan. Sarah would be furious. "Your mom is going to kill you when we get back," I said. I couldn't see his face, but the sharp cough I heard through the headset told me that he was not excited about the prospect of facing his mother. She could be just as fierce and stubborn as her husband when it came to protecting her children.

"She'll understand," Cole said after clearing his voice again.

"Well, I guess she has some other stuff to deal with right now, anyway." I clenched the handlebars as I thought about Thomas. I was confident Sarah would dole out a deserving punishment, and if the Elders got into it as well, Thomas would be paying penance for the rest of his life. Quaile had little patience for fools who risked going to the Shaxoa for help. Even speaking Zarafen's name in Quaile's presence brought a sharp slap more often than not.

"Like I said, I doubt my mom will even realize I'm gone," Cole said again. This time I didn't argue with him. If I were sitting next to Claire when her life was in danger, I doubted I would notice much of anything else either.

I wondered if there was any hope in my mission. The only clue I had was that at some point in her life Claire would have met her Twin Soul in Tucson. Surely Quaile knew more than she had been willing to tell me. Again I wondered what she had been about to say when Cole had driven up, and grimaced at the thought. I had so many unanswered questions screaming for answers right now. I could hardly stand being inside my own mind.

Cole would undoubtedly prove to be a hindrance, but for the time being I seemed unable to get rid of him. Pulling ahead of Cole just enough to get him out of my sightline, I turned my attention to the surrounding desert, needing something to distract me. For some, the high desert was nothing more than sand and scrub brush, but I had always enjoyed the simple lines of the scenery. The sandstone bluffs, backlit by the setting sun were a monument to the power of wind and time.

The massive structures had been etched by the elements, wind scouring the sides of the towers, time eroding the steep cliffs into graceful slopes. Smaller sandstone monuments dotted the landscape, each unique, creating a stage of posing dancers on the desert floor. The landscape reminded me of Claire, dancing onstage in a swirl of beauty and grace.

Although the desert looked barren to unfamiliar eyes, I watched the small, twisted piñon and juniper trees clustered in small groups, wondering what animals were taking shelter in their branches. I knew that while some animals were crawling into the holes and cracks of the desert, others were just beginning to wake up. Coyotes, grey wolves, spotted owls, bats, and others were about to begin their nightly hunts. The far off howl of a coyote made me shiver. I hoped they really were far away and would stay that way for the night.

The long line of asphalt stretched on, winding its way through the quiet desert night. A few hours later, my head started to dip, sending my bike into lazy arcs. I couldn't keep going for much longer. Tucson was eight hours from San Juan, and that would most likely only be the beginning. Up well before dawn, everything that had happened that day started to take its toll. Fatigue seeped through the adrenaline fueled wave I had been riding since seeing my mom attacked. Cole rode smoothly, alert and ready for any kind of danger.

"Keep your eyes out for somewhere to stop for the night," I said. Cole nodded, happy to have his presence acknowledged. His head swiveled from side to side, scanning the open landscape. _At least he's eager_ , I thought. I would be more than happy to let him take the first watch tonight. I had no fear of roaming bandits like Cole, but there were plenty of coyotes and other predators in the desert, hungry for what little food I had with me.

Thoughts of sleeping, even if it was on the ground, sapped my remaining strength. Guilt swept over me as I thought of Claire lying on a bed, her life slipping away. How could I worry about getting enough sleep when I held her only chance at survival in my hands? Hoping Cole would find a campsite soon, I struggled to keep my eyes open.

# Chapter 22

### Falling Rocks

"Uriah."

I heard the words a few hours later, somewhere in the distance, but couldn't force myself to respond.

"Uriah," Cole said, his voice practically yelling in my ear. A wobble in my steering snapped my eyes open. I had almost fallen asleep. I may have actually been asleep, though I'm not sure how I'd kept the bike upright if I was. Not wanting to think about what would happen if I fell asleep, I answered him. "What, Cole?"

"I think I know of a place to stop for the night," Cole said. "It's just ahead on the right."

"What? Oh, great. Lead the way," I mumbled. Slowing quickly, Cole turned onto an unmarked dirt road. Finally fully awake again, I saw the low line of sandstone bluffs against the dark, starlit horizon. We drove right up to the base before rolling to a stop where the bluff pulled back enough to create a half formed cave guarded by desert trees on two sides.

"Me and some of my friends have camped out here before. I wasn't sure I could find it in the dark, but here it is," Cole said proudly. Bottles and other bits of litter were scattered around the area. Apparently Cole and his friends weren't the only ones that came out here. At least it was deserted tonight.

"Yeah, that's great, Cole. Thanks." Pulling myself down from my bike I heard the quiet trickle of falling rocks. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Cole asked. He watched me, probably wondering if I was actually awake.

"Nothing," I said. "It was just the wind or something." I reached for the pack strapped to the back of my bike and realized it was way too small to hold any kind of blanket. I was so unprepared for this trip it was astounding. Maybe Cole had brought an extra blanket.

"Uriah!" Cole screamed.

Turning toward his panicked voice, I saw it. The sleek tawny fur shimmered in the moonlight. My gut clenched, and threatened to twist me in two at the sight of another mountain lion. The sickening feelings from earlier today returned in full. Trying to control my panic, I held perfectly still. The other mountain lion backing down from me was just a weird fluke. There was no way I would get that lucky twice in one day. In reality, the way this day was going, it was a sure bet luck would not be on my side.

Ready to run for my life, I watched the animal for any sign of attack. The mountain lion stood calmly, watching our movements. Amazed it hadn't yet attacked, I risked a glance at Cole. In one swift motion, he tossed a gun to me, raising his own in his other hand. Caught off guard, I was forced to take a step toward the animal to reach the weapon. My heart nearly stopped. The mountain lion tensed, but didn't run away or attack.

"What is it doing?" Cole asked.

"I don't know. I've never heard of a cougar behaving like this." Saying that felt like déjà vu would have been an understatement. Despite its size, the cat looked at me, as curious as a kitten. Watching every move we made, it seemed relatively unafraid. I knew I should be running in terror, but a strange compulsion to approach the animal overpowered my better judgment. Hesitantly, I took a step toward it.

"Uriah, stop," Cole hissed. His gun ready, he took a step to the side.

The cougar didn't seem interested in what Cole was doing, only in me. I wanted to puke, but I took another step. The cougar stepped forward as well. Cole sucked in a lungful of air. He was ready to spring. Holding a hand up to him, I warned him to wait. I needed to keep going. I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I felt certain the animal wouldn't attack. I could almost sense its thoughts. It waited for me to move closer.

Mirroring my movements, the mountain lion moved only after I took a step myself. In a matter of seconds, I stood within inches of the great beast's muzzle. Cole watched in horror as the mountain lion's head bobbed up and down, nuzzling my fingertips. My hands seemed to move without my permission, reaching up to scratch the cat's ears as if it was an old family pet. My mind was begging me to run, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I held my stance, amazed and terrified. A deep thrumming came from the animal.

"What are you doing to it?" Cole whispered. "It's purring!"

"Nothing," I said. I was completely bewildered by the animal's reactions. "I have no idea what's happening."

"Why doesn't it attack us?"

I shrugged. I had no answer for that either. Wondering what made this mountain lion and the one that had attacked my mom behaved so strangely, yet so differently, I watched it carefully. The cougar moved freely now, curling itself around me, purring with contentment. I couldn't help but move away, scared by its contact. The animal was undaunted, though, stepping forward again and nuzzling my hand until I reached up to rub the top of its head once more.

"What do we do now?" Cole asked in a childish whine.

I was about to speak when a picture began to form in my mind unexpectedly. Two forms wrapped in blankets slept beneath a scrubby piñon tree. I realized the tree was in the same area I was standing in right at that moment. The picture sharpened. Cole and I were the sleeping forms. The mountain lion sat nearby, guarding us. Guarding us from what, I couldn't tell, but there was something the cougar feared would harm us. The instant my weary mind understood the messages, they vanished. The mountain lion licked my hand, bringing me back to reality.

I jumped away from the animal immediately. Where had the image come from? I stared back at the animal. Its head bobbed slightly. Was it nodding at me? It couldn't possibly have come from the mountain lion, could it have? How was it able to reach into my thoughts? The connection shocked me, but somehow the communication felt very natural to me, as if I should have always been able to do it. "I think it's is offering to guard us while we sleep," I said shakily.

"Are you insane? I'm not sleeping with that thing nearby. We have to leave right now, Uriah." Cole took a slow step backward, his gun still held firmly in front of him.

As if understanding Cole's discomfort, the mountain lion turned and walked to the edge of the rocky indention. Casually, the mountain lion faced the bluffs and sat on its haunches. As I watched it sit so calmly, my fear disappeared on the warm desert breeze. Every part of my soul told me to trust it, told me it would protect me. Then there was that underlying fear that came from the animal. There was something out there in the dark that it feared. Trusting it made little sense, but I knew we might not make it through the night if I didn't.

"I don't think its leaving, Cole, and neither are we," I said with authority. I didn't think I would ever be able to explain the trust I was putting in the animal, but I was convinced I was right to do so.

Sputtering out useless objections, Cole made no move to get ready to sleep. "Uriah, that thing is a wild animal! We can't just lie down and go to sleep while it's sitting there waiting to eat us."

"If it was going to hurt us, it would have done it by now, don't you think?" I countered.

Cole paused for half a second before saying, "It's a wild animal. Think of your mom for crying out loud!"

My face soured immediately. Memories of the blood seeping out of her leg ran through my mind. I had already relived them too many times to count that day, wishing I had gotten there sooner. "I know what happened to my mom, Cole. I'm not an idiot. But I'm telling you that this mountain lion is not going to hurt us." I paused, knowing that I did, indeed, sound like an idiot. "I can't explain it, Cole, but I know it won't hurt us. Just try to get some sleep, okay?"

Cole stared at me, most likely regretting his decision to follow me. If he wasn't here in the morning, I would certainly understand. The calm feeling the animal seemed to emit was apparently not quite reaching Cole. It sat placidly, taking in our exchange. I wasn't sure, but he seemed to be listening.

Watching the cat carefully, I slowly walked back to my dust covered bike. Still unable to explain the calmness I felt at the mountain lion's presence, I had no other option than to simply take it a face value. Feelings of loyalty and friendship emanated from the animal. Whatever the source of these strange emotions, I was willing to take whatever help I could get at this point. Making friends with a mountain lion seemed relatively minor when it came to saving Claire's life. There was no going back. Quaile was at least right about that.

"Cole," I said, interrupting his continuing tirade, "do you have an extra blanket?" He stared at me as if I had suddenly become the mountain lion myself. "No? Fine, I'll just use my extra shirt."

Removing the spare clothing quickly, I folded the thin t-shirt and walked to the lopsided tree I had seen in the mountain lion's vision. My earlier exhaustion rolled over me once again, stronger than before. Something about what had just happened seemed very familiar to me, but I had no more patience for Cole or the mountain lion. Lying down at the tree's base, I fell asleep within minutes, my subconscious trying to help me find answers to at least some of the questions I had.

At fourteen years old, the rifle felt heavy in my hands. My dad was only a few feet away, squatting by the tree next to me. Neither of us spoke. We just waited. My breath moving in and out of my body was the only indicator of time I had. The minutes of my first hunting trip passed slowly. Silently I wished for a deer to wander into the valley.

The rustle of something moving through the dry leaves covering the ground caught my ear. I motioned to my dad that I had heard something. He looked at me questioningly. He must not have heard it. Insisting that I had heard a noise, I pointed at where it had come from. We both looked over at the spot to see the soft brown nose of a buck pushing through the brush. My dad blinked in surprise.

Emerging into the sunlight, the buck lowered its head and began chewing on the tough grass at its feet. A subtle motion from my dad caught my attention. When I glanced over at him he motioned for me to get my gun ready and take the shot. My gun came up as I refocused on the deer. With the crosshairs directly over the kill spot, I stared at the creature. It was beautiful. I wondered what it would feel like to run my hands over its silky coat.

No longer interested in its meal, the buck lifted its head and looked straight at me. My dad whispered for me to take the shot quickly, but I couldn't, not while it was staring at me. The fear the buck should have had for me seemed to have disappeared as it started walking toward me.

My rifle was still aiming right at it. All I had to do was pull the trigger. Walking across the field, the buck came within twenty feet of the tree I was next to and stood watching me. I felt like it was waiting, but I didn't know what it was waiting for.

The buck walked a little closer. Its bright round eyes regarded me without fear. My finger was tight against the trigger, but I couldn't bring myself to pull it back completely. I wanted to. I wanted to show my dad that I was old enough to be here with him. I had been so excited to come. The buck should have already run away. I knew it saw me. Why was it staring at me like that?

"I can't do it, Dad."

I couldn't stand it looking at me anymore. Dipping its head slightly, the buck turned away and started walking back into the trees. My shoulders slumped and the gun rested on my knee without ever taking a shot. Feeling my dad's hand on my shoulder, I dropped my head. I had wanted to impress him so badly. When I finally looked up, I expected to see disappointment in his eyes. Instead, I saw understanding and pride. I didn't really understand what he had to be proud about, I couldn't take the shot, but I knew that look so well I was sure of what I saw.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I just couldn't shoot it while it was looking at me like that," I said.

"It's all right, Uriah. Your mom will probably have dinner ready soon, anyway. We should head back," Dad said.

Mom wasn't expecting us back for a few more hours. The hunting trip was over, though. Spending the day with my dad had been great, but I had mixed feelings about what had just happened. "Would you have shot it?" I asked my dad.

He shrugged. "I don't know, son."

"Should I have shot it?"

"No. I don't think you should have." He said it with such certainty, as if he thought there was a reason behind what had just happened. I was just relieved he thought I had made the right decision.

# Chapter 23

### Without Warning

I remembered the tea. The sweet aroma wasn't my mom's usual flavor, but I was so excited about Uriah getting my dad to let us get married that I hadn't thought about the change before touching the china cup to my lips. The warm fluid filled my mouth and the strange sensation raced through me before I could react.

I couldn't understand what was happening at first. I saw my hand drop the cup, but I didn't remember letting go. I tried to pick it back up, knowing my mom would be upset if I broke her heirloom china, but my body wouldn't respond. Uriah's face crowded close to mine. I tried to speak to him. He looked so worried. When my eyes began to close, panic set in. Uriah's face faded and I screamed, but no one could hear me.

I felt my body being lifted from the couch, but my other senses had been dulled too much to understand what was happening. Muffled voices swam in my ears and I strained to make out the meaning in them. The vibration of a car motor startled me. Where was I being taken? Thoughts of Romeo and Juliet flooded into my mind. Panicking, I wondered if people could still be mistaken for dead. Surely not, I told myself. There was too much technology available for that to happen. San Juan Pueblo was hardly a technology savvy town, though.

Uriah's hands on my skin calmed me immediately. I had felt Uriah's soft touch so many times, I knew it right away. If I was in Uriah's care, I knew I would be safe. There was no one in this world I trusted more than him.

The car rolled to a stop, banishing the gentle vibration. Uriah released my hand, bringing the panic back. It lasted only a few seconds before he gathered my limp body in his arms once more. Holding me close to his chest, I felt his heartbeat. Quick, but steady. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he ran. The soothing calm I usually felt when I was in his arms had disappeared. He was scared. Normally so calm and levelheaded, I was shocked to realize Uriah was frightened for me. Realizing he was afraid as well made it even more difficult for me to stay calm.

Abruptly, the atmosphere changed. Warm air wrapped around me. I recognized the same feeling from earlier that day. Remembering Uriah's mother sitting close to the fire on the couch, I knew where I was. It felt good to be in Uriah's home. I often felt more at home with his family than I did with mine. I could feel the commotion that erupted at our presence. I was moved several times and I felt Uriah leave me more than once, but he always returned. He would always come back for me.

The minutes passed slowly. My frustration mounted as I tried to listen to the voices, desperate to know what was happening to me. Muffled sound was the only thing I could hear. I begged my eyes to open, my fingers to move, but nothing. I was trapped in my body while the people who loved me planned my rescue. I was praying fervently that there would be a rescue.

Uriah's gentle hands caressed my face. His fingers stroked my jawline, from my ear down to my chin, just as they had done so many times before. The way his fingers trembled as he touched my skin tore at me. I didn't want him to let go. Every time I felt him leave, my composure slipped a little more. Uriah's hand hesitated, my heart raced. I begged him silently not to leave me. I felt his lips touch mine and my own mouth strained to react, to move with his, but I couldn't.

Uriah pulled away quickly. Moaning in agony, I tried to reach for him. I strained against my strange prison uselessly. His presence left me and I cried, though no tears actually fell down my cheeks. I didn't understand why he was leaving me. Sophia should have already been at his house. Where else would he be going? I tried to picture his face, to stave off the heartache I always felt when we were apart, but another face came without warning.

The light blue eyes were nothing like Uriah's. Uriah's eyes were a deep rich brown, so expressive that I always knew exactly what he was feeling. The stylishly cut, dirty blonde hair of the intruding face was such a stark contrast to Uriah's black locks. Uriah had desperately needed a haircut for several months, but with the extra load of working his family's ranch by himself, I didn't press the issue. The look was even starting to grow on me. I wanted so badly to run my hands through his hair, right now.

I wanted to see Uriah's face again, not this other, so achingly familiar face. Uriah's face was serious, but kind. Always concerned for those around him, I constantly had to remind Uriah to take a few minutes to relax and worry about what he needed, like sleep and rest. That had been even truer ever since his father died. I wasn't even sure how he kept going with everything he had on his plate.

The familiar face that filled my mind was young, filled with laughter and jokes. I used to love seeing his carefree smile, but now it only threatened to break me. It didn't belong in my mind. There was only one face I wanted to see. Banishing the image of this boy, my thoughts turned back to Uriah. Thinking of my love for him was the only thing keeping me from full-fledged panic.

Desperate to keep my thoughts centered on Uriah, I thought of all the wonderful afternoons we had spent together. Thinking of us watching movies together or riding through the desert weren't enough to keep the strangers face from slipping back into my mind. The smiling blue eyes were so insistent, they were starting to scare me. I needed something deeper. I needed the feel of Uriah's lips against mine. His touch was the only thing that could keep me safe.

# Chapter 24

### Shifting Darkness

Rolling onto my back, I winced as a sharp pain ran down my spine. I had dreamed of my dad, again. Dreaming of him always left me wishing I hadn't woken up so quickly. Even after strange ones like that. Shoving my face into my pillow to clear my head, I couldn't figure out why my bed smelled like dirt and hickory. The hot sun on my body brought it all back in an instant. Claire. I bolted upright, greeted by a few more cracks and aches. The sound of cars travelling down the highway reached my ears while Cole snored lazily a few feet away. We needed to leave. We couldn't be wasting time while Claire was dying.

Jumping to my feet, I stopped when the mountain lion walked back into our camp. I stood petrified, but just as quickly as the terror struck, it faded. The great cat loped over to me, nuzzling my hand, and licking my fingertips. The calmness that invaded my senses was a mystery to me, but I couldn't deny the kinship I felt with the animal. Almost like what I had felt toward the deer on my first hunt. Maybe this thing with the mountain lion wasn't as unfamiliar as I thought it was.

I had always been able to calm any animal, but I just thought it was my soft touch and calm voice that made them so easy to work with. In the field with my dad, I thought about touching the deer and it walked over to me. When I thought about not wanting it to stare at me anymore, it left. When I was with my sheep and horses, I thought about them behaving.

My dad had accepted the incident with the deer as if nothing strange had happened. Why would he be comfortable thinking that an animal I was hunting would have no fear of me? He had also spent years watching unruly animals no one else could handle turn tame around me as well. I didn't understand how he was able to handle it so casually. Did this have something to do with what he had been trying to tell me in his letter? Had I always been communicating with these animals, and the mountain lion was just the first one to ever talk back?

As if to prove me right, another vivid picture began forming in my mind.

The road stretched before Cole and me as we continued our journey. Sharp eyes watched us from the desert, wolves, coyotes, and other native animals. The line continued unbroken as we rode toward Tucson. A strange gratitude filled me. I didn't understand the desire these creatures had to watch over me, but I definitely appreciated it. Without warning, the picture widened, going deeper into the desert hills.

Stalking us was another figure. Somehow, it kept pace with us as we travelled, its form shifting continuously as it ran. The mountain lion had hinted at some danger the night before, but I'd gotten the sense that even he didn't know what it was. The warning seemed more definite than before. Answering my thoughts, the little alcove where we sat came back into my view with the shifting darkness hovering in the distance, watching as I slept. A shiver ran through me at the thought of something that felt so evil watching me all night. What did it want?

Another question formed in my mind as I wondered exactly what kind of creature it was. The mountain lion was able to hear my thoughts again, and suddenly the picture closed in on the blurred figure. Still my question lingered. The creature swirled, human in some ways, but animal in many others. It looked as if the creature itself couldn't decide what it wanted to be.

The mountain lion's invading thoughts gave me the impression that he didn't understand the nature of the stalking creature yet, but an overwhelming sense of fear seeped into me. The creature would not be a friend as the mountain lion was. I nodded with understanding, though the great cat had already sensed my comprehension and withdrawn the vision. The mountain lion licked my fingers and rubbed his tawny head against my legs before loping away.

I glanced behind me, and was relieved to find Cole still wrapped in his dreams. He would feel better if the cat wasn't around when he woke. Another warning in hand, I kicked Cole gently. We needed to get back on the road. There was no time to sleep in. Cole snapped up instantly, scanning the ground around him.

"The mountain lion's gone," I said.

Cole's slender shoulders relaxed. "Thank goodness. That thing freaked me out. I still can't believe it didn't eat us."

I didn't feel the need to mention the fact that other desert animals would be keeping tabs on us during our journey. "Just hurry up and get ready to go."

"I'm starving," Cole mumbled. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"You brought a gun, no two guns, but you didn't think to bring any food?" Why had I thought Cole would be better prepared than I was? Cole had never wanted for anything. Why would he expect it to be any different now? Reaching into my pack I pulled out a couple of granola bars and tossed them to him. I took out several more for myself.

"My dad mentioned the guns, not food. I had no idea what was going on at the time."

"Your dad told you to bring the guns?" I asked. Why on earth would he suggest that?

Cole shrugged. "That's what he said. Besides, it's not like we're riding through the Sahara, Uriah. There are these things called convenience stores. And with this," he said holding his wallet out, "why would I need to bring food with me? It's only another four hours to Tucson."

I eyed Cole's wallet. My own sat comfortably in my back pocket, but while I imagined Cole's held plenty of cash and most likely a credit card or two, mine held a grand total of forty-seven dollars. He was better prepared for this than I was. I didn't exactly get paid for working on my own ranch. Even when the sheep were sheared and the alfalfa harvested, most of the money went back to my mom to keep things running smoothly, which was a task in itself.

Worries about how I would support Claire tried to force their way into my mind. It was nothing new, unfortunately. Growing up with her father bringing home motorcycles on a whim and never having to go without, she used to spend more on clothes in one weekend than I did in a whole year. Her spending habits had changed drastically since we started dating. She'd replaced designer outfits with regular blue jeans and t-shirts because they made more sense for working on a ranch. Still, I knew my world was going to be a shock to her. None of that was important right now. I had to save Claire's life first. Gathering my small collection of belongings, I stuffed them back into my pack.

"Well, let's hit the road, I guess," Cole said, his comic swagger carrying him to the waiting motorcycles. He paused next to my bike and smirked. "You might want to get that fixed before my dad sees it." Cole pointed to a thick band of scratches across the side of the bike. It must have happened the night before when the bike fell on top of me.

"That was your fault," I reminded him. The vengeful urge I had felt earlier toward Thomas's truck returned. It wouldn't be hard for something unfortunate to happen to the motorcycle. I wouldn't deny that he deserved it, and much worse, but it would be a shame to see such a sweet machine destroyed. He did deserve it, though.

Smirking to myself, I doubted I would be able to carry through with the idea anyway, but I would certainly enjoy the thought for a while. Visions of the bike flying off the bluffs and exploding into a ball of fire, with Thomas wailing at the loss, brought a smile to my face. "Besides," I said causally to Cole, "who says he'll be getting it back at all."

Already on his bike, Cole watched me curiously. Disbelief marked his face, but the hint of a smile was there as well. Pissing Thomas off was something he and Claire had both spent a lot of time doing. Turning away from him, I settled into the thick seat and let the engine roar loudly. Cole tapped the side of his helmet, reminding me to turn on the headset. I really didn't want to listen to his chatter for the next four hours, but it was a necessary annoyance. Flipping on the microphone, I kicked the stand out and peeled away. The rutted dirt road led straight back to the highway. The smoothness of the blacktop was a relief to my sore body. I had only driven a few feet on the asphalt before Cole's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Uriah," he said, "so, what exactly happened last night?"

Anger streaked through my veins. "I already told you what happened," I said. My jaw settled into a tight scowl. I had been extremely grateful for Cole's silence the night before, but I knew there was a limit to his patience. Discussing what had happened was still hard to take, but I had the feeling Cole wouldn't be put off much longer.

"No, I mean, why did he do it? Why would my dad hurt Claire?" His voice was soft. Sometimes I forgot Cole was actually related to Claire. He was worried about her too.

"Claire and I went to the Elders yesterday, for permission to get married next summer."

"Yeah, I knew you guys were supposed to go. With your mom getting attacked, I didn't think you guys actually went, though," Cole said.

"We did go. They told us no."

"What?"

"Quaile said we weren't Twin Souls. She said that one day we would meet our true Twin Souls and abandon each other." I still couldn't believe her words, but it was mainly my anger keeping the truth at bay. I knew that eventually my rage would begin to fade and I would have no choice but to face a reality I once thought to be fairytale.

"Yeah right," Cole scoffed. "You two are disgusting. I doubt that anything could break up your love fest."

A crooked smile sprang to my lips. I couldn't agree with the disgusting part, but everything else was absolutely true. It had to be. "Well, anyway, your dad threatened to call the police if Claire and I tried to run off to get married in Santa Fe. Like that was really a possibility anyway. Claire's still only seventeen."

"I can imagine Claire had a few words for Dad after a threat like that," Cole said, knowing his sister all too well. He had been on the receiving end of her intensity more times than either of us could remember.

"She was ready to tear him apart," I said. "As soon as we got back to your house, it got pretty heated."

"I bet," was Cole's only response. "But what happened? With everything else you've been able to talk my dad into, I really would have thought you'd be able to win him over again."

"I did," I said, "but your dad was prepared. Maybe after we left the Elders he knew he would give in eventually. When we went to talk to my mom after seeing the Elders, apparently your dad had an appointment of his own." The witch's name brought bile to my throat. I couldn't even bring myself to say it. I still couldn't believe Thomas had stooped so low.

"Where did he go?" Cole's rough voice made it clear that he had a pretty good idea about what the answer would be.

"Shaxoa Zarafen."

Cole's breath hissed through his teeth. His hands tightened on the handle bars of his bike. Cole was one of the few people in the pueblo who could stand being around Thomas for more than a few minutes, and that was probably only because he knew he was expected to take over his father's businesses one day.

"What did it do?" Cole asked, finally able to speak again.

"The witch told your dad that the tea would make Claire forget about me and make her only want her Twin Soul, which it did, in a way. What she didn't tell him it would do was put Claire in some kind of coma that only her Twin Soul can wake her from by giving her the antidote," I explained. It felt way too real saying the words out loud.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," Cole said.

He was such an idiot. I took a deep breath as I clenched my fists around the bike handles, trying to keep myself from reaching out and strangling him. "Cole, if her Twin Soul doesn't give her the antidote in time, she'll die," I said, wanting to punch his pretty face.

"What?" His head swung toward me, the quick motion tilting his bike to the side for a split second. Cole snapped his attention back to the road, but his mind was not on the asphalt. "That's who were looking for, isn't it?"

Finally, he's starting to catch on. "Yeah."

I couldn't believe this was who I had ended up with. The mountain lion was a more welcome companion than Cole. I was even debating trading him for the shifting shadow. Maybe I could just give him to the shadow thing and get rid of both of them. I wasn't usually so sadistic, but it seemed to be the only way to keep even darker thoughts at bay right now.

"Do you think it's really like the stories?" Cole asked. "Do you think she'll actually fall in love with him as soon as she sees him?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying not to think about, Cole." Yesterday, I would have told anyone what a load of bull Twin Souls, potions, and myths were. Now, I was beginning to wonder how many of the other stories were true as well. Thinking of all the questions I had that couldn't be answered by the stories, I wondered how much of the truth was hidden completely. The shadowy creature following us didn't belong to any story I had ever heard.

"We've grown up hearing the stories, Uriah, both of us. I know some of them by heart, but I never actually believed any of them," Cole said. He was quiet for a few seconds before continuing his thought. "I've never heard a story about Twin Souls where they didn't end up falling in love and basically living happily ever after."

"Yeah, but lots of stories people tell to kids get happy endings regardless of what really happened," I argued. "Hercules wasn't really the perfect hero from the movie. He was driven mad and killed all his kids at one point before he straightened himself out. Do you remember the movie _The Little Mermaid_?"

"You actually watched that?" Cole asked. "Are you a five year old girl?"

"Oh, shut up. That movie came out before I was even born and I watched it with my cousin Rachel," I said, "but that's not the point. At the end of the movie, the mermaid gets away from that octopus lady and marries the prince. In the original story she has to kill the prince to stay human, but she can't, so she goes back to the sea and dies."

"So what does that have to do with anything?" Cole asked. "Either way, it's just a fairytale. Neither version is real."

"I know they're just fairy tales, but that's what I thought about Twin Souls before yesterday. I'm just saying that maybe all the stories of Twin Souls aren't really true to what actually happened. Maybe they didn't all end with them falling in love. Maybe there's still a chance that Claire won't fall in love with her Twin Soul," I said.

"I don't know, Uriah. You might be right, but you might not," Cole said. "You may want to think about that."

"I don't want to think about it, Cole." I couldn't think about it. If I thought about actually losing Claire, I might not think about anything else. Facing the possibility that I could lose Claire forever froze me.

"I know you don't," Cole said. After that he was quiet. Most likely he still had more questions, I certainly did, but what I had already told him would take some time to comprehend. I was glad for the break in the conversation. I pushed all my thoughts away and looked out at the desert.

The four lane highway wound through sand, the scenery changing little except for the piñon and juniper trees that slowly gave way to the solitary saguaro cactus. I watched the sandy wilderness for signs of the animals my mountain lion friend had promised would be watching over us. The landscape was so flat and open, spying a few animals should have been easy. I only caught brief glimpses of movement, though. Once I thought I saw a large, dark shape out of the corner of my eye, racing from cactus to cactus. When I shifted, hoping for a better look, it was gone.

A tingling sense of being watched persisted even after I gave up trying to see the culprit. A few small birds and skittish rabbits were the only signs of life I saw after that. The four hours drug on slowly, and mostly in silence. Cole knew what his father was like, but like me, he must have been shocked at what his father had done to his own child. I left him to his thoughts, grateful for the chance to think in peace.

As the rolling Santa Catalina Mountains began to rise in the distance, sweat that had nothing to do with the heat broke out all over my body. Tucson. This was where my Claire would have been stolen away from me one day. Now I came to this place willingly, seeking the man that would destroy my future. For the millionth time, I wondered whether I could really go through with this. Every time I faltered, remembering Claire's body collapsing onto the couch renewed my determination. Any amount of pain would be worth saving her life.

# Chapter 25

### A Place to Start

The low profile of the Tucson skyline grew quickly. The traffic picked up considerably as we neared the city. Moving up beside Cole, I watched the other drivers anxiously. The swerving and honking was a new experience for me, one I did not particularly enjoy. Cars of every make and model swarmed around me, some passing within a few feet of my bike. My hands gripped the handle bars more tightly with each passing vehicle. For all Cole's supposed knowledge of the world outside San Juan Pueblo, his face was tight and his knuckles were pale.

I spotted a tall sign belonging to a Conoco gas station, and said, "Let's get off the road." Squeezing between two sedans, we barely made it into the turning lane before it ended. The large metal awning provided a welcome break from the sun's searing rays. Cole rolled up to a gas pump and swung stiffly off the bike. Sidling up next to him, I took my helmet off and waited for him to finish.

"So, what's the plan exactly, Uriah?" Cole asked.

I had been dreading that question. So far the only plan I had come up with involved using the strand of hair Quaile had given me, and that was one thing I never wanted to touch again. But even with that plan, I still had to find Claire's Twin Soul first, and I had no idea how to do that yet.

"Uriah? Are we going to wander around aimlessly, asking guys if they're Claire's Twin Soul, or what? Somehow I don't think that will work out very well," Cole said. Ripping the pump handle out of his gas tank, Cole shoved it at me with an irritated grimace. I tried to remind myself that he was scared for his sister just like I was.

"All Quaile could tell me was that the guy's name is Daniel, and at some point in her life Claire would meet him here in Tucson," I said. His expression changed from irritation to confusion.

"Daniel what?" he asked. I said nothing. "You mean you don't even know his last name? How exactly are we supposed to find one guy named Daniel in a city this size? We don't even know if he's in Tucson right now."

"I know, Cole. Okay? I know it's not much to go on, but we have to find him, somehow." Silently, I cursed Quaile. She was the one who put this chain of events in motion, her and her visions. Now when I needed her most, the information dried up except for a few random details. The cougar had been more helpful.

"Well they've got to be close to the same age, right? Maybe we can start there. There should be records we can look at, birth records and stuff like that," Cole said to himself. He began pacing next to his bike.

"Wait, why do they have to be the same age?" I asked. Cole stared at me, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"They're supposed to be Twin Souls, right?" Cole said. I nodded. "Well, then, they would have been born within a few days of each other."

"How do you know that?" He spoke as if this was common knowledge, but if it was, why would anyone have thought Claire and I could have been Twin Souls. I was eight months older than her.

"I get bored at my dad's store a lot. He's got a case full of really old books about the pueblo, and Tewa mythology. Sometimes I read them," he said shuffling one foot back and forth.

Finally, at least one thing seemed to be going in my favor. Fate had never been given a place in my thoughts before, but I could definitely believe it was no coincidence Cole ended up tagging along with me. "Well, what else did you read about Twin Souls?"

Happy to know something I didn't, Cole tried to keep the stupid grin off his face as he continued, sounding like he was reciting an old book report. "A soul is made up of two parts, the male half and the female half. In the spirit world the two halves reside together, completing each other, but human bodies can't contain the true soul. Before birth, the two halves of the soul separate so they can gain a body. It doesn't matter which half of the soul leaves first, the other can't stand to stay behind for very long. Their human forms are born very close together, sometimes within minutes of each other.

"Twin Souls long for their other half, but very few find each other again. Twin Souls only need to come within a few feet of each other to recognize their missing half. Once the connection is made, it's impossible to break it," Cole said. Watching my reaction to his last statement carefully, he continued. "We may save her, but she'll never love you again, Uriah."

"I know that's a possibility," I said, "but I'm not giving up hope, yet."

"You may have to give her up. Can you do that?"

"I'll do whatever it takes to save Claire's life, regardless of what might happen afterward," I said. The look on Cole's face was grateful, as if he had been wondering whether I would abandon his sister just to avoid giving her to another man. I would have hoped he held a higher opinion of me than that. Although, I had to admit that I'd had the same thoughts about myself several times.

I believed Quaile and Cole, but I had no intention of letting the connection form. I still had no idea about how to accomplish this, but I was determined to find a way. "What were you saying about records before?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, we should be able to go to the city or state offices and look up the birth records for the hospitals around here. If we can find a guy named Daniel who was born close to when Claire was, it will give us a good place to start at least," Cole said.

"If he's only seventeen and he was born here, there's a good chance he might still live here," I said hopefully.

"I hope so, Uriah, but I doubt Tucson is much like San Juan. People live in San Juan their whole lives. Before the casino, it was a big deal to have a new family move in. Tucson has hundreds of thousands of families that probably move in and out all the time," Cole said. "He may not have even been born here. Maybe he was just here on vacation when they met."

I frowned at Cole's pessimism. "We both know it's a long shot, but right now it's all we have. If we can't find anything in the birth records, we'll just have to come up with another idea. We'll deal with that when the time comes, okay? Just focus on the birth records for now."

Cole nodded in agreement.

I noticed that the gas had stopped pumping a while ago and handed the pump handle back to Cole. I hadn't realized that he had already paid for the fuel until he tore the receipt from beneath the pump monitor. "Uh, thanks," I said gesturing at the pump.

"No problem," Cole said with a smirk. "My dad pays the bill on this card. It's the least he can do. And I mean the least."

I couldn't disagree with that. "So where do we find these records?"

"I don't know. There's a phone book over there. It should list the government offices." Cole rolled his bike toward the convenience store. Following quickly, I felt the faint stirrings of hope in my heart.

Cole picked up the worn and graffiti-covered phone book, flipping through it until he found the blue pages of the government listings. Scanning the pages, he read the office names aloud. Neither of us was sure which office would be in charge of birth certificates, but we ruled out all the city offices and moved onto the county. The list was considerably longer but most of the offices were still in Tucson.

"Vital Records Office," Cole said hopefully.

Vital records. Vital signs. It sounded better than anything else we had seen. "Where is it?" I asked.

"3950 S. Country Club Road Ste. 100," Cole said, "here in Tucson."

"Do you have any idea where Country Club road is," I asked. Cole shook head. This was his first trip to Tucson as well.

"I'll go ask the cashier," he said. "You should call home. You'll have to use the pay phone, though. I, uh, accidently ran over my cell phone last week and I haven't gotten my new one yet. If my mom asks about me, do me a favor and tell her you begged me to come with you."

"Yeah right," I said with a smirk. I was not about to lie to Sarah. Cole would have to take care of his own messes. Digging some change out of my jeans pocket, I deposited them in the machine. The call was answered on the first ring.

"Uriah?" my mother asked hopefully.

"Yeah, Mom, it's me. How's Claire?"

"The same," she replied. "She hasn't moved or woken up. Sophia says she's all right for now, but the longer she has to wait, the more intense the Shaxoa's potion will become. She'll start fading more quickly as time goes by."

Fading more quickly? Was she fading now? I wanted every detail, but I feared I already knew the answer. Knowing there was no time to waste was hard enough to accept. Hearing the exact details of what the potion was doing to her would only make me want to be by her side even more.

"Sophia and Quaile are doing everything they can think of for her," my mom said. Her voice was tired and emotional. She wanted nothing more than to make sure I was happy. I knew she was terrified that I would lose Claire and most likely myself in the process. I was determined that wouldn't happen.

"We're in Tucson now, me and Cole," I said. "We're heading to the Vital Records office to see if we can find out if he was born here, and where he lives now." We both knew who he was, so there was no reason for me to speak the name.

"Good luck, Uriah. I'm sure you'll find something there and be home soon," she said. Her voice echoed my own mixed emotions. The pity was almost unbearable. How much more could she handle. The death of my father almost broke her. The mountain lion attack, and now Claire, was just more than one person should be asked to bear. In all reality, I had handled every tragedy with much less dignity than my mom. I knew that while my mom would weather whatever trials she faced, I was starting to lose my grip. Without Claire, I might not be able to hold on.

"How are you doing, Mom?" I asked. Everything with Claire had nearly pushed my concern for her out of my mind.

"Oh, I'm fine. Don't you worry about me. Sophia is taking good care of me. You just focus on getting back here as quick as you can." The sniff that followed her fierce words let slip how much she was hurting.

"I will. I'll call you when we learn something new," I said. She whispered a quick "I love you" before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone. I stood for several seconds with the dead phone to my ear. If I moved, my emotions would break loose, and I wasn't sure I would be able to get them under control again. Slowly, I hung the phone back on the receiver. Focusing on the task ahead, I grasped for control. By the time Cole emerged from the store I was back to my precarious balance.

# Chapter 26

### Compulsion

"Can I help you?" Her sarcastic southern drawl was the perfect complement to her unenthusiastic expression. She couldn't even be bothered to look me in the eye. Her gaze wandered from her fingernails to the small television mounted in the corner of the room. Cole rolled his eyes.

"Yes, thank you," I said politely.

Her gaze leveled in my direction. She must have mistaken my tone for mockery, and scowled her disapproval. She was hardly qualified to be the manners police.

"Yeah, so what do you want?" she asked.

"I need to find a birth certificate for someone. Do you know how I can get that information?"

The girl's scowl deepened briefly before mellowing out into semi-polite expression. Her manicured nails flicked a sheet of bright yellow paper off the top of a stack and set it on the counter. "Fill this out, and I'll need to see two forms of I.D. proving that you're related to the person you're requesting the birth certificate for, as well as ten dollars. It will take about a month, or more," she said, "before the request is processed. Then we'll mail it to your address."

The rambling set of instructions had tumbled out so quickly that I was still stuck on the I.D.'s she had mentioned. "Wait, we have to prove we're related to the person? Why?"

The receptionist's look took on a haughty overtone. "The state of Arizona respects the privacy of its citizens. We are a closed records state," she said.

"There's no way we can just look through the records?" Cole asked. "Don't you guys have everything backed up on a computer somewhere? It would probably take a couple seconds to find what we need."

"Yeah, that's funny kid," the girl said a little more seriously than before. "I'd get fired for even letting you near the records room. And I really need this job. I can't help you."

As if to emphasize her point, she shrugged an apology and spun her chair away from us. Cole looked at me and motioned to the girl, his eyes indicating I should do something. That he automatically assumed I had been able to convince his dad to let Claire and I get married gave a good idea of what he wanted me to do. I pulled Cole away from the counter before what he was suggesting had a chance to slip out.

"No way," I whispered. Letting go of his arm, I continued down the hallway. Cole stood for a moment, wanting to turn back, but not quite brash enough to actually do it. His harried footsteps followed me.

"Why can't you just convince her to let us see the records?" he asked.

I knew I could, and I wanted to. I couldn't bring myself to walk back over there. "Because she'll get fired. I don't want to do that to her unless I absolutely have to. We'll have to try to find a different way first."

"What if we can't get in? How else are we supposed to find out who this Daniel guy is?" Cole said. Despair was thick in his voice. "I mean, the hospitals would keep records of all the births, but we'd have to search each one individually. That will take weeks, if they'd even let us look through their records. Those are probably protected too."

I realized he was merely talking to himself, working through ideas. We didn't have the time to search all of Tucson's hospitals, and Cole was probably right about those records being protected as well. "We're running out of time," I said. "Claire won't live long enough for us to search through that many records."

The plain brown sign with white lettering stuck out from the drab, grey wall just a few doors down. Birth Certificates. I wondered how many people worked in the building. The hallway was lined with cramped little offices, the doors shut tightly. The door under the sign was the only one standing ajar. For all the talk of privacy I would have expected the door to be locked. Cole was staring at the door as well. His eyes flitted up and down the hall.

"Do you suppose anyone is in there?" Cole asked.

"I don't know, maybe." The hallway was empty, but all it would take was one person wandering by to catch us. I was well aware that if we were caught, the police would be called immediately. I couldn't afford to be arrested right now. My stomach suddenly growled, giving me an idea. "It's almost lunch time," I said, "and I doubt anyone here will be working through lunch."

Cole scoffed. "Certainly not Miss High and Mighty at the front desk."

"I bet no one will notice us hanging around, and once things quiet down for lunch, we can sneak in. Hopefully the records are organized by date. We should be able to get in and out before anyone notices."

Cole nodded eagerly.

"There's no need to go breaking the law, boys," a soothing voice whispered behind us.

Cole gasped, turning to face the voice with wide eyes and a question on his face.

A strange compulsion to trust the voice flooded my senses. The feeling felt vaguely familiar. It almost felt like the sensations from the mountain lion, but vastly different as well. The mountain lion had been sharing information, while this felt very one sided. Despite the enticing quality of his voice, I knew immediately that this man was not a friend. Wary of his intentions, I turned to face him.

"Excuse me?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Sorry," the man said, his angelic appearance drawing me to him. "I couldn't help but overhear you."

I was sure there had been no one near us a few seconds earlier. I couldn't help but glance around. The man mimicked my movement. "I don't think anyone else heard."

"What do you want?" I asked. I glanced at Cole, hoping he was ready to run if the need arose. I was startled to see such an adoring expression plastered across his face. He couldn't take his eyes off the stranger. Cole looked ready and willing to fulfill any request the man might make. My searing glare went completely unnoticed.

"I want to help you," the man said. Cole nodded appreciatively. I had to restrain myself from knocking some sense into him.

"My name is Darren Johnson," the man continued. He extended his hand in friendship, or at least he meant it to be in friendship. I could feel the threat underlying his smile. I stared at his hand. His nails were perfectly manicured, his skin flawless. Cole jumped to shake his hand vigorously while I folded my arms across my chest.

"Why?" I asked.

"I know how this office works. I work here," he said with a laugh. "It takes forever to get even the simplest thing done, and it sounds like you two don't have forever."

"My sister's in trouble," Cole blurted out. "We need to find the guy that can help her."

Now I did punch him, but only in the arm. "Shut it, Cole."

I stalked closer to Darren Johnson. There was something wrong with this man. He was too perfect. Every hair on his head lay in perfect order. Not a single freckle, mole, or wrinkle graced his skin. Even the simple work attire he wore seemed way too good for this office. "Why would you want to help us?"

"I can assure you, I won't tell anyone," he promised. "I heard you say that the young lady didn't have very much time."

Cole nodded, obviously pleased with the man's offer. I shoved my idiot companion behind me and stood blocking his view of the stranger. I wondered how he could not feel the evil pulse emanating from Darren Johnson, who no more worked for the office of Vital Records than I did. Still, I thought, if he could get us the information we needed, it might be worth whatever trouble he was brewing for us.

"No, we don't have much time," I said simply. I would offer no more than that, and if Cole opened his mouth again I would gag him with my fist. "We just need to find a birth certificate for someone, so we can figure out where to find him."

Darren Johnson put his hand on my shoulder casually. His touch burned my skin. Shocked, I pulled away. A streak of irritation flashed across Darren Johnson's face at my reaction to him. Just as quickly, the pleasant smile returned as if nothing unusual had happened. His pull felt similar, but different from the mountain lion's, just as the burning touch I felt with him felt similar to touching Claire, but also very different as well. When I touched Claire, it almost felt like she was borrowing a part of me, but I knew I would always get it back. Touching this man felt destructive, like wildfire searing every sprig of green from the land. If he held on too long I feared I would smolder into ash and leave Claire to die alone.

"Just follow me," the man said. His voice seemed a little tighter than it had before, but I couldn't tell if that was just my perception or not. Cole, of course, was still staring at the man like a lovesick puppy. He wouldn't have noticed if I had suddenly burst into flames and ran screaming through the halls. Panic rose in my throat. What was this man doing to Cole? I had no idea whether I could do anything to help him, either.

Darren Johnson put his arm around Cole's shoulder. The touch seemed to thrill Cole. I didn't understand why he was having such a different effect on Cole than he was on me. I wished I had the mountain lion by my side again. The mountain lion. He had tried to warn me, showing me the confusing shadow tailing us to Tucson. If this was the same being, we were in serious trouble.

I suddenly realized Cole and Darren Johnson had already started toward the records room. A few quick steps brought me to Cole's side. A lanky woman with wavy red hair sauntered down the hall, her steaming lunch, hot from the microwave, balanced in her hands. She waved at her coworker with the same adoring smile Cole still wore.

"Good morning, Darren," she breathed.

"Good morning," he said with a dignified nod. The woman sighed and continued on her way. Stunned by the exchange, I stared at the man out of the corner of my eye. There was no way he was actually an employee of Pima County. The redhead had greeted him as if she had known and loved him all her life.

"In we go," Darren Johnson said as if we were casually walking into a café for lunch. His smile sent tiny pinpricks along my arms. He pushed the plain brown door open just far enough for us to slip through.

I was surprised to see the bland, beige room was empty. The stiff commercial carpet ran the length of the room as well as about six inches up the wall. There were plain gray file cabinets galore that looked original to the building, but not a single person. No wonder it took a month to get a birth certificate. Nobody even worked in this room. Cole was ready to jump out of his skin with excitement. I stared at the cabinets, wondering if I was walking into a trap.

"So," Darren Johnson said, "where would you like to start? The records are organized by year. I assume you have a specific name in mind as well."

Cole opened his mouth, eager to offer the last bits of information he held. Pushing him away, I spoke up quickly. "We'd rather keep that information to ourselves, if you don't mind."

Darren Johnson's mouth pulled into a thin line, briefly. "Of course, deniability and all that. I'll just keep an eye on the door, then."

"Thanks," I said. My eyes did not leave him until he was firmly planted next to the door, his back to the files. "Start over there, Cole," I ordered.

Cole suddenly seemed very confused. Glancing at our sentry, Cole grabbed my arm. "Who is that guy?"

My jaw unhinged. "What do you mean? You've been fawning over him since he walked up to us."

An incredulous looked settled on Cole's face. "Fawning? What are you talking about?"

I pulled Cole close to me, my voice lowering to a whisper. "You don't remember him walking up to us, saying that he wanted to help us?" Cole shook his head. I clenched my jaw to suppress my frustration. "Just stay away from him. And don't let him touch you."

Cole opened his mouth with a million questions I had no answers for. Shaking my head, I nodded toward the strange man and held a finger to my lips. Grinding his teeth, Cole nodded and headed off in the direction I had pointed a few seconds earlier.

Darren had been right about the files being organized by year. I paid Cole as much attention as I could spare, hoping Darren Johnson hadn't noticed his charm had worn off his new buddy. If he was paying attention to Cole, maybe he wouldn't notice what I was doing. Searching the cabinet's labels, I quickly found the right year. That year alone was repeated over three large filing cabinets. I groaned inwardly and tugged open the first squeaking drawer.

I found several Daniels, but none with the right birth date. I pulled open a second drawer. Realizing the files only covered the month of February, I closed the drawer and skimmed through the records until October births started to appear two cabinets over. Claire's birthday was October eighteenth. If Cole was right, there should be a Daniel born within days of the eighteenth.

The quiet squeal of the door pulled my eyes away from the files. I watched Darren Johnson. His eyes had wandered to Cole, pulling him away from the door a little. At least I knew now that Cole was only affected by the man's charm if he was close to him. That was the main reason I had sent Cole to the other side of the room. He had already given away too much information to the stranger. Cole would know nothing of what I found until we were well away from Darren Johnson. If we could get away.

Diving back into the files, I searched for Daniel. I was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be in the records. It was possible he had simply been visiting Tucson on vacation when Quaile saw him meeting Claire, just as Cole had said. I had no idea how to find him if searching the records didn't work. If Quaile had only been able to give me a last name, my search would have been much easier. With a last name I probably could have simply found him by Googling his name on the internet. Pushing away thoughts of what I didn't have, I focused on the files.

Alonzo Sandoval, born October eighteenth. Conrad White, born October eighteenth. Daniel Harding, born October eighteenth, two forty-five a.m., at St. Joseph's Hospital to Henry and Adelaide Harding.

# Chapter 27

### Enemy

The original form stating their request for a copy of Daniel's birth certificate was included in the file. Relief flooded through me. My lips split into an idiotic smile before I remembered I was most definitely being watched. Smoothing my expression, I read the details of the file.

The address listed on the form was 2745 Meredith Blvd. I knew where he lived, now. Or at least I knew where they lived almost eighteen years ago. I suspected the address was probably no longer valid, but it was still more than I'd had before. Finally, I thought, we're getting closer. I quickly committed the address to memory, not wanting to risk writing it down where someone else could find it. If they had moved, perhaps Cole could apply his honed social networking skills and find out where this Daniel kid was now.

Conscious of Darren Johnson's presence, I left the file alone, pushing the other files closer to it and pretending to continue my search for another few minutes. Feigning frustration, I pushed the drawer closed and moved on to the next row of cabinets. Darren Johnson was now looking over Cole's shoulder. The dreamy look had returned to Cole's face. Who was this guy?

Shoving another drawer closed, I listened carefully. Cole still had information I didn't want the stranger to have. He seemed to have too much power over people to be anything entirely human. I couldn't tell for sure if he was the shadowy figure from the mountain lion's vision, but I knew he was definitely connected in some way to the misshapen creature. He had shown up because of what was happening to Claire. I was sure of that.

Silently pulling another drawer open, I contemplated what it would take to get away from the man. Cole would not want to leave, but if I could drag him far enough away from the fake Darren Johnson, he would run for his life. The problem would be getting him away from Darren. The man wasn't going to simply walk away from us without getting the information he wanted. And I was sure he very much wanted to know what I had found.

Somehow I knew his strength was not equal to his physical appearance, but much greater. We wouldn't be able to overpower him. I could barely stand his touch earlier. Cole certainly hadn't felt the searing heat as I did, but if Cole was close enough to hit Darren he would most likely not be able to bring himself to harm the man.

We needed to get outside of the building. If escape became a struggle, I didn't want the police getting involved. No doubt they would believe anything Darren told them. Although I didn't understand why I was immune to Darren's charm, I was pretty sure any other human would react as Cole and the lady in the hall had. The mountain lion's vision crept back into my mind. The animals knew what this man was. They feared him, but they would fight against him. Getting them here was the problem.

The memory of my first hunting trip with my dad gave me a hint, and a plan began to form in my mind. Getting outside was imperative. Evening my expression, I closed the filing cabinet drawer and walked over to Cole and his shadow. "I thought you were watching the door," I said to Darren Johnson.

Darren turned his smile on me with no effect. "I have very good hearing," he explained. "Everyone is busy enjoying their lunches, right now. Did you find what you were looking for, Uriah?"

Great. He knew my name. I knew Cole couldn't help himself from telling the man anything he wanted to know, but I was still going to let him have it if we were able to get away. Panic gripped my heart as an image of Claire lying on my mother's floor, unmoving, flickered in my mind. No, not if, when. Calming myself as best I could, I answered Darren's question honestly. "Yes, I did."

Cole's face glowed with excitement. "You found him? Where is he, Uriah?"

I glanced around the room, then down the hallway. I knew no one was around, but the searching wasn't for me. Cole followed my gaze eagerly, as did Darren Johnson, although his search was less enthusiastic than Cole's had been. He knew we were alone.

"I don't want to talk about it here," I said. Motioning to the door, I pulled it open quickly. "Let's get outside before someone catches us." Darren raised a finger, wanting to comment, but I slipped through the door before he could form the words. Cole hurried after me.

Seemingly unconcerned with his actions, Darren calmly walked into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. His glare was tight and focused, focused on me. I'd guessed that he wouldn't want to leave the room before gaining his prize, but since I remained unaffected by his magnetism, he was forced to follow me. I kept Cole close to me as we walked through the deserted lobby. Relieved that the dutiful receptionist was on her lunch break as well, I picked up speed and headed straight for the exit.

Without really knowing what I was doing, I formed a plea in my mind. Showing the same image of the rapidly changing shadow the mountain lion had presented, I sent out thoughts of danger and pleaded for help. I hoped something would hear me and come like the deer had. I had no idea whether there were even any animals in a city this big, but thin straws were all I had to grasp at in that moment. Almost running, I steered Cole toward the motorcycles. We were more than halfway there when Darren Johnson's patience ran out.

Somehow he appeared in front of me, his hand on my chest. The burning sensation ripped through my clothes, threatening to consume me. I called Claire to my mind right away, how excited she had been to speak with the elders, the night I asked her to marry me, our first kiss. Her heart and soul gave me the edge of strength I needed to withstand the attack and push his arm away.

"I think it's about time you let me in on your little secret, Uriah," Darren said with a sickly sweet smile. I squeezed Cole's arm painfully. He kept quiet. "I helped you, Uriah. I think you owe me an explanation."

"I owe you nothing," I said. My free hand slapped his hand away before he could touch me again. The skin to skin contact intensified the searing heat. I stumbled. Claire's pleading eyes swept through my mind, begging me to fight back. I straightened, pulling Cole behind me.

"What did you find? Where is Daniel?" he demanded.

Cole whimpered behind me. I realized I had twisted his arm painfully when I heard Daniel's name mentioned. Telling myself it wasn't Cole's fault, I forced my arm to relax its grip. The pain and fear were slowly overriding Cole's fascination with Darren.

"Yes," Darren hissed, "I know all about Daniel...and Claire."

I steeled myself, holding my love for Claire as my only lifeline. I could not fail her.

"Poor Claire," he crooned. "Wasting away, waiting for you to save her."

Darren circled around me toward Cole. I didn't need to pull Cole away this time. The strange man was definitely losing his hold.

"You won't be able to save her, Uriah. I won't let you."

"You have no power over me," I said. Turning slightly, I started backing toward the motorcycles. Darren followed. I pleaded again with whatever might hear my thoughts.

"I have never met a man I could not command before. I'm greatly disappointed to have met you so soon, but I am pleased to know that my touch causes you so much discomfort," Darren said, leaping toward me. His hands grabbed me more quickly than I could have imagined and pressed against my head and neck, holding me in agony.

Claire. Her graceful steps approached me, a brilliant smile on her lips. "Claire," I whispered. The pain of his touch had me on my knees. I was aware of Cole pummeling him uselessly, but it meant nothing. It was agony just to catch each gasping breath of air.

A deep snarling echoed in my head. My mind was too strangled to figure out where it was coming from. A sudden blow knocked me from my feet. I rolled over, aware enough to remember that one second's hesitation could cost me my life, mine and Claire's.

Lifting my head, I realized Darren lay sprawled on the asphalt a few feet away from me. I searched for Cole, wondering how he had managed such a fierce blow. My eyes flew wide. Cole huddled against a red car staring at the gray wolf next to him. The wolf flashed his teeth at me, a flood of images following quickly. He showed me that more wolves were on their way. The images showed them attacking Darren, or whoever he was. The last image showed Cole and me speeding away on our motorcycles.

Shaking my head, I attempted to send my thoughts back to the wolf, telling him that I could stay and help. A sudden image of Claire, lying on a bed, her face pale and sallow, rocked me. How could he know about Claire? Was the wolf truly able to read my thoughts without my knowledge? There was no time to ask. The images replayed in my mind, the wolf begging us to leave. Vengeance would have to wait. Claire was too important. Nodding, I stood, motioning for Cole to follow me.

A furious growl erupted from the wolf's muzzle. It launched itself in my direction, past me and toward Darren. I lunged to the side, falling against a parked car. Darren Johnson was on his feet again, his face twisted in fury. His body shimmered and heaved.

I scrambled back, reaching for Cole. One terrible convulsion ran through the man's body before it collapsed in on itself. I gasped, only to watch the mass rearrange itself in a terrible display. A wolf, twice the size of the gray, grew out of the raw material. Its fangs dripped with hunger.

The image of Cole and I riding away slapped back into my mind. I was more than willing to take the suggestion by now. Cole sprang to his feet beside me. "Run," I said hoarsely. Our feet pounded against the pavement as more snarling voices joined the fray behind us.

Images flashed through my mind, pushing us to leave, assuring me they would hold off the beast. Unfortunately, the images only showed him wounded, not dead. I wondered if anything could actually destroy such a demon. The motorcycles roared to life. The screech of the wheels was nothing compared to the battle we were leaving behind. Anger pulled at me as one of the voices faded from my mind.

"What just happened back there, Uriah? That guy, he just...what was he?" Cole's shaky voice asked.

"I don't know. Let's just get as far from here away as we can," I said. Explanations would have to wait, though there was precious little I would actually be able to explain as it was.

"Well, where are we going? Can you tell me that at least," Cole asked, his raw voice crackling through the headset. The irritation and fear in his voice was understandable.

"Daniel's file said they lived on Meredith Blvd. Do you know where that is?"

Cole shook his head.

"Just head back to the interstate for now. I don't want to hang around here," I said. Cole echoed my sentiment and sped up. The images began to fade as we drove. I paid close attention to the factor of distance. We were just over five miles away before the images started to recede. I logged that away in my memory, knowing I would probably have to call for help again.

# Chapter 28

### Confession

My hands were still shaking when we pulled into a gas station, miles from where we had left the wolves. Cole was nearly doubled over in misery by the time we stopped. "Uriah, I'm so sorry. Even after you warned me to stay away from that guy, I still told him everything he wanted to know. I couldn't help myself," he said gripping my arm.

My earlier anger at him had washed away in the face of the creature's attack. I was surprised he even remembered talking to Darren the second time. His power must wane the longer he was around a person. "It's okay," I said trying to comfort him. "I know you wouldn't have said anything if you could have stopped yourself."

"What did that guy do to me? And what the hell happened back there, Uriah?" Cole asked, his shame finally overrun by the absolute insanity of what we had just witnessed.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "That Darren guy did not work at the Vital Records office. He wasn't even human. And don't feel too bad about talking to him. He seemed to have the same effect on other people as well."

"Not on you apparently," Cole said miserably.

"Yeah," I said, "he was surprised by that too. It certainly wasn't anything I did. This woman walked by him in the hallway and said hi to him. You should have seen the look on her face. She would have done anything he asked her to do. It was really creepy. The weirdest thing was that she addressed him by his name, Darren, like she actually knew him, but there's no way she actually knew who he was, right?"

"I'm with you, that guy was not human," Cole said, "but if the woman knew him, what does that mean?"

She had recognized the man as Darren, but unless Pima County had some very questionable hiring practices, that was not the real Darren Johnson. Considering how the creature could manage to pass himself off as an actual employee, and remembering what had happened after leaving the office, there were very few explanations. I had a sinking feeling I had just figured out what it meant.

"I think somebody named Darren Johnson does work at the Vital Records office, but that thing we met was not him. I think he just looked like Darren Johnson."

"You mean that thing changed himself into that guy?" Cole asked.

"I think so."

"That's sick, really sick. What do you think happened to the real Darren Johnson? Do you think that thing killed him?" Cole asked.

Along with zombie movies, Cole loved sci-fi thriller movies, especially ones like _Body Snatchers_. I had to admit I was wondering the same thing. "I don't know. I hope not," I said. "There's nothing we can do about it if he did, though."

"That thing changed himself into that giant wolf like it was nothing. The regular wolves didn't even seem to think it was strange," Cole babbled. The memory of the wolves sent a shudder through him. He was undoubtedly wondering how he had survived being in their presence. "Where did those other wolves come from anyway?"

I looked away from Cole's wondering eyes. I had not wanted to mention the cougar's visions before, but only because I didn't want to frighten him. Now, it didn't feel right not telling him. Surely the man who was not Darren Johnson had already figured out that the wolves were my doing. Cole had already told him everything else, apparently.

"Uriah?"

"I called them," I said.

Cole's face scrunched up and shook slowly.

"Last night when that mountain lion walked into our camp, it was able to talk to me."

Cole stepped back.

"Well, not really talk, like we do," I said quickly. "He put pictures in my mind. First he just showed me a picture of us sleeping while he stood watch. Then this morning, before you woke up, he showed me more pictures. Animals like the mountain lion and the wolves were keeping watch over us while we drove to Tucson."

Cole looked around worriedly. "Are they here now?"

"I don't know, maybe." I waited for Cole to face me again. "He also showed me this strange creature that had been tracking us. I think it's been following us since we left San Juan. I think that might be who we just met."

"You have got to be kidding me," Cole said, running his fingers through his short black hair. "First Quaile turns you and Claire away because she claims she's had a vision, then my dad poisons his own daughter, sending us off after some mystery guy, you're talking to animals, and now some crazy, morphing psycho creature is after us." Cole sighed, banging his fist on the seat of his bike. "When did we stop living in the real world, Uriah?"

I shrugged, shoving my hands into my pockets. I had been asking myself the same question since visiting Quaile. "I've been wracking my memory for what this thing could be. I've heard stories of the Trickster, Coyote, or Iktome, but I can't think of a single legend that would explain what we just saw."

"I doubt that was the Trickster," Cole said. His hand came up to his forehead. He shook his head back and forth. "I can't believe I'm talking about this like it's real." Taking a deep, steadying breath, Cole seemed unable to continue.

"Why not the Trickster?" I asked.

"The Trickster mainly caused problems or scandals, humiliated people, or disrupted a tribe. Coyote is actually just the Trickster under a different name. Iktome was a lying, greedy thief who was usually trying to seduce women," Cole said. "Coyote and Iktome were usually trying to trick each other in the stories I've heard or read. Neither one ever hunted down humans to kill them. At least not that I'm aware of."

"That's what I thought. I always kind of liked the stories of Coyote and Iktome, but now I wish I'd never heard any of them," I said wearily. "I think that thing has been following us because of what's happened to Claire. It must be trying to stop us from finding Daniel, but I have no idea why. I can't tell you how many stories I've heard about Twin Souls, but never even once have I heard anyone mention some shape shifting demon trying to kill or capture Twin Souls before they meet. Have you? Maybe in one of the books you've read at the store?"

Cole shook his head. "No, never. I have no idea what that thing was."

Claire and I should have been planning our wedding, not her on the brink of death and me searching for some kid in Arizona, fighting inhuman monsters along the way. I closed my eyes, breathing in her memory. Her face and eyes were the only things that had kept me from dissolving under the creature's fire. I couldn't lose her. I refused to give her up.

"When that thing grabbed your head, I thought we were done for," Cole said. "What was he doing to you?"

"I don't know. He didn't even know. He couldn't figure out why I wasn't following him around like a love-sick puppy like everyone else. His mind games didn't work on me, but every time he touched me it felt like fire burning my skin," I said. "I almost blacked out from the pain, but there isn't a mark on me." Cole searched my face, either for scars he had missed earlier, or a hint that I was going crazy.

"Do you think he's coming back?" Cole shuffled his foot, kicking the bike's tire.

"Yeah, he'll be back," I said. Cole's head snapped up, searching the area. I reached up and gripped his shoulders. When he calmed down, I continued. "I think the wolves bought us some time, though. The things they showed me seemed to say that they would be able to hurt him pretty bad, but not kill it. I don't know if anything can kill it."

"Well let's not sit around waiting for him, then. I'll go ask the clerk where Meredith Blvd. is," Cole said. Sprinting to the convenience store, Cole glanced around himself warily. I had an urge to do the same thing. Despite what I'd told Cole, I had no idea how long it would be before the creature was back on our trail.

Testing my new ability, I created a picture of the creature in my mind, wounded and hiding. Sending the image out as a question, I waited for any response. Several images from restless birds crowded into my mind, all laced with terror. The answering pictures made it clear that none of the animals knew where the creature was. I got the distinct impression that they hoped they would never find out, either.

I tried to form another question in my mind, but the birds had already retreated, afraid to speak any more of the strange beast. Cole pushed the convenience store's door open with a wary sweep of the parking lot. Hurrying back to his bike, he climbed on in a rush. "We're headed the right way," he said. "It's just off Ina Road. The exit is about five miles from here."

Happy to drive further north, I mounted my bike and started the engine. Cole led the way, but I stayed close behind. I was starting to get used to driving in the busy city traffic. We merged onto the interstate with ease and continued our trek north.

My headset remained quiet as we drove. I knew Cole was burning with questions, but I think he realized I didn't understand what was happening any more than he did. Despite his more annoying qualities, Cole was smart. It was probably in both of our best interests to let him puzzle out the answers for himself. He was bound to do better than I was.

Claire wouldn't have appreciated that sentiment, always telling me to stop selling myself short, but aside from my brief search to figure out why I couldn't touch Claire, I had avoided most Tewa mythology other than the stories my mom had told me before bedtime as a child. I really was at a loss this time.

The heroic stories always rang just a little too deeply with me, which was why I shied away from them. I saw myself in many of those past warriors, and I wanted nothing to do with the lives they led. Holding the fate of an entire tribe on my shoulders wasn't something I sought after. Shearing sheep, planting alfalfa, spending my life with Claire, those were the things I wanted most. Maybe part of me recognized the subtle signs that there was something unique about me, and that was what made me keep my distance from my heritage.

Besides my lacking knowledge, thoughts of Claire kept me from considering anything too deeply. My chest tightened every time I thought of her lying helpless and alone. The scene in her parent's house played over and over in my mind. I had seen the look on Thomas's face when Sarah asked for the tea. I hated myself for not reacting in time. I knew how much he despised the idea of his daughter marrying me. When Claire needed me to protect her most, I failed. Would she even want me back? I had to believe she would forgive me. Although, her forgiveness might mean nothing if I couldn't find a way to keep the bond from forming.

# Chapter 29

### Relief

The fast pace of the city traffic brought us to our destination faster than I expected. The single story ranch house waited placidly for our arrival. The red terra cotta roof tiles seemed to ripple in the heat. Pale pink stucco wrapped the house, broken only by the faux antique, wood-framed windows and doors. The spiked fronds of yucca plants guarded the low windows just as much as the wrought iron bars secured to the window frames.

Parked a few houses away, we watched the home. Friday afternoon should have been a busy time, but in this neighborhood the day wound by quietly. "We need to find out if they still live there," I said.

I think we were both prepared for the let down and inevitable dead end as we watched the house, but we still climbed off the bikes and walked casually toward our target. I glanced up and down the street before stopping next to the mailbox belonging to the pink stucco house. Cole took up a position that attempted to block the view of my hand reaching into the mailbox.

Slipping the letters out, I quickly scanned the names. Junk mailers addressed to "current resident". A random flyer not addressed to anyone. A credit card bill for Henry Harding. A magazine addressed to Adelaide Harding. Scanning the rest of the letters to be sure they were all the same, I tossed the mail back into the box and stepped a few feet away. Cole stepped in beside me.

"Dead end?" he asked. His shoulders slumped in anticipation of my response.

"They still live here." The unbelief in my voice matched the expression on Cole's face.

"You're sure?"

I couldn't begrudge him the question. I wanted to go back and check the mail again myself. "That was their mail, Henry and Adelaide Harding."

We both sighed as the news really hit us. The relief was almost as draining as the disappointment would have been. I was ready for the disappointment. Still, I wasn't sure what to do next. Was Daniel home? Were his parents home? There was only one way to find out. Walking up to the front door, I rang the doorbell.

Cole and I waited for several minutes before pushing the bell again. Still no one answered. "I guess they're out."

"We'll just have to wait, then," Cole said, turning to walk back to the bikes.

When would Daniel get home? It was Friday. What if they had gone out of town for the weekend or over to a friend's house to spend the night? A sudden thought floored me. "He's only seventeen."

"Yeah, and..." Cole prompted.

"How are we going to convince him to come with us?" I asked. "His parents will never agree to let their son go on an out of state road trip with two complete strangers."

"I bet you can change their mind, if you have to," Cole said.

Thinking of my recent almost, and flat out failures in that area, I wasn't so sure anymore. "It may not be that easy, Cole. I think Claire's wrong about what I can do. You didn't listen to me when I told you to go home."

"Well, yeah, but this is about saving Claire's life. I had to go," Cole said. "I wasn't going to let you stop me."

"Exactly. Your dad almost held out about not letting Claire marry me. I don't think I can change anyone's mind if their decision is strong enough."

Cole frowned. "But my dad's decisions are always pretty strong. He was dead set against Claire even dating you. Most of his reasons for the stuff he does are totally bogus, but you've gotten him to agree to plenty of things."

There was more to it, then. Something in what Cole had just said made me think. "Then, maybe it has more to do with the reason behind it. You love Claire and wanted to come because you're really worried about her," I said. "Most of the stuff your dad does is just because he's being a selfish jerk. Maybe that's why I can change his mind so easy. Either way, I'm sure Daniel's parents love him and won't let him go. I don't think I'll be able to change their minds."

Thinking it over, Cole's confidence in me seemed to fade. I had told him straight out twice to go home and he had stood his ground. I didn't know how he could argue with me too much. He knew I was right. Daniel's parents would never let him come with us.

My teeth ground together as I raised my head to stare at the sky. I should have known my luck was just not that good. Standing around waiting for Daniel to show up would mean nothing if we couldn't get him back to San Juan with us. Plus, we had no way of knowing how much damage the wolves had done to the creature, or how long it would take him to heal and continue his chase. There was no time for all of this.

"Well, if he won't come willingly, what choice do we have?" Cole said reluctantly, bringing me back to the conversation.

Let Claire die, or commit our third felony for the day. Stealing private information. Violating someone's mailbox. Kidnapping. The first two might be overlooked, but the third one would definitely involve the police. I would do it, if it was my only choice. Cole nodded to himself. I was willing to bet he was having the exact same conversation with himself, and had come to the same conclusion.

I slipped my hands into my pockets and felt the strand of hair Quaile had given me. Kidnapping wasn't my last resort. The hair would certainly make Daniel come with us, with no questions or hesitation, but I couldn't bring myself to use it. Hope was the only thing I had left. If I knew for certain that Claire would never look at me with her milk chocolate eyes and feel the love I felt for her, I didn't know how I would find the strength to follow through with my task.

My last link to her, I would not use the strand of Claire's hair. I promised myself that fervently, but a tiny corner of my mind knew I could never let Claire die. If there was no other way, I would use it.

"We're going to attract attention sitting here all afternoon," Cole said.

I glanced around, searching for somewhere out of the way where we could hide. Further down the street a small park waited for children who didn't seem to live in the neighborhood anymore. Considering our age, we would have been more noticeable there than waiting on the motorcycles. Most likely someone would call the police, thinking the worst of our presence.

I scanned the buildings, spotting several possibilities. "That house down the street, the two story one, has a for sale sign out. Do you think it's vacant?" I asked.

"If it is, the neighbors will notice two guys poking around," Cole said thoughtfully.

"What about the house with the newspapers in the driveway. They must be on vacation." Cole looked toward the vacationer's house. Four rolled up newspapers were scattered in the driveway. The outdoor light had been left on. A small diamond shaped sign advertised that the house was protected by a security system. That ruled out breaking in, I thought happily. I was hoping to keep our criminal activity to a minimum.

"If we pick up the newspapers and pull the bikes around the back, we'll probably be fine," Cole said. "If anyone sees us, maybe they'll just think that the owners are back."

Climbing back onto the motorcycle, Cole scanned the street again. A late model BMW cruised our way. I knelt beside the bike, pretending to check the tires. The car continued through the neighborhood without stopping.

"Let's go," Cole said.

Within seconds we were dragging the motorcycles behind the home's wooden fence. Leaving the gate open just far enough to see the Harding's house, Cole and I settled against the wood planks. It was a little after one o'clock. If it had been during the school year, Daniel would have been at school. Summer break was winding down, but not over yet, so we had no way of knowing where he might be.

Being seventeen, Daniel was old enough to drive. He could be anywhere in the city. With only one car between me and my mom, I spent a lot of time walking. The fact that Daniel probably had a car would most likely take him directly into the garage. If that was the case, we would be left knocking on his door again.

I was unsure whether that would be the best or worst approach. Over six feet tall with a full build, I was not the most approachable guy in the world. Claire loved my height and strength. She always told me that when I put my arms around her, she felt safe from the world. Somehow I didn't think Daniel Harding would feel quite the same. Cole was more average in his height and build. Perhaps he should be the one to approach Daniel.

"How do you want to handle this?" Cole asked. I wondered if Cole was usually so sensitive to others' thoughts, or if we were just very likeminded. He seemed to have a knack for answering questions I hadn't actually spoken. Or maybe Claire was right and I showed what I was thinking in every expression.

"I think you should approach him," I said.

"Why me?" Cole asked. "You're not even sure yet that you won't be able to just tell him to come with us."

If I couldn't convince him right away, I would probably just intimidate him. Plus, the idea of actually meeting this guy made me want to vomit. "Still," I said, "I think he'll respond better to you."

"What, then you'll pop out of the bushes and introduce yourself? Yeah, that's a much better idea, Uriah." Cole glanced up and down the road again. "We should approach him together, but that's not really what I meant anyway. What are you planning to tell him?"

That was the real question. I had been hoping Cole's unusual silence had meant he had a plan, other than kidnapping, that was. "I don't suppose the truth is going to work very well."

"Probably not. I don't even believe it. Well, I do, but you know what I mean," Cole said.

Of course I knew what he meant. Souls split before birth, shadow men, and talking to animals. Everyone believed in those kinds of things, right? It was my own tribe's heritage, but very few of us actually thought it was more than fairytale.

"Can you think of any medical reason his parents would let him come with us?" I asked. I had already considered telling his parents that he was matched to Claire for his blood or bone marrow type, but the chance that Daniel, a minor, had actually been typed for either of those things were slim. Cole shook his head. Kidnapping was looking like the best solution. I asked, "Any other ideas?"

"Hmmm," Cole said cocking one eyebrow. "What can we say to a hormonal seventeen year old boy to make him want to travel across the state with us, most likely against his parents' wishes? Maybe that there's a beautiful girl waiting for him?"

My eyes narrowed. "That's the best you can come up with, Cole. Really?" He threw his hands up in defense.

"All I'm saying is that it will probably work better than trying to convince his parents he became a bone marrow donor without telling them. I'm sure you have a picture of Claire in your wallet. If you don't, I do," Cole said.

It seemed a little weird to me that he carried around a picture of his sister in his wallet, but I kept my mouth shut.

Again, Cole seemed to read my expression. "It's a family picture from last year," he said. "I don't have to tell you that Claire's beautiful. Look what you're willing to do to save her. I can imagine that he'd be more than willing to come with us, even if just for the chance to meet her in person."

My hands moved toward Cole, balled in tight fists. Cole might be fine dressing his sister up and trotting her around like a prized horse, but I would never do that to her. I didn't want this Daniel kid looking at a picture of Claire and wondering what it would be like to kiss her, either. My stomach soured even thinking about it. Kidnapping was definitely looking like the best option.

Despite Cole's cavalier words, there was desperation in his eyes. Looking down at my hands, I forced them to relax. Claire was Cole's sister. It was hard to remember I wasn't the only one terrified of losing her. Cole and I may love Claire in very different ways, but I had no right to say that mine was better or deeper than his. I still wanted to smack him, though.

"Uriah, I'm not trying to be a ghoul or disrespect Claire. I'm only trying to save her, and I think playing on this kid's hormones is our best bet." Cole leaned forward. I thought he was going to say something, but his gaze slid past me to the street. A silver sedan pulled up to the Harding home, swinging into the driveway with ease. A tall blonde woman dressed in a dark blue pant suit and black high heels was heading straight for the front door. Her heels clicked along the pavement as she dug through her purse for the house keys.

"Time's up," Cole said.

# Chapter 30

### Breaking In

I glanced at the woman carefully. Everything about her was sleek and professional. I couldn't see her face very well to guess her age, but her clothing had me assuming that she wasn't Daniel's sister. "You think that's his mom?" I asked Cole.

"Probably," he said. "She didn't park in the garage, though."

"Lots of people don't use their garages," I said, glancing up and down the street. Actually, there wasn't a parked car in sight. Either everyone in the neighborhood was at work, or people in this neighborhood really didn't leave their cars parked in the driveway or on the street. It was too nice of a neighborhood for that, I supposed. "Maybe you're right about the garage," I said. "She must be planning to leave again. We should go talk to her."

"Are you serious?" Cole asked.

"What if Daniel doesn't come home tonight? What if he's out of town? I don't want to waste time sitting here waiting for him to show up if he's not even coming back," I said. "We'll just ring the doorbell and ask if Daniel is home."

"But we know he isn't."

"Yeah, but she'll probably tell us when he'll be home so we can come back later," I said. Cole still looked doubtful. "We don't have time to debate it, Cole. Let's go." I slipped through the open gate and started across the street.

My mind was working furiously as I walked. Glancing back to make sure Cole was actually following me, I worked out what I would say to Daniel's mother. Cole hurried up to my side muttering about going along with another stupid idea. I ignored him and stepped up to the Harding's front door. I never asked him to come with me. My finger hit the doorbell and I stood listening to the melodic chime.

The artificially weathered door cracked open and the blonde haired woman peeked out through the small opening. "Can I help you?" she asked.

Relaxing my stance to one I had seen Cole use many times, I said, "Are you Daniel's mom?"

The woman smiled warmly, but didn't open the door any further. "Yes, I'm Mrs. Harding. Are you friends of Daniel's?"

"Yeah, we met him a few weeks ago," I lied. "We were over at a friend's house down the street and just thought we'd stop by and say hey."

Daniel's mother opened the door a little further. "I'm sorry, boys," she said, "but Daniel isn't here right now. He's been out of town for a few weeks and won't be back until next weekend. If you give me your names I'll be happy to let him know you stopped by."

"That would be great, Mrs. Harding," I said quickly, not wanting to give away my lie by refusing her offer. "Just tell him Uriah and Cole came by to see him."

"Uriah and Cole," she repeated, "I'll tell him. You boys have a good afternoon."

"Thank you," I said. She closed the door with a smile, and Cole and I walked back down the driveway. I nudged Cole in the vague direction I had indicated. We were only half way down the block when I heard the soft purr of Mrs. Harding's silver sedan filtering through the quiet afternoon.

Glancing back, I saw her reverse into the street and drive back the way she had come. "She's gone." Cole stopped midstride and turned to look at the receding sedan. "I think we should go back," I said. "We need to find out where Daniel is."

"You want to break into their house?"

"I don't think we have any other choice."

"Why didn't you just ask her where he was? She might have at least told you that," Cole said.

"His mom was nice enough, but if I had tried pressuring her into telling us where Daniel was she would have gotten suspicious and might have called the police. Breaking in is the only option right now. I didn't see a security system sign anywhere in their yard, so we might be able to find a way in without getting caught," I said.

"Do you even know how to break into a house?" Cole asked. "And I don't mean throwing a rock through a window. I have the feeling this is the type of neighborhood where people will notice that kind of thing and call the cops."

"No, Cole, I don't know how to break into a house. It's not something I usually do in my spare time, but I'm sure we can find a way to get in if we try hard enough. Now are you going to stand here arguing with me all afternoon or are you going to help me figure out where Daniel is?" My patience with Cole was edging toward its snapping point again. This was why I never hung out with him much back home. One minute we got along fine, and the next I wanted to sock him in the face.

Cole shrugged his shoulders as if I was the one being unreasonable. "Let's go, then," he said. He stalked ahead of me. I resisted the urge to smack the back of his head and caught up to him.

I glanced up and down the street again, checking for any nosy neighbors, before cutting across the hearty desert lawn. Launching myself over the low plaster and brick wall, I landed in a bed of gravel. Cole grunted as he struggled to get over the same wall. Landing with a heavy thud, Cole straightened himself, trying to pretend he had made it over as easily as I had. I rolled my eyes and walked around the corner of the house.

The Harding's backyard was as immaculate as the front yard had been. Light brown pebbles edged the entire area. Half the yard sported the same rough grass from the front yard, and the other half was paved with natural flagstone. The flagstone patio held a variety of potted plants, as well as an above ground fire pit and built in barbeque grill. The patio furniture looked brand new, perfectly arranged for the parties I had no doubt the Harding's hosted regularly.

Unlike the windows in the front of the house, the windows in the back didn't have the wrought iron bars secured to the casings. That was a good sign. I knew it was too much to hope for, but I went to the sliding glass door and tugged on the handle. It didn't budge. "Locked," I said.

"So's the window," Cole said, leaning against the glass. "Try the other one."

Only a few feet away, the high rectangular window was most likely sitting over a kitchen sink. It was one window my mom often forgot to lock. I hoped Mrs. Harding had the same problem. Pressing my hands against the glass I tried to use the pressure to slide the window open, but it refused to move as well. Applying the same technique, I tried the rest of the windows with the same results. "They're all locked," I said. "Any ideas?"

Cole stepped out of the pebbles he had been standing in and approached the sliding glass door. "I don't know if I can do this, but we don't have a lot of other options. The door looks old enough that it should work," Cole said to himself. He grabbed the edge of the outer panel with one hand and pressed the other hand against the glass. I watched as he shoved the door into the upper track and tried to lift it away from the bottom track. It slipped and pinched Cole's finger.

"Damn it," Cole said as he snatched his finger away from the door and stuck it in his mouth. I took a step toward the door, ready to try his technique, but Cole waved me away. "Let me try again. I think I almost got it." Taking the same position, Cole tried to yank the door out of its tracks. The corner of the lower edge almost made it free before Cole's grip slipped.

"You want me to try?" I asked. Cole nodded stiffly, his hands folding over his chest with a grunt. It took several tries before I finally caught the outer edge of the door on the top of the track. Cole breathed a sigh of relief at the grating of metal on metal. Looking around the patio, he pulled a decorative lawn ornament with a long metal spike out of the ground.

"Try pulling it as far away from the glass as you can," he instructed. Pulling gently, I tried not to break the door. Cole slipped the thin piece of metal through the small space, reaching for the latch. The spike slipped off the curved lock twice before Cole was able to gain the right leverage and flip the switch up, unlocking the door.

Lowering the door back into the tracks, I pulled the door open easily. "How did you learn to do that?" I asked, turning back to Cole.

"Like I said, I get bored at the store," Cole replied. I wondered what else he had learned sitting around his dad's store. Whatever it was, I hoped it would come in handy as well.

# Chapter 31

### The Next Step

Staring into the house, Cole said, "I didn't really think that would work. It probably wouldn't have if this door had been replaced in the last decade."

"Feel free to leave them a note about having a new door installed," I said. "I'm sure they'd love to get some security suggestions from the kids who broke into their house."

Cole ignored my mocking and kept staring at the glass door. It was a little disturbing how easy it was to get it open. I was suddenly glad my old house was built before sliding glass doors became commonplace.

"If we ever find Daniel, you can make the suggestion yourself," Cole said sarcastically. "Can we go inside now? I'd rather not stand out here where some busybody might see us."

Stepping into the empty house, I was impressed enough to forget that I should have been nervous for a moment. The house was probably around twenty years old, but it could have passed for newly built. The kitchen sported professional appliances and dark granite countertops that matched perfectly with the cabinetry. The living room looked as if it hadn't seen a guest in years. I was amazed by how clean and crisp everything was. It looked like a home in a magazine rather than one people actually lived in.

Cole wandered through the house, indifferent to the finery. He was more used to this type of living than I was. A sudden clicking noise from the refrigerator's cooling system made him jump. He ran a hand through his hair trying to cover it up. I let him. I was really just glad that he didn't notice me jump as well. For a moment, I had thought there was somebody else in the house. I hadn't even considered that there might be. The fact that we were snooping through a stranger's house finally hit me. My hands were twitching anxiously as I tried to decide what to do next.

"The bedrooms are probably down the hall," Cole said pointing away from the kitchen. I followed him back. Both of us peeked nervously in doors as we went deeper into the house, hoping we weren't about to surprise someone. Luckily, they were all empty. After passing what looked like a study, then a guest bedroom, we found Daniel's room. Feeling slightly more relaxed now that we knew house was empty for sure, we stepped in.

Whoever kept the rest of the house in such tight order was obviously not allowed in Daniel's room. Clothes were piled in the bottom of the closet and various other places around the room. The smell said they were not clean. CDs and DVDs were scattered over a desk meant for, but not likely used for, doing homework. The blankets from his bed were pulled halfway off, lying twisted at the end of the bed.

"How are we supposed to find anything in here?" Cole complained.

"Do you see a computer anywhere?" I asked. I wasn't that interested in social networking or any of that, but I thought it was safe to assume Daniel was. Shoving a pile of clothing off a corner of the desk, I saw the angular, sliver lines of a laptop. Opening the lid gently, I pressed the power button and waited for it to boot up. Cole moved behind me to watch the screen as well. His position let him keep an eye out the window too.

The chime of the operating system blared through the speakers. Pressing the volume button, I turned the speakers down almost completely before opening a web browser. "Click that icon," Cole said.

I clicked on the button and Daniel's Facebook page filled the screen. His grinning photo filled my vision. I stared at his insipid smile as my stomach roiled with distaste. I finally knew what he looked like. It was a bittersweet victory. Peeling my eyes away from him, I scanned the rest of the page. Pictures of his friends and their exploits dotted the rest of the page. Every photo of Daniel had a different girl on his arm. I shook my head. This was supposed to be Claire's Twin Soul?

He was nothing like her. He looked like one of those TV show playboys who never grew up and ended up bouncing around rehab centers as an adult. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh, but just looking at the pictures made me mad enough to want to chuck the computer across the room. There was no way this was the guy who was going to swoop in and steal Claire away from me. Absolutely no way. I stared at the pictures of Daniel and couldn't help picturing him with Claire. It just seemed so wrong.

"You've got to be kidding me," I said. "There's no way Claire would fall for that guy. Look at him. He's a total ingrate."

He seemed so average, too. His blond hair and blue eyes, his build, his height, his trendy appearance, they were all completely unremarkable to me. Although Claire might disagree, I certainly didn't think of myself as outstanding, in looks or otherwise, but I was what she wanted, not this boy. His arms couldn't wrap around her and protect her like mine could. His kiss wouldn't draw the contented sigh from her that mine did. Claire and I had shared too much for this kid to steal it all away.

"Yeah, he really doesn't seem like someone she'd go for," Cole said. It was what I wanted to hear, but something about the way he said it pricked my ear. It seemed half-hearted, like he was only saying it make me feel better.

"What?" I asked. "You think I'm wrong?"

Cole shrugged and tried to pass off my question, but I waited. "It's not that I think you're wrong, exactly, but you've really only known Claire since you two have been dating. She's changed a lot since you two hooked up."

"Not that much," I said quietly. Sure, Claire cared less about her popularity than she once did, but I knew she was always more than people thought she was. With me she felt comfortable showing her true self. That was what I had always believed. She didn't change for me, or because of me. At least, I didn't think she had.

Shaking away Cole's words, I told myself that regardless of whether I was right or he was, Claire was nothing like Daniel, now. She would see through his charm and swagger. She had to. "She's nothing like him," I said. Cole didn't respond.

I had to focus and get out of the Harding's house. Ignoring the multitude of obnoxious pictures, I forced myself to turn to his rambling postings. The last status update read, "I'm outta here. See you guys in three weeks!" I scanned through the previous posts, looking for a clue as to where he had gone. After a few pointless comments on what some of his friends were doing, and what girl he was chasing that week, he made an offhanded comment about a summer camp he was going to.

"Summer camp?" I scoffed. "I didn't realize seventeen year olds still went to summer camp. I thought most kids outgrew that by ten."

"You couldn't pay me to go to summer camp," Cole said, "even if I were a ten year old girl. Macramé and campfire songs aren't really my thing."

I scrolled down the page looking for a name of the little kid summer camp Daniel was attending. My irritation and anger kept building the longer I sat there reading his babble. I knew I was probably being too tough on this complete stranger, but I didn't really care. It was possible that he was going as a counselor, not a camper, but by the superficial attitude his status updates had shown, I doubted he would be interested in mentoring young children.

"Wait, there it is," Cole said, knocking my hand away from the mouse and scrolling back up the page. "Southwest Youth Expeditions."

Typing the name into a search engine, the company's homepage loaded immediately. Pictures of teens rock climbing, white water rafting, hiking, and camping dotted the website. I read through the descriptions of what the camp had to offer. Some of my mocking and irritation faded, but only a small part of it. I had to admit it was impressive. There wasn't a single mention of singing, or arts and crafts. "Well, I guess it doesn't look as bad as I thought it would," I said.

"I would definitely go to that camp," Cole agreed. "Does it say where it is?"

I took the webpage all the way down to the bottom. Centered under the last paragraph was the camp's location. "Roosevelt, Arizona," I read. "At least he's still in Arizona. I was afraid he'd be roasting marshmallows in Colorado or Montana. Do you have any idea where Roosevelt is?"

Cole shook his head.

Going to the maps section of the search page, I quickly typed in the address of the camp in Tucson as our starting point. After a quick second, the map was displayed with driving directions. "Three and a half hours away. North," I groaned. Cole winced. I had been hoping for something that would be on our way back to San Juan, not further away. Shifting a few more piles of clothes, I looked for a printer, but couldn't find one.

Tugging a scrap of paper out from under a stack of DVDs, I found a pen in the top drawer of the desk and hastily scribbled down the directions. I folded the paper and stuffed it into my back pocket. I stood up and saw Cole replacing a push pen on the corkboard mounted above the desk. The board was plastered with snapshots and notes that had to have been from girls, judging by the heart shaped dots over the "I's".

"What are you doing?" I asked Cole.

Flipping a small photo toward me, Cole said, "It's a picture of Daniel. I thought we might need a reminder of what he looks like if we're going to have to track him down."

I nodded, glad that Cole had thought of it and even more glad to see it go into his pocket where I wouldn't have to look at it. Getting to know Daniel by going through his things and looking at his webpage added a little more to my hope that Claire would not fall madly in love with him as soon as he woke her, despite what Cole had said. There was nothing about him Claire would find in the least bit appealing.

Closing the laptop lid when the screen finally went blank, I stood up from the desk and said, "Let's get out of here before someone comes back."

"Sounds good to me," Cole agreed, already on his way out of the room. I was right behind him. We had been here too long already.

# Chapter 32

### Fading

The drive north was rather uneventful until we reached Phoenix. The metropolis was astounding. Cole had been to Phoenix before, but I had never been anywhere bigger than Albuquerque. Despite Cole's limited experience with driving in big cities, he was still just as nervous as I was to drive through the winding freeway system that ran through Phoenix. The traffic flow bounced between barely moving, and flying past exits, with no apparent reason for the inconsistency.

I was relieved when we finally saw our exit and started heading away from the clamoring city. As we reached the outskirts of the Phoenix metropolis Cole's voice broke the tension filled silence over the headsets. "We should stop and get something to eat. Who knows what we'll find after we leave the city."

Thinking of food woke up my stomach and sent it growling. I wanted to keep driving and get to Daniel as fast as possible, but I was starving. Passing out from low blood sugar while driving a motorcycle wouldn't lead to anything good. "Yeah, okay," I said grudgingly. I started searching the roadside for somewhere we could stop. The big yellow star of a Carl's Jr. Restaurant drew me in. I loved their ridiculously huge and messy burgers. San Juan didn't have a Carl's Jr. "Let's stop in there," I said pointing to the sign. Cole nodded eagerly.

We pulled up to the restaurant, the heat rippling above the black asphalt. It frustrated me that we needed to stop when Claire was waiting for us, but I wasn't used to the intensity of the Arizona heat. Two hours of riding unprotected under the glaring sun had sapped my strength. As Cole climbed off his bike, beads of sweat rolled out from under his helmet.

"I really hope they have air conditioning," Cole said. I had to agree with him. Tucking my helmet under my arm, I pulled the restaurant door open. My shoulders slumped in relief as a blast of cold air hit me. Cole was right behind me.

"Thank goodness," he said.

We ordered our meals and sat waiting with the plastic triangle indicating our order number sitting on the end of the table. "How much longer?" Cole asked.

After taking a long drink from my soda, I said, "About another hour and a half."

"I wish the sun would go down," Cole complained. "I can't stand this heat. It's so much worse than San Juan. We road by one of those signs that tell you the temperature a while ago. One hundred and two. I hope Roosevelt's cooler."

"So do I."

A teenage girl approached our table carrying our order. She set the tray down with a smile and said, "Enjoy your meal, guys. Just let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks," I mumbled before grabbing my burger and unwrapping it. The hot sandwich smelled delicious, but reminded me of the heat waiting for us outside. My growling stomach outweighed every other thought, though. I took a bite, looking up when I heard Cole laugh. "What's so funny?"

"That girl couldn't stop staring at you," he said.

"What girl?" I asked.

"The one who brought the food, you idiot. She keeps looking over here," Cole said. I glanced behind me to the ordering counter. The girl caught my gaze and grinned. Cole, always friendly to a pretty girl, lifted his hand and waved in her direction. The cashier standing next to the girl elbowed her and they both erupted into giggles.

"I think she was looking at you, man," I said. I was not in the mood. Cole could waste time getting girls' numbers some other time.

"She wasn't looking at me when she stood at the table drooling over you a few seconds ago. You didn't even notice she was still standing there when you started eating your burger," Cole said.

"Cole, would you just eat your food? I want to get out of here sometime today. We're not in Phoenix for the fun of it, remember?" I said, trying to guilt him into focusing.

Cole took the wrapper off his sandwich and started eating, but the smile remained. "You really didn't notice her?" he asked between bites.

"Why would I?" I asked, stuffing a few French fries into my mouth.

"Why? Because she was obviously really interested in you, and she's pretty hot. She looked like she was trying really hard to think of a good reason to ask you for your number," he said.

I shrugged.

"You really don't care?"

"Cole, I'm with Claire. I don't care what anyone else thinks about me," I said. I was almost finished with my meal, while Cole had barely taken three bites. I swore to myself that I would leave him behind if he didn't pick up the pace.

Cole just shook his head at me and dug into his burger.

"Did you mean what you said back at Daniel's house?" I asked. "About Claire being different than she used to be?"

Setting his burger down, Cole looked over at me. "Look, Uriah, I didn't mean anything by it. Don't worry. We both know Claire loves you more than anything. She's never been as happy as she's been since you two started dating."

"But what did you mean? Can you honestly picture Claire with someone like Daniel?"

His fingers tapped up and down on the table as he considered his answer. My teeth ground together as I waited. I needed to know. "If Claire had never starting dating you," Cole started, "then, yes, Daniel would be exactly who I'd picture her ending up with."

"You can't really..."

Cole didn't let me finish. "Uriah, I know you like to think that you knew Claire so well before you two got together, but you really didn't. You watched her from a distance. You didn't really know her. Sure, you knew that she was pretty, outgoing, and a nice person, but you didn't really know what she was like.

"Claire complained about the way the other kids used her friendship to get stuff, but she was fine with it because she enjoyed being the most popular girl in school. She lives in jeans and t-shirts now, because she likes hanging out on the ranch with you, but she and my mom used to go shopping every weekend for new clothes. She never wore the same thing twice. Claire spent more time trying on clothes every morning than I do in a month. And you have no idea how much time she spent on her hair and makeup.

"And when it came to boys, Claire had a string of eager guys she led around by her pinky. Sure, she was only sixteen when you two started hanging out, but she could manipulate guys like a pro by the time she was ten. Guys would do whatever she wanted. She knew she was pretty and she took full advantage of that."

I huffed at Cole's spiel. He had to be being overdramatic. I would have noticed Claire acting like that.

Seeing that I didn't believe him, Cole said, "Claire went an entire semester in sixth grade without doing her own homework once. She would smile and ask a guy to come over after school and help her with her homework, and they would do it for her. She only stopped because I told on her."

"Cole, there's no way Claire was like that. She's one of the most honest people I know. She's the first to help when anyone needs it. I've never seen her manipulate someone like that," I argued.

"She doesn't act like that anymore because of you, Uriah. My dad teased and manipulated Claire from the time she was a baby. I think she just thought that if my dad could do it to her, she could do it to other people too," Cole said. "Hanging out with you changed her. She told me once that she felt different around you. You made her feel like she was special for who she really was, not for what she looked like or what she had. You made her see herself for the first time, and I guess she didn't really like what she saw and decided to change."

The other girls at school, I never really paid that much attention to them through grade school, because I was always too focused on Claire, but as we got older I saw the way some of them used each other and did whatever they thought would benefit them the most. Thinking of Claire as one of them was too bizarre to comprehend. I had never seen that side of her. How could there be this whole other part of her I had no idea even existed? I really didn't think I could have been that blind before.

"Look," Cole said, "I'm not saying that Claire was this horrible person before she met you, because she wasn't. She's always been a sweet girl, but she was definitely a lot more self-absorbed back then. If she had never gotten to know you, she would probably still be obsessed with clothes and hair and dating just like Daniel seems to be. But she did meet you. Whatever Claire used to be like, she isn't that same person anymore. That's what's really important. Claire loves you, Uriah. Just focus on that right now. It's all you can really do."

Claire did love me. I knew that. The rest of my life had been flipped on its head, but I at least still knew that for sure. She loved me, and I loved her. Nothing else mattered right now. I couldn't let it matter. I had to stay focused. There were too many other things to worry about than whether or not Claire used to be as superficial as Daniel was.

"You know, when I called my mom, she said Claire was all right, but...then she said something about how Claire will start fading even faster the longer she had to wait." Those words had been bothering me all day. With everything else, they got pushed to the back of my mind, but having a quiet moment to think sent them right back to the front. "What do you think she meant by that?"

Cole shrugged, but it wasn't with his usual careless attitude. It was slow and thoughtful. "I don't know," he said.

"It sounds like she's fading already, doesn't it? I mean, she can't start fading faster if she isn't already showing signs of...something." Cole's chewing slowed as he thought. "She's already dying, isn't she?" I said.

"No, man, I'm sure she's fine," Cole said. He was less than convincing. "Sophia's there. She'll take care of her."

"I don't know, Cole. The way my mom said it, it didn't sound good." It sounded like she was hiding something from me.

"Uriah," Cole said, waiting for me to look at him before continuing, "whether something is already happening to Claire or not, you have to stay focused. The only thing we can do for Claire is what we're already doing. We're going to find Daniel. We're going to save Claire. Just stay focused, okay?"

I nodded and looked away. I knew we were doing everything we could, but it still felt like it wasn't enough. I finished off the last of my fries and waited for Cole to do the same. A few foot tapping minutes later, Cole finally crumpled his wrappers and tossed them back on the tray. "It's about time," I grumbled.

Cole snorted and grabbed his helmet off the bench. We left the restaurant, but not before Cole felt the need to smile and wave at the two giggling girls one more time. I stalked back to my bike, trying not to let my frustration get the better of me. Cole was a good friend, and had already proven extremely helpful.

"So, you know where we're going?" Cole asked.

I took the poorly drawn map and driving directions out of my back pocket. The lack of details made it pretty easily to follow, and most likely completely useless, but the driving directions I had copied verbatim. "We're already on highway eighty-seven, so we'll just follow this until we reach FR twenty-six, which will take us to highway one eighty-eight. One eighty-eight goes right into Roosevelt."

Cole nodded and settled himself back on his motorcycle. I stared at the directions in my hands. It all seemed so simple on paper. Drive to Roosevelt, get Daniel, take him back to Claire. Getting Daniel, I still had no idea about how to accomplish that, but not even the driving part was easy. I was waiting and watching for the creature to reappear. I had no illusions that we were rid of him.

The help the mountain lion had promised was definitely there, keeping an eye out for me and reporting in every few miles. So far none of them had seen any sign of the beast. All I could do was hope our luck would hold out a little longer. I, at least, wanted to reach Daniel before facing the creature again. If I died trying to fight that thing, which seemed likely, I wanted to have found Daniel and sent him on his way to Claire. I had already failed Claire once by not stopping her father. I couldn't fail her again.

"Uriah," Cole said, snapping me out of my dark thoughts, "were almost there. Just another couple hours and we'll find Daniel. It's going to be okay."

I appreciated his serious tone. No matter how laid back Cole was, I knew he wouldn't let Claire down either. "Let's get going," I said.

Driving out of the city felt good. As the houses disappeared, the animals multiplied. Their reports reassured me. We drove in silence for the first few minutes, my thoughts focused on the search for Daniel. We were only going to a summer camp, but that didn't mean getting Daniel out was going to be easy. A compound full of thrill seekers could present a challenge. Cole's bike pulled up alongside mine, drawing my attention.

Our conversation back in the restaurant both bothered me and reassured me. Just talking to him and getting some of what I was thinking off my chest felt good. I was sure my head would have exploded a while ago without someone to talk to. Having him along was actually a huge relief. I was surprised by how helpful he had turned out to be, too. What we were heading into would test us both, though. I would face whatever I had to in order to help Claire. Was Cole ready for what we might face next?

# Chapter 33

### Daniel

The sprawling campus of Southwest Youth Expeditions stretched out before us an hour and a half later. Located north of Roosevelt, near the Salt River, the summer camp took up several acres. Excited looking teens milled around the grounds, some hauling rafts, some ready to go swimming, others carrying hiking packs. Cole and I watched the dozens of campers, wondering how we were going to find Daniel.

"Any thoughts on how to get this kid away from camp?" Cole asked. I still didn't have an answer for him. "'Cause I'm sticking with my earlier plan if you don't come up with something better," Cole said.

I waited a few seconds until my irritation leveled off. "I think it's a little more complicated, now, don't you? It's not just a matter of getting him away from his parents for a few days, anymore. He's going to have camp counselors looking after him and doing bed checks at night. We've got to come up with a believable excuse to get him away from here."

"The only way they'd let him go would be for some kind of family emergency," Cole said.

"But they'd probably call his parents to make sure we weren't lying," I reminded him. "We need something that won't involve his parents. Maybe he can fake sick."

"For the whole weekend?"

"Maybe. Do you have a better idea?" I asked.

"I guess not, but we still have to convince him to come with us. I think playing to his hormones is the best plan. I know you don't like it, Uriah, but aside from outright kidnapping him, I don't see any other likely options," Cole said.

There was one other option.

I remained quiet. In the hours we had spent driving I hadn't been able to come up with anything better. There was just no good way to try and convince Daniel to run off with two total strangers. I hated to admit it, but Cole was right. I knew he was right the first time he mentioned it. Claire would hate the idea of us using her looks, but it had to be done. Even she couldn't be too upset under the circumstances.

"For it to work, you can't tell him Claire's your fiancée. You're just a concerned friend," Cole said.

I closed my eyes for a second. Most of the guys around San Juan were pretty careful about how they talked about Claire, at least around me, but I had still heard some of the things they said about her, about her looks and body. Even remembering some of their comments made my anger spike. I was supposed to sit back and pretend I didn't care when Daniel talked about my fiancée? I knew he would. Judging from all the girls featured on his wall, Daniel's respect for women was lacking.

"Can you handle that, Uriah?" Cole asked. Cole had seen me react to crude comments about Claire a few times. He thought it was funny at the time when I slammed a guy against the wall in the locker room for saying exactly what he wanted to do to Claire that weekend, but I doubted he would even crack a smile if I hit Daniel for the same thing.

"I can handle it if I have to," I said tightly.

"Good," Cole said. I doubted he believed me. I didn't really believe myself. I would try, but there was no guarantee I wouldn't deck Daniel if he got out of hand.

"Well, we can't just sit here. I guess we can try to blend in and look for him," I said.

"It's better than sitting here staring at everyone," Cole agreed.

Watching as a camp bus pulled up to the entrance, I nudged Cole and pointed at the bus. Campers started piling off the bus laden with camping gear. Shouldering our backpacks to look like we had just returned from a long hike as well, Cole and I walked through the low brush and joined the groups of returning campers. Cole took the picture of Daniel out of his pocket, but I didn't need to see it. Daniel's face was etched in my memory. I searched very face we passed for his obnoxious smile.

We stalked the grounds with no luck, avoiding anyone who looked like a counselor. "He must be out climbing or something still," I said. A shrill ringing sounded over the area. "What was that?"

We watched as the campers abandoned whatever they were doing and started heading for a large rectangular building. Shrugging, Cole started to follow the throng. I was only a step behind him. The empty courtyard in front of the building began to fill quickly. The pushing to get inside intensified as more and more teens arrived. The double doors of the building sprung open, sending rolling waves of delicious aromas out over the waiting crowd.

"It must be dinner time," Cole observed.

I searched the faces more carefully. Daniel should show up here. After a day filled with white water rafting, or kayaking, or whatever they had been doing, no teenage boy was likely to miss out on a good meal. I moved away from the doors to get a better view of the crowd. Boys jostled each other while girls huddled in tight circles, giggling and pointing. I walked along the line taking in their faces.

The line moved forward slowly. I was nearing the end of the line when a group of boys came crashing around the corner. Bumping into the last few people in line, they doled out laughing apologies. The girls they ran into only giggled in return. The leader of the group of guys didn't turn away from the girls. The young woman closest to him smiled shyly. He stepped around his friends so he could stand next to her. His face turned in my direction as he moved.

His smile was cool and relaxed, and a perfect match for the one I had seen on Daniel's picture. "Cole," I hissed. "Cole, I found him."

Cutting off his own search, Cole walked over to me casually. He glanced toward where I was staring, then down at the photo in his hand, and nodded.

"That's him." Daniel was getting closer to the building. "Should we go now?" Cole asked.

Approaching him in front of his friends didn't seem like the best idea, but letting him disappear into the building and hoping to find him again later seemed even worse. I didn't want to go into the dining hall and risk running into a camp counselor. These kids had already been here for two weeks. The counselors would probably realize we didn't belong, and make sure we left without bothering anyone. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Let's go."

Walking slowly so we didn't draw any unwanted attention, Cole and I crossed the stretch of gravel between us and Daniel. Daniel moved forward, only a few feet from the double doors. Cole glanced at me and quickened his pace. I matched his step. Stepping up to the doors, Daniel glanced behind himself, looking for his friends and seeing us instead. His face lost its casualness.

I pictured what we must have looked like, half running toward him, most likely panicked looks on our faces. I consciously made an effort to slow down and attempted to smile. Cole must have had the same notion. Still, Daniel looked at the doors to the dining hall. He looked as though he was trying to decide whether or not we were dangerous.

"Excuse me, Daniel?" Cole's voice was calm and even. I quickly decided to let Cole do the talking.

"Yeah, who are you?" he asked, his body still perched halfway through the doorway. "I haven't seen you around here before."

Bringing himself up short of Daniel by several feet, Cole offered his hand and said, "Hi, Daniel, my name is Cole Brant and this is my friend, Uriah Crowe."

Daniel squinted, searching his mind. He seemed to wonder whether the information should mean something to him. His friends walked around him and through the doors, saying they would save him a spot. "What do you want?" Daniel asked.

"We were just wondering if we could speak to you about a mutual friend for a minute," Cole said. Amazed at how cool he was staying, I was about to stuff my sweating palms into my jeans pockets when I remembered the strand of hair. I quickly lowered my hands, not wanting to touch the strand in Daniel's presence.

"What's this friend's name?"

"Her name's Claire Brant," Cole said.

"She your sister or something?" he asked Cole. Cole nodded calmly. "Well, I've never heard of her. You must have me confused with someone else." Daniel moved closer to the door, one foot crossing the threshold. I quickly pulled my wallet from my back pocket and snatched Claire's picture out of its usual place.

"Maybe if you saw a picture of her," I suggested, holding the photo up for him to see. Controlling the impulse to shred the picture before Daniel had a chance to look at it, I thought of Claire collapsing again. I would do whatever it took to bring this boy to her. Daniel shrugged and turned away from the door. He took the picture from my fingers. Every inch of my body was poised, ready to identify even the slightest hint of the Twin Soul bond forming.

"She's pretty," Daniel said. It was a casual comment, but the way his grip tightened on the picture was a clear sign there was something more hiding behind his feigned indifference. His next words were an obvious lie. "I don't think I know her."

The idea that he somehow recognized Claire was agonizing, but I knew I had to test just how far the recognition went. I snatched the picture out of his hand, watching his reaction closely. "If you don't recognize her..."

A strange expression came over Daniel's face. Fear, maybe, or desperation. He reached for the picture, but I held it tight. His desperation increased.

"Uriah," Cole warned under his breath, misinterpreting my intention.

Daniel tugged on the picture. "Wait, let me see it again."

I released the photo slowly. This time Daniel took his time, his eyes drinking in every detail of my beautiful Claire's face. Bile rose in my stomach. I had to turn away and take a deep breath.

"I'm sure I've never met her before," Daniel said. His voice had a sad, wistful quality to it. He had never met her, but there was clearly a connection. "There's something..."

"Are you sure you don't know her?" Cole prompted. "She sent us to find you specifically. You are Daniel Harding, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but," Daniel started, "how would she even know my name?" His eyes were still glued to the picture. The restraint it took not to rip it out of his hands again was tremendous. Knowing I would be putting Claire in danger if I was selfish held me back. Cole stepped forward just enough to bring himself between Daniel and me, obviously sensing my struggle.

"Why would she send you to find me? My number's in the phone book. She could have just called my parents and told them what she needed," Daniel said. The look on his face said he was once again considering jumping through the door and finding a counselor.

"Claire's in trouble," Cole explained. "She's been hurt very badly. She may not live." The concern on Daniel's face was alarmingly intense. His hand gripped the door frame more tightly than before. The movement set me on edge.

"She asked us to find you and bring you back to her because she believes you can help her," Cole said.

Cole's words were dangerously close to the truth. If Daniel's curiosity provoked questions, it would be very hard to answer them without words like potions, visions, and Twin Souls slipping out.

"How could I help her? What happened?"

"I'm not exactly sure how Claire thinks you might be able to help her," Cole lied, dodging Daniel's second question entirely. "We had to leave quickly to find you. There wasn't enough time for questions. All we know is that we were sent to find you. We had to move fast, Daniel. Claire doesn't have much time left."

Daniel's body looked ready to explode with tension, but he wasn't giving in quite yet. "So you just expect me to come with you, just because Claire told you I could help her? There's no way the camp counselors will let me take off with two strangers without permission from my parents, and I have a feeling that's not going to happen, either," Daniel said, although his voice was thick with concern for Claire.

The objection that the counselors or his parents wouldn't let him leave with us caught my ear. He wasn't saying that he didn't want to go, just that he didn't want the trouble he would get into if he left with us. I felt nothing like the spectacular connection my mother had spoken of, but his reactions to Claire's picture and injury were clear signs that he felt compelled to find Claire. Guilt and need struggled for dominance of my emotions.

I might be able to shorten this discussion up if I could just tell him to come with me. Cole nodded for me to try. I seemed to be losing my touch lately, but I tried any way. "Daniel, you have to come with us to save Claire."

He balked. "I don't have to go anywhere with you. For all I know, you're lying through your teeth so you can murder me for sport. I'll go if want to."

So much for that. Cole shrugged. I tried, at least. When I needed this freakish ability most lately, I couldn't make it work. It wasn't love this time. It better not be love yet. Something kept Daniel from hopping on the back of our bikes. Maybe it had something to do with him already being in the hold of the Twin Soul bond, even as tenuous as it still was. That would certainly figure.

"Where is she?" Daniel asked suddenly. Cole faltered for a split second. This might be what brought us back to the question of kidnapping.

"New Mexico. We're from small a town north of Santa Fe," Cole replied. I braced myself for his reaction.

"You guys drove all the way here from New Mexico? Just to find me? You must really be serious about this, or completely nuts." His voice was still a little incredulous, but Cole and I sighed in relief. The problem with kidnapping was that we were riding motorcycles. It would be nearly impossible to control a captive while trying to keep the bike upright and moving. Plus, I was still hoping to avoid involving the police. We had been lucky so far with that, and I didn't want to tempt fate any more than absolutely necessary.

"Yes, we did drive all the way here from New Mexico," Cole said. "Will you come with us?"

Daniel rubbed his forehead and stared at the noisy dining hall. "Maybe you guys should come in for a minute," he said.

I spoke up quickly. "We'd rather not attract your counselor's attention since we're not really supposed to be here."

"I doubt they'd notice," Cole said, "but I am hungry. Wait here so I can grab some food and then we can go back to my cabin."

"Just hurry," I said. "Claire doesn't have much time."

Daniel's face paled visibly as he nodded and ducked into the dining hall.

# Chapter 34

### More Alone

Cole paced next to the dining hall door while I wondered how long it was going to take before we were back on the road. Daniel walked into the chaotic room and made a beeline to the serving counter. I was glad to see that he didn't stop to talk with any more girls. Daniel gathered his food quickly and was coming back out of the hall within a few minutes.

"Just follow me," he said. The march across the campus was quiet.

Leading us into his rustic looking, but well-built cabin, Daniel pulled a soda from a miniature fridge and held it up, a silent question to us. Cole and I both shook our heads. Daniel popped the can open and set it on the night stand next to his bed. He sat on the narrow wooden bed while Cole and I remained standing. His tray of food on his lap, Daniel took a bite, speaking in between each mouthful.

"It's not that I don't want to help you guys, it's just that my parents will freak out if I suddenly disappear from camp and they have the counselors calling them in a panic." His expression made it clear that he really did want to help us, very much.

"Do you think it would help if we talked to them and explained the situation?" Cole asked. Daniel and I both stared at him sharply.

"I seriously doubt it," Daniel said. Cole merely shrugged.

"Don't you have any friends here?" I asked. Daniel started at the sound of my voice. It was the first time since he emerged from the dining hall that I had spoken to him, and the urgency in my voice made it hard and too loud.

"Of course I have friends here," Daniel said, obviously offended by my words. "What does that matter?"

Surely he wasn't that naïve. I was pretty far from being called a troublemaker or bad influence, but even I knew most teens often used their friends to cover for them when they needed to get away from their parents for a while. Realization suddenly dawned on Daniel's face.

"Oh," he said. "I could probably talk Clay into covering for me. How long will we be gone?"

I had also gotten directions from Roosevelt back to San Juan off the internet before leaving Daniel's house. If we could leave in the next few minutes we would get back to San Juan late, but the eight and a half hour drive was doable. I wasn't sure how long it would take for Daniel to administer the antidote, but I intended to have him out the door immediately afterward. "We can have you back tomorrow night."

"Or the day after," Cole amended.

"So, before Monday morning for sure, right?"

"Yes," I said. Cole agreed tentatively.

Daniel nodded his head slowly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Maybe I can go with you guys. This is the last weekend of camp. We have the weekend free to do whatever we want, so missing activities won't be a problem. I'll just need someone to make excuses for me if anyone asks."

The picture of Claire was still in his hand. He held it up again. A pained look flashed across his features and I knew he was thinking of the beautiful girl in pain and dying. "Okay. This might work. Let me call my friend real quick. Only the counselors are supposed to have cell phones but Clay snuck his in to call his girlfriend every night." Setting his empty tray aside, Daniel grabbed a cordless phone off the nightstand. He punched in the number quickly and waited impatiently. Almost a full minute passed before he hung up in frustration and tried the number again. This time someone answered.

"Hey, are you not taking my calls anymore?" Daniel asked. His voice was completely casual again.

I could hear the low mumble of his friend's response, but couldn't make out the words.

"Yeah, yeah, save your excuses. Hey, I have a favor to ask."

More mumbling.

"I need you to cover for me this weekend." Daniel paused, looking at Claire's picture again. "I need to take off for a few days. I have something to take care of. Okay?"

There was silence on the other end before the indecipherable speaking began again.

"Well, there's this girl, and..."

The laughter was easy to hear. Daniel's face broke into a rueful smile. No doubt his friend had something much different in mind than what was really happening.

"Thanks, Clay. I owe you big time for this. Later."

Even cool and confident Cole looked relieved. I was itching to get out of this kid's cabin and on my way back home to Claire.

"Now all I have to do is check in with my parents before they call looking for me," Daniel said. Dialing again he waited for his mother to answer.

"Hey, Mom. I just wanted to call and check in with you, let you know I'm doing okay." His mother's voice was a pleasant hum compared to Clay's braying laughter.

"Yeah, it's been great so far. I went kayaking today with Clay and Donny. It's our free weekend this weekend, so Clay and I are going to be out for the next couple days. He wants to hang out and blow off some steam, maybe take some four wheelers out into the hills or go water skiing over at Roosevelt Lake," Daniel said. "I just wanted to let you know what we'd be doing just in case I don't get the chance to call you again before Monday."

I could hardly tell he was lying, but I hoped his mother wasn't paying very close attention. Mothers could usually tell when their kids were being dishonest.

Daniel listened to his mother for a few more seconds before a questioning look formed on his face. "They stopped by the house?" he asked. His mom said something else then he spoke again. "No, I know Cole and Uriah, Mom. Yeah, I met them at the skate park. Don't worry about it. I'll call them when I get back."

Staring at us with a slightly suspicious look again, Daniel wrapped up his conversation with his mom. "I love you too, Mom. I'll see you guys next weekend. Just leave a message at the front desk if you need to get a hold of me this weekend."

After a quick exchange of goodbyes, Daniel set the phone down. Turning back to us with a sigh of relief, Daniel clapped his hands together. "Well, that's taken care of."

Taken care of. He said it like he actually thought everything was fine now. If only he had any idea what we were still facing. It was a good thing he didn't know or he never would have agreed to come. Cole watched me thoughtfully. My thoughts must have been showing again. Wanting to keep my fears to myself for the moment, I smoothed my expression. Cole raised an eyebrow at the change in my features, but said nothing.

"You guys went to my house?" Daniel asked.

Cole nodded carefully. "You thought we knew you were at camp when we left New Mexico? Of course we went by your house first."

He didn't think to ask how going to his house led us to Roosevelt, thankfully. If he would have, it probably would've led to him wondering why his mom would tell us where he was. It was a good thing he wasn't thinking very hard at the moment.

"Let me grab some clothes and we can get going," Daniel said, forgetting the exchange. He slid Claire's picture into his back pocket as he walked past me. I stifled a pang of agony at losing the picture and shoved my hands into my pockets.

Just as my fingers touched the strand of hair, Daniel's step faltered. His gaze turned back to me, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Panic swept over me. He had felt something when I touched the scrap of hair. Snapping my hands out of my pockets, I folded them over my chest and attempted to lean against the wall casually. Daniel shook off the odd feeling and began walking again.

"Make sure you put everything in a backpack, Daniel. Neither of us has room on our bikes for your stuff," Cole said.

"By bikes, you mean motorcycles, right?" Daniel asked.

"No, we rode to Arizona on our mountain bikes," I said sarcastically. "Of course they're motorcycles."

Unbothered by my hot retort, Daniel lips turned up in a smile. "Nice. My mom won't let me have a motorcycle. She thinks I'll kill myself."

"She's probably right," I said under my breath. Cole gave me warning look. We needed Daniel. "Just hurry up, Daniel. We need to get going."

"Right, right," Daniel said, bounding into the bathroom. I wondered if we had mentioned the motorcycles earlier, we could have been out of here by now.

"Be nice to the kid, Uriah. I know you're worried about losing Claire to him, but I'm more concerned with whether she lives right now than who she marries," Cole said. The edge to his voice surprised me. Cole rarely spoke harshly with anyone. His words brought on a heavy dose of guilt. My face must have given away my emotions again. "Don't get me wrong, Uriah, I'd rather have you as a brother-in-law than Daniel any day. Just remember what's at stake."

I knew he was right. I wasn't the only person in Claire's life. There was no doubt in my mind that saving her life was more important than saving our love. "I'll be nice," I said quietly. I turned toward the little window hovering above Daniel's bed. The look on Cole's face was too full of pity for me to look at him.

Daniel emerged from the bathroom, eagerness to get the adventure underway showing plainly on his face. "You guys ready?" he asked.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I turned back to Cole. With a forced smile, I said, "Just waiting on you, kid."

"You know, Uriah," Daniel said with a laugh, "you aren't that much older than me. You're what, twenty or something?"

Cole rolled his eyes and shoved Daniel toward the door. Daniel pushed out into the courtyard and we hurried across the empty space, slipping through the gate left open to haul supplies back into the compound. We made it over to the motorcycles without seeing a single person. Daniel strapped his backpack onto his body as he said, "Getting out of there was a lot easier than I expected." His eyes were shining with a mixture of excitement and maybe just a little bit of fear. Excitement was definitely winning.

"Yeah, much easier," I mumbled. The fact that his friend was willing to lie for him wasn't that surprising. It could be that it was just a coincidence his mother was too distracted to hear the hint of deceit in her son's voice, or that no one had seen us leaving, but I had a feeling that it was something more. Twin Souls wanted to be together, even before they knew they did. I was suddenly remembering stories of how the universe could bring Twin Souls together despite any odds. My good fortune soured. Apparently, I was more alone in my battle to keep Claire than I realized.

# Chapter 35

### Watching

Cole and Daniel rode ahead of me. Daniel had been slightly disappointed when he realized there were only two motorcycles, although I had no idea how he thought we might have brought an extra one. When Daniel asked who he would ride with, I folded my arms across my chest and stepped in front of my bike. There was no way I was spending the next eight and a half hours with that kid sitting behind me. Cole was quick to offer his own bike, mumbling something about my size making the ride uncomfortable for two people.

The drive through the main part of Roosevelt was slow because of the residential speed limits, and nowhere as unnerving as our first trip through Tucson or Phoenix. We were probably the only two people in those cities that had been happy about the rush hour traffic jams. Slow, but steady, we made our way north out of Roosevelt. I could see Daniel's mouth moving almost constantly. Cole was kind enough to turn off the helmet headset.

Driving across town toward the open desert, my anxiety rose with each mile. I hadn't forgotten the shape shifting man or the wolves. The picture the wolves showed me had not been pleasant. The gaping wounds bled as the creature limped away. I had faith in the wolves' estimation of the damage they could inflict. The simplicity of their messages seemed to reflect their honesty. Animals had little need for pride or deception.

Still, a creature that could change its shape at will would most likely be capable of repairing whatever damage the wolves had done, as well. The only real question was time. We had left the creature behind almost five hours ago. I had no way of knowing how quickly it could recover and find us again. My animal lookouts had reported in just before leaving the adventure camp with Daniel, but their news had been confusing.

Several animals reported feeling the creature's presence nearby, but none had actually seen it. Wondering what other powers the shape shifter held, I hoped that invisibility wasn't one of them. That would just be taking this trip into fantasyland too far. Whatever healing capabilities the creature had, they were hopefully slow enough to give us a little more time.

I felt pretty confident that if Daniel's and Claire's souls were united, the creature would abandon its hunt. I was dead set against that very result, but facing the creature again, in return for keeping Claire safe, seemed a small price to pay. Even if it meant I got killed in the process. I wasn't very optimistic about my chances against that thing.

Warily, I watched the roadside. Most likely, the creature would continue to try and hide its existence in some way, but that only made me more wary of the long shadows creeping across the desert floor. Soon we would be on the lonely stretch of highway leading us back to the New Mexico border. Among other humans, the creature would most likely not attack, but if it did, the wolves or other animals may not be able to intervene. While in the desert we would be protected more easily, the creature would be free to attack us. It was a double edged sword. I desperately hoped we wouldn't be forced to stay outdoors overnight.

"Uriah," Cole's voice broke over the headset. "We're about to leave Roosevelt. I want to top off the gas tanks before we head out and maybe grab some food for later."

My rumbling stomach reminded me that all I'd had to eat in the last twenty four hours was a couple granola bars and a hamburger. We had a long drive ahead of us and I wasn't sure whether any of the towns we would pass through would have anywhere to eat. I was glad Cole had the presence of mind to pay attention to the details. "Sounds good," I replied.

"There's a gas station up ahead."

Following Cole, we made a smooth exit and pulled up to the pumps. Cole swiped his card at the pump and handed Daniel some cash. Daniel hurried into the convenience store, his gaze falling back to us several times. My stomach lurched every time I looked at him. Cole stuck the pump nozzle in his bike's tank and walked over to me.

"How much are we going to tell Daniel?" Cole asked.

"As little as possible."

"He's been yammering since we left, with lots of questions about what's going on." Cole ran his fingers through his hair. The smooth motion reminded me of Claire's complaints about the length of my hair. Brushing my eyelashes now, it had really gotten out of hand. I resolved to get it cut as soon as possible. Cole finished filling up his bike and handed the nozzle to me.

"He'll give up eventually," I said. Cole's glare was meaningful.

"You're not the one stuck sharing a bike with him. I need something to tide him over," Cole said.

"Hormones or no, he's in this for the adventure, as much as for Claire. Tell him he can ride the motorcycle around when we get to San Juan and he'll be happy. Just keep him interested in the motorcycles, and sneaking off from summer camp, and he'll drop the questions after a while." The nozzle snapped, halting the flow of gas. Ignoring Cole, I returned the nozzle to the pump station.

"Uriah, his questions haven't all been about the bikes, or how exciting this is, plenty have been about Claire." Cole's face was serious. "He understands why I'm here, Claire's my sister, but he keeps asking about you. He can tell there's a connection between you and Claire," Cole said, pausing and looking down, "and he sounds jealous."

"What?" I demanded.

"I know he doesn't understand the emotion, but it's there. He's already starting to feel the pull," Cole said. "It started as soon as he saw her picture and you know it. He wants to be with her."

My face tilted toward the sky. Closing my eyes, I pressed my hands against my face. There were no simple answers. Confirming his fears that I was Claire's fiancée would only intensify his jealousy. Telling Daniel I was another relative or friend of Claire's would make him suspicious. We had to walk a fine line with him. Tipping the scale too far either way could make him change his mind and want to leave.

"I don't know what you should tell him, Cole. The truth will make it worse, but so will lying," I said. "We'll be out on the highway in a few minutes. He won't really be able to talk then. Just try to hold him off for now, unless you come up with something better. I'm sorry, Cole. I don't know what to do. I'm having a hard enough time just keeping my thoughts straight half the time. Every time I think of Claire, I see her collapsing, and all I can do is hope we'll be able to save her. I can't focus on anything except getting back to her. Hopefully this will all be over soon."

Cole shrugged warily, but didn't look too annoyed that I had failed to answer his question. There really was no good answer as far as I could see. We were hauling this kid across the desert because centuries old stories had suddenly decided to come to life. There was no way to explain that to Daniel. Besides, Cole was a capable problem solver, and I was too distracted to come up with anything useful. I just wanted to see Claire again. Even if she turned me away, I had to touch her soft skin and kiss her one more time. The promise of touching her again was the only thing keeping me going right now.

"I just hope we can make it back tonight," Cole said. "I really don't want to have to explain camping with mountain lions to Daniel."

Nodding in agreement, I planned to keep everything to do with the animals from Daniel. I watched as a smiling Daniel exited the store with cellophane wrapped sandwiches in his arms. "Hey, Cole," I said, "thanks for not making me ride with him. I don't think I could take it."

"Sure, man," Cole said. "We'll be home soon."

Crossing the pavement quickly, Daniel held his purchases up as if proving he were more than capable of the simple task. Daniel tossed me a sandwich before climbing behind Cole. Thinking of what Cole had mentioned, I smiled politely and thanked him. Daniel eyed me thoughtfully for a brief second. His obvious excitement to move on quickly took over. Cole glanced back at me, his expression grateful for my small effort. Slowly, we rolled across the blacktop. Just before we merged back onto the road, I thought I saw a flicker of brown fur dart behind a dumpster.

My spine tingled. Testing my new found ability, I searched for the wolves by forming a picture of the animals standing near the gas station in my mind. All I received in return was the frightened, scattered thoughts of a small rabbit as it darted away. The communication was easier each time I experienced it, but this time the answer was disappointing. The patch of fur had been too far above the ground to be a rabbit.

"Cole," I tested, unsure of whether his headset was on.

"Yeah?"

"I think I just saw something following us."

"Oh really?" Cole asked casually. His tone confused me until I remembered Daniel. He didn't want to tell Daniel about the creature, and neither did I.

"I don't think it was friendly," I said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Cole said, his voice a little tighter, but still upbeat.

"Keep your headset on for now, okay?"

"No problem."

The few remaining buildings disappeared behind us. Our speed picked up when we left the city behind, but I could still see the image the mountain lion had shown me of the creature pacing us even as we drove along the highway. Cole apparently didn't feel safer at the higher speed either. His head routinely checked the roadside as he drove.

"Uriah," Cole spoke, "do we have any...help out here?"

Clearing my head, I formed the question as an image and sent it out to the surrounding desert, deeper than I had before. Immediately, answering images crowded my mind. Wolves, coyotes, even mice watched us as we passed and assured me there were more ahead. They knew we were coming. They also knew the creature pursued us. He wasn't hiding as carefully as before. Each image of the shape shifter was tinged with fear and hatred.

"Yes. The whole desert seems to be watching."

"Good," Cole said, sounding like he actually meant it. It was a huge departure from his reaction to the mountain lion the night before, but I imagined that after seeing the shape shifting monster, Cole was willing to accept help wherever he could get it. "Let me know if anything changes."

Nodding even though I knew Cole couldn't see me, I focused on the images still flooding into my mind. With so much sensory information, I could hardly concentrate on the road. Unsure of how to make my request clear to our friends, I pictured the animals watching us silently, only calling out to me if they saw the creature coming too close. The image barely made sense to me, but most of the animals seemed to understand. Thankfully, my mind cleared, letting my own thoughts dominate once again.

"He finally stopped talking," Cole said. "The wind is too loud to hear each other, thank goodness."

"That's good. We might have to stop at some point to eat, but we'll keep it short so he won't have too much time to ask any more questions."

Cole was quiet for a few seconds. "Is this going to work, Uriah?"

"Yes, it will," I said with conviction.

"What will you do if you can't stop Daniel and Claire from connecting with each other?" Cole asked.

I had refused to consider that I wouldn't be able to stop the bond from forming. "I know what you were saying earlier, but can you really see Claire going for Daniel, now?" I asked.

"Now? I don't see it happening," Cole said.

I couldn't tell whether he was merely being supportive or if he truly believed what he said.

"Since that first week you guys hung out, you're the only one she's ever been interested in. I just can't imagine her with anyone but you anymore."

I considered his words. Claire and I were so well matched despite what Cole had said earlier. We complimented each other in every way. Claire was my light, and I her anchor. I just couldn't see what Daniel had to offer her. "Even if the bond forms, I think Claire can withstand it," I said.

"I've heard that meeting your Twin Soul is something like being struck by lightning. It's supposed to bring the most powerful emotions a human can feel, all released in one moment," Cole said. "Could anyone abandon that?"

He was speaking my fears. I loved Claire with every last particle of my soul. If the connection was made between Claire and Daniel, could I really ask her to give up true, soul binding love for me? It was a selfish desire, but one I believed Claire would share. "Claire is one of the strongest people I have ever met. If anyone can fight against a pull like that, it's Claire. I have to believe it's possible," I added quietly.

"Claire is incredibly stubborn," Cole agreed. "I hope it works, Uriah. My dad is a fool for not wanting you to marry Claire."

I couldn't reply. Quaile had said basically the same thing, but I knew I was the one who was lucky to have Claire in my life. Cole said I changed Claire. I knew it was the other way around. Before Claire, I had been comfortable gliding through life in the background, content with what I had, not brave enough to imagine there was more waiting for me. Claire had changed everything. The day on the riverbank had been the beginning, but each day after was a new adventure.

Cole's obvious fear that I would lose my battle stung. I was trying to keep Claire as close to my heart as I could, and I hoped she was doing the same. Hope was all I really had left. Although, as I thought about what was chasing us I realized I did have my dad's training. His letter had talked about preparing me. I still didn't know for sure what he thought he was preparing me for, but the hours he'd spent passing on to me the hand to hand combat and weapon skills he learned in the military were undoubtedly about to come in handy.

I always thought he just wanted me to know how to protect myself and the people I loved. Doubts about the reasons behind his lessons were starting to creep into my mind. His letter mentioned me having to face difficult things and how Claire and I would have to be strong to survive them. Did he somehow know all of this would happen? A particular sparring match with my dad a few weeks before he died came to mind, working to convince me that he had.

"You can't just defend, Uriah," Dad said. "You've got to be more aggressive or you'll never win."

"Dad, we're just fooling around. I'm not going to try and hurt you," I argued. Whether it was fighting, shooting, or wilderness survival, I loved that my dad wanted to spend time with me and teach me what he knew. Lately, though, he had been getting more and more intense about the lessons. Today was worse than usual.

"Someone attacking you isn't going to let you get away with just defending. If you don't attack, you give them the edge and you lose. Let's go again." Squaring up, my dad settled into his stance and waited for me to do the same.

I shook my head and stepped up. My fists were barely raised before my dad's attack began. Throwing up my elbow at the right time sent his blow glancing to the side. He came again from the other side, faster than usual. I barely got a block up in time to stop him. Next came his foot, trying to sweep my legs out from under me. He'd taught me too well for that to work. My wide stance kept me grounded.

It was a heavy round of attack for him. Expecting him to ease off and give me a few pointers like he usually did, I relaxed and waited to hear what I could have done better. That was a big mistake. Off my guard, my dad's fist barreled right into my chin. It was nowhere near as hard as he could hit, but it still knocked me back. I shook my head and looked up to ask him what he was doing only to see another punch coming straight at me.

My honed reflexes kept him at bay, but he just pushed harder, yelling at me to attack. I had never seen him act like this before. I knocked away blow after blow. Why was he acting like this? Confusion clouded my ability to think. Eventually the blows started making it through, scoring on me hard enough to leave bruises. Another hit connected with my jaw. This time it was at his full strength. I stumbled to my backside, looking into my dad's fiery eyes as I scrambled back up.

Anger started roiling around inside of me. He never fought this hard. It was a lesson, for crying out loud, not a barroom brawl. What was he thinking? If he wanted me to punch him, then he would get it. Stalking across the patchy grass, I was intent on my dad. Taller and more built than him, he should have reconsidered what he was asking. He just grinned fiercely and waved me on.

I went on the attack, just like he wanted me to, landing hits to his gut and shoulder in the first few seconds. He managed to block a few before I caught him again. He grunted with the pain I caused him, even though I had reigned in my anger enough to keep from really hurting him. Back and forth we went. Every time I went back on the defensive my dad kicked his attack up, forcing me to push harder, as well.

His breathing was heavy and his movements slower than normal. He still wouldn't give up. I realized he wanted me to beat him. This wouldn't end in a relative draw with insightful pointers. For once there would be a clear winner to our fight. Ready to put this ridiculousness to an end, I kicked my leg out as I turned and knocked him to the ground. He landed in a puff of dust, and the air blasted out of his lungs.

For a moment I stood there watching him. What was next? Would he explain himself? Apologize for getting out of control? He reached a hand out to me and I pulled him up. I wanted my explanation now. Clapping his hand against my shoulder, my dad nodded.

"You did good, even if you were pulling your punches some," Dad said. He started to walk away, but I grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Aren't you going to explain what that was all about?" I asked. "I could have really hurt you, Dad."

Taking a moment to dust himself off, my dad didn't answer right away. Satisfied that he was clean enough, he regarded me seriously. "Yes, you could have, Uriah, and it's about time you realized that. You have power inside you. I know you think these lessons are just fun and games, but one day you'll have to use what I'm teaching you. And when that day comes, you better be ready to put all your effort into it or you won't be the one walking away at the end of the fight."

What was he talking about? He was acting like people were getting attacked in San Juan every day. "Dad, this is stupid. Even if I did have to fend somebody off, all I would need to do was get one good punch in and they'd be out. I would never try to really hurt someone, let alone kill them."

"You don't know what the future holds," he said quietly.

"This isn't one of your stories, Dad. People don't go around saving whole towns or battling gods in real life. I wouldn't want to be that person, anyway. I want to be here on the ranch with you guys and Claire. I have no desire to be some kind of hero," I said. "I hope I never have to use any of what you've taught me. Nothing would make me happier than to live on the ranch for the rest of my life never having to shoot or punch anyone, so drop this, okay?"

He didn't agree, but he didn't push it either. Shaking his head sadly, he walked back into the house. I watched him go, wondering what on earth had prompted all of that.

# Chapter 36

### Attack

A flood of images slammed into my mind with such force that I nearly lost control of my bike. It was a warning. The tumbling pictures were difficult to understand, but one thing was definite. The creature was coming for us. Fast. It had to be getting desperate to prevent Daniel and Claire from meeting each other by now. The images flowed from multiple minds, screaming of danger, confirming my worst suspicions.

"Cole, it's coming!" Immediately, his bike sped up. I had a feeling that speed wouldn't save us. Images from a pack of coyotes confirmed that the creature was increasing its pace as well. Speaking to the coyotes, I begged them for help. Much smaller than the grey wolves who had rescued us that morning, coyotes were still formidable hunters. Hatred for the creature assaulted my mind.

I didn't doubt they would fight the beast, but I couldn't see them winning against the massive creature. I called out frantically, searching for mountain lions, wolves, anything that would heed my call. Sensing my needs, the animals relayed my message further out than I was able to on my own. Only a few seconds passed before answering calls sounded vocally as well as through my thoughts.

Glancing up at Daniel, I realized he had picked up on the increased level of anxiety enveloping us. His head whipped from side to side as he clutched Cole tightly. An image sprang into my thoughts, showing me a small stand of piñon trees at the base of a small hill. Surrounding the trees were the animals that had answered my call. Pushing the images and feelings away, I scanned the horizon for the grove.

About half a mile ahead, a dirt road peeled away from the highway and wound past a clump of piñons. "Go right on the dirt road," I ordered Cole. "Head for those trees. The animals will stand with us there."

There was no need to spend time talking. Cole kicked the motorcycle up to a more dangerous speed, weaving through the slower traffic. Drivers blared their horns as we darted between two trucks. The yellow dividing lines ticked by so quickly they blurred into a solid strip. Riding the line past several more cars, we swung across the right lane with barely enough shoulder left to slow down.

I was able to handle the turn with ease, but Cole was forced to drag his foot through the dirt just to keep the bike from toppling over. Dirt and gravel flew behind the bikes. I sped up to Cole's side to avoid the spray. Focused on the stand of scrubby trees, Cole barely noticed my presence. Daniel, however, stared at me, his eyes wild with fear. His excitement had finally disappeared.

"Cole," I said, turning my head so Daniel couldn't see my mouth, "keep Daniel close. He may run if he gets the chance."

The tight bob of Cole's helmet was barely noticeable through the jarring ride along the dirt path. The stand of trees drew closer. Slowing down just enough to keep from smashing into a tree, I swerved to the right and darted to the back of the grove. Leaping from the bike, I realized we weren't alone. Three coyotes stood at the base of the hill, flanked by a large pack of grey wolves. Daniel's frightened scream drew my attention. The tawny mountain lion brushed past his leg, which sent him scurrying behind Cole.

The familiar calm that spread over me as the mountain lion approached brought a sigh of relief. My old friend. We had only met the day before, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. I welcomed the great cat and thanked him for coming. Bounding over to me in two short leaps, the mountain lion rubbed his head against my leg. The connection with the animal still amazed me. His presence felt so natural. I trusted the mountain lion with my life, though I had no idea where the confidence came from. I had no time to contemplate the connection. My hand automatically reached down to scratch his head, while my eyes searched the scene before me.

Cole tossed me one of the guns from his pack and kept the other for himself. Daniel's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"What the hell is going on here?" Daniel demanded.

"Just stay behind Cole. There's no time to explain," I said. Images flashed through my mind. The creature was approaching slowly, gauging his chances. Sending my thoughts to our allies, I pictured Daniel, forming the animals around him. Confusion tinged their responses. They were drawn to my aid, not to the others. They were bound to protect me.

I considered their messages, equally confused. Earlier, I thought the animals were warning me that the creature was coming for Daniel, not me. Why would it be coming after me? A patient explanation formed in the animals' minds. The animals only said the creature was coming. They never said it was coming after Daniel. The reason they were there had nothing to do with him. I was more confused than ever.

Nudging my leg, the mountain lion brought my attention solely to him. I blocked out everyone else and listened. The creature was after Daniel, he explained, but only for the moment. I was his true enemy. Daniel was only a momentary distraction. When the creature was done with Daniel, he would come after me. I tried to ask the cougar what the creature wanted with me, but he was finished talking and refocused on the creature's approach. Time was running out.

I reinforced the image of the animals protecting Daniel, stressing that this was the best way to protect me right now. A murmur ran through their thoughts, but the mountain lion silenced them immediately. My own plea was sent back to me, a promise that I would be obeyed. Slowly the others animals agreed. Man and animal tensed as a sweeping fear filled the area.

I glanced at Cole, wondering how he would react to the creature's presence. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he was withstanding the creature's lure. For now. Daniel was faring much worse. He was pulling against Cole's strong grip, his hands reaching out to his death bringer. Terror and adoration fought for control of his face. Realizing Cole and I still wore our motorcycle helmets I said, "Knock him out if he gets out of control."

"No problem," Cole said through clenched teeth. Removing the helmet, I tossed it aside.

Growling erupted throughout our protective circle. A dark form walked on two legs through the first line of trees and stopped. He was no longer Darren Johnson, but his new human appearance seemed vaguely familiar to me, as if I should know him no matter what form he took.

"Uriah, Cole, how nice to see you again." His voice was silky and alluring. Neither I, nor the animals were affected, which made me curious, but Cole seemed to be barely holding against his urge to run to the man with open arms. Daniel flailed wildly against Cole's restraining hands. The struggle to control his charge was likely the only thing keeping Cole in check.

I may have to punch them both.

"Daniel," the creature oozed. Daniel stopped struggling and watched the man adoringly. "What a pleasant surprise to come across you. I had thought at first that Uriah's harried flight was to reach his own Twin Soul, but then I found out you were his target instead. That has made this much easier than I expected." Taking a confident step forward, the creature smiled. My mountain lion friend snarled, edging closer to Daniel.

"Really, Uriah, our fight can wait. There's no reason for you to come against me yet. Tell your friends to back off and turn the boy over to me. Then we can simply go our separate ways, for now," the creature said. "I would much prefer to postpone our battle until I have finished my business with Daniel."

For some reason, the confusing fight with my dad came to my mind. I felt similar to what I had felt then, confused, angry, scared even. It made no sense that my dad would have been preparing me for this day, but he had done his job well. If the creature wanted me, he would take me. My guess was that he was still feeling the wolves' claws from earlier today. The smile forming on my face was nothing close to friendly. Taking a step forward, I studied the man's face, trying to gauge just how hurt he still was. His sneering mask gave away no clues.

I was sure he was hurt by the way he was trying to talk me out of facing him, but that didn't mean I was eager to test my strength against his. Maybe I could get a little information out of him first. "Why are you trying to hurt Claire?" I asked him. "And why do you want Daniel?"

A strange look of annoyance and confusion screwed the man's face into a grimace. "Claire? Daniel's Twin Soul? I am not concerned about what happens to Claire in the least now that I have Daniel. As for Daniel, I just want to kill him. Let me have him and you can go for now, Uriah. Our time to battle will come soon enough."

It was my turn to be confused. He wanted Daniel, but he acted like that was just something he had to do. His main interest really did seem to be focused on me. Why was he really here? I must have been projecting my thoughts, because the mountain lion answered them. Images of Claire, Daniel, and myself standing in a row. Claire began to fade, as Daniel fell dead.

I grew larger and brighter, my light overpowering everything else. The creature stood in the shadows, fearful of me but hungry for my blood. Whatever small fascination Claire and Daniel held for this being, it wanted me more than anything else. A lifetime of my parents', Quaile's, and Thomas's cryptic hints and warnings flooded my mind. As much as I wanted the quiet life of a rancher, the world around me seemed to be trying to tell me that there was something more in store for me.

"You want to kill Daniel, but once he's dead you'll come after me? Why?" I asked.

The creature smiled wickedly, baring razor sharp teeth more animal than human. "Now that is the question, isn't it?"

Brazen in his confidence, the creature began writhing, although his face remained pleased. The rearrangement of his bones was stomach churning. I could hear Daniel gagging behind me. Even the animals were disturbed by his display.

"Get ready," I said and thought. The grey wolves strode to the front of the motley pack. The animals tightened around me and I reminded them of Daniel.

When the creature's shifting finally ceased, an enormous wolf stood before us. Stretching to its full, towering height, the creature snarled. It watched me, waiting, though it surely needed no provocation. Its eyes flitted to Daniel, then back to me. It was weighing its chances of getting to Daniel before the animals, or I, would be able to beat it back. It was going to be a tough fight no matter what, and he knew it.

"Why are you trying to stop me!" the creature snarled angrily.

I was only faintly surprised it could still speak while in its animal form.

"I am only fulfilling my purpose. Do not stand in my way!"

I wasn't sure what to make of that announcement. It hardly mattered at the moment. Its purpose or not, I wouldn't let him take Daniel. Without speaking, I launched our attack. The gun in my hand rose even with the creature's head. The shot was soundless next to the growling cacophony of my strange army. Speeding through the desert, it took a fraction of a second. I watched the bullet carve its path straight to the creature's skull, then ricochet into a tree.

The wolves and coyotes pushed forward, oblivious of my actions, but the mountain lion had watched as carefully as I had. Certainly, I hadn't expected the shot to really harm the creature, but it had simply bounced off. I'd felt the creature's body in human form, and through the wolves' thoughts, seen the damage done to his animal form, but I couldn't explain what had happened. The bullet should have pierced the animal's hide. The mountain lion replayed the scene in my head over and over in rapid succession, telling me that the results would be the same each time. Human weapons would not harm the creature.

I pulled my attention back to the fight, fearing for my companions, and was surprised to find them holding their own. Hurriedly, I posed a question to the mountain lion, showing myself fighting the creature then replaying the scene with the bullet. Answering immediately, the mountain lion allayed my fears. Without claws or razor sharp teeth I didn't understand how I could harm the creature, but the coyotes and wolves were beginning to lose ground.

As I moved forward, I saw the mountain lion step back to protect Daniel and Cole. A coyote was swept off its feet and slammed into the trunk of a tree. Its whimper cut off quickly and the young animal's thoughts faded from my mind. Anger rose in my throat, tearing a feral scream from me as I leapt at my enemy. I swung my well trained fist and connected with its shoulder, missing its head only because it was pulled to the side by one of the gray wolf's terrible jaws.

Fire roared through my arm, but it was gone almost instantly. Stumbling, the creature backed away from me, its leg unable to support any weight. Somehow I had crushed its shoulder. I stared at my fist. Completely unharmed, I couldn't feel even a flicker of pain. A vengeful smile crept across my face. This would end here. Glancing up, I saw that the creature was writhing again, changing its shape to accommodate its disabled arm.

The matted fur smoothed into shimmering scales as the arms melded with the rest of the mass. Its winding serpent body ended in two dripping fangs. I wasted no time. Jumping low to avoid his head, I wrapped my arms around the snake's body and let my body's momentum carry me and the snake further away from the pack. Landing hard, I held my grip on the smooth body, squeezing relentlessly. Searing pain raced up and down my body. I shifted my hands to keep my bare skin from touching the creature's skin and the agonizing pain diminished slightly.

Its writhing tried desperately to escape my grasp, but only succeeded in shifting me further down on its body. The serpent's head swung back at me. I couldn't block his attack without letting go. Acting in an instant, I released the snake and swung my fist, backing it with every ounce of fury in my body. Its head snapped around at my touch, twisting until the serpent's whole body had to follow. The burning pain rushed away, a small relief.

Lurching up from the sand, I leapt on the creature's back, prepared for the pain I knew would come. Punching from every angle, my short blows were definitely doing damage, but not enough. I grabbed just below the creature's head, snarling as the skin to skin contact begged me to let go. I pulled back and attempted to tear the muscles. The creature continued to squirm. Frustration that I couldn't inflict any real damage made my focus slip, only for a split second, but it was enough.

Convulsing its whole body, the serpent flung me away. I fell hard against a tree. My breath caught in my lungs. My terrified hands scratched at the sand, pulling me forward. Finally catching my breath, I staggered to my feet. Springing from its coil, the serpent was out of my reach before I could even react. It was heading straight for Daniel. I ran for him, Claire's only hope of survival.

Agony filled the air. I was too slow. The mountain lion was on the serpent, raking it with his claws, but it had reached Daniel regardless of the mountain lion's efforts. The serpent's razor fangs sliced through Daniel's calf. Cole pulled Daniel back with all his strength as the serpent did the same. Blood streaming from his calf, the howling pain was undoubtedly the only thing keeping Daniel from passing out.

One more step.

I gripped the cold body, barely feeling the fire at all. My hands that had sheared dozens of sheep lovingly, clamped down, crushing the snake with impossible strength. An inhuman scream from the creature echoed his pain and forced it to release its grip on Daniel's leg. Cole wrenched Daniel backwards. The bloodied mountain lion jumped in front of them. Using strength I had no explanation for, I hurled the serpent against the sandstone boulder behind me.

A sickening crack resounded as flesh met rock. My chest heaved. Surely that was enough. My quaking knees dropped me to the ground but my eyes never left the creature. Watching in amazement, I saw the slithering mass convulse, changing once again. Orange and black spotted fur sprouted quickly, legs, tail, and teeth followed. Its spine jagged oddly, and its legs were twisted at strange angles, but the animal kept itself together as it raced awkwardly away. Wolf and coyote sprang after it, but were quickly outdistanced by the stunning cheetah.

Daniel screamed again and I quickly called the animals back. The fight was over, for now. I turned to Daniel and saw that Cole was already helping him. Dropping to the ground beside him, I stared at the wound. The serpent's large fangs had stabbed clear through Daniel's leg. Cole's hands held his leg above the wound in a rough attempt at a tourniquet as the crimson blood pulsed out, pooling on the ground.

"I need a bandage," Cole said, his voice shaking so badly I could hardly understand him. "There's a first aid kit in my pack."

I hurried to the motorcycle and ripped the pack from its bindings, my hands searching it as I rushed back to Daniel. The small case was buried beneath Cole's clothing. I worried it wouldn't be enough to help Daniel. Tossing the first aid kit to Cole, he threw his shirt back at me.

"Put pressure on the wound," Cole ordered.

I pressed the shirt against Daniel's leg. Hissing through his teeth, Daniel turned his head away from the blood. Cole's hands were back, pushing away the blood soaked shirt. Pouring water over the wound, Cole sighed in relief. The blood flow was slowing. Cole wiped the wound with a clean cloth and quickly applied treated squares of gauze.

Carefully wrapping Daniel's leg with a bandage, Cole looked over at me. "It bled a lot, so if there was any venom it should hopefully be gone now. I don't know if freaky magic snakes even have venom." Cole shook his head at how idiotic that should have sounded. "But all we have for the pain is some extra strength aspirin."

"He's a tough kid," I said, hoping Daniel would believe it himself. "He'll be okay until we get back to Sophia."

Cole grimaced. Leaning closer, I turned my body to shield Daniel from Cole's voice. "He's going to be in a lot of pain when the adrenaline rush wears off. He's not going to be able to ride very well. Not without tying him to the bike. I think we're going to have to stop for the night."

Searching the horizon, my chest tightened at the thought of staying in the grove much longer. "We can't stay here."

"No," Cole said quietly, "of course not. Let's get him on the bike and ride as far as we can before the pain sets in."

I nodded and wondered how long Daniel would last. Small spots of red were already starting to soak through the bandages. The pain would come quickly. "Let's hurry," I said.

"Daniel," Cole began, "we have to move. I'm going to help you onto the bike."

Daniel came up to his elbows, wincing with the small movement. He steeled his face and lifted a hand. Grabbing it, I pulled him to his feet in one swift movement. Daniel stood gingerly with his injured leg barely touching the dirt. His faced paled and he grabbed for my arm. Cole may have been a little too optimistic. I wasn't sure he would even make it out of the piñon grove.

"I'm going to pick you up, okay?" I said. Daniel nodded. I slipped my arm under his legs and hefted him over to the bike. Cole was right behind us, carrying his backpack in his teeth as he quickly pulled on a spare shirt.

"Wait for me to get on, Uriah," Cole said. He stuffed his pack through the straps on the back of the bike and settled onto the motorcycle's wide seat. It was awkward trying to lower Daniel onto the bike, but after a few painful moments, he had his arms wrapped tightly around Cole. The mountain lion approached silently, speaking to me without words. The creature was gone. He and the others would follow us, though. Just in case it came back.

There was no "just in case" about it. It was definitely coming back.

# Chapter 37

### Bleak Desperation

I had no way of keeping track of time in such a strange state, but I had been able to fall asleep, somehow. The dreams hadn't been restful. Dreams of Uriah were constantly interrupted by the face of the stranger. I had been sitting on the bank of the river with Uriah again, our favorite spot, when a stabbing pain dispelled the dream.

I woke, still trapped in my body, watching the most bizarre scene swirl in the blackness around me. Desert animals attacked a man made of writhing shadows. Uriah fought beside them. Cole held the stranger from my dreams. The stranger. I wanted to see Uriah, to know that he was safe, but the images centered on the stranger instead. I saw blood pouring from his leg.

As I stood watching the young man screaming in pain, I felt a strange compulsion come over me. I wanted to help him. No, I needed to help him, to go to him and comfort his pain. Fear washed over me. I was suddenly terrified he would die and leave me alone. I couldn't control the strange thoughts. I tried to push them away, to force them back to Uriah, but I couldn't. Panic for Uriah fought with my desire to find the stranger.

Cool hands touched my face and wrists. I could feel their calming nature on my unconscious body, but my mind was still racing. I focused on the hands, trying to escape the images in my mind. The murmur of voices surrounded me. Another set of hands began stroking my forehead. Uriah. Uriah. I repeated his name again and again, praying that he would hear me. I didn't know why I was seeing this, but all I wanted was to have Uriah by my side again. I wanted to cry, but my body wouldn't respond. Ephemeral tears that dissipated as soon as they dropped from my skin were the only relief this strange place offered me. _Uriah_ , I begged, _please come back to me._

Daniel. The name crept into my mind. I knew in an instant that it belonged to the boy from my dreams. It was his face that haunted me. This boy, Daniel, was badly injured and I yearned to be with him. No! I screamed it, though no one could hear me. I didn't care about Daniel anymore. I made my choice. I wanted Uriah. Only Uriah. My pulse raced in fear that I would never see him again.

I tried to push the images of the strange dream away entirely, but they had taken over. No matter how hard I tried to move back toward Uriah, something was pulling me closer to Daniel, willing me to ease his pain. Suddenly, I was running. The images faded from my view, but the feelings remained. I ran faster.

The battle between my heart and mind made it hard to think of anything for too long, but I fought to keep bringing Uriah back to me. I remembered every kiss he had given me, the passion behind them that he let out so rarely. As soon as I pulled a memory into my mind, it flitted away. Where had Uriah gone? He might be strong enough to do whatever it was that took him away from me, but I wasn't. I needed him near me, holding me in his strong arms.

The room quieted around me. The hum of voices I couldn't quite hear had dissipated. I wondered how long it had been since drinking the tea. The tea. In my earlier panic, I hadn't even considered the problem of tea. What had been in it and who had put it there? Replaying the scene in my head, once again, I remembered my dad bringing the tea tray into the room. I had barely glanced at him, but now I focused intently on his face.

In my mind, I could see his smile. I found a new emotion to stave off panic. Anger. Uriah had left me because of my dad. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he had done, where he had gotten the tea, but I was sure of one thing. I would never forgive him for this. Uriah was my life. My dad would not keep us apart.

Gaining some small understanding of what was happening, I thought I knew why Uriah had left me. There was a way to fix what my dad had done, and Uriah had left to find it for me. My anger calmed again, as I thought of Uriah. If my life was in his hands, I knew I was safe. He wouldn't stop until I was whole again.

I called Uriah to my mind, but was shocked to find Daniel's face forcing him out once again. Panic seized my whole body. Right away, I began humming the lullaby Uriah sang to me when we were alone together. The song made it easier to hold Daniel off, but the urge to turn back was unbearable. My feet pounded through the blackness as I pleaded for Uriah to come back to me. The aching bond followed me wherever I went.

My chest was heaving as tears washed my hot cheeks. I couldn't escape. Dropping to my knees, I curled my arms around my body in bleak desperation and filled my mind with Uriah. He was the only one who could save me now.

# Chapter 38

### The Truth

The drive only lasted half an hour before Daniel's pain became too much for him to handle. When Cole announced that we had to pull off, a curse of irritation slipped through my teeth. He ignored the comment and signaled for a right turn. I did feel sorry for Daniel, but Claire was my biggest concern. I felt guilty that I only cared about his health because without him Claire would die, but I hated the thought of spending another day in the desert, wondering if Claire's condition had changed.

There was little in the way of shelter out here, just a few sandstone formations, and some piñon trees. Cole rolled to a stop near the largest boulder. He was off the bike in an instant, reaching for Daniel. Cutting my bike's engine, I hurried over to help him. My unconcern for Daniel vanished when I saw his face twisted in agony.

Pale and limp, Daniel hung in my arms, barely conscious. Cole searched our packs for anything soft and arranged them into a hasty bed. It would still be horribly uncomfortable, but it was all we had to offer. Carefully, I lowered Daniel onto the bed of shirts and sweaters.

"Thanks, guys," he croaked after downing a few more painkillers. Cole passed out the flattened sandwiches from the gas station. We ate quickly and in silence. Glancing at where the sun had disappeared behind a row of bluffs a while ago, I prayed Daniel would fall asleep.

"Um," Daniel began.

I groaned. Please fall asleep.

"What exactly happened back there?"

Maybe I could knock him out before Cole could stop me. He needed to sleep anyway, didn't he?

"Uriah, you want to handle that one?" Cole said.

I definitely did not want to answer his questions. I knew they would inevitably lead to Claire. Cole's look told me that I had better not try to dodge Daniel this time. "I guess," I said dejectedly.

Daniel struggled to pull himself up enough to face me. He was eager for answers, but he stiffened just as a familiar presence brushed the edge of my thoughts. The mountain lion padded into our camp from behind me and settled itself next to my folded legs. He didn't even need to mention that the others were nearby. They knew the creature would be back, just as I did. Our fight wasn't over yet.

"It's okay, Daniel," I said, stroking the cat's fur. "It won't hurt you."

"What is happening?" Daniel asked, his voice higher than usual. "Wild animals. Shape shifting monsters. You guys just show up at camp, and I'm stupid enough to go with you. What was I thinking?"

"Daniel, the animals are only here to help," I said. The rest was still a mystery to me, but I had to tell him something. "That thing that attacked you, I don't really know what it is, but the animals will protect us from it."

"Why was it trying to kill me?"

It had said that it was only fulfilling its purpose, but that gave me no better understanding of what it was or why it was hunting me or Daniel. "I don't know for sure, but I think it has something to do with why you're coming with us. I know it doesn't want you to help Claire."

"What does that monster have to do with your sister?" Daniel asked Cole. Daniel's eyes were getting wilder with each half-answered question. Filled with pain, Daniel's face begged Cole for a real answer. Cole merely shrugged. He was no help at all.

"I think you're going to have to tell him a little more than that, Uriah," Cole said after a few seconds of silence.

"Uriah, I think I deserve an explanation," Daniel said, glancing to his leg, then back to me. The firm set of his face told me he wasn't going to give up. Sighing, I began what I knew would be a long story, full of holes.

"Claire isn't sick or hurt. She was poisoned by her father."

"What? What kind of dad poisons their own kid?" Daniel asked, his accusing stare focusing on Cole. Cole's jaw clenched tightly. I knew he wanted the same answer.

"My father is a very selfish man," Cole muttered.

Glancing away from Cole, Daniel asked another question. "Why couldn't you guys just take her to the hospital?"

"The poison was from the Shaxoa, the witch of our tribe. It put Claire into a coma, where she will die unless she's given the antidote," I explained. "The only way to save Claire is for her Twin Soul to give her the antidote."

"What's a Twin Soul?"

"Our legends say that a soul is made up of two parts, the male half and the female half," Cole explained. "Most people never find their Twin Soul in human form, but for the ones who do, an unbreakable bond forms between them, completing the soul."

"So, it's like a soul mate," Daniel said. "I don't really believe in that kind of stuff."

I could have hit him right then if Cole's warning look hadn't threatened worse against me. All the sympathy I had felt for Daniel was gone. Wild animals had come to defend us against an evil giant snake that nearly bit his leg off and he didn't believe in "soul mates." Even if that was dumbing it down considerably, it should have been the easiest thing to swallow at this point.

"Well, you better start believing, Daniel, because things like that shadow creature believe in it, and it will apparently stop at nothing to prevent you from reaching Claire," I said.

"Shadow Creature?" Cole questioned.

"That's what the mountain lion calls him," I said.

"That's what the mountain lion calls him?" Daniel repeated. His face turned back to Cole. "Am I missing something, or is Uriah claiming he can talk to animals?"

Cole regarded me closely. I hadn't meant to tell Daniel about the way the animals communicated with me. It just slipped out. I was so distracted with Daniel's idiocy that I spoke without thinking.

"Uriah," Cole said patiently. I had told Cole as much already, but I knew he was just as curious for details as Daniel was.

"I can't really talk to them, like people can," I explained. "They put images in my mind and show me what they want me to know, and I can do the same back to them." Daniel stared at me in confusion while he brooded silently. Cole was the first to speak.

"Have you always been able to do this?"

"No," I said quickly. "Well, I don't know, actually. I think I have, but I didn't really know it. The way animals have always been so tame around me, I think that it might have been me making them calm. Last night when the mountain lion walked into our camp, he showed me he would keep watch while we slept. He warned me about the creature and told me other animals would protect us from it. That was the first time anything so blatant has ever happened to me, but it felt really natural, too."

I offered it up as a possibility to Cole, trying to make it easy to take, but at this point I was positive that this ability had always been there. It had something to do with the creature. Admitting those two things made me wonder about everything else. Was the power I had over other people, and the affect Claire had on me, related to the creature as well? Was all of this wrapped up in whatever it was the adults in my life were lying to me about?

"The wolves that came the first time we met the creature, how did you know to call them?" Cole asked, bringing me back to the conversation.

"I didn't know if it would actually work," I said, "but I tried anyway. I sent out images of the creature and begged them for help."

Cole nodded. I think we were both equally glad it had worked. Daniel was still staring at the mountain lion with wary eyes. "Really, Daniel, it's not going to hurt you. It saved your life, for crying out loud," I said.

"It's just a little weird, okay," Daniel said. The mountain lion's ear twitched, making Daniel flinch. The sudden movement brought a hiss from Daniel. His bandages were bloodier than before we left the grove.

Finally Daniel's gaze lifted from the sleeping mountain lion and turned back to me. "What's your stake in all this, Uriah? I mean Claire is Cole's sister, so of course he wants to help her, but what about you? You can barely look at me without wanting to punch me in the face."

My fists tightened and pressed into my knees. Cole watched me with pity in his eyes. I did not want to discuss this with him, but I couldn't deny him the answers he deserved. "Claire is my fiancée."

Daniel's eyes widened in shock. That was definitely not the answer he had been expecting. "Claire is your fiancée, but you're not her soul mate, Twin Soul, whatever you call it. You guys are saying that I'm Claire's Twin Soul? That's why you told me I could help her, right?" Daniel said. I nodded. "So what exactly does that mean? What about the unbreakable bond?"

That was all I could take. Standing up, I stalked away from Daniel. The mountain lion, disturbed by my sudden movement, stood as well and followed me from the meager camp.

Cole's quiet voice followed my retreat. "It means, Daniel, that as soon as you save Claire's life, the Twin Soul bond will form and she'll forget her love for Uriah completely."

"Oh," was Daniel's only response.

Quickening my step, I walked past the motorcycles and collapsed by a small boulder. The mountain lion nuzzled my arm, pushing his head into my lap. The gentle nudge of his question startled me. Interpreting the images he sent me was getting easier. I hardly had to take the time to interpret the thoughts he sent me, anymore. I could practically hear his thoughts as simple words when he spoke, now.

The picture of me sitting next to the rock with my head hanging was tinged with sadness.

"What's wrong?" he was asking.

"Daniel," I replied.

The mountain lion's answer was a feeling of indifference. He saw no obvious problem with the guy. My pain was hard to explain, even with words. With only thoughts, I didn't know if I could make him understand. With no one else to turn to for sympathy, I needed to try. I pictured Claire, her milk chocolate eyes and brown, silky hair. Her smile was soft and kind. I pictured us at our wedding. It was the future I was still clinging to, though hope was fading fast.

Memories of her drinking the tea and falling unconscious swept through my mind on a wave of anger. Daniel was the only one who could save her, but he would also take her away from me. The mountain lion tried to deny these thoughts, feeling my deep love for Claire, but I feared he was wrong.

I worked to explain Twin Souls, picturing the soul together, then separated at birth, only to find each other again. I tried to show him that this was what would steal Claire away, and to my surprise the mountain lion understood. He knew of Twin Souls already. Now that he understood, he shared my misery. The great cat curled around me, lending me comfort when it seemed like no one else could.

For a long time, I sat there stroking the animal's thick fur. Eventually my thoughts and feelings calmed, allowing me to focus on the many other dangers we were facing. I still understood so little of what was happening. Glancing down at the mountain lion, I wondered if he knew more than I did about our situation. Already he had proved more knowledgeable than I expected.

The question formed slowly, but the mountain lion understood. "What is the shadow creature?"

"Matwau." The answer was laced with fear and anger. Enemy.

I already knew that the creature was an enemy. I repeated the question. "But what is it?"

The cougar huffed and shook his head. I must have misunderstood his answer. "Matwau," he repeated, "not _an_ enemy, _the_ enemy."

I still didn't understand.

The mountain lion's thoughts sharpened and his answer became more specific. "The Matwau destroys happiness. Before, I was not sure. Now, I know, because he wants to kill Daniel. The creature is the Matwau."

The explanation astounded me. I had heard many stories of beings that caused misery and unhappiness for fun or selfish indulgence, but this idea of one enemy meant to destroy life and joy was completely foreign to me. I couldn't understand why such a creature wouldn't be mentioned in our tribal legends. Surely people should know this devil existed, for their own protection, if nothing else.

Suddenly, I realized there was a much more important question I needed answered. "What does he want?"

"Twin Souls are the greatest happiness. The Matwau hunts Twin Souls. He keeps them from uniting. Once the bond is formed the Matwau cannot harm them."

My mother had told me stories of Twin Souls reaching each other despite the odds stacked against them, but never had I heard that there was an evil being doing everything possible to keep them apart, including killing the one searching for their other half. I tried to dig deeper into my memory for answers when Quaile's words snapped to the front of my mind. I _had_ been told of this creature.

Quaile tried to warn me of forces that didn't want me to save Claire. The Matwau must have been what she was referring to. Frustration made my teeth grind together. Her riddles were driving me mad. Things could have gone much more smoothly if she had given me real information about the dangerous beast rather than a vague warning. I had a few choice words for Quaile when we finally made it home.

"Are the animals bound to protect Twin Souls?" I asked. "At the grove you said you were only there for me."

"No," the mountain lion answered. He sent memories of the fight filtering through my mind. He reaffirmed that the animals had been concerned with protecting me, not Daniel. The memories ended and the mountain lion continued his explanation. "We feel no desire to protect your friend, only you."

"Why? What makes me special?" I asked. Several times now someone had told me that there was something more to me than I realized. I wanted to argue, to explain that I was only a rancher from a small town, nothing more, but I was beginning to believe it myself. The Matwau himself said he wanted me specifically. I didn't understand why anyone else thought I was important, but it was difficult to argue against so many strange events.

Where did the strength come from when I crushed the Matwau's shoulder, or when I threw it against the boulder? Why did this evil being seek me out and challenge my every step? Why were the animals drawn to me? Realizing that the mountain lion had never answered my question, I repeated the query. "Why are you helping me?"

"I don't know." The mountain lion lifted his head, meeting my eyes. "I don't understand why I protect you, but I know it is because the Matwau hunts you. You are his enemy and I know I cannot let him harm you."

"I don't understand any of this," I complained.

"You will," the mountain lion said. "I just hope it will be in time."

Nodding my agreement, I let myself relax next to the mountain lion. Being able to talk to him had taken away at least some of my anxiety. I was still as confused as ever, but I felt a little better. I appreciated his willingness to listen.

Barely one day ago, the sight of the mountain lion had terrified me, but now we spoke as friends. In fact, the mountain lion was a friend, the only one who really seemed to understand what was happening to me. "Do you have a name?" I asked.

His answer was more complicated than I had expected. Images and feelings related to his name swirled in my mind. It took a few moments to process everything he had shared with me, but eventually I understood.

"Talon."

His mother had given him the name because he reminded her of an eagle. A fierce hunter, the swiftest runner of his litter, intelligent, a leader. The much simpler string of images I sent back seemed to amuse the cougar, but he was pleased I had understood.

"Tell me of your life," I asked. I needed the distraction and the mountain lion was happy to oblige. Thinking of my waiting Claire, I "listened" to Talon's stories, pushing away the more painful and frightening thoughts I was harboring. The images of his life spent hunting and tracking were soothing, lulling me back into a steadier frame of mind.

I realized how tired I was as I sat with him. Adrenaline had been pumping through my veins for so long that I hadn't felt the natural weariness so much activity should have brought hours ago. Now, as I sat with Talon, my mind and body yearned for rest. Too tired to contemplate my strange fate any longer, I draped my arm across his back. The warmth of his body calmed me as I stared up at the stars and thought of Claire. We were so close to getting Daniel back to her. My mind centered on that, and the weight of who I really was faded into the background.

# Chapter 39

### Complications

"Uriah." Cole shook my shoulder. I tried to ignore him, wanting to stay in my dreams a little longer. "Uriah, wake up. I need your help." Forcing my eyes open, I blinked in the bright sunlight. Cole held out a hand, pulling me to my feet. It was morning. I had slept through the entire night undisturbed. My muscles ached, painfully reprimanding me for my poor choice in sleeping positions.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Cole motioned for me to follow him and turned quickly, rushing back toward the camp. The mountain lion stayed close to me as I followed Cole. As soon as I reached the pile of backpacks, I heard the moaning. Daniel was lying on the ground, sweating from fever and rigid with pain.

"What happened? He seemed like he was going to be okay last night."

"I don't know. I think his leg is infected," Cole said. "I don't know how we're going to get home with him like this."

Daniel was obviously not going to be able to keep himself on the bike by himself, but I refused to spend another night camping in the desert. The creature could come back at any moment, not to mention Claire may not have that much time. "He can ride with me. I have some rope in my bag. We'll just have to tie him to me and get home as fast as we can."

"Uriah, that doesn't sound very safe. Maybe we should take him back to that town we passed through last night, to the hospital, and call his parents," Cole said.

"If we take him back, his parents will probably call the police and we'll never get him to San Juan. I won't risk Claire's life on the chance that his parents will understand why we practically kidnapped their son," I said. Daniel wasn't so bad, but my priorities were still firmly set with Claire at the top. "Sophia will be able to help him as well as any doctor at a hospital."

"I guess you're right," Cole said reluctantly.

The mountain lion's low growl drew my attention. "What is it?" I asked silently.

"The Matwau is coming closer. We must leave."

"What's wrong, Uriah?" Cole asked.

"It's coming back. We've got to go, now," I said. "Get the rope. I'll get Daniel on my bike."

Cole dug through my backpack, finding the rope quickly. Reaching down, I shoved my arms under Daniel's legs and shoulders and lifted him from the ground. His face contorted with the pain of moving, but he only moaned deliriously. Setting Daniel on the bike, I turned to Cole. "Hold him up so I can get on."

"He's not going to come too close with the wolves and coyotes still here, but he's not turning away either. He'll follow us," Talon communicated. I nodded and mounted the bike. It was an awkward few moments while Cole tried to secure Daniel to my torso with the rope. His limp body refused to cooperate, with even his feet hanging loosely to the ground. By the time Cole was finished, though, Daniel wouldn't fall off unless I did.

The closeness to him was more than just uncomfortable. I could hardly move my own body because of the bindings, but that wasn't really what was bothering me the most. "Claire needs him," I whispered to myself. I was doing this for her.

After strapping the backpacks onto the motorcycles, Cole jumped on his own bike, the engine roaring under his touch. "Will you follow?" I asked Talon.

"We all will." Talon stepped closer, his muzzle touching my leg. "I'll try to stay in your sight. You may need to go slower than usual so we can keep up. The Matwau should still be badly wounded, but even wounds will not slow him down. He will attack if you get too far away from us."

"Thank you for the warning," I replied. The idea of slowing our pace grated on my patience, but there was no way I would have been able to go full speed with Daniel strapped to me anyway. "Stay in contact with me." Talon nodded his head.

"Let me set the pace, Cole," I said.

Cole nodded. "Sure, Uriah. The headsets are on, so just keep me updated on what's happening with Daniel, and everything else," he said, the last part trailing off a little.

The first few minutes of driving with Daniel were frustrating as I struggled to keep the unusual weight balanced. Talon backed away when we reached the interstate, but I could still see his sleek body darting along next to us. Cole and I stayed close to the shoulder, letting the other drivers fly past us.

The mile markers ticked by too slowly. Cole checked in periodically with questions about Daniel and our pursuer. Daniel's body was hot against mine. His fever burned my back. I started to worry when I was reminded of the searing heat of the creature's touch. What if there had been some kind of poison in the Matwau's bite? Would Sophia be able to help him? A strange emotion suddenly filled me.

In my heart, I was praying that I would be able to keep Claire and Daniel from forming the Twin Soul bond, but in my mind I knew how unlikely that was. When I thought Daniel could die, sadness washed over me, for Daniel, and for Claire. Daniel's parents would be devastated, and I would be largely to blame for his death. Exchanging his life for Claire's...I had no right to make that choice. And for Claire, what would that do to her, to find her Twin Soul, only to lose him soon after? I pushed the thoughts away, lost in that precarious balance between right and wrong.

Daniel would be fine, I told myself, begging for it to be true.

As if knowing I was thinking about him, Daniel shifted violently. His sudden lurch pitched the bike sideways. I pulled hard on the bike to right it, but Daniel struggled again. "Daniel, what's wrong?" I yelled at him over my shoulder. Had the infection proved fatal? I panicked. I didn't want him to die. The twitching continued and I searched the road ahead for a place to pull off. "Cole, we need to stop. Daniel's convulsing!"

"There should be a rest stop just ahead," Cole said.

I didn't know how Cole paid attention to any of the road signs. My mind was so consumed with fear for both Daniel and Claire that most of the trip was a beige colored blur. Cole proved to be right, fortunately. A green and white highway sign announced a rest stop one quarter mile away. Daniel's hands clutched my waist, his whole body shaking now. I pushed the speedometer higher and turned into the rest stop lane. As soon as I pulled to a stop, Talon rushed out from behind some rocks and hurried over to me. I hoped there was no one else around to see him.

"What's wrong?" He had felt my distress.

I showed him how Daniel had been behaving. I tried turning around to look at him, but Daniel's head had sunk low on my back. Glancing around for Cole, who had just pulled up behind me, I said, "Hurry up and get him down so we can see what's wrong."

Cole leaned the bike against a picnic table, not bothering with the kickstand, and rushed to my side. Untying the knots seemed to take forever, but Cole was hauling Daniel off the bike after only a few seconds. Daniel grunted harshly when his injured leg smacked into the pavement.

"Sorry," Cole said.

I hopped off my bike and helped Cole lift the twitching Daniel onto the wooden table. "Daniel," I said, tapping his cheek, "can you hear me?" A whining sound was the only response. "Daniel." My touch was almost striking him now. "Daniel, wake up."

"Uriah, I don't think he can hear you. He's still unconscious," Cole said. "What was happening?"

"He kept moving, like he was having convulsions. He almost knocked us over a couple of times. I can't keep going. I'm afraid he's gotten worse." Daniel laid on the table calmly, now, but I still feared for his life.

"Daniel," Cole said softly. "Can you hear me?" Not waiting for a response, Cole felt his forehead and listened to Daniel's breathing. Gingerly, Cole lifted the bandage. He sucked in a breath and motioned for me to come closer.

I didn't really want to see it, but I went anyway. I remembered my mother's leg, ravaged by the starving mountain lion. Usually I was more than willing to help an injured person or animal, but since my mother's attack I found myself more squeamish than before. I hesitated before looking over Cole's shoulder. Surprised by the wound, I took a closer look. My mother's leg would be covered with scars when she finally healed, but Daniel's wound was simply two red spots, which were very swollen and had red lines of infection snaking out from each puncture.

"The infection is spreading," Cole said. "I thought we'd be able to make it to Sophia in time. Do you know what Sophia gave your mother? Some of her herbs grow naturally in this area. Maybe we could find something to help him."

"I'm not sure. I know she used chamomile and goldenseal in the poultices she put on my mom's leg, but I don't know what they look like. Sophia only had the dried powders," I said.

"I think I know what they look like," Cole said thoughtfully, no doubt something else he had read about while bored at his dad's store. "It's pretty late in the year to find them, but I'll try looking." Cole stared at Daniel, appraising his condition. "Give me a few minutes and I'll see if I can find anything."

"Okay," I said, "just try to hurry. If you can't find anything we'll have to get him to the hospital as fast as we can. And Claire..." I shook my head. "We can't give anyone the chance to catch up to us, either."

Cole nodded and hurried away. He was disappearing into the scrub brush when Daniel stirred on the table. I looked away, struggling with the idea of saving Daniel even if it meant Claire died. Even if I save them both, I had no plan to keep Daniel and Claire apart. I had thought at one point that if Daniel could give her the antidote without ever touching her, the bond would never form, but just them being in the same room with the intensity of bond pulling them toward each other, it would be impossible for them not to touch each other.

As much as I would want to haul Claire away and never let her touch him, I knew I couldn't do that to her. If she really wanted Daniel, I would have to find the strength to let her go. Fighting off the truth of the situation, I pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes, using the pain to distract my thoughts.

"Cole?" Daniel's voice was low and wheezy.

I stared at my shoes. "Cole will be back in a minute," I said.

Daniel struggled to lift his head. "Uriah?"

"Yeah," I said, not looking at him, "don't try to move, okay?"

"I saw her," Daniel said. "I saw Claire."

I turned to face Daniel. "What do you mean you saw her?" I didn't want to ask, but I had to. I was drowning, not knowing how Claire was doing. I was terrified we would return to my mother's house only to find that Claire had already slipped away.

"When I was dreaming," he said. "It was really strange. I was kind of locked away with the pain. I couldn't tell where I was. I just felt the pain. Then all of the sudden Claire was next to me, comforting me. The pain went away, and so did my fever. I think it was because of her."

"What did she look like?" I whispered. My eyes were burning, but I wouldn't let Daniel see me cry.

"She had dark hair and these incredible brown eyes. They were the color of..."

"Milk chocolate," I whispered.

"Yeah," Daniel said. "She sat by me and told me everything would be okay. I've never felt anything like what I felt when she was near me. Even before..."

Daniel's voice trailed off, but not quickly enough. "Before?" I demanded.

"I've seen her in dreams before. For years," Daniel admitted. "I didn't think she was real."

I knew it was Claire, real as could be, but I refused to acknowledge that to Daniel. How had she been able to comfort him while he was dreaming? Was there even more to the Twin Soul connection than anyone knew? Had she really been able to heal him?

"She knew my name," Daniel said quietly. "She's never said my name before."

Unable to bear the possibility that I was too late, I turned away again, my heart on the verge of destruction.

"Uriah," Daniel said, painfully pushing himself up further to face me squarely, "is there a way to keep the bond from forming between me and Claire?"

I was dumbfounded by his question. Hadn't he just been saying how much she had comforted him, how he had never felt anything like her presence before? I couldn't understand the reason behind his question. I didn't have an answer for him either.

Turning back to him, I said, "I don't know, Daniel."

"I don't want to take her away from you."

"What?" I couldn't believe he really meant it. "Why wouldn't you want her? You just said..."

"I know what I said, and I meant it. I've never felt such a powerful connection to any person before. Just being near her, even in my dream, I felt so happy it was hard to keep from exploding. But," he said, "I could never take that away from someone else. I can see how much you love her. I mean you must love her more than I could understand to be doing this, to be willing to lose her to...another guy, in order to save her life. I don't know if I could do that."

"You could if you knew her," I said quietly. Anyone who had experienced Claire's beautiful spirit, so full of love and understanding, would do anything to make her happy.

"Still, I don't want to be the one to come between you and Claire. I would hate myself for destroying something as special as that," Daniel said.

Daniel must have thought that Claire and I shared the same connection he had felt when Claire's spirit stepped into his dreams. He didn't understand that it was the bond he was feeling, not just Claire's goodness. I knew I loved Claire more than my own life, but I also knew Claire and I would never feel the overwhelming joy Daniel had described. That was reserved for Twin Souls alone. I couldn't bring myself to correct his assumption.

"If there is anything I can do to keep the bond from forming, I'll do it," Daniel said firmly. Saying what he needed to say, Daniel sunk back down to the table. Pain still streaked his features, but the awful heat emanating from him had faded completely. A peace seemed to come over him as he closed his eyes.

Guilt washed over me for every unkind thought I had harbored for Daniel. He had seemed so immature and carefree just the day before, but I had judged him badly. Underneath his young exterior, he was a better man than me. I could see Claire loving him. "Thank you," I said as a tear escaped my careful control and rolled off my cheek.

The soft sound of his breathing was deep and regular within seconds. I buried my face in my hands and let the tears fall. Daniel was willing to deny himself the joy of being Claire's true Twin Soul, just to preserve my love for her, which must be so insignificant, compared to what she could have with him. As grateful as I was to Daniel, I doubted his offer would help in the end. I had no idea how to stop the bond. I realized in that moment, though, that if Claire asked it of me, I would make the same offer to her. Her happiness was the most important thing.

The truth was hard to face. If at all possible, I would take Daniel's offer and do everything in my power to keep Claire's heart from reaching Daniel's. Talon quietly padded over to me and placed his head in my lap. I had forgotten he was even there.

Silently he tried to reassure me. "Have faith in your love, Uriah. Do not give up yet."

I realized that I must have been projecting every thought and feeling to him during my conversation with Daniel, because he understood my anguish perfectly. "I have to give her up," I said, "if I can't stop the bond from forming. I don't want to do it, though. I want to keep her for myself regardless of the bond. I don't want to do the right thing. I don't deserve her, do I?"

"You will make the right choice. I am sure of that. Don't let anything else cloud your mind, Uriah. Trust in yourself," Talon said. "You have been taught well."

"I just can't see things working out anymore," I admitted.

"You will survive this. You are much more than you know."

"Uriah," Cole said, running back to the picnic table, "is everything okay?" His gaze went to Daniel immediately, his fingers checking for a pulse. Reassured, he looked at Talon. My animal friend told me the wolves and coyotes were keeping the creature at bay, but it was getting harder for them to keep track of him.

"Daniel's fine," I said. Thanks to Claire, apparently. "Better than before. I think his fever finally broke. He'll be okay until we get to Sophia. We're fine with everything else too, for now. But we better keep moving."

"Is something else wrong?" Cole asked. I couldn't help but sniff again and brush at my eyes. I was sure they were red and puffy. Turning away from Cole, I stared at the ground.

"Everything's fine. Did you find those herbs?" I asked, not really caring. Daniel would be fine, I was sure of it now.

"No, I didn't. It's too late in the year, I guess," Cole said. I could feel his eyes watching me, trying to decipher what had happened while he was gone. "Do you want me to take Daniel?"

"No," I said quickly. I wanted to protect him. I felt even more responsible for him than before. "I don't think he'll be squirming around too much anymore. I'll be fine with him."

"All right," Cole said, his expression quizzical.

"Just get him back on the bike."

"Sure," Cole said.

Reaching for Daniel, we gently pushed him upright. His eyes opened a little. "Oh, you're back," he said to Cole before letting his eyes fall closed again. "Uriah said you would be."

Cole looked at me with a sharp expression. "He was awake?"

I shrugged. Just get him on the bike so we can leave, I pleaded silently.

"You didn't think that was worth mentioning, Uriah?" Cole said.

"It was just for a few seconds. Let's just go, okay?"

Cole's gaze flitted between me and Daniel. His expression relaxed. Whatever he was assuming, it was probably wrong, but once again, I felt no need to correct him. Cole gathered the unconscious Daniel into his arms and I climbed back on the bike. The rope was still necessary, but Daniel was at least holding himself up a little more this time. Four more hours. Talon bounded away and I instantly missed his calming presence.

# Chapter 40

### Silent Desert

The disturbing experience woke me from my strange half sleep. I had no idea how I had reached my dream man, the one I knew to be Daniel, but somehow I found myself at his side watching him suffer. The pull to go to him was unbearable.

I didn't know who this person was, but I didn't want to have him in my mind. Uriah was the one I loved and would always love, no matter what Quaile tried to tell me. I told myself that over and over again. But I still found myself walking over to him. His body burned with fever. I spotted the bandages on his leg and remembered seeing the animal attack him in a previous dream. It was shocking to realize that the dreams were in some way linear, progressing. But to what end? I had been desperately hoping that these dreams were just a bad effect from whatever my dad had drugged me with. The possibility that it was more than that terrified me.

Kneeling beside him, I reached out to touch his forehead, pulling back at the surprising heat. He muttered words I couldn't understand. His face clenched in pain as he writhed back and forth. My soul yearned to help him. His pain enveloped me, begging me to free him from his prison. Tears ran down my cheeks as I watched him.

Quietly, I told him it would be all right, and I prayed I wasn't lying. The thought of him dying was enough to bring uncontrollable tears to break free. I was so confused by these emotions. I didn't love Daniel. He should have meant nothing to me. Feeling like my own emotions were beyond my control, I struggled to understand what was happening. I couldn't control these feelings, and I was frightened of their source.

He was in so much pain, though. He needed me. Uriah would have wanted me to help him. Sitting next to him, I whispered that everything was going to be fine.

"Daniel," I whispered without meaning to say the name aloud. My fingers brushed against his burning skin.

His eyes opened, bright and clear. Daniel's fever left him instantly. At first he stared at me, his eyes full of gratitude and love. Suddenly his voice took on a throaty tone, fearful, but I didn't know why. "Claire?" he asked.

My soul leapt when he said my name, but my heart reared against the implications. I ran from him, back into the darkness. My soul was begging me to go back, but I shook my head violently. I searched the darkness for Uriah. Perhaps he was here, too. I needed him. I didn't know how much longer I would be able to resist the feelings that had surrounded me when I'd touched Daniel's fevered skin.

The rush of longing and the desire for completeness were so overwhelming. I could no longer deny who Daniel was. My entire being had confirmed that he was my Twin Soul. Even admitting that, I wanted Uriah. I was desperate for his return. I couldn't withstand Daniel's pull without him by my side.

Sure that I was alone, I fell to my knees and curled my arms around my shaking body. "Uriah, where are you?" I pleaded. "Come back to me, please. I can't hold on without you." Tears my physical body couldn't actually feel, flowed freely. I tried to push the fear away. I needed to be strong. With every tear that fell I could feel my will slipping away.

Trying, once again to use my memories of Uriah to keep my heart together, I pulled the passion of our kiss the night he proposed to me. It was the last time he had kissed me so profoundly. I opened my eyes and filled the empty darkness of this place with my mind. The memory surrounded me. The sultry breeze I had felt that night pulsed against my skin and made my hair dance in it. I looked to where Uriah should have been.

Sandy blonde hair and blue eyes stared back at me. Gasping in surprise, I scrambled away from the image. Daniel's expression wrinkled in confusion. My eyes darted around me. Everything was the same as it had been that day. The window of the jeweler's store was dark beside us. I was standing on the sidewalk in Santa Fe, but Uriah wasn't here. Daniel stood in his place, reaching his hand out to me.

My head shook as I pressed my eyes closed against the tears. Slowly, I opened them again, trying to capture the vision of the man I loved. Only Daniel stared back at me. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I turned and ran. I could hear Daniel calling after me, but I just kept running. Not even my memories were safe anymore.

Stumbling through the brush, I screamed Uriah's name. The silent desert echoed my own voice back to me. Slowly my feet lost their rhythm and I sunk to my knees. "Uriah, where are you?" I cried. "Where are you? I need you." Over and over I called out to him, but he never came. I fell sobbing into the burning sand and cried as the grains bit into my skin. Was this ever going to end?

# Chapter 41

### Confrontation

"We're almost to Santa Fe," Cole's voice crackled over the headset. "How's Daniel doing?"

"Still out of it," I replied.

"We're going to have to take the back roads, then. People are going to think it's a little weird if we ride through town with Daniel tied to your back."

"Yeah, probably. The animals will be able to keep track of us better that way, anyway. The creature is getting more risky. I think he knows we're getting close. The wolves ran it off an hour ago," I said.

The Matwau had come back just as quickly, unfortunately. The wolves hadn't been able to do any damage to the creature, either. It may have only been testing their response, but the lead wolf thought he had been trying to get around the sentries and couldn't. I could feel its presence. It was patiently biding its time, staying on the edges of our circle of protectors.

"Do you think it knows where we're going?" Cole asked.

"Yeah, I think it does. I think it can feel Claire, just like it seems to be able to feel Daniel. He'll attack before we reach San Juan," I said with surety.

"Great," Cole muttered.

Cole took the lead, guiding us through streets with less traffic as we tried to avoid rousing the residents' interest. I barely paid attention to our surroundings, my mind too filled with Claire. This whole trip, I had been pushing for us to move more quickly, but now that we were less than an hour away, the truth of the situation began to weigh heavily on me.

I felt sure now that I would lose Claire, and I was trying my best to handle the emotions that brought up. There was still a small grain of hope, but after Daniel's offer I had to finally tell myself that I would give her up if she wanted me to. If there was some way to stay with her, I would of course leap at it, but if not, I could at least give her a chance to find true happiness.

"Uriah," Cole said when we were back on the empty highway, "do you have a plan?"

"For the creature?" I asked, knowing he was speaking of Claire.

"For Daniel and Claire," Cole said. "I'll help you if you need it."

"Thanks, Cole, but I don't know if there's anything to do. Once they're in the same room with each other, I'm afraid it will already be too late." I had wracked my brain the whole trip, replaying every conversation I'd had with Quaile, every story my mother had told me, but there was nothing there to help me. Claire's strand of hair was still safely hidden in my pocket. Thankful I hadn't needed it, I intended to keep it there. At least I would have something of her to carry with me.

"If you did keep their souls from bonding, what would Daniel think?" Cole wondered. "When he's right there with her, would he agree to go along with any plan you might come up with?"

_He already has_ , I said to myself. I wondered about Daniel's experience with Claire in his dreams. The feelings he described seemed too intense to have been imagined. Was it really only a dream? Were Claire and Daniel already connected in some way?

Daniel's chivalrous offer to turn away from Claire made me reconsider my selfish desire many times. I tried to bury the impulses, but they kept creeping back into my mind, forcing me to face what was really important, Claire's life, not my happiness. "Daniel has already agreed to help me," I said, trying to keep any feeling from my voice.

"Really?" Cole considered my words. "Why would he do that?"

I knew the real reason for Daniel's decision, but I couldn't bring myself to explain it to Cole. "He doesn't want to come between me and Claire. It's as simple as that," I said.

"As simple as that, huh?"

"Yeah, so drop it, okay?" I knew Cole didn't deserve the harsh words, but it was taking what little control I had left just to keep myself from dissolving into a pool of fear and hopelessness. Cole must have heard the desperation in my voice, because he didn't press the subject.

Talon was still out of sight, but his thoughts drifted in to mine. "You are stronger than you think, Uriah. Stay focused on your task."

I nodded to myself. His words were firm and commanding. "I will."

However, even Talon's order could not hold off the fear that slapped me when the little sign announcing San Juan Pueblo came into view. The Matwau wouldn't wait much longer.

"He's coming," Talon warned. "Prepare yourself!"

"Cole, get into town," I yelled. There was nothing he could do to help, and with Daniel strapped to me, I was practically useless as well. "Can you hold him off?" I asked Talon.

"Yes. Leave now!"

Putting all my trust in Talon, I raced toward Claire. Cole was well ahead of me, now, flying over the pocked dirt roads. I tried to keep pace with him, but I was afraid that with Daniel behind me, one bad move would throw us from the bike. The cluster of buildings marking our home rose before me. I swerved back and forth, darting between angry pedestrians.

No doubt I would have a lot to explain when things calmed down. The battle had started behind me. The eager coyotes were the first to engage the Matwau. Two of their voices faded from my mind immediately. The wolves arrived then. Talon was hanging back, protecting our retreat.

I could feel the frustration in the animals' minds as they were slowly pushed back. The angry yelp of a wolf streaked through my mind as he fell behind, his leg too injured to continue. Talon's thoughts were getting more nervous. He was anxious to join the fight, but wouldn't leave us unprotected.

Turning the last corner, my street came into view. Anger blossomed in my mind from a dozen voices. The Matwau had broken away from the wolves and coyotes. Talon roared audibly. Even as far away as we were now, I could still hear his anger as if he was next to me. "He's coming straight for you! He knows exactly where you are," Talon warned, sprinting towards us.

"Cole, where are you?" I asked. If the Matwau could keep pace with us on the interstate, he would have no trouble catching up with us, now.

"I'm almost to your mom's. Where are you?" Cole asked.

"I just turned onto my street. The creature got away from the wolves. Talon is trying to chase him down, but keep your eyes open," I said.

"Who's Talon?" Cole asked.

"The mountain lion, he's chasing the creature, but I don't think he'll catch up in time."

"I'm at the house, now," Cole said. "I don't see anything yet. Hurry up."

I steered around the well-known potholes as I raced for my house. The back tire of my bike tore at the earth, spraying gravel and dirt out behind me as I throttled the engine harder. I couldn't stop. Claire was waiting.

My vision blurred in and out as I tried to remain focused on the danger around me. The Matwau's bulky grey form broke into view. No matter how hard I pushed the bike's engine the Matwau kept pace, its long wolf stride running parallel to the bike.

I could see the house, my house, where Claire waited, dying. I could just make out Quaile now, standing outside the door, her face twisted with worry. Time was running out. The Matwau had almost reached me. Gripping the brakes, I pulled too hard, too fast, sending the bike over in a cloud of dust in my race to reach the house before the Matwau did. The bike slid across the hard earth, but whatever wounds the dirt and gravel inflicted, I couldn't feel them. Blood pounded in my head.

Cole was back outside by the time I regained my senses. His hands flashed across the rope bindings, releasing me in mere seconds. I crawled out of the bonds as soon as they were loose enough. Cole caught Daniel as the kid slid down weakly. Standing to help Cole, my back was to the road.

"Uriah!" Cole's eyes were wide. Terror paralyzed him midway through lifting Daniel.

Free of the bike, I immediately jumped to my feet. I was sure I was moving as fast as I could, but the world seemed to have lost its momentum. The trees slid past my view slowly and the breeze seemed frozen in place. Emerging from the dust cloud, the Matwau fixed me in its sights.

Facing the Matwau, I watched as its haggard face was fired with ecstasy. He was his human self once again, but he was no longer the man from the Vital Records office or the man that had faced us before attacking Daniel. A maniacal cackle split the air.

"I have won!" he screamed. "Give me the boy."

"You haven't won anything, yet," I spat. I stepped toward him. I balled my fists, ready for the inevitable fight. I prepared myself for the agonizing fire touching him would bring. All I had to do was keep my punches short. I couldn't let him gain a secure hold on me.

"Matwau."

The hissing voice startled me. I wanted to look back and confirm its source, but I was afraid of taking my eyes off my enemy.

"You do not belong here. Leave now," Quaile said. Her voice was hard and commanding. She did know about the creature, I realized. She even knew its name. I would definitely have a serious conversation with her if any of us survived this.

The Matwau cringed in her presence. "You do not command me, woman. I will have my quarry."

"I will not allow it," Quaile said. Her voice was steel. "Daniel is under my protection."

The Matwau bared his teeth, growling ferociously. He rushed forward, his eyes locked on his prey. Quaile stepped right in his path. Stunned, I pushed my limbs to move, fearing she would be torn apart. My jaw dropped when the man reached the elderly woman and was flung backward. "Quaile," I started, but her weathered hand rose, bidding me to stay back.

Heaving for breath, the man shook violently as he tried to right himself. A vicious anger laced his features. "No!" he yelled. His body trembled with the effort.

"You have lost Daniel, Matwau. Leave now," Quaile demanded. The power in her voice seemed to seep into the very atmosphere, binding the man by her words. The Matwau screamed in fury, his hands balled up and slashed through the air defiantly. An instant later, his snarl turned up, a conniving smile directed at me.

"Then I will take Uriah in his place," he said pointing to me.

"You would not dare. You will fight eventually, but not now when you are so weak and where I can aid him in your destruction. I would love to help rid the world of you, but I have more important business to attend to. The girl is barely hanging on. Be gone, before I change my mind and set the boy's powers lose on you," Quaile said.

My head was swimming. What was she talking about? When I left two days ago she said she didn't know the true meaning of her visions, that she had done all she could to help. Now she spoke with this creature as if they had known each other all their lives, and of me as if she knew my purpose and future. Even if not as a friend, she definitely knew the creature. She had hid her knowledge of this enemy from me deliberately. I was beginning to suspect she had hid other important details as well.

"Be gone, Matwau," Quaile hissed, stepping toward the cringing man.

"I will not leave without killing one of them!"

Fury at everyone and everything that had brought me to this point boiled under my skin. The creature was stronger, faster, more experienced than I. But I would not be stopped. I would reach Claire. If I was certain of anything, and there was precious little I was certain about at the moment, I was certain of this. The Matwau would not stop me from reaching Claire's side.

Quaile speaking again kept me from leaping forward.

"Killing either one of them will ruin everything. I will do everything in my power to stop you, Matwau." Quaile looked resolute, but for a moment the Matwau looked as confused as I did. Quaile was protecting me because of whatever meaning there was in her vision, but what would Daniel dying have to do with anything? Something in her words sparked my mind to come alive. The only way Daniel could matter was because he was connected with Claire.

Quaile demanded once again that the Matwau leave. Rage roared out of the Matwau, splitting his body and reshaping it in an instant. The huge wolf form snarled, wanting to ravage the woman in front of him. Another low rumble joined his, snapping the Matwau's massive head to the side. Talon's paws threw up rocks and dirt as he skidded into the gravel driveway.

The Matwau had reached its tipping point.

With a cry of deep frustration, he turned and launched himself at me. Quaile screamed for me to attack and my body responded before I could even think to move. Power built in my muscles, strengthening them beyond what was humanly possible. Propelling myself right into the creature's path, I locked my arms around it. Fire raced through my body from the contact as I flung it into the ground. The snapping of bones echoed in my ears, but didn't stop the Matwau's attack.

Claws and teeth raked the air as he tried to tear my flesh. Pure reflex snapped my body back and forth to cut off his attacks. My thoughts focused completely on Claire, I pushed harder than ever. I was so close to saving her. I had gone clear across the desert to find Daniel and bring him back to her. I couldn't stop now. Smashing my fist into the creature's side, I saw its ribcage collapse. Fury screamed out of the Matwau's shattered body, but it didn't give up.

Broken bones meshed back together as he shivered in my grip. He was trying to change again, but I refused to let him heal his wounds and prolong the fight. I had to get to Claire. Nothing was as important as saving her life. Heaving the beast into my arms I threw him as far away from me as I could. His body slammed into the ground, a blast of sand spraying into the air far enough away that it was barely noticeable to anyone but me.

Releasing an infuriated howl that said he knew he was outmatched, the Matwau pulled himself up and raced away from the ranch with ground eating strides. I didn't even wait to see where he was going. Claire was the only thought in my mind. She was dying and I had to save her. Daniel. I spun around to find him.

Quaile caught my eyes, but turned away when I looked at her. Disgust welled up in me for her lies, but I had no time for her. "Cole, let's get him inside." Cole snapped out of the pose he had frozen in at the sight of the Matwau and together we rushed an unconscious Daniel into the house. I stumbled in, hardly aware of anything but Claire.

# Chapter 42

### Rescue

"Uriah," my mother cried, "oh thank goodness you're safe." Propped in a chair, she watched us carry Daniel into the room. Her face paled at the sight of him, but she remained quiet.

"Uriah, Cole, let me help you," Sarah Brant said, rushing toward us.

"We're fine, just get him some pillows. Is Sophia here?"

A clatter from the kitchen preceded her answer. "Yes, she is," Sarah said. "She's not in a very good mood. Quaile forbid us to leave the house after you got back, and Sophia has never taken well to following Quaile's orders. She's getting everything ready for the antidote." Sarah placed a few pillows on the floor and backed away. Sophia bustled into the room. The antidote was ready, just waiting for Claire's Twin Soul to give it to her. I had brought him so far.

"What happened?" she asked. She glanced at my cuts and bruises, but there was no time for any of that right now. Her eyes turned to Daniel, then, and she repeated her question.

I didn't know how to explain what had actually happened to him, so I kept the answer simple. "A snake bit him," I said. Sophia rushed over to Daniel and stripped away his bandages. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his wound. No ordinary snake could have made those punctures.

"A snake did this?"

"It was a really big snake," Cole said, his face serious.

"Apparently," Sophia muttered. "What have you given him already?"

"Just some aspirin. It was all we had," Cole said. "I let it bleed for a few seconds in case of poison, but I didn't know what to do about the infection. He had a really bad fever, but it finally broke earlier this afternoon."

"He's been unconscious almost all day," I said. I wondered if he could administer the antidote if he wouldn't wake up.

"We'll deal with the infection first," Sophia said. "I'll be right back."

No longer as concerned with Daniel now that he was in Sophia's care, my eyes found Claire. My feet were quick to follow. Carefully, I sat beside her on the bed and took her hand in mine. As soon as I touched her, color flooded to her cheeks. My heart nearly lost its rhythm. She could feel me. I kissed her forehead as I lifted her head and cradled it in my lap. She had changed so much since I had left her.

Her skin was looser, her hair duller, her eyelids ringed with deep purple. The fragile bones in her hands were more visible than they had been before. Whatever it was doing to her, she was fighting it. I had been so worried the poison would take her before I could get back, but I shouldn't have doubted Claire's strength. I should have known she would fight against the potion's effects. She held on long enough for me to reach her.

Sophia hurried back into the room, her arms full of supplies. I turned away, my attention fixed on Claire's beautiful face. How many times had I kissed her, ran my fingers along her jaw, held her warm body against mine? Would I ever do those things again? With every stroke of my fingers a soft breath escaped Claire's mouth. I closed my eyes, focusing on her beating heart. I prayed it still beat for me.

"Cole?"

The sound of Daniel's voice drained the feeling from my body. My stiff fingers stopped mid stroke. My gaze fell on Sophia. She woke him up. My eyes were wide, filled with fear. My time with Claire was running out. I wasn't ready to let her go. Would she remember my love for her?

"He's awake," I whispered.

"Why are you staring at me like that, Uriah? I woke him up with smelling salts," she said. "He wasn't in a coma. He was just exhausted from the fever."

Cole came to my side and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, Uriah. It's almost over now." His words slammed the breath out of my chest.

"It is, isn't it?" I said. "It's almost over."

Realizing how I had taken his words, Cole hurried to add something comforting. "You don't know that for sure, Uriah. She's strong. She loves you. Maybe she'll still remember."

"Maybe," was all I could say.

"What are you two carrying on about?" Sophia demanded. "I need some help moving him. Now let's get on with it. Cole, help him into a chair while I get the herbs for him."

Cole squeezed my shoulder before moving to obey Sophia's command. Daniel blinked his bleary eyes as Cole pulled him into a standing position and helped him stumble over to a hard backed chair. Cole turned the chair to face away from Claire before setting Daniel down in it. I thanked him silently for his thoughtfulness. Probably sensing Claire, Daniel struggled to turn and find her. It was already starting.

Stepping quickly, Sophia came back into the room with a small cup balanced in the palm of one hand and a small satchel in her other hand. "Here it is, Uriah," Sophia said. "Daniel just needs to mix in the herbs and hold the cup as he gives her the tea, I think. Claire's fading fast, though. She's still unconscious, Uriah. I'm not sure how to get her to drink it."

"Just give it to her," I heard myself pleading, almost growling. She had to live, no matter what happened after.

"It will only take a few drops," Quaile said quietly. She leaned heavily on a walking stick as she strode to the center of the room. "But it's not quite that simple."

"Enough with the riddles," Sophia said venomously, tired of Quaile's half-answers and veiled lies. The past few days must have worn on her patience greatly. I was completely sympathetic to her irritation. I had plenty of things to say to Quaile when Claire was finally safe again.

Quaile looked away, her fingers twisting her skirt nervously. The corner of her mouth twitched as she unsuccessfully tried to keep it from falling into a deep frown. Her eyes took on the glassy glaze of tears. "There is one more ingredient," Quaile said with trembling lips.

Sophia stared at her, the look promising a heated response if she had to wait much longer.

My hands started to tremble. Quaile had hidden more from me. I clenched my jaw to hold my hatred for her inside. There was something else, something she knew would seal Claire's fate. I felt my last particle of hope slip away.

"His blood," Quaile blurted out. "The boy's blood must be mixed in with the herbs."

"What?" I exploded. Before I could stop myself, I was on my feet, my rage carrying me across the room. My hands gripped her frail shoulders roughly. She winced under my touch, but faced me regardless of her fear. "How could you?" I hissed. "You lied to me, Quaile! You told me there was hope, when all along you knew there wasn't. How could you do that to me?"

Quaile's frightened eyes pleaded with me for understanding. "I didn't know if you would still go if I told you the truth," she said. Double sounds of disgust came from my mother and Sophia. Quaile glanced at them, begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Uriah. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you. I was just trying to protect Claire."

I shoved her away from me, too angry to even look at her. My breath came in gasping chunks. My vision blurred and I suddenly couldn't find my footing. I sank to my knees. I thought I had prepared myself for this, but now that I was truly facing reality, my heart shattered. His blood. She was lost to me forever. "I can't lose her, not now, not after everything we've been through. I don't know if I can live without her." I wasn't sure whether I was speaking aloud or not. I had lost all feeling except for the crippling pain in my chest.

Soft shaking hands touched my face and pulled my head up. Sarah Brant's face was inches in front of mine. Her cheeks were red and tear streaked, but filled with desperation. "Uriah," she pleaded, "if we don't give Claire the antidote, she'll die. I'm so sorry."

I knew she was right, but all I could think about was how impossible life would be without Claire. Stumbling to my feet, I rushed to her, gathering her body into my arms. I needed just a few more seconds with her before I lost her forever. Her contented sigh was crystalline music. She had fought against the Shaxoa's poison, but I couldn't expect her to resist this as well. I had to let her go. Tears slipped down my cheeks, splashing on Claire's forehead. I brushed them away, relishing the gentle warmth of her skin.

"I'm sorry, Claire," I whispered, my body sinking back onto the couch.

Sounds of a struggle pushed toward me. "Wait, what's going on?" Daniel asked as he was pushed toward Claire.

"Put the herbs in the tea," Sophia instructed.

Daniel hesitated.

"Now!"

Daniel hurriedly tipped the satchel, spilling the powder into the hot water.

"I'm going to prick your finger, Daniel," Sophia said, grabbing his hand roughly. "I only need a few drops."

"No, wait, I promised Uriah. Wait, I...ouch!" Daniel exclaimed. He hissed as Sophia held his finger tightly, squeezing his blood into the cup. I shut out the sounds around me, unable to bear the scene.

My mom's touch was slight and hesitant, but it was enough. Cole helped her sit down next to me and then moved away. My mom's arm slid around me, her head resting against my shoulder. "It will be all right, Uriah. No matter what happens, it will work out for the best." Her voice gave away the lie in her words.

"Mom, what will I do without her," I whispered. Tears I had struggled to keep hidden flooded out with my admission. "She's my life. How do I walk away?"

"Shhh," my mother crooned. "Claire is strong and so are you. You can both fight this. Have faith, son."

_Don't give me hope_ , I pleaded silently. I had nothing left. For the past two days I had fueled every step with hope that somehow I would save Claire and keep her love for me intact. I didn't think I could live without her, but my heart held itself together knowing she would survive. Nothing was more important than that.

Claire had been my source of joy even before the day she turned up on the riverbank. Every breath I took was for her. Every decision I made was for her happiness. What would my life mean without her in it? My mother was wrong. I wasn't strong enough to survive losing Claire. But I knew Claire would live and be happy. At least I could give her that one last gift.

"Uriah, we're ready," Sarah said. A reluctant Daniel was being towed behind her. He was trying desperately to get away from her, but Sarah's grip was firm. "Daniel, calm yourself. All you have to do is give her the tea."

"But I promised Uriah. I can't take her away from him," Daniel said, his voice pleading. His eyes, though, were drinking Claire in hungrily.

"Daniel, if you don't give her the tea, she'll die," Sophia said. "Either way you'll be taking her away, but this way, she'll still be alive. Give her the tea."

Daniel looked at me, searching for guidance. "Do it, Daniel," I said softly. "It's okay."

Still unsure, he hesitated. Sophia pulled his hand up and set the cup squarely on his palm. Holding the cup with both hands, Daniel stared at its contents. I watched him, knowing this was how it had to be.

With shaking hands, Daniel stepped closer to Claire. As he approached, I could feel Claire's heartbeat quicken. Her shallow breathing became more labored. Her reaction brought tears to my eyes. Suddenly, I couldn't catch my breath. My mother gripped my shoulders tightly, her nails digging painfully through my shirt.

Pain, it was the only sensation my mind seemed capable of registering. I embraced it. Daniel was at the bed now, lowering the cup to Claire's lips. Gently, Daniel opened her mouth. Claire's face flushed with color at his touch. Her heart was racing, begging for release. I couldn't stop the choking sob that erupted from me. I didn't even try to hold back the hot tears now. Slowly, Daniel dripped the first few drops into Claire's mouth.

A gasping breath was torn from the deepest part of Claire's body. Startled by the reaction, Daniel pulled back, and then it hit. It was just the barest hint of feeling, but everyone in the room recognized it. Every second strengthened the intoxicating aura. I clenched my eyes shut, but I couldn't stop it from permeating every particle of my body. Opening my eyes again, I watched the look on Daniel's face change. Desire and longing washed away any doubt or fear, and any remembrance of promises made to me.

He brought the cup back to her lips, pouring the precious liquid into her mouth drop by drop. The transformation in Claire was astounding. Color returned to her skin. The sallow, sunken crevices were rejuvenated. Even her dark silky hair was revived, lustrous in the firelight. "Claire," Daniel breathed, as if he had just seen her for the first time.

It was painful to hear him speak her name. Daniel's hand came up, her glowing skin calling to him. "Don't," I whispered. I couldn't watch him touch Claire in the same way I had. Daniel stared at me in confusion, but held his hand back. The pity on every face in the room was almost enough to break my hold, but I needed just a few more seconds.

"Uriah?" Her voice was soft and weak, but it pierced me to my soul.

"Claire," I cried as her face turned to me. "Claire, I love you."

She smiled and touched my face before her features clouded into a confused stupor. Slowly, she tore her gaze from me as my heart begged her not to. I wanted to grab her chin, force it back to my face, but in this, at least, I was able to restrain myself.

"Daniel?" Claire asked. The ache in her voice was palpable.

She knew his name. She knew Daniel was the source of her rescue, not me. _Why_ , I screamed in silence, _why couldn't it have been me?_

"Oh, Daniel," Claire said, her face lighting up. She gazed at him adoringly until a flash of pain darkened her features. She turned back to me in a panic. "No. Oh, no. Uriah, what's going on? Why is he here?"

"I came to save you," Daniel interrupted. His brows wrinkled, confused by why Claire would ask such an obvious question.

Her hand reached out to him, the desire to touch him too much to resist. But at his touch she pulled back. She shook her head. "No, Uriah was going to save me. Uriah will always be the one to save me," she said, her head turning back to me with a question in her eyes. I couldn't bear her gaze. "Uriah?"

"I couldn't save you, Claire. I had to bring him here. I'm so sorry." I buried my face in her hair, letting her silken locks soak up my tears.

Claire's voice turned murderous. "Where is my dad?" At this, Sarah stepped forward. Her glare was only slightly less condemning than her daughter's.

"He is being dealt with," her mother said. "All that matters now is that you're all right."

"No," Claire said, her gaze darting back and forth between me and Daniel, "that isn't all that matters." Her voice was shrill and scared. She looked at Daniel and lost all momentum. Faced with the inexplicable pull we could all feel between them, everything seemed to become clear. Her body pulled away from me slightly. The pull was so strong, but she managed to hold back long enough to say, "Oh, Uriah, I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand," Daniel said quietly. "Does she feel what I feel, or does she still love Uriah?"

I pulled Claire away from my chest. I needed the same question answered. "Claire?" I asked. "Do you still love me?"

"Yes, of course, but..." she hesitated. Claire glanced around the room, fearful of what everyone else might be thinking of her.

"Remarkable," Quaile whispered. My body froze at the sound of her voice. I didn't want to hear anything she had to say, but Claire didn't know of her treachery yet.

"Quaile, what's going on? I still love Uriah, but it's different, like a memory I can't quite remember. Daniel being here, it's changing everything." Her gaze rolled over to Daniel slowly. "I don't even know him, but...I love him, too. Or, I feel...I don't know what I want. What's happening to me?" she demanded of Quaile.

"It's the bond, Claire. I told you this would happen. Daniel is your Twin Soul. You belong together. You always have," Quaile said.

"But...I didn't want this," Claire said desperately. Daniel took a step closer to her and she shuddered under the power of the bond. "I mean...I do, but this isn't right. It can't be right. I don't want to let go of Uriah. He's everything to me."

Daniel's face fell. "You don't want me?"

Claire's eyes flew wide. I could feel the atmosphere between them change. Claire reacted to his pain, pulling away from me and reaching for Daniel. I couldn't bring myself to let go of her other hand, but Daniel was quick to take the hand she offered him. Claire stood, fixed between us, torn by memories of our past together and the promise of a future with Daniel.

"Daniel," she said, her anguish melting in the face of their contact. My hand slipped from hers. She looked back at me apologetically even as she stepped closer to Daniel. "I'm so confused."

"Daniel," Sarah said, taking him gently by the shoulders, "why don't we step into the kitchen for a few minutes. You must be hungry after your ordeal." Daniel tried to protest, but Sarah gently pulled his hand out of Claire's and pushed him out of the room. Taking the hint, Cole helped my mother to her feet and they followed Sarah into the kitchen. Quaile was the last to leave, but finally I was left alone with Claire.

The thought of snatching Claire off the bed and running for the truck grabbed me, almost strong enough to actually make me do it. Her hand was still outstretched, exactly where Daniel had left it. "Claire," I said softly. My hand closed over hers and pulled it to my chest. My steady heartbeat pulsed under her hand. It still beat for her, only for her. I was begging her feel me now. I was begging for one more chance to keep her.

"Uriah," she said. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't leave, Claire," I said, "not unless you want me to." It killed me to utter the words. I would force myself to live up to them, but the words felt like a dagger. I waited for her response. It should have been easy for her to say she would never ask me to leave. She'd said it so many times before, but I waited. "Please say it," I said without realizing the words had actually left my lips.

"I want to, but I don't want it to be a lie."

My hands fell limply from hers. I imagined myself standing and walking to the door, vanishing from her life, from life itself, but I was frozen where I sat, burning up next to the fire. I had tried to prepare myself for this. I knew in the deepest parts of my mind it could end no other way, but for so long I had held her close, warming myself in memories of our life together. It would all end here, in the place we had spent countless hours wrapped in each other's arms.

"Uriah, please. Please don't look at me that way. I want you to stay, I do, but this feeling," she said, "it's so strong. I just don't know how long I can fight it. I'm afraid that I won't be strong enough to hold onto you. Please." Her hands grappled for mine, bringing them to her damp cheeks. "Please save me from this, Uriah."

"I can't," I croaked. "I couldn't save you before, and I can't save you now."

Claire's face crumpled and fell against my shoulder. I knew her tears were soaking through my shirt, but I was numb to everything. Even as she cried and begged me to rescue her, I could feel it. Every second the bond between Claire and Daniel grew stronger. As strong as she was, she couldn't hold it off forever. The longer I stayed, deluding myself we could still be together, would only cause her more pain. Maybe this was what my dad meant when he said I had to be strong. Staying here was only hurting her.

Gently, I kissed the top of Claire's forehead before pushing her body away from me. She stared at me, her head shaking back and forth. I don't know how long it was before I was able to form the words I needed to say. They stuck in my throat, my heart battling against my mind. Claire wouldn't want me much longer, and who was I to ask her to give Daniel up just for my sake. The feeling stretching between them was amazing, ecstasy in its purest form. But for me, this phenomenon caused a pain more intense than I could ever have imagined.

"I can't stay here, Claire," I said, finally able to choke the words out. "You belong with Daniel, now."

"But, you can't leave," she said in a panicked voice. I shook my head slowly. I was only torturing her by staying. "What will I do without you?" she asked.

"You'll be happy, like you were meant to be." I knew it was true, and I was surprised by the peace saying it granted me.

"Please don't do this, Uriah," she pleaded. "If you go now, I know I'll forget how much I love you."

"I know you will, Claire," I said, "but you're supposed to. And I'm supposed to move on without you." Move on. I laughed at the thought. I was glad Claire would live a life of happiness with Daniel, but I had every intention of seeking out the Matwau and letting him have the fight he wanted so badly. He would kill me before he even realized I wasn't fighting back.

Suddenly, I couldn't bear to be near her for another second. I had to get away. Pushing Claire away gently, I stood and stalked away from her. Her sob of surprise gave me a second's pause, but its sharp edges sliced at my remaining strength and I rushed to the refuge of my bedroom. Slamming the door, I reached for my hiking pack and started piling my belongings into its many pockets.

My hands faltered when I saw the laptop computer sitting on my desk. There was little chance I would actually follow through with my college classes, now. I wanted to take it, despite my destination, but I couldn't bring myself to touch it. I turned away from the computer and moved on to the bathroom.

"Uriah!"

My mother's voice was tight and sharp. In my haste to escape, I hadn't even thought about her. She needed me right now, but I couldn't stay. Her worried face made me reconsider my plan. Could I really put her through losing another person she loved? She was still grieving for my father and I wanted to add to her grief by throwing my life away just to quiet my own pain. It was one of the most selfish things I had ever considered, but I couldn't live with such amazing pain. Eventually she would forget about me, just as Claire would.

"Uriah, wait," my mother pleaded. She hobbled closer to me, leaning heavily on a walking stick. "Don't leave without telling me goodbye."

Guilt swept over me. It would be a final goodbye, and I could barely stand to give her even that. "I can't stay here. It hurts too much."

"I know, Uriah. I know," she said, finally reaching me and slipping her hand into mine. "I understand why you have to go, and it is okay. I won't try to stop you. I just want to make sure you have everything you need." Pulling a small envelope out of her sweater pocket, she handed it to me with an understanding smile. "It isn't much, but it's yours."

I touched the white paper, gently lifting the flap. A stack of bills greeted me. "Where did you get this?" I asked.

"I've been saving it for a special occasion. Now it's yours," she said. Her face turned more serious. Her eyes locked with mine. I could feel her desperation. "Uriah, this will pass. I can't imagine what pain this has brought you, but eventually it will pass. You will move on with your life and find happiness again. I know you will. You have to try."

I stared at her. Did she know what I was planning to do? She waited for my reassurance that I would try to find joy with someone else, to promise I wasn't about to do was I was planning to do, but I couldn't lie to her.

"I don't know if I believe that."

It was the best I could offer. Her lip quivered at my response, but she pulled me into a hug, crushing me with the surprising strength her small body possessed. Why wasn't I as strong as she was?

Pulling away, I swung the pack on my back and stepped around her. "Be careful," she begged before I slipped out of her sight.

# Chapter 43

### Escape

The full force of their bond hit me when I turned the corner. Daniel sat next to her, comforting her more profoundly than I ever could. The bond was already twice as strong as it had been before. Love filled the room, pushing out every other emotion except the agony I held close to my heart. Daniel looked up at me, an apology plain on his face. There was nothing left to say. I couldn't blame him for this, even though I wanted to. I knew I was making the right choice. Blocking everything out, I pushed the door open and escaped the house, filling my lungs with the dry desert air.

My head a little clearer, I stared across the sandstone wasteland. The creature was out there somewhere, waiting for me. Not keen on the idea of beginning my search on foot, I turned for the garage, but fell back instantly. I couldn't take the truck. A light movement caught my eye, bringing my gaze to the motorcycles. Quaile stood next to the bikes, scratching Talon's ears. Every hair on my head stood on end, bristling with anger.

"Get out of my way, Quaile. You're not going to stop me," I said.

"I'm not here to stop you from leaving, Uriah. However, I am going to stop you from getting yourself killed."

"You don't know anything about me or my future."

"Don't I?" she questioned. "Then you are not planning to seek out the Matwau so he can end your pain, and your life?"

"How," my voice faltered, "how can you know that?"

"I saw it the second you formed the idea in your mind," she said. She stepped closer to me, placing a firm finger on my chest. "You cannot do that, Uriah."

"Oh? And why not?" Her cryptic warnings would do nothing but encourage me at that point.

"Because you are meant for more than that," she said simply.

"I don't care!" I yelled. "You have lied to me and tricked me into doing what you wanted, but no more, Quaile. I will decide what path my life takes, even if it's to my death. I don't want to hear any more of your warnings or visions. I want you to leave me alone!"

I pushed her away from me, bringing a low growl from Talon. "She is only trying to help you, Uriah. Listen to her," Talon said, concern filling his feline eyes.

"I can't trust her."

"She did lie to you before, but she is telling the truth now." Talon's thoughts were firm.

"How can you know that?" I asked. "Can she speak to you?"

"No, but I can hear her thoughts. Shamans can call out to animals for help. That is all. I can hear her thoughts, and she is not trying to mislead you this time," Talon said.

"I still don't trust her," I told him, making for the motorcycle. I knew it wasn't mine to take, but Thomas would just have to consider it payment for saving his daughter's life. I reached for the ignition where I was sure I'd left the keys, but the slot was empty.

Quaile's shadow fell over me, the keys dangling from her hand. I tried to snatch them away, growling when I missed. "You can have her back," she said quietly.

"What?" I must have misunderstood her.

"Claire, you can still have her back."

The blood in my veins seemed to stop flowing. My lungs refused to expand. "What do you mean?"

"There is a way to sever the Twin Soul bond," Quaile said quietly. "I don't know how to do it, but there is one who does."

"How?"

"Go to our Tewa cousins in Hano. I have heard rumor that there is a Shaxoa there who knows the secrets of the dark spirits. She will be able to tell you how to sever the bond."

"Why can't I just go to the Shaxoa here?" I asked, wondering if this was another of Quaile's tricks.

"Zarafen only dabbles in the dark spirits' lore. She knows little of their workings. You must go to Hano," Quaile said.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked. "Does this have something to do with your visions of me?"

"No, it has nothing to do with that. It probably goes against them, in fact," she muttered. "I despise any Shaxoa and the work they do, and I would never have mentioned this to you if it weren't for Claire's reaction to Daniel. She wants to be with you despite finding her Twin Soul." Quaile's face wrinkled as she contemplated the meaning of her words.

"I have never heard of that happening before," she said slowly, "but it makes me wonder about the bond, about Twin Souls. Maybe there is a reason so few find their Twin Soul. Perhaps we are not meant to seek them here in this life. Perhaps the love between Twin Souls is no greater than the love between two devoted people. I do not know for sure, but I see Claire."

Quaile touched my shoulder gently. "She loves you still, and seems to value the love she has for you more than the bond. I can't claim to understand her reaction, but I want her to have the choice. I may believe in my visions, but I believe in free will even more. That is why I'm telling you what the Hano Shaxoa can do."

"That's the only reason?" I questioned. I found it very hard to believe her. I had the feeling she was only telling me this to keep me from seeking the Matwau, but her words were tempting. If I were dead, there would be no way for me to fulfill her prophetic visions. I had no idea what the visions meant or why she believed them to be so important, but I did believe she would tell me whatever she felt was necessary to make sure I survived to fulfill them. Still, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to get Claire back.

"Just please be careful, Uriah. Shaxoa are vile creatures who will strike you down more quickly than help you," Quaile warned.

"But," I paused, considering, "is it right to try and break the bond? Claire will be happy with Daniel."

Quaile sighed. "Will she?" She gazed up at the sky as if expecting the gods to give her the answer. When she looked back at me, she seemed uncertain. "I am beginning to doubt. I fear she will carry regret in her heart if she loses you."

I wanted to believe her, but I was so sure only moments ago that leaving her to the bond was the right choice. What was I supposed to do now? "What if this only hurts her more?" I asked.

"She asked you to save her," Quaile said simply. "Can you deny her such a request?"

Her question shattered my resolve. I wanted Claire so badly. I believed her when she said she still wanted me. Until now, I hadn't believed there was any way to beat back the bond. If Claire truly still loved me, and there was a chance to save our love, I had to at least try.

"Tell Claire I'll be back as soon as I can," I said. "Tell her...tell her I love her. I'm not giving up yet. If she still wants me when I get back, I'll do everything I can to stay with her."

Quaile nodded in agreement.

I wanted to beg Quaile to explain everything to Claire, but I couldn't bear to promise something like that only to fail again.

"I will send Daniel home tonight. The bond will continue to get stronger each day, but if they are apart it may buy you more time."

Her thoughtfulness struck me deeply. My chin trembled with gratitude. "Thank you," I said.

She nodded quietly.

It was a Shaxoa who started all of this, and I was wary of turning to another witch to set it right, but my desire to save Claire was too strong. Let the Matwau kill me, or go to see the Hano Shaxoa. The choices were equally appealing, but one at least offered me the chance of releasing Claire from her unwanted bond.

She wanted this just as much as I did. I honestly believed that. "I'll go to Hano," I said to myself. Talon rubbed his head against my leg. He would come with me.

Quaile reached into a pocket, taking out a leather necklace with a beautifully woven symbol dangling from it. "When you get to Hano, give this to their shaman. She will help you find the answers you're looking for."

I accepted the token, watching Quaile's face for any sign of deceit. All I saw was concern, and somewhere deep in her brown eyes, fear. I wanted to wring every last drop of information out of her, but I wasn't sure I could trust anything she said to me at this point. Even now I feared she was holding back precious information. Perhaps the Hano shaman would be able to help me find some answers.

"Be careful, _Wakiza_."

Wakiza. Desperate warrior. The name was certainly fitting. It was hard to remember the last time I made a decision that had not been driven by my desperation. Desperation to save Claire, then desperation to get away from her. Now I had come full circle, filled with desperation to save her once again, though I wondered if I wasn't trying to save myself even more than her.

# Chapter 44

### Hope

Climbing onto my bike, I brought the engine to life. Talon crouched beside the motorcycle, ready to run with me. Speeding away from San Juan, I felt the crushing bond of Twin Souls finally slip away.

I would take Quaile's token and warnings one last time, but only because I was once again desperate for even the smallest sliver of hope. As I had told myself so many times before, I would do anything for Claire. Anything.

The End of Book One

Book Two, _Shaxoa's Gift,_ is available at your favorite retailer.

* * *

Learn more on the author's website, or go here to sign up for her mailing list.

# BLOOD DEBT

### Touched Series, Book 1

**Nancy Straight**

* * *

Her whole life, it had just been the two of them. Before her mother's last breath, she gave Camille the information she had craved her entire life: the identity of her father. Daring to contact him, Camille was welcomed by an entire family she never knew existed. But nothing comes without a price, as she discovers when her family claims a legendary heritage tracing back to a Centaur touched by Zeus.

As she learns the secrets of her Centaur bloodline, she is drawn into a forbidden love with Drake. Her family acknowledges her life may be the blood debt required to pay for her mother's transgressions. The same person who once held her mother captive, and forced her into decades of hiding, now controls Camille. Her only chance is to seek a piece of her mother's past that will win her freedom and the life she desperately desires.

# Chapter 1

_(Camille Benning – Oceanside, CA)_

I stared at the phone. I had his number. I had his name. Twenty-two years...after twenty-two stinking years of fantasizing about who he was, what he was like, where he was — you'd think I would have dialed by now. The thing is — nobody, anywhere, could live up to my expectations. I'd always envisioned this successful, educated, lead-singer, movie-star, rich kind of father. It was great to think that he was this wonderful, benevolent man, who one day would swoop in and introduce himself, then whisk me away in a limo. Yeah, that never happened.

I can't think of a time when I wasn't dying to meet him. When I would ask my Mom, she would always tell me, "Your father was a wonderful man. We had a few magical days together, and he left me with the most amazing gift to remember him by." Sure, that's what a ten-year-old wants to hear. She would never tell me his name, where he lived, or anything about him other than he didn't live in California.

It didn't matter how hard I pleaded, I think she preferred that he be a mystery. Who would have guessed all those times I said I would trade anything to meet him, I never thought I'd trade my rock, my anchor... my mom. Ten minutes before she took her last breath, she grabbed my hand and choked out, "Your father...lives in Charleston, South Carolina. His name is William Strayer. He deserves to know you. Tell him...tell him I said, 'Goodbye.'"

A few breaths later, she slipped away as death carried her to her final peace. I cried for weeks. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't process losing my mom and getting the information I'd been begging her for my whole life in the span of ten minutes. All those wagers I'd tried to make with God, to find out who he was — I'd told God I would trade anything — I never meant my mom. I'm not crazy enough to think that God had stolen my mom just so I could find out who my father was, but I had several weeks of erratic thoughts.

I googled him. He was easy to find. He'd been in the same house, in the same job, for better than thirty years. Everything I found out about him on the internet pointed to an average guy, with an average life. He wasn't a rock star. He wasn't famous. _He_ wasn't dead.

I took one final breath, steadying myself. I had my phone in one hand and the slip of paper with all his information on my lap. I dialed the number, wondering what I was going to say to him. Before I could press "send," I chickened out and went back to Mom's bedroom to go through more of her things. Peggy, my mom's closest and only friend, had offered to come over to help me, but I was twenty-two. I shouldn't need help with this. Even if Peggy was her best friend, I knew Mom wouldn't want her going through her things. My mom had always been a private person.

Mom knew it was coming. She'd been sick for a long time. Her closet, that normally looked crammed with outfits from the last several decades, wasn't as packed as the last time I'd seen it. Mom must have gone through some of her things before she died because the walk-in closet could actually be walked into.

Tucked in the far back corner, on a shelf, was a treasure box of sorts: a wooden box with the key inserted into the lock. Whatever was inside, Mom wanted me to see it. I found yellowing movie ticket stubs for a title I'd never heard of, an airline ticket from twenty-eight years ago, a crumpled up photograph of my mom holding two babies, and a tourist shot glass from the Crazy Horse Monument in South Dakota. It seemed an odd set of treasures for her to have hidden away. I looked at the old plane ticket: it was for an Angela Chiron — no one I knew. I gently closed the wooden box after I'd returned her "treasures" to their resting place. As I stared at sequined sweaters, stretch pants, dress slacks and dresses, I found myself wanting to make that phone call far more than I wanted to go through my mom's life.

William. Did he even know I existed? He probably had a family of his own. What would they think of me? It had always been just my mom and me. She didn't have any family, at least other than me. Her parents died when she was young, and she'd been an only child. I think her final gift to me – my father's identity — was her way of not leaving me so alone in the world.

I went back to the living room, sat on the sofa, and put my feet up on the coffee table, almost begging Mom to walk into the room and tell me to get my feet off of it. A lonely tear rolled down my cheek. No one would be walking through the doorway to tell me to put my feet down. I hated the idea of being alone.

I took one more deep breath, picked up the slip of paper, and dialed his number again. This time my shaking finger pushed, "Send."

A woman's voice answered the phone, "Hello."

I stammered, terrified of this call, not sure what to say to the woman. "Uh...hi...is William there?"

"Who's calling?"

"Camille."

"Camille, is this a sales call?"

"Uh, no. Definitely, no. Is William home?"

"Just a minute."

I could only assume that had been William's wife. I wanted to hang up. I saw my hand shaking and prayed that I wouldn't have full-blown convulsions. I had practiced this phone call several times, but realized I should have written things down. My fear began crippling me, and I drew a blank. What would I say? "I'm your love child from twenty-three years ago and wanted to say hi." Not the best approach.

I heard a gruff voice come on the line, "Hello, this is Will."

My voice didn't work. My mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Hello, is anybody there?"

I cleared my throat, closed my eyes and answered, "Uh, yes. Hi, William. I'm Camille."

A friendly voice responded, "Okay. Camille who?"

"Right. I'm Angela Benning's daughter."

"Angela Benning? I'm still not making the connection. Are you sure you have the right William?"

"William Strayer from Charleston, South Carolina?"

"Yes."

"You are the only one I found in information. Have you ever been to San Diego?"

"Well, yes. I travel there, but I don't know an Angela Benning."

"Not even one you knew twenty-three years ago?" Silence answered me back. I wasn't sure if he had hung up the phone, if the connection had been dropped, or if he was too stunned to answer. "William, are you still there?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm still here. I did know an Angela in San Diego. She was a bartender in a hotel."

"That's right."

"Camille, how old are you?"

I did have the right person, and at least I didn't have to draw the connection out for him with big purple crayons. "I'm twenty-two."

"Twenty-two?"

"Yeah, my birthday was last month."

More silence... I could feel him doing the math in his head. This was a bad idea. I braced myself for him to deny he was my father, that I was some leech after him for money. His voice spoke softly, "Camille, I don't know what to say. Your mother is an incredible woman."

"Was." I corrected, "She _was_ an incredible woman."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. What happened?" Sincerity was wrapped in his voice.

"She died of breast cancer a few weeks ago. Right before she died, she told me how I could contact you."

"So, you're my... I mean she wouldn't have...if you weren't mine."

I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. "Right. I don't need anything. I just...I guess I wanted to talk to you."

"Camille, you have to believe me, if I had known I would have...I didn't know I had a daughter."

"That's okay, William. I knew I had a father – I mean from a biological perspective, but Mom would never tell me anything about you, well, not until the night she died."

His voice sounded heavy, "Call me Will. Everyone does. So, she didn't want you to contact me?"

"I guess not, well...she never told me anything about you. I never knew your name until the night she passed."

"You said that was a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, she went into the hospital the week after my birthday."

I heard hopefulness in his voice that I didn't expect when he said, "When can I meet you?"

This was a question I wasn't really prepared for. All those practice conversations had more to do with introducing myself and convincing him that I was his daughter. I thought I had prepared for every possible response. I never considered that he would want to meet me. "Uh, maybe the next time you come to California?"

"Camille, I've got a lot going on for the next month. Getting out to the west coast would be hard. Would you consider flying to South Carolina?"

My heart started doing cartwheels. Not only did I have a real father — he wanted to see me! Trying not to gush at his suggestion, "Um, maybe. I've got a bunch of stuff I've got to take care of. You know, estate stuff for Mom, and a job."

"I could arrange for a lawyer to take care of that for you. Camille, I don't want to put this off. I...I could make arrangements now. You could be on the red eye tonight."

"Will, you don't know anything about me. I've got a job. I can't just get on a plane."

"You're my blood, Camille. Angela was a magical woman, I...I had no idea. If you can't come to me, I'll juggle some things around. I have to meet you."

Huh, that's the same thing Mom had said about him: that he was "magical." I had googled him a few weeks ago. I knew he was somehow involved with finance and investments and ran a firm in Charleston. Since my job was working at a department store as a cashier, reality was that it would be much easier for me to leave my job for a few days. As I looked around the apartment, there was too much of her here. Not that it was a bad thing, but given the last several months, it might be nice to have a change of scenery, for a few days.

I took a deep breath, "Okay, I can call into work and have someone cover my shifts. But I don't have the cash for a plane ticket or motel or anything."

"I'll take care of it. How soon could you be on a plane?"

"I guess tonight. Do you need to talk to your wife or anything?"

"Gretchen will be happy to have you as a guest. She's always wanted a daughter as much as I have." I felt a warm glow in my chest. The emptiness of losing my mom would stay with me forever, but I wasn't alone. I had a father. We exchanged email addresses so we could coordinate the flight. I wondered if this was some sort of a dream. I had run a background investigation on him within days of finding out who he was. All I really knew about him was he paid his taxes, he owned several properties, he had never been arrested, and he hadn't had a traffic ticket or an accident in the last seven years.

I called my best friend in the world to let him know what had just happened. He was so excited for me that he was at my door within twenty minutes. Daniel was like the brother I never had. We looked enough alike that sometimes people assumed I was his sister. He had dark hair, kind of that in between length – it was short, but shaggy. His eyelashes were gorgeous. For a long time I teased him, calling him "Maybelline Eyes," and he had this way of looking at girls that made them all melt – well, all but me. Daniel was on the surf team in high school and even got a scholarship to surf in college, so there was never a shortage of beach babes looking to hang out with him. We'd never been more than friends, and I knew we both liked it that way. We each had a ready-made date for all the big social events, weddings, engagement parties, holiday parties, etc – but none of the romantic attachments that came with it.

Daniel gathered me in a large bear hug and swung me around. "You talked to him? He wants to meet you?"

"I did! He wasn't freaked out about it or anything. He's flying me to South Carolina, tonight, to meet him."

Daniel's enthusiasm diminished in front of me, "Tonight? Why the rush?"

I slapped his shoulder, "I'm his daughter. He wants to meet me."

"Did he say why he never bothered to come see you?"

"I think my mom hid us from each other. He didn't even know that I existed until I called."

"Just like that, he wants you on a plane? What about a DNA test?"

"He didn't ask for any proof. He said he remembered her." I left out the part where he said she was magical – Daniel knew that's what my mom had said about him.

"That must have been some phone call. Are you sure he's all right?"

"I'm not stupid. I did a background check."

"That just means he's never been caught."

I punched Daniel's arm a second time, and he feigned pain. "I'm just saying you don't even know the guy. He could be a serial killer for all you know. There's probably a reason your mom never let the two of you meet."

"She told me who he was right before she died. She must have wanted me to find him."

"Maybe. How about I go with you?"

"Um, I don't know. I think this is something I have to do on my own, but keep your cell phone on you in case I need you."

He frowned with his eyebrows furrowed, "I don't like it. Something doesn't feel right."

"Stop worrying. I'll be back on Sunday. If it gets weird, I'll come back sooner."

"If I don't get a call every day, I'm getting on a plane."

"Right, to fly to South Carolina and do what? I'll be fine. He sounded nice."

"You've wanted to meet this guy forever. Don't get your hopes up. Angela was a smart lady. She must have kept you two apart for a reason."

"Maybe she just didn't want the hassle of sharing custody." This was the lie I'd told myself when I was little. My mom never had boyfriends. She always told me her life was full, and she didn't have room for one more person in it.

"Maybe, but maybe he's a douche, and she didn't want you to get hurt."

My heart sank. I didn't have the strength to argue with him. I knew he was right. I knew Mom hid his identity from me, but I didn't care why. Everyone needed family, no matter how weird they might be. I was willing to take a chance: one crazy father was better than nobody.

For the next fifteen hours, through two airports and the whole time I was in the air, Daniel's words continued to echo in my mind, _"She must have kept you two apart for a reason."_ Why would she have kept us apart? Was she ashamed of him? What did he do that made her not want him in her life? She'd never, for as long as I could remember, had a boyfriend – had he done something to her?

# Chapter 2

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

The wheels touched down at the Charleston Airport. Although I wasn't a world traveler, I recognized that it was a very small airport, two whole luggage carousels in baggage claim. I had been to San Diego's airport lots of times; it was like a maze of endless signs and was seriously intimidating even for the locals. Charleston's was small and felt welcoming. I had found pictures of Will on the internet. I knew he was near fifty, with graying hair, distinguished face, brown eyes, and a nose that was slightly larger than his face required. Not unattractive, but I doubt he'd ever been a huge heart-throb. The pictures I found of him were all with suit jackets and ties, so I scanned the baggage claim area for a middle-aged man in a suit. It was 10:30 a.m. on a Wednesday. I saw a few people who had the right attire, but none looked like the picture I'd downloaded of him. I kept checking my phone for a message from him, but nothing.

I felt the nervousness gripping me, wondering if this was a mistake. Daniel's words continued in my head; I tried to shake his warning away and knew I needed to come up with a plan. How would I get to Will's house? I checked my phone again, nothing new. This was a dumb idea. I saw my bag approaching on the carousel. As I reached down to pick it up, a guy my age in a polo shirt, khakis and dress shoes loped through the large double-doors from outside. He was carrying a piece of paper with clear block letters that read, "Camille Benning."

It definitely wasn't Will. I rolled my bag over to the guy and said, "Hi. I'm Camille Benning."

I saw his eyes widen momentarily and felt him look me up and down as a huge toothy smile flashed my way. "Hi, Camille, I'm Brent. Welcome to Charleston!" His brown eyes looked glad to see me, and his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and it looked like he was either a sun worshipper or he'd never worked a day in his life – golden bronze skin was hard to come by with a full-time job.

"Uh, thanks." I wasn't expecting a car service. Will was definitely losing cool points by not bothering to meet me at the airport.

"Can I help you with your bag?"

I shook my head, "That's okay, I've got it."

He responded with a startled look, "I must have said that wrong. I'll take your bag for you." He reached for it, but my knuckles didn't budge from the handle.

My voice stern, "No, thanks. I've got it." Years of caution from Mom about strangers, about not looking weak, I wasn't about to let this clown think that I wasn't capable of rolling my own bag. If he kept this up, there was no way I was going to give him a tip.

With a snicker in his voice, "Headstrong just like Dad; he'll be thrilled." I raised my eyebrow, not understanding his comment. He must have seen my confusion because he clarified, "I'm sorry, I assumed Dad mentioned that I would be picking you up. I'm your brother, Brent."

Brother? Holy crap! A father, stepmother, and a brother – all in less than a day. I felt a smile erupting as some of the loneliness I'd felt the last month offered to evaporate. "Oh, uh, no. We didn't talk that long yesterday."

"That figures. Well, the car is this way." Brent led the way through the double doors while I rolled my own suitcase.

Here I was excited to be flying across the country to meet a father I had just found out about. In the back of my mind I assumed he had a family, but I never expected for him to send his son to pick me up. When I ran the background check on him, it didn't say anything about a son. That's something that should definitely show up if you blow forty bucks to dig into someone's past.

As we stepped through the double doors to the outside, the heat nearly took my breath away. It was like stepping into an oven. "Wow, is it always this hot?"

Brent chuckled, "This isn't bad. Wait another couple hours: that's when it starts to get uncomfortable." It felt like a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity. I knew July would be hot, but I didn't think I would be slow roasting. We stepped out to the curb where Brent motioned me to a beautiful BMW sedan. It was snowy white with tan interior. A guy waited in the driver's seat and a second in the front passenger seat.

As Brent put my bag in the trunk, I stole a glance at the two men waiting in the car. Neither looked old enough to be Will, either.

Brent stepped back to the passenger side and opened my door for me, holding it while I sat down and then closed it for me — very gentlemanly. He walked around to the other side of the car and sat next to me in the backseat. The two guys in the front seat turned around. They each shared the same big toothy smile and bore a striking resemblance to Brent. As Brent reached for his seat belt he said, "Camille, these are your brothers Bart and Ben."

"Uh, nice to meet you both."

Bart began driving, so it was Ben's turn. "We're glad you're here. I know you flew all night. Did you want to go back to the house and crash or stop for a bite first?"

Until he mentioned food, I hadn't realized I was hungry. "I don't want to be any trouble. Whatever you were going to do was fine."

Bart let out a hearty laugh, "We were told to take care of you for a few hours until Dad can get home from work. There're great restaurants here. Do you like seafood?"

Bart had said the magic word. I loved seafood. "Yeah, if you guys are hungry, I could eat."

Ben turned around in his seat because I was sitting directly behind him. "So, you live in San Diego? Have you lived there your whole life?"

"Yeah. Well, near there. I live in Oceanside; it's a little north of San Diego."

"So, do you surf?"

"Not well. But I've been on a board a few times."

"If you want to go surfing while you're here, you can borrow one of mine."

"Thanks."

"How long are you staying?"

"'Til Sunday."

"Wow, that's a quick trip. So are you on summer break from school?"

"No, I, um...I never went to college." It never bothered me before that I couldn't afford college, mainly because I never had any real desire to go. But looking at these three in this car, I, for the first time, felt a little intimidated about my choice.

Ben casually asked, "So, what do you do?"

Wondering if Ben was purposely trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I said confidently, "I'm a cashier."

I could tell Ben sensed that he'd sort of rattled me, and he smoothly tried to make up for it. "I was a cashier all through high school at a grocery store — that was a great job. I'm jealous."

Ben got an "A" for effort, but it was obvious that a mere cashier was not in the same league with these three. I decided I'd try to get the focus off of me. "So, how old are you three?"

Brent answered, "I'm twenty-four, Ben's twenty-five, Bart's twenty-six, Bruce is twenty-seven and Beau's twenty-eight. Bruce and Beau couldn't fit in the car without cramming you in like a sardine. I just texted them to meet us at the Harbor Club."

I looked squarely at Brent. I didn't know any family with five kids, "Five boys?"

Brent nodded enthusiastically. He was notably cautious with his next question, "Um, how old are you, Camille?"

"I'm twenty-two."

No one responded right away, and just before the pause got seriously uncomfortable, Brent's excitement returned, "Well, great, you're legal. We could all go hit a club or something while you're here."

The image of me walking into a bar with five very tall, handsome guys had its merits. "Maybe. Are there good clubs here?"

"Probably not as sophisticated as San Diego, but there're some decent places to dance downtown."

Brent was still pressing me for more info, "So, do you have any brothers or sisters, I mean...other than us?"

I shook my head that I didn't. "It was always just Mom and me."

Brent's jovial tone came down a few octaves when he said, "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry about that. Dad said she passed away recently."

I was beyond tearing up every time someone told me they were sorry for my loss, but the sincerity in his voice and eyes struck me tenderly. I didn't want to break into full-fledged tears, so I asked, "So what does your mom do?"

Ben and Bart exchanged looks, but Brent didn't miss a beat, "She's a housewife."

Five boys, all had been born a year apart, and a mom who didn't work outside the house. What were they, Mormon? I only had a few friends growing up whose moms stayed home: they were all wealthy. Judging from the car and the way these three were dressed, maybe my assumption was correct.

"So, when did your parents split up?"

I felt that same tension from before. This time Ben turned around to answer, "Our parents are still together."

The reality of the situation hit me — like a Mack truck. Will, my father, met my mother twenty-three years ago. They had some sort of wild fling, with me as the result. Will was married when he met my mom, and he was still married to the same woman — Brent, Ben and Bart's mother. My stomach cinched tight. No wonder my mom would never tell me who my father was. I could feel the color drain from my face.

Ben, still peering at me over the seat, must have seen my stupor. "It's okay, Camille. Dad called us all together last night and told us. Mom knows."

"And she's okay with me being here?"

Bart, from behind the wheel piped in, "I'm sure she had some words with Dad after we went to bed, but she told us all we were taking the rest of the week off to welcome you to the family."

"Seriously?" All three heads nodded in unison. "So, you all just called your bosses and took the week off?"

Brent leaned in and said, "Yeah, we all work for the same guy. He understood."

Bart said, _after they went to bed._ Did they all still live at home? Who still lives with their parents when they're adults and have the money to live anywhere? Were they a part of some cult? Something felt fishy. I texted Daniel discreetly from the back seat: "Arrived OK. Going 2 lunch w/ 5 brothers. Haven't met Dad yet. Will call soon." If this was some sort of a trick, I wanted Daniel to know where to tell the police to start looking.

Bart pulled the car in front of a restaurant and handed the keys to a valet. I had nearly forgotten we were going to get lunch, and after the last couple minutes, I wasn't sure I could hold any food down. As we stepped out of the car, I was again blasted by the heat. Luckily, it was exactly five steps from the curb to the restaurant's door, and we were again in the cool.

I had always been a little on the tall side for a girl, I was 5'10" – I looked at my newly found brothers: Brent was the tallest of the three and had to be at least 6'3". Ben and Bart were both a couple inches taller than I was. As we walked to the hostess standing behind her podium, I could see the family resemblance with two more tall, slender men waiting right in front of us. Aside from the height and dark hair, I didn't look much like them. Of the two who were waiting with the hostess, the one closest took a couple steps toward me and grabbed me in a strong bear hug, "Hey, little sister! We're glad you're here! I'm Beau."

My mind was working again, and I realized the next brother to take me in a hug was Bruce even before he introduced himself. He gave me a quick hug, sweet, but not bone-crushing like Beau, "Nice to meet you, Camille. I'm Bruce."

"It's nice to meet you both, too." I'd never been shy my whole life, but at this moment, I wasn't feeling like a social butterfly. Luckily, each of my newly discovered brothers was genuinely welcoming and completely over-the-moon charming. As I looked at them, their handsome looks were obvious, the same perfect toothy smiles, warm brown eyes, dark brown hair, and dimples. Conversation had steered clear of me; I'd been worried I'd have a repeat of the awkward conversation in the car with the two new brothers, but Beau and Bruce were more interested in talking about plans for my time here, rather than how I came to be.

After a lunch of appetizers oozing butter, fresh seafood and starches, over an hour of great conversation, I came to a single conclusion: If I never met my father, I wouldn't feel slighted. I'd never dreamed that I would have a sibling, let alone five who were beyond cool, each seeming really excited to have a little sister. Not one of them seemed to care that I was only a half-sister. I'd never been a pessimist, so I refused to give in to the feeling that this was all a little too good to be true. Rather than question whether these guys were really glad to see me or if they were just the world's best actors, I decided I'd just relax and enjoy it.

Bart looked at his watch as a sneaky grin emerged, "It's barely noon. We could buzz over to the club and take the boat out for a couple hours." His suggestion had been made to the group, but he quickly turned and added, "I'm sorry, Camille, I guess I should be asking you. I know these guys are up for it."

The energy these five had was euphoric. I couldn't think of anything I wouldn't want to do so long as they were around. "Sure, okay."

As we were walking out of the restaurant, it occurred to me we had never paid. Having spent plenty of time as a waitress, I put on the brakes and said, "Wait, what about the check?"

Bart shook his head, "We're here a lot. They'll just put it on our membership."

I still felt a little nervous as we approached the hostess, until she called out to Beau, "Mr. Strayer, I trust everything was to your liking?" Beau, the oldest of the group, was leading the way to the door.

Beau shot her a big smile, "Perfect, like always, Janice. Tell Peter he outdid himself today with the Shrimp Pasta."

Janice wasn't wearing a nametag and didn't seem the least bit concerned that we didn't sign a piece of paper. She had star-struck eyes as we filed past her. I was just a few steps away when Brent stopped, looked at Janice and said, "Oh, wait. This is our little sister, Camille. She's visiting from California. Could you let the staff know she should be added to the membership and has full privileges."

"Yes, Mr. Strayer. I'll take care of it right away. Welcome to Charleston, Miss Strayer."

I felt my heart flutter a little, not because she had called me by the wrong last name, but because Brent took the time to tell her that I belonged. I wasn't some visitor — I was their little sister. I had been in this magical place less than two hours — I had found five brothers who I didn't know I had and was developing a real kinship to them already. I had never been overly emotional, so the wetness in my eyes trying to get out felt completely out of place.

Everyone was standing inside the door when Bart explained to me, "No sense standing in the heat; they're bringing the cars around for us."

As if his words could make beautiful German automobiles appear out of thin air, two identical BMW sedans pulled up in front of the restaurant. I'm sure my mouth was gaping open when I commented to no one in particular, "You have matching Beamers?"

Brent, standing next to me said, "Yeah, that was Dad's idea. He didn't want any of us to feel slighted, so we all got the same car. I tried to talk him into a Camaro, but that was a big no go." I did the math in my head. I knew there was no way to get that model for under $50,000, and Will had bought five of them for his sons. Who does that? My mind flashed to my earlier idea that my family was a part of some religious cult.

We drove just a few short blocks and left the cars with another valet. I looked at the inconspicuous sign indicating that this was the Yacht Club. When Bart suggested we go out on the boat, I was expecting... well, a boat. As we walked past the club to the pier behind it, Beau was again in the lead and made his way to the furthest slip. The largest yacht in the harbor was directly in front of us and displayed the name, "Easy Money." Holy moly, this wasn't some little cabin cruiser or something to buzz around the harbor on; we could take this thing to the Bahamas. I was careful not to suggest it. The little time that I'd spent with the five led me to believe we'd be at Nassau by dinner time if I weren't careful.

Although much more comfortable around them after lunch, I reminded myself that something didn't feel right about them. There was a reason a person had instincts, and I refused to ignore mine. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something felt wrong. I sent another text to Daniel, "Going 4 a ride on the yacht w/ 5 brothers, will call U later." As I put my phone in my purse, the pessimistic part of me wondered how far I could swim if I had to.

# Chapter 3

_(Zandra Chiron – San Diego, CA)_

A granddaughter. How had Angela hidden from me all this time, and how had she found a way to give birth and hide her children as well? Where had they been? I had searched the planet, the far off mountains of Tibet, the vast Sahara desert, the rain forests of South America, and every disgusting third world city in between. Every time I heard a whisper of where she might be, I searched. No stone was left unturned. She couldn't possibly have hidden in plain sight all those years. She had been protected by a magic more powerful than my own – but whose?

Angela had been dead to me, for years — since the day she ran away. She abandoned her family, left us to pay her debt. I knew she still breathed, somewhere, but none of my powers could find her; that could only mean that she was protected by another. Who in our society would be willing to cross me?

That putz she lured in may have been a pure-blood, and the bastard daughter they conceived may be in my lineage, but something was wrong. Had she been born without a twin? Were things changing or had Angela tapped into a new source of magic? Was our bloodline finally diluted? William Strayer was not worthy of Angela. He knew it. He had no idea what he was up against if he intended to keep this granddaughter from me. She and her brother were the last in my line.

When Angela's body died, I could feel her enter the spirit world. Even in death she refused to answer my calls. Angela paid as much attention to me in death as she had in life; that would change soon. Camille was my heir; she would be exactly the leverage I needed. We'll see how long Angela can ignore my calls when her precious daughter is living the life that Angela herself escaped.

Isaac, her father, indulged Angela too much as a child, coddling her, constantly accusing me of abuse. They deserved each other; let her join him in the pasture. Until his death I had always wondered if he had hidden her from me. Once he passed into the spirit world and I still could not locate Angela, I knew that he hadn't betrayed me after all. I never believed Isaac's denial until his death proved his words true.

With that knowledge I was at a loss as to who could have protected her. I wondered if my worthless brother Zethus was involved. He swore the arrow didn't exist. All these years I wondered if it was his arrow that cloaked Angela from me, but if that were true, Camille would still be under its protection. Once Angela passed, I felt Camille, I knew she existed. I had zeroed in on Southern California, and in a few more days, I would have found her apartment. I was close. I knew I was close. But why can't I feel her brother?

I listened to her phone call with William Strayer – she was already in Charleston by now. He would let his guard down. He wasn't a protector. The fool didn't stand a chance against me. It was only a matter of time. I needed to be patient, as patient as I had been the last twenty-eight years — I needed only be patient for a few more days.

# Chapter 4

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

As I looked around the yacht, I had to wonder: was Will a billionaire or something? My mom wasn't wealthy. I could remember growing up and for weeks eating nothing but Ramen Noodles, macaroni and cheese, and hot dogs. I could feel a twinge of jealousy in me, not begrudging that they had so much, but disappointed that I came from almost nothing. I wouldn't have traded a day with my mom for all the nice cars and beautiful boats in the world, but I had to wonder why my mom never contacted Will to tell him about me. He could have surely helped enough so that we could have had better food. I couldn't think of any good reason for us to struggle the way we had. Now that she was gone, I'd never be able to ask her why.

We climbed onto the yacht, and an employee from the club untied the ropes and handed them up to Brent. "Mr. Strayer, good to see you again."

"Hi, Josh, any chance you wanna ride along today?"

Josh blushed at the offer, "Thank you, Mr. Strayer, but I'm working today."

"Oh, come on. I'll go in and clear it with your boss. It'll be fun."

"Mr. Strayer, thanks, but I'll have to decline. Besides, you'll need me here to tie her off when you return." Josh gave a kind of salute with his hand, and turned to walk away. We powered out into the harbor, headed for blue water, with Beau at the helm. As stifling hot as it had been when we got out of the car, the breeze out on the open water was wonderful.

I'd gone to school with kids like my brothers – at least from the wealth perspective. But there was something about these five: they were almost magnetic. Aside from their obvious good looks, their demeanor was welcoming, their words to others were thoughtful, and each looked others in the eye when they spoke. In a word, they were "genuine," not at all like the pompous stuffed shirts I'd become accustomed to tuning out.

Everyone seemed to be having a good time, telling stories of stunts they'd pulled when they were younger. Each seemed to tell a story that was more brazen than the last – laughter erupted in all directions with each new story. I tuned out for a while, wondering if any of this could seriously be real. I found myself wishing for a way to let my mom know that I was going to be okay. I'd miss her for the rest of my life – but something I never thought possible, until that moment, I was no longer alone. Beau was the sweetest, his eyes were kind; whenever someone spoke, he looked them square in the eye, giving them his full attention. Bruce seemed to be the comic with an easy smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Bart was the quietest of the five, happy to be Bruce's audience. Ben wore glasses and had an intelligent look about him, but barely spoke more than Bart. Brent was by far the most outspoken; he was the youngest and seemed to be comfortable being the center of attention.

When I tuned back in I heard Bruce saying "... then Dad said, 'I'm sorry, Your Honor, I'm sure my son was temporarily insane. He gets it from his mother's side of the family.' Of course, Mom was right there beside him, and she glared at him pretty good. Remember that time when he melted down her best silver to make doubloons for a scavenger hunt at Halloween? Yeah, she glared at him just like that! Then he said to the judge, 'I can assure you, he will not display such poor judgment in the foreseeable future.' I was staring up at the judge, praying it would just be a fine or maybe Dad could buy a fire truck or something for the town and all would be forgiven, you know? The next thing I heard was, 'Mr. Strayer, I understand sons can be a handful, but there are to be no concerts without the proper permits. Even with proper permits, they are not to host, encourage, or sponsor wet t-shirt contests in the courthouse square. Am I clear?'"

Beau jumped in, "You know why you got busted, right? The judge's daughter was one of the girls you sprayed down, and I heard pictures of her got posted on Facebook."

All five brothers were laughing at Bruce's story. I had missed the first part and wasn't sure about asking Bruce to repeat the beginning. It was obvious that these five were no angels. After I don't know how many stories, Beau asked, "So, tell us about California. Do you have a boyfriend?"

I smiled and shook my head, "No, no one special."

He dramatically wiped his forehead, "Well, that's a relief. We were all worried we were going to have to fly out and give him the big brother talk."

I was confused, "Big brother talk?"

"You know the one, 'If you hurt her, I'll hunt you down.' That type of brother talk."

"Well, you can rest easy. No need to hop on a plane anytime soon. I dated a guy for a while, but we broke up a few months ago. No big deal."

Brent looked shocked when he confirmed, "You broke up with a guy?"

"Yeah, it wasn't some epic romance or anything."

Brent asked again, "You dated him and then broke up?"

Surprised by his sudden interest, I could only answer, "Well, yeah."

"What happened to him?"

I laughed, mostly because Brent had a way of looking so serious. "Happened to him? Nothing, it was mutual. We just weren't cut out for each other."

Beau must have noticed the strange reaction in Brent because he said, "Geeze Brent, it isn't a big deal. _People_ date." I couldn't help but notice Beau's emphasis on the word _people_ , and he gave Brent a look that told them all to leave it alone. I got a weird feeling that there was more to the question that Brent wanted to ask, but after Beau shut him down, he never circled back to the topic.

We spent another hour together before we pulled back into the slip. Josh was waiting on the dock as Brent tossed him the rope, and he had us tied off before Bart had cut the engine. We'd only been out for a couple hours, but the rocking of the water, maybe the sea air, the heat or the sun beating down had me worn out. Josh offered me a hand onto the pier and asked, "Did you have a good time, Miss?"

"I did, thanks for asking." Josh was handsome in a geeky way. He was about my height, just slightly shorter, light green eyes, and deep tanned skin — no doubt his golden bronze skin was the result of working outside all day.

Brent, of the five, was the closest to my age and was the brother who had talked the most to me since my arrival. Brent stepped off the boat behind me as Josh asked, "Miss, which Mr. Strayer was your escort today?"

Josh winked at Brent, logically making the assumption that if he trailed me getting on and off the yacht that I must have been his date. Brent didn't miss a beat, "Josh, I should have introduced you earlier. This is our little sister, Camille. She's visiting this week from California."

Josh gave a slight bow, "Miss Strayer, it's a pleasure to meet you."

I held out my hand, "If I can call you Josh, the least you can do is call me Camille, or better yet, Cami."

"Sorry, Miss Strayer, house rules." A part of me thought I should correct being called, "Strayer," but my new family was obviously well-engrained in the community. I was, after all, the illegitimate little sister: no sense giving people anything to gossip about. I gave Josh an awkward smile and followed Brent down the pier.

As we climbed into the car for the trip to the house, I felt the softness of the leather seats, the cool air blowing on me after being out on the ocean in the heat of the day. I had flown all night and was more tired than I realized. The excitement should have kept me from dozing off, but I must have completely passed out in the car.

I awoke in a brightly colored bedroom, a sunny yellow color on the walls, darkness clouding the windows. I had been sleeping in the softest bed I'd ever felt, wrapped by a four-poster mahogany frame. The room was meticulously decorated, from the beautifully framed prints on the wall to the fresh flowers on the dresser. I looked at my watch and couldn't believe the time: it was 10 p.m.

"Camille?" A low, gentle voice asked.

I looked off to my left to see someone sitting on the other side of the room, on what I was sure was an antique loveseat. I sat up quickly, realizing that today hadn't been some amazing dream. I was really in South Carolina and had spent the day with my five brothers. The room was dimly lit with two lonely lamps illuminating the room. I couldn't be sure who was sitting across the room, as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. Everyone had been so welcoming that I wasn't creeped out by someone sitting there in the dark. I answered, "I guess I was more tired than I realized."

"I'm glad you're here. I trust the boys were tolerable today?"

It was my father, right here in the flesh. I knew from the way he asked the question. My heart began racing, pumping so fast I thought it might beat right out of my chest. I sat up a little straighter, realizing this was really the day I had waited for my whole life. Trying to keep my enthusiasm under control, "They were great. You didn't mention them when we talked yesterday."

We had coordinated every aspect of the trip by email and phone. I'd talked to him several times, but he never once brought up that he had sons, that they would be picking me up, or entertaining me. As I watched him sitting on the love seat, questions flooded into my mind: Why didn't you tell me about them? What's your wife think about me staying in your house? Why did you have an affair with my mom? Why did she never tell me about you?

# Chapter 5

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

William looked at a loss, and I knew I couldn't toss all my questions at him at once. He started off apologetically, "I should have prepared you. I was...your call was...unexpected. I'm sure I neglected to tell you lots of things. They can be a little overwhelming at first, but they're good boys."

I nodded my silent agreement. All those years of badgering my mom for a brother or sister, I had five brothers the entire time and didn't have a clue. Rather than dwelling on the past, I opted to stay firmly planted in the present. "I can't believe I'm here. I've always wondered who you were."

"You must have many questions for me. Ask me anything."

I never knew I even had a father, well, logically I knew he existed. How do you tell someone you don't have the words to even ask the right questions? It was all a little overwhelming. I asked a question that I already knew the answer to, "So, what do you do?"

"By way of profession? I am a financial advisor. Nothing exciting, but it pays the bills."

I caught myself looking around at the room, "You must be good at it."

He nodded, "My clients are all very happy with the services I provide." When I didn't say anything right away, he broke the quiet with, "Your mother. I'm so very sorry, Camille. It is difficult to lose a parent, and I'm sorry you went through her death alone. If I had known, I would have been there for you."

I stiffened a little, "For me. Not for her?"

"If she had wanted me to be there — yes, for her, too."

"She never told me about you, not until just before... you know...right before she died."

"That makes two of us. I wish I would have known about you, Camille. I don't want to be insensitive, but I have so many things I'd like to know about you."

"Ask away. What do ya wanna know?"

A huge smile enveloped his face, "Everything, Camille. I want to know everything about you."

"Hmmm, well, I work as a cashier in a department store. This is my first trip to a state outside of California, but I've been to Mexico. Today was the first time I had ever been on a yacht and an airplane, and I'm still a little surprised that I was on both in the same day." I stopped, trying to gauge what he was looking for.

"Hobbies?"

"Nothing major. I love California because one day you can be at Big Bear skiing, the next you can be at the beach surfing, and the next you can gamble at Tahoe. I'm usually on the go, but I don't have one big interest that I'm tied to."

"Boyfriend?"

I snickered a little, only because this was the same thing Brent had asked me just a few hours ago. "No. No one special."

"So your mother did tell you?"

I turned my head slightly, "What do you mean?"

"I was worried you might be unaware of your heritage. I didn't know your mother well, but she had abandoned her herd. When I happened on her, she wanted nothing to do with our kind."

What the heck was he talking about? Herd? Mom had never abandoned anyone or anything in her life. We had a stray dog for years that was mean as a snake, but she wouldn't turn her back on it. She kept feeding the vicious thing even when I begged her to let it starve. "Her _herd_? What do you mean _our_ _kind_?"

Will took on a nervous look, like he'd said something he desperately wanted to take back. "Camille, what did your mother tell you about me? About your family?"

"Nothing... I mean, she wouldn't tell me anything about you... not 'til the night... you know. What do you mean she abandoned her family? Her parents died when she was very young."

"Your mother was Angela Chiron. She left her family long ago."

With more resolve than I felt, "Her name was Angela Benning and her parents died when she was still a teenager." Even as I said the words, I remembered the old plane ticket I'd found in my mother's closet, carefully tucked away from prying eyes, but purposely left for me to find after her death. The name on the ticket had been Angela Chiron. I'd dismissed it at the time, but now... who had she abandoned? Did she have other kids?

Will abruptly changed the subject, "What about school?"

I answered his question, even though I wanted to know what he meant by _she left her family_. "I graduated high school, but never had the money to get into college. Maybe someday." The fact that I'd opted to skip college had never been a sensitive subject for me. After high school I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and Mom had never pushed me.

Will must have thought more of a degree than I did because he immediately volunteered, "Camille, what's mine is yours. If you want an education, money isn't a problem."

I turned my head, not sure how to say it without sounding like a jerk, "I'm not asking you for anything."

His features were warm and his voice thoughtful, "You needn't ask. It's your birthright. I have been blessed with good fortune, and yesterday I found out I was also blessed with a daughter. I'd like a chance to be your father."

"I've only been your daughter for," I looked at my watch, six p.m. on the west coast, "less than twenty-four hours. Maybe offering to pay my way through college is something we can hold off on for a few days?"

Will nodded. I got the feeling that he was just as nervous as and maybe even more excited than I was. He asked, "Are you hungry? We could find something in the kitchen if you are."

I hadn't eaten since lunch. I could only imagine what the kitchen looked like. As we stepped out of my room, I saw this was one doorway in a hall filled with doorways on either side. I didn't want to gawk, but it looked like six rooms lined the hall. The floor was a highly polished wood that felt cool on my feet. Remembering the heat of the day, it felt good to be barefoot on the floor. I was kicking myself for falling asleep on the way back. I had no idea what the house looked like from the outside, where it was or how I got to my room.

We found my brothers all huddled around a television. Brent looked over his shoulder and gave a hearty, "Camille! We were wondering if you were down for the count or what? Glad you got up. Dad thought we'd drugged you or something."

"I don't even remember the ride here. Are you sure you didn't drug me?"

"High on life, little sister, high on life."

Brent and the others turned their attention back to the television as my father motioned me toward the kitchen. I've been to Lowe's, Home Depot, I've even caught myself looking at some majestic kitchens on the "Do-it-Yourself" channel, but I was not prepared for this: granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, enough cabinets to stock a convenience store, and two sinks. My father's idea of a quick snack and mine weren't the same.

I thought we'd be rummaging around the refrigerator for sliced meat to make a sandwich when he pulled a casserole dish out of the oven that was still warm, poured me a glass of wine, and motioned for me to have a seat at the table.

In awe, I could only ask, "Where'd all this come from?"

"Gretchen makes the best manicotti in the world. When you were still sleeping, she made a second dish for you and kept it warm. I promise you've never tasted anything like it."

He was right. I had had some incredible Italian food in my life, but nothing held a candle to this. Conversation was easy. It turned out my father's parents had lived in this very house. They gave it to him when he started his family. In addition to being a financial wizard of sorts, he was an avid hiker and loved to sail. I was grateful to have some one-on-one time with him, to learn more about him. It seemed odd that my brothers were keeping their distance, and I still hadn't met his wife. No one so much as peeked through a doorway.

After I had eaten enough to feed three heavy-weight boxers, I stood up to rinse my plate. My father asked, "Are you still tired? Or do you have enough energy to keep me company a little longer? We could sit in the den. It's where I spend most of my time."

Another amazing room. An overstuffed leather sofa and matching overstuffed formal chairs greeted us as we walked in. I took a seat in the chair closest to the door, and he sat on the sofa. Bookshelves lined every wall with old leather-bound books tightly lining each shelf. We were both quiet: I don't think either of us knew where to start. What do you say to someone you've fanaticized about your entire life?

My father broke the silence, "Is there anything special you'd like to do while you're here?"

I shook my head, "So far this trip has seriously exceeded my expectations. I just wanna get to know everybody."

"That's great, well, unless you had really low expectations for the trip."

Grinning, "It's just nice to know I have ..." it was tough to say the word, because it had been theoretical to me, until today, "family."

"It warms my heart to hear you say that, Camille. I always wanted a daughter. It's a little surreal to have you here. I wouldn't have thought it possible."

The basics of Sex-Ed were obviously lost on Will if he didn't think it was possible. I kept my thoughts to myself. No sense being a smart aleck just because he was surprised to know that I existed. "So, how did you meet my mom?"

"She was working at the hotel bar where I was staying. It is uncommon to find... well, female...you know... I was surprised to see her working there."

The more Will stammered, the more weirded out I felt. It was as if he were desperately trying not to tell me something. Will looked away from me and began his explanation while his attention was focused on the wall to my left. "The relationship I had with your mother was not one I am proud of." He turned and looked directly into my eyes as he spoke, "I was prepared to give her anything in the world. All your mother wanted from me was my absence. I pursued her, but she didn't want anything to do with me. I called her a few times in the months that followed, but each time she refused to see or to talk to me. On subsequent business trips, she refused to take my calls or to meet me. At the time, I didn't understand why. Seeing you here gives me a new appreciation for why she shut me out."

"But you were married and you were pursuing my mom?"

He nodded again, "I was. I could never explain the feelings I had for your mother. I would have given anything in the world to her."

I couldn't help but restate the obvious, "But you were married."

"Yes, I was. The truth is, I told your mother I was married with a family, and she was furious with me. She rejected me. She told me to go home to my wife."

"So that's it. You met her, you hooked up, then you told her about Gretchen? I can't imagine why she would have rejected you."

He smiled proudly when he told me, "You have your mother's spirit. I didn't plan to meet your mother. I certainly didn't expect to feel so strongly for a woman I hardly knew. I've always been an honest person. The truth, no matter how terrible, is always better than a lie. I told your mother the truth; she told me to go home."

"And that's it?"

"Until your call yesterday, yes. I've thought about your mother over the years, but any letter I sent was always returned to me with 'Delivery Refused' written on the envelope."

"That sounds like Mom. So, how did Gretchen take it, when you told her about me?"

"I have been married to Gretchen for twenty-nine years. I shared with her that I met your mother the very night I returned from San Diego. I confessed everything. She was as stunned as I that I had met Angela Chiron and had... how did you say it? Hooked up? That I had hooked up with her. But I kept your mother's secret, as did Gretchen. Neither of us told a soul."

"What secret?"

"Your mother... she was a well-known figure in our community. She disappeared when she was seventeen. Many suspected foul play. When I left your mother, she asked that I not tell anyone where I found her."

"So, she was hiding from someone?"

"Angela never came right out and said it, but she was adamant that I not tell anyone that I had seen her. I told Gretchen, but I knew she would not divulge her whereabouts."

"Did Gretchen kick you out?"

"No. She told me I needed to figure out what my future was and live that life."

"Really? You told her you were unfaithful and she wasn't mad?"

"She wasn't pleased with me, but Gretchen is a wonderful woman. Our relationship has been one of comfortable companionship for nearly three decades. I never set out to hurt her, and I would never lie to her about anything."

"So what was my mother to you? A fling?"

"Not by my choice. As I said, when I met your mother, I felt very strongly for her. She didn't feel the same for me."

"So, how well did you know Mom?"

"I only spent a few days with her, but you could say she made a lasting impression."

Before I got here I was prepared to love this man unconditionally, but the more he spoke, the less I liked him. He'd had a wife and five young sons, he'd been unfaithful, and didn't seem the slightest bit ashamed of his behavior. I didn't know this man in front of me, but I knew my mother: she would never have been able to cope with the guilt of breaking up a family.

He must have sensed my disapproval because I could see the desperation on his face as he tried to explain. "I wanted to be with your mother, but she wouldn't hear of it. Eventually, I stopped calling her. I made peace with her decision. It doesn't mean that I didn't...that I wouldn't..." Will trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

I decided to ask the obvious question, since I hadn't yet seen his wife. "So, you're sure Gretchen's okay with me being here?"

"Camille, I love Gretchen deeply. She feels the same for me. Because you are a part of me, you are our family. Yes, she's more than okay that you're here."

"This sounds...I don't know, odd."

"It's odd that a father wants to make up for lost time with a daughter he never knew?"

"It's odd that your wife is okay with it when you consider how I came to be your daughter."

"Gretchen is an amazing woman. I think once you meet her, you'll agree."

Something had always bothered me. Will might be the only man on the planet who could give me an answer. No matter how calloused it sounded, I needed to ask, "Will, my mom never...had a boyfriend, or a husband, or any guy in her life. I don't remember her even once going on a date." I stopped for a second, wondering if I could bring myself to ask the real question. "Why you?"

"You are very much my daughter. I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your question. I wish I could give you an answer you'd be happy with. I wish I knew the answer. Maybe she was lonely, maybe the stars were aligned perfectly that night, maybe it was her way of having a family of her own that she didn't have to share with anyone else. I can only speculate. I can't tell you what I don't know."

I still wasn't sure how I felt about my father. I wished that my mother had told me about him, anything. He was as much a stranger to me as I was to him, and I couldn't imagine what kind of wife would welcome me into her home. I didn't know what to think about my mother running away from her family.

"So, what should I call you?"

Will grinned as his chest swelled, "What would you like to call me?"

"I don't know. Is it okay if I just stick with 'Will'?"

I could see the disappointment on his face as he nodded. "You can call me Will if that makes you more comfortable, but I hope that someday you'll come to think of me as your father. I would love for you to call me Dad."

I looked at the floor, as if the carpet were suddenly interesting. "Uh...I'll probably have to work up to that."

"I understand." He changed the subject when he noticed my uneasiness. "So, the boys told me they took you out on the boat this afternoon. Did you enjoy it?"

"I did."

"I'm sure they'll have lots of adventures for you this week. Don't let them wear you out. I'm covering the office single-handedly this week, and I'd like to be able to spend time with you in the evenings."

As if Gretchen knew we'd been talking about her, we heard a light tap at the door. Gretchen, the one person I was apprehensive to meet, stepped inside and walked over to my chair. I stood up, still uneasy from the "Dad or Will" conversation and offered my hand as a greeting. Gretchen motioned it away and gave me a welcoming hug, "We're all so glad you're here, Camille." When she released me from her embrace, she took both my hands in hers.

"Thanks." I stammered, "It's a real pleasure to meet you."

"I've already warned the boys to give you a day to get past the jetlag before they start gallivanting all over town showing off their little sister. If you need me to send them to the office so you can get some rest tomorrow, just say the word. If given the opportunity, they'll wear you out." Her eyes twinkled when she spoke. I took her in. Gretchen had short curly red hair – kind of poufy, a wide smile that lit up the room, and the most delicate hands I'd ever felt.

"I had a great time today." I looked at Will, "So they all work for you?"

Will wore a smile that matched Gretchen's, "Yes, they have exceptional financial instincts. Each one has brought in significant profits for their clients, and each has built his own portfolio. Say, you're not interested in finances are you?"

Gretchen answered for me, "William Strayer! You will not try to pressure her into joining you at the office!" Gretchen turned her attention toward me, "Don't let him do that. He convinced each boy to go to work with him in an effort to keep them close. I don't think any one of them wanted to grow up to be a financial advisor, but Will got his hooks in them."

Will's voice raised, in a playful way, "Hooks? You're just jealous because I see them more than you do."

"Maybe, but you're not going to do it to Camille, too." She looked at me, "Camille, you can always go to work with your father, or you can shop all day with me. Which would you prefer?"

"Wow, Will, that's not much of a choice." I got the feeling that they were planning on me staying longer than the five days I had scheduled. That odd feeling I'd had earlier rose to the surface again. Five adult sons still lived at home with their parents, all worked for their father – my father, they all drove the same kind of cars, even Gretchen said he'd pressured them into it. I looked around the room for crucifix on the walls, bibles, religious art hanging – all I found were books and tastefully decorated walls.

Will shook his head, as if exasperated, "Women. Gretchen spends it as fast as I make it."

"William, you know that I'm the reason you are so successful. You can't think that you could do any of this without me?"

I got a strange vibe, like Gretchen was completely serious. The banter between them was fun, but there seemed to be a hint of truth in what Gretchen had just said. Or at least they were both acting like there was truth in her claim. Gretchen was the financial mastermind?

Will stood up and gathered Gretchen in his arms when he sweetly answered, "I couldn't do anything without you. You know I'd be a wreck on my own." His sweetness disappeared when the sarcasm oozed from him, "And I think it's nice that your shopping is single-handedly getting the economy back on its feet." Will's face showed the love he felt for his wife.

I could feel the air of seriousness taking hold. Gretchen turned to me, "Camille, I am happy to have you in my home. I can feel your apprehension around me. Do not fear me. William and I came to terms with his infidelity long ago. At the time, and for many years after, I was displeased with him. But, having you here and having your energy in our family, I forgive him all over again." I couldn't place Gretchen's accent, and I was so overwhelmed with her words that I didn't care where it was from.

"Uh, thanks." I was rendered speechless. There were so many things I should have said at that moment, but I couldn't make my voice work.

Gretchen didn't seem to be someone to mince words. She asked, "How long will you stay with us?"

"My return flight is Sunday."

Gretchen turned to Will, half ignoring me, "William, it looks as though you've got four days. You had better turn on the charm. I don't want Camille to leave us. She should stay here. We're family."

I knew she wasn't talking to me, but I felt like I had to say something, "Gretchen, that's really nice of you. But I have a life and friends in California. I really just wanted to meet Will and get to know him. I'm not ready to uproot and move here."

She turned to me with soft eyes and a thoughtful voice, "Exactly my reason for telling him to step it up a notch. I know you have people who depend on you, but with us, you have a family who loves you and wants you here. We can protect you."

"Protect me? Protect me from what?"

William didn't let Gretchen answer, "Muggers, robbers, thieves... lots of shady characters all over the place." He gave her a look, at first I wasn't sure what to make of it – it looked like... fear.

Gretchen gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and walked back out the way she had come in. Will stood, too, not in an effort to trail her out of the room, but in a gentlemanly way as she walked out the door. He took two steps in my direction after the door closed behind her, smiled at me and said, "She's a force of nature."

"I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't heard it myself. She really is okay with my being here. But I don't need protecting."

Will knelt down beside my chair, looking directly into my eyes, "I'm not perfect, but I'll never lie to you. She wants you here as much as the boys and I do." Will cradled my face in his hand and caressed my cheek with his thumb. "Camille, you're a part of us. There are things in your mother's past that we need to tidy up before you return."

"But you hardly knew her?"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. I don't have all the facts, and I don't want to... it wouldn't be fair to you for me to ...we just need to contact your mother's family. I'd better turn in. Goodnight, Camille."

"Talk about what tomorrow?"

"Camille, I don't have all the facts. I promise I'll fill you in on everything as soon as I can."

I wanted to argue with him. I didn't like the idea that he felt I needed protecting. I wasn't some frail flower, but Will had said something that bothered me — something about my mother's family and that she had run away from them at seventeen. Had she been abused? Was he trying to shelter me from them, or was I right to begin with — that William was a part of some manipulative cult my mother had escaped?

# Chapter 6

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

I went to my room and had a strange feeling I couldn't shake. Instead of staring at the ceiling after having taken a six hour nap, I thought I'd check in with Daniel. He picked up on the first ring.

"It took you long enough! I've been waiting for you to call for hours!"

"Awww, that's so sweet. Are you worried about me?"

"No, what's there to worry about? You only flew all the way across the country to meet some guy your mom had sex with once and hadn't talked to again your whole life. Then those texts you sent? What the hell?"

"Geeze, cluck or something – you're acting like an old mother hen."

His voice softened when he said, "I was worried, okay? So, how is he, anyway? Is he strange or something?"

"No...I mean, I only talked to him for a little while. He seems okay. I also happen to have five half brothers."

"You texted me that much. What're they like?"

"They're like you, but handsome. I wish you could meet them. They took me out on the ocean today."

"You're hysterical. A yacht, huh? Caviar, too?"

"Gross! No, we just went for a bite to eat, then out on the water."

"Cami, be careful. You just met them and they wanted to take you out on the ocean. Did it ever cross your mind they could toss you in the ocean and no one would ever know?"

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the phone – I'm not sure why since there was no way he could see the expression I gave his picture staring back at me on the screen. I would never admit that that was why I sent him the text earlier. "Been watching too many serial killer shows again, Daniel? Why don't you switch back to the Disney Channel?"

"I'm serious, Cami, something isn't right. I can feel it. You shouldn't be there by yourself, and you shouldn't go anywhere without telling someone where you're at first."

He was right, but if I agreed with him, that would just make him double concerned. "Daniel, I'm not on spring break bar hopping in another country! I'm meeting relatives I didn't know I had."

His voice lost any hint of humor it may have had, "Angela kept you from them for a reason, Cami. Be smart."

I didn't want to admit that he was right, so I didn't. "All right. If it'll keep you from having a meltdown, I'll text you whenever I go somewhere."

"I'm serious, Cami."

After I hung up with Daniel, I had a tough time finding sleep. If he could just meet them, he could tell me that everything would be fine. We'd been friends for as long as I knew what a friend was. Daniel thought like me, acted like me, most of the time we finished each other's sentences. I wanted to believe my family was every bit as awesome as they appeared on the surface, but I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something just wasn't right. Daniel was thousands of miles away, and he was feeling the same thing.

The next morning I showered and dressed, tiptoeing down the hallway. I'm not sure why; I was still on west coast time, so it was after nine a.m. on the east coast. The house was quiet. It reminded me of a library rather than a home filled with eight people.

As I peered into the kitchen, I found Brent sitting at the table looking at some papers. When he saw me enter, I saw his face light up, "Hey, I was just getting ready to write you a note. Glad you're up!"

"Are you going somewhere?"

"We're supposed to go pick up your 'Welcome to the family present' from Mom and Dad, but I was going to go for a swim before it got too hot."

"I don't need a present. Don't let me hold you up."

"Get used to it. Dad likes to make money; Mom likes to spend it. You wanna join me for a swim?"

"That's a consistent theme. Will was giving Gretchen crap last night about her spending habits." I thought about his offer. I loved swimming but had packed a little too quickly, "I didn't bring a swim suit."

"Hmm, well, let's shelf swimming for now and go pick up your gift."

"Brent, that's okay. I'd really rather just hang out."

"You don't even know what it is."

"Seriously, I'd rather not."

"Uh...sure, I'll text Dad real quick and let him know there's been a change of plans."

Brent put his phone down and looked back my way hopefully. My question was out before I even realized how rude it was, "So, when money's no object, how do you keep yourself entertained?"

"Entertained? You mean, what do I find fulfilling?"

I didn't want him to think that I thought he was shallow and hoped my question hadn't offended him. "Yeah, are you a workaholic, a big time philanthropist, or what?"

"I work, but it's not that hard. Dad could do it all himself if he wanted to. I think he just keeps the five of us in the office for comic relief. I've never met a charity I didn't like, but I don't think that qualifies me as a philanthropist. I'm pretty simple."

"Girlfriend?"

"Uh...no. No girlfriends."

"Now or ever?"

Brent looked like I had struck a nerve, "Ever."

"Oh, sorry." From his reaction I figured he must bat for the other team, "Boyfriend?"

This question made him laugh, "No, Camille, I'm not gay. I'm definitely heterosexual."

That didn't make any sense. Brent was handsome — seriously handsome. He could give up his day job and be a model if he wanted to. He was really tall, deeply tanned, dark, with shaggy but perfectly trimmed hair, a smile that even Colgate would be envious of, and a cool personality. "You're a rich, good-looking guy. Girls probably throw themselves at you."

"Not exactly. Don't get me wrong. I've run across a few that I thought were pretty incredible, but dating isn't necessarily something...I mean, it's not...you know."

"It's not what?" I could see Brent had touched on something he desperately didn't want to talk about.

"I've just not found Miss Right."

"How are you going to find Miss Right, if you aren't checking out Miss Right-Now?"

"It's just not a good idea."

"Uh, okay. If you want me to set you up or something, I have tons of single friends in California."

Brent's face looked like he was actually contemplating my suggestion. "That would be beyond awesome, but I wouldn't feel right about it. Enough about my love life, what about you?"

"I told you yesterday, I had a boyfriend I broke up with a couple months ago. End of story."

"Your mother didn't mind?"

"Didn't mind what?"

"Did she introduce you two?"

"Well, no. That would be weird."

"But, your mother was...I mean...you're the same. She wouldn't let you just date anyone."

"Brent, what are you talking about? My mom didn't have a say in any of my boyfriends."

"Boyfriends? You've dated more than one?" I could tell from Brent's expression that he was surprised, but I wasn't sure what he was so offended by. Maybe dating meant something different here?

Gretchen stepped through the door at that moment, her voice full of volume, "Brent, I thought you were taking Camille to pick up her gift?" She leaned down and kissed his cheek and gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Camille and I were just getting to know each other a little better. I texted Dad. He's going to have it delivered."

"Your brothers are outside clearing the grove for this weekend. Why don't you go give them a hand before it gets too hot?"

I could see the relief on Brent's face. He wasn't at all comfortable with our conversation. "Sure, Mom. See you later, Camille." Brent exited without another word. It was a strange conversation. I'd always been relatively attractive, not a supermodel, but why would he be surprised that I'd had boyfriends? He seemed surprised that anyone was interested in dating me. Talk about a bruise to the ego.

"I can help, too, Gretchen." As much fun as I'd had with them yesterday, I couldn't wait to listen in on more of their stories.

I stood up and was two steps away when Gretchen said, "You and I need to spend some time together. I think there are some things your mother would want you to know."

I felt a twinge of nervousness. It hadn't been that long since my mother's death, and I didn't want to talk about her, not with anyone, but especially with Gretchen.

Gretchen sensed my apprehension, "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable. I can see your mother's memories are still tender. There are some things she didn't share with you that I think are important you know."

"You knew my mother?" I could feel my eyelids flex as my eyes widened.

"No, Camille. I never met your mother, but I'm certain that she was wonderful."

"Gretchen, I...I appreciate it, but...I'm not ready to talk about her."

"How would you like to talk _to her_?"

I froze. I felt a rush of heat shoot through my body. My heart skipped. "She died, Gretchen. I was there when it happened."

"Her body died, yes. But her spirit lives on. She's with you now. She's talking to you right this second, but you aren't listening." I froze. I didn't know what kind of game Gretchen was playing, but I didn't like it. They _were_ a cult! I was right from the beginning. Gretchen thought she could talk to ghosts. How was I going to get out of here? No way was I getting sucked in.

# Chapter 7

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

Gretchen broke eye contact with me and looked over my shoulder. She sounded like she was angry when she said, "You should have told her before you passed. Do you know how hard it must be for her to hear this from me?" Gretchen paused for a second carrying on her imaginary conversation. "I will do my best, but shame on you for not telling her yourself!" Gretchen's eyes focused back on mine. "Camille, I need for you to hear me out. What I'm about to tell you will be difficult to hear, but it's important that you know."

Last night I hadn't been sure how to feel about Will, but I'd liked Gretchen right away. First impressions aren't always infallible. She was nuts, certifiable and likely the ring-leader of this cult – it was always the leaders that were crazy. I needed to decide if I wanted to humor her until Will got home or if I wanted to go outside and call a cab now. I wanted to like Gretchen, but so much had happened in the last month, I couldn't afford to get attached to someone who believed she could talk to spirits – not just any spirit, but my mother's. It would hurt too much. The only people I'd ever met who'd made those claims were charlatans, thieves and the mentally ill.

"I'm not a charlatan, or mentally ill, and seriously, Camille, what do you have that I'd like to steal?"

For the second time in as many minutes, I could feel my eyes bulging. Did I say that out loud? Oh, my gosh, I'm losing it! "How?...What'd you just say?"

The warm smile reappeared, "Yes, Camille. Sometimes I have to _tune in_ to retrieve information. I'll not make a habit of it. I'll ask that you give me the same courtesy."

"The same courtesy? What are you talking about? I can't read minds."

"I'm afraid you can. No one has ever taught you how. Your mother is an interesting spirit. She wanted you to have a normal human experience. She thought that if she taught you how to use your gifts you would use them as a crutch."

"Use what as a crutch?"

"In school, knowing what others were selecting for answers on tests would have precluded you from learning the material for yourself. At least, that's what she believed." Gretchen's voice dropped the humor, "For the record, I disagree. You should have understood who you were...are."

"You're telling me she's right here and you're communicating with her right now? You're a medium?"

"I've been called many things. I am the Matriarch of this family, and I have pure Centaur blood flowing through my veins. As do you."

Centaur? The half-people, half-horse things? No freakin' way! Mentally ill and delusional. I wonder if Will knew she was a loon. He'd have to know, right?

"Camille, I am not a loon. Before being disrespectful, I suggest you remember I can read your thoughts as easily as I can hear your words. Centaurs are a noble race. We were not half-equestrian as many legends have adopted. Humans were unable to explain the speed of our men and could only describe us in terms of a warrior being carried by a horse. Early paintings showed our kind as a cross between a person and a horse. I can assure you, none of us have hooves."

I started feeling a little woozy. She really could read minds. Centaurs were a different race? I looked just like everyone else. How could I be a Centaur?

"Your mother and father were both full-blooded Centaurs, Camille. No human blood is mixed in your lineage. The same is true for your brothers."

"So, what's a Centaur if it isn't a half-person, half-horse?"

"As I said, the speed with which our men have always run was difficult for humans to understand. They began drawing pictograms millennia ago of men with horse bodies to show our speed. The men of our kind have always been fierce warriors. The women are physically strong, but our real strength lies in our minds. Each bloodline carries different skills: some are psychic, some clairvoyant, others can move objects, and some are able to predict the future with uncanny accuracy. There are other talents, too – it depends which bloodline is predominate."

"But I can't do any of those things."

"Yes, you can. You just don't know how. We are not common humans. We have an obligation to keep our race going, to ensure our traits are not lost. You, too, have the same obligation I do. You, too, have the same skills I do. In fact, as a Chiron, you probably have all the skills. Your mother chose not to share with you her talents or develop yours."

"What? My mother couldn't do any of those things."

"I don't know why your mother chose to hide who she was from you or why she kept her secrets from you. This is a critical time in your life, and without your mother to guide you, you could easily make poor decisions. For this reason, I would like for you to extend your trip. There is much for me to teach you, and I cannot do it in just a few days."

I felt like she was waiting for me to say something, but I was still in process mode, so she continued her explanation.

"It is only women of our kind who possess these skills. Men help promulgate the race, but it is the women who are revered. When Will told me he had met your mother, I was floored. We all thought she was dead. She was the last Chiron female heir; her brother never married. Everyone believed the Chiron bloodline would be extinct after this generation."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your mother permitted a union with your father, out of wedlock. She must have done it out of an obligation to all Centaurs, to keep her bloodline alive. But she taught you nothing. You know nothing of our ways or how you fit."

"She allowed a union? That sounds a little antiquated. It takes two to tango."

"I am not belittling your mother. I am merely trying to share with you our beliefs. We are a warrior race, so rather than the 50/50 ratio of male to female that humans have, it is 80/20."

"Why are so many more men born than women?"

"No one knows for sure, but my theory is that from an evolutionary perspective, a significant number of the Centaur male population should have been lost in battle — maybe something like 4 of 5. Because we have known peace for so long, the males significantly outnumber the females."

I couldn't believe I was buying in to her delusion, "Maybe Mom didn't know she was a...Centaur?"

"Your mother was the daughter of Zandra. I can assure you Zandra brought your mother up to know our ways. Your mother chose to leave her family and abandon our race."

"My grandparents are dead. My mom told me she'd been on her own since she was seventeen."

Gretchen nodded, "She was indeed on her own from a young age, but I can assure you, your grandmother is very much alive."

I felt my blood pumping again with enough force that I could actually hear my pulse. "Where?"

"Zandra lives in Florida. Your grandfather, Isaac, passed away a few years ago. Neither had seen their daughter in more than a quarter century. They did not know where she was. Zandra only knew of her passing when she sensed your mother's spirit moving on to the spirit world." Gretchen's face took on a strange look when she added, "She was unaware of you."

"Was unaware? Does that mean you've talked to her?"

Gretchen patted my hand, "Yes, I spoke with Zandra late last night. Given the circumstances, she agrees that you should stay with my family. However, she is very anxious to meet you."

She looked over my shoulder again. She spoke in a harsh tone, but not to me. "She is more than capable of handling the truth. Zandra is of no threat to her while she is under my roof. My family will protect her. No blood debt will be paid."

I heard the words echo in my mind, _"Blood debt? What's going on?"_

Gretchen let out a heavy sigh, "It seems your mother had been betrothed to a very powerful Centaur. When she refused to marry him, her family was required to pay a debt of blood, her blood. Your mother ran away and broke contact with her family. Your mother is worried that you may be sought to pay her debt."

"Are you kidding me? There's a price on my head for just being her daughter?"

"It is an old tradition. You are Will's daughter, too. He will try to make amends to the family, monetarily. But, now that people are aware of you, I insist that you extend your stay, at least until you better understand our society. We'll make arrangements to have your things shipped here."

"You're serious. You just spoke with my mom?" I wanted to believe it. I wanted my mother to be right here with me. I couldn't believe the words when I heard them come from me, "Can she hear me?"

Gretchen looked over my shoulder again, then back to me and nodded. "She can hear anything you say to her."

I didn't need any more encouragement, and for some strange reason, I believed Gretchen. "I miss you, Mom. I don't know what to believe." I felt strange talking to her in front of Gretchen. I wondered if this was some sort of trick. In my gut I knew Gretchen had really read my mind; she knew exactly what I was thinking. "Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

Gretchen looked over my shoulder for the answer, then back to me. "She had to make a choice before she died. She didn't want you to know this life, but she feared for your safety if she was no longer able to protect you. Most of all, she says she felt utter loneliness before you came into the world and did not want you to be alone the way she had been."

That sounded like something my mom would say. I caught myself looking in the same direction Gretchen had looked. I asked her, "Will I be able to hear you? Someday?"

Gretchen's voice was barely more than a whisper, "She doesn't belong here, Camille. She will begin to weaken soon. I will work with you so that you may realize your gifts, but know that she won't be able to stay with us for very long. You will need to work hard to learn how to use your skills."

I had kept William's name and phone number for weeks before I finally built up the courage to call him. It was the loneliness that finally made me dial his number. My whole life had revolved around Mom, and it was hard to comprehend that Gretchen was going to give her back to me in some small way, even if just for a short while. I wasn't sure about the things she said about Centaurs, or the idea that it was a different race that I belonged to, but I hoped that I really would be able to hear my mother's voice again.

I looked her square in the eye, nodded and asked, "How do we start?"

# Chapter 8

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

Gretchen spent the next several hours trying to help me hear my mother. At 5 o'clock I was frustrated; nothing she had tried worked. I convinced Brent to take me to the store for a soda. While I was standing at the display case, a friendly voice greeted me from behind. "Miss Strayer, good to see you again."

I wasn't used to being addressed with this last name, but the voice was familiar. I turned around and saw the guy who had helped tie off the yacht yesterday. "Hi Josh, good to see you, and it's Cami."

He smirked, "Cami, right. I was expecting to see you and your brothers at the club today. Change of plans?"

"That's the biggest understatement I've ever heard."

Josh gave me a questioning look, but thankfully didn't ask me to explain what I'd said. "So should we expect you tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure. I actually spent most of today with Gretchen."

"Gretchen? Mrs. Strayer?"

I could tell I probably just unleashed a scandal. I had been introduced as their little sister, but I didn't call Gretchen, "Mom." I wasn't sure what to say to keep the rumors from flying rampant. "Right...Mrs. Strayer and I spent the day together. The only brother I saw all day was Brent. In fact, he's waiting for me out in the car. I'd better go." I reached into the cabinet, pulled out two sodas, and paid for them.

"All right, well, maybe I'll see ya tomorrow." His voice sounded hopeful — he seemed sweet. When I'd seen him yesterday, I thought he looked a little geeky; today I saw him out of his yacht club uniform, and I was convinced. He stood in front of me with his iPhone in his hand, a blue tooth device on his ear, and a stylus pointed at the screen. I'd always kind of gone for the nerdy guys, but I wasn't interested. Too many other things were going on in my previously simple life to get wrapped up with a guy right now.

I hurried out to the car. When I flung open the door to escape the heat, I heard Brent, "Okay, we'll be back in a few minutes. Yeah, right home." He hung up the phone. "Geeze, I thought I was going to have to go in after you. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I ran into Josh inside. I might have let it slip that we don't share the same mother. I wasn't thinking."

"Well, we don't share the same mother. Why would that be a problem?"

"I just thought...I mean, everyone seems to know your family. How are you going to explain me?"

"We don't have to explain anything. It is what it is. We're just glad you're here."

I shook my head. I kept expecting someone to act normal, and at every turn, each member of my family seemed to be more kind and understanding than the one I had talked to before them. Growing up in California, perception and impressions of others were seriously important. It seemed like everyone I knew cared what others would think. None of my friends in Cali were even close in terms of wealth and clout to the Strayers, yet they didn't seem to care one little bit that others knew that I was an illegitimate half-sister. So far no one had made that distinction except me. Gretchen had spent the entire day trying to develop psychic skills that I wasn't even sure I possessed, all the while carrying on strange conversations with my invisible mom. It was a little surreal.

I looked over and Brent seemed to be waiting for me to say something, so I asked, "So, what's the plan for tonight?"

"Dinner, dancing, maybe some star-gazing."

"Really? That sounds like a date."

"Date? No, just family. But I already told you, I've never even been on a date, so I hope it doesn't feel like one of those."

"'One of those?' You're too young to be a confirmed bachelor. I never got a legit answer. Why no ex-girlfriends?"

"It's my understanding you have to have a girlfriend for there to be an ex-girlfriend."

"Well, yeah. So why no girls?"

Brent looked at me as if I were the densest person he'd ever talked to, "Easy. It's forbidden."

"By whom? Gretchen and Will?"

"It's the way of our people, Camille. By the time I'm thirty, I will be either married, or betrothed, or I will have to marry a human. If I were willing to settle, I could date. But Centaur women get to choose, and none will choose a man who has shared a bond with another."

"Centaur women choose? Like going shopping? I'd like a six foot-tall, wealthy, smart, funny, garbage-taking-out, chick-flick-watching, football-hating man. Something like that?"

"If that's your list, it'll be pretty easy to find one – well, maybe not the football-hating, but everything else on your list is pretty easy to come by. You could have a husband by this weekend."

I laughed, "So how does she pick you? Do you send in a resume or something?"

"Eligible bachelors are obvious. It's common for courtship to begin at another's wedding. In fact, this Saturday will be your first opportunity to choose."

"This Saturday?"

"Mom didn't tell you? Bruce is marrying Hannah from the Hinman herd."

"Uh, no, she didn't mention it. So Bruce is pretty excited?"

"Excited is an understatement. Hannah's perfect. He was in the running with about fifty others." We pulled into the driveway to see that all the cars were lined up in a row. Brent pulled his white sedan in line with the others; everyone was home. I did a quick count and realized there were six white sedans instead of the normal five – Gretchen must normally keep hers in the garage, because I hadn't noticed it when we left for the store.

As we stepped out of Brent's car, Will came up with a key in his hand. "It's about time!"

I was confused since we'd been gone less than twenty minutes. Brent answered, "Geeze Dad, it's not like we caught a movie; we just went to get a soda."

Will ignored Brent's defense and said, "Never let it be said that I treat any of my children differently. The dealership just delivered it." Will handed me the key to a brand new, Snowy White BMW sedan, identical to the other five parked right beside it.

I was embarrassed to hear myself squeal like a little girl. This couldn't be happening. I had a father and a stepmother who were two of the most amazing people I'd ever met, five brothers who were about as cool as Batman, and a brand new car. I wasn't sure about the whole Centaur thing, but this was better than winning the lottery.

I believed Gretchen, that she really was talking to my mother. I had been on the fence about whether I whole-heartedly believed until Gretchen told me about my second grade play. I had completely dismantled the stage props while I was dancing around like a butterfly. The only way she could have known about it was to hear about it from either my mother or me. In that moment, I knew she was on the level, at least about being able to communicate with my mom. I hadn't thought about that play since I was seven. The only logical explanation was that my mother's spirit had shared the event with her.

Just two days ago I had felt consumed by my grief for my mother. That grief was replaced with a new hopefulness that I'd soon be able to talk to her again, _and_ I had a brand new car. I hoped that I wasn't somehow caught in a dream world, or if I were, I wished never to wake up.

I stammered, "Will, I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll stay here. Say that you want to be a part of our family."

I noticed it wasn't just Will standing in front of me with anticipation. Beau, Bruce, Bart, Ben, Brent and Gretchen were all waiting for me to answer. The joy that I felt in that moment rivaled other momentous occasions in my life, like hitting my first home run when I played softball in high school, seeing a dolphin for the first time in the ocean, and one of my most cherished memories – tasting my very first mint chocolate chip ice cream shake. True, none of these memories could top being accepted into such a tight-knit family, but each of those memories was one that I loved. Without any apprehension, I answered, "I'm in."

Will scooped me up in a tight hug, "Camille, you've just made me the happiest father in the world." While in his embrace, he whispered in my ear, "I'll take care of everything. Don't worry about your grandmother."

I could feel my muscles stiffen. Gretchen must have told him about our conversation about the blood debt. Even though he told me not to worry, the fact that he was whispering to me, out of earshot of everyone else – definitely made me worry. Could someone really want to kill me because my mom had broken off an engagement? I had no reason to doubt Gretchen, but it was all a little hard to swallow.

Things began moving even faster once I had committed to stay. Gretchen took me shopping. In her words, "Your closet is lonely; let's get it some friends."

I noticed that Will and Gretchen were the only people in the house who went anywhere alone. It wasn't anything overt, but it seemed odd that of the eight adults in the house, six of us always went on errands in pairs or better. Having been an only child until this week, by Saturday I was actually craving some alone time. Conversation revolved around Bruce's wedding, although I hadn't seen Hannah, nor had she called. It seemed a little strange. The few friends of mine who had gotten married were all over each other in the days before the wedding, working out seating details, vows, synchronizing last minute schedules. Saturday morning had come and gone and still no sign of the bride.

By mid-afternoon Saturday, Bruce was in exceptionally high spirits. I didn't detect even a hint of nervousness. The backyard had been transformed into a beautiful outdoor cathedral with seating for easily two hundred people.

The brother who I had spent the least amount of time with was the eldest, Beau. I caught Beau straightening seating and smoothing ribbons that had been rearranged by the breeze. Outdoor misting fans were going full throttle, so the grove where the ceremony was to take place was at least ten degrees cooler than the regular air temperature. "Hi, Beau, do you need any help?"

Beau flinched, "Sorry, I didn't realize you were out here, Camille. No, just doing a last minute check before the guests start to arrive. Shouldn't you be inside getting ready?"

"Naw, it's a couple hours before the big event. I just need to get dressed and I'm ready."

"I'm surprised Mom hasn't had you primping and polishing since your eyes opened this morning."

"Why would she? It's not like I'm getting married. I'm not in the ceremony. Nobody knows who I am, and you guys know what I look like."

"But there'll be fifty eligible bachelors here today, maybe more. I've heard news spread pretty fast that you were here. It'll be your first chance to...you know...find someone."

"Oh c'mon Beau. Who would care that I'm here?"

"Uh, let's see, the Hinmans, the Dixons, the Newtons, the Carltons, the Ivys, just to name a few. Each of those families has an older son who is nearing the end of betrothal age. No one expected for us to have a ready-made sister of age. You'll be pretty popular this evening."

"You're not serious."

"I'm completely serious. I'm in the same boat. Betrothal age for Centaurs is 18-30, so if I'm not picked in the next two years, I'll end up settling for a human."

"Beau, you're great. There are lots of women who would be happy to have you."

"Thanks, Camille. Don't get me wrong. At this point I'm thinking the settling factor could be an improvement over perpetually waiting. It just sucks that I won't be able to carry on our bloodline. At least Bruce will be able to."

"Maybe because I didn't grow up knowing any of this, it's a little hard to take it seriously. I think you love who you love; race shouldn't be a factor."

"That's very 'human' of you, but this is more than just about race. There is magic in our blood, Camille. To let it dilute unnecessarily is akin to wasting the magic. Dad would never let you consider a non-Centaur as a suitor."

"Will doesn't have a say in my decision. When I find the right guy, it won't matter who or what he is. I'm not racing a clock either. It'll happen when it happens."

Beau laughed out loud, a loud throaty snicker, "Camille, you have a lot to learn." Beau shook his head and went back to straightening the wedding decorations.

Brent came up behind me, "What's so funny?"

Beau looked at his younger brother, "Oh nothing. Camille just tells good jokes."

A little miffed that Beau would so easily dismiss my feelings, "Beau seems to think that Will can select a husband for me. I told him that wasn't going to happen, and who I fell in love with and married had nothing to do with Centaur roots or anything else."

Brent took my forearm, squeezing it a little harder than necessary but enough that he had my attention, "Don't say that, Camille."

"Say what? That I don't agree with the courtship ritual that Bruce is going through? Have you noticed Hannah hasn't even talked to him the last couple of days? How can he be marrying a woman he hardly knows?"

Brent looked at me skeptically, "What? That's what's bothering you?"

"Well, a little, yeah. How does he know he'll even like her?"

"It is a great honor to be selected by a Centaur woman. Of course, he'll like her. He'll love her, honor her and cherish her."

"What if they aren't compatible?"

Brent narrowed his eyes, "What have you seen, Camille? Did you receive a vision about them?"

"Whoa, no! No visions. I just think it's odd that they would decide to marry without knowing each other."

"No more odd than dating and unions out of wedlock. Why do people give themselves to others when they know that person isn't going to be with them for the rest of their lives?"

"That's part of finding out who the right person is."

"Then our way should be much preferred. Everyone knows the woman makes her choice. If she can't decide, her family will select the most appropriate match. And who knows her better than her family?"

"You're saying that if I don't pick a husband in the next eight years, Will's going to choose for me?"

"Eight years? Ha! I've never known a woman Centaur to wait until she's thirty to choose. Most choose when they're late teens or early twenties. If you haven't selected someone in the next year or two, yes, Dad will definitely choose for you."

I felt anger welling up within me, not because Brent had made me angry with his words, but because this whole idea was acceptable to them. I could feel my face flush bright red as I readied to set Brent straight when a kind voice came from behind me.

# Chapter 9

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

"Miss Strayer, I came early hoping I'd be able to introduce myself." I was getting used to being called "Miss Strayer" and wasn't surprised with myself for turning in the direction of the voice. Before me stood an athletic man. He had light blonde hair, grey eyes, and he stood eye-to-eye with Brent, so he had to be at least 6' 3." It looked like he was wearing a nervous smile. "I'm Chris Carlton. It's an honor to meet you."

I stood dumfounded at this Adonis of a man. I held out my hand in an effort to shake his. He took my palm in his hand, then bowed down to kiss my hand. It was a gesture I'd only seen done in old time movies. Every time I'd seen someone do that, I wanted to gag, so I was beyond surprised when the gesture created instant butterflies in my stomach. Chris held my hand in both of his as he straightened up, "Are you enjoying South Carolina?"

His eyes were mesmerizing, absolutely stunning. I stammered a little, "I'm...I like it here, but I'm still not used to the heat."

"Would you like me to walk you to the house so you can cool off a bit before the ceremony?" He spoke with absolutely perfect English, no accent of any kind. This was odd because everyone other than the Centaurs I had met seemed to speak with the southern drawl I'd expected in this area of the country.

I caught Brent out of the corner of my eye, grinning from one ear to the other, and I couldn't help but shoot him a glare. I turned my attention to Chris, "Uh, sure."

We were out of ear-shot from Brent when Chris said, "So, am I the first?"

"The first what?"

"The first to make your acquaintance?"

"Yes, up until now I've just been getting to know my family. I haven't met anyone since I've been here."

We approached the front door, and he nearly shouted, "Excellent! I live on Daniel Island, and I'm finishing up my residency as a family practitioner."

He couldn't possibly be giving me his "husband" resume, could he? Was Chris for real? "That's thoughtful of you to tell me about yourself, but I'm still a little new to the...you know." I didn't know how to say I wasn't interested without coming right out and saying it. "Never mind, would you like to come in and cool off, too?" Chris stepped in front of me and reached for the door knob so he could open the door for me. Two points for the tall sexy gentleman with great manners.

As the door opened, Gretchen was in the hallway with a huge smirk that matched the one Brent was wearing in the back yard. Dammit! I needed to keep my thoughts to myself. Gretchen didn't miss a beat. She held out her hand and said, "Hello, Chris, we're so happy you could come today. I spoke with your mother earlier. Glad to hear things are going so well with your practice." Gretchen directed her attention to me, "Camille, did Chris tell you he was a doctor?"

Flushed with embarrassment still, "Yes, he mentioned it."

Chris was gushing with pride when he said, "I'll be joining my family's practice in town very soon."

The embarrassment should have been overwhelming. The idea that a woman could simply pick a suitor and good-looking, educated men would be thrilled to be chosen seemed bizarre. But as I looked at Gretchen and Chris, sure enough — this was exactly what was going on.

Tradition or not, Chris was attractive, had a good job, and seemed to be giving me vibes that he was interested. It wouldn't hurt to get to know him – though I wasn't at all interested in trading in my single status. I motioned for him to step into the family room where the couches were plush, and it seemed a nice place to chat, hopefully away from prying ears. "So, what do you like to do when you aren't working?"

Chris cocked his head to the side momentarily, "I don't understand the question."

"For fun. What do you like to do with your free time?"

"I volunteer at a clinic downtown a few hours per week. Each year I volunteer for two weeks for an organization called Doctors without Borders. I read in my spare time."

Wonderful, a workaholic. "So, no hobbies, like golf or tennis?"

"I've done both. If you enjoy golf and tennis, I'd be happy to take you sometime."

"No. I mean, I don't like either. I just wondered if there was something you enjoyed doing outside of your profession."

"I would be willing to give anything a whirl you felt would be a good use of my time."

That was by far the creepiest answer he could have given me — like a Stepford Wife in reverse. I really took him in for the first time since his arrival: his posture, his eye contact, his non-verbal language all looked — almost desperate. After replaying the conversation with Brent earlier, one question came to mind. "Chris, how old are you?"

Chris gave me a forced smile, as if his answer were one of shame, "Twenty-nine."

There it was: he was trying hard to make a good impression. If what Brent told me was the truth, and I had no reason to doubt that it was, I was his last chance.

Chris held the unnatural smile when he asked, "You are new to our kind, is that right?"

"That's a great way to put it. Uh, yes...I've only been here a few days."

"My mother told me that your mother never told you about your ancestry. Is that true?"

"Yes."

Chris let out a long breath, "This must all be a bit much to take in."

"That's a colossal understatement, Chris."

"Look, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't be in a hurry to find a husband. You have to make peace with who you are before you can decide whom you want as your partner. I won't pressure you. But don't interpret my lack of pressure as lack of interest. I am my parent's only son. I... I would love for you to consider me."

"Uh...thanks, I think."

I thought his sales pitch was over and I could relax, until he said, "The truth is, I think you're beautiful. I've known your brothers since I was a kid and would love to be a part of your family. I believe your family would be equally pleased if you joined mine. But it would be a mistake to try to convince you I am the best choice for you before you are ready to accept who you are."

"I know who I am."

"Do you?"

"Yes, and it has nothing to do with being a...Centaur." I caught myself – it was the first time I had acknowledged it, out loud, outside my family.

"That's where you're mistaken, Camille. It has everything to do with being one of us."

"What if I just want to be normal?"

"Normal isn't an option when you're extraordinary." Chris put his hand on mine and gave it a gentle squeeze, "You are extraordinary, Camille. Choose wisely."

Chris stood up, bowed his head slightly in my direction, and left me reeling on the chair as he left. A handsome, thoughtful, intelligent, eligible, doctor — no less, just told me I was extraordinary and wanted me to choose him. Five days ago if the same thing had happened, I would have followed him around like a love sick puppy — but it wasn't five days ago. It wasn't left to fate anymore. Finding a husband had never been on the top of my priorities. Sure, growing up, I had always wondered why my mom never found a husband when my friends' mothers rarely seemed to settle on one. Meeting Chris just made me want to ask Gretchen more questions.

I could hear Gretchen's voice in the hallway, "Yes, she's here. Let me see if she has a minute." I was still teetering with reality when she appeared in the doorway. "Camille, you've only got an hour before the ceremony. Do you have time to meet someone before you get ready?"

"I guess so. Who is it?"

She turned away and used her hand to motion someone from the foyer down to the family room. When he appeared in the doorway, I stood to greet him. Gretchen said, "Gus, this is our daughter, Camille."

The fact that Gretchen had used the words, "our daughter," did not go unnoticed by me. The words startled me a little, more than I had expected them to. I was a little unsteady as I looked up at the man towering over Gretchen. I held out my hand, and he took mine in his hand and shook it vigorously. Gretchen excused herself, and I stood with Gus for an uncomfortable moment.

"I know you don't have much time. I just wanted to meet you. I'm Gus Hinman."

My years of etiquette were lost on this hulk of a man as I stared at his six-foot-five frame, dark hair, dark eyes and brutish body. He reminded me of a cage fighter I had known back home. "It's nice to meet you, Gus. I'm Camille."

"I passed Chris on the way out. I can see this may be my only opportunity with you today, and I just wanted to say hi."

I suddenly felt like I had some sort of "USDA Prime Cut" sticker pasted to me. "Well, I'm glad you...stopped...I mean..." Remembering my manners, "Would you like to sit down?"

"I don't want to make you late, but I would like a chance to talk to you later. I play for the Panthers and came back to town for my sister's wedding to your brother. I live a few hours from here in Charlotte but am home during the off-season."

"You're in the NFL?" I could see from his eyes that this was a great source of pride for him, and I'd be lying if I didn't confess I was a little impressed myself.

"Yeah, receiver. I'm not in the area much this time of year, but will be here all week if you've got some free time."

"Uh, sure, okay."

Gretchen popped back in the doorway, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but Camille needs to get ready or she'll be late." Gretchen ushered Gus to the doorway as I bounded up the steps to my room. As I reached for the door knob, I glanced out the window. Everyone arriving, including the two handsome guys I'd just talked to, were seriously dressed to impress. The first pangs of fear grabbed me when I realized I didn't have anything to wear, at least nothing that wouldn't clue everyone in as to how much I really didn't belong here.

As I stared at the few changes of clothes I'd brought with me and the items I'd bought shopping with Gretchen, I decided on a denim skirt, flats and a nice blouse I'd tucked in my bag. My nerves took hold. I'd never been one to want to stand out. My lack of a wardrobe would definitely make me stick out like a sore thumb. I couldn't not attend; I took a seat on the bed, chastising myself for not thinking of this on one of the shopping trips with Gretchen or even earlier this morning. I heard a quiet knock on my door.

Great. Now what? It's bad enough someone must have tweeted that there was a single female Centaur at the wedding tonight. I couldn't imagine what would happen next. Frustrated, I called, "Come in."

Gretchen stepped inside my room, "Camille, I hope you don't mind, but I thought you might be looking for something different to wear. I bought this a few months ago — I didn't know why at the time." She smiled warmly at me, "I believe I bought it for you."

The hair stood at attention on my arms, "You bought it a few months ago?" I looked at the silver and sequined gown she held in her arms, not knowing what to say.

Gretchen sat on my bed beside me, "Many of our kind have premonitions, visions. We can see something significant but aren't able to put it into context at the time. I was out shopping and found this dress. It wasn't my size and it wasn't my taste, but something told me I needed to purchase it. I believe I must have bought it for you. Do you like it?"

It was one of the most beautiful dresses I'd ever seen. Having grown up near Hollywood, I had seen my share of fabulous designer gowns but had never seen one like this one. It was strapless, made of brushed silk, with a thin line of sequins sewn across the bodice, and a sheer fabric flowing from the waist to the floor.

There were no words to describe my feelings for her in that second. How had she been shopping and found a dress for me before she knew me? I knew I had to be a source of pain that she kept masked from me – the illegitimate daughter of her husband. I felt my eyes welling up, wishing I could say to her all the things that my heart felt in that moment.

She must have felt my thoughts because she laid the dress to her other side and grabbed me in a hearty embrace. "You may not be my biological daughter, but you are the daughter I've always wanted." That was it. The misting I was trying to keep under control let loose as tears streamed down my cheeks. I tried to casually wipe them free, but more followed.

In that moment I wished to be a part of the family, not just a sister or a long lost daughter, but a full-fledged member of the Strayer family. Guilt crept into me. My own mother created such a deep hole in my heart when she died; I worried that I'd never find anything or anyone to fill the gap. Less than a month later, I sat in a mansion wishing I had grown up here. The guilt started growing larger as I wondered if this love that I was developing for my new found family somehow minimized my feelings for the center of my universe who had just died.

I released Gretchen, hoping she would ignore the tears, but she didn't. "Loving us doesn't diminish the love that you will always have for your mother. That's the wonderful thing about family: the bigger it is, the larger your heart grows."

I stiffened at her words. I kept forgetting that she could read my mind.

Gretchen's smile never wavered, but she answered my unspoken question, "Only if you do not shield your thoughts – we'll work on that tomorrow."

My body went from stiff to rigid. I felt my eyes widen and my voice refused to cooperate. Gretchen's expression took on a more serious look, "Tomorrow we will continue working on your skills. It won't come as such a surprise when your skills are sharper and you are able to do the same. But for tonight, try not to think about it. You have many young men who anxiously wish to meet you."

I wiped the last couple rogue tears away from my cheeks. As Gretchen stood up, she leaned over and pressed her lips to my forehead. I knew she meant it as a maternal symbol, but as she stood, I felt her body go rigid, a look shot across her face – panic. She was facing a wall so I couldn't imagine what she would have seen to make her eyes so wide, her voice so urgent, "Camille, dress quickly. Don't go outside alone. I need to find your father." She rushed out of my room.

Don't go outside alone. Had she seen something? Did she know something bad was about to happen? I did as I was told, but I felt my stomach cinching itself up into a tight knot.

# Chapter 10

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

After I had checked myself in the mirror, I could hardly believe the image staring back. I routinely had bad hair days, and the humidity of Charleston wreaked havoc on me. But in this moment, my dark hair somehow looked perfect. Since I was a little girl, I'd always had long auburn hair, naturally curly, which translated to naturally frizzy and wildly-out-of-control most summers. I happened to be wearing one of the most elegant gowns I'd ever seen and felt almost like a fairy princess. I smirked when I said out loud, "Or maybe a Centaur princess."

A voice called from the other side of my door, "Honey, are you ready?"

I recognized the hesitant voice waiting in the hall, "Hi, Will, you can come in."

The door opened and Will looked a little tentative. His apprehension melted away. He stretched his arms out to me, taking long strides in my direction, and took both my hands in his. "Camille, you are truly a vision. Have I told you today how happy I am that you're here?"

Will stepped over to my bed and sat down, patting the space beside him. I took a seat next to him, a little self-conscious of my "princess" comment, wondering if he'd heard me.

Will took a deep breath and let it out loudly. "Gretchen has filled you in on some aspects of our kind that are less than ideal, yes?"

"What? That I'm supposed to pick a husband the same way someone would pick a new puppy at the pound?"

A nervous chuckle released from Will, "No, actually that was something I thought you might find appealing, but it's related." He cleared his throat, "Your mother had been betrothed to Kyle Richardson of Florida. He was not...pleased when your mother broke off the engagement."

"Okay." This much I knew, but he had my attention.

"Our kind, once a woman chooses, she cannot change her mind, at least not without paying a debt to the man she's rejected. There is good reason for this: as men so clearly outnumber the women, if a woman chooses to break off her engagement, it is rare that another woman would consider that man a potential suitor. He is in essence 'black-balled,' and if he is an only child his bloodline is unlikely to continue."

"So when my mom broke off her engagement, Kyle Richardson wasn't able to marry anyone?"

"Actually, he is one of the very few that I have ever heard of to be betrothed a second time to a Centaur woman. The fact that he was given a second chance for his bloodline does not diminish his right to exact a blood debt."

What she'd said had bothered me, but I wanted to hear it from Will. "Gretchen said that he wanted me dead. Is that true?"

"As he is the one that the debt is owed to, he sets the price. Given our circumstances and that so much time has passed, he does not wish for your death."

The pain in my stomach didn't diminish as I waited for Will to get to the bad news. "She said you would pay him, and he'd be fine. I get the feeling that that isn't the case."

"Mr. Richardson has traveled here tonight. He wishes to meet you."

"Meet me? But why?"

"I explained to Mr. Richardson the situation — that I was unaware of you until just this week. You were indeed part of my family. Given your mother's debt, I felt it was my responsibility to pay to ensure there would be no bad blood between our families."

"So, how much am I going to owe you?"

Will shook his head. "You'll owe me nothing, Camille. You're my daughter. If he will accept money as payment, then there's nothing to worry about."

"If?"

"It's complicated, Camille. For right now, he just wants to meet you."

"So he'll be here tonight? I have to meet with him?"

"Yes. I promise, I will be with you the whole time. Nothing will happen to you tonight. But you must talk to him."

I noticed that Will told me everything would be fine "tonight," but he made no mention of tomorrow or the day after. "Uh...okay. I feel like I'm missing something?"

"He didn't mention it on the phone, but you know Gretchen sees things. Gretchen shared with me that Mr. Richardson has a son who is of age. He may be unwilling to set a price with an actual dollar value."

"Are you saying I have to marry some guy I don't know because my mother refused to marry his father? You aren't saying that, are you?"

"Camille, the possibility is remote. Gretchen senses that his intentions are pure and that it is better to deal with this immediately rather than delay the meeting. Given the wedding tonight, it's unlikely he'll create any kind of scene."

Our conversation had been calm, but I could feel my blood beginning to boil. I shouldn't have lashed out at Will, but I was furious that this was even possible. "I'm not marrying some guy I don't know. That isn't going to happen!"

"I will never force you to do anything you do not choose. However, since Mr. Richardson has travelled here tonight, I need to insist that you meet with him."

My mouth opened but nothing came out. I started arguing that this was one of the most absurd things I'd ever heard of, but reality was, meeting a man with Will wouldn't be bad. It's not like I was being told I had to marry his son. It was harmless, for now.

As I tried to convince myself that everything would be fine, I realized that knot in my stomach still hadn't eased. Will reached over and took my hand in his. "Camille, I promise no harm will come to you. Do you trust me?"

How do you trust someone you hardly know? I looked in his eyes and nearly melted when I saw love staring back at me through his deep brown eyes. No matter how much I disliked the situation, I did trust him. He may not have been a rock star, he wasn't fixing world hunger, but he was exactly the type of father I had dreamed of. I realized I didn't need a lifetime to know that I loved him unconditionally and trusted him emphatically. He was my father. I was safe with him, and regardless of what a big wheel he was financially, he had given me the one thing I had craved my whole life — a family who loved me back. I reluctantly nodded that I did trust him.

Will took me in an embrace. When he let me go, he took my hands in his again. "I have one last request before we head downstairs." I gave him a quizzical look as I couldn't imagine anything more concerning than what we'd just talked about. "In front of the guests, I need for you to address me as your father." He paused, then added, "Especially, Mr. Richardson. I understand if you aren't comfortable with it, and privately you may address me any way you wish, but tonight, please call me 'Dad.'"

My whole life I had known the word. It had always been in my vocabulary. Never having called anyone that name, my eyes gave him my answer. I could feel the glossiness and used all my willpower to keep them from leaking. I could feel the enormous smile begging to be released along with the tears. I held it all in and simply replied, "Okay."

When we stepped off the front porch together, jitters threatened to envelop me as I looked at all the people I didn't know. Will must have sensed how nervous I was when he confessed, "Having found you is a dream come true for me." It was exactly what I needed to hear. His love for me gave me the strength I needed to face all the strangers on the grounds.

I had been walking on air, floating three feet above the ground. I was going to my brother's wedding with my dad tonight — just a short week ago, an event and a circumstance I would have never dreamed possible. The air I was floating on suddenly got too thin, and I felt my foot miss the bottom step. I instinctively knew I was getting ready to do a face plant on the pavement in front of at least two hundred people I'd never met. My arms flailed out to the sides as if I were a bird about to take flight.

# Chapter 11

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

In that single second my mind was able to think clearly about three things: I was going to look like a complete idiot in front of everyone, the impending scab on my face would be both painful and embarrassing, and I was sure I would ruin this amazing dress. It's laughable how quickly my mind had all three complete thoughts as my eyes squinted and my arms flapped in mid-air.

Instead of the rough cement of the sidewalk, I felt two strong, calloused hands. One cradled my face while the other hooked under my abdomen. Those two hands lifted me up from my swan dive and placed me gently on my feet on the sidewalk. Initially I thought Will had caught me, but when I looked up, I saw those hands were attached to a stranger.

I should have been embarrassed with my clumsiness, maybe a little awkward that such a hunk of a man had just saved me from making a complete spectacle of myself in front of hundreds of people – but I didn't. Instead, my eyes took him in. I was wearing shoes with at least a three inch heel, and he still towered over me. His eyes were ice blue – almost turquoise. His dark blonde hair was short, and although impossible to see his frame through his tux, his body took on a "V" shape with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. A great smile spread wide on his face. I waited for some smart-alecky remark about my gracefulness, but he turned to Will and said, "I hope she's all right."

Amazed that I wasn't a bloody mess, "How did you catch me? Where'd you come from?"

His warm smile grew into a Cheshire cat grin, "I, uh, saw her falling. Thought she wouldn't want to spend her brother's wedding in the emergency room."

When Will and I stepped off the porch, no one had been anywhere near us. I knew because I was focused on all the people off in the distance. So unless this guy was the invisible man, he had literally materialized out of nowhere. It was strange, but he was looking at Will, not me. "Well, thanks. I'm Camille." I held out my hand in an effort to shake his.

This handsome stranger looked at my hand, then to Will with a frightened look on his face. Will was standing at my side and casually slid his hand over the top of mine, gently pushing it down from where it hung in mid-air. "Drake, we're so glad you could come tonight and celebrate with us. How is your father?"

Drake angled his body so that I was no longer in his direct line of sight. He answered Will, "His construction business is doing well. He sends his regrets that he couldn't be here." I didn't know what to think. This Drake guy had caught me in mid-air but refused to accept my hand or allow me to thank him properly. Instead he pretended as if I weren't there. After the welcoming I'd received from Gus and Chris earlier, this guy's response to me had me dumbfounded.

Will was all smiles when he said, "I'll make sure to catch up with him soon. Thank you, Drake, for your quick action." Will's eyes darted in my direction, making it clear that he was appreciative of Drake for not letting me swan dive into the cement. Will placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me forward, away from Drake. Once we were several strides away, he leaned down and whispered to me, "I should have warned you. Betrothed men will not address you directly and under no circumstances will they physically come in contact with you."

"But he caught me in mid-air. I was just trying to say thanks."

"It's okay. He's not offended. He knows you aren't familiar with our customs. I am sorry I wasn't paying closer attention. I didn't realize you'd lost your footing until Drake had already caught you."

"I didn't even see him near us until he caught me."

Will smiled and nodded, "Centaur men are very fast."

"Like Superman fast?"

"Pshaw...Superman was a comic strip character... But I guess that's pretty accurate. Most Centaurs can sprint short distances at the speed of sound."

My mouth opened and my eyes widened. He couldn't be serious. "The speed of sound?"

"Well, I could say 'faster than a speeding bullet,' but depending on the caliber and weapon the bullet is shot from, some bullets travel several times faster than the speed of sound."

"You're serious?"

"Camille, I know this is all new to you. I rather hoped we would have been able to slowly immerse you into our ways, but now I wonder if we shouldn't have assembled a handbook of some kind." Will's smile never wavered, but there must have been something else he desperately wanted me to know. Just as he opened his mouth, he stopped and his posture abruptly changed – his hand still resting on the small of my back was now rigid.

"William, it's so nice to see you again." A tall, thin man, somewhere in his late forties or early fifties was walking directly toward us. He stopped directly in front of Will with what I could only describe as a forced smile. "I'm happy that one of your sons is finally taking his place in the kingdom. I genuinely hope your other four are not forced to settle for a human."

William ignored the snide comment and graciously said, "We're very happy for Bruce, too."

"One is enough for your bloodline, so you have my heartfelt congratulations."

"Thank you." Will was looking around the yard and out to the grove. I recognized the look: he was planning a getaway from this guy.

"I heard the bride's father required a handsome dowry be paid. I hope that's an ugly rumor?"

"Kyle, the negotiations of the heart are not for any of us to speculate on."

"The heart, or the wallet?" Kyle gave a hearty laugh and slapped Will on the back.

I looked at Will, wondering if he had really bribed the bride's father. If it were a lie, he would be screaming right now, defending the honor of the bride and her father. At least I thought so. I didn't know him all that well, but he didn't strike me as someone who would let a verbal assault go unanswered.

The man's eyes roved in my direction. I felt the weight of his stare; I wasn't frightened, but definitely uncomfortable. "So this is Camille Chiron. It is lovely to meet you. You look just like your mother."

I looked at Will, silently asking if I was supposed to shake his hand or not. I didn't want to look like a complete idiot and was desperately hoping for some sort of an indication on what I should or shouldn't do. I wanted to correct him. I'd been Camille Benning my whole life. This week I'd gotten used to being called Camille Strayer, but no one had ever called me Camille Chiron. Still unsure of what was and wasn't acceptable, I simply replied, "Thank you. Did you know her very well?"

"Better than most. We were betrothed." He didn't drop his stare as it went from uncomfortable to excruciating. Then a light bulb went off: this was the man my mother owed her blood debt to.

Will ended the conversation abruptly, "Kyle, I was hoping we could have our discussion after the nuptials." I felt my own nervousness straighten my back and widen my eyes as reality set in that this man believed I owed him my life.

The weight of his stare was nearly painful. The look on his face did not match his words, "I wouldn't dream of delaying such an important event. Of course we can talk after."

He didn't flinch, move, or break eye contact with me. I felt Will's hand urging me forward. I could imagine why my mother had rejected him. Although every person I saw looked like they'd stepped off of a magazine cover, there was something about Mr. Richardson that didn't feel right: a weakness of some kind, as if a part of him were missing. I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was definitely something amiss when I compared him to all others in attendance. I couldn't see what would have ever gained her interest in him to begin with. As I looked at the guests, young and old, there was definitely a common thread — attractiveness. They weren't attractive in a Venice Beach kind of way, but in a Hollywood Movie Star kind of way. Tall, muscular, full heads of hair, charismatic smiles, and thoughtful words greeted me with each new introduction. I wondered silently what was so different about Kyle Richardson.

As we took our seats waiting for the ceremony to begin, I could feel eyes watching me. I worried that Kyle Richardson was staring me down, but when I turned my head, I was just in time to see Drake, the man who had caught me in mid-air, turn away. He sat next to a beautiful lady. Her long blonde hair flowed nearly to her waist; she had high cheek bones, a light complexion and perfect posture. She looked like the poster child for beauty. As I continued looking their way, she turned her gaze toward me and gave me a slight grin in silent greeting and raised her fingers in a casual hello. Wow, I could see why Drake wouldn't want to rock the boat with her. I shared a half-grin with her and moved my gaze to where Bruce stood up front with the minister.

The ceremony was remarkably short. It mirrored every other wedding I'd ever attended until the very last announcement was made, "The two joined here today are now one in our kingdom's eyes. Welcome them into our home. Should one perish before the other, remember Hylonome's sacrifice when Cyllarus was lost in battle against the Lapiths. Neither will now breathe without the other."

Not having a clue who Hylonome or Cyllarus were, I made a mental note to do some research. Will's words echoed in my mind from the other night – that he and Gretchen had been on the outs when he met my mother – everything I'd heard since then sounded like that wasn't really an option. I'd give it some time then ask Gretchen a little more. As thrilled as I was to finally have someone to call "Dad," I still wasn't convinced he was for real. Sure a living, breathing person, you bet – but I had a nagging feeling that something still didn't feel right. This final statement of the wedding vows seemed ominous, unwavering. I wondered if I was taking this vow too literally.

I didn't have long to consider the vows or what my father had done twenty-three years before – because within minutes a full-blown party erupted. The men who had introduced themselves to me in the house, Chris and Gus, and a slew of others after the ceremony each took his turn with me on the dance floor. Although a lot of fun, it wasn't the best venue to get to know potential husbands or even potential boyfriends.

The dance floor had been assembled in a wooded area with lights beautifully strung from the trees. I staggered off the makeshift dance floor after my sixth partner had cut in, introduced himself, told me about his lineage. I decided to find one of my obviously absent brothers, thinking it might be more fun to dance with one of them over a desperate Centaur looking for a wife.

I felt a hand wrap itself around my forearm and pull. The shock of being pulled forward made me stumble as I ended up eye-to-eye with my mother's jilted ex-fiancé. My mouth gaped open, and my eyes were wide. He hissed, "Well, aren't you the little Homecoming Queen?"

# Chapter 12

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

My eyes narrowed, and I didn't try to camouflage the venom in my voice, "Get your hand off me before I remove it."

Although his grip loosened, he didn't release my arm. "Show some respect, you wretched little ..." He didn't finish his sentence as Will was suddenly standing beside us, eyes blazing. He kept his words to himself but stared at Kyle – as if the two men were both considering their next move. When, after a full minute, no words were spoken, you could nearly cut the air with a knife and fork. Finally, Will's eyes fell to Kyle's hand, still wrapped around my forearm.

Kyle's voice was full of hate, "She may belong to you, Will, but remember that I choose her fate."

Will's response was strong and commanding, "Kyle, I told you I would be willing to meet with you and discuss the debt owed to you. You choose nothing."

Kyle's grip tightened on my arm again, and I couldn't imagine what was going though his mind, "I'm sure we'll come up with something that is mutually beneficial."

These two would have continued to talk about me like I wasn't actually there if I'd let them. I wrenched my arm away from Kyle's hand, put my back to Will and glared at Kyle while I spit out, "I owe you nothing. My mother made a choice more than two decades ago that you weren't good enough for her. Get over it already."

I could still feel the burn on my forearm from his grip as Kyle returned my glare. In a calm, hateful voice he said, "You don't know what you're talking about."

My adrenaline was coursing through my blood when I nearly shouted, "I know that if you had been half the man you pretend to be, you'd be my father. Instead you're trying to intimidate me and my father – it's not going to happen, Slick."

The words were no sooner out of my mouth when I felt my feet lifted off the ground and wind against my face. I saw nothing but a blur of trees and bushes for five full seconds until I was gently put back on the ground. The sensation had been so foreign my senses couldn't give me a good explanation of what had just happened. My feet were firmly back on the ground, my body upright, and two warm hands were on each of my shoulders. I looked up into the eyes of the person who had flown with me at ground level. It was the third time I'd seen those light blue eyes tonight: Drake stared down into mine. His hands on my shoulders were warm; he was close enough that I drank in his cologne. I recognized the scent immediately — Calvin Klein's Eternity, the same fragrance I bought for Daniel. It was my favorite.

His eyes held me for longer than they should have: he must have realized when his gaze quickly dropped to the ground. Still furious at Kyle, I didn't have much time to process what had just happened. "What did you do that for? Better yet, what did you just do? Where are we?"

"Camille...I'm sorry...I was listening."

"And?"

"You aren't accustomed to our ways. Your words might as well have been a sword. Kyle could have struck you down. I just moved you out of his way."

"You moved me? How? Can you fly?"

He shook his head and chuckled, "No, I can't fly. I ran, but it feels a little like flight, doesn't it?"

"Where are we?"

Drake abruptly let go of my shoulders. He must have remembered the no touching policy. "A mile to the west of your home."

"A mile?" I couldn't shield the disbelief from my voice, "So you just snapped your fingers and we're suddenly a mile away?"

Drake shook his head, "I didn't snap my fingers. I just told you, I picked you up and ran."

I couldn't believe he had done that, and I wasn't pleased that he had scooped me up while I was trying to make a point with Kyle Richardson. "Why would you do that? I was in the middle of a conversation."

"I'm not sure. I was...I was worried what he might do to you."

"I can take care of myself."

Drake shook his head, "Not against a Centaur. We're all warriors. I had to get you away from him."

"But why?"

"Centaurs are unpredictable when they're angry. I couldn't let him lash out at you. I didn't know if your father would be fast enough to stop Mr. Richardson."

I knew Drake had the best of intentions. He believed I needed his protection and gave it to me willingly, twice. I hadn't asked for his help either time. I didn't even know I needed his help the second time. I couldn't help but acknowledge that his fast action definitely kept me from being a bloody mess earlier, and maybe even a second time at the hand of Kyle Richardson. "Well, thanks." I stretched up on my tip toes and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

Drake took a step back from me and placed his palm over the side of his face, cradling it as if I'd just slapped him. His eyes looked like blue saucers as I made a mental note that it's not okay to shake hands _or_ kiss a betrothed Centaur's cheek as a "thank you." He didn't need to say it; I could see how badly I'd offended him written all over his face.

Before he had the chance to chastise me for yet another "Camille misstep," another blur to my right appeared: Brent with a worried look on his face. "Good save, Drake. But you'd better get back. You don't want Bianca to find out you swooped in and saved Camille, twice. I've got her." Drake nodded and took another step away from me. He glanced at me again; it looked like he wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last second. I watched him lower his head and disappear into the night.

"Okay, Brent, what the hell is going on?"

"I think that's pretty obvious. Dad was trying to work a deal with Kyle Richardson to come to terms on your blood debt, and you pretty much sliced the guy wide open and started shoving big fat salt pellets into his wounds. Good job, Camille." His words were harsh but his tone was amused.

"So is Will ..., I mean, is Dad...pissed?"

"Shocked is probably a better description. I doubt you'll be included in any of their discussions anymore."

"Level with me, Brent. Is what my mom did that big of a deal?"

Brent's humor drained in that instant. "Yes. Choosing a partner is sacred. You don't get to choose and then change your mind. I think Mr. Richardson is a certifiable jackass, but your mom broke one of the seven tenants. It is fully within his right to collect a blood debt."

"I keep hearing that, but humor me: what, exactly, is a blood debt?"

Brent motioned to a rock planted on the ground. I sat down while he squatted in the grass beside me. "A blood debt happens when someone in our society has been so incredibly wronged it affects their bloodline. In human terms it is closest to premeditated murder. If I had wronged another Centaur and owed a blood debt, it would literally be a death sentence for me. Lucky for you, there are so few female Centaurs in the world that no one would collect it against a woman. But your mom really did wrong Mr. Richardson. It was within his right to take the life of someone in her family." If I had to pay a blood debt for my mom, could one of my brothers be forced to pay it? I shuddered at the thought.

"But, that was over twenty years ago. Why now?"

"I wish I knew, Camille. When Dad pulled us all together and told us the whole story, no one could believe that he hadn't exacted his revenge when it all happened. Maybe he didn't because your mom went into hiding or something. It doesn't make sense. Reality is that Dad will do everything he can, but, ultimately, it's up to Mr. Richardson."

"But you just said he can't kill me."

Brent shook his head, "It's a negotiation. I think Dad would promise him nearly anything not to lose you. If Mr. Richardson intended to carry out a death sentence, other herds would step in to protect you. It would mean war."

"Isn't there a statute of limitations or something? The person who owes the debt isn't even alive anymore." I caught myself speaking callously of my mother and felt a rush of her envelop me. Gretchen told me that my mother was still with me and that I could communicate with her. I turned away from Brent when I felt my mother's presence. I yelled into the darkness, "Mom, you'd better have a plan because there is no stinkin' way I'm going to owe that man a thing!"

I could smell my mother's perfume. I felt warmth encompass me and saw the slightest outline of her face appear in front of me. She seemed to be saying something, but I couldn't understand. It didn't matter how hard I concentrated, I couldn't make her image sharpen, and I wondered if maybe it was my imagination.

Brent started to say something, but I held my finger to my lips to quiet him. I concentrated on the outline of her face, hoping to bring her better into focus. I could see her figure desperately trying to tell me something, but still no sound. I shook my head at her, "I can't hear you."

Her outline began to diminish. I could still see her in the same spot but no longer with the vibrant colors from just seconds before. Brent held out his elbow, offering to escort me back. Since it was obvious that my psychic sensor was still malfunctioning, I decided to pump Brent for more information. We began a leisurely stroll back when he advised, "If you choose someone right away, Mr. Richardson won't have a chance to force his son on you."

Still reeling from having seen my mother's ghost or spirit or whatever it was, I didn't give Brent's suggestion much weight. I was in my own little world when I realized he'd stopped walking and was staring at me. "Camille, did you hear me?"

Embarrassed at being lost in thought, I uttered, "Uh, what? No, I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

"I said, if you choose someone soon, he won't have a chance to make you marry his son. He would have to accept a cash payment."

"Brent, I'm not ready to marry anyone, and I don't care who says I have to. I'm for sure not picking someone I've never met who came out of the same gene pool as Kyle Richardson. For that matter, I'm not picking anyone. Maybe I want to be like my mom and just live on my own."

We began walking again, and Brent's strides remained constant. He didn't seem deterred in the slightest that I had no intention of choosing someone quickly. After about ten minutes of walking at a normal pace, I could see the lights of the party coming back into view. Brent's arm tensed and Bruce appeared out of thin air – I had to work on getting used to Centaur speed. Bruce was seriously nervous, "Camille, Mr. Richardson thinks you took off with the guy you're going to take as your husband. He's flaming mad. If you pick someone right now, Dad's pretty sure he'll leave and not return."

"Have you all lost your minds? I can't just throw a dart at a wall and pick some guy to be married to!"

"I get that it isn't ideal, but if you don't pick someone, you might get stuck with his son. What's worse? Choosing a great guy you don't know that well but who will treat you like a queen, or being forced to marry into the Richardson herd? C'mon, Camille, you met a bunch of guys tonight. Pick one, and I'll go get him and bring him here. Then the two of you can give your announcement directly in front of Mr. Richardson."

"That'll never work."

Bruce must have believed that I was somehow considering his stupid idea. "I'll go get whatever guy you tell me to. The two of you can come back to the party as if you'd been planning this all day. You can have a super-long engagement if you want to."

"What if during this super-long engagement I decide that I don't like him, that he's not the right guy for me?"

Brent and Bruce both froze. Both looked at each other, nearly dumbfounded with my question. Finally Bruce answered, "You aren't serious?"

"It's called dating. You're supposed to test drive a few guys to make sure you pick the right model. Believe it or not – it's a pretty normal concept. Try one on, if he isn't right, you trade him in on a new model."

Bruce looked at me and said, "Camille, I can't tell if you have a warped sense of humor or if you're being serious."

"I didn't ask to be whisked away from the conversation I was having with Kyle. That Drake guy just swooped in and took off with me. Did it ever occur to anyone that what I was saying was important? I didn't ask to be rescued, and I'll be damned if I'm going to marry a guy who I can put up with just to keep Kyle from forcing his son on me. When I find the right guy, it'll be natural, it'll be for love — it won't be selection by the lesser of two evils."

Another blur appeared out of nowhere. "There you guys are! Holy crap, do you know they're tearing the place apart?" Beau had now joined us as well.

Shocked, I asked, "Who's tearing the place apart?"

"Kyle Richardson thinks Dad's hiding you. He's already done a room-to-room search of the house and guest quarters. They're searching the woods now."

I felt my resolve growing ever stronger. "I guess I'd better pick up the pace. I'll go back and I tell him he's nutso again."

Bruce was nearly pleading with his eyes when he said, "Camille...don't." We continued forward. I could feel Brent, Bruce and Beau getting more apprehensive with each stride.

As we approached the clearing to the back yard, I saw Hannah pacing under the canopy of trees. Bruce watched her with nothing but love in his eyes. The selfish part of me realized I'd tarnished her wedding whether that had been my intention or not. Trying to be more sensitive and realizing this was absolutely not the right time to throw a tantrum no matter how justified I felt, I said, "Bruce, I'm so sorry. I hope Hannah isn't mad."

Bruce stopped me in my tracks, put both hands on my shoulders and pulled me into a hug, "She's upset, but not with you. None of this is your fault. We handle this as a family. She's as much a part of our family now as you are, and she won't stand for Richardson's games any more than the rest of us."

"You should go to her. Tell her I'm really sorry...and Bruce?" His dark eyes looked fully into mine, "Thanks for coming to look for me. It means a lot."

He bobbed his head slightly, acknowledging me without making me feel like some girl who needed protecting. Brent slipped his arm around me, and Beau walked a few strides ahead of us. As the three of us came fully into view, I noticed that Bruce and Hannah were walking behind us, still in her wedding dress and he in his tux. Two blurs arrived on either side of Brent and me, Ben to my left and Bart to Brent's right. The emotion of the moment was not lost on me. My five brothers and my new sister-in-law surrounded me as we walked the last few steps to the driveway.

The music quieted and a hush fell over the guests. Gretchen and Will stood on the porch while Kyle Richardson stood to their side. They watched as the seven of us made our last few steps in their direction. Just before we were at an arm's distance from Mr. Richardson, I saw a silvery shimmering light come into focus, standing at his side. Gretchen's eyes watched the shimmering figure, and she glanced my way to see if I could see it, too. I nodded to her my silent answer. I could feel the strength from the figure, the warmth that emanated from it. It was Mom.

I could see her, really see her, not just her outline as she stood tall beside Mr. Richardson. Whatever she had tried to tell me in the woods was no longer a priority for her. She wasn't trying to say anything to me; she simply stood next to Mr. Richardson. She had always been protective of me, so I expected her to be glaring at him – she wasn't. She seemed to be looking at him in an affectionate way. Why would she be looking at him like that? I was thrilled to see her; maybe she had just positioned herself there to give me strength, to let me know she was there for me.

# Chapter 13

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

I wasn't sure what to expect. I felt like Beau was going to march right up to him and start swinging. He didn't. Beau stopped short just feet before the shimmering light. The men all seemed oblivious to it, but Hannah, Gretchen and I could see Mom.

Mr. Richardson spat out his words, fury seething through his pores, "I don't want my son to meet you, not yet. However, I refuse to let my bloodline perish, as your mother nearly extinguished it twenty-eight years ago. My son, Gage, is twenty-four. If he is not betrothed by his twenty-ninth birthday, I will summon you, and you will marry him. You will not take a husband before his twenty-ninth birthday. If he should become married before that date, no debt will be owed to my family. If it is you he marries, your debt will be repaid by your wedding vows. Do you understand my terms?"

In my mind I was silently cheering — five years. I wouldn't have to go through this whole ritual of finding a husband for five years! This was the best possible situation for me. No pressure, no reason for men to introduce themselves to me. I was ready to scream out "Yes!", but I didn't want to make a big mistake. "Mr. Richardson, I'm too new to this life to make this decision without counsel. I need to speak to my father, privately." I saw Will's posture straighten as his chest stretched.

"Of course, Camille, your family should counsel you on my offer."

I stepped through the door and into the front hallway. Will followed me and closed the door behind us. I very nearly squealed, "This is great, right?"

A pleased grin spread across his face, "Yes, this is excellent news. I think he offered the fairest deal he could under the circumstances. I've heard that his son, Gage, is a good man. Without a formal promise to you, other Centaur women may still consider him. If one of them chooses him for her husband before his twenty-ninth birthday, you owe their herd nothing."

I opened the door, not even waiting to be fully out of the house, "Mr. Richardson, I accept your offer."

His words were slow as his eyes nearly burrowed into mine, "You understand the gravity of your words?"

"I do."

"You will not commit yourself to another for the next five years?"

"I won't."

"Do you understand the consequences should you not honor your promise to me this evening?"

"I do."

Mr. Richardson stepped directly in front of me, his hands tight behind his back. I didn't know what it was about him, but he gave me one final threat, "If you dishonor our agreement, I will not hesitate to take my payment."

My eyes narrowed. I didn't need this added reminder. "Mr. Richardson, I am fully aware of the consequences. If at any time in the next five years you threaten my life or the life of someone in my family without justification, I won't hesitate to take yours. Just so we're clear."

There was a collective gasp in all directions. No one expected me to make the threat, but I wanted this man to know my mother had not raised a daughter to be weak, to be submissive, or to be manipulated by anyone. It wasn't an empty threat, and I would not hesitate to make good on it. I had not grown up with the luxury of a family – other than my mom. I grew up where if someone threatened your life, you'd better check their hands for a weapon. In a matter of days I knew there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for my new family, including not allowing this reject of a man to bully them. I put my back to him and walked away, allowing my threat to hang in the air, daring him to test me moments after I had made it.

A little louder than was necessary, but definitely spoken for my benefit, I heard, "William, thank you for allowing me to join in Bruce and Hannah's celebration this evening. It has been my pleasure to be a part of such an enchanting evening."

Brent was the first one to catch up to me. He whispered, "Geeze, remind me never to cross you. I thought Dad was going to have a heart attack back there. I bet your lessons from Mom tomorrow include not threatening the life of Herd Leaders."

"It wasn't a threat, Brent. That was my promise to him."

"Threatening to kill someone isn't something to be done lightly."

"Brent, you ever seen someone murdered right in front of you?"

"Uh... no."

"I didn't grow up here. I grew up in the real world: watching drive-bys, robberies and gang retaliation. I saw one guy killed over forty bucks. It can make you a little jaded. I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean to follow through. Gretchen can give me any lesson she wants. If Kyle threatens you or anyone else in my family – it'll be the last thing he ever does."

"Camille, this is the real world, too. We may put a higher price tag on life than the people you grew up with. It doesn't mean our dangers are any less real or our warnings can be ignored."

"Maybe you're right, but I bet he doesn't try anything that could be construed as threatening. Think of my exchange with him as modern warfare – a pre-emptive strike."

Brent shook his head at me. He seemed unwilling to agree with me, but at least he decided not to argue the point further. Within minutes the party was again in full swing: Kyle Richardson was noticeably absent. As soon as the music returned, the makeshift dance floor was crowded, voices were again chattering loudly, and everyone was having a good time. For as massive as he was, Gus had great rhythm and was by far my favorite dance partner. I couldn't help but wonder how cool it would be to go to all the NFL games. He asked, "So, any chance you'd want to catch a movie this weekend?"

I gushed, "Um, okay. We can do that?" I still wasn't sure what was and wasn't okay.

He beamed back at me, "You bet. You choose someone in your family to escort us."

I thought of the choices. Although I was closest to Brent – he was not in favor of dating for the sake of dating. Maybe Beau? "Give me your number, and I'll send you a text with the _who_ and _when_. You're sure no one will think it's a big deal?"

"There's a line-up of other Centaurs waiting to dance with you. You're welcome to tell every one of them that we have plans for next Friday." Gus' smile was all encompassing, and I couldn't help but smile at his jab against the others.

To be fair, I did dance with every other available Centaur. I don't know how many turns I had taken on the dance floor, but enough that I needed to rest. I made my way to a table where Brent was sitting. I desperately wanted to ask him if a movie was okay, but decided to wait and ask Beau when no one else was around.

I had just barely arrived at the table when Drake and his beautiful fiancé, Bianca, came to the same table and sat with us. I was a little nervous given his reaction to me in the woods, but he wasn't glaring at me or anything. The music was still going full tilt. I had seen the two of them dancing on the floor and knew they had to be near exhaustion as well. Brent and Drake seemed to be pretty good friends, immediately engaging in conversation about some sporting event. I lacked the energy to pretend to have interest in their conversation; Bianca's interest mirrored mine.

Bianca looked over at me with a thoughtful smile, "Is it true that you are a long lost Centauride?"

I hadn't heard of this word before. "Centauride? – I'm sure I should already know, but what is it?"

Bianca smiled sweetly, "A female Centaur."

It still felt odd that everyone so openly spoke about creatures I'd considered nothing more than myths until a week ago. "That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"So, it's true. You really had no idea?"

"My mom died recently. I didn't know about my ..." What was the right word? "ancestry."

"You're lucky to be a Strayer. They are one of the strongest herds."

"Really?"

She smiled sweetly, "I've watched all the eligible Centaurs vying for your attention tonight. It's hard to choose which herd to join. Trust me, I was where you are recently. I just picked Drake a month ago."

"The choosing process still seems so foreign to me, but I guess there isn't a rush."

"I imagine you had people breaking down your door when news spread of your arrival."

"The front door's still intact, but I did meet a bunch of men today." I leaned in and did my best to keep my voice low, "Is it true there's no dating, or was Brent pulling my leg?"

Conspiratorially she answered, "Yeah, you window shop for a while, and you can go on a chaperoned date, but even those are frowned on."

"Why?"

"Because if you go on a couple dates with a guy and then decide he's not the right one, it almost looks like a rejection. If a Centaur is rejected by a Centauride, other Centaurides might not think to give him a chance. Why take someone else's reject when there are so many to choose from."

"And once you choose, then there's no changing your mind?"

"No, it's a final decision."

"How long did it take you to decide?"

Her eyes darted to Drake, I'm sure to see if he was still engrossed in conversation with Brent. "It was the hardest decision of my life. I agonized over it for weeks."

"Weeks? That doesn't seem like a long time." I realized we were whispering, and this was obviously not a conversation she wanted to share with her future husband. I motioned for her to step away from the table, and she quickly followed my lead. Both Brent and Drake stood up when they realized Bianca and I were going for a walk. I shot them both a look and motioned for them to stay at the table. They did.

We strolled across the grounds and were well beyond everyone's earshot before she spoke again. "From the time I was sixteen I had men anxiously hoping I'd choose them. I went to college first. My mom told me she picked my dad at sixteen, and although she loved him and didn't regret her decision, she knew that the things that were important at sixteen were different at twenty-two."

"So you're twenty-two?"

"Yes. These last few months almost killed me. I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. My father had already made it pretty clear that he was going to arrange a marriage. I was terrified of who he might pick. He started bringing Centaur men home for dinner; all of them seemed to look at me like I was a piece of meat. I couldn't take the chance, so I made my decision last month."

"Drake? He's really handsome. That was probably an easy choice." I remembered his calloused hands catching me in mid-air right before I nearly fell off the porch and his quick reaction when I'd ticked off Kyle Richardson. Drake seemed like a great catch: smoking hot, kind, super-fast, and definitely protective. "I could see why you picked him."

Bianca looked around to make sure we were still alone. "He wasn't actually my first choice. Don't get me wrong, I know he'll make a wonderful husband, but I had planned to choose another until my mother disapproved."

"Really? I thought all Centaur men were nearly perfect?"

I could tell Bianca was apprehensive talking about her first choice. "My mother hated the family of the man I wanted to choose, so she wouldn't hear of it. She said it would be a terrible fate, and she would never give me her blessing."

# Chapter 14

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

"Don't parents mellow out after a while? I mean, after the wedding she would have been fine with it."

Bianca shook her head, "She's our family's matriarch. I couldn't go against her wishes. Falling out of her favor would have impacted my abilities."

"Abilities? You aren't just automatically psychic and stuff?"

"Oh sure, I can read other's thoughts, but some in my family have telekinetic powers. Those have to be given to the daughter from the mother."

"Wait, like moving objects with your mind?"

"Yeah! My mom's amazing. She's one of the strongest I've ever seen! She can lift a semi-truck while carrying on a conversation." I could tell this was still a sensitive subject with Bianca, and I was more than surprised that she would openly share it with me. After she collected her thoughts again, she said, "I couldn't disappoint her."

I'd never been a fan of idle gossip, but Bianca had piqued my interest, "So, the guy you wanted to marry – did he know?"

She didn't want to talk about it. Her eyes fell from mine when all she said was, "He knew."

"He was an okay guy? It was just his family that your mom didn't approve of?"

She forced a smile at me. I knew there was more to this story that no way would she tell a stranger. "He was... is an incredible guy. It's not his fault what his parents or grandparents did, but Mom was convinced that an apple doesn't fall far from the tree. She absolutely hates his grandfather and told me she would never give me her blessing."

"So how did you pick Drake?"

"I'd known him forever. He's sweet and kind. I knew we would mesh okay." I couldn't help but notice that Bianca still wouldn't look at me, and I knew she needed a subject change.

"I wonder if my mom was telekinetic?"

Bianca answered, "She was a Chiron, so I'm sure she was."

Bianca said, "Chiron," with reverence, as if it was a big deal. I didn't want to press her about it, but knew I needed to find out more about my mother's family. "So do you think, since my mom's dead, I won't ever be able to do telekinetic stuff?"

"You can still talk to your mom, right?"

My cheeks flushed. I was defective, and Bianca would be the first person outside my family to know. "I can see her, sometimes, but I can't hear her."

"Really? You know, she's right here with us now."

"How can you tell?"

Bianca giggled at me, "Duh, I can see her."

"Does she want to say anything to me?"

Bianca looked past my shoulder and nodded, "She said she's proud of you. You handled yourself with strength and courage, but there is something she needs to tell you about Mr. Richardson." Bianca paused for a second, looking back at me, "She doesn't want me to know. She's still very strong." Bianca furrowed her eyebrows as if sizing up my invisible mother. "Once someone passes over, their strength seems to diminish by the day until after a while they just leave entirely. Your mom must have been seriously strong while she was alive because she doesn't seem to be weakening."

I chuckled, "I don't know, I never saw her lift a semi-truck in the air, but she was tough – she didn't take crap from anyone." I wasn't sure why I felt such a kinship to Bianca, but I confessed, "I miss her. So if she died before she could teach me all the stuff I'm supposed to know, does that mean I'll never be like everyone else?"

"I bet the two of you find a way. You just need to practice communicating with her."

I was seriously excited that both Gretchen and Bianca believed it was only a matter of time before I'd work out the kinks. Bianca was looking off into the distance, and I wondered if there was something more she wasn't telling me. "So this guy you didn't choose, that you wanted to – why was he on your short list?"

Her face took on a sad look, one foreign to the happy expressions I'd seen up until now. "We went to college together. Centaurs aren't allowed to date, at least not unsupervised. But we pushed the envelope and met each other at movies, football games, the library, none were ever technically a date because we never went together – we just happened to keep meeting each other. He was who I saw in my future."

"If you can tell the future, and you see him there, doesn't that mean you'll end up with him?"

"I wish. I can't see the future. But when I dreamed of the future, he was the one I was tied to."

"But you picked Drake anyway?" This didn't make sense.

"Don't get me wrong, Drake's great. My family approves, and I care about him."

"But you wanted someone else. Does he know?" I felt bad for Drake. This whole concept seemed ludicrous.

"Drake knows." She dropped my stare and seemed ashamed of what she shared next, "They were best friends. We all grew up together."

I felt my eyes widen, "Best friends?"

"Past tense. They haven't spoken since my parents made the announcement."

"I'm sorry." It was all I could say. This Centaur selection process seemed dumb; I looked back at the table and wondered how Drake felt about the whole thing. He may have found a woman to carry on his bloodline, but he'd lost his closest friend in the process. Maybe because I hadn't grown up knowing what I was or because I didn't feel particularly tied to my ancestry, I couldn't imagine the pain the three of them must have gone through. "So do you still talk to him? The other guy?"

"No, it's too painful. He knew it was a possibility. We all knew how my mother felt about his grandfather. We'd hoped that she could let the past be, but it was too much a part of her."

"What'd his grandfather do to your mom?"

"He tried to buy her."

"Buy her?"

"His bloodline was in jeopardy. My family's one of the few Centaur lines that isn't wealthy. He was desperate and made a plea to my grandparents for my mom. When they declined, he went to the bank and bought the note on their farm. He evicted them and humiliated them in front of everyone. My mom's never forgiven him for it."

"Holy crap, that's terrible."

"Centaurs can be ruthless, especially Centaurs who are approaching the end of eligibility. Choose wisely, Camille. My mom isn't the only one that something like this happened to."

"From what I can tell, I don't think money is much of an issue, but thanks for the warning anyway."

"There are lots of other ways families can be manipulated." Bianca whispered, "Like trading."

The hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end, "What're you talking about?"

She looked in all directions again. "You didn't hear this from me, but...you've got four eligible brothers, right?" I nodded, not know where this was going. "If your parents get desperate for one of their sons to be married, they could trade you to another family in exchange for a wife for one of their sons."

"What? No way!"

"It happens all the time, Camille. If you don't choose someone quickly, your family will choose for you."

I didn't want to bring up the arrangement I'd made with Kyle Richardson. She and Drake weren't anywhere around when it happened, and it wasn't something I wanted others to know about. With that agreement, there was no way I could be auctioned off to the highest bidder, but the idea that this was done to others turned my stomach. I wondered why the family had been so welcoming: it couldn't be for that. I felt a pit forming in my stomach. I didn't want to believe her.

Bianca must have sensed that she had struck a chord because she said, "A friend of mine, Grace, told me about you."

I was still reeling from the fact that maybe my family wasn't as genuine as they had appeared. When I looked back at her, I didn't have the strength for anything more. I was worried I might fold in on myself.

"Grace can see the future. She always tells me that as far as actually seeing someone's future, free will has a lot to do with it. Knowledge of the future has a way of impeding fate, so she rarely tells me anything good." Her wide smile reappeared, her eyes sparkled, "But she did tell me: you and I are going to be best friends. None of the choices either of us makes in this lifetime will drive a wedge between us."

Just like that, I had a new BFF. I had called my best friend in California, Daniel, several times during the week. He was excited that things were going so well and was a little shocked when I told him about the new car and about intending to stay a little while longer – I couldn't wait for the night to be over so I could call and tell him about Bianca.

After Bianca left, I went into the house and sat in my bedroom. I thought about what she'd said — the telekinetic powers. I tried to think of a time my mom did that in front of me and laughed out loud when I remembered – her purse! My mom's purse was always stuffed full, so full, it was impossible for me to find anything in it. Yet she never even looked in the enormous bag: she just reached in and it seemed like whatever she wanted jumped into her fingers. I remembered one time when I had looked in her purse for the car keys for five minutes before dropping it onto the table in frustration. She walked over to the table, put her hand in the bag, didn't even look at the gaping mess, and said, "Here they are," then tossed the keys to me.

I shook my head at the memory. Still chuckling to myself, I looked above the mantle and saw a beautifully framed picture of a white Arabian horse cantering up a rolling hill. Another memory unfolded. The terror from the memory washed over me. I was a little girl, maybe five. We had moved into a second floor apartment that had a high security garage at ground level. My mom had just unloaded the last box. The garage had one of those heavy steel doors, and she said, "Cami, get away from the door. It'll squish you like a bug."

For the first few seconds I did as I was told, but just as the door reached the halfway mark, I saw my stuffed white horse forgotten inside, laying on a box. That white horse had been my constant companion as a child. I didn't want it to be locked inside, so I dashed under the closing door to save it while her back was turned. I had tripped on the return trip out of the garage, and my legs were in the garage door's path. It wasn't one of the new doors that instantly pops back up if something is in the way; all five hundred pounds trapped me and pressed hard on my legs as I screamed.

I could feel the gears trying to turn in an effort to use the door as a guillotine on my legs. She didn't come to me, she didn't scream for help, she stood several feet away and looked at the door, willing it to let me free. As her concentration increased, I felt the pressure of the heavy door subside. Her voice sounded strained when she yelled, "Now, Cami, pull your legs free, now." I did and a second later the steel door crashed to the cement and locked itself into the eyelets securing it in place. When I was free, she wiped the hot tears from my cheeks, lifted me into her arms and carried me upstairs.

As a child, the fear of nearly losing my legs paled in comparison to the shame of disobeying her. Once the tears subsided, I confessed, "I'm sorry, Momma, my horse is scared of the dark."

"It's okay, Cami. Sometimes I'm scared of the dark, too."

"You made the door let me go."

"Shhh, don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

Never once did we talk about it again. I could remember having fuzzy dreams of the incident, but this was the first time the whole event replayed in my mind. Something about the painting of the white horse and the conversation with Bianca made me remember. I wasn't sure if my mom's spirit was still anywhere near me, but I talked to her anyway.

"You moved the door. When I was little – when we moved up to Orange County, you kept the door from crushing my legs." Nothing, I didn't smell her perfume, I didn't see her, but I continued anyway, "You have to teach me how. I know you didn't want this life for me, but you have to help me." Still nothing. I wanted so badly to see her, or know that she was with me. The words were out before I could stop them, "I can't lose you again. Show me how to talk to you."

# Chapter 15

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

I walked downstairs to find Brent with a bowl of oatmeal, reading the Sunday funnies. He asked me, "So'd you have fun last night?"

"I guess so. That stuff with Kyle Richardson was a little over the top, right?"

"Which part? The part where you told him you'd marry his son if he couldn't find anyone better, or the part where you threatened to kill him in front of everyone?"

"Yeah, both were a little crazy."

"Camille, you can't go around threatening people, especially Herd Leaders."

"It looks like I can. I did."

Brent rolled his eyes, "Okay, you can't do it without getting in trouble."

"Like what, someone'll take my birthday away?"

"There are worse things than joining the Richardson Herd." I remembered Bianca's warning last night and felt an iciness taking hold toward Brent.

"All right, I'll bite. What are some of the things they can do to me?"

"Send your mother's spirit to the pasture for starters."

"What? Why? They can't do that!"

Brent placed his hand over mine, all the humor drained from him, "Yes, they can. Spirits aren't supposed to stay in our world. If one starts to create problems for living Centaurs, a Herd Leader can have them banished."

"But, I haven't even talked to her yet!"

"Then don't threaten Herd Leaders. If I were you, I'd call Mr. Richardson and apologize. New or not, he won't stand for you threatening him in front of everybody."

I gritted my teeth, "I told you, it wasn't a threat — that was my promise to him."

"Camille, you aren't back in 'the hood.' There are repercussions for your actions here."

" _The hood_? I grew up in Oceanside, you jackass."

Brent let go of my hand, "I know this is hard for you. I'm just trying to help."

"You want to help me? Find Gage Richardson a wife so I'm not stuck with him, and get it out of your head that I'll ever be like everyone else."

"I already know you aren't like anyone else. My issue is the more waves you create, the harder this'll be for everyone."

"The harder what will be?"

Brent looked over his shoulder, after verifying that no prying ears were present, "Centaurides are super powerful. You know why Dad has such a successful business? Because Mom knows what the stock market is going to do. All five of us work with Dad, but no one recommends anything to our clients unless Mom says so."

"How is that powerful?"

"That's how all Centaur women are. The matriarch is in charge of everything." Brent looked over his shoulder again, still satisfied that we were alone, "There's no way Dad met your mom the way he said he did. Mom would have destroyed him."

"I'm not following you, Brent."

"Something more went on, and we aren't going to find out what it is until you can figure out how to communicate with your mom."

"People have affairs, Brent."

"Not Centaurs, not ever." His voice had a finality to it. There was something more that I hadn't been told. Brent asked me, "Can you hear her at all?" I shook my head that I couldn't. "Has Dad said anything to you about the Lost Herd?"

"The what?"

"Never mind. I just wondered."

"No one's told me much of anything. What's the Lost Herd?"

"It's probably nothing...I'm not sure." We heard footsteps coming down the steps and Brent visibly tensed.

Will came around the corner wearing plaid pajama pants, fluffy sheepskin slippers and a white t-shirt. His face was unshaven, and he went straight for the coffee pot. "You two're up early today."

Before I could answer, Brent answered for us, "We're just leaving."

Will looked at his watch, "Where to?"

"On the boat with Bianca and Drake."

Will looked disappointed, "A little more notice and I would have tagged along."

"Sorry Dad. Camille and Bianca hit it off last night. Thought they'd like to go catch some sun. We'll be back in a few hours."

"Sounds good. Keep the radio on."

Brent hadn't mentioned going out on the boat, although it sounded like a great idea. I felt much more at ease asking Bianca questions than I did Gretchen, especially after what she told me last night. From what Brent started talking about, I wanted to find out what else he could tell me, too.

# Chapter 16

_(Drake Nash – Charleston, SC — Sunday Morning)_

I heard my phone ringing and groped for my nightstand, trying to make the ringing stop. We'd stayed out pretty late, and I had worked the last thirteen days in a row. Today was my only day off for a while, and I planned to spend it in bed. When I picked up my phone, I saw Brent's smiling face staring back at me from the screen on my Droid, waiting for me to answer. I wanted to push "ignore."

It might be important. I could hear the gravel in my own voice, "This better be good, Brent."

"Good Morning, Drake. Sleep well?"

"Why are you calling so early?"

"Bianca and Camille decided they wanted to make a trip out on the water today. You up for it?"

My blood froze. For a second it felt like it had turned to ice and my heart forgot how to push it through my veins. "Uh, I guess so. When?"

"Camille and I are in the car now. We can pick you up in five minutes."

"Stop for coffee. Make it ten." I pushed "end." My palms were already sweating. I said to no one but myself – _this is a seriously bad idea_.

When my dad told me that Bianca had chosen me, I didn't think I could ever ask for anything more in my life. She was smart, educated, funny, beautiful, and she came from an honorable family. She had her pick of any eligible Centaur out there and had chosen me. I didn't even know I was in the running. My best friend growing up had been in love with her since he was twelve, so in love that he took risks, chances he wasn't supposed to take. None of our kind is allowed to date before betrothal, but he said he didn't care. It was Bianca or no one for him. When she chose me, I didn't know what to say to him. He called as soon as he heard, to tell me congratulations and wish me the best – but that was the last time I talked to him. He hadn't called in over a month, and I assumed our friendship was now officially over.

Bianca was the real deal. I could get a new best friend if it meant that my bloodline was secure. My parents were so proud you'd have thought I single-handedly brought peace to the Middle East. Last night was one of the first times Bianca and I had been together since her parents made the announcement. When I picked her up for Bruce and Hannah's wedding, she was stunning. It was the first unsupervised conversation we'd had since the announcement was made. I had expected her father to accompany us, but her parents followed us in their car. During the car ride to the wedding, she mentioned that she wanted a longer-than-normal engagement. I was so star struck at the time, I think I would have agreed to wait until my deathbed if she had asked me to.

One year. I thought a year would be a piece of cake. When I escorted her to the wedding, I knew that the most beautiful woman at the wedding wasn't wearing white; she was holding my bicep, walking in lock step with me. We were milling around making small talk when she said, "I'm anxious to meet Camille Strayer. I hear she's new to our kind. Tonight will be her first introduction to Centaur society."

I wanted to appear interested, but I couldn't have cared less. "Who's she?"

"Apparently Will Strayer had a Centaur mistress. Camille is his daughter. I hope we get to meet her."

My interest was piqued. "A Centaur mistress? Really?"

"Everyone's talking about it. She just arrived this week and, from what I heard, knew nothing about us."

No sooner had Bianca's words escaped than I saw Will escorting Camille from the house. She looked nervous, pre-occupied, as they stood on the porch and looked out into the crowd. My eyes locked on her, her blood called to me, _screamed_ to me. She took her first step down the stairs and something in the distance caught her attention. I saw her take her second step and something wasn't right, her footing looked wrong. I knew she would tumble if no one did anything. Will wasn't paying attention. I could see Brent and Beau were much closer than I was, but neither was watching. I let Bianca's hand go and sprinted to her, stretching both my hands out to catch her before she could miss the last step. She landed squarely in my arms, and I froze.

She would have gone face first onto the ground had I not caught her in mid-air. Her body was light. I supported her with my right hand on her face and my left on her stomach. Time felt as if it had slowed down. I placed her carefully on her feet. In that single second it seemed as though we were the only two in the universe. As she stood there looking at me, I saw the most beautiful, milk-chocolate eyes staring at me. When she thanked me, it was hard to breath. I muttered something in reply, and she held her hand out to thank me. I was horrified. I knew our customs didn't allow for the two of us to touch, and in that second I knew why. Bianca had chosen me. I was betrothed, promised, and I felt an irrational desire for Camille. I couldn't explain it. I wanted to grab her in my arms and never let her go. Somehow my mind found the strength to override my heart's urges.

When I returned to Bianca, I expected her to be furious with me. Not only had I touched another woman, I had touched her in front of two hundred others. Bianca surprised me with a sweet smile and a gentle caress on my cheek. "Thanks so much for catching her. That was such a kind thing to do." I was floored — she wasn't upset in the least. Bianca caught me watching Camille several times through the ceremony. Never once did she show the slightest concern that I was so obviously captivated with the newcomer.

After the ceremony, Bianca prodded me to pay attention to a conversation between William Strayer and Kyle Richardson. The conversation had been strained initially, then Camille said something hateful to Gage's dad. Without thinking it through, I sprinted to her, gathered her in my arms, and ran as fast as my legs would take us. I stopped a mile away, set Camille on her feet, but didn't back away from her. As I stood looking in those milk-chocolate eyes, I felt my world starting to unravel. I tried to tell myself that I would have done the same thing for any woman about to be attacked by a Centaur.

Seconds later, Brent arrived and reminded me of Bianca waiting at the reception. I knew I had screwed up; there would be repercussions. I had touched a Centauride, twice, in front of my fiancé. Without another word, I ran back the way I had come, trying to think of a plausible excuse for my actions. Any other Centauride in the world would have threatened our engagement, or at the very least chastised me, but Bianca seemed both thrilled and approving of my stepping in to help Camille.

Yesterday it had been easier to hide my interest in Camille where there were so many others. But today, on the boat, with Bianca, Camille, and Brent, it would be impossible to conceal. I needed to find a reason not to go, to keep away from Camille, to keep from losing Bianca.

I heard the doorbell ring and knew I was out of time. I'd just let Brent know something had come up. I eased my front door open, fully prepared to tell Brent I couldn't go when I looked down into those same captivating, milk-chocolate eyes.

She wore a wide smile, "Hi, Drake. Brent's on the phone, so I thought I'd let you know we're here. I'm so glad you're going with us today."

My heart leapt trying to escape from my chest, and all excuses I'd found to stay at my apartment evaporated. She stood there in a swimsuit covered by a see-through wrap that left nothing to the imagination. She seemed oblivious to the way she looked, standing an arm's length away. In that moment I didn't care about my bloodline, my engagement to Bianca, my parents, or anything I valued as a Centaur – I was filled with blind lust. My arms ached to pull her to me. I froze, unwilling to say or do anything – I didn't trust myself.

Camille waved her hand in front of my face with an enormous smile. "Hello? Are you feeling okay?"

I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I was sure my heart had forgotten how to beat. When I hadn't responded quickly enough for her, she placed her palm on my cheek, and whispered, "Drake, do you need to lie down?"

Explosions went off in my head, and electric pulses raced through my body. I stepped away from her, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes patiently waiting by the door. I wasn't at all in control of my motor functions but knew I couldn't possibly trust myself to be near her.

"You know, I think you guys might need to go without me today." I could feel my face flushing bright red.

"Are you sick? Do you need to go to the doctor?"

"I'm sure it's nothing. You have fun today." I closed the door gently while she still stood there. I backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, trying to get a handle on myself. After just a few seconds, I realized I could breathe again, my pulse was slowing, and I squatted there with my back to the wall for support while my body came under control again. What in the hell just happened?

"Drake, we aren't leaving you," Brent's voice called through the closed door. "I'm giving you to the count of three, and I'm coming in."

I shook my head, knowing I could create a decent explanation for my absence to Brent. I opened the door and was fully in control. "Sorry, man, I can't go today."

"Camille said you looked sick. You don't look sick to me." Brent furrowed his brows, his instincts telling him there was more going on than what his eyes saw.

I made an effort to sound normal, "I'm fine. I just have a lot to do today."

"Hello-o-o-o, Bianca's coming. Tell me you don't want to see _her_ on a deck chair! Grab your shorts; let's go."

I should have punched him for his comment about my fiancé, but she wasn't the one my eyes were interested in seeing, and I couldn't bear for him to know that I didn't trust myself around Camille. "Yeah, I don't know how her father would feel about us out to sea without an escort."

"What are you, dense? Camille and I will be there. You have an escort. Let's go."

"I've got a ton of work to do around here today. Maybe next time."

Brent knew something was up. He turned his head to the side, considering possibilities. "Drake, is there something you aren't telling me?"

"No, I'm just not a Strayer. I can't go for a sail whenever the mood strikes me."

"Look, you know the rules as well as I do. I can't take your fiancé out on the boat without you. Camille doesn't have any friends, and Bianca was nice to her last night. Do this for me. None of us want Camille to go back to California. If she and Bianca hit it off, she'll be less likely to leave. I promise you can hang out in one of the state rooms and do whatever work you need to. Just come along."

I wasn't accustomed to deceit, but when Brent said it was possible Camille might go back to the west coast, I felt my heart lurch again. Even if she were never to be mine, I knew I would go through withdrawals with her so far away. That was all the coaxing I needed. "Give me two minutes."

Within an hour we had picked up Bianca, made it to the Yacht Club, and were out on blue water. Brent wasn't kidding; Camille and Bianca were fast friends. Although Brent and I had never been extremely tight, he was fun to be around, and it was great to hang out with another guy since I'd lost my closest friend following the news of my engagement to his covert girlfriend. The ladies were tanning on the deck while we talked about the upcoming Clemson / Game Cocks seasons.

"Hey, Drake," Bianca called, "why don't you two come and join us?"

We were on the upper deck, and I waved down my acknowledgement, then said to Brent, "I guess duty calls."

"Maybe for you." Brent said with a smirk.

"You're going down there with me."

"Who's going to drive the boat, Dumb Ass."

I looked in all directions. We were easily five miles from shore with not another boat of any kind within sight. There was no way I was going down there by myself. "Just anchor it and come on." Brent cut the engines, dropped anchor, and turned up the music as the waves rocked the boat gently in the breeze.

The four of us made small talk for about thirty minutes. Then Bianca said, "So Camille, how are you holding up? This is all new for you."

Camille answered, "I love it here. I'm a little in awe of everything. A week ago I thought I was all alone in the world. I'm still a little surprised every morning that I wake up to find out I really do have a family, I'm living on the east coast, and...the other stuff."

"The other stuff, you mean – being a magical, mythical being?" Bianca, Brent and I couldn't help but laugh, and Camille looked flustered. I felt bad for her. This was a pretty astronomical shock, but she seemed to be taking it all in stride.

"Yeah, something like that." Camille readjusted on her deck chair. When she did, she stretched her long tanned legs out, pointed her toes, and rested her head on her palms, soaking up every bit of the sun's rays. In my mind I started fantasizing all sorts of things that were grossly inappropriate, and forced myself to look adoringly at Bianca. Although Bianca was absolutely beautiful with her pale blue eyes and blonde hair — my eyes continued to wander to Camille. I was ashamed of myself. I was acting like a hormone-filled teenager – not the way an engaged Centaur should behave.

"Hey, Brent," Bianca asked, "Do you have any video games on this thing?"

"There's an Xbox Kinect in one of the staterooms."

"Oh, I love those. I need to get out of the sun for a little while. Could we go play?"

Brent looked at me as if it were my responsibility to object. I agreed. "We should all go."

"Don't be silly! You stay up here and keep Camille company. She's got the complexion of a Mayan Goddess. It's good for her to keep working on her tan – she's still got a man to find."

Brent stammered, "Bianca, I don't think it's such a great idea for us to be alone in a stateroom."

"Oh, do you have feelings for me, Brent?" she asked sarcastically.

"No! I mean...it wouldn't be appropriate. I mean, I don't think Drake would..." Brent was stammering and looked like he needed a life preserver.

Bianca's angelic voice asked, "Drake, you don't mind if Brent and I play the Xbox for a little while, do you?"

"Uh, no, that's okay with me." I should have objected. I should have insisted we all go below deck together, but I didn't.

She squealed and leapt from her deck chair, "Great! Okay, here, keep Camille company," she motioned for me to take the seat she had just vacated. Before I even had a chance to protest, she was through the cabin door with Brent reluctantly following her down the stairs.

I was so nervous I thought I was going to get sea sick. I couldn't think of anything clever to say, and I couldn't keep my eyes off of Camille. She must have sensed my vibes because she didn't seem comfortable making eye contact with me either. I knew I needed to say something before she realized how I ached for her.

"So, do you miss California?"

"I do, but not as bad as I thought I would. Gretchen and Will are pretty amazing. It's a little like every day's a vacation."

"I know it isn't any of my business, but are you a full-blooded Centaur?" I knew from what Bianca had told me that she was, but I had to keep myself distracted. It was possible for a Centaur and human to marry and have a family, but those children were shunned from our community. Will would have never had Camille at Bruce's wedding if she weren't pureblood.

"Yeah," she answered with a chuckle, "but I think I'm a defective one."

"Defective?"

"I'm told I'm supposed to be able to communicate with spirits. I can see my mom sometimes, but I can't hear her. I'm supposed to be able to see the future, but I can't even tell if that cloud over there is going to produce rain. I definitely can't read minds either. Too bad I didn't come with a receipt; Will might want to return me."

"I doubt that. I think all that just takes practice."

"I hope so."

"It's all still new. Bianca told me you only found out about everything a week ago."

"Not even a week ago. I called Will Tuesday night and was on a plane a few hours later."

Her eyes were so kind and full of life. I envied her for not having grown up like the rest of us. From the time I was a toddler, I knew what I was, knew that I had to hide my strength and speed from humans, deny who I was. I longed to touch her skin, feel the warmth of her flesh; I shook off my irrational desires and tried to stay on subject. "But you didn't know you were a Centaur?"

"Uh, no. I thought I'd found my long lost father. I wasn't expecting any of this."

"Why didn't your mom tell you, I mean, before..." I stopped in mid-sentence when I saw Camille was still sensitive about her mother's death. Her eyes clouded right there in front of me, and she pursed her lips together. I'd struck a bad chord I didn't mean to and wanted to comfort her. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm not always such a head case. I just miss her." Camille was in so much pain. I tried to reason that if I only had a single parent and lost her, then was tossed into all the complexities of our society, I didn't think I would handle it as well as she was handling it.

In a happier voice, Camille said, "Let me try to read your mind."

"Uh, no. That's okay. I keep mine blocked all the time." Panic swept me. I was able to keep my mind blocked, but I worried about my defenses if I got too close to her. I couldn't let her know how she'd affected me, or how much I wanted her.

Camille laughed, "Even better, so I can practice without worry of seeing some gross guy stuff."

I froze, "Uh, Camille, I don't think that's such a great idea." She ignored me and looked into my eyes; mine refused to look away. I blocked my thoughts with more force than I'd ever used in my life.

She looked a little frustrated with herself, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Camille confessed, "Huh, nothing. Let me try this." She swung her legs over the side of the deck chair so we were seated facing each other. Camille put her hands on either side of my temples; our lips were mere inches apart. I heard the splashing of the waves, a seagull echoing a warning overhead, and breeze whipping the flag at the ship's stern. I continued blocking my thoughts, refusing to let my wall crumble.

Camille repositioned her hands from my temples, sliding them down, cradling my face in her palms. Her gentle touch threw me off guard. In that moment I didn't care if she read every thought in my head. My mind's wall disintegrated in front of both of us. Her eyes widened when she saw a glimpse of my desire for her. I knew I could control my impulses no matter how strong they were to take her in my arms and hold her body to mine. I had just filled her mind with images of the two of us, where I wanted to be and what I wanted to be doing with her: walking in a tall meadow, the sun bearing down; on a snowcapped mountain, the only heat from our intertwined bodies; swimming in the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean near a deserted cove. I savored each of these fantasies and shamelessly shared them with her, each more erotic than the previous.

What I wasn't expecting was her reaction to what was going through my mind. I expected her to slap me, to leap away and scream, to call me hundreds of names that I deserved – I never expected that her mouth would close the gap with mine in an instant.

Her eyes closed, and I felt her soft lips press hard on to mine. My arms did the unthinkable and pulled her seated body off her deck chair and fully onto me. My veins, that last night felt like ice was coursing through them when I saw her, now had molten lava pumping through my body, and I had no recourse but to melt into her. Nothing else in the world mattered beyond the feel of her skin against me, the heat that generated between us, and her mouth on mine. We sat wrapped in each other for a short time before we both came to our senses and released.

As I felt her body go tense, I sputtered out, "I'm so sorry, Camille, I didn't mean for...I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, "I wasn't expecting...the images." I could see the turmoil on her face. "Drake," she realized she was still wrapped around me and stood up, distancing herself from me, "we can't."

With a heavy heart, threatening to slowly break in this moment, "I know." I hung my head, unable to look into her brown eyes.

"I mean, we can't let that happen again, ever."

"I know."

"You're engaged to Bianca."

"I know."

"If she ever finds out..."

I looked up, purposely not making contact with her eyes, "She won't. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Camille took the towel off of her deck chair, wrapped herself up in it and sat down. I knew I shouldn't, but I felt a longing for Camille. The towel could have been made of kryptonite, and it wouldn't have diminished my hunger. She stammered, "I should apologize to you. You told me not to try...you know...to read your mind." Her face flushed a deep crimson, and I wondered if she had been reacting to my desire or if she had a yearning of her own.

I knelt down beside her and rested my head on her knees, "I'm an idiot. I knew I shouldn't have come." She didn't make a sound, and I didn't have the courage to look at her. "I swear I didn't plan this."

I felt Camille's fingers running through my hair. Her words were quiet, "I think we should steer clear of each other."

"Yeah," I wrapped my arms around her shins, still not able to let go, "I promise, Camille, I'll never do something like that again. I'll take it to the grave."

"Is Bianca going to, you know – know?"

"Only if you think about it. Do you know how to block your thoughts?" She shook her head that she didn't. Dammit! No matter how strongly I felt for Camille -I couldn't risk my family's bloodline. Camille looked horrified; hopefully her fear of being exposed would keep us both safe. Being this close to her was wrong; I had to let her go. I forced a smile, hoping she couldn't see through it to the emptiness I felt as I moved away from her. I said, "Just don't think about the kiss. If your mind starts to wander, think about a movie or something."

"Okay — think about something else, got it. Gretchen told me only the women Centaurs could read thoughts. You can't read my mind, right?"

I couldn't help but smirk at her, "Technically, you should only be able to read the thoughts I'm not protecting. You caught me a little off guard when you touched me."

"Obviously," she answered.

I couldn't help but laugh at her. I was mortified with my actions, and I knew she shared the same guilt. I could see it. I decided to change the subject before we had any kind of relapse, "I know this is all new to you. Did you find someone you liked last night?" She gave me the strangest look, and I felt the heat rising up again within me. "I mean at Bruce's wedding, you met a bunch of Centaur men. Any of them contenders? You seemed to have hit it off with Gus."

"Ha, that's the one good thing I have to look forward to. I don't have to choose anyone for five years."

Her statement surprised me, and I looked up at her, "What do you mean?"

"It's a really long story, but I'm not going to choose anyone until I'm twenty-seven."

"Your father's okay with that?"

"Sure, why wouldn't he be?"

"I've just never heard of a Centauride waiting so long."

"Good things come to those who wait."

I nodded. I was a lucky man to be chosen by Bianca. I'd find a way to keep Camille out of my thoughts, too. I took Camille's hand, telling myself to savor the few more seconds I had with her before this fantasy was over and my reality kicked back in. "Let's go find Brent and Bianca."

As we walked toward the doorway to go to the lower deck, a large wave rocked the boat hard and Camille fell into me. Steadying her, my arms found her one more time. When I didn't let go, I thought she'd chastise me, but she pulled me into the wall just to the left of the double doors, so no one could see us through the glass. I didn't release her, I couldn't. I could feel my hands shaking. She belonged in them.

Her eyes were wide, her voice accusatory, "Never again, right?"

I couldn't deny the lust I felt for her. My hands refused to release her. My body leaned into hers as I whispered, "Not after this one." This time, it was _me_ who closed the distance between us. I knew it was wrong. I knew if we were caught, we'd be screwed, and the shame we'd bring on our families would be unbearable, but I lost myself in Camille anyway. All the things I knew I should care about didn't matter when she was in my arms. I told myself this would absolutely be the last time my arms were able to hold her, and I wanted to drink her in, to consume her, to cherish this memory for the rest of eternity. I didn't hold back. In that moment, I shared every ravenous thought of her. When my eyes opened, I looked down into hers. I could see how she felt. She was torn exactly the same way I was. Our time was over. I confessed, "We always want what is exactly out of our reach."

I let her go and walked through the double doors. I found Brent and Bianca playing Xbox just as they had intended. It was an adventure game where they were jumping, ducking, leaning and — a bi-product of all the activity – laughing. The lightheartedness in the state room was a far cry from the heartbreak up on the deck. Camille never did come in to watch the video games. I was thankful for the separation. I knew it would take some effort before I could be in the same room with her and not have an overwhelming urge to hold her.

# Chapter 17

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC — Sunday Afternoon)_

My whole day had been a nightmare. I'd never, ever, had feelings for a friend's boyfriend, let alone fiancé. I'd analyzed the whole situation at least a thousand times – I didn't know how it happened, but I vowed it would never happen again. I wanted to confess, tell her everything, beg her to forgive me, but the selfish part of me wouldn't let me tell her. I was sure the truth would land me on a plane bound for the west coast by the afternoon.

Bianca had been so good to me, my first real friend since I got here, and I'd kissed her fiancé. I was so ashamed of myself. I didn't even try to tell myself that it had anything to do with her feelings for another guy – because it didn't. I couldn't look her in the eye the rest of the day. When Drake went to join Brent and Bianca in the state room, I couldn't follow. The guilt was overwhelming. I wanted to crawl into a corner and hide. I considered taking the dingy back to shore just so I didn't have to face them, to face her. My stomach was tied up in knots, and I was miserable. I could hear my mom's words from my childhood, "Never lie, cheat, or steal, Camille – any other mistake you make can be forgiven, but lying, cheating, or stealing are actions done with malice, with forethought. You invite evil into your heart if you do any of them." Mom was a bartender and a waitress most of my life, so she always had advice for me when I needed it, and in that moment when I needed her words of wisdom, these were the ones that replayed in my head.

When the three came back up on the deck, I couldn't tell Bianca what'd happened. I knew Drake hadn't said anything because she was laughing and carrying on. It was a good thing I'd watched _Titanic_ two hundred times over the last ten years. I knew every scene, the entire dialogue for the whole movie. I played it over and over in my head, so Bianca couldn't see what I'd done.

By the time we pulled up in front of Bianca's house, I was sick of the movie and had started going over lyrics to songs in my head. As miserable as I felt, I couldn't bring myself to tell her. I'd never purposely lied to anyone in my life. I knew I'd need to tell her, but I was so distraught I couldn't tell her today. Thankfully, Brent dropped her off first. I pretended to be asleep in the car because I knew I couldn't bear to look her in the eye. I continued with song lyrics in my head until she was safely inside her house. Drake had walked her to the door. He didn't seem to be affected at all – no guilt. What a scum bag.

When he got back to the car, I "woke up" from my pretend nap, but refused to make eye contact with him or speak. The shame began to morph into anger. I felt like I was going to come apart at the seams, and he acted like nothing had happened.

Brent was oblivious to my inner turmoil when he asked Drake, "You and Bianca want to catch a movie later?"

I didn't give Drake a chance to answer, "Brent, I'd rather hang out with Gretchen and Will tonight."

Brent glanced over his shoulder. "Uh, okay. I didn't know you were awake. We can hang out with Mom and Dad today and catch a late showing tonight."

I didn't even glance at Drake in the front passenger seat, "No thanks. Too much sun."

To his credit, Drake agreed. "Yeah, I've got a pretty tough week coming up. I doubt we'll be able to do anything."

I could see Brent looking between Drake and me. He knew something was up but couldn't put his finger on it and shrugged. "Okay. Maybe next weekend?"

I cringed at the thought, but Drake again answered, "Maybe. Oh wait...I'm going to a pre-season game in Charlotte next weekend." I was thankful he seemed to want to keep just as much distance from me as I did him. Maybe he felt just as guilty as I did and was just better at hiding it.

When Brent and I walked in the door, we heard voices in the family room, but I didn't have the strength to put on a happy face. I went to my room, shut the door and crawled into bed. It was only a little after 4 p.m., but I couldn't face anyone. It was a fitful sleep; images of Drake kept seeping into my subconscious. Every time I saw those light blue eyes in my head, I startled myself awake – refusing to replay any of the images I'd seen on the yacht today. At midnight, I knew I needed to talk to someone. I picked up the phone and scrolled to Daniel.

He picked up right away, dispensing with the customary, "Hello," and said, "So, tell me about your latest adventure."

"I miss you."

"Oh come on, tired of the private jets and yachts already?"

"Shut up. What're you doing?"

"Beach day. Bonfire in Carlsbad, met a girl."

"You always meet a girl. In two days you'll figure out she's not perfect and you'll meet another girl."

"Naw, I'd give this one a week."

"Wow, she must be special. You're such a man-whore."

"Man-whore? I just love women. So really, what happened today? That mouth freshener girl, did you two do anything today?"

"Mouth freshener girl?"

"Binaca, right?"

"Her name's Bianca, you bonehead!" Daniel sucked at remembering people's names. One time he introduced one of his girlfriends to me as "Anita" when in fact her name was "Benita." She corrected him several times before she decided he wasn't worth her time. Daniel was a great guy but was never big on details.

"Oh, there's such a big difference. Did you two get together?"

"Yeah, Brent took us all out on the boat today. But, I'd much rather hear about your day."

Daniel's tone was accusatory, "What happened, Camille?"

"Nothing happened. Can't I just be homesick and want to know what's going on with you?"

"No. I know you too well. It's midnight there. You didn't call me all day: something happened. Spill it."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"I can't. I just seriously screwed something up and wanted to hear a friendly voice."

"I hate it when you hide shit. What happened, Camille?"

I took a deep breath. This was why I had called him. I needed to get it off my chest. I had to tell someone before I imploded from the guilt. Daniel was part psychic, at least that's what I'd always told him. He always knew when he wasn't getting the whole story and would drag it out of me, give me advice, and then tell me everything would be fine. "Okay, so there's this guy, who I don't like, that I kind of kissed."

"Why would you kiss a guy you don't like?"

"I don't know. Why do you wear socks to bed?"

"Because I don't like my feet to be cold when I sleep. I'll ask again: why would you kiss a guy you don't like? Do you like him, but you don't want to admit it?"

"I don't know him well enough to like him or not like him. But I know I don't like him."

"Camille, can you hear yourself?"

"Would you shut up and listen?"

"Alright, alright, so you kissed this guy, who you don't like, and it bothered you so badly that you had to call and tell me you don't like him."

"Something like that."

"If you're looking for relationship advice, I say: don't kiss him again."

"You're such a genius. Why didn't I think of that?"

"That's what I'm here for, baby. To help you weed through the complexities of your psyche. This one was a real stumper. I'll put it on your bill."

"So, he's kind of Bianca's fiancé."

"Kind of or he is?"

I took a deep breath, "He is."

"My vote hasn't changed. I still don't think you should kiss him again."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Do I tell her?"

"Hmmm, who initiated, you or him?"

"Does it matter?"

"If you initiated, then you have to decide if telling the truth is worth giving up the first friend you made out there. If he initiated it, then he's a snake. He's probably done it before, and he'll more than likely do it again – so tell her."

"I think, maybe, I initiated it. I don't know...it all happened so fast."

"Whoa, Cami, you kissed this guy knowing he was Binaca's fiancé?"

"Her name's Bianca, and I didn't mean to."

"You know, I saw that on the news last week. People walking down the street, minding their own business, and BAM their lips turn elastic and wrap themselves around a friend's man. Happens all the time. It's a side-effect from the 'Stupid Pill.' Must have refilled your prescription before you lef' town."

"You're not helping, Daniel."

"Cami, look. You feel bad for a reason. Own up to it with Bianca and it'll make you feel better."

"There's more at stake than me. If I tell her, she'll break off her engagement. Drake says it won't happen again."

"Sounds like you already made up your mind."

"I feel horrible. I needed to tell someone."

"I'm not a priest, so no absolution. I think if it were you, you'd wanna know. If it was just a kiss and nothin' more, she probably won't break it off with him. But if you don't tell her and it is something more, you take responsibility for everything that happens next."

"Nothing else is going to happen."

"Judge and jury, right?"

"What?"

"If you don't say anything, and this guy really is a slime ball, you're acting like the judge and jury by not saying anything — basically forgiving him on Bianca's behalf. You need to decide if you want to be the judge and jury or if you want to be the cop and report it for her to decide."

"And if it backfires and blows up in my face?"

"Then she wasn't that great of a friend to begin with. You can always come back to Cali."

"Thanks, Daniel. Call me and tell me about Day 2 with Miss Wonderful tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Uh...the girl you met today?"

"Oh yeah. Get some sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow. Le' me know if I need to pick you up at the airport."

# Chapter 18

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

Monday morning was bright and sunny. I had a text from Gus, the Centaur I met at Bruce's wedding, asking if we were still on for Friday night. With everything that had happened yesterday, it had slipped my mind. I needed to talk to Beau.

Since I went to bed Sunday afternoon before dinner, I was well past rested and starving. Daniel was right in a lot of ways, but since I couldn't share any of the Centaur stuff with him, at least without him thinking I was on a new designer hallucinogen, I decided I would be judge and jury. I believed Drake that our encounter was a one-time thing. We'd already agreed to give each other a lot of space. As long as we weren't anywhere near each other, it definitely wouldn't happen again. Something about his reaction yesterday told me this wasn't something he routinely did. I could keep my friendship intact with Bianca, but I'd only see her when there was no possibility of being near Drake.

I would put the incident out of my mind, lock it away, and not think of it again.

When I got down to the kitchen, I was freshly showered, had a healthy glow from the sun yesterday, and was ready for whatever the day had in store for me. Gretchen was seated at the kitchen table with a laptop open. As soon as I walked in, she stood up. "We were worried about you. Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine. I was just spent from being out in the sun all day."

"I checked on you a few times. You're a heavy sleeper."

"Not always, but like I said – yesterday wore me out."

"Fair enough. Well, it's just you and me. Everyone went back to work this morning. What do you want to do today?" She walked over to the oven and pulled out a warm plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Gretchen was a true domestic goddess.

"It's okay, Gretchen. You don't have to entertain me or anything. I can find something to do."

"With everyone else gone from the house, now might be a good time to practice some of your Centauride skills." I could sense that she was eager to help me but didn't want to be pushy.

"I'm game. How do we start?"

"Let's try communicating with your mother's spirit. Every Centauride is different. You have five senses; normally one is stronger than the others. For me, my sense of smell is far superior to hearing, sight, touch, or taste. Do you know which of your senses is the strongest?"

"No, not really."

"Have you been able to see your mother's spirit or have you heard her voice?"

"I saw her a little, but it was like watching a grainy television. I could smell her perfume a couple times, though."

"Okay, let's assume your sense of smell is your dominant sense. When you think of your mother, did she have a favorite flower, a favorite meal, a hobby of some kind that has a scent that reminds you of her?"

"All those things. Lavender was her favorite flower, Italian dishes with lots of basil and oregano, and she loved NASCAR, so — exhaust fumes."

"Exhaust fumes remind you of your mother?"

"Yeah, and burning rubber, too."

"If we need to set an old tire on fire we can, but let's try some of the more pleasant scents first."

Gretchen went to work on a lasagna dish, the whole time giving me ideas for how I could try to contact my mom. I got to thinking about the question Brent had asked me about the missing herd. Gretchen stopped in her tracks half way to the oven when she turned to me and asked, "Missing Herd? Are you thinking about the Lost Herd?"

Crap, I forgot Gretchen could read my thoughts. "Uh, yeah, what's the Lost Herd?"

Gretchen placed the pan in the oven and said, "Sit down."

I took a seat at the table but felt strange as Gretchen seemed very uncomfortable. She must have been digging in my thoughts because she uttered, "I see Brent has been doing some speculating of his own." She made a sour face, and I was worried my thoughts might have just gotten him in hot water.

"He didn't mean to. I mean...I don't want him to get in trouble."

"I'll speak with Brent later. He obviously piqued your interest. It is nothing you should speak of, to anyone. Do you understand?"

Her voice was so firm I was worried I'd just really screwed up.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Camille. But asking questions about the Lost Herd is dangerous. No one speaks of it. Many your age have never even heard of it. I'm sure Will should be telling you this – but...I'll fill you in with what I know. It isn't much. Long ago, there was a fierce Centaur warrior named Rupert, so fierce in fact that he instigated conflict with every Centaur he came in contact with. He was hard on his young; many of his sons were killed by his own hand. Other Centaur warriors tried to intervene and help his sons; each mysteriously disappeared or died very young from seemingly natural causes. There is a blood debt to be paid if any Centaur kills another outside of battle. Many speculated, but none would openly accuse Rupert of taking out his wrath on others. By all accounts, Rupert was more beast than human, and before his thirtieth birthday he had been outcast from the community. The Centaur elders banned him and his descendants from ever returning to Centurion."

"Centurion?"

"It's a city in South Africa. A large community of Centaurs live there, and the elder of each family visits Centurion each year."

"The elders? Who are they?"

"Each herd's eldest male member is an elder and is represented at Centurion."

"So who is our elder?"

"Camille, your father is going to have to answer your ancestry questions. I fear that if I share anything more I'll only put my sons at risk."

"But I don't understand. What's the Lost Herd, and how would my brothers be at risk?"

"The Lost Herd are the descendants of Rupert. Rupert was found guilty of crimes in absentia – he owed many blood debts that were never paid."

It didn't escape me that she didn't share why she thought I would be putting my brothers at risk, but rather than press her for information I knew she didn't want to share, I asked, "Brent seemed to think that I was part of that herd. Why would he think that?"

Gretchen chewed her lower lip. She was trying to answer me, without answering me. "You are unique, Camille. Full-blooded Centaurs can only be born between two married Centaurs. If your mother had been human, no one would give it a second thought: you would be a half-breed.

In our society half-breeds are slightly more desirable than humans but are still not considered Centaur. Most Centaurs forced to marry humans eventually leave our society altogether, and their children are unaware of their ancestry. You are a full-blooded Centaur, born of two Centaur parents who were not married. Until I met you, I would have thought it impossible."

"So, I'm what?"

"We don't know. News of your arrival spread more rapidly than even I anticipated. Men are very anxious to meet you, but their mothers will be cautious. I've asked a friend to look into your future. She can't see it, or when she does, the outcomes are fluid. It's as though your future is not mapped, as though the heavens forgot to write your destiny. It changes from day to day, almost as if your possibilities are endless."

"That's the way everyone's futures are. Bianca told me, free will trumps fate."

"Free will allows people to choose portions of their destiny, but yours won't solidify enough for me to counsel you on any decision. The only thing I do know is your mother has something she must talk to you about. She won't allow me or anyone else to relay the information. You have to practice communicating with her because whatever she needs to tell you – you need to know."

"Do you think she knows why I'm not like everyone else?"

"I hope so, Camille. Promise me you'll not bring up questions to others about the Lost Herd." Her request wasn't a request at all. I liked Gretchen, and I trusted her. I hated that she couldn't just come right out and answer me, but I believed her when she told me I shouldn't ask others about the Lost Herd.

"So no Centaur has ever been born if their parents weren't married?"

"No."

"Not ever?"

Gretchen looked across the table at me. She shook her head. I had come to a quick conclusion, "Maybe Will isn't my father?"

A vase full of flowers flew across the room and landed hard against the leg of the table. Gretchen and I both leaped up in our chairs, avoiding the shards of glass that sprayed in all directions. Gretchen was pissed, "How dare you!"

At first I thought she was screaming at me, as if I'd somehow hurled the vase at her. "You did this to her. You were selfish, and now you're acting like a child!" Gretchen was furious. I couldn't see my mother, but something told me she was in the kitchen. Gretchen started shaking as she fired back, "Maybe you should have asked him while you were alive! What did you expect her to think? What did you expect everyone to think?"

I didn't want to be caught in the crossfire between the two, and only hearing Gretchen's half of the conversation was more confusing than helpful. I reached down and started picking up flowers from the mangled mess on the floor. Gretchen gathered the dustpan from the pantry and squatted down to help me. She didn't seem as angry as before, and this time she addressed me, "Camille, your mother wants you to talk to your father about his bloodline."

We continued trying the remainder of the morning and all afternoon for me to contact my mother. Other than nearly taking a glass vase full of flowers to the shin, I didn't have any contact with her. I can say that the lasagna Gretchen made was absolutely wonderful, and in truth the scent was better than any I'd ever smelled in my past. We tried looking at a picture of my mom. I listened to a full play list of my mom's favorite songs. Her favorite Saturday pastime was being on the beach, so we spent time outside with some sand. None of my senses did anything but stir happy memories of my mother – none made her materialize right in front of me. By the time Will and my brothers arrived, I was exhausted. Gretchen had made a second pan of lasagna, but I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up my end of any conversation. I wanted to talk to Will, but from Gretchen's reaction, I knew I needed to talk to him privately.

I found myself back in my room desperately wanting to talk to Daniel. It was still too early for him to be off work. I picked up my phone and saw I'd missed several calls from Bianca today. The guilt I'd been able to shelve all day reemerged when I saw my phone's call log. I was still so ashamed of what happened yesterday that I couldn't bring myself to call her back. Maybe I really would lose my newest friend to my action on the boat. If I couldn't bring myself to talk to her, eventually she'd stop calling me.

I thought back to the time on the boat with Drake and what I'd told Daniel last night. I _did_ initiate the contact, but I never would have if he hadn't shoved all the images of the two of us into my head. Then it hit me – Drake's was the first mind I had read. I hated the idea of revisiting what had happened, but when I put my hands on his face, I wasn't just getting words or emotions, I got images – visions of us together. It was only a few seconds, but when I saw what was on his mind, I couldn't keep my hands to myself – as if I were being magnetically pulled to him. I knew it wasn't rational, it wasn't even something I wanted — it was just a physical reaction. Based on what happened, touch might be my strongest sense.

For thirty minutes I tried to push images of Drake from my head, and thankfully a soft knock on my door finally allowed me to do just that.

# Chapter 19

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

It was Brent's voice on the other side of the door, "You okay, Camille?"

"Come on in, I'm just getting some rest."

"You've been doing a lot of resting. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Gretchen and I were working on stuff today, and I needed a break."

"Do you want to do anything tonight?"

"Like what?"

"That sounded like a yes."

"That sounded like a 'what did you have in mind?'"

"You've been stressed since Bruce's wedding. Let's go blow off some steam."

"Doing what?"

"I'll think of something. Let's get out of here." I was thrilled to see his idea of blowing off steam and mine were one and the same. He pulled up outside Frankie's Fun Park and made a straight line to the Go Karts. This was exactly what I needed.

We took several trips around the track. A guy in a blue Go Kart with shoulder-length hair, wearing a skater t-shirt and a big grin, kept purposely rubbing the side of his Kart against mine at every opportunity. I could tell he was flirting, but it was harmless and kind of cute. Brent was on the other side of the track, but I felt his eyes watching us. A few more turns and I saw the white flag indicating our time was almost up. I took a couple sharp corners and felt my side wheels lift off the track. When I pulled into the pits, the guy from the blue Go Kart caught up to me and said, "What are you, Mario Andretti's daughter?"

"Not unless Andretti doubles as a financial manager."

"Nice moves back there." He held out his hand, "I'm Jack."

"Hi Jack, I'm Camille." Brent emerged from his car and was at my side in seconds. I could see Jack got the wrong idea and thought Brent and I were a couple. I didn't see any reason to contradict the conclusion he'd drawn. With everything else going on in my life, I wasn't looking for a boyfriend – Centaur or human.

I didn't introduce Brent, but Jack opted for a quick getaway, "It was nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you around." Jack turned around and was gone in a flash.

I pretended to be upset with Brent, "Well, that was a little rude, don't ya think?"

"Guys like that are a dime a dozen. You're a Centauride – you're out of his league."

"I don't know — he was cute." I fished in my pocket and pulled out a coin, "Here's a nickel – I'll take six."

"You drive me crazy, you know it?"

"Oh stop it. It's not like I've never been on a date before, and besides, it was just flirting."

"Camille, you can't date."

"No. I can't marry anyone. There's a big difference. I'm not in the market for a husband. I can date whoever the heck I want."

"Not a human."

"Hello, I've already dated humans. I've never dated a Centaur, but it can't be _that_ different."

"Humans? So you weren't kidding? You've dated more than one person?" Brent was not at all impressed.

"Well, not at the same time, but, yeah. Believe it or not, it's pretty common. If you wouldn't have appeared out of thin air, I might have had a date with that guy."

"Well, don't let me cramp your style. Why don't I take you over to the college? You can date the whole football team."

"Cool, do you think I could get better seats that way?" I thought we were joking around, until I noticed Brent was fully pissed off. Most people would have stopped right there, but once I knew how angry he was, I couldn't help but keep pushing his button. "Did I hear on the radio that there's a hockey team here? I bet if I were dating the whole team, I could ride the bus to the away games."

"You aren't funny!"

"Oh, come on, I'm hysterical. You should see yourself right now. It looks like that little vein on the side of your head is getting ready to rupture."

"Don't kid about stuff like that. You can't date humans."

"Brent, I'm an adult. I can date anyone I want. I just can't commit to anyone until Gage Richardson finds someone else to marry him."

"Isn't the whole purpose of dating to find a husband?"

"Uh, no. Dating is about going out and having fun with someone who likes doing the same things you do. Once you get to the point that you can't live without that person – that's when marriage discussions begin."

"You don't have to date. You've got me. We like doing the same things, and you don't have to worry about me having romantic feelings for you."

"That's not dating, that's hanging out with my brother, and no offense, but if that's what I have to look forward to for the next five years, I need to find a fast moving car and a tree. Liking someone in a romantic way isn't a bad thing."

"It is when you can't act on it."

"Wouldn't it be better to do it the normal way? Find a girl you like, regardless of who her grandparents were? Go out and have fun."

"I can't."

"You won't. Do you see her, over there, in the green capris?" There was a gorgeous brunette who was sitting at a table, reading a book and sipping on an Icee, off by herself, oblivious to the action all around her. "Go talk to her. She won't bite you. You might even find that she's fun to hang out with."

"Have you heard anything I've said?"

"Yeah, and I think it's a crock of crap. Love can't be dictated or treated like a business deal. It's in your heart. If you don't follow your heart, how are you ever going to be happy?"

"I'd be so happy to know that I was responsible for our bloodline coming to an end."

"Bruce already took one for the team. You four are free to do whatever you want."

"You're right, and I want to do things the traditional way."

"Okay, but don't look down your nose at me for not buying into the whole bloodline thing."

Brent wasn't as angry as he had been, but I guessed he knew he wasn't going to win this argument, so he stopped trying. As we were walking toward the gate, the girl in the green capris looked up from her book and smiled at Brent; he lost his stride and nearly tripped. I jabbed him in the rib with my elbow and offered to get her number for him.

His only response to me was a glare. Had it come from anyone else, it would have shrunk me two inches on the spot.

Brent didn't want to go anywhere else. We got into the car; he turned up the stereo and headed straight back to the house. I tried to read his mind, not certain that I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I kept coming up empty. I got the feeling that he was going to say something important, but we were in the driveway, and he still hadn't said a word. I wondered if I touched him, like I did Drake, maybe I could read his mind, too. I lost my nerve – I wasn't sure what he'd think of me purposely trying to read his mind. Tomorrow I'd have to ask Gretchen about etiquette when it came to listening to other's thoughts.

As he shut off the car, I broke the silence, "I asked Gretchen about the Lost Herd today."

"You what?!"

"You didn't tell me I wasn't supposed to."

Brent let out a heavy sigh, "What'd she say?"

"She told me I wasn't supposed to ask and some stuff about a Centaur named Rupert that killed his own kids."

"Rupert? She said his name was Rupert?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I need to show you something."

# Chapter 20

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

We were standing in Brent's room. His was masculine, no flowers or vases on any of the surfaces, but one thing caught my attention. He, too, had a fireplace in his room, and above the mantle hung an identical print to the one in my room: the same white mare set on rolling hills. It felt like it was significant, but this wasn't what he'd brought me in to see. A large tapestry hung on the wall with a family tree embroidered on it. The trunk of the tree showed two names, Rupert and Genève, with hundreds of branches. I noticed one near the top left bore William and Gretchen Strayer's names and each of their sons branched out from them.

"That could just be a coincidence."

"Oh yeah? Mom hides it every time we have guests at the house. It's like she doesn't want anyone to see it or something. Here look at this." Brent rolled the tapestry up. When it was rolled to the top, little ties hung down to secure it in place. It looked like an enormous scroll, and a print of a dog asleep hung on the wall underneath the tapestry.

"That doesn't prove anything."

"The Lost Herd didn't become human the way all the other Centaurs did."

"Are you nuts?"

"What's so nuts about it? It explains a lot."

"Gretchen told me Centaurs were never really part horse. They were just super fast, so people drew our ancestors as part horse."

"You believed her?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I already told you."

"Because I was born? Did it ever occur to you that maybe most Centaur men don't have affairs? The ones that do are probably smart enough to wear condoms."

We both heard footsteps outside his door and froze. It didn't seem like we were doing anything covert, but Brent got nervous and motioned for us to stay silent. We heard the footsteps walking further down the hall, and Brent pointed to the door, covertly trying to sneak out of his own room. He, more so than any other person I'd ever met, needed to find a girl – he was a borderline freak.

Monday night was a night with the whole family, even Bruce and Hannah. I was surprised to see Brent pull out board games, and everyone decided on Cranium. I'd never played, but it was fun, and we played three rounds before I started to see yawns around the table.

I'd left my phone out in Brent's car and went out to retrieve it. As I locked the door to the car, Hannah surprised me by clearing her throat; she'd been just a few feet away. "Oh, geeze, I didn't realize you were right there. How's married life treating you?"

"Good so far, two days down, another fifty or so years to go." When she smiled she had this way about her, like she carried a few rays of sunshine with her just in case she needed them.

"So where are you and Bruce living?"

"A house just a few miles down the road. You should stop by and visit tomorrow."

"Uh, okay. Sounds good."

"Camille, it's none of my business, but – I...you know... never mind."

"Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure. I keep getting strange visions about you. Be careful, okay?"

"Strange visions, like what?"

"They're different every time I try to see your future."

"Ha, that's the same thing Gretchen told me. I've always been a free spirit. Gretchen says it's like the heavens forgot to write my destiny."

Hannah gave me a nervous smile, "Yeah, I can't describe it. Maybe it's because this life is so new to you or something. I woke up this morning and had a vision of you in a garden crying. I'd never seen the garden before. It looked a little like the one at Middleton Plantation, but it wasn't one I'd ever been to before."

"Why was I crying?"

She chewed her lower lip as if deciding whether she could tell me. "I'm not sure. It seemed like someone important had died or something. Like I said, it was just a quick flash. Once I see a vision, I can usually recall it and try to make it more vivid, but...when I did that with this one, it changed. I can't describe it, but I feel like something bad might happen to you. Just be careful, okay?"

"Thanks, Hannah. Do you know who died?"

"That's the thing, I don't know. There was this big guy standing there watching you. It was just weird."

Goosebumps formed on my arm. I felt tingles all over and wanted to press her for more information. Some of the Centaur nonsense seemed like a bunch of old traditions just for the sake of having traditions, but Hannah's warning gave me pause. I wondered who it could have been who died. If it had been someone in my family, she'd be warning them, not me, right?

As I reached for the front door, my phone rang. It was Daniel. Hannah waved and went back to the house without me as I answered the phone, "Hi, Daniel."

"Hey, Hot Lips. You didn't call me for a ride from the airport. Everything must have turned out okay."

Brent stepped out on the porch where I was talking to Daniel. "I didn't talk to her today."

"Uh huh. Bad news doesn't get better with age. Stop avoiding her."

"I'm not avoiding her." Brent gave me a strange look. I wished there was an international hand signal for GO BACK INTO THE HOUSE!

"Lying to both of us isn't the best choice either."

"I'm not lying to her. I haven't talked to her!"

"Did you try calling her?"

"I haven't had a minute to myself all day. I will."

"Call her now, Cami."

"This isn't something I can say over the phone."

"Why not? You told me over the phone."

I lowered my voice, "It wasn't your fiancé." I saw Brent listening to my half of the conversation. It wouldn't take long for him to piece it together. "Look, I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Don't chicken out, Cami." I hung up before he could get anything else out. Great, if Brent puts this together, I'll never hear the end of it. I put my head down and walked straight through the door, up the stairs, and to my room, so I could avoid Brent. As I lay there looking at the ceiling, I thought about what Hannah had said. The more I thought about it, the less plausible it became. I didn't know anyone with a big garden. Even if I did, the only person I ever thought I couldn't live without was already dead. Maybe that was it. Maybe it would be like Brent told me and someone would send my mother's spirit away. Losing her for good after I was so close to having her again would destroy me.

My phone rang again. I looked at the screen and saw it was Bianca calling. I took a deep breath, ready to answer, but chickened out at the last second. I pushed ignore, then plugged it in to the charger and turned the ringer off.

"Mom, if you can hear me, I need to know what I'm doing wrong. Gretchen said you were right there the whole time today. Why can't I see you? Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me for finding Will? I need to know if this Centaur stuff is for real." I didn't move. I tried using all my senses just like Gretchen told me to, but nothing. "I need some answers. My whole life I never asked you for anything. I'm asking you for this now." My voice broke; I could barely hear my own words when I whispered, "Please just let me see you." I looked in every corner of the room and saw nothing. "Dammit, Mom. Hannah said I'm going to lose someone," I felt tears threatening to erupt. I choked them back, "If it's you, before I find you...then...it's game over. I can't lose you twice. Help me."

Absolute silence was all I heard. The scent of the fresh flowers from the dresser was all I could smell. I saw nothing. I cried myself to sleep as my mind replayed Hannah's warning. Somehow, someway, I would find a way – no matter how long it took.

I woke up Tuesday morning to sunshine peeking through my window. I took a deep breath and smelled warm cinnamon rolls: they coaxed me out of bed and to another full day of wasted trying. I may not have been able to communicate with my mom, but I found that I totally liked Gretchen. She had the patience of a saint, and every time she'd see me start to get frustrated, she'd find a way to lighten the mood.

When my brothers arrived home Tuesday night, I steered clear of Brent. I just didn't want a repeat of last night. Beau offered to take me for a walk. We were outside and several hundred feet away from the house before he said anything.

"So, I get the feeling you aren't very happy here."

"I'm fine."

"You know, I'd believe you if you had any acting ability at all. Didn't you grow up in California? Don't they teach acting classes there in school?"

I couldn't help but smile at his attempt at humor. "I'm just frustrated with myself."

"Anything I can do?"

"Yeah, tell me what I'm doing wrong. Gretchen's tried everything under the sun, and I still can't talk to my mom's spirit."

"Maybe you're trying too hard."

"Maybe I'm not really a Centauride."

Beau looked me straight in the eye. "Camille, it takes some time. You can't snap your fingers and expect twenty-two years of repressing your gifts to suddenly disappear. They won't materialize out of thin air."

"That's the thing, Beau. I don't know that I ever repressed anything. I've never had any special powers. I wouldn't care that I didn't have them if every woman around me couldn't easily do the one thing I can't."

"Awww, that's not true. There's lots of Centauride things you can't do." Beau mock punched me in the shoulder, "Even if you stay broken forever, we'll always claim you."

"If you're trying to cheer me up, newsflash: You suck at it!"

"I'm not used to these little sister pep talks. Maybe I need more practice, too." Beau took me in a tight bear hug and whispered, "Things'll work out for ya'. Hang in there. It's only been a couple days."

My left eye leaked at his encouraging words. I wiped it away hard. "Yeah, you're right. I think I'm going to turn in early, see if maybe I have better luck tomorrow."

Beau nodded, "If you ever need someone to vent to, I'm always here for you, Cami." It struck me tenderly; Beau was the first person in my family to call me "Cami." Camille always felt so formal. I'd used it more and more as I'd gotten older, but still preferred "Cami."

I found myself staring at my ceiling for the third night in a row. Both Daniel and Bianca had called today, but I didn't call either of them back. I couldn't call Bianca because I still didn't have a clue about how to tell her or even if I should tell her about what happened on the boat. I couldn't call Daniel because he would be furious with me for not calling Bianca. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

# Chapter 21

_(Bianca – Charleston, SC — Wednesday morning)_

My plan had worked, better than I could have ever hoped. Although I had chosen Drake, I knew fate had chosen another for him. Grace told me of their intertwined futures. She cautioned me not to interfere, to let them find each other. I just needed to make sure Camille and Drake were given enough opportunities alone together to realize the same destiny. I genuinely liked Camille, and my words to her the night of Bruce and Hannah's wedding were absolutely true. No matter what choices she or I made in life, we would remain best friends. If I could just get her to meet with me, I could do a little more nudging in Drake's direction. I looked at my phone. I was getting close to being a stalker. I'd left her seven voice messages and not one was returned.

I made up my mind that if she wouldn't pick up the phone today, I'd go see her. I hated pretending that I didn't know they were destined for one another. When I was forced to make my decision and I couldn't have the man I loved, I did the next best thing. I chose his closest friend, knowing if anyone were to back out on a wedding, Drake would be the most likely. Truthfully, I was a little surprised that he accepted my parents' offer to begin with. It was sheer luck that Camille appeared out of thin air, and more fortunate still when Grace called me in a panic Saturday morning to tell me not to let Camille and Drake meet at the wedding. In Grace's words, "If the two touch, their fates will be sealed. The two are destined for each other." Little did Grace know that I had no desire to settle down with Drake and only too happily would arrange for the two of them to meet.

Drake was handsome and everything, but I really only chose him because of his friendship with the love of my life. I didn't know Camille that well, but Grace was adamant that the two of us would become the closest of friends. Saturday night, I'd shared with Camille that Drake hadn't been my first choice. After I'd told her, I began to wonder if I may have shared too much – she was the only person in the world that I had shared the truth with.

Even without Camille in the picture, I knew I could string Drake along for years if I had to, to come up with a way to make the destiny that I wanted work. Drake would never pressure me, nor would he feel it necessary to begin our relationship before our marriage.

The ache I felt for Gage was too much. I couldn't put it off any longer. I needed to hear his voice. I hadn't heard it in a month. He answered my call in a gruff voice, "You shouldn't be calling me, Bianca."

"Hello, Sweetheart, do you miss me?"

"Don't call me Sweetheart. You're engaged, Bianca, remember? Why are you calling me, anyway?"

"It's just one old friend calling another."

"It's cheating, that's what it is. I'm not having any part of it."

"I just wanted to hear your voice. It seems like forever."

There was a really long pause, then he finally whispered, "Why?" I could hear it in his voice; his feelings for me were as strong as ever.

"Why, what?"

"Don't play dumb. Why Drake? He was my best friend. You couldn't have picked some schmuck? You had to choose Drake?"

"I had to choose, and I'd been forbidden from you. I didn't want someone who I could ever have feelings for. We're going to work this out, I promise. It's still you."

"I can't do that to him, Bianca." His words stung. The month since news spread of my engagement to Drake had to have been hard on him, but no harder than it had been on me.

I tried to reassure him, "It'll work out, I promise."

His words were clear, concise, and full of pain, "You can't call me anymore, Bianca. It's over. We're over."

"It's not over. I won't let it be over."

"You've already chosen. If you reject him now, his bloodline's finished. No one will ever have him and you'll owe him a blood debt. You can't do that to him, Bianca. This thing between you and me — we're done."

"Let me worry about that. Just don't go strutting around where another Centauride can see you. If another chose you, my heart would break."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. It's always been you, Bianca. My whole life, all I ever wanted was you." He hung up. It felt like he had reached into my chest, pulled out my heart and squeezed it like Play Doh. He was right. I should never have chosen Drake. I should have stood my ground against my mother's wishes, but it was too late to undo what I'd already done.

I wanted to buy time, figure out a way to be with Gage. I had refused to consider what would happen to Drake once I announced I'd changed my mind. I knew Drake well enough to know that if I backed out, he wouldn't demand a blood debt because of his friendship with my real first choice. But if I could just get Camille to convince Drake to break our engagement, everything would work out perfectly. My mother would give me her blessing no matter whom I chose, to avoid the embarrassment of a jilted daughter.

My next call was to Camille. Thankfully, she picked up right away, "Hello?"

"Hi Cami, what're we doing today?"

"Bianca?"

"Well, duh. How many other people call you for a girl's day out?"

"Yeah, I'm not really up for anything today. Maybe tomorrow?" Her voice was strained with distress.

"How about I come over to your house and help you practice?"

"No! I mean...I've been working with Gretchen, and I'm a little spent."

I smiled to myself. Camille was too much of a rookie to know I could tap into her thoughts when she wasn't blocking. I cringed when I thought that Gretchen might know what had happened Sunday between Camille and Drake on the boat. I'd been thrilled that things went as well as they did on the deck between the two of them, but I should have warned her about "broadcasting" her thoughts.

She and Drake just needed a little more prodding. "Oh, come on. If you don't practice, you'll never be proficient. I'll be over in an hour." I hung up the phone before she had a chance to argue.

* * *

*****

When Camille ushered me into her family room, I could see she was a nervous wreck. She avoided my eyes like a guilty child. I pretended not to know why. "Camille, I get the sense that you're upset about something. Are you okay?"

"Call me Cami. All my friends do. I'm fine, just worn out from working with Gretchen this morning." She was lying to me. I wasn't offended because I knew why – she was so worried I'd find out she had feelings for Drake. I was nearly bursting to tell her that nothing could make me happier. I knew I couldn't share with her what Grace had told me, but I could let her in on my plan.

"Can I share something with you, Cami?"

Still disturbed, she answered, "Uh...sure."

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Sure. Cross my heart." Cami made an invisible cross over her heart. That was cute; I hadn't seen anyone do that since I was a kid.

"You broadcast your thoughts really loudly. Has anyone taught you how to block them?"

I saw her eyes turn into saucers, "Uh...no. No one has told me how not to broadcast."

"Would it be okay if we worked on that for a few minutes?"

"Uh sure. Will you be able to read my thoughts while you're teaching me to block them?" I kept seeing images of Drake flicker in her mind only to be replaced by images from _Titanic_. She was trying hard to keep the Drake images to herself, intentionally thinking about something else. I could see the anguish on her face. I would have to let her in on my plan sooner rather than later. Her guilt over her feelings for Drake was tearing her up, and if she didn't get this under control, she'd kill my whole plan in the process.

"Imagine a brick wall. Can you see it?" Cami closed her eyes, and I saw it through her mind. "Good, do you see all the different colored bricks you used, the thick mortar closing in all the gaps between the bricks?" She nodded again that she could see this image. "Perfect, now keep that image of the brick wall in front of your thoughts." I waited a minute or so and saw the fortress Cami had built in her mind, thick and tall, keeping her thoughts carefully stored behind it. "Okay, Brent told me about your new Beamer. Imagine that sedan, what it looks like, how the leather feels, the new car scent, but keep all of it behind the wall." It was working. I couldn't see anything but her wall.

We tried several other things: mashed potatoes and gravy with a thick cut of beef, the sun on her face as she lay out by the ocean. Each of these images, I knew, was dear to her, and she was able to keep each of them from me. I hated to do it to her, but I needed to be sure she could keep her defenses up. "Now think of sitting on the deck of the yacht Sunday with Drake." Her brick wall crumbled, and I saw the image she'd been trying to hide from me. I pretended not to know it was there and instructed, "Rebuild the wall, Cami. You can do it. Envision the bricks, all the different colors, its height, its depth, the mortar. Can you see it again?"

I could see her brick wall a second time, but it wasn't as sturdy as it had been a few minutes ago. I could feel Gretchen in the house. I knew she wasn't paying attention to what we were doing, but I also knew her curiosity would get the better of her soon, so we needed to practice elsewhere. "Come on, let's try this outside for a while." Cami was horrified. She was pretty sure I'd seen the image in her mind and was worried what I would do. I could feel her fear, not the fear of physical harm but of losing her only friend. I tried to reassure her, "It's okay, Cami. Remember when I told you there is no decision either of us will make that will ever come between us? I meant it. Let's go."

Reluctantly, Cami stepped out into the sunshine. We walked to the far corner of the property where a lonely wooden gazebo stood off by itself. It was flanked by wildflowers that seemed to grow in every direction, inviting us to share their breeze. The setting was a perfect place to continue practicing her brick wall. After an hour she was nearly exhausted, but she was able to maintain it no matter what I said to her.

I leaned against the wall, not sure how to begin. "You know how I said telling someone too much of their future had a way of interfering with fate?"

"Sure."

"I know how you feel about Drake." Camille wouldn't look at me, so I kept talking. "Cami, I'm not mad. Drake's a great guy. I think I know how both of us can get exactly what we want." She eyed me cautiously, and if the tables were turned, I would probably have the same skepticism. "If you can get Drake to break our engagement, my mother would be mortified — so mortified that she would let me choose the man I have wanted all along."

"Drake wouldn't do that to you. He promised me, never again, Bianca. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to kiss him. I would take it back if I could."

"You aren't listening to me, Cami. If you can convince him to break the engagement, you can choose him."

"I can't."

"You could try."

"No, you don't understand. I can't choose anyone for five years."

"What are you talking about? You can choose anyone you want, whenever you want – that's every Centauride's prerogative."

"Not after the night of Bruce and Hannah's wedding. I owe a blood debt to Kyle Richardson. He isn't going to force me to marry his son, at least not right away, but if his son hasn't been chosen by a Centauride by his twenty-ninth birthday, I have to choose him."

"Gage Richardson? You're Gage Richardson's backup?"

"Yeah, I never thought of myself as a 'Plan B,' but I guess that's fair. So my convincing Drake to break the engagement with you wouldn't guarantee that I could choose him. Besides I hardly know him, so even if I could — I don't know that I would. I don't even like him."

"You don't like Drake?"

"No!" I couldn't tell if she said it more to convince herself or me. "Bianca, I swear, I don't know how it happened on Sunday. I... it wasn't something... he just..." She couldn't finish her thought, and I couldn't finish it for her.

I didn't want to put her on the defense, so I asked gently, "What don't you like about Drake?"

"I hardly know him. He's _your_ fiancé."

I realized I rolled my eyes at her, but I couldn't help it. "Cami, I told you Saturday, I only chose Drake because I couldn't choose the Centaur I wanted."

Cami told me in a not so empathetic way, "Then you must not have loved him, either. If you did, nothing would have stopped you."

"You have no idea how much pressure was put on me. I had to make a decision, and I know I made the wrong one. Drake's handsome, he's strong, he's honest, and if you give him a chance, you might decide that you do like him."

"Yeah, right. I want a guy who goes around putting the moves on other women? No, thanks. If I wanted someone like that, I'd still be dating my last boyfriend. If you don't want to marry him, call it off – but leave me out of it."

This was the point when I wanted to strangle Cami. "Right, I know you still have this idea that you're human and can go roll in the hay with any guy who catches your fancy, but that isn't your reality anymore. I can't just break the engagement with him, either."

Cami stood up straighter, looked me square in the eye and blasted, "I don't care who my parents are or what the traditions are. Other than potentially getting stuck with Gage Richardson, I'll see who I want, when I want, and nobody is going to force me to be or not to be with anyone."

I tried to diffuse her frustration, "Cami, I'm not forcing Drake on you. I'm asking you to give him a chance."

Her stance softened a little, "What's the point? Even if I did like him, or better yet, even if I fell madly in love with him – then what? I think the whole idea of choosing is stupid, but I couldn't choose him even if I wanted to. Remember, Gage Richardson?"

"Gage is who I chose, but my mother wouldn't give me her blessing. Do you see how perfect this is? If you can get Drake to break the engagement, I can choose Gage, I'll get my mom's blessing, and you would be free to choose Drake."

"Have you listened to anything I said? I'm not choosing anyone. If he breaks his engagement with you and I don't choose him, then his bloodline is lost. That's not going to be on me. I'm not signing on for any of this."

I wanted to smack her at that moment. I wanted to tell her I knew she was destined for him, that Grace could see the future and had seen the two of them together, but doing so could screw up everything. "Maybe if you got to know Drake a little better? No pressure. Just give him a chance."

"Bianca, you want me to spend time with your fiancé, to see if he's the guy that I want to marry? Do you know how idiotic that sounds?"

"Don't you see? This is perfect. We couldn't have planned it better if we tried!"

"I don't think this is such a great idea. I think this whole process is stupid. Unless I'm forced to marry Gage, I may stay single my whole life. My mom did. It worked okay for her."

This was going to be harder than I thought. Now was a perfect time for a late lunch. I picked up my cell phone and called Gage back. When he answered, he didn't sound all that happy with me; he started with, "I've already told you to stop calling me."

"Oh, stop it. A friend and I are going to go to Andolini's for pizza. We're leaving now."

"I hope you two have fun."

"I know Andolini's is your favorite."

"So."

Cami eyed me suspiciously; she could only hear my half of the conversation. I turned to make my conversation as private as possible, "I miss you. You don't have to talk to us. I just want to see you. Please?" I heard his sigh, "Gage, it's just pizza."

"All right, but this is it. This is the last time, Bianca."

Cami was watching me when I hung up. I smiled and dialed Drake. He worked crazy hours and told me he usually threw himself into his work and would forget to stop to eat lunch. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"Uh, no, not yet."

"Do you want to meet for lunch at Andolini's?"

"Do we have an escort?"

"All taken care of. Can you meet us there in thirty minutes?"

"Sure, okay."

When I hung up, Cami's tone was accusatory, "What're you up to?"

"There is no better way to get to know someone than to have pizza with them. Let's go. We need to get there before either one of them does."

"You just invited your fiancé and your boyfriend to lunch with us? Aren't you the least bit worried?"

"You just said you needed to get to know Drake better. I'm making that happen."

"No, I didn't. I said this whole thing is dumb."

"Cami, I know you have feelings for him. Don't you want to find out what those feelings are?"

"He's your fiancé!"

"Not if you can convince him to dump me. Let's go." The car ride over was hard. While Cami drove, I tried to tell her Drake was exactly the right guy for her. She just kept telling me that she wasn't husband hunting or something like that. I still felt if I could just get the two of them to know each other a little better – convincing them would be easy.

# Chapter 22

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC — Wednesday noon)_

We found a table in the furthest corner of the place. Music was going, the place was full, and the aroma of marinara, basil and bread baking filled the air. I felt utterly terrified. Still new to the Centaur world, I asked Bianca, "Are you sure it's okay for us to meet Gage and Drake?"

"We just can't go anywhere alone with a guy. Look around you: there are at least a hundred people here." Bianca ordered the pizza at the counter, then came back to take a seat.

Drake was the first to arrive. His jeans were covered in a white powder. Drake had told Will that his dad's construction business was going well; maybe he worked with his father, too. His bright blue eyes were wide when he realized I was their escort. I did my best not to make eye contact with him, but my eyes refused to cooperate, and I stole more glances than I'd like to admit as he approached our table.

Bianca, still maintaining the façade that she was here to spend time with her fiancé, welcomed him with, "Hello, Darling, I'm so glad you could break away and meet us."

Drake mumbled something, but my heart was racing so fast I didn't hear him. This was an awful idea, one of the worst I'd ever been a part of. My stomach was slowly knotting itself. I wanted to blend into the wall, disappear into the background, or better yet — go outside and wait in the car.

Without warning, Bianca stood up and excused herself. She told us she was going to the ladies room, but I knew she wanted to leave us alone. It was strained silence initially before Drake murmured, "About Sunday, I...I...we shouldn't...you two are...I'm sorry." When he looked at me, I could see the sorrow in his eyes. I couldn't be angry with him no matter how hard I tried.

He couldn't get a coherent sentence out, and I wasn't confident I'd be able to either. Instead, I simply told him, "She knows."

Alarm spread across his face, "She knows? What's she know?"

"She knows we kissed on the yacht."

His alarm turned to panic, "What'd she say?"

"Ha! You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Drake looked toward the ladies room, willing her to emerge. "Is she going to break off the engagement?" I didn't say a word, and Drake reached across the table, putting his hand on my wrist, "Seriously, Camille, is she dumping me?"

Before I could answer, I saw a tall, slender, light complexioned man come through the front door. He had dark hair, and a nicely trimmed goatee and mustache; his eyes scanned the room looking in all directions. I couldn't be sure, but if I were a betting person, it was probably Gage. Drake saw that I was watching the door, and when he saw the man who had just arrived, he confirmed my suspicion, "I guess I got my answer: there's Gage. Dammit!...I'm screwed. I am so screwed."

I didn't see Bianca come out of the restroom, but within a few seconds she had met Gage at the door. The two stepped to the side and took a seat in a small booth on the opposite side of the room. When it was clear that Drake and I had been given some privacy, I thought it best to clue him in. "Okay, you're screwed, but so are Gage, Bianca and I."

His elbows were on the table, and his hands propped up his head as if it weighed thirty pounds. "How do you figure?"

"Bianca wants you to break your engagement off with her. She wants it to be a fairly elaborate break up, enough so her mother is embarrassed enough to overlook the fact that she dislikes Gage's grandfather. Then she thinks her mother will let her choose Gage."

"And then what? I break the engagement, and then I'm forced to marry a human. The Nash bloodline comes to an abrupt end. I'd be lucky if my parents ever speak to me again."

"Yeah, I didn't say it was a great plan."

Drake's eyes narrowed, "You're leaving something out. How are Gage, Bianca and you screwed in this scenario?"

"Bianca is in love with Gage." I watched to see if he flinched with this little news flash – he didn't, so he must have already known. "She won't break off the engagement with you because her mother doesn't approve of him. If Gage isn't chosen by a Centauride before his twenty-ninth birthday, I have to marry him as payment of my mother's blood debt to Gage's dad. So yes – if you marry Bianca, you do it knowing she's in love with another guy. If you marry her, I'll more than likely get jammed into marrying the man my best friend is in love with. Clear enough picture for you?"

"Wait, when did you agree to marry Gage?"

"Saturday night, but I don't know if there was much of a choice. I've never met Gage, but his dad said if he didn't get married by the time he was twenty-nine, I would have to marry him."

"But if Bianca marries Gage, you're in the clear. You can choose anyone you want, right?"

"Yes." I could feel my face growing warmer. I _wanted_ to shout, "But I don't want to choose anyone!" No matter how badly I wanted to shout it out, I said nothing. My "yes" hung in the air, and I saw that Drake had jumped to the same conclusion that Bianca had.

The full weight of his eyes was unleashed, and his stare stopped my breathing. I felt Drake's hand under the table as his fingertips gently wound around mine. His light touch caressing my knuckles instantly brought a flashback of Sunday afternoon in my mind. At first I thought it was me reliving those few forbidden minutes, but I realized it was his memory of it that was pushed to me through his touch.

"Drake, don't."

He whispered conspiratorially, "Tell me you haven't thought about me, and I'll stop." I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. His fingertips continued lightly caressing my knuckles. My heart was still racing; I pulled my hand away from him and put them both on top of the table.

Feigning a resolve I didn't feel, "I haven't thought of you."

"Not at all?" He didn't look wounded — more like he didn't believe me.

I straightened my back, and shook my head. "Not on purpose." Holy crap, I'm an idiot.

Drake leaned way over the table. He was only inches away from me, his voice low, "That's too bad. Every time I shut my eyes, I see you stretched out on the deck chair."

My resolve started to seep from my voice when I reminded him, "You do realize you're still engaged to Bianca, right?"

"From what you said — not for long."

"I'm not going to be a rebound. Whatever you decide is between you two. Leave me out of it."

"Rebound? I'm not in love with her, Camille."

"Then you shouldn't be marrying her."

"Not to state the obvious, but I think that plan will be off the table soon."

"Look, I don't know what happened on Sunday or why, but I'm not looking for anyone right now."

"I know what happened on Sunday. You felt the same sparks I did. You acted without thinking first – probably for the first time in your life. You've been beating yourself up about it ever since."

"You haven't?"

"Sure, until a couple minutes ago. Things happen for a reason, Camille." Drake reached across the table and took both my hands in his. His hands were calloused and weathered, strong, yet his thumbs caressed the top of my hands as light as a feather. I could feel my frozen sensibility thawing "As much as you hate that you lost control for a few amazing seconds, maybe it was supposed to happen."

We sat there watching each other. I'd noticed his eyes before; it was impossible not to: the light blue pierced me, my resolve ebbing away. I had always had a thing for guys with long hair: Drake's was short, definitely too short for my liking. I'd do nearly anything in the world for a big smile with dimples: Drake wasn't even giving me a grin. It creeped me out when men stared at me, but Drake wouldn't drop my gaze. With all this, I should have heard warning bells, an internal siren telling me to hightail it out of there, but I didn't. I knew that my face mirrored the same irrational longing that he had for me.

I remembered my conversation with Daniel from Sunday night, my confession of everything and his warning that no man only cheats once. "So what happens if you're sitting next to another woman and you get the urge to kiss her? Losing control is okay as long as it's supposed to happen?"

Drake was still holding my hands, still caressing the top of them with his thumbs. He pulled both of them across the table toward him, closed his eyes, as his soft lips grazed my knuckles. When his eyes opened, he still held my hands to his lips. I waited for him to deny it, to tell me that he'd never be unfaithful, that he was a decent guy. Instead, he pushed an image of the two of us to me without words.

We were again on the yacht, no one with us. I was wrapped in a towel staring out into the ocean. Drake came up behind me, circled his arms around me and pressed his body to mine. His lips swept my neck, our skin only separated by the towel covering me. His strong arms glistened in the sun, and I heard him whisper in my ear, "I want you, Camille." I pulled my hands away from him, and the fantasy evaporated instantly.

I tried to shoot him a fiery response, but I couldn't do it. The best I could do was, "That wasn't an answer."

"Anyone can tell you what you want to hear. I thought you'd rather see how I felt."

"It still wasn't an answer."

Drake shook his head and confessed, "You're the only person I've ever lost control with. You're the only person who I've dreamt about while I was awake. I can't get you out of my head, and if I could, I wouldn't want you out."

So he wasn't a poet, but my willpower wasn't as strong as it had been. His back was to the approaching Bianca and Gage. I knew she had let Gage in on her little plan, too — they were both all smiles. Gage, Drake, and Bianca seemed nearly giddy with the idea. I still wasn't convinced. When the two sat down to join us, I moved to the seat to the right of Drake. We ate our pizza chatting about everything but Bianca's plan.

I couldn't get the image Drake had pushed to me out of my head. It was as if it was on a continuous loop in my mind, and I had trouble keeping up with the conversation. I figured out that Drake was purposely touching his knee to mine. Every time our knees touched, the fantasy he shared with me went a little further. When the "Fantasy Drake" whispered in my ear, "You're beautiful, Camille. Tell me you want me, too," I abruptly pulled my knee away from him. The three talked about football, the beach, Bruce's wedding, and I don't know how many subjects I couldn't pay attention to. Every few minutes Drake would touch his knee to mine, and I'd be back on the yacht, alone in his arms. I figured with all the talking going on at the table, eventually someone would bring up Bianca's plan — not a word.

I felt Drake's hand under the table. He discreetly wove his fingers with mine, and just as before, lightly caressed my hand with his thumb. This time the image he pushed had changed. It was evening, the stars were out, not a single cloud blocked the night's sky. The grass was cool and wet; we lay on a blanket overlooking a pond. A single candle's light glowed beside us, a bottle of wine chilled off to our side. "Fantasy Drake" combed his fingers through my hair, his lips skimmed my neck, his breath was warm in my ear as he whispered, "Give me a chance, Camille." I let his hand go, and once again I found myself back to reality, seated at Andolini's with Bianca, Gage and Drake. I was embarrassed, wondering if the other two could see what he'd been doing, but they were still chatting about nothing I was interested in. My eyes met Drake's in disbelief. He returned a shy grin before turning his attention back to Gage, who was still talking about a baseball game.

As the waitress cleared the table, Drake leaned over and quietly whispered directly into my ear, "Can you meet me tonight?"

I caught myself starting to feel the same excitement that it looked like the others were feeling. I should have said no. I should have told him I needed to think about it, but the desire I felt for him wouldn't let me. "Where?"

"The pond, just to the south of your parent's estate. Meet me at ten."

I nodded my silent consent, wondering if his image had been pushed to me to ensure I'd say yes. Despite the logical part of my brain screaming that I needed to get to know him better, the illogical, hormone-infested part began pumping adrenaline steadily through my body. I needed the gentle kick under the table from Bianca to remind me to block my thoughts! When lunch was over, it was clear that Bianca and Gage were ready to rekindle the romance that neither wanted to give up on a month ago. I was sure public displays while dating were way over the line, but Bianca left with Gage, and Drake followed me to my car.

I sat in my car's driver's seat. Drake stood outside my door and motioned for me to roll the window down. As the window rolled into the door, I saw Drake look from left to right through the parking lot. He was satisfied that no eyes were watching, at least none he was concerned with. He reached his left hand through the window and gently pulled my face toward his. I thought his lips would seek mine out, but instead he moved his lips to my ear. In a heavy whisper, "Don't be late tonight. If I don't see you soon, I may combust." His lips kissed my ear lobe gently before he pulled away. Tingles ripped through my whole body as I watched him walk to his car.

I hated it when my girlfriends got overly infatuated with guys they hardly knew. I didn't believe in, nor was I ever someone who wanted to hear about love-at-first-sight: the whole idea was a crock of crap. There was something different about Drake, seriously different from anyone I'd dated, or for that matter – ever met before. The way he could push a fantasy to my consciousness and it be so vivid made my toes curl. I couldn't imagine what would happen with the two of us alone, experimenting with this particular skill. I shook my head at myself as I looked in the rear view mirror; I knew I couldn't wait to find out.

I was still new to the area. I was on a street that was vaguely familiar, but I wasn't a hundred percent sure I would find Will and Gretchen's house immediately. Normally Brent drove when we went anywhere. When Bianca and I left for the restaurant, she had been navigating. I felt like I was in the general vicinity of the estate, but I was equally certain I had taken the long way back. I told myself it didn't matter: the long way back would give me a chance to think through everything – in reality it just got me more excited for tonight.

# Chapter 23

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

I turned a corner and saw a classic Bentley along the side of the road. It looked like a 1970-something, beautifully polished, all black, with flared fenders. As I approached, I saw a metal jack hooked to the rear of the car, the trunk propped open, and an older woman waving for help. The woman was standing behind the car, her hair white and flowing with what little breeze the day offered. I slowed down and saw the sweat drenching her long floral print dress. This wasn't a well-traveled road; if I didn't help her, she'd have a heat stroke soon.

I pulled up behind her car, leaving a couple of car lengths between us. Her relief spread wide on her face as she started walking toward me. "Car trouble?" I called through the window.

She gave me an exhausted smile, "My tire is flat." I reached in my purse to fish out my cell phone when I realized I hadn't brought it with me. It was still at the house. It felt like an oven outside, so I considered driving her to Will and Gretchen's house so she could call someone to change her tire. Just as I was about to offer, it hit me – I'd only seen Centaurs at their house. What would they think of me coming back with a sweaty old woman?

Helping the lady would help me get my mind off my meeting with Drake tonight. I knew how to change a tire, and I didn't want for this lady to be in the heat any longer than necessary. It had been months since I'd done something kind for a stranger. The last time I'd helped pay for someone's groceries when they were short at the cash register.

I walked past the old woman to the passenger side of the vehicle. As I looked at her tires, both were fully inflated. I started to walk toward the other side of the car when a man who had been crouching low to the ground leaped at me from near the front fender and put a white cloth over my nose and mouth. Before my mind registered what was happening, everything around me went dark.

I came to and knew I was in the car's trunk. I silently swore at myself for stopping to help. I knew better. When I didn't have my phone with me, I should have offered to go to my house and call someone for her. What the hell was I thinking? Newer cars had glow-in-the-dark trunk releases installed; that hadn't been a consideration thirty years ago when this one was new. I could hear the rhythm of the road: thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. It felt like I would suffocate. Sweat dripped off me; the air was hot and heavy. My head throbbed. I felt all around it to see if he'd given me a concussion after he knocked me out. Satisfied that I didn't have a head injury and the splitting headache had to be a hangover from whatever substance was on the cloth he put on my face, I started kicking at the back seat to try to get air. It was futile. I couldn't make the seat cave in, and if the driver heard me, he ignored my pleas for help.

After I don't know how many kicks, I remembered a television show where someone was locked in the trunk, and they'd messed with the wires and somehow shut off the car. I started pawing in the darkness looking for wires, a fuse panel, anything. I turned my body over to the other corner, still nearly suffocating from the heat and did the same panic search for something that would stop the car. My search was fruitless, and I felt myself losing consciousness. My last words were, "Mom, help me." The darkness swallowed me a second time, and I believed the trunk had run out of air. I told myself I'd see her soon.

I awoke again, still in the darkness. The car was driving slower; I could hear gravel under the tires. I assumed we were nearly to our destination, and I searched for a tire iron or anything I could use as a weapon. The car's trunk was empty except for me. I cursed myself again for stopping to help the stranger. I'd seen enough television shows to know abductions rarely turn out well if the victim isn't found in the first twelve hours. I didn't know how long I'd been in the trunk but vowed silently not to be a victim. I wouldn't go down without a fight. It didn't matter that I was a giant sweat ball who desperately needed air – I'd be ready to spring as soon as the car stopped and the trunk opened.

I felt my mind clouding again. I tried counting silently in my head – anything to keep my mind occupied so I wouldn't lose consciousness again. I got to 326 when the car came to an abrupt stop. I slammed up against the car's wheel well but refused to release a whimper. I heard the car shut off, two doors open and close, then footsteps walking away on the gravel. They were leaving me in the trunk! I knew I couldn't hang on much longer. I started screaming with what was left of my energy, hoping a passerby might hear me. "HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!! HELP!! LET ME OUT!! HELP ME!!" More silence was all that answered. I continued screaming for help until my voice refused and my body went limp.

I felt air on my face and looked up into the darkening sky. The same man who had ambushed me stood looking down at me. I couldn't focus on his face; my body was too busy sucking in the fresh air. He held out his hand to me; I refused to take it. I lay there in the trunk, immobile from fear, unwilling to move. When I didn't accept his hand to climb out, his gruff voice said, "You don't want out? Fine, sleep in there tonight!" He reached for the trunk's lid and every muscle in my body flexed; my arms and legs flailed trying to get out before the coffin closed on me.

My reaction pleased him; an evil grin emerged on his face as he held out his hand to me a second time. I looked at his hand but instead wrapped both of mine around the lip of the trunk while I swung my leg out onto the ground.

I stood propped up against the car, taking in my surroundings. It was a fortress that stood in stark contrast to the environment around it. It was in a swamp – literally: tall grass, Cypress trees with their knees protruding from the water, and Spanish Moss everywhere. It was dusk, and the life all around us seemed to be waking up. Even in the diminishing light I could see bright blossoms from nearly every plant that lined the flowerbeds around the house. It looked like a welcoming plantation house, a large two story front porch with eight pillars across the front, and big windows to catch the marsh breezes. It looked like something from _Gone with the Wind_ , until I put my back to it and saw the swamp and foreboding trees that surrounded it. I saw a one lane bridge with enormous metal gates deterring visitors further down the lane.

I looked for a second route onto the estate, but in the diminishing light, I didn't find one. There was a beautiful garden suitable for an English castle to the rear of the house – I immediately thought of Hannah's warning to me a few nights ago. A woman's voice brought me back to the present when she said, "There's no use looking for a way out. You'll be here for a while." It was the same old woman who had flagged me down for help earlier.

I glared at her, "Who are you?"

"Zandra Chiron. I'm your grandmother."

My eyes widened. Gretchen had mentioned her in a conversation with Will. I hadn't been paying attention. "You kidnapped me?"

"Your father was being difficult. He told me you would be escorted at all times, yet my driver and I found you without an escort. No Centauride of age should be left unguarded. You're lucky we found you."

I answered her but moved my glare to her driver, "He put me in the trunk! I could have died!"

"Watch your tone, Camille. Aragon did what he thought was best."

"Putting me in the trunk and driving me... where the hell am I?!"

"I'll not warn you again. Watch your tone. You will not be the pampered princess at my estate. You are here for your protection and education. Aragon will show you to your room." Without an apology, a thoughtful word or a kindness of any measure, she turned and walked away. I could see a vague resemblance to my mother, but she was so vile to me that I didn't want to see any part of my mother in her features.

The chauffeur pointed toward the house. As we stepped into the foyer, I demanded, "Where's the phone? I need to call my father!" Aragon neither responded nor acknowledged that I'd even spoken. I hated myself for it, but I stamped my foot like a child and screeched, "Where's the phone?!"

He put a firm grip on my shoulder and physically moved me to the stairs. I didn't know where this man was from, but judging from his size, he had to be part Samoan or maybe a retired Sumo Wrestler. When I still refused to give up my ground, he picked me up like a sack of potatoes and carried me up the steps. When we reached the upstairs landing, he glared at me, as if daring me to continue to be difficult. I wasn't.

Aragon pointed to the last room on the right and followed me into it. I didn't have any luggage, so I wasn't certain what his purpose was. The room was dimly lit; the paint on the wall was old and peeling near the ceiling's edge. I spotted a long forgotten spider web on the window. It looked like no one had been in this room for a very long time. Rather than continuing to stare at Aragon, I explored the room. It was the size of a large studio apartment, with four windows that had to be at least seven feet tall spaced evenly along the east wall overlooking the front of the property. There was a sitting area with sofa and winged chairs just inside the room. A bathroom was attached to the room that was not accessible from the hallway; a closet was full of dusty clothes that looked to be long forgotten. I dug through the drawers in the closet and found an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt that seemed not to have absorbed the dust I saw everywhere else. As I stepped out of the closet, I announced, "I need a shower."

The chauffeur didn't flinch. He stood with his back to the door, a menacing look on his face but no response. As I looked in the bathroom, it, too, needed a good cleaning. Did she think I was going to be Cinderella? I dug around and found some soap and some shampoo whose contents had long since separated. "Great. Hey, Aragon, where can I get some shampoo and conditioner?"

I peeked through the doorway when I still didn't get a response from him. "Hello-o-o-o, you're going to have to talk to me eventually. Where can I find something to wash all the sweat off of me?"

Miffed at his lack of response, I walked toward him and reached around him for the door handle. A single hand shoved me backward. "What the hell? I get that you aren't talking to me, but I need something to get cleaned up with!" I started to wonder, maybe he was mute? No, he had spoken when he offered to let me spend the night in the trunk.

I heard a tap on the door. Aragon opened it, and a petite woman walked in with a serving tray piled high with sandwiches, chips, and OHMYSWEETGOODNESS — cold water! As she set the tray down on a coffee table beside the couch, she didn't make eye contact with me. I immediately reached for the water and emptied the glass in seconds. As I was pouring more water into the glass from a pitcher off the tray, a second knock at the door echoed, and Aragon let in a middle-aged man who had a basket of toiletries, a pair of satin pajamas, and a change of clothes. Both the woman with the food and the man left without saying a word or even making eye contact with me. I was grateful and thanked them both, though neither acknowledged me.

As I towel dried my hair, I sat in the bathroom, wondering: What had I done to deserve this? Just hours ago my mind raced with the possibilities of the future. I had silently hoped to slow down the "Drake Freight Train," but I had never anticipated completely derailing it. Having satisfied my physical need for water, food and hygiene, I let my mind wander back to our lunch today. I thought of the fantasies he kept sharing with me through his touch. It had been a foreign experience and one that still gave me butterflies thinking about it.

Drake would think I stood him up tonight. I still wasn't convinced that Bianca's plan had merit, and I hated the idea of being responsible for whether someone's bloodline continued — especially when I didn't know anything about him or his family. Sure he was handsome, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to him, but this whole Centaur relationship thing seemed to be for keeps. No matter how great he was, I wasn't ready to commit myself to him or anyone.

I wondered how long it was before people realized I'd been taken? I hadn't locked my car, and it had been abandoned close to Will's house. Hopefully someone was looking for me by now.

I needed to push thoughts of Drake out of my mind and focus on the problem at hand. How was I going to get out of here? Where was here?

# Chapter 24

_(Camille Benning – Florida — Thursday morning)_

The next morning, sun peeked in around the window shades. I woke up and looked at the door. Aragon still stood in the same place he had been when I fell asleep. I decided I'd try a different approach: using my brightest smile and sweetest voice, I called, "Good morning, Aragon."

Still nothing. I went to the bathroom, threw my hair in a quick braid, and changed quickly into the clothes I'd been given last night: underwear, Capri pants, a white t-shirt, and flops — all were precisely my size. As I approached the door to the hallway, Aragon opened it for me. The house looked interesting, but I needed to see how far Aragon would let me go. I was surprised when he trailed me wordlessly into the garden.

Zandra joined me shortly after I arrived. She stood a few feet away from me but addressed Aragon, "You may go find your relief. I'll expect you back promptly at 9 p.m." Aragon nodded and walked away. Zandra turned her attention toward me.

"I trust you're well rested?" Her words were friendly enough, but the tone she used was less than heartwarming.

"Uh... yes. I was just admiring your estate..." Crap, I didn't know what to call her. These were the first words spoken to me since my arrival, and they took me by surprise. "It's very...big."

She furrowed her eyebrows at me, obviously stunned with my impressive vocabulary. Her response was curt, "Right. While you're here, you will have a guard at all times. Do not speak to any of them. They're here for your safety, not your entertainment. You'll be guarded around the clock."

"Is that necessary? Am I in danger?"

"Danger? Danger from yourself. They won't let you make a stupid mistake like your mother. There's no phone, no television and no internet. No visitors will be allowed until I can trust you. Do you understand?"

I didn't answer – she must have taken my silence as consent. She started to walk away when I blurted out – "What about my father? How will he know I'm okay?"

"You are my responsibility now. He has been notified."

A little more abrasive than I meant for it to be, I told her, "I need to call a friend of mine in California. He'll be worried if he doesn't hear from me."

"Camille, you've had far too many distractions in your life. I intend to simplify it for you, teach you things your mother neglected. I do not have the patience or the desire to cater to your every whim."

She put her back to me and made a straight line for the house. When she did, Aragon's replacement arrived: another large man unwilling to make eye contact with me. The mosquitoes were the size of small birds, so I didn't stay outside long. When I got into the house, Zandra was nowhere to be seen. The guard pointed to the staircase, and he followed me to my room.

When I returned, a plate of pastries, a thermos of coffee, and a pitcher of juice were waiting for me on the coffee table in the sitting area of the bedroom. It looked like more than enough food for the two of us, and I motioned for the new guard to take a seat beside me. He wouldn't make eye contact with me. I gave a heavy sigh, "I won't be able to eat it all myself; you could at least eat with me."

I watched him closely: his eyes didn't even dart in my direction, and, if anything, his posture became more rigid as he stood against the door. He pretended not to have heard a word.

The pastries were all of my favorites: warm cinnamon rolls, donuts with colorful sprinkles on them, and onion bagels with cream cheese. It seemed odd that anyone would know that this combination would be such a welcomed surprise. After I had filled myself with breakfast, I wondered how I would occupy my time. I decided to go for another stroll outside. I reached around the new guard for the door handle, but he merely held his position in front of it.

I looked at him, frustrated, wondering how in the heck I was going to figure out how to get out of this place if I was confined to this room. "I just need some air. I want to go for a walk." He didn't budge. "Are you deaf? I said I'm going outside to get some air."

Still as a statue, he didn't so much as blink in my direction. When I didn't let go of the door handle, and yanked on it a second time, the man put one hand on my wrist and inflicted more pain than I thought possible with just his thumb and middle finger. I remembered a stupid self-defense class I had taken in middle school that had taught about pressure points on the body. This man should have been teaching _that_ class.

I can't say that he did any real damage to anything other than my ego, but if he could subdue me that quickly with two fingers, I doubted I would stand a chance trying to force myself through a door he was protecting. My earlier inspection of the windows on the wall of my room showed they'd been painted shut for decades.

I took another look around. If this was where I was staying, the dust was going to have to go. I began in the bathroom; just as I had finished the last of the scrubbing and the whole place sparkled, I heard a soft knock at the door.

The guard opened it and the same petite woman from last night stepped inside with another tray of food. I didn't need to get close to know exactly what it was: potato soup with spicy Italian sausage. It couldn't have been better timed, and it was another favorite meal. I was too pleased with the aroma for my mind to realize how impossible it was for me to again have one of my most prized meals.

During lunch, a box of cleaning supplies had been delivered to the room. The guard hadn't spoken a word all morning, so I wasn't sure how anyone would have known I was doing my Cinderella impression, but I was thankful for the items. By dinner time, my bedroom was spotless. I half expected a tray of food to be delivered again, but the knock on my door was from a man who had brought a change of clothes for me. Clothes may not have been the best description; a black evening gown with shoes that were appropriate for a movie release or a charity ball had been delivered. I showered and dressed quickly, my mind racing with the possibilities. When I emerged from the bathroom, the guard opened the door to the hallway and ushered me down to the dining room.

A meal that could have served twenty people waited for me. I took a seat in the middle of the long table and waited to see who would join me. It was a full five minutes as the food began to cool before I realized there was only one place setting and no one else was coming. The dinner was wonderful, but I could feel the first real pangs of loneliness. After I had eaten, the guard took me to a library where I was allowed to select a book to read. It was a tough decision; all the books were old, really old. Some were written in different languages; several were handwritten. I searched for a romance of some kind and finally settled on _Wives and Daughters_ written by Elizabeth Gaskell. Once I'd made my choice, I was escorted back to my room.

Aragon arrived at promptly 9 p.m., just as he had been instructed to earlier. I didn't try to speak to him, and he didn't acknowledge that he even saw me as he assumed his post inside my room, directly in front of my door. I hated his watchful eyes; I could feel them on me all night long, but he never stepped closer to me than the one step just inside my bedroom.

_Day 2_

I awoke to bright sunlight again. I ducked into the closet, turned on the light, pulled some clothes on that had been delivered the previous night, and dressed quickly. The closet was roughly nine feet by five feet; I knew this closet and my bathroom were the only places that I would have some sense of privacy. I used my time in the closet to feel around for any secret passageways. One of the baseboards was loose. It looked like something was jammed behind it into the plaster, but I didn't want to disassemble the closet my second morning here.

Zandra's home may have been a pseudo prison, but was surprisingly pleasant to explore – at least as much as I was permitted to see. The walls were adorned with equestrian paintings, statues of horses, centaurs, and ornate wooden finishing. The floors were wood accented with lush rugs in every room. As I walked outside to the gardens, I really took them in for the first time. I was not expecting the meticulously manicured plants, the stone walkways that shimmered in the sun, and the life-sized, marble Centaurs sprinkled throughout. When Zandra found me meandering through the expanse, my education began.

Zandra came up to me, patted her shirt down with her palms as if to brush away any stray pollen that may have landed on her. We were stopped in front of a statue of Zeus. I had seen images of him many times, so when she asked me, "Camille, quickly, who is this?"

I answered without hesitation, "Zeus."

"And do you recognize the woman beside him?"

I knew it was his wife, but for the life of me I couldn't remember her name. I shook my head, and she answered, "She was Hera." I hadn't studied Greek mythology, ever. I think the only reason I recognized Zeus was because of Saturday morning cartoons as a kid.

"Hera was very beautiful. Zeus was proud of her beauty and loved having a handsome wife. But occasionally someone would admire Hera too fondly, and Zeus would take out his vengeance. Have you heard the story of Ixion?"

I shook my head that I hadn't, so she continued. "Ixion was a god Zeus thought was a close friend. Zeus suspected that Ixion had romantic feelings for Hera, but he wanted to be certain of Ixion's intentions with Hera before he passed judgment on this friend. Zeus sent a cloud, Nephele, disguised as Hera to learn Ixion's trustworthiness. The cloud bore a child for Ixion, who was named Kentaros."

"A cloud, like a cloud in the sky?"

"This was Zeus. His power was limitless, so making a cloud take the form of Hera was not difficult for him. When Kentaros was born, he was shunned by the gods as well as humans and was forced to live out his days, utterly alone. Eventually, Kentaros moved to the beautiful pastures of Thessaly and bred himself with the mares that lived in the pasture. Kentaros is the father of all Centaurs."

"But, I thought that Centaurs that were half horse were all just a myth?"

"No, we are all children of Kentaros."

I knew using Will's first name diminished his position in front of Zandra, so I purposely included "Dad" in my response. "Dad told me we were descended from warriors. Gretchen said that humans described the warriors' speed as fast as horses, so they began drawing our race as both man and horse."

"Camille, you don't really believe that, do you? Where does the magic in your veins come from?"

I answered cautiously, hoping not to infuriate her and not wanting to let on that I had my doubts about magic in my blood, "From my mom and dad."

"Exactly. They were both descendents of Kentaros and his mares. Most of the herds from that original pasture are still represented, their magic unabated, their blood pulsating with that of a god."

"Our ancestors really were half horse?" The notion still sounded absurd to me, but she continued.

"My given name is Zandra Chiron. Have you heard of Chiron?"

"No."

She furrowed her brow at me. "Chiron was the noblest of Centaurs. Had there been royalty among Centaurs, he would have surely worn a crown. He was unlike many of the other Centaurs born on that pasture. Most Centaurs were fierce warriors, more prone to battle than civility. Chiron was different: he was gentle and kind. He was a musician, a physician, and even a teacher of gods. One of his prized pupils was Zeus' son, Hercules."

"So Chiron was a teacher?"

"As I said, he was a Centaur of many talents. During a class where Hercules was paying more attention to his lessons than to his weapons, he inadvertently shot Chiron with an arrow that had been dipped in the blood of the Lernaean Hydra."

"A Hydra, that's the snake that you cut off its head and two more grow in its place, right?"

"It is similar to a snake, but it was a sea creature. Its blood was poisonous and brought instant death to humans. Chiron was an immortal since Zeus himself had shared his immortal nectar with him, so the blood-tipped arrow only brought suffering and pain to Chiron."

"But you just said Chiron was a physician. If he was an immortal and a doctor, why didn't he just cure himself?"

"He tried unsuccessfully for years to cure himself. He begged the other gods to kill him to end his suffering, but none would kill him, and he couldn't be comforted."

I looked around, a little worried because Zandra seemed to take all of this as reality, and a small part of me wondered if a suffering immortal Centaur was around the corner. "So what happened?"

"Prometheus was a Titan who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to man. Fire was a substance for use by the gods and was not intended to provide warmth to the lowly humans. As punishment for giving fire to mankind, Prometheus was chained to a rock in Tartarus. Each day as the sun came up, an enormous vulture would come to the rock and gnaw his liver. Each night the liver would grow back."

"That's awful!"

"For him, immortality was a fate worse than death – an eternity of physical anguish. Hercules, despite his accidental poisoning of Chiron, was good. He watched day after day the suffering that Prometheus was subjected to and asked Zeus to release him from his punishment." She saw my interest and asked me, "Camille, have you not heard this before? Did you learn nothing in school?"

Ashamed that I'd never heard these stories, I was intrigued and hoped silently that she would continue. "I don't remember any of this."

"And your mother never shared any of these stories?"

"No, never."

She kept her contempt masked, but I could see it was there. "Zeus believed in harsh punishments but was persuaded by the young Hercules to show mercy. He agreed to let Prometheus free of his punishment if another would take his place. Hercules wanted to offer himself up in place of Prometheus, but Chiron wouldn't allow it. Chiron gave up his immortality and released Prometheus from the rock in Tartarus."

"But how was he allowed to give up his immortality in Tartarus, if Prometheus couldn't?"

"Prometheus knew he was being punished and chose to hold on to his immortality. He believed eventually he would be forgiven by Zeus and his punishment would be over."

"But Chiron took his place before Prometheus was forgiven?"

"Yes, but Chiron's liver was never eaten by the giant vulture. Zeus was so moved by Chiron's selflessness that he placed Chiron in the stars. You know him as Sagittarius."

"So you're a direct descendent of a constellation?"

"No, I am a direct descendant of Chiron who was so loved by Zeus that he was permitted an eternal place in the heavens to look down on and to guide his children. In that moment Zeus forgave Ixion for his desires for Hera and forgave Kentaros for being born. Zeus bestowed many gifts on the Centaurs. The men he allowed to keep their warrior instincts and speed. The women Centaurs, he gave the gifts of communicating with the spirits so that they could always receive guidance from Chiron, the gift of seeing the future so they might guide their husbands, and telekinesis so that no object would ever stand in their way. For all Centaurs, he gave the gift of mortality and allowed us to take human form."

"Dying was a gift?"

"Mortality is one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed. After a long and fruitful life, we are able to rest." She looked at peace as she finished her story. In a slightly more brusque tone she said, "That's enough for today. Tomorrow we'll talk about why Chiron's bow is always pointed toward Scorpius."

Zandra stood to walk away. "Wait, that's it?" She nodded, and took two steps before I yelled, "Look, I've been here for two nights. I need to call my father."

"I have no use for telephones. If you want to speak to him so badly, project your thoughts."

My teeth were clenched, "I don't know how."

Her mouth curled up in an evil twist, "Then you obviously need the education I am offering you."

Zandra walked out of the garden, leaving only my guard and me. Forgetting that he couldn't speak to me, I asked, "So have you heard all of that before?" He neither spoke nor acknowledged that I'd uttered a syllable. "I'm, Camille. What's your name?" Again, not even an acknowledgement that I'd spoken. I could feel my eyebrows furrow, "What's next on today's agenda?" I got my answer — more silence.

# Chapter 25

_(Daniel – Oceanside, CA — Thursday afternoon)_

Three days had passed since I heard from her. The call Sunday night had me concerned. It wasn't like Cami. She always put her friends before everyone else. As stoked as she was about meeting Bianca Saturday night, I couldn't imagine what would have possessed her to put the moves on Bianca's fiancé Sunday. Something wasn't right. I dialed again. "Damn voicemail," I said to no one in particular. No fricken way I'm leaving another voicemail.

Something was wrong. I could feel it. No way would she not return one of my calls in three days. I got on the internet and found William Strayer. I scratched his number on the back of a receipt and called him.

A lady answered the phone, "Hello."

"Hi, this is Daniel. I'm a friend of Cami's. Could I talk to her?"

"Uh... Camille isn't here right now. Could I take a message?"

"When will she be back?"

"She's visiting her grandmother in Florida. I'm afraid I don't know when she'll return."

"Since when does Cami have a grandmother?"

"I'll give her your message when she returns." Her voice had finality to it, but I didn't want her to hang up.

"Wait! Can you give me her grandmother's phone number?"

"She doesn't have a phone."

"She doesn't have a phone?"

"No, she lives a life of seclusion."

"Well, what's her grandmother's address?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Daniel. Daniel Gaskins. I'm a friend of Cami's from California. I just need to talk to her."

"That's out of the question." I heard her hang up. If it would have been possible to reach through the phone line and slap her, I would have. Fine, she won't give me the address over the phone; maybe she'll be more willing to give it to me while I'm standing at her door.

Six hours later I was on an eastbound plane. I shook my head at myself. This was stupid. Cami was an adult, and if she didn't want to talk to me, she didn't have to. I had been pretty hard on her, but that's how we were with each other. If she thought I'd done something stupid, she'd be the first person to tell me. If I believed she was just avoiding me, I never would have boarded the plane. Something was wrong. I could feel it. She needed me.

As I transferred planes in Atlanta, I turned on my phone to see if Cami had called me back. I was surprised to hear a voicemail from my father: "Daniel, I need you to call me as soon as you get this."

He never called to visit, usually only picking up the phone when someone died. I dialed his number while I walked to my next gate. "Hey, Dad, you wanted me to call you?"

"Daniel, where are you?"

"Why, what's wrong?"

"You aren't in Charleston, are you?"

"Uh, no. Why would I be in Charleston?" I got a strange sensation. I hadn't told anyone but the lady at the ticket counter in the airport where I was going. What the heck was going on?

"Well, where are you? I phoned your boss, and he said you took a vacation."

During the summer, I worked as a lifeguard on the beach in Carlsbad. My boss looked at me like I was crazy for wanting to take some vacation days. My job was every single guy's dream, but finding a replacement for me was a piece of cake, so he told me to have a great time. I didn't want to own up to flying to the east coast to check on Cami, "You assumed I'd take a vacation to Charleston?"

"No. No, it's not important. I just want to know where you are."

"Uh, Dad, why did you call me in the first place?

"I received a call from Camille's stepmother... it doesn't matter. So where are you?"

"Cami's stepmother called? What'd she say?" I wanted to add: How would Cami's stepmother have your name and number?

"Daniel, I've told you. Camille is off limits."

"We're just friends, Dad. I've never looked at her sideways. Something's wrong, I can feel it. She needs me."

"Leave it alone, Daniel. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

I'd made it to my gate, and the plane was already boarding. I was sure he could hear the intercom paging flights in the background. "I gotta go, Dad."

"Daniel! I don't' know where you are, but you'd better get back here now."

I hung up the phone. Maybe he'd think we got disconnected or something. How in the heck did Gretchen know I was on my way there? Better yet, how did she know how to get in touch with my dad? Something was definitely wrong, and Gretchen was trying to cover it up. I handed my boarding pass to the ticket agent and knew a team of wild horses couldn't stop me from getting on that plane.

After a short forty-five minute flight, the plane touched down just after midnight. The right thing would have been to get a hotel then give her new family a visit in the morning. But I was never known for making the best choices. I got in a rental car, plugged the address into the navigation, and decided they were going to have a visitor tonight whether they liked it or not.

My phone buzzed again; my dad was calling me. I hit "Ignore." I'd only driven fifteen minutes before the navigation told me I'd arrived at my destination. In front of me stood a very large, very secluded estate, with enormous centaur statues flanking the driveway. It looked like every light in the house was on. "Huh, that's odd." I looked at my watch: almost 1 a.m. As I pulled up the driveway, I noticed a man with his arms crossed standing just in front of the steps. It looked like he was waiting for somebody.

I stopped the car and walked up to him, stuck out my hand and flashed my friendliest southern California smile, "Hi, I'm Daniel. I'm looking for Cami."

"I know exactly who you are. Did your father not tell you to return home?"

I could feel my eyebrows raise when I answered, "He did, but I was already halfway here. Where can I find Camille?"

"You can't find her. Go back where you came from."

"Look, I don't know what your game is. She came here for a couple days. I haven't heard from her since Monday night. That was three days ago. I just want to know that she's all right, and then I'll be on my way."

"Gretchen already told you, she's staying with her grandmother in Florida."

"Fine, give me the address."

He leaned in, nose to nose. I knew he was trying to intimidate me. Truthfully, he had me by several inches and at least fifty pounds. I didn't know why he was being so hostile, "You have no business with my daughter. Return to your family before you put mine in danger."

"In danger? I just want to know that she's okay."

"You're not welcome here. Let your father explain why. On your way – now!" He flicked his hand like he was dismissing someone beneath him. I was way past pissed. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but I took a half a step in his direction, and my fist connected hard with his jaw. I'm not sure what I expected to accomplish. I hadn't punched anyone since Billie Kennedy on the playground in third grade. This didn't look like it was going to turn out any better than that time.

William Strayer looked at me. I saw his pupils change from normal to huge – it was the first time I'd felt unfettered fear in my whole life. My punching him in the face stunt didn't make him flinch but seemed to pour acid in his voice. "Out of respect for your father, and only him, I'll give you this single warning. You've been told Camille is off limits. If I see you near her again, I'll kill you myself. Stay away from Camille. Stay away from my family. Keep to your own kind."

"My own kind?"

He turned his back on me and went inside the house. I was furious. I let my emotions get the better of me when I started pounding on the door, the windows, yelling at the top of my lungs, "Cami! Cami, can you hear me?! Where are you?! I just need to know that you're okay!" I don't know how many choruses I yelled, but my throat was going raw, and I was hoping the jackass would call the cops soon.

To my surprise, a younger version of William Strayer stepped outside onto the porch. "Hey, Daniel. Let's go for a ride, okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you! I wannna' see Cami, now!"

"Hey, Slugger, she's not here. You're about a heartbeat away from being stomped to death by my dad. We don't have to go anywhere, we can just sit in your car, but you need to get off the porch before he removes you from it."

"I'm not leaving until I see her."

His voice was kind, and for some reason, I believed him when he told me, "Daniel, my name's Beau. I'm her brother and I promise you, if she were here, you could see her. C'mon, just step down and I'll tell you what I know."

We got in my rental and Beau sat down in the passenger seat. "Look, I'm not sure what's going on either. All I know, I got home from work Wednesday night, and Mom and Dad were freaked. Her grandmother took her to Florida. Her car was abandoned a few blocks from here."

"But, that doesn't make any sense."

"Not to me either. I know Mom and Dad won't talk about it with us, but they were fighting like crazy last night."

"Didn't your mom want Cami here?"

"Are you kidding me? Mom loves Camille. We all do. She was yelling at Dad, telling him he needed to go get her. Something bad was going on there."

"But he didn't go?"

"He went this morning, but her grandmother put a sp...I mean, the estate was locked down. Camille's grandmother won't let Dad set foot on the place."

"How do you know she's okay?"

"That's the thing, we don't."

"So call the cops!"

"Dad already tried that, and they threatened to put him in jail."

"So, no one can talk to Cami because there's no phone? No one can get there because the gate's locked? If she's in trouble, we have to do something."

"Dad says he's got a friend who is working to get her out, but Dad was essentially escorted to the state line earlier today and sent home."

"Give me the address. I'll go."

Beau looked down at the floor board, "Yeah, you need to talk to your dad first."

"My dad? What does he have to do with this?"

"Look, I can't go into any detail, but...there's no easy way to say this...Camille's special."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I mean, there are things her mom never told her about her family."

"Angela told Cami that she didn't have any family. I knew her mom really well. She wouldn't have lied to Cami without a reason. Sounds like Angela knew something like this could happen."

"We all want her back as badly as you do, but if you try to go there, I don't know what her grandmother would do to you or her. It'll be better for Camille if you don't try to find her. Let my parents handle it."

"What's her grandmother's name? I just need to know she's okay."

"She's Zandra Chiron. Zandra won't hurt her. I may not know much else, but I know that."

I liked Beau. Cami had told me about him, and I trusted him. It didn't mean I would follow his advice, but I believed him.

# Chapter 26

_(Camille Benning – Florida — Friday)_

I had four assigned guards who rotated their shifts. I was never left alone – even while asleep, watchful eyes were there. Each remained under strict orders not to speak with me, not to answer any questions I asked, and above all, not to let me out of their sight.

My first week was the toughest. Each time I attempted to go to an area of the house that I was forbidden from, I found myself in some sort of physical pain as a deterrent. One guard used pressure points; he was by far the most humane of the four. The other _day_ guard was quick to grab me by the nape of my neck and shove me in the direction of his choosing. Although none ever left a mark, it was clear that each one took his job very seriously and had no intention of letting me go farther than I was allowed.

That first week I fought them at every turn. I refused to dress in the elaborate outfits to go sit in a formal dining room by myself for dinner. After several days, the only conclusion I could draw was that if I didn't dress for dinner and make my way downstairs when directed – I wouldn't eat. A couple mornings I had tried to sleep late; Aragon tipped the entire mattress up so that my body spilled out onto the floor. In protest, I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and curled up on the floor. I was not willing to go to the garden for another lesson from Zandra – Aragon carried me in my pajamas to the garden and set me down on a bench.

By the afternoon of my seventh day, I knew no one was coming to rescue me — I had to plot my own escape. The frosted window in my bathroom was small, but I was sure I could squeeze through it. It had been nailed shut, but that didn't stop me. I kept a butter knife from a breakfast tray and used it to pry the nails loose. The sound of the running water masked the complaints from the nails as I pried them free. I opened the window only to see there was no ledge to step onto. The bathtub was full and I was fully clothed. I needed a rope or bed sheets or something. When I emerged from the bathroom, the guard made eye contact with me but quickly looked away. I walked over to the side of the bed and grabbed my book, "You might as well get comfortable," I motioned to the chairs, "I'll be in there a while."

A change of sheets was lying on the corner of the bed; I was able to grab one without the guard realizing. I tucked it close to me and balanced the book so it would obscure that I was carrying the sheet if the guard happened to look my way. The guard didn't flinch. Once back in the bathroom, I ripped the sheet into thirds, then knotted it every foot for added strength. I secured one end to the claw foot on the bottom of the ancient bathtub and threw the rest of it out the window.

I scraped both of my hips pulling myself through the window, but I didn't care. It was my first taste of freedom in almost a week – I could feel my heart racing. The height of the window scared the crap out of me, but the sheet allowed me to get ten feet closer to the ground. I dropped and rolled onto the lush grass. I knew I'd never make it on foot, so I crept around the house toward the garage. I sneaked around each corner, careful not to let anyone see me. I made it all the way to the garage door; when it swung open, I heard, "Out for an afternoon stroll?"

Zandra stood just inside the garage with a very large man I'd never met before. Not wasting one bit of the adrenaline coursing through my body, "You can't keep me here!" I spat out, refusing to be any more of a victim than I'd already been.

"Can't I? Camille, I am your guardian. You don't get to simply decide to leave."

"I just did."

"Ahhh, I see." She gracefully crossed her arms in front of her and quietly responded, "It would be a shame for you to leave before I believe you're ready. It might even be considered disrespectful. If I were to be disrespected by you, in this community, you can be assured a debt would be owed."

A debt? What kind of a debt would I owe her? Smearing her reputation couldn't result in a blood debt, could it? "You kidnapped me! You've kept me here against my will. I just want to go back to my family."

"I _am_ your family, you ungrateful nag. You decide: do you want one of your half brothers to pay your debt for leaving my estate without permission, for stealing one of my cars, for tarnishing my good name? I can see now you do not possess the strength your mother had. She would never have allowed another to pay her debt. I still believe that if Kyle Richardson had demanded a blood debt when he was wronged, she would have returned to pay it herself."

My stomach cinched tight. I couldn't stand the thought of Brent, Bart, Bruce, Ben or Beau being penalized for my actions. I wanted to leave this place, but not at their expense. I put my head down and took myself back to my room without another word. I hated it here, I hated this woman, but I would never fall into her trap. I'd become a model prisoner and pray for an early release.

I found myself wishing I had never called Will. I wished I had stayed hidden in California, working my job as a cashier, living in a shoebox of an apartment, free to go to the ocean or the mountains – whenever I chose. My father's home had been more like a fairy tale, something dreamt up by Disney himself: a family who loved me, an ancestry I never knew, and endless possibilities for life. Meeting Will, Gretchen, and my brothers seemed like a blessing – truly a life that I had always craved. But reality was I had known their joy for a week. I kept watch on the front gate, hoping Will would come driving through to take me back to his house. He never did. Did he even know where I was?

Shortly after my attempted escape, I found myself prying at that loose baseboard in the closet. The thing jammed into the plaster was a diary; written in flowing calligraphy across the front was the name _Angela Chiron_. The diary's cover was made of leather and was locked with a key. Sure that my mother would want me to read whatever she had written, I used a wire hanger to pry the lock open. The first entry was written in smooth flowing handwriting: I recognized it instantly as my mother's.

_Entry One Sep 21 – My engagement was just announced – Kyle Richardson. I didn't care who she chose. Living with the devil himself would be better than my mother. She's got it in her head that I won't go through with it. She has no idea how deep my hatred is for her and this prison. Father came to my room last night and gave me this diary. He said it would be better for me to write my words down than to say them to my mother. Just once, I wish he would stand up to her. Just once I'd like for him to tell her to go to hell where she belongs._

The next several entries were of little value, so I flipped a few pages and found:

_Entry Twelve Oct 2 – I met Kyle today. Truthfully, I had expected a monster. It didn't take long for him to decide mother was completely unstable. He wanted to return home to try to convince his father to speed up our wedding date. He told me if it was within his power, he'd marry me today and get me out of here. I'm sure he felt sorry for me – the wounds on my neck were scabbed and bloody again from her tirade this morning. I knew I looked a fright. Trying to cover my neck with a scarf didn't do any good as the blood seeped through the bright yellow material. He said he'd be back every day until we were married._

This entry threw me for a loop. I wondered if she was some sort of a vampire? Why would my mother's neck be scabbed and bloody? Zandra was so wrapped up in Greek Mythology but had never mentioned vampires, werewolves or any creatures from the night. My imagination began running wild.

_Entry Thirteen Oct 3 – Angelo was at it again today. He's as evil as mother. I overheard that he'd attacked a woman in town. I sat all day looking out my window, hoping the authorities would come take him away – no one ever came. Kyle stopped by again today. He's so kind. When no one was looking, he gave me some medicine for the wounds on my neck. Less than a month, and I'll be able to leave this place with him – and never look back._

The guard knocked on my closet door and about made me jump out of my skin. "Just a second, I'm getting dressed!" I answered before he could open the door and catch me with the diary. I tucked the book behind the drawers, inside the dresser, and pushed the baseboard where I'd found it, back securely against the wall.

I found a long forgotten crayon that lay dusty in a corner. On the inside of the closet, near the floor, I made a series of tick marks – one for each day I'd spent in this place. I didn't know how long I would be kept here, and knew I needed some method to keep track of the time. I didn't know why my mother ran away or why she had given up everything that was her birthright, but hopefully the diary would reveal truths to me that I couldn't find anywhere else.

I couldn't be sure, but from their strength, I believed the guards to be Centaurs. The servants didn't talk to me either; I wasn't even sure if they spoke English, but I wasn't as frightened of them, so I assumed they were human.

Each morning, no matter the weather, Zandra and I met in her gardens. She taught me about Greek Mythology with the same reverence my high school Civics teacher taught me about Democracy. The first few weeks were all her telling me stories, but eventually she waited to tell me a new story until after I had repeated the story to her from the day before. There were never conversations; she didn't spend time with me anywhere but the gardens and only for an hour each morning.

There was no telephone, no television, and no internet – there were plenty of servants, but the only person who would speak to me was Zandra. I had read enough about Stockholm's syndrome to know I would eventually feel some sort of a bond with her, just because she was the only one to show me even the smallest sliver of kindness by speaking to me. The solitude of Zandra's home was deafening. The only part of the day I looked forward to was my garden time with my captor and the few moments I could steal in my closet reading my mother's thoughts in her diary.

The lesson on my twentieth day was by far the most helpful of anything she'd taught me. While we sat in the sun, I silently wished for a notebook, doing my best to commit her words to memory. The mythology she had been teaching me was interesting, but this day's lesson was centered on Centaurs and specifically Centaurides' skills.

She began, "There were seven mares on the pasture of Thessaly when Kentaros arrived, each one part of the world's oldest breeds. The centaurs born of these mares each had very distinct markings and temperaments. Many centaurs born of Kentaros and the respective mare took on a family name closely tied to the mare's breed.

An Andalusian mare bore Centaur children, and they took the name Andalcio. Their women were able to move objects with their minds.

A Schwieken mare bore Centaur children that kept the breed's name as their family name; these Centaurides could read people's thoughts.

A white Arabian mare's descendants became Owens; they communicated with spirits.

A Barb mare took the family name Barber; her children could see the future.

A Fjord mare also kept her breed's name as the surname for her bloodline. Her daughters could communicate telepathically with others.

Centaurs born of a Tahki mare took the family name Tak. Their power was unique, the ability to plant ideas in another's consciousness. They could make others believe an incident had occurred, and were known for their deceit and ruthlessness. The Tak bloodline offended Zeus, so he eventually cast them out; Zeus barred them from ever returning to Thessaly. He also forbade all other Centaurs from fraternizing with the Taks. Their bloodline did not survive.

The Chiron family descended from a black Arabian mare, and when Zeus bestowed his gifts on all the female Centaurides in all the bloodlines, he looked most favorably on Chiron's descendants. We were given all the collective powers bestowed on each bloodline – except, of course, the Taks'."

"But I've met Centaurides who have more than one skill."

Zandra nodded and smiled. "Inbreeding would be catastrophic for our race. We would have long ago perished. A Centauride typically possesses the skills of the two dominant bloodlines that run through her body."

"So if someone is a Centaur, their last name can only be one of the six from the original herd?"

"No. Over the years, many opted to take on names other than their family names. This was done so that the family names would not become too obvious to the humans."

"How many Centaurs are there in the world?"

"Pure-blooded Centaurs? One in ten thousand, possibly more. Half-breeds that have Centaur blood but are unaware they are something more than human – five in one thousand.

I asked my next question cautiously. This had been one of the few times she openly answered my questions. "How does one Centaur know another?"

"Centaurides can feel each other in their minds: it is a familiarity with a stranger, a kinship. Centaurs sense other Centaurs through their warrior sense. I'm told it is a tingling in their chest, a silent warning, useful in battle, I assume."

"Zandra, I don't have any skills." Truthfully, I could read minds through touch, but I'd only successfully done that with one person. I could read the images from Drake's mind, but that was a far cry from simply reading another's thoughts. "What's wrong with me?" I had opened myself up and expected her to give me a kind response, encourage me in some small way.

I shouldn't have been surprised when she responded, "You were born out of wedlock. You are an amalgamation." The hatred in her words cut me deeply when she added, "You should not exist. My daughter did this to you: she allowed you into the world and she taught you nothing. Her responsibility is now shouldered by me, and _you_ are not worthy to carry my name."

I had been here for so long. I'd had almost no contact with anyone but Zandra, and this was the first time she had openly told me she was ashamed of me — that I didn't belong. I had fooled myself into believing that this elaborate kidnapping had somehow been done for my protection, that she wanted me to join the Centaur kingdom as a full-fledged Centauride – eventually she would see her daughter in me. There were no words to describe the utter despair that enveloped me. Choking back the tears, I pleaded, "Let me go home. I won't tell anyone we're related. I'll never breathe a word to anyone." I knew I was a pathetic mess as I saw her angry words grow into a look full of disdain. I pleaded, "I won't ever tell a soul. Just let me go home."

"It is too late for that. Because of the idiocy of your father, others know of you. You must learn your heritage so that you may embrace it. We must call to the magic in your blood; I can feel it in you. I can also feel your denial of who you are."

A man walked up and leaned down to kiss Zandra's cheek. I had to look at him twice; his face was masculine, but he looked eerily like my mother. He had the same brown eyes, bushier eyebrows, dark curly hair, and the same pointy nose. The biggest difference was I rarely saw my mother without a welcoming smile, and this man seemed to have a permanent scowl. "Good morning, Mother. You're looking well." I was so used to everyone on the property ignoring me, except Zandra, that I was shocked to see him make eye contact with me.

Zandra's voice softened as she answered, "Angelo, I'm so glad to see you've returned from your trip. I have a surprise for you."

He took me in with the same disgusted look Zandra had just bestowed on me, "Word reached me, Mother. I came to see for myself. Are you certain she isn't a half-breed? I wouldn't have put it past Angela." He had her eyes, their eyes – this was my Uncle Angelo. I had just read the entry about his attack on a woman in my mother's diary. His presence made me want to shrink into a corner. He looked so much like my mother in his features, but where she exuded happiness, love and joy — this man gave off hateful, menacing vibes. Even without reading her diary, instinctively I would never wish to be alone with him.

Zandra shook her head and continued talking as if I weren't there. "No, she clearly is the spawn of Angela and William Strayer."

"Where's her brother?"

"I'm sure he's tucked away somewhere. I've looked through her thoughts many times; she has no recollection of him. Shame. I've dispatched a team to tear Angela's past apart. He'll turn up."

Zandra's words still stung, and I was too frightened to ask what they were talking about. A brother? Why did they think I had a brother? This question had escaped me before I caught the thought in my head and hid it behind my mind's brick wall.

Zandra did the same thing Gretchen had done to me. I didn't have to ask the question out loud. She was only too happy to answer my thoughts. "Every Chiron Centauride who gives birth, since Kantaros walked the earth, has always given birth to a set of fraternal twins. You have a brother somewhere in the world. We need to find him."

My eyes widened, and I felt dizzy. "A brother? I don't have a brother. I mean, I've got five half brothers, William's sons." She had to be wrong. There had to be some kind of mistake.

Angelo shot me a glare. "Of course, you've got a brother. Did you not listen to your grandmother? Things haven't changed since the beginning of time. You are a worthless excuse for a Centauride, but that doesn't surprise me. Your mother was pathetic, too. The Chiron bloodline is dominate; we were favored by Zeus."

He wanted me to challenge him; I could feel it. His words were hurtful. I couldn't argue his slanderous comments about me. Even I was embarrassed that I was unable to do what every other Centauride could do without effort, but I wouldn't allow him to attack my mother, "My mother was not pathetic. She was wonderful. She worked hard her whole life, and she treated everyone with kindness and respect."

"Ha! And she's dead. Were you not listening? I am Angela's twin. I felt her leave this world. I feel her spirit lurking here now." Angelo stopped looking at me and shouted out, "Angela, keep hiding in the corners! Spend your death the same way you spent your life! Camille is part of our family. Mother will not be as soft on her as she was on you!"

One of the marble statutes began to weave. I saw it sway twice right before it toppled over. Angelo was fast and jumped free of the statue before it could fall on him. He shouted, "You've got to do better than that, Angela! I'm not surprised to see you are as weak in death as you were in life. Go to the pastures; leave Camille in our care. We'll see that she pays your debts!"

I looked in all directions. I needed her to tell me how she escaped. I needed to be away from this place. Why couldn't I see her?

Zandra answered me, "You can't see her because you choose not to see her. Imagine her disappointment in you. I can see her. I can see you fell short in her eyes, and you continue to do so by refusing to use the gifts you were born with. You need only open your mind to find your twin."

Without thinking I blurted out, "Angelo, if you had this connection with my mom, how did you never find her?"

Angelo's teeth were mashed together; his lips were thin angry lines and his eyes blazed when he answered, "She was cloaked by magic. When her spirit left her body, I felt it go. I knew she had died."

I was intrigued. Not only had my mother escaped, she was able to completely hide from everyone, even Angelo who should have had Centaur GPS connection to her. "But your twin connection did not work before her death?"

Zandra must have read my thoughts because she turned her attention to my uncle, "Come, Angelo, we have much to catch up on."

The two of them left me in the garden. My heart hurt: I felt like I didn't belong, that I was inadequate, that I would never have the life I wanted. Angelo said I'd pay for her debts. What did that mean? To think I was excited when today's lesson began, and in this moment I couldn't imagine a fate worse than the one I was living.

I thought back to times as a teenager. Mom always knew when I was up to something I shouldn't be. I remembered I'd stayed at a party all night on the beach. I'd arranged with a friend to cover for me; if my mom checked on me, I was staying at her house. When the sun rose and I knew it was time to go home, my mother's car was waiting for me in the beach's parking lot. I didn't know how long she had sat waiting for me. Most parents would have flown off the handle. She didn't. All she said was, "I'm disappointed in you, Camille." I think I would have taken any punishment in the world if it meant I wouldn't have heard those words.

Another time when I'd "borrowed" a sweater from her after she'd told me I couldn't, I sneaked into her room and jammed it deep into my book bag. I tried to get to the front door when she stopped me. She took it out of my book bag before I left for school that morning and scolded me for lying to her. All my friends noticed it, too. I was the only one who could never get away with anything. I'd never put it together before.

She really was a Centauride. I was her daughter and if what Angelo told me was true – I had a twin brother somewhere in the world that I'd never known. I thought back to Mom's treasure box in her closet, the photograph of two babies. Was Zandra right? Maybe as a Centauride and as a daughter, I was a disappointment to my mother.

Thankfully, Angelo departed the same day he came. He was like Zandra, evil to the core, with no thought for anyone but himself. I felt horrible for my circumstance. I wanted to run away. I wanted to talk to someone. I needed human contact.

I read the whole diary in short bursts; there weren't that many entries. From what I'd read, she really didn't care for Zandra and was thrilled with the idea of marrying Kyle Richardson and getting the heck away. I wish there had been something that talked about how she made her escape. A secret passageway? Maybe her father finally came through for her? But I didn't find any clues in it, other than to know Zandra had always been a vile person, and her brother Angelo was mean to her his whole life.

_Entry Eighteen Oct 15 – Kyle stopped by again today. I can't wait to get married and get away from this place. Dad refuses to stop Angelo's constant threats. I can't believe we are related, let alone twins. Angelo warned Kyle I'd run the first chance I got, and that Kyle needed to talk to mother about keeping me under control. When Kyle told Angelo that he wasn't worried, Angelo offered to show him how to slice my Achilles' tendon, to keep me from running. Kyle pretended he thought that Angelo was joking, but he stayed with me all day and offered to camp out in the backyard if I wanted him to. Two more weeks and this hell is over._

By my forty-second tick mark on my closet wall, I began to wonder if I'd ever be permitted to leave or speak to another human being. I was thankful Bianca had taught me how to protect my thoughts so the hatred I felt for Zandra was masked from her view. I did broadcast the loneliness I felt growing each day, hoping it would ebb away at Zandra's resolve to keep me a prisoner. Those lonely thoughts gave way to the longing for relationships that might never be. I felt myself thinking often of Will, Gretchen, and my brothers, how all of them had willingly accepted me into their home, their lives and their hearts. The fun-loving brothers I'd only known for a mere week had been abruptly stolen like a prized toy. The knowledge that somewhere in the world I had a brother that I'd shared my mother's womb with was crippling because I didn't know if he was dead or alive. The father who was full of love, who I'd been denied my whole life, was robbed from me. I thought of Daniel all the time. I knew he would be worried sick by now. The solitude proved unbearable, and the guards witnessed me in emotional turmoil nearly every evening, but none offered even one word of comfort. They looked on as my hopelessness threatened to envelope me.

As I stared at that forty-second tick mark, I made up my mind, no matter what Zandra chose to do to me, it couldn't be worse than the utter hopelessness of being denied human contact – or Centaur contact. When she joined me in the garden, she waited for me to repeat the lesson from yesterday — I rebelled the only way I knew how, "Zandra, when can I see Dad again?"

"Your father is very busy. He'll see you when he chooses to make time for you." She was lying. I couldn't read her mind or her thoughts, but I could feel the truth. She was keeping me from him.

"Does he know where I am?"

"Of course, he knows where you are."

"Then why hasn't he come to see me?"

"I'm afraid I don't know."

"Bullshit!" The look on her face was worth every penny in my bank account, and I would have gladly handed it over. I'd rattled her.

"I think we'll skip the lesson today. I'll see you tomorrow." She stood and walked away. I felt that initial panic that I had wasted what little human contact I was afforded by my belligerence. The panic gave way to seething anger; I made myself a silent promise that I would not relent. I watched as an alligator that had been sunning along the water's edge dove into the water – even that beast with prehistoric ancestors had more freedom than I did. I wouldn't give up, and I refused to politely sit through one more of her lessons.

I was done. Nothing in the world was worth this isolation. When I heard the door to the house close, I knew my human contact was over for the day. I was wearing blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and my favorite sneakers – perfect traveling clothes. I stood up and started walking toward the large iron gate. I could hear my guard's footsteps behind me. I had gone thirty feet when I heard his voice for the first time in six weeks, "Stop!"

I ignored him and picked up my pace.

His voice was loud and menacing, "Camille, I said _stop_!"

I didn't even glance over my shoulder. I had spoken to him on several occasions and was ignored. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead I let loose into a sprint for the gate. Two vice grips for hands grabbed my shoulders, throwing me violently to the ground when I was less than twenty feet from the gate. I hadn't expected the impact. I lay on the ground weighing my options. I could easily make it into the swamp with a hope that this man couldn't swim and the alligators I watched every day would not attack me. I sat up from the ground, brushed the gravel off of my face, and glared in his direction.

His face was angry when he demanded, "Go back to the house."

"You go back to the house. I'm going home."

"This is your home, Camille."

"No, this is her home. I'm leaving." I stood up, brushed the last of the gravel from me and looked at the gate. I could reach it and be over it in less than thirty seconds. The problem was, I knew the guard was even faster. Where's a man-eating alligator when you need one? I took a step toward the water, deciding this would be my best shot at freedom. When I did, the guard heaved his whole body at me. The weight of his frame knocked the wind out of me and covered me in gravel a second time.

The guard anticipated what I was about to do. He was done talking to me. His palm gripped my neck at the base of my skull, and he forcibly escorted me all the way to the front door.

The anger inside me welled up with such fervor that I was sure it would spill over and poison those around me. I knew I needed to hold the anger, but I also needed to get it back to a slow boil. I did what I knew would bring the anger under control, but in doing so would make my heart ache all over again.

I closed my eyes and imagined the day on the yacht with Drake: how his skin felt as I held his face in my hands. I saw the surprised look on his face when images of the two of us flooded from his mind. I remembered how overcome I was by the images, so much so that I kissed him without warning. I sat in my room for what felt like hours, reliving those precious few moments with him, trying to remember what we had said to one another.

Drake was my island oasis. I could feel the molten anger subsiding. It didn't go away – but I felt I had it under control again. Thoughts of Drake had somehow become my escape. I thought of my easy friendship with Bianca and wondered if she'd been able to convince Drake to break their engagement after I'd been taken away. I wondered what they knew of my disappearance. Did they think I'd hopped a plane to California? I tried not to think of Daniel, but knew he was probably a nervous wreck; we'd been friends since I knew what a friend was. Even when I'd gone away to summer camp, I had never gone longer than a week without talking to him.

The morning of tick mark forty-three, I again met Zandra in the garden and asked her the same question as the day before. She refused to answer and gingerly walked away for a second time. It was in that moment that I realized she was manipulating me in one of the most sadistic of manners. She withheld what little human contact was afforded to me. I was stronger than she gave me credit for, sharper still for noticing it, and then it hit me – I wasn't alone. My mother's spirit was undoubtedly here with me. I just needed to figure out how to communicate with her. By Zandra's own admission, this was a gift bestowed upon me by Zeus himself; no amount of manipulation would inhibit this gift.

# Chapter 27

_(Camille Benning – Florida — Six weeks following her abduction)_

I looked at my guard; it wasn't the same one who had tackled me yesterday. "I know you're forbidden from talking to me. I don't need you to say a word, but I do need you to help me. My guess is you don't like her any more than I do. Blink your eyes once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand?" The guard's eyes darted from left to right to ensure no prying eyes could see. He blinked once. My heart did a cartwheel in my chest.

"Does my father know where I am?" His eyes blinked once, again. "Has he tried to see me?" Again, one single blink. "Do you know how long she plans to keep me?" This time he blinked twice. "Will you help me get out of here?" He blinked twice again. What little hope I had felt when the guard blinked his answers disappeared in front of my eyes.

I heard my mother's voice for the first time since her hospital room, " _Listen to his thoughts_." I looked in all directions to see if she had miraculously appeared, but I couldn't see her. I smelled her perfume, and a warm glow overtook me — she was with me. I concentrated with everything I had on this guard standing in front of me. I looked at the lines around his eyes, the way the red vessels showed through the white, and the light caramel brown of his eyes. My concentration did not waiver. I was sure he had to feel me tugging at his thoughts. It was as if a thin membrane separated them from me.

The guard did nothing to impede me. I looked in all directions to see if Zandra was anywhere close. I visualized the membrane separating his thoughts from me, and with near surgical precision, I cut a big gaping hole in it. I saw the guard's knees weaken for a moment; he recovered quickly and looked away. I asked him my question with my thoughts, " _Can you hear me?_ "

No reaction. " _Can you hear me in your head?_ " Again, nothing. He had to have known I was there, but he couldn't hear my thoughts, so I whispered, "What's your name?"

His answer came to me loudly, through his thoughts, " _I am_ Phineas."

"Phineas, I can hear you." His eyes glistened and a smirk appeared on his face. I was thrilled to have someone who would talk to me. I talked aloud and he through his thoughts. He must have been suspicious that Zandra was closer than either he or I could see because he instructed, " _Keep your voice low. I am a close friend to your father. I told him of your tantrum yesterday. He was pleased."_

"I wouldn't call it a tantrum, more of an assertion of independence."

" _Call it what you want, she was furious when Aragon told her you tried to escape. Have you seen your future?_ "

"Uh, no. How do I do that?"

" _I don't know how, but all Chiron Centauride's can see the future; very few can see their own. Zandra saw your future and locked you away to keep it from happening. Gretchen is not as powerful as Zandra but believes you are at a crossroads. You are capable of several destinies._ "

"So Zandra is trying to change my future by keeping me locked up here? She can do that? Change someone's destiny?"

" _She can influence it, but she cannot preclude one that has been selected._ "

"What'd she see?"

" _I don't know, but whatever it was, it really shook her up. Your father hoped that she would use this time to teach you the things your mother didn't, to bestow her maternal gifts on you._ "

"The only thing I need from that woman is an exit. So how do I get out of here?"

" _Your father is still working on that. Because you aren't married, it is within her rights to remain your guardian. Your father wants to know if you have spoken with your mother's spirit."_

"Funny that you should ask. She spoke to me for the first time a few minutes ago, telling me to delve into your head."

_"She may be able to help you, more than I can. If I am caught aiding you, Zandra will seek retribution on my family. I've already put them at great risk_."

I was so pleased to be talking with someone, I didn't think of the implications for him. "Thanks, Phineas. Let my father know I'm okay."

" _I will."_

"Why hasn't he come to see me?"

_"She's put a spell on the gate, so none of your blood relatives can enter. William said you need to ask your mother about the night they met. He said you needed to know something about that night_."

"I will. Tell him not to worry." When I stood up, Phineas followed me, just as he had during his shifts since the first day I came to Zandra's home. He neither made eye contact nor shared another thought with me. Unsure of whether Zandra would be able to know if he were communicating with me, I silently closed the hole I had opened in the membrane of his thoughts. It was quiet again, but bearable. At least now I knew I wasn't alone – I had an ally.

That evening, I sat by myself, the same as I had done every evening, to a lonely dinner in an empty formal dining room. My evening guard had relieved Phineas, and I was feeling sorry for myself again. It was Aragon, who was extremely loyal to her; he was the one who stood guard in my bedroom nearly every night. I hated the idea of being watched while I slept, and I especially hated that he was the one watching me. Zandra walked into the room and saw the food I had pushed around on my plate. She looked at me with her usual disapproving glance, then announced, "I have a gift for you."

I was startled by her voice initially. This was the first time she had talked to me outside of the garden. My heart leaped at the idea that I might be leaving soon. She withdrew a wooden box from inside a linen bag. When she opened it, purple velvet lined the interior and a shimmering necklace lay waiting. "This was your mother's. I sense you are eager to leave my estate. I wanted you to have it."

I nodded enthusiastically, pleased that all our lessons and this dreadful prison were soon going to be a part of my past. Zandra motioned for me to stand, and I held my hair away from my neck, allowing her to clasp the exquisite necklace to me. It was made of platinum and unbelievably large sapphires. I had never experienced wearing jewelry made of platinum before and had no real appreciation for how heavy it would be. When Zandra secured the clasps, I felt a short burst of energy encircling my neck. She said, "This necklace's weight is meant to remind you of your obligations to this bloodline, to your family."

Zandra had given me a gift that belonged to my mother, acknowledging for the first time that I belonged. I was her flesh. I was thrilled, and without thinking, I blurted out, "When can I see my father?"

An electric shock so powerful shot through my body from the necklace, it brought me to my knees. I knelt on the floor crumpled from the energy, wondering what had just happened. Zandra's wicked voice calmly responded, "You will not see him until your wedding night, Camille. Each time I feel your belligerence or you initiate a quarrel with me, you will be reminded of your place in my home. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head in horror. A second ago, I had felt like a princess. What I realized was that in addition to my 24 hour guard watching my every move, my grandmother had given me the Centaur equivalent of an electrified shock collar to curb my outbursts. She smiled widely, in an effort to project her dominance, "Your mother wore that same necklace. She, too, was headstrong and threatened to run away at the first opportunity. I mistakenly removed it from her before she could marry the Centaur I selected for her. I will not make the same mistake a second time."

"Zandra, I can't be married. I can't choose. Mr. Richardson had me swear an oath that if his son was still not chosen by the time he was twenty-nine, I would choose him."

Her smile widened, giving me goose bumps. "You won't have to wait five years, Camille. I have already chosen Gage Richardson for you. You will be married in a month."

I shouted at her, "But I don't even know him!" Another electric charge rocked my body. My body shook in a mixture of adrenaline and desperation. I gritted my teeth, knowing that I would bring on the brutality of the device with another outburst, but I didn't care. "He is about to be chosen by another Centauride." The electric charges seemed to grow in intensity and length with each zap, as I braced myself when the third shock hit me.

Zandra shook her finger at me, as if correcting a small child caught in a cookie jar. "I'm afraid that won't happen. I've already spoken with my dear friend, Kyle. After your mother's stunt, he and I have developed a healthy respect for one another. You and Gage will be married in one month. Preparations are already underway."

I put my hands to the torturous device in an effort to move it away from the delicate skin around my neck, "I won't marry him." The fourth shock hit me so hard that I felt the flesh around my neck scorch, my fingers went numb, and I couldn't help but scream out in pain.

Zandra seemed to be enjoying the brutality of her present, "Have we learned our lesson yet? I can assure you, you have no alternatives."

I didn't think I could make my voice work without releasing sobs instead of words. The smell of burned flesh was thick in the air, and I knew she would continue to batter me until I relented or went up in flames. She stood in front of me, "Do not try to remove my endowment. It is your legacy. It can be removed by me or by your husband. I will only warn you this one time: should you try to remove it, the pain will be unbearable and the scarring a permanent reminder of your insolence. Attempting to leave my estate has similar results. You will learn your place. You will be obedient to me for the remainder of your stay, and you will not run away from your obligations. Goodnight, Camille. "

With her final threat, the tears that I had held for the last forty-three days of loneliness, and the last fifteen minutes of brutality, let loose. She had won. I was a sobbing mess, and as the salt from my tears streamed down my face, several down my neck and into the now open wounds, the sting was a horrific reminder of how utterly horrible my existence had become. I finally understood my mother's diary entry: it hadn't been some vampire. My own grandmother had put this device on my mother. From her description in the diary, it could do far more than scorch my skin.

Sleep didn't find me that night. The pain of the raw, charred skin on my neck didn't permit me to find any sort of position that would dull the pain. I asked the guard if he could get me some Neosporin, but he looked forward, with no acknowledgement to my request. I watched the sun pour in through the window, praying that my nightmare would be over soon. Why was she so set on me marrying Gage Richardson? She had set up a similar arrangement with his father and my mother — but my mother was able to escape. Waves of sadness washed over me as I imagined my mom growing up here with this lunatic. No wonder she told me her family was dead. No wonder we never traveled outside of California. I was furious with myself for not having run away to a remote jungle to escape this crazy woman when I had the chance. But at this point, running away was no longer an option.

In one short month, I would be married, married to a man whose heart would forever belong to Bianca. She told me no decision I ever made would drive a wedge into our friendship. Marrying the man that she loved might qualify as a wedge. Three heavy knocks hit my bedroom door with such force that the wall shook. I stared at the door, not willing to utter a syllable.

"Camille, could you come out here?" It was a man's voice. I didn't recognize it, but someone was talking to me. It was someone besides Zandra.

# Chapter 28

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

At this point I would relish any visitor that was not my captor. I stood up gingerly from my bed, carefully put a sweatshirt on over my nightshirt and grabbed a pair of jeans. My guard didn't flinch. I turned the doorknob cautiously to be sure it wasn't some sort of a trick.

I recognized him from the pizza place the day Bianca hatched her "brilliant" plan. It was the man who would become my warden in a month. His voice was confident and his expression told me he was pleased to see me, "I thought I'd stop by to acquaint myself with my fiancé." He looked handsome. He wore a black t-shirt, a size too small for his biceps, his jeans were well worn but clean, his goatee and mustache were nicely trimmed, and he gave me a willing smile.

"Hi, Gage." I found the strength to mumble, "Nice to see you again."

"I thought we could get to know each other. Maybe go for a drive or something." He gave a startled look at the guard who had spent the night standing at attention. I could tell Gage didn't know what to make of him, so he added, "We could take your escort along." He had recovered quickly from his surprise, as if every single Centauride just happened to have a guard posted on her 24 hours per day.

I shook my head, "I'm not permitted to leave the estate."

"Even with an escort?"

I shook my head a little more vigorously. When I did, the necklace rubbed one of the sores on my neck, and I winced. Gage saw me wince, but I'm sure he didn't know why. "How about a walk in the garden?" he offered.

I looked at the guard to see if he would object. He continued focusing his attention onto the opposite wall. "Okay."

Gage seemed nice. He complimented the gardens that I also once thought were beautiful, the statues of the Greek gods that lined each section. The guards hadn't changed over like they normally would have. I began to wonder if something had happened to Phineas. He should have been here by now. Could Zandra have found out that he shared information with me? He said she would go after his family. If she was somehow listening to us yesterday, what would she have heard?

"Camille, did you hear me?" Gage was staring at me.

"I'm sorry, my mind was wandering. What'd you say?"

"I asked if you had chosen the gardens for our ceremony?"

"Uh, Zandra hasn't told me where."

It was obvious that Gage was trying to be charming, "If I get a vote, I'd like it to be next to the statue of Zeus."

My spirit was nearly broken, "I'll ask her if she minds."

"Camille, is there something wrong?"

I couldn't answer him. His question was wrong, on so many levels. When he realized I had no intention of answering him, he said, "Camille, you're supposed to be excited. We'll be united in a few short weeks. You don't seem the least bit interested."

I had cried my eyes out last night until nothing was left. I knew there was no escape, and I would be forced into exactly the life my mom never wanted and had carefully sheltered me from, hiding me away for twenty-two years. All her sacrifices for me had been made in vain. Gage grasped both my hands in his, "Do you not want to marry me?" There was a hopefulness in his voice, and I was too emotionally drained to try to figure out if it was hopefulness that I did or did not want to marry him. It didn't matter what I wanted. It wasn't my choice. I had no options.

"I...just had a rough night last night. I'm sorry if...I don't seem into it."

My lack of enthusiasm didn't diminish his, "I think Dad and Zandra are enthused enough for both of us. The invitations will be going out tomorrow." My only response was a solitary tear dripping down my cheek. I tried to wipe it away quickly before he could see, but Gage was far too perceptive.

"Talk to me, Camille. There is something bothering you." If I hadn't been subjected to the last two months, the kindness in Gage's voice wouldn't have had such an effect on me. But the absence of any human contact, other than Zandra, combined with the emptiness of emotions and the horrible night last night left me broken. It left me needing comfort. I leaned fully into Gage, sobbing silently against his chest as he gently wrapped his arms around me. He told me it'd be okay, and I got the impression he had no idea why he was comforting me, but he held me anyway.

When my emotional meltdown had subsided, I looked up at him with blurry eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I could see he was at a loss, unsure what to say. Finally I took my eyes off of him and found a very interesting patch of grass to concentrate on while he still held me in his arms. The words were out before I realized they had come from me. "What about, Bianca?"

Gage let go of me as if my skin burned him. He took a step away from me and said slowly, "I don't want you to mention Bianca to me, ever."

I was confused, "But she loves you. Why would you agree to marry me?"

His voice was harsh and his eyes angry, "Bianca is engaged to another Centaur. Never speak of her to me."

"But, Bianca is my friend...I don't..." the necklace must have decided my question constituted disobedience because the wounds that had been caked over with scabs overnight were just reopened by the new zap of electricity. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees and screamed like a Banshee. Gage stood, dumbfounded.

The necklace of horrors was hidden from view under my sweatshirt. The freshly opened wounds seeped blood through the sweatshirt as Gage's eyes watched helplessly. I saw him look at the guard, who paid no attention whatsoever to me writhing in pain. Gage knelt down beside me and saw the streaks of blood from the freshly opened wounds. He instantly tried to remove the necklace from me, but that only resulted in a second zap to us both and a shriller scream from me.

The guard seemed to have no problems talking to Gage, "The necklace is enchanted. It requires her obedience to Zandra and to you. You will be permitted to remove it from her after you are married," he added sadistically, "if you choose to." The guard's voice held no sympathy for me. His comment, "If you choose to," wasn't lost on me either. I'm sure if I had been betrothed to this guard, he would never remove it.

Gage's voice was full of volume when he yelled at the guard, "Are you insane? She's bleeding!"

"She is fully aware of the power of the enchantment. As your fiancé, she should have listened to your warning. The necklace does for you what you are too kind to do to her. She will not run away. She will not change her mind. She will be an obedient wife."

I could see the horror on Gage's face. He commanded, "Guard, leave us."

"I'm under orders from Zandra. You two are not to be left alone. I serve as her guard and her escort while you are on the premises."

Zandra appeared from around the hedge closest to the house. I knew she had witnessed what had happened or at least pieced it together. She flashed Gage a warm smile and held out her hand to him, "Gage, so glad you could stop by this morning. I'm afraid Camille has lessons in the garden every morning. You'll have to come back later to acquaint yourselves with each other."

"Miss Zandra. I believe Camille needs a doctor." I could see he struggled momentarily for the right words. "Her necklace has rubbed her neck raw."

Zandra's warm smile broadened when she said, "The necklace teaches her lessons more effectively than either you or I could teach her. She is not in need of a physician. Camille is in need of better manners. I believe she'll find them soon, don't you agree?"

Gage reached down, took my hand in his and politely asked Zandra, "It's really a beautiful day, and we've hardly had time to acquaint ourselves. Would it be all right if we spent some time getting to know each other now?"

Zandra eyed him suspiciously. "Very well. Do not leave the gardens." The polite tone she used with Gage disappeared when she addressed me, "Camille, we will continue our lessons tomorrow morning. I suggest you use this time to fine tune your manners."

Gage showed no fear, but an overt respect for her authority, "Uh, Miss Zandra, would it be possible for her escort to give us some privacy? I understand that we need to stay in clear view, but I'd like to get to know Camille a little better. Could he watch us from the garden's entrance?"

Zandra agreed and motioned for Aragon to move the fifty feet toward the elaborate entrance, in between two marble centaurs. Gage still held my hand but motioned for me to sit down. "What has she done to you?"

"She's been teaching me about Greek mythology, mainly."

"What's the story with the necklace of horrors?"

"She didn't like some of the things I had to say, and I tried to escape. The next thing I knew I was going through some twisted version of electric shock therapy."

"I'm going to have to leave for a few hours, but I'll be back, I promise. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Could I...I mean could you... I'd really like to see...Never mind."

"Who? Your dad?"

"I can't say her name."

Quietly, he nodded that he understood. "I'm saying this for the necklace's benefit more than yours, okay?" He waited for me to nod, then said, "You may say anything you want to me. An opinion or a question is not disobedience. You should not be punished for being inquisitive. It pleases me that you have a strong spirit."

"Thanks." I was so embarrassed of the position I was in, it was hard to look him in the eye.

"So, now that is out of the way. Why did you choose me for your husband?"

"Zandra chose you. She didn't tell me why other than she really wanted my mom to marry your dad. Mom ran away before the ceremony. I just found out that we were engaged last night."

"Last night? But she and Dad have been talking for over a month. You had no idea?"

I shook my head, still nervous about talking out loud. Gage breathed a huge sigh of relief. I wasn't sure why, and he didn't explain. "Is there anything I can bring you when I return?"

"A cell phone. I haven't talked to anyone in like forever."

Gage nodded. He stood and took both my hands in his as I remained seated. "I'll do my best to smuggle it in, although mine was confiscated when I arrived this morning. I was told that the marriage was your idea. You're saying that isn't true?"

I started to answer but stopped myself before I could say the word. Telling him the truth might be construed as disobedience to Zandra. I shook my head in response.

He bent down and kissed my hands. It sent shivers through my body. I'd had more human contact with him in the short time he spent with me than I'd had the whole time I'd been here. It felt good to be with someone who wasn't trying to manipulate me, someone who didn't believe kindness to be a character flaw.

"I'll be back soon," he promised.

As I watched him walk away, I wondered if he'd really be allowed back. Zandra could change the enchantment on the gate to ban him as well. I wasn't sure if I could make it another month living like this. I looked back at the guard and wondered where Phineas was.

# Chapter 29

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

I was surprised to see Gage back before dinner. He wasn't alone. Bianca and Drake were both with him as he stepped through the massive entryway. Bianca ran to me, threw her arms around me, and squealed, "Camille, I've been so worried about you!"

I was so excited to see the friendly faces that I couldn't make a coherent sentence. Drake stepped through the entryway and brought in suitcases. I looked questioningly but couldn't peel myself away from Bianca. I could feel his eyes on me; they were heavy and I couldn't read his expression. My mind jumped to our lunch at Andolini's, the last time all four of us had been together. The excitement of that day seemed so long ago. I wasn't sure I was even the same person anymore. I felt weak, frightened, broken – a far cry from the euphoria from my last day of freedom.

Zandra walked down the staircase, suspicious of the people who had arrived without an invitation. "Gage, so lovely to see you again. I see you've brought friends."

"I spoke with my father this morning and told him how well Camille and I had hit it off. I knew Camille and Bianca were good friends, but as you know, Bianca is betrothed to Drake Nash. It would not be appropriate for me to travel with another Centaur's fiancé. My father recommended that I bring Bianca and Drake for a stay with you until we are wed."

"Your father suggested this?"

"Yes, Miss Zandra. He knows Camille is new to the Centaur way and thought having the three of us to keep her company may make her transition into our society less ...problematic."

Zandra's expression was stern, but she did not argue. "If it is at your father's request, I can hardly deny you." She looked at my guard, "Aragon, take their luggage upstairs. There are several open bedrooms in Camille's wing. Notify the staff that Camille will have company for dinner this evening." Without another word, she turned and walked away. The guard looked perplexed. I had not been left unguarded since the day I set foot here.

Aragon looked at the suitcases, then at me, then back to the suitcases. Gage could see the guard's internal struggle as clearly as I could. "Aragon, Camille will be safe with us. She won't bolt out the door. If Miss Zandra wants you to take our luggage upstairs, I wouldn't neglect her direction." He made a motion with his hands around his own neck, emulating the necklace I wore. The guard agreed and took the suitcases.

As soon as the guard was headed up the stairs, Bianca whispered, "Gage told us. Don't worry, we'll find a way to get you out of here."

"I can't believe you're all here. How long are you staying?"

She answered conspiratorially, "As long as it takes. Drake works for his dad, so it was easy for him to take the time off. Gage told his dad what he'd seen, and Kyle said to do whatever it took to keep you safe."

We knew watchful eyes were on us. Bianca, Drake and Gage were full of excitement, funny stories, and a real love of life. It was therapeutic just to be in their presence, and I was more grateful than I could have ever expressed to any of them, to have them near me after so much loneliness. After we had eaten dinner and spent several hours together, Bianca announced, "Okay, I'm exhausted. Drake, will you walk me to my room?"

"I'd be happy to. Good night, Gage. Good night, Camille. I think I'll turn in, too. See you both in the morning." The two walked arm-in-arm up the stairs, leaving only Gage, me and my guard in the sitting room. Gage walked across the room, sat down beside me on the sofa and whispered, "There is nothing you could do or no action you could take that would be disobedient to me." He pressed his lips to my forehead. When he stood up, he moved his hand to my cheek and looked lovingly in my eyes, "I need a word with Miss Zandra. Will you accompany me?"

Reeling from our tender exchange, I wasn't sure how to react. Was he testing my necklace to see if I would refuse? I didn't. We found her in an art studio, working on a beautiful oil-painted landscape. Gage cleared his throat, "Miss Zandra, good evening."

"Hello, Gage, Camille. How are you two getting along?"

"Very well, thank you."

She looked at her watch; it was after 11:30p.m. "You're up rather late this evening."

"We were both going to turn in. I had another request that I hoped you'd consider."

Zandra set her paint pallet down and looked at him. She seemed to have all the patience in the world for his requests. "Camille tells me that her guard is posted in her room while she sleeps. Although I'm sure it is for her protection, she hasn't been sleeping well. As her fiancé, I'm none too thrilled that another man is permitted in her room while she sleeps."

"You are correct, Gage. The guards are for her protection. It is not negotiable."

"I was afraid you might say that. Well, thank you for your consideration. I need to phone father tonight and let him know that we arrived safely. I'll escort Camille to her room then step outside the gate to retrieve my cell."

He had just threatened her. I didn't have a clue what sort of power Gage's dad had over Zandra, but her eyes widened and she stammered, "You know, as her fiancé, I'm sure you have her best interests at heart. If it pleases you, her guard will remain outside her room while she sleeps. We do have a phone in the house that you may use. There is no reason for you to have to brave the mosquitoes and the bats walking to your car; her guard will show you where it is."

"How very kind of you, Miss Zandra! I'm so pleased. I will definitely relay to my father how accommodating you have been." Gage held out his elbow for me to hold as he escorted me to my room. When we were outside my bedroom door, he pressed his lips to my forehead a second time and said, "I'll see you in the morning, Camille. I had a lovely evening and look forward to tomorrow. Sleep well." Gage turned his attention to the guard, "Please alert me if you are concerned for Camille's safety. Do not enter her room without me. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Mr. Richardson. Have a good evening."

Gage's smirk was undeniable. I had no idea what he was up to, but I was pleased that he seemed to have far more influence in this house than I did. I turned in for the night, and although I hadn't mentioned to Gage that I hated the idea of being watched while I slept, I was thrilled that he somehow knew it to be true. I crawled into bed and was excited for the first time in a long time; there was a ray of hope for my future.

I heard a ruckus out in the hallway about an hour later. I was sure I had heard Gage's voice, something about a bat in his room. I saw a blur by my door but was half asleep and paid it almost no attention, at least until I realized I wasn't alone. The illumination from the windows brightened the room. I felt a gentle hand caress my cheek, and heard a low whisper. "Camille, it's me. I had to see you." I knew who was kneeling beside my bed when those beautiful ice blue eyes came into focus.

# Chapter 30

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

"How did you..."

Drake held his finger to his lips. "Gage created a diversion to get the guard away from your door."

"But, I thought you and Bianca ..."

Drake shook his head at me before I could even get the words out. "I brought you something." He took some salve from his pocket and motioned for me to sit up. He continued kneeling beside my bed, his fingers gently putting the cooling ointment on the wounds around my neck. His touch was light; if I hadn't felt the relief I wouldn't have known he was touching me. I had become so accustomed to the burning sensation on my neck that the cool from the ointment was indescribable. As my body concluded it was Drake's touch it felt, a new fire began to spread from his touch.

Once he had used his healing hands on my neck, he brought the full force of his stare on me. "I've missed you, Camille." My senses went into overload: I could feel my hands trembling, my heart picking up speed, alone in a room with someone who not only wanted me, but was eager for my touch as well.

I reached my palm to his jaw. He closed his eyes, as if savoring the feeling. I felt the stubble on his cheek, the warmth of his skin, and felt my island oasis here in the flesh. Drake put his hand over mine, opened his eyes, and his stare held me motionless as I tried to find the words. He was the first to recover, "I've thought of you every day." The hopefulness in his eyes wouldn't let me go.

I knew I couldn't take the heartache. I couldn't profess feelings for someone I knew I could never have. Doing so would be the thing that actually broke my spirit – it would leave me a ghost of a person. I tried to speak but nothing would come out. I tried to look away, but my eyes refused. Instead I sat there, my hand remaining on his cheek, memorizing the feel of his skin, drinking in his scent, knowing this was the final farewell.

"I can't read your mind, Camille. I won't make you read mine." Before I could protest, his lips were on mine and his arms pulled me tightly to his chest. My rapidly beating heart tried to lunge from my chest, and I couldn't breathe. His breath was hot. I felt my whole body aching for his touch. His lips found their way to my ear as he whispered, "Run away with me. Tonight, right now. We'll leave and never look back."

I hadn't uttered a word since he arrived, and I knew he was waiting for me to say something. My only answer, "Drake, we can't."

He wasn't deterred, "Yes, we can. Gage set it up perfectly. He's willing to take the heat. All we have to do is leave. Come with me, Camille."

"I can't. The necklace won't let me leave."

"Gage said he took care of it. He gave you permission to do anything you want tonight." As he said the words, Drake's hands found my flesh and began softly caressing the small of my back, sending goose bumps all over my body. Until he said it, I had been so wrapped up in Drake that it didn't occur to me that kissing another man had to be some sort of crime for the necklace, yet nothing had happened. A small ray of hope emerged, and I thought for half a second that I might actually be able to run away.

"That was only part of it. I can't leave."

"I can take it off." I knew he wouldn't be able to, but the thought of running away, being free, overwhelmed the self-preservation side of my consciousness. As Drake's fingers touched the clasps of the necklace, a powerful electric charge rocked us both and sent Drake flying into the wall and me back onto the floor. I could tell each electric charge continued to get stronger and shock me for longer periods of time. I didn't scream out like before. I knew the "warnings" I had been given initially had been painful, but they were just that – warnings. This latest singed the barely healing skin around my neck, cut off my air and opened the scabbed wounds all over again. I wasn't sure how many more warnings I would be afforded. The device could prove fatal if I didn't follow its rules.

Drake ran back to me as soon as he had his bearings. "I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Camille, talk to me!"

"Keep your voice down. I'm fine," I whispered. We both listened for the footsteps outside my door. I didn't hear any and was able to take a breath.

Fresh blood trickled down my neck as I watched the revulsion on his face. "Does she know what that does to you?" He asked horrified at the results.

"Of course, she knows. She put it on my mother when she was supposed to marry Gage's dad. She already told me it stays on my neck until I'm married."

Drake held me tighter, his body pressed hard into mine, "Camille, I can't lose you. Not to Gage, not to anyone." I stood up, clinging to Drake, absorbing his warmth, pulling all the comfort from him that I knew I'd need to survive another day. He said more to himself than to me, "We'll figure something out. I promise."

It was an empty promise. Zeus himself wouldn't be able to deliver on this one. Drake spent the night holding me. I felt stronger in his arms and reveled in the dream that we could run away. But my reality kept reminding me — that dream was never to be.

As the dawn arrived, I wasn't sure how we were going to get Drake out of my room. He must have noticed my increasing nervousness. Without releasing me from his hold, his lips found their way to the skin not scorched from my torturous device on my neck and my ear. He whispered, "I'll be waiting for you in your closet tonight. Gage will keep you downstairs long enough for me to get into position."

"You're going to hide in my closet?"

"Unless you have a better idea. Gage can't come up with a distraction every night; it would cause too much suspicion."

"So, Gage, he doesn't mind?"

"Are you nuts? Gage knows how I feel about you. So does Bianca."

I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, scared that I might ruin the moment, but more fearful of not knowing the answer, "How _do_ you feel about me?"

Drake gave me the strangest look. Sarcasm oozed from his voice when he said, "I'm fascinated by your threshold for pain. How do you think I feel about you?" His lips found mine in an aggressive and needy way. His hands clung to my flesh as if it would be the last time he would hold me for a lifetime. I didn't know what would happen the rest of the day, and in that moment, the earth could have stopped spinning and I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

I heard a light tapping on my door, "Darling, it's Gage. Ready for breakfast?"

I looked wide eyed at Drake, and whispered, "Darling? Are you sure he's okay with this?"

Drake rolled his eyes. "It's an act, Love. He needs to be convincing or your lunatic grandmother will ban him until your wedding night, which means I'd have to go, too. Go spend the day with your fiancé. I'll be waiting for you tonight."

I called toward the door, "Gage, I just need five minutes to freshen up."

"All right. I'm starving. Hurry up."

Drake and I were both on our feet. The pangs of adrenaline started to grip me when I realized I'd be able to see Drake again tonight. I had just spit the last of my toothpaste into the sink and rinsed when Drake came up behind me. I looked at the reflection of us in the mirror. His arms wrapped around me as he seemed to be transfixed by the couple in the mirror, too.

His lips were at my ear, while his eyes were glued to the mirror. He confessed, "I started to believe I'd never hold you again."

I couldn't respond. I felt my welled-up desire for him begging to be released. I turned my body so that I faced him, slipped my hands up under the back of his shirt and rested my head on his chest. I felt his hands stroke my hair as he waited for me to say something. His lips kissed the top of my head as I confessed, "I never stopped thinking of you. I don't want to wake up without you next to me. I don't want fantasies anymore. I want you."

Drake placed his hands gently on either side of my head and pulled my face away from his chest, so I was forced to look in his eyes. "I need you, Camille." His lips were on mine: they weren't gentle. Our bodies were tight against each other and our breaths were erratic. I lost myself in him again until I heard a tap at the door that brought me back to reality.

"Drake, I gotta go. Gage is waiting." I didn't want our moment to end, but knew I couldn't take a chance on the guard coming in. "Get in the closet. I'll see you tonight."

Drake looked like he was in pain, "I can't let you go, Camille."

"You have to or we'll get busted and there won't be a tonight. Go!"

His lips found mine one last time before he dashed toward the closet. As soon as I'd seen the closet door closed, I opened the door to an awaiting Gage. Gage took my hand and walked me down the hallway with my guard in tow. As we hit the top step, he commented, "You look absolutely radiant this morning, Darling. Having the guard outside your room must have done wonders for you." I looked at him as he wore an enormous smirk.

"It did. Thank you for speaking with Zandra on my behalf. I'll need to give her my thanks as well."

Zandra was waiting at the bottom of the steps and had heard our conversation. "Ah, it's good to see you two getting along so well."

Charm oozed from Gage when he said, "Who could not fall under the spell of such a beautiful creature?"

She smiled sweetly at Gage and asked me, "You slept well, Camille?"

I wanted to laugh but instead put on my most thankful expression and answered, "Yes, Grandmother, I did. Thank you for allowing me some privacy." It was the first time I had referred to her as "Grandmother," and I watched her reaction as I spoke.

She was pleased. "I'm glad you slept well, Camille. Are you ready for your lesson this morning?"

"Yes, Grandmother."

Gage interrupted, "Miss Zandra. I was hoping we might be able to tour your estate this morning, that is, if you don't mind."

"With an escort?"

"I was hoping you might consider escorting us."

Zandra looked surprised, "Me?"

"It would give us both a chance to get to know you better. Camille was telling me how much she will miss the beauty of your estate." Okay, that was a little on the thick side, but Zandra seemed to physically soften in Gage's presence. I had come to think of her estate as a prison and had no desire to ever set eyes on it again once I was paroled.

"I believe we could skip your lesson one more day, Camille. I'd love to show the two of you around." Gage continued to play his role as my doting fiancé, perfectly. He opened doors for me, held my hand, smiled as Zandra told us about nearly every blade of grass. Thirty minutes into our tour, Bianca and Drake strolled hand-in-hand onto the expansive grounds and found us near a fountain depicting Aphrodite. As the five of us walked together, Drake purposely brushed his arm against mine then caught my eye for a fraction of a second. I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was like the forbidden fruit, daring me to take a bite.

Several hours later as our tour drew to an end, Bianca spoke up as we approached the front door to Zandra's mansion. "Miss Zandra, thank you so much for giving us such a wonderful tour. Drake and I have some wedding plans to finalize. Do you have an escort you could provide us while we drive into town?" I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

"Don't be silly, child. I'm sure Gage would love an opportunity to escort you two."

Gage shook his head, "Miss Zandra, if you don't mind, I'd like to spend the afternoon with Camille. I thought a dip in the pool might be fun." I cringed when I thought of chlorine on my neck but found a way to force an adoring smile at Gage.

Zandra had transformed before my very eyes. No longer the hateful captor that I had loathed for weeks, she was now the accommodating host. "Very well then. I'll have Camille's guard escort you two into town. Gage, I'll change and join the two of you by the pool. I would very much like to know how your family is doing." The rest of the afternoon was a tremendous bore, but Gage really turned on the charm, and by dinner time Zandra was treating me as though I were her long lost granddaughter rather than a blemish on her otherwise noteworthy family tree.

Bianca and Drake returned early that evening. Zandra, having immensely enjoyed her time with Gage and me, politely asked them, "Did you two take care of all your arrangements?"

"We did. Thank you for the use of an escort, Miss Zandra," Drake answered sweetly. "Bianca and I are excited to start our life together. I think we're both regretting that we put the wedding off for so long. Watching Gage and Camille together makes me jealous that we'll have to wait so long."

Zandra raised her eyebrows. "Really? Well, you can always move the date forward."

"You know, we might just do that." Drake leaned over and kissed Bianca's cheek, "I don't believe I can wait much longer for you." Bianca giggled, and I wanted to barf. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I had trouble hiding my instant jealousy. Drake gave her another tender kiss on the cheek, while I dug my fingers into my knees.

Gage realized that I was at a low boil and leaned over to me, whispering only loud enough for me to hear, "It's only an act, Darling." Gage's comment did little to soften my impending implosion.

"Bianca, I think I'll turn in early tonight," Drake announced with an adoring look at her.

Bianca took Drake's hand in hers, "I'm a little worn out myself. Would you walk me to my room?"

The two excused themselves, which left Gage and me alone with Zandra, again. Having them out of the room did wonders for my self-control. Gage and I spent another hour with Zandra, Gage the perfect guest, and I, quiet but attentive. An hour after Bianca and Drake had gone upstairs, Gage looked my way, "Darling, you look exhausted. Are you tired?"

I hadn't been paying attention to their conversation, but realized this was Gage's "get-out-of-jail-free" card for me. I yawned, "It's been a full day. I think I'll turn in, too."

"I need you well rested for our adventures tomorrow. Miss Zandra, will you keep me company or am I on my own this evening?" Zandra had always struck me as a wicked person, but super perceptive. I had to wonder if she'd see through all of Gage's fake charm. So far she seemed to be soaking it up like a sponge, but I made a mental note to tell him he needed to tone it down a little.

"I'm an old woman, Gage. You get your rest. I'm sure Camille will be ready for an adventure with you tomorrow." She looked at me with a warmer expression than I had seen her wear in the last two months, "Camille, I had a lovely day with you today."

Her thoughtful comment nearly rendered me speechless; I was able to choke out, "I did, too, Grandmother. I look forward to our lesson tomorrow." If Beau could see me now, he'd never again question my acting abilities.

She gave me a thoughtful smile. I was worried I may have put it on too thick, but she seemed genuinely pleased with me. "We may suspend your lessons for a while. Gage is an excellent influence on you, and I'm sure you'll want to spend the day together. The weather should be exceptional. Get your rest."

"Thank you, Grandmother. Goodnight."

Gage held out his arm for me, and my guard followed in tow. We were halfway up the steps when Gage turned to the guard, "I need just a minute with my fiancé." We stood in full view of the guard, but he was unable to hear Gage's whisper. "There is nothing you could do or no action you could take that would be disobedient to me. Sleep well, Camille." Gage pressed his lips to my forehead. I knew this was his way of reminding the necklace that my time with Drake was done with his blessing. Gage held my door for me as I slipped into the dark room. He shut the door behind me. From the shadows under the door, I could see that the guard had taken his position in the hallway directly outside my room.

# Chapter 31

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

I took a deep breath and walked the few steps to my closet. I had no sooner put my hand on the door knob than it swung wide with Drake on the inside. He took me in his arms and swung me around like a child. When my feet touched the ground, I was fully wrapped in Drake's arms. Careful not to alert the guard, Drake exhaled the words, "I missed you so much, I thought I'd burst today, Love."

My mouth opened on his, and I felt like I was spinning again.

When we stopped to breathe, Drake's excitement shone on his face, "I bought you a gift today."

"A gift? Why?"

"It might have been more of a gift for me." He wore a mischievous grin, and I felt my heart doing its sprint just like it had last night. He reached behind him and pulled out a cardboard box, "I saw it today and have been dying to see what you'd look like in it." He motioned for me to go into the bathroom, and I could only imagine what I would find in the box.

As I stood in front of the mirror wearing the ivory satin nightgown, my nerves began taking control of my body, and I wasn't sure I had the courage to go out half-dressed. The length was only to mid-thigh, the front was cut low: I looked like a mannequin at Victoria's Secret. I saw my shorts and a t-shirt that I normally slept in lying beside the sink. I nearly switched into them when I caught my reflection in the mirror. If my shorts and t-shirt were enough to make his heart speed up, his arms wrench tight around me, and his throat murmur those deep sexy sounds — I couldn't wait to see his response to this ensemble. After the last six weeks, I wanted to be wanted. I wanted to see Drake's eyes pop out of his head. I wanted to hear the groan of desire I knew would come from deep within him.

Drake made me feel beautiful, sexy even, but walking out to his waiting eyes – I wasn't sure I could. I found a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and wrapped it around myself before I stepped back into the bedroom.

Drake's hands found me in the dark as his voice exhaled, "Did you wrap yourself up in that robe like a present for me? Are you trying to torture me?" He stood in front of me wearing only a pair of shorts. His shirtless body called to me. The moonlight through the window shimmered off his muscular shoulders and tight abs. The sight of him, even in the moonlight, took my breath away.

I wanted to feel his skin on mine. I buried my face in his chest as my arms wrapped around him. He smelled wonderful, he felt incredible – his muscular frame and warm skin invited me to lose the robe. I loosened the tie and let the robe fall to the floor. Drake took a couple steps back, taking me in. He leaned in toward me, scooped me up in his arms, and carried me to the bed, his lips pressed lightly to mine. I didn't know how far he intended to go, and I wasn't sure I possessed the willpower to put any brakes on.

Drake lay me gently on the bed and slid in behind me. His hand stroked my arm, from the top of my shoulder to the tip of my fingers, up and down, countless times. His touch generated goose bumps all over my body while he kissed the back of my neck just under my hairline all the way to my shoulders. His caresses were tender, and without words I could feel the turmoil in his touch. I could hear his breathing was heavy, and I felt like he had poured an accelerant on me — I was on fire. When I thought I could take no more, he exhaled a warm breath by my ear, "Remember that day at Andolini's? — I told you I would combust? That was me being sweet." I did remember his words just before I drove away, and his admission made me smile. Drake added, "I'm not being sweet. I seriously feel like I'm going to combust."

"Oh sure, _you're_ going to combust?"

His breath was haggard, his voice strained, "I had intended to be a perfect gentleman, but intentions sometimes go by the wayside."

"You _will_ be a perfect gentleman. I'll go switch this getup for some sweatpants if I have to. We both know my fiancé is across the hall." I tried to be funny, but missed my mark by a long shot.

His lips froze in position on my shoulder. I knew my words struck a nerve. "We need to figure out how to get that damn necklace off you. I want to disappear with you, Camille."

"I'm all ears if you have an idea."

"If you could, would you run away with me?"

I didn't have to think of my response. "Faster than an Olympic sprinter."

Drake hugged me hard from behind. It felt like his arms were a vice, and I was so tight against him, I could feel his muscles flex behind me. I had found my heaven right here on earth in Drake's arms. I was surprised when he blurted out, "Break your engagement with Gage."

"You know I can't. I'm not the one who set it up to begin with."

"It's still your choice. Choose me."

"Drake, you hardly know me."

"What do I need to know that I don't already know?"

"Lots of things." I struggled, before my mouth started spewing random things about me. "I like to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. I like to snow ski on the bunny slope, and I'm terrified I'm going to fall off the lift chairs. I hate baseball, not dislike — hate. I miss Starbucks White Mocha Latte. I can't ride a bicycle. You don't know anything about me."

"You think because I didn't know that, I don't know you well enough to marry you?"

"I think if life were fair, I could choose to go back to my old life: no mind reading, no knowledge of the future, no magical powers. I'd be free to go to the movies, lay on the beach, laugh at YouTube videos, and do everything I used to love."

His voice was pleading, "We can do that, Camille."

"That's the thing, Drake. Why does it have to be all or nothing? I'm being forced to marry a guy I hardly know, who is in love with someone else. You're asking me to break the engagement I never wanted, so I can choose to marry you. I'm twenty-two. There are too many things I haven't done yet."

"So we'll do those things together."

"What if I want to do them myself?" I could see my words stung him. I tried to lessen the hurt by explaining, "Maybe it would be different if I had grown up knowing what I was or at least what was expected of me. But I didn't. I grew up my way. I couldn't care less if my family's bloodline doesn't go on. I don't need someone else to be happy; I just need not to be a prisoner."

Drake eased himself away from me. He didn't look at me when he answered, "But you couldn't be happy with me?"

I shook my head. "Maybe you. Or maybe a high school history teacher, or maybe a commercial fisherman. Life can't be scripted, Drake." It felt good to say to Drake what had been boiling under my skin since I found out about all these crazy traditions. "I'm willing to make a deal with you."

I knew I'd hurt him, but it was only fair he know the real me. "If we get out of this mess, we'll date... my way. No escorts, no supervision, none of the crap everyone's been trying to shove on me. We'll go to the movies. If we have a good time and we both want to, we'll go on a second date, then a third. If – and that's a big if – years later we both get to the point that we can't live without each other, then we talk about forever. Deal?"

"I don't need years to know you're the one I want, Camille."

"That sucks, Drake, because I do. I want time. I want to..." I squeezed his arms that had gone slack around me, "savor you. Get to know you. I want something more than just a physical attraction. I don't want you to miss me while we're apart. I want your whole body to ache, to go through withdrawals for me. When we get to that, if we ever get there, that's when we'll know we're right for each other."

"If that's your measure, my body aches right now, and it has since the first day I saw you at Bruce's wedding."

"Have you heard anything I've said? I don't know anything about you. I'm all for running off with you and disappearing for a while, but I'm not ready to marry anyone. Unless I'm forced into it with Gage, it's not going to happen."

"Camille, we'll find a way to get you out of this betrothal." He waited a long minute before he continued, "I'll go along with you. We'll do things your way. But I don't need years, or months, or weeks – if I could get you to see through my eyes, to feel through my heart, you'd understand why I think the process you just laid out is ludicrous. I know my heart. When you decide that I really am the one, trust me, I'll never let you regret it. We'll stay like this forever, fused as one."

His words were like a drug, and I, an addict, desperately in need of a fix. I rolled over so that we faced each other; my hand swept his face. I studied him, worried that he, like everyone else in my life I cared about, would soon be taken away from me. I traced his lips with my finger, touched his face with my palm, and ran my fingers into his hair. Drake was beyond attractive: his ice blue eyes held me in a trance. I said nothing. I wanted to take him in, memorize everything about him.

I didn't want to end our moment, but the self-preservation side of me took over. I knew if we kept this up, he was right: I would fall in love with him. It wouldn't be a crush or blind lust; it would be the rip-out-your-heart, falling-off-a-cliff love that comes once in a lifetime. I would be devastated on my wedding night to Gage, a hollow shell of a person losing someone forever whom I could never have. "What are we doing?" My question caught him off guard.

Drake smiled at me as he whispered, "We're acquainting ourselves with each other, Love." His voice was happy, content, but it turned amused when he added, "Unless you have a better activity in mind for this evening."

I could feel the hopelessness of the situation seeping in. Making plans to date was ridiculous when any hope for a future other than the one forced on us wasn't possible. "I'm marrying Gage in a few weeks, and you're marrying Bianca. There's nothing either of us can do to stop it."

"Break your engagement with Gage."

"This stupid necklace would take my head completely off if I said that out loud."

Quietly, he said, "Camille, we need help. There has to be some way to get it off."

"How? We're out of options, Drake. All we're doing now is making the heartbreak worse — putting off our own goodbye."

He turned my face to him so I was forced to look in his eyes, "I can't give you up. Even if it's just a few nights together, I want them." I looked away, knowing his words cut clear through to my soul. "It's better than a lifetime of regret for ignoring what little time together we were afforded. I'll take what I can get, Camille."

"So, this is it? I lie here with you, praying that we'll have one more night tomorrow, and the next after that. We're going to run out of tomorrows. We can't wish the dawn away."

"For now, live in the moment, Love." This time his voice was heavy with the same desperation I was feeling. He tried to comfort me by pulling me closer, and I tried to be comforted by drawing him in. The feeling wouldn't go away. Our nights were numbered, and our time together nearly over after it had just begun.

I wasn't sure if he was trying to convince me or himself. "Gage is one of the most cunning men I know. He may have a plan he hasn't shared with me yet. Don't give up on us; we'll find a way." Drake drifted off to sleep before I did; he spoke to me while he was sleeping. I don't know how many times I heard it before I drifted off with him, but I fell asleep to the sound of Drake's whispers, their own soft lullaby: "Choose me, Love, choose me."

The next morning was much the same as our first, with Gage knocking on my door. He didn't come in, nor did he allow the guard entry to my room. I hid Drake in the closet, although I could hardly tear myself away from him. I would have welcomed an eternity in Zandra's prison if it meant that I could spend every night with Drake. I stole one final kiss as I closed the closet door.

Gage and I were already seated for breakfast when Zandra joined us. I didn't wait to be spoken to. My night with Drake gave me strength for another day with my captor, "Good morning, Grandmother. I hope you slept well."

"I did, Camille. Thank you for asking." She turned her attention to Gage, "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Gage?" It was such a strange sensation. She was warm to me, but when she spoke to Gage, her voice had turned to ice.

Gage realized something was wrong. His charm began to waiver as he shakily responded, "I can't think of anything pressing to tell you. I spoke to father last night. He sends his best."

"Hmmph," was her reply. She was frustrated with something and announced, "I think we all need to go to the garden this morning." She motioned for us to stand up; Gage and I did without hesitation. I desperately wanted to read his thoughts to find out what caused the change in Zandra, but I didn't want to do it in front of her. I had only successfully done it once before, and I hadn't seen Phineas since. I worried I had done it wrong, and maybe our conversation had been discovered by Zandra.

We took a seat on the bench together as Zandra pulled up a chair. "Have either of you heard the teaching of Aphrodite and her gift to Unice?"

I shook my head that I hadn't and sat up straighter. I hadn't taken a shock from the stupid necklace in a day and a half and wasn't about to start today with one. I had a strange feeling that unlike the other stories she had told me, I needed to pay close attention to this one.

# Chapter 32

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

"Unice was a Centauride. She was exquisite: long flowing blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a kind smile and a soft heart. She roamed the pastures of Thessaly with the other Centaurs. Unice had the voice of an angel and often sang as she galloped along the countryside. Her voice would entice strangers, beckoning them forward in search of the angel on earth who sang to the heavens. One day a human, a man, happened upon her pasture. Her body was obscured by a large boulder, so he only saw the human half of her beauty and heard the magic of her voice. The man's name was Winfield. He was so taken with her that he sat perfectly still, content to listen to the beautiful songs she sang."

"Winfield came to the meadow for weeks. Anytime he tried to come closer than his perch, she would disappear behind the rocks. When the weeks turned into months, Winfield confessed that he was deeply in love with Unice. Unice was sure when he found out what she was, the lust he felt for her would disappear. She stepped out from behind the rocks she had hidden behind and showed her whole body to Winfield."

Winfield cried out to her, begged her not to leave, and professed his love for her. The two spent their days and nights together, deeply in love but unable to be together. Unice wept one evening and Aphrodite saw her tears and felt her heartbreak. Aphrodite took pity on the couple that was so deeply in love and changed Unice to a human. Unice was the first Centaur to be changed from a Centauride to a human, years before Zeus gave his gift to the Centaurs."

Zandra looked squarely at Gage, "Has your father ever shared that story with you?"

He nodded, "Yes, he has, many times."

"Do you know why the story of Unice and Winfield is so important to your family?"

"It's just a legend, Miss Zandra. It is a fable for lovers who think their challenges are insurmountable, that love can conquer all."

"No!!" Zandra screamed. "It is not a fable. It is your heritage, Gage."

Gage said nothing. Zandra was furious with him when she continued, "Imagine my elation when I find out my granddaughter, one of the few living Centaurides in Chiron's bloodline is going to marry a Centaur in the Winfield bloodline?"

"That's right, Miss Zandra. I believe my father is pleased with our betrothal for the same reason."

I was interested in the story, partly because the story tied to a living breathing person. I directed my question to Zandra, rather than Gage, "So is Gage a pure-blooded Centaur?"

Gage looked embarrassed by my question. I'd meant no offense, but after all her lessons over the last six weeks; I didn't know what to make of the story. Zandra answered, "Winfield was human. Aphrodite's magic transformed Unice to a woman, but the bloodline remains Centaur, and it retains Aphrodite's magic."

I smiled at Gage, who I worried might have been offended with my question on his ancestors, and ribbed him good naturedly, "So you have _love_ magic. Am I under your spell?"

Through clenched teeth, Gage answered, "As much as I am under yours, Darling." He wasn't offended. He was trying to maintain his composure, hiding the humor behind a stoic expression.

Zandra interrupted our private joke, "So, tell me, Gage. Why is it that this morning I saw a woman, other than my granddaughter, slip from your room when she believed no one was near?"

Alarm spread on Gage's face; he stayed silent. Zandra turned her attention on me, "Did you know that Bianca spent the night with Gage?"

I should have denied it. I should have played dumb waiting for Gage to think of a reasonable excuse. I knew I needed to choose my words wisely, as I was acutely aware that the necklace was unforgiving. I kept my voice even and strong, "Grandmother, I was aware. They spent the night together with my blessing." Gage's expression moved from alarm to shock. I think he believed my honesty would enrage the necklace.

Zandra screeched, "What?! You allowed this?" I could feel the necklace pulsing with energy. It had to have reacted to her fury, but I didn't receive a shock. I strained the muscles in my neck in anticipation of the electric charge, but nothing happened.

In a gentle tone, careful to be absent of any hostility, I answered, "Bianca is my dear friend. She tried to choose Gage, but her mother wouldn't permit it. Gage has accepted your invitation to be my husband, but until we are bound by marriage, he has my blessing to see Bianca."

She turned her rage on Gage, "It is you! You are the one who interferes with Camille's destiny. I have put the necklace of obedience around my granddaughter's neck, and it was you whose fate was fallible. It is your unwillingness to commit that leaves her destiny undecided!"

"Miss Zandra, I will honor my commitment to Camille. I am ashamed that you so easily read my desires for Bianca and misinterpreted them as intentions by Camille. Camille will make a good wife, and she does not deserve to wear this necklace of obedience you have put on her."

Zandra eyed him suspiciously. "You mean to tell me, you have hoped for another woman while staying at my estate, then brought that woman here? That is why I keep seeing a man other than you in Camille's future?" Gage was definitely braver than I was. I checked my mind's brick wall – it was intact. There was nothing to contradict Gage's confession or augment it with one of my own.

Zandra glared at both of us. She stomped out of the garden and slammed the door to the house. I asked tentatively, "Now what?"

"Now, we wait. Why would you tell her it was with your blessing?"

"It was the truth. The necklace didn't zap me."

"You knew we were getting together?"

"I assumed you and Bianca had the same arrangement as Drake and I did. You choreographed the perfect arrangement for both of us. Thanks, by the way."

Gage chuckled at me, "Well, our midnight rendezvous may be over for a while."

"Did you mean what you said to Zandra?"

"What part?"

"That you'll honor your commitment to me. You're still going through with it?"

"We don't have recourse, do we?"

"Ten minutes ago I would have said that we didn't, but given her reaction, I wonder if there isn't a shred of decency in her."

Gage looked surprised by my statement, "How do you mean?"

"She didn't seem pleased about her decision to put this stupid necklace on me. If we can get her to take it off, I'll leave. Not just the estate, I'll leave the country if I have to."

"Zandra would find you."

"She never found my mother." I wondered if Gage knew our parents had once been betrothed. "My mom ran away on her wedding night and was never found."

"I knew that much, but I think that had more to do with my dad protecting your mom than anything else. He really loved her. He's told me about Angela my whole life. Even my mom doesn't mind him telling the stories."

# Chapter 33

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

I felt my eye muscles flex, "No way!"

"Yeah. She told Dad her greatest wish was to be free of Centaurs. She said she wanted to be human. He thought her wish, left ungranted while it was within his power to honor it, could destroy Aphrodite's magic. Dad set her free then put a protective spell over her. You should have seen him the night that he found out she'd had a child with another Centaur after he gave up his most powerful magic to protect her – he was pissed!"

"Was that the night of Bruce's wedding, when I met him?"

"Yeah, I think so. You have to understand, he seriously loved your mom. But your mom was so freaked from growing up with Zandra that he couldn't force her to marry him. It just wasn't in him. The night of the wedding, he told her he'd protect her from Zandra — gave her a plane ticket, an apartment, cash, a new identity and sent her away."

"I don't believe it."

"He wouldn't have any reason to lie to me about it. It's the only explanation for why Zandra never found her. Dad has Aphrodite's magic. Protecting someone he loved with her magic was the only thing that ensured her safety."

"So that story Zandra just told us is true?"

"My dad thinks it is. I mean, don't get me wrong. I know he has powerful magic, but he wasn't willing to use it against your mom. It seems like it would have been a lot easier on both of them if he had used it to make your mother fall in love with him. Whether it came from Aphrodite or the Wicked Witch of the West isn't all that important. He knew where she was her whole life. You, on the other hand, were a real surprise. He didn't know anything about you."

"Why would he agree to let you marry me? You'd think it would open old wounds or something."

"I think he thought I'd be more charming or something, who knows. Dad and Zandra do have one common goal; they definitely want us to marry. I don't think there's anything either of them wouldn't do to make it happen." He took a breath, then explained, "Zandra is by far the most powerful Centauride. Her power comes from her lineage. Dad is in the same boat. He loaned a chunk of his magic to your mother, but since your mother's death...sorry, Aphrodite's magic has returned to him. They have this crazy idea that if we marry, our children will be kind of a Centaur Super-Race. We have the only two ancestors who were touched directly by the gods."

"So how do you feel about it?"

"About marrying you?" I nodded. "When Bianca chose Drake, I didn't care about much of anything. But when word spread that you had come to your father's house, I thought my dad might try to work something out with your dad. Let's face it; it's not hard to look at you." Gage's smile was shy. He had been so larger-than-life since I met him that it took me aback. "I thought maybe you and I could start out as friends and maybe grow into something more — eventually I'd get over Bianca. When I showed up the other morning, and you were wearing the same stupid necklace Dad had told me about, that had been worn by Angela, I knew I couldn't force you to marry me any more than he could your mother. I told my father about the necklace, and he wasn't happy. I told him I thought if I could bring Bianca and Drake back with me – history wouldn't repeat itself."

"Does he know how you feel about Bianca?"

"Sure he does. But he knows engagements are almost never broken. The fact that we were both betrothed, it wouldn't have occurred to him or anyone else."

"I'm ready to disappear, deep, deep undercover and never see another Centaur for the rest of my life!"

"We aren't all bad. In fact, I know one who would follow you to the end of the earth."

"Drake?"

"Well, yeah. He's been infatuated with you since the night of your brother's wedding. When his engagement to Bianca was announced, he didn't show even a hint of excitement. He spent like thirty seconds with you that night, and he was ready to sacrifice his bloodline."

"You weren't even there that night. How would you know?"

"Bianca told me, and I see it on Drake's face. You should have seen him the other night when I told him how we were going to smuggle him into your room. You'd have thought he just won the lottery."

"You could have clued me in a little ahead of time."

"Right, the next time I try to sneak my fiancé's lover into her bedroom, I'll make sure to send word ahead of time."

"So, what do you think Zandra's going to do to us?"

"I don't know, but knowing her, it'll be something dramatic. She might send me away. Are you going to be okay here without me for a few weeks?"

"As long as I know I'm getting out of here, I'll be fine."

"Good, sorry Bianca got us busted. I told her to use her microwaves or whatever power she has to make sure the coast was clear."

I patted Gage's hand, "I'm sure her thoughts were elsewhere."

We didn't have to wait long. I had no sooner gotten my words out than Zandra emerged from the house. In as kind and thoughtful a voice as I had heard from her, she said, "There's no reason to send you back to your father's, Gage."

"Miss Zandra, I deeply apologize for my indiscretion. It won't happen again."

That wicked smile that had been reserved for me reappeared, "I know it won't. The problem has been dealt with. There will be no more distractions."

Horror gripped me when I saw the crimson on her hands. "Grandmother, what's on your hands?"

In that same sweet voice she had just used with Gage, she answered, "Camille, that is the blood of your enemy. Her heart no longer beats." She turned to Gage, "As a gesture of my goodwill, I also stopped the heart of the man who lusted after your betrothed. _Your_ competition is also no longer a concern."

"Nooooooooo!" was the only response I could get out. I grabbed hold of Gage, trying to steady myself. He pushed my hand away and ran into Zandra's mansion. I was behind him, but he topped the stairs before I took the first one. My guard was in chase and grabbed my arms, holding me in place on the third step from the bottom.

# Chapter 34

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

It was Phineas. I hadn't seen him in several days, and in the back of my mind I knew I should have been concerned. He did the unthinkable and whispered aloud to me, "Be quiet child, before the necklace does her dirty work." He stood behind me with my arms cinched behind my back as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I heard Gage scream out as if someone had completely squeezed the life out of him. I heard furniture being thrown into walls, glass break, and then stillness.

Several minutes went by, and my sobs were nearly uncontrollable. Zandra had stepped into the hallway and eyed me suspiciously. I stood slack with Phineas still holding me in position. I saw Gage emerge from the upstairs hallway. He walked toward me with heavy steps, a defeated man. He took the steps slowly, his head hung low. He paused in front of me and gently brushed his fingertips to my cheek. I saw blood on his hands and on his clothing, tears streaking his face, "I promise I'll be back for you on our wedding night... I can't stay."

Gage continued his march down the steps as Phineas allowed me to fall to the floor. He addressed Zandra with authority, squeezing the emotion completely out of his voice, "I'll notify their families. This is a debt I hope you are forced to pay before the sun sets tomorrow."

"No Chancellor or Magistrate will find me guilty – you may want me to hold my tongue. I'm sure your family would be none too thrilled with the circumstances of their deaths. I will be here the night you return to marry Camille and meet your destiny."

Gage gave me one final sorrowful look before he walked out the door and shut it behind him. Zandra turned her attention to me. "I understand she was your friend, but I did it for your own good. No Centauride should ever share; it goes against nature." I didn't respond. I couldn't. I was in shock. She continued, "Her fiancé had feelings for you. Were you aware? I could see it through his deceit. I couldn't allow for him to interfere with your destiny either. I'll give you the remainder of the day to mourn." I hadn't collected myself fully when she said, "It was done out of love, Camille."

My body shut down: I felt it go slack as everything went black.

As I awoke, I saw that it was dark outside, and for the slightest fraction of a moment, I reached out for Drake. When I came up empty, the events flooded over me again. My eyes were swollen shut: I must have been sobbing in my sleep. My throat was on fire, and I felt like I would be sick. I pried myself out of bed, splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would help my eyes enough so that I could open them.

Drake was gone. We knew we'd never be able to have more than a few precious weeks together, but being robbed of what little time we should have had together felt cruel, even more cruel than the betrothals. So much no longer mattered. Drake was no more than a shooting star in my life; I didn't realize how much of an impact he'd had on me until he was stolen away. In that moment, I knew I had lost the love of my life. I knew why Kyle Richardson had hidden my mother from Zandra all those years ago. I would have wished for any fate for Drake other than death, even if his fate never allowed me to see him again. That's what love is. I was in love with him and didn't know it until he was gone. I would never have the chance to tell him. My heart ached, and I wondered if I'd ever be able to escape the pain.

Bianca had been the truest of friends, an ally. I hated love-triangles – but she was the first person I'd ever known to advocate for a love-square. She was deeply in love with Gage and willing to take nearly any risk to be with him. I couldn't fault her for her crazy plan – love makes you do things you wouldn't dream of — even befriending the woman who is supposed to marry the love of your life. There would never be another Bianca.

I saw the two feet standing on the other side of my door: still a prison, but now, one of indescribable horrors. When I lay down on the bed, I realized it still smelled of Drake. If I closed my eyes and lay very still, I could imagine him with me. I let my mind wander. I had been so focused on my own circumstances that I didn't know anything about him: not his family, his interests, hobbies, political persuasion , what his job was other than he worked for his father. The only thing I knew was every time I closed my eyes, I could see his ice blue eyes staring back at me.

I stayed in my room. There was no need to leave. I had taken every lesson that I would allow Zandra to teach me. I didn't need food, and I could get water from the bathroom sink. From time to time I would see a guard open the door – I guess checking to see if I was swinging from the rafters. I never once acknowledged one of them, and none ever uttered a word to me. I found the small tube of salve that Drake had gently put on my neck to help the healing. I would be rid of this stupid necklace very soon, and when I was, I wanted no reminder that I ever wore it, that this time ever existed.

By the third day with no food and only water for sustenance, I felt lethargic. I had difficulty determining what was a dream and what was reality. I had decided that when Gage came to take me from this house of horrors, I would ask him to let me go back to California — back to the uncomplicated life I had led before I met my father or any of the others. I knew he wouldn't be over Bianca and may even hold me responsible for her death. I was pretty sure he would be happier with me out of his life than he would with me in it.

The door opened slowly. It was Zandra. I turned away from her and looked out the window. I'm sure she said something to me, but I was too weak to waste the energy to listen. Whatever she had said, the lack of a response from me must have been some sort of an answer she was seeking because moments later I was again alone.

_Daniel_

I stood outside the gate, a state policeman on my flank, leaning up against the steel gate, wondering what kind of a prison Cami was in. It took several hours to convince someone even to accompany me out to Zandra Chiron's property. After we got there, I was expecting the police to help me. I got the distinct feeling they were humoring me.

When the policeman had spoken to her through the intercom, I'd expected him to be polite, but firm. I was thoroughly pissed off when I heard him say, "Good evening Miss Zandra. This is Officer Westcott from the Florida State Police. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could I have a word with you?"

I expected the massive gates to swing free, maybe I'd see Cami goofing around, and I could give her hell for not calling or texting me or her family. I didn't. The place was large, completely surrounded by a swamp that acted like a moat, and the gates didn't budge. An elderly voice answered back through the intercom, "Officer Westcott, so nice of you to drop by. I'll be down at the gate in a few minutes."

I turned to him and said, "We need to get in there."

Officer Westcott shook his head, "We don't have a search warrant, and Miss Zandra is well regarded in the community. You can ask her permission to speak with her granddaughter, but don't go off half-cocked."

"Half-cocked? My best friend is being held prisoner in there."

"So you say. Maybe she ran away from you."

"She didn't run away; she was taken!"

"By a little old lady? You ever met Miss Zandra?"

This guy was about as helpful as a mall cop. I could see a golf cart driving toward us. The lady on it had to be Zandra Chiron. She had long silver-white hair, wore a large brimmed straw hat, and gave us both a warm smile. "Hello, Officer Westcott, so nice to see you again. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Officer Westcott tipped his hat, "Good evening, ma'am. We're sure sorry to bother you this evening, but this young man is worried about your granddaughter, Camille. He asked us to come out here. We obliged to make sure there wouldn't be any trouble."

"Trouble? Trouble from me? Certainly not."

"Oh, no, we didn't think you would be any trouble at all, Miss Zandra. We wanted to make sure he wasn't a nuisance to you."

"How very thoughtful of you." She gave him a thin smile, almost daring me to say something to get me handcuffed and escorted away.

I straightened my posture, returned her smile and asked, "Mrs. Chiron, I'm Daniel Gaskins. I was wondering if I might see Cami for a few minutes."

She lowered her chin and raised her eyelids. The look was thoughtful, sincere, and to anyone who'd grown up around actors – it looked rehearsed. "I'm sorry, Daniel. Camille is under the weather. I'll be happy to tell her you stopped by."

"Mrs. Chiron, I'm sorry to hear that. I've flown here from California because I hadn't heard from her. Is there any chance I could see her?"

More firmly than her first refusal, but still an Oscar-worthy performance, "I'm afraid not. I will tell her that you inquired about her."

"Could I stop..."

I was interrupted by Officer Westcott's hand on my shoulder as he said, "She's not feeling well, son. Time to get going."

I yanked my shoulder away from him and on reflex shared my best glare, "I'm not leaving until I see her."

Mrs. Chiron, still with the sweet voice, "Officer Westcott, you know how I feel about trespassers on my property. I'm an old woman and fear he may return when you aren't here to protect me. Is there anything you can do?"

I couldn't believe my ears. Was she trying to get me thrown in jail? I just wanted to know that Cami was fine. "Listen, I just want to see her. Just for a second. Once I see her, I'll go."

"I've already told you, Mr. Gaskins, she isn't well enough for visitors."

Officer Westcott interjected, "Miss Zandra, thank you for your time this evening. I hope we weren't too much trouble. Daniel, let's go."

Although it sounded like a request, his big beefy hand cinched tight around my arm as he led me back to his squad car. I couldn't believe this was happening. I could see the house off in the distance. If Cami was in there, I didn't understand why I couldn't see her.

Maybe what Dad had told me was true, it wasn't just his family – all full-blooded Centaurs would see me as nothing more than human. I would never be worthy to be in her life – not even as just her friend. I had given up hope of anything more years ago when he first told me about his family and why I was different from other humans. I was thirteen and had my very first crush – Cami. She was really tough, not just for a girl, but like, "bite steel and spit nails" tough. She never picked fights, but she was always the first person to step in and shut someone down if they were picking on someone else around school.

At thirteen I thought she was beautiful – my dad picked up on it right away. He told me she was different, that she wouldn't want to be my friend in another couple years – that she'd outgrow me. He discouraged our friendship, but never outright forbade it. I'd seen her date one loser after another. As her friend, it bothered me, but whenever my dad heard about it – he would get pissed off. Yet now that she was with the rest of her family and no one would let me see her, he didn't seem to care at all. None of it made sense to me.

I wished I understood the whole Centaur thing. My dad told me enough to pique my interest, but fell short on actually answering questions. Dad and Cami's mom were not at all friendly; there was always this weird tension between them, and any time there was a school function where both had to attend, I could count on them to be at opposite ends of the auditorium.

I was lost in thought when I felt the squad car come to a halt in front of the Jacksonville Airport. "My return flight isn't until tomorrow." My overnight bag was in the back seat of the car. I hadn't even checked into a hotel before I went to ask for the police's help.

"Son, my advice to you is, you get in there, get on a plane, and get out of here — tonight. Miss Zandra's an influential lady. She knows judges, lawyers, politicians – you name it. She isn't someone you want to cross."

"I just want to see Cami. I don't know what the big deal is."

"The big deal is, you asked nicely and she said, 'no'. You get caught over that way again, you won't get the option to go home – and the last place you want to be is in a jail, here, with her as the complaining witness."

I couldn't be mad at the guy. He may have strong-armed me into the car, but I could hear his sincerity, and he was right. My dad had told me not to come, Beau had told me not to come, and Cami still wasn't returning any of my calls. Maybe Dad was right after all: maybe she really had outgrown me.

(Camille)

I remained in that "almost" dream state for another full day. By then I had visibly lost weight that I didn't need to lose. My cheeks were sunken into my face, and any hint of color from the sun had bleached itself off my skin from the dark room. Large purple circles hung thick under my eyes. I had eaten crackers and fruit that were left for me just inside my bedroom door – not because I wanted them but because I couldn't be dead when Gage came back. I needed to live. I didn't think his spirit could take one more loss – no matter how painful my presence might be for him.

I caught myself talking to Mom lots of times, "You never should have given me Will's name... Why can't I see you?... Are you here?" I never once got a response or even saw her outline.

I knew I was a little over a week away from the wedding. Although pleased with the idea I would soon find my escape, I didn't welcome the celebration that came so close to the tragedy. Phineas stepped into my room at close to 3 a.m. and saw that I lay there awake. "Camille, you will be able to leave soon. Tomorrow morning I will bring you breakfast. I want you to eat it, do you understand?" I nodded that I did, but I wasn't sure my feet were planted in reality or if I were dreaming the conversation. "Have you contacted your mother?" I stared at him blankly, not fully processing his question. Phineas put his hands on both of my shoulders, "Camille, your father wants you to contact your mother's spirit. She needs to tell you something."

The physical contact was the first I had had since he kept me from collapsing down the steps. It awakened something inside me. I remembered: Phineas had told me to contact my mother, then Gage and the others came. How long ago had that been? Two weeks and I still couldn't speak to her, or at least she never spoke back. Then it hit me, I would be able to talk to Drake, to tell him how sorry I was, to tell him I loved him. For the first time since Gage left, I felt a glimmer of excitement again. I was weak, too weak from allowing myself nearly to starve to death. When Phineas brought me food the next morning, I wasn't hungry, but I found the strength to eat – not much because my stomach wasn't able to hold much, but enough to jump start my body again. He came back at lunch time with more food, and I ate a second time. I could feel my mental faculties slowly returning. I still had difficulty concentrating, but I tried talking to my mother all the time. I told her about everything; something told me she was with me, but I couldn't see her and I couldn't hear her.

"Mom, do you remember when you forced me to ride a bicycle? You thought it would be fun to ride by the ocean? I begged you not to make me do it. I pleaded with you to let me sit on the beach. You wouldn't take no for an answer. You worked double shifts for weeks so you could buy us matching bikes. I still remember looking at it in the store: the pink tassels, the big white banana seat. It was so beautiful at the bike shop. I wanted you to be proud of me, but I was terrified when you took them both out of your van in Carlsbad. I knew everyone was watching me, and I was scared. Do you remember what you told me?"

I waited, hoping she'd answer me, hoping I could hear her just for a second. "You said bravery is measured by how hard you try, not by whether you actually succeed. We went home from the beach that day with my skin gone on both knees, both elbows and my cheek. I never did learn how to ride it, but you still told me I was the bravest person you'd ever known."

I looked for her face, begging her to show me the same grainy image of herself that she'd shown me at Bruce's wedding. I confessed, "I don't know how to be brave unless you're with me. I need you to show me how to be brave again."

When my mother didn't show herself, I believed it was because my heart longed to see Drake. She knew me better than anyone on the planet, and she must have known that it was Drake I needed to see. Her loss had broken my heart, but his death was my fault. Zandra had killed him because she knew _he_ was who I wanted.

I needed to tell him how sorry I was. I'm sure Phineas could hear me through the door, but I didn't care. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the place where he'd lain. I smoothed my hand over the pillow that had cradled his face. "Drake, I don't know if you can hear me. I hope you can. I was just scared, okay? When I found you, you were everything I'd ever dreamed of. No one's supposed to get everything they want. No one is supposed to be perfect. It seems like every time I feel a sliver of happiness, a machete comes from out of nowhere to remove whatever I love most."

I felt hot tears dripping down my cheeks, my vision clouded, my throat was tight. "If I'd broken the engagement like you asked me to, maybe you'd still be here. Or maybe I'd be with you right now. You told me my plan was ridiculous, you didn't need to know me better – the truth is, I didn't need to know you better, either. You were the one."

I took my palms and wiped the moisture from my cheeks, drying my hands on my jeans. "I know I don't deserve a do-over. I should have seen you for what you were when I had the chance. I'm so sorry." My voice lost its volume. I whispered, "I love you, Drake. I always will. There'll never be another." I buried myself in the pillow he used, trying to drink up whatever scent was left.

I slept, wishing for dreams of Drake, wishing to touch his skin, to feel the stubble on his face one more time. I wished I had known how I felt about him while he was still alive. I tried to communicate with my mom's and Drake's spirits all the time. I kept thinking of it like a television station that was just outside the range of my digital receiver. Nothing worked. I never heard, saw, or felt either of them.

My guard detail of four had dwindled to two. I wasn't sure when it happened, but sometime during the time that I'd nearly starved myself to death, the other guards were gone. Aragon kept his post in the hallway during his shifts at night. Phineas began standing his watch inside my room during the day. He knew I was close to a mental breakdown and did everything he could to keep me from losing it.

Phineas openly spoke to me, trying to nurse me back to health. Although he seemed to be more comfortable stationed at my door, he occasionally took a seat in one of the chairs in my room. He was a constant reminder that I was coming back; I would be _me_ again soon. I still wore the hideous necklace: not so long ago I had thought it beautiful. I no longer felt that way. I hadn't felt even a flicker of energy from it since Zandra's last visit to my room, but I didn't tempt fate either.

"Have you contacted your mother's spirit?" It was always the first question Phineas asked me. Although I missed her, I was secretly expending most of my energy desperately trying to contact Drake. If spirits chose to stay earthbound, maybe he had chosen not to stay with me. I couldn't blame him. What little time we had spent together wouldn't have obligated him to me. I tried to speak with both as often as I could get my brain to focus, but even though I gathered strength, I had no luck whatsoever.

Friday at noon a seamstress brought a beautiful dress to my room. She put it over me and pinned it for the last of the alterations before tomorrow's wedding. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: I had lost too much weight. The last couple days with Phineas had done me good, but I still looked sickly compared to the person I'd been just weeks ago. My hair had lost its luster, my skin looked dull, and my bones were nearly visible under my skin.

Phineas and I were having our usual dinner chatter when there was a soft tap at my door. Phineas immediately came to attention and in three large strides had opened it. Phineas excused himself and allowed a woman to step through the door and into my world.

# Chapter 35

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

She had kind eyes, ice blue, exactly the same shade as Drake's. Her hair was shoulder-length, smooth and straight. She wore expensive cologne; I couldn't place the scent but knew I'd tested it at Dillard's. "Hello, Camille. I'm Hallenjah Nash. Is it okay if I speak with you?"

My heart stopped. This was one of Drake's relatives. She looked almost too young to be his mother, but I could see so much of Drake in her, I didn't know who else she could be. Would she, too, blame me for his death? I answered, "Of course."

"I am Drake's mother. I was hoping to speak with you about my son."

"I can see the resemblance. He had your eyes. I'm sorry for your loss."

"I can see that you are. Maybe you can help me find him?"

I gave her a questioning look but didn't know how to phrase it. Hadn't Gage told her what had happened? She continued, "You see, obviously, I am a Centauride — just like you. If my son were dead, he would have answered my calls to the spirit world. He has not."

My mind was strong, but I didn't understand what she was telling me. I confessed, "I've tried to speak with him as well, but I'm afraid I'm not very proficient."

"Your proficiency has nothing to do with it. He is not in the spirit world. I fear he is hidden somewhere in this fortress. I felt his presence when I stepped on the grounds. He is here: he is _alive_."

I yelled for the first time in weeks, "Phineas!!!" The door bolted open as if he were ready to do battle. "This is Mrs. Nash. She says Drake is still alive. Where is he?"

Phineas hesitated for only a second. He stepped inside my bedroom and closed the door. "I don't know for certain, but two of your guards were reassigned to the guest quarters, the day that... when Gage left the estate. I haven't spoken to the guards, and the estate staff are not permitted entry."

"You didn't think that was odd?"

"Truthfully, I was too worried about you. I was pleased that I was left assigned to you. It didn't occur to me to be curious."

I couldn't be angry with him. If it weren't for Phineas, I wouldn't have had the strength to even speak to Drake's mom. "How do we get into the guest quarters?"

Phineas answered sternly, "You don't! You stay put. I will try to get into the structure this evening."

"I want to see them."

"Camille, I don't know if they're there. If they are, I don't know their condition."

Hallenjah responded, "He's alive."

I threw my arms around Drake's mother. This was the first time I had felt joy in weeks. I felt her body stiffen at my unexpected show of emotion. Once she'd regained her footing, she returned my embrace. I asked her, "Why would Zandra pretend they were dead?"

"Why, indeed. I was hoping you could shed some light for me on that one."

I didn't know how much Gage had told her, and the last thing I wanted was to dime anyone out, so I only shared, "She's nutso, that's why."

"That is one explanation. Do you know my son spoke of you to me?"

Drake, talked about me? To his mother? What had he told her? When had he talked to her? "No ...I wasn't aware. I mean, I met him... before...you know."

"You spent the day with him on your father's yacht. It must have been some afternoon." Her tone wasn't accusatory, but she was politely making me aware that my infatuation with Drake likely had a hand in why Zandra faked his death. "Do you know that after he spent the afternoon with you, he asked his father and me if we would support him breaking his engagement to Bianca?"

"Uh, no. I wasn't aware of that either." I took a deep breath, almost scared to hear, but knowing I couldn't not know, "What'd you tell him?"

"We told him Bianca was a lovely Centauride who would make an excellent wife." She watched my eyes, and she seemed perceptive enough that she probably saw the glossiness I wasn't willing to let free. "I also told him to follow his heart, that if he was happy, we were happy. He was so nervous at the time that I believed he wished to break his engagement with Bianca to pursue a human. That was until Gage filled in the missing pieces for us when he delivered the news of Drake's death."

"And you came to meet me?"

"I came to find my son. Zandra knows I am here. She will also be aware that I can feel his presence. It is only a matter of time before she owns up to not murdering them and sets them free, or makes good on her fabrication and slays them."

A rush of emotions shook my body. "Phineas, take Mrs. Nash to the gate. Get her out of here."

"Camille, I can't leave you."

"I'm going to find Drake and Bianca. You get her to safety and catch up with me after."

"I can't let you do that."

I stood my ground. I didn't feel weak. I felt energy surge through my entire body, my necklace buzzed to life and I could feel the energy once again pulsate through the device. "I'll be fine. Get her out of here before Zandra catches her here."

Phineas shook his head, "If anything happens to you, I won't be able to face your father again. I'm here for your protection."

"Dammit Phineas! I don't need your protection right now. I need to get Drake out of here. Take care of his mom. I'll find them and get them to the gate."

"Zandra is on the estate. How do you plan to find them? She will know you've left your room. She will sense your excitement."

I shook my head. "If she senses my excitement, she'll interpret it that I am excited for the wedding. My thoughts have been blocked from her since my arrival."

Hallenjah nodded, "It's true, Phineas. None of her thoughts have escaped since I've been here. She has blocked all of them from me. If I cannot read her thoughts, neither can Zandra."

Phineas reluctantly agreed and motioned for Mrs. Nash to follow him.

Before she left, Hallenjah said, "Wait! Why do you wear a necklace of obedience?"

I nearly spat out the words, "Zandra thought it would be an exceptional engagement present."

"Come here for a minute." Hallenjah put her hands on either side of the necklace. I cringed, anticipating the electric shock that rocked me when Gage and Drake had done the same thing. She spoke loudly, "As matriarch of the Nash herd, I absorb your magic. This Centauride has proven her obedience; she is free of your enchantment." I felt the same pulse of electricity run through it that I felt while Zandra was near, but no painful shock followed. A few seconds passed, and the pulse faded away completely. I reached up and touched the clasps: it came off easily.

"I'm free, I can take it off!"

"If you intend to convince Zandra that you haven't spoken with me, you may want to keep it on."

I did as I was told and left the necklace in place while I bolted from the room. After not leaving it for weeks, I had become immune to the stale air inside. Phineas and Hallenjah followed me down the steps. When we reached the outside, we went in opposite directions. I passed the garden where I sat on the bench so many mornings with Zandra. As I ran toward the structure at the far end of the property, I soaked up the last of the day's rays. I forgot just how incredible the sunlight felt on my skin. The air was thick with the smell of the swamp, lush and green. I heard the sounds of the swamp and tried to concentrate on them to calm my nerves.

I saw the guard standing in front of the guest house's door. I stood just outside his view, allowing the foliage to camouflage my approach. I was able to stay away from his view and went around the back. I found a window opened, allowing breeze from the swamp to enter. The open window had steel bars on it. They had been installed recently, likely in a rush. A pile of more metal bars lay haphazardly below another window a little further to my right. That window was closed. I could see it had been nailed shut. A forgotten tool pouch was buried under the stack of metal bars on the ground.

I found a crow bar in the tool pouch and wedged it under one of the bars on the window. The screw securing the bar in place complained, but I didn't relent. I kept angling and re-angling the crowbar until I heard the screw fly free from the structure. I went to work on a second bar. As I had disengaged the second, I heard a squeal of excitement from inside the house. I looked up to the window and saw Bianca. I put my finger to my lips in the international signal for, "Be Quiet." She nodded. The next time I glanced up at the window, I saw two sets of eyes staring down at me. I let out a harsh whisper, "Block your thoughts!"

Both nodded, neither uttered a word.

In five minutes I had removed five screws, which were enough for Bianca and Drake to slip through the opening. Bianca was on the ground in seconds. Drake's frame was much bulkier than Bianca's, and he was halfway through the bars when Phineas joined us. I could see the desperation in Drake's eyes when he saw Phineas. He slid free of the final bar on the window, then charged Phineas.

My whisper was louder than it had been just seconds before, "Stop! He's helping me."

Drake stopped his assault. Phineas grinned, eyeing the metal bars hanging loosely on the window's frame, "Clever. What now?"

# Chapter 36

_(Camille Benning – Florida)_

Bianca had given me a quick hug. I was thrilled to see her, but it wasn't her embrace that I'd longed for. The reunion I'd never hoped for, never thought possible — happened. The thrill of seeing him in front of me rendered me speechless. Drake scooped me up into his arms. I didn't care about anything else in the world. He was alive. I could hear Phineas filling Bianca in. I was so wrapped up with Drake that I didn't think he was listening, either. He whispered, "I never thought I'd see you again. Not until after you belonged to Gage. Not until there was no chance for us. I need you, Camille. Don't marry him. I swear I'll wait for you for as long as it takes, but don't marry him."

"I won't." I couldn't get anything else out because Drake's lips were on mine. There was nothing discreet about us, and I didn't care if the entire world saw us. I pulled my lips from his and said, "Leave with me, now."

Drake's eyes drifted to the necklace I still wore. His hand reached for it in a silent reminder to me that I couldn't go. I couldn't contain my smile. "Your mom was here." I reached up to the clasps of the necklace and took it off.

Drake's eyes grew to the size of quarters. "You took it off!"

"Your mom fixed it. It turns out any Matriarch can remove it. I thought I was going to have to marry Gage to get it off."

I was still cradled in his arms, his voice heavy, "You were going to go through with it? You would have married Gage?"

"I didn't know you were alive until your mom told me a little while ago. As far as being bound to Gage, I didn't think I had much of a choice. If I had refused to marry him, I would have stayed a prisoner here. I'd already planned to go back to California, to my old life. I figured Gage would let me divorce him." Some of my darker desires included convincing Gage to return to Zandra's estate to exact revenge for the killing of Bianca and Drake. Now that I knew the truth, I didn't think I'd share that one with anyone.

"There's no divorce for Centaurs, Camille. It can't be done. A couple united can be parted by death, but the surviving Centaur cannot marry again. They cannot be bound a second time." Drake finally eased me onto my feet but kept his arms wrapped around me.

"Anything is possible. I was born of two Centaurs that weren't married. That isn't possible either."

"Camille, you don't understand. You're the only one. There are no others."

"What do you mean there are no others?"

"You're the only Centaur child to be born out of wedlock. Gage would never have agreed to a divorce. He would have been shunned by his family. He would have lost his livelihood. He would have been disgraced." Drake still held me in his arms, the warmth I never thought I'd feel again encircling me.

"Well then, it's a good thing Bianca isn't dead. He can marry her." I was all smiles and wasn't sure gravity still worked because I felt like I was floating. I brought myself back to earth when something that had bothered me for a long time came to mind, "But wait — Gretchen said she gave Will permission to be with my mom if he wanted."

Drake eyed me curiously, "Your father shouldn't have been able to...you know...with your mother. Gretchen may have given him permission because she didn't know what to make of it. I've heard of no bloodlines from the pastures of Thessaly that can break a bond."

"So maybe he was from a different pasture."

Drake stopped, arguing with himself more than with me, "There couldn't be. It's not possible."

"What's not possible?"

"Something I need to talk to my parents about when we return."

Phineas cleared his throat. He wore a grin that stretched from the side of the house to the window. "What are you two waiting for? Let's go." Phineas led us straight to the garage, where we all piled into a sleek black Mercedes. I saw a rack of fresh vegetables setting by the door to go into the house. "Give me a second." I grabbed eight tomatoes out of the pile and went to the Bentley. I shoved each of them into the car's gas tank, one right after the other, replaced the gas cap, and jumped back into the sedan.

Bianca asked, "What was that for?"

"They'll be able to go thirty miles before the engine seizes. They'll be stranded, and it'll give us a better head start. Drive Phineas!"

We raced down the driveway, Phineas pressed a button, and the foreboding gates opened wide for us. We were free. As we sped down the two lane road, it felt like we had wings instead of wheels. Bianca told me they'd been held in the guest house the whole time. It didn't occur to me that the guard staff had changed — the staff of four rotating their watch over me had changed to two — but I was so out of it from the grief of losing them both, I hadn't noticed.

The sun was just setting over the horizon when we pulled into Will and Gretchen's driveway. It was a marvelous homecoming. Everyone but Beau stood outside awaiting our arrival. Gage arrived within minutes and grabbed hold of Bianca, the same reunion Drake and I had shared just hours before. No one said a word, as they had pushed all pretense aside, holding each other tenderly, ready to finally begin their life together, regardless of who had been betrothed to whom. I expected William to say something about rules, commitments, bloodlines or something, but he didn't – he looked relieved.

Drake pulled me close to his side and addressed my father. "Camille has had a horrific ordeal. She's not ready to make her choice, but when she is, she'll choose me." Drake looked down at me as if he were waiting for me to argue what we both already knew. "As her unofficial fiancé, I will protect her to the death, and I will not leave her side."

Will nodded, "Gretchen agrees with you; it's only a matter of time."

My eyes darted to Gretchen. She bowed her head slowly, and I blurted out, "I thought if you told someone their future, you jinxed it or something?"

Gretchen stepped closer to Drake and me, in a tone that left nothing to interpretation, "Camille, your destiny has been fluid. I've seen so many different outcomes for you in the last two months, I'm still not certain. What I do know: If you choose a Centaur, Drake is the Centaur you'll choose — when you're ready. Your heart has already made the choice. You just need to give your mind time to accept your heart's decision."

Drake was standing behind me when Gretchen said he was my future. I felt his arms wrap around me as he lovingly kissed the top of my head. Drake whispered, "There's no rush, Camille. Take your time, but know that I won't allow anyone to separate us."

I crossed both arms over Drake's arms that were wrapped around me and leaned back fully into his warm embrace. It felt like things were going to be okay, even if I only got to savor that feeling for a couple minutes. I didn't miss Gretchen's words, "If you choose a Centaur." I'd said from the beginning that I wasn't sure I wanted anything to do with being a Centaur – but that was before I knew how I felt about Drake.

Drake spoke to my father, "It's only a matter of time before Zandra catches up to us."

Will nodded, "Get some rest. I can forbid her entry into my home. You'll be safe here. Welcome to our family, Drake. Thank you for bringing Camille home."

We climbed the steps to my room. So much had happened; I hardly knew where to begin. With all the weird rules and strange traditions, I half expected someone to jump in front of us and send us to separate rooms. No one did. While we walked into my room, Drake said, "You know she'll be here soon."

"Uniting the bloodlines is no more than a pipe dream for her now. Gage and Bianca are going to make it official – he's off the market. Once he's chosen, officially, by Bianca, my blood debt is paid."

"Gage has a brother, Camille."

"What?"

"I can't believe he never told you. Brandon is eighteen, and if Gage is out of the picture, Zandra could do the whole thing over again. Gage's dad and your grandmother are serious about uniting their two bloodlines."

"What's the big deal?"

"I think they're trying to find immortality."

"Immortality?"

"Chiron was an immortal who willingly gave up his immortality. Unice was made a human before Chiron, and had immortal blood in her veins, as well. I think Kyle and Zandra are trying to make Centaurs immortal again or at least their bloodlines. They aren't going to give up just because Gage and Bianca are together; in fact, Bianca is probably in as much danger as we are."

"Does she know?"

"The three of us talked about it while we were all at Zandra's estate. They know to go into hiding. They can use Aphrodite's magic to hide if they need to. We already know that works."

I thought of what Gage told me, how his dad was really in love with my mom, how he hid her and protected her. Gage could do the same thing for Bianca, and I might never see them again. "I need to talk to Bianca."

"They've already left."

"Do you know where they went?"

"I have an idea, but nothing specific."

"How do we get in contact with them?"

"That's the point, Camille. We don't."

"Gage won't break contact with his family, will he?" Growing up with just Mom and me, it was hard to imagine willingly giving her up, let alone a whole family.

"He's not sure how far his dad'll go. He's not taking any more chances with Bianca."

"Maybe Mr. Richardson isn't so bad. Maybe it's just he and Zandra together that are the problem."

"She's power mad, Camille. She'll hunt us down with or without Gage's dad."

"She's an old woman, Drake. I doubt she'd stand a chance against us."

"You are still unfamiliar with our ways. Don't confuse age with power or strength. The only reason you and your mother were safe for all those years was Aphrodite's magic protected you both. That protection is no longer there. Zandra is a Centauride scorned: she will seek her revenge."

"So what are you saying? We need to go into hiding?"

"We need more than a good hiding spot. We need magic of our own."

I could see Drake was just as exhausted as I was. We slipped into my bed, his arms wound around my body, and I felt tingles all over my skin. I didn't want to talk about Zandra, going into hiding, or finding our own magic. I only wanted to feel Drake's body against mine, savor the rhythm of his heart beating against me and listen to his breathing. We melted into each other and drifted off together. It felt like I'd only just blinked my eyes when an arm shook me.

"Camille," Will's voice was an urgent whisper, "wake up. Quickly, wake up."

I wiped the sleep from my eyes, squinting into the darkness. I felt the warmth of Drake's body against mine as his muscles flexed beside me. "What's wrong, Will?"

"Camille, Zandra is on her way. It's worse than we thought. You need to get up. We need to get you out of here."

"I thought you said we'd be safe here?"

"You've got an hour, two at best and her forces will be upon us. You'll be safe inside my walls, but I can't offer you protection outside the house, and you couldn't stay inside forever."

"Where will we go?"

"I've chartered a plane. You'll need to get to the Monck's Corner Airport where a plane is waiting. Go now, Sweetheart. It's your only chance."

Drake tugged me hard. He didn't need to hear anything else. "Camille, I'm not losing you again, let's go."

I turned to Drake, "But where? Won't she find us wherever we go?"

"I've got an idea." Drake turned to Will and asked, "How big of a plane is it?"

"It's a jet, son. Go. Everything you need is waiting on the plane." Will pulled me into a tight embrace. "Be careful. If you need us, we're a phone call away. I'll stay here long enough to throw her off of your trail. Don't go near San Diego."

Drake nearly pulled me out of Will's arms. "I'm sorry, Love, we need to go." I started to struggle against him when he murmured, "I can't lose you again." That was all it took. I knew if I lost him a second time, I wouldn't survive – I couldn't fault him for feeling the same. "I'm going to give my parents a call. We need to go in five minutes."

I looked around the room. There wasn't much of me here. As I packed clothes, I saw my cell phone by the night stand, exactly where I'd left it several months before. Neither Will nor Gretchen bothered to unplug it while I was gone. My voicemail box was full. I saw the call log. Daniel had called every day for the last two months. I needed to call him and let him know I was okay. But what would I tell him?

Drake peeked in through my bedroom door, "Ready, love?"

"I guess so, but I need to know where we're going."

"Ireland, at least that's where we'll start."

"Ireland?"

"Ireland's our first stop. Our history is unreliable; too many fables are mixed in with truths, so I'm not a hundred percent certain where we'll end up. Do you have a passport?"

"Well, yeah, but not here. It's at my apartment in California." Spring break of my senior year was in Cabo San Lucas. I had only that single stamp in my passport, although I had fantasies of traveling the world. Not in my darkest nightmares could I have imagined a deranged grandmother coming into my life then chasing me around the planet.

"Looks like we'll need to make a detour."

"A detour, for a passport? Drake, did anything happen to you that I should know about while you were captive in Zandra's guest house? A big knock on the head or something?"

Drake stepped through the door, was in front of me in four strides and looked into my eyes, "Yes. Something did happen. I fell hopelessly in love with a woman with a death sentence on her head. Now grab your backpack. Let's go."

"I think this is great and everything, but what kind of magic are we looking for? I mean, is it bigger than a breadbox? Are we going to need a crane?"

"I'll tell you everything once we're in the air."

We didn't go to the airport I'd flown into. We went up to a sleepy runway in Moncks Corner. I hated the idea of leaving my beautiful sedan in the lonely little parking lot. The car had fewer than three hundred miles on it, and it seemed like a huge waste of money considering how much I'd been able to use it.

As I shut the trunk, I looked at the small control tower in front of us. It was only two stories, with open-ended hangers spread out along the outskirts of the runway. It looked like maybe twenty small planes called this airport their home.

"So which one of these are we taking?"

"None of those. Your father sent a jet. It should be here somewhere."

We walked the fifty feet from the parking lot to the airport's terminal – I use that term loosely. I didn't know airports existed that didn't have TSA. No x-ray inspection, no displays announcing arrival and departure flights: this looked closer to a car rental agency than a real airport. A man looked over a counter with a headset on. "You Mr. and Mrs. Nash?"

I froze, but Drake didn't miss a beat, "Yes. We're here for a pickup."

"Your pilot just radioed in, should be on the ground in about five minutes. He's already filed his flight plan and says he doesn't need fuel. Once he's on the ground, you can go out to the tarmac. You're all set."

We saw a sleek, black jet making its approach to the airport. When it touched down, it looked seriously out of place with the privately owned Cessnas and crop dusters that hid under the open bay canopies. After it landed, we stepped out onto the runway. The aircraft's engines were whining quietly as we walked out toward it. The hatch opened, and a set of stairs materialized from its fuselage. Drake led me by the hand to the stairs as a man wearing a headset, loud surfer shorts, and Oakley's yelled down to us, "Drake and Camille Nash?"

Drake answered, "That's us."

"Come on up. Sorry we're late." Once we were inside the cabin, the man said, "We were fixing the passenger manifest. For today's flight to New York, you're "Fred and Wilma Rubble."

I smirked at the man, "A little obvious, don't you think?"

"Naw, obvious would have been Fred and Wilma Flintstone. When we fly international, our manifest will have to match your passports."

"My passport's in California."

"Already taken care of." I cocked my head to the side, wondering how they'd had a chance to get my passport. Before I could ask, the man lifted the stairs behind us and closed the door. It was remarkably quiet inside and not like the commercial airplanes I'd been on. "I'm Chip. The bar is there, under the television. There should be some snacks in the cabinet under it. If you're really hungry, there are some frozen meals in the freezer. There's a bedroom in the back. Help yourself to anything you want."

"You're the pilot and the steward?"

"Co-pilot, and this is more self-service, if you know what I mean." The engines began throttling up and Chip smiled, "Sounds like that's my cue. The pilot must be ready to go. We shouldn't be stopping along the way. FAA says I have to give you a safety briefing. If we lose cabin pressure during the flight, there are oxygen masks in the storage compartment over your seats. If we have an emergency landing, you can open either of the two doors by pressing and pulling the handle up. If the captain and I become incapacitated during the flight, pucker up and kiss your asses goodbye."

My eye muscles flexed and Chip laughed, "Just making sure you were paying attention. Sit back, relax, watch a movie or do whatever you like. If you need anything, just hit the intercom on one of the seats."

"Thanks, Chip. How long a flight will it be?"

"We're going up to New York. We'll get a full tank of fuel there and head to Dublin straight away. Mr. Strayer had us stop in North Carolina to pick something up for you. It's in that envelope on the seat."

# Chapter 37

_(Camille Benning – Charleston, SC)_

Drake opened the envelope. Inside were two passports, two credit cards and a stack of Euros. I opened the passport and saw myself staring back. It said my name was "Angela Chiron." I looked at the other and it was "Gage Chiron."

"He couldn't have chosen less conspicuous names?"

Drake smiled, "He's helping us out a great deal. Nash is a well-known bloodline from the original pasture, but it doesn't carry the same weight as the Chiron name."

We felt the plane lift up off the ground, and I watched us climb higher and higher, "The original pasture?"

"Right, we're going back to Thessaly."

"Thessaly? You're serious?"

"Of course, I'm serious."

"Thessaly is in Ireland?"

"I think so. So much myth is rolled up with legend, we may find out it's somewhere else."

"So we're flying halfway around the world, and we aren't even sure we are flying to the right country?"

Drake gathered my hands in his and brought them to his lips, "Think of it as a honeymoon."

"A honeymoon? Just because the pilots think we're Mr. and Mrs., I'm still single. If it were our honeymoon, you would not be getting away with taking me to Ireland in search of a pasture where ancient Centaurs used to breed."

"It was more than a breeding ground, Camille. It was where our race was born. It's sacred, and it has a magic all its own."

"So we're going to do what, dig up some soil or something?"

"It won't be that easy. We need to find your great uncle Zethus."

"My great uncle? I've never heard of him."

"He's Zandra's brother. The stories I've heard say that he lives at Thessaly. He's as much a direct descendant of Chiron as Zandra – but he was favored by the gods and has something that we need."

"What?"

It wouldn't have been possible for the pilot or co-pilot to hear us, but Drake whispered anyway, "Hercules' arrow."

"You're not serious!"

"I am serious. We need the arrow. Having it will be enough of a deterrent. The tip still has the blood of a Hydra."

No one could be more surprised than me that after everything she'd put me through, I didn't want her dead, "But that'll kill her."

"We aren't going to shoot it through her heart. If we can get the arrow from Zethus, the tip of the arrow pricking her skin will drain her of her magic. She'll live out her life, but we won't have to look over our shoulders."

"Are Zethus and Zandra close?"

"I don't know, but I don't have any other ideas, Love."

Once we had started the second leg of our trip, New York to Dublin, I stood up and held my hand out to Drake, "Come with me." I led him to the rear of the aircraft and found the bedroom that Chip had pointed out. I didn't want to think about her chasing us, where her brother's loyalties might lie, if we could find the pasture, or even if the arrow existed.

I was exhausted and hoped this flight would take three days. I was sure I could spend that long in bed — longer, knowing Drake was not only alive but with me. Drake snuggled in close, and it only took minutes for his breathing to slow down. All those conversations I'd had with his spirit, or so I thought, I'd confessed everything. I swore if there was any chance ever to tell him how I felt, I wouldn't hold anything back. "Drake?"

His eyes were closed, his lips turned up in a content grin. He looked like he was seconds from drifting off to sleep, "Hmmm?"

"I love you." I'd never said those words to anyone but Mom, and I knew I'd never feel them for anyone else.

Drake's eyes snapped open and his grin morphed into a wide smile. He leaned toward me on one shoulder as his free hand caressed my arm and his lips crushed onto mine. When he pulled his lips away, his ice blue eyes were staring directly into mine. "Say it again, Camille."

I couldn't help beaming back at him, "I said, I love you, Drake."

He wrapped both his arms around me, pressing himself into me and whispered in my ear, "For how long?"

I cocked my head to the side, "What do you mean: for how long?"

"How long do you promise to love me?"

"Always, Drake."

Before I could blink an eye, Drake had pulled me up to a sitting position on the bed. My legs were draped over the side of the bed and he was kneeling in front of me. "Camille, I promise to protect you. I promise to always put your needs before mine. I promise I'll never let you go to bed angry, and you'll never wake up alone. I promise to love you the rest of my life, and when this life is over, I'll spend my eternity in the pasture with you."

I was speechless. Luckily, Drake didn't wait for any kind of a response from me. He pulled me into his chest, "I've never wanted anything more than you to love me back." He crushed his mouth onto mine again. I didn't have to say the words. He knew I'd made my choice.

We both gave ourselves over to the exhaustion. Hours later I awoke from the deepest sleep I'd had in months. My hands traced the chiseled lines of his chest, his arms stayed wrapped around me. I knew Zandra wouldn't fade into the background. Before I came to South Carolina, I'd never given much thought to my future; I caught myself now thinking of the possibilities. Somewhere between awake and asleep I smelled my mother's perfume. My eyes snapped open. I saw her sitting on the edge of the bed; she was so beautiful — her skin almost glowed. She held her finger to her lips, silencing me, pointing at the sleeping Drake beside me. "Be careful, Camille. Centaurs are not what they seem. Most are like Rupert, more beast than man."

"You mean Drake?" I shook my head at the absurdity. "But, I love him."

"I know, Camille. But do you love him enough to save him?"

"Save him from what?"

"No one is safe with you right now. The Lost Herd seeks you. I had to give up Kyle for the same reason, it was the only chance he had at life. They still found me."

I'd never gotten a straight answer from Gretchen and I wasn't able to ask my father. Mom might be the only one I could ask right now. "Brent says we're part of the Lost Herd. Are we?"

"Trust yourself, Camille. Know that you and you alone can find what you seek. If you love Drake, do not put him in danger. Do not allow him in your life."

"Mom, I can't...I can't give him up." I looked at him sleeping peacefully beside me, muttering more to myself, "I almost didn't make it without him."

"I know it's hard, Camille. But if you love him, you'll send him away. Take the fight to your enemies and give them nothing to hold over you. Drake is your only weakness. They will exploit him and you will fail."

"But you never fought your enemies: you went into hiding. Gage told me all about it."

"You're right, if I had it to do over again, I would have fought. I did not see what would happen to you. You, too, will have a son and daughter one day. You need to make the choice now, before it's made for you. The Lost Herd will find you. When they do, you and your descendants will never be free."

I could see pain welling up through her eyes. "Your father..." Her lips moved but her words were muted. I saw her figure fading into the background.

"Mom! I can't hear you! Mom!" I reached out to where she had been sitting and felt nothing but air. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. "Mom, don't leave!" The sound of my own voice startled me. I awoke to the dark bedroom, trying to figure out if she had been there or if I'd just dreamed her. I took in a large whiff hoping to catch even a faint hint of her perfume – but I smelled nothing. She wasn't there.

I struggled to go back to my dream, but I didn't have any luck. All I found was a dreamless sleep. I awoke hours later to Drake's arms still around me. I didn't want to flinch because it still felt a little euphoric to be there with him. My mind began to wander. Did I really have a twin brother somewhere in the world? Mom said I'd have a son and daughter; Zandra must have been telling the truth about twins. What would Zandra do if she saw me again? How would we know Bianca and Gage were okay? Did my mom really appear in a dream or was it my imagination? Why couldn't I see or hear my mom? What did I have to fear from the Lost Herd? What did Drake mean when he said we needed to find our own magic? Could I share any of this with Daniel?

All these questions were sailing through my mind when I heard Drake murmuring in his sleep: the lullaby that broke down my defenses at Zandra's, "Choose me, Camille. Choose me." I snuggled in closer to him, pushing the questions to the back of my mind. I'd worry about all of that later. For now, I would live in the present – savor the love of a man I thought I'd lost forever. Mom's warning was probably just a dream; after everything we'd gone through, my mind wanted to believe that real happiness was finally mine.

The second book in the Touched series, _Centaur Legacy,_ is available at your favorite retailer.

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Learn more on the author's website.

# THE FORGOTTEN ONES

### Book One of the Danaan Trilogy

**Laura Howard**

Allison O'Malley's plan is to go to grad school so she can get a good job and take care of her schizophrenic mother. She has carefully closed herself off from everything else, including a relationship with Ethan, who she's been in love with for as long as she can remember.

What is definitely not part of the plan is the return of her long-lost father, who claims he can bring Allison's mother back from the dark place her mind has gone. Allison doesn't trust her father, so why would she believe his fairy tale about a long forgotten Irish people, the Tuatha de Danaan? But truths have a way of revealing themselves. Secrets will eventually surface. And Allison must learn to set aside her plan and work with her father if there is even a small chance it could restore her mother's sanity.

# Pronunciation Guide

Liam {Lee-um}

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Niamh {Neev}

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Aoife {Ay-fuh}

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Breanh {Bran}

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Diarmuid {Der-mott}

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Niall {Neal}

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Bláithín {Blaw-heen}

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Eithne {En-ya}

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Aodhan {Ay-den}

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Saoirse {Sare-shuh}

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Deaghlan {Deck-lun}

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Tír na n'Óg {Tur-na-nog}

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Bruidhean {Brood-ian}

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Fháillan {Fah-lan}

# Chapter 1

I caught a glimpse of my mother staring out the den window. She held her violin loosely under her chin, and the bow dangled from her fingertips. Her jaw was slack, her eyes locked on something in the trees beyond me. I knew that haunted expression. I froze.

I swallowed hard as her eyes shifted to me. The violin fell from her chin, and I could see her bottom lip trembling.

I should have been used to that reaction from her when she saw me during an episode. It happened every time. But I wasn't.

I flew into the house as fast as my feet would carry me. The screen door crashed behind me as I came to a halt outside the den. My mother clutched fistfuls of her blonde hair, garbled words spilling from her lips.

"I have to. I have to go out there," she said. "He's waiting for me."

She stood in the semi-darkness, mumbling, the only other sound the hum of the ceiling fan. I clung to the doorjamb as I watched my grandmother approach carefully. She placed her hands on my mother's shoulders, and on contact my mother's body stopped quaking. Gram crooned, rocking her back and forth, as she pulled her into her arms and led her away from the window.

My stomach tightened, and I backed away to leave them alone. If she saw me again, who knew what would happen.

I cringed as the floor creaked beneath me, and she jerked her head in my direction. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and the shaking began again. Breaking away from my grandmother, she stumbled backward toward the window. She raked her fingers down her face and hair as she moaned. "Liam..." Tears streamed down her cheeks, causing thick strands of hair to stick to her face.

I entered the room slowly, desperate not to step on another squeaky floorboard. Her green eyes burned into mine, and I locked my eyes on hers. No matter how many times she fought my attempts to soothe her, I had to keep trying. She was my mom.

I reached for her shoulders. "Mom," I whispered. "It's just me."

She flinched. I knew she recognized me. I'd never met my father, but under my mattress I hid the only scrap I could find with his image on it. The picture—a strip of them actually—was taken before I was born in a photo booth in Ireland. I looked just like him. Considering how she often spoke his name when she was like this, my gut told me that she saw my father in me.

She writhed as I touched her and clawed at my hands. Gurgling sounds came from somewhere deep in her throat, but I knew she was still saying my father's name. I placed my hands gently over hers, my gaze steady, as though approaching a wounded animal. I took deep, soothing breaths the way Gram had taught me.

I could feel the weight of Gram's stare, watching as I got closer than ever to my mother actually letting me comfort her. I focused on my mom, ignoring the panic rising in my chest.

"Shh..you're okay," I said. "You're okay." I repeated it over and over, softly, until her breathing became even, more normal. It felt like hours, but the tension in her fingers loosened eventually as she stopped trying to resist me.

My grandmother walked out of the room as I continued to make shushing sounds, the panic in my mother's eyes fading. I couldn't see it, but I knew Gram was probably smiling, at least a little.

I exhaled and led my mother to the couch. The same woman who had just been in the throes of a schizophrenic episode was now completely unresponsive as she sat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gram standing just outside the doorway. I released my mother's hands—she'd stay that way for a while, and there was nothing any of us could do—and got up to follow Gram down the hallway to the kitchen. The air wafted toward me as she moved, smelling like oranges and cloves—familiar and comforting.

I opened the refrigerator, snagged a bottle of water, and slouched down at the kitchen table. I tried to smile as I unscrewed the cap, but inside I was struggling with the gratification of being able to bring my mother down from her episode versus the pang of guilt for being the one who caused her condition in the first place. Before I was born, she'd been a bright, happy college student. Her spiral into schizophrenia didn't start until I showed up.

She had met my father during her last year of college. She had traveled to Ireland for her final semester to study music at Trinity College in Dublin. She'd been fine when she left, I'm told, but when she came back she was heartbroken and pregnant. She'd never been the same since.

"Have you eaten, honey?" Gram asked, nailing me in place with her eyes.

I flipped the bottle cap in my fingers. "No, but I'm fine."

"Oh no, you don't. We had a nice steak for supper, cooked just the way you like. You'll have some, won't you?"

I had to laugh. With Gram there was no choice, even if she asked. I sat down at the table while she whirled around the kitchen. In minutes I had a steak dinner in front of me, complete with steaming mashed potatoes and green beans.

"You spoil me, you know," I said between bites. "I'm never going to be able to take care of myself if you keep this up."

Gram smiled at me. "You'll have plenty of time to take care of yourself. Let me spoil you while I still can."

I swallowed down the guilt, knowing she didn't see raising me—and Mom—for the past almost twenty-two years as the burden it felt like to me.

As I ate, my mother walked into the kitchen. She sat down at the table quietly without looking at either of us.

"Hi, Mom..." I spoke as softly as I could, not wanting to alarm her.

"Hello." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She chewed on her fingernail and stared absently out the window. Even with the hair framing her face in knots, my mother looked lovely. Her eyes sage green, her skin flawless. She was forty-three but didn't look a day over thirty.

"That was a beautiful tune you played earlier, Beth," Gram said as she took my mother's hands in her own. "I could practically smell the breeze blowing in off the Irish sea."

"Mm hmm," my mother answered, mostly detached, but a tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out quickly before it startled my mom. I opened it to find a message from my cousin, Nicole:

_I need ice cream tonight_

I gave a small laugh as I put my phone back into my pocket. I'd worked all afternoon at my grandfather's hardware store, but it was Friday night—I should've known I wouldn't be able to just relax with a good book. Nicole was twenty, only a year younger than me, and we were as close as sisters. But our ideas of a perfect Friday night couldn't be more different. If only we didn't live next door to each other maybe I could get out of this.

I glanced out the window to Nicole's driveway. When I'd gotten home, it had been filled with cars—her friends had been taking over the place. But now I was grateful to only see her little Jetta. Hanging out with Nicole I guess I could handle.

Her friends were a different story. Especially when Ethan Magliaro was around.

# Chapter 2

Nicole and I sat down at a table on the patio with two of the biggest sundaes on the menu at DeeDee's. The sun was hanging low in the evening sky, and the heat from earlier in the day had settled into pleasant warmth on my skin. The last fingers of golden light caused the pink and blue umbrellas to cast a glow across Nicole's pale blonde hair. She licked a puff of whipped cream off her spoon and eyed me.

"What?" I said through a mouthful of ice cream.

"We're going to the beach tomorrow," she said before taking her own bite.

"Have fun," I mumbled.

She wiped her lips with a napkin and narrowed her eyes at me. "You're coming." I opened my mouth to argue, but she held a slender finger up at me and pursed her lips. "It's the first Saturday you've had off in months. School's over, at least for the summer. You're coming."

I sighed and looked up at the pattern of our umbrella. "You really know how to ruin a perfectly good sundae."

Her eyes shot daggers at me. "We'll have a great time, Al." Her expression changed as she seemed to change tactics. Her green eyes widened and her lip stuck out just the tiniest bit.

Cranky Nicole was a challenge, but pouting Nicole was impossible.

"Fine," I sighed. "We're going to the beach." I looked at my sundae, which had made me so happy a minute earlier and a thought came to me. She hadn't said anyone else was coming, but Nicole and her boyfriend Jeff were practically inseparable. "Wait, who else is going?"

Nicole grinned, clearly smelling her victory. "The usual crew: Jeff, Rachel, Sean and"—her eyebrows inched up—"Ethan."

I nodded, trying to breathe evenly. I hated the way my pulse spiked at just the mention of his name. Handsome, cocky Ethan. His smile had the power to break down every one of my defenses. But, I didn't have space in my life for that. I had a plan—to focus on taking care of my mom. My grandparents had done it by themselves for long enough. I needed to find a way to help, to unburden them. That was my priority. But Ethan...he was so hard to resist sometimes.

Just as I began to get lost in thought, a quick movement caught my eye as Jeff snuck up behind Nicole. He held his finger to his lips and planted a kiss on Nicole's cheek.

She jumped and instinctively smacked him, but a smile overtook her face when she realized who it was.

"Hey, babe." Jeff took the seat next to her and looked over at me. "Hey, Al."

The chair next to mine scraped the patio, and it was my turn to jump. Ethan dropped into the seat and grinned at me, his dimples out in full force. I tried to concentrate on my sundae.

"Hey," he said, nodding at me. A brown curl slipped down his forehead, adding to his annoying charm.

"Hi," I muttered before shoving a glob of half-melted ice cream in my mouth to avoid conversation. _Must. Not. Fall._ I reminded myself.

Ethan was tall, olive-skinned with dark, messy curls. Easily the best-looking guy in Stoneville. And also the biggest player in town. He knew the effect he had on girls, and he used it to his advantage.

"So, we're all set for the beach tomorrow," Nicole told them. She sounded a little too smug, and I rolled my eyes.

"Something in your eye, Allison?" Ethan asked, seemingly amused at my attempt at indifference.

I clenched my jaw and almost rolled my eyes again. "That must be it, Ethan."

"Oh, come on. I know how bad you want to see me with my shirt off."

I knew it didn't warrant a response, but I could never keep my mouth shut when Ethan provoked me. And he knew it.

"The entire female population of this town has seen you without a shirt on. _Not_ that exciting."

A slow smile spread across his face—he saw through me. I really needed to work on my sarcasm.

He turned back to Nicole and Jeff, who were debating whether to head northeast to Hampton Beach or southeast to Horseneck Beach the next day. Not a debate I had any interest in. Though, maybe it could be okay...it was a day off after all.

Nicole's petite nose scrunched up. "Hampton is full of screaming kids. Horseneck is better."

"What do you think, Ethan?" Jeff asked his brother.

Ethan stretched, raising his arms over his head so that his sleeves fell and showed off his toned biceps. His eyes darted to me before answering. "The girls wear skimpier bikinis at Hampton."

A gagging sound escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

Ethan grinned, obviously delighted to get another rise out of me. "But I'll go wherever Al wants to go. I don't want her to have any reasons to bail on us."

He would twist anything I said, so this time I managed to stay quiet. Nicole met my eyes and I nodded.

"Horseneck it is."

Nicole left with Ethan and Jeff a little while later, all three of them excited about the band playing tonight at The Bean Counter. Ethan had made an impressive effort to convince me to come along, but going to the packed coffee house sounded horrible to me. Thank goodness I had my own car and could use needing to go get us food for the beach as an opt out.

"I'll be over at seven-thirty a.m. sharp!" Nicole hollered from Jeff's jeep as he pulled away.

Right. Sure, she would.

I chuckled as I drove home from the grocery store, remembering Nicole's claim that she'd be ready early. All of our lives I'd had to drag her out the door, kicking and screaming, just to get her to school on time.

I pulled into the driveway, grabbed the bags, and headed up the stairs of the front porch. Twigs snapping in the woods broke through the quiet night. As I looked around to see what might have made the noise, a shiver ran down my spine. The yard was dark, and the porch light didn't reach more than five feet off the steps.

I shook my head, irritated by my paranoia and walked through the front door.

Gram sat on the couch with a crossword book on her lap, and my mother was watching a game show on TV. Pop was slouched in his chair, eyes closed under the half-moon glasses that had slid down low on his nose.

I smiled at them as I quietly set my keys on the sideboard.

At that moment, it wasn't hard to believe that my mother was the happy, carefree girl everyone claimed she was before I was born. The glow from the lamp brightened her partially damp hair. A stranger wouldn't think she was much older than me she looked so young. Even staring at the TV with her mouth slightly open, she was beautiful.

"What time will you be heading to the beach tomorrow?" Gram asked without looking up.

"Nicole says she'll be here at seven-thirty. " I sighed, pulling a cooler out of the closet. "What do you think the odds are of that happening?"

"No comment, Allie-girl," Gram replied, a twinkle in her eye.

Sunlight assaulted my eyelids, and I pulled the blanket up over my head with a groan. I'd been dreaming of cloudy, rain-soaked skies, but judging from the intensity of the sun, there weren't any ominous thunderstorms getting me out of going to the beach today. It was only six o'clock, though, so I climbed out of bed, threw on shorts and a tank top and headed out for a run. At least I'd have a little time to myself.

When I walked back in the house, my mother was already sitting on the couch watching TV. Pop sat at the table reading the Saturday paper. I didn't see Gram anywhere—she was probably out back watering her garden before it got too hot.

"Good morning, Allison," Pop said, folding down the corner of his paper.

"Mornin', Pop," I said as the smell of fresh coffee drew me into the kitchen where my favorite mug already sat on the counter waiting for me. When I returned to the living room, caffeine in hand, Pop continued.

"I hear you kids are heading to the beach today," Pop said, his face hidden behind the newspaper. My mother glanced over at him but quickly looked back to the talk show she was watching.

"That's right. Can't wait." I dropped down on the couch with my coffee.

Pop folded down the corner of his paper again, peering at me over his reading glasses. "It's okay to have some fun once in a while, Al."

I snorted in response. Going to the beach with Nicole and her friends didn't really count as fun in my book. Other than Nicole, I didn't really feel comfortable around anyone my own age. I'd never fit in, I'd rather just be alone or sit in the backyard with a book while Gram worked in her garden.

"When Beth was a girl, she and Joanne went to the beach just about every weekend during the summer. They were inseparable." Joanne still stopped by to visit at least once a week, so I could believe it. She also happened to be Jeff and Ethan's mother.

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me something, Pop?" I asked with a smirk.

"Nah, sweetheart. Just thinking life is too short, you know? I wouldn't want you to miss out on your share of fun before life gets in the way."

"I'm perfectly happy with a good book and a bowl of Double Fudge ice cream." I grinned widely, trying to show my sincerity, though probably was pushing it toward overkill.

"It sure isn't that you're not pretty enough," he said, ignoring me. "Those eyes of yours are about the bluest I've ever seen. I think all the boys around here are just scared off by your sharp tongue."

"Think so?" I couldn't help laughing as I stood up, patted Pop on the shoulder, and went upstairs to change into my bathing suit.

I glanced at my watch. It was seven forty-five. If Nicole didn't show up by eight, I was grabbing my book and camping out in the backyard.

No sooner than the idea crossed my mind, the screen door slammed. Nicole burst in wearing a hot-pink terrycloth coverall and flip-flops. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail.

"We're burning daylight here, Al. Let's go!"

"Good morning to you, too. You're practically on time," I teased.

"It'll be a good morning if you have some coffee left." She whipped open the cabinet and pulled down a travel mug. "Mom and Dad aren't even up yet."

I chuckled. "When was the last time you were up at this hour? I haven't seen you leave the house before nine-thirty since high school." The hair salon where Nicole worked at opened at ten o'clock, and she didn't get up earlier than she had to.

Nicole ignored me and took a long sip of her coffee, then peered out to the living room. "Whatcha watching, Aunt Beth?"

"My shows," my mother answered quietly.

I kissed Pop on the cheek and walked over to kiss my mother on the head. She didn't move, and I gave her a tiny smile. "Grab the cooler, Nic. I'm going to get the umbrella and we're outta here."

When the trunk was packed, I slammed it shut just as Nicole's friend Rachel pulled into the driveway in her tiny red coupe. She was dressed just like Nicole, only in turquoise, and her curly dark hair was twisted up in an artfully messy bun.

"Hey, girly," she greeted Nicole, not even looking at me. She raised a perfectly shaped brow as she held up her beach tote.

"You'll drive, right, Allison?" Rachel said airily as she tossed her bag into my backseat.

I clenched my teeth. "You bet!"

Jeff pulled his Jeep in behind Rachel's car, and her attention was quickly diverted to sticking her chest out for maximum cleavage exposure." Hey, boys!" she lilted to the three guys in the Jeep.

Nicole caught me as I rolled my eyes. "We're gonna have an awesome day," she stated. "So, don't be a grouch!" She playfully stuck her tongue out and hopped in the car.

I inhaled the salty ocean air, and the lingering scent of suntan lotion filled my nose. The sun was searing my legs, and it was time for a break in the shade. My skin burned easily and although I had sunscreen on, I was already looking a little pink. I put my bookmark between the pages and attempted to brush some of the sand off of my legs as I stood. Lifting my arms, I stretched before retreating to the chair under my umbrella.

Down at the water, I could see Rachel with her arms wrapped around her middle, the wind whipping strands of dark hair into her face. She kept jumping and shrieking when Sean or Ethan stumbled on their boogie boards and splashed her. Ethan caught my gaze and motioned for me to come join them. I laughed as a wave collapsed on top of him and shook my head.

Settling into my spot, I took off my sunglasses and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the gulls. I sighed contentedly. _This wasn't so bad._

A loud cawing interrupted my tranquil moment. I pried open an eye and looked at the kids building a sand castle next to our spot. There was a crow standing a few feet away, facing my direction. Weird. I'd never seen a crow at the beach before. Maybe there was a beached seal nearby.

I started to open my book up, but the hairs along the back of my neck stood up, and a funny feeling came over me, like I was being watched. I glanced around, and this time, the crow locked eyes with me. Something about its beady eyes made me shudder, and I turned away quickly.

On my other side, Nicole was just about done burying Jeff in the sand. All that was visible was his spiky brown hair and his Red Sox visor.

"Just stay still for one more second, Jeff. I've got to get a picture," Nicole begged as she grabbed her camera from her towel. She clicked a few times before the sand started to crack and crumble around him.

"That's it, let me out of here!" Jeff shouted. The sand broke apart around him, and he climbed out. Nicole yelped in surprise as he took off chasing her down to the water.

"Come swim with us, Al!" Nicole yelled over her shoulder as she ran.

I shook my head with a smile. "I'm good," I called out before reopening my book.

A few minutes later, I heard a quiet thud as Ethan dropped down to his knees on the blanket by my feet. He dug around the cooler and pulled out a soda.

"Aren't you having fun?" he asked breathlessly between gulps.

"As a matter of fact, I am," I replied, gesturing to the umbrella and my book.

"Yeah? Whatcha reading?"

I felt a blush rise on my cheeks as I held the book out for him to see. I was reading _Gone With The Wind_. Again.

Ethan started laughing, nearly choking on his soda. "I imagined you up here reading _The Guide to Modern Physics_. I would've never guessed you were reading a romance novel!" He stretched himself out on the blanket and closed his eyes to the sun, his lips curved up in that mocking little smile. His dark hair was slicked back with water, and he was perfectly tanned. I couldn't help noticing that his lashes were a thick, dark fringe. I forced myself to look away.

When I glanced back at him—I couldn't help it—Rachel had snuck onto the blanket and gestured to me with her finger to her lips. She flopped down onto her stomach and began running a piece of ice that had fallen out of the cooler along Ethan's chest, causing him to shout in surprise.

"You're going down!" he yelled before hauling Rachel up over his shoulder and running down to toss her, squealing, into the ocean.

I looked down to the water, wondering how Sean felt about Rachel's not-so-subtle display. They had one of those on-again-off-again relationships. They were all friends, but her flirting with Ethan must have bothered him. If I wanted to be honest, it even bothered _me_.

I pushed all of Nicole's friends out of my thoughts and tried to enjoy the rest of the day. When it was time to leave, I walked up the old wooden steps to the parking lot with my arms full of beach gear. The others were lagging behind, but I could still hear the sounds of their laughter and teasing.

"If you're going with Jeff, I am too," I heard Rachel say to Nicole in her whiny voice.

"Sweet! Shotgun in Al's car," Ethan yelled. A smile crept onto my face—Rachel would be disappointed that she wouldn't get to cozy up next to him in the backseat. Good thing no one could see my face.

"Damn, man, I was just going to say that!" Sean said, a _thump_ following. I could only imagine from Ethan's grunt that Sean had whacked him upside the head. I laughed to myself that both guys were so desperate to stay away from Rachel.

I opened the hatch and started loading it when Ethan gently pushed me aside. "I got this," he said, winking at me as he hefted the cooler in.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to break a nail," I muttered, placing my bag in the back.

Ethan just laughed and shook his head.

"Meet us at Nic's!" Jeff shouted out his window before tearing out of the parking lot.

I started the car as Ethan and Sean piled in. As usual, Sean reached up front and ruffled my hair before settling in his seat. He grew up in the house on the other side of Nicole's, and he'd always been nice to me, even if his sometimes-girlfriend was a jerk.

"You coming over tonight?" Ethan asked as he flipped through the CD's in my case.

"Me?" I tried to swallow down the butterflies. "Are you kidding? My bed is already calling my name," I replied, trying to keep an aloof tone.

Ethan shook his head and smirked, no doubt trying not to laugh at me. "We're just going to be watching a movie."

"Didn't your mother teach you not to beg, dude?" Sean asked, teasing. "You probably have a hot date, right Allie-O?" He shook my shoulder lightly. I smiled at the old nickname from the days when we used to play hide-and-seek in our neighborhood.

"Yeah, a hot date with Rhett Butler," Ethan said. I kept my eyes on the road, but I couldn't help the smile that played on my lips.

"Poor Ethan," Sean said. "I think Rachel wants to snuggle with you tonight, pal." He was laughing, but there was an edge to his voice. The idea of Rachel and Ethan together made my chest squeeze, too.

Ethan chuckled. "No, thanks. Rachel is _all_ yours. She's not my type."

"Since when do _you_ have a type?" Sean asked, the tension lifting.

"I'm twenty-three years old, man. Time to start thinking of the future."

I nearly snorted soda out of my nose...until he slung his arm around the back of my chair. Then it was all I could do to keep the car on the road.

He had to know the way he affected me, how he got under my skin. Four years ago, in one of my weaker moments, I'd fallen for his charm. I couldn't let that happen again. But the memory of that kiss still left me breathless.

I pulled my car into the driveway, thanking the universe for getting me through the trip without too much drama.

The guys grabbed the umbrella and cooler and headed for the house. I shut the trunk and was about to scoop my bag and chair up when a raucous of caws and screeches broke out in the woods.

Startled, I grabbed my things and hurried toward the porch. I watched the tree line as I went, where a handful of large crows were swooping up and down in the yard, knocking leaves and small branches all over the place.

I had almost reached the porch steps when I walked straight into Ethan, who was squinting at the scene the birds were making, too. I stumbled back, nearly falling, and he grabbed my elbow to steady me, sending electricity shooting through my body.

I yanked my arm back as though he'd burned me. He held his hands up, palms facing forward.

"Easy. You all right?" He laughed, and I felt my cheeks flare.

I pushed past him, embarrassed that I'd practically fallen over backward and annoyed that he had laughed at me.

"Hey! Allie..."

I stopped with my hand on the screen door. I didn't know why I was overreacting like this—it wasn't the first time he joked around with me—and it made me even more flustered. I heard his footsteps as he climbed onto the porch behind me and tried to keep my cool. My hand dropped from the door, and I turned around.

Ethan looked at me, his warm brown eyes searching mine. "Don't be mad."

I took a deep breath and looked away. "I'm not mad," I said. "I was just sort of freaked out by the birds." I looked at the spot they'd been tearing up just seconds ago. They were nowhere to be found.

He opened his mouth to speak just as Sean appeared at the screen door. I stood aside to let him out and internally thanked him for saving me from another self-induced awkward moment.

"You sure you can't come over tonight?" Ethan asked, his usual wry expression back in place.

Sean just snorted and gave my shoulder a squeeze as he walked by. "Later, Allie-O."

I shook my head at Ethan. "I'm sure, but thanks for the help carrying the beach stuff inside."

He grinned and nodded. "Well, have fun with Rhett then." He followed Sean toward Nicole's house.

"Did you have a good time today, honey?" Gram said as she pushed the door open and held it for me.

Tearing my gaze away from Ethan, I made myself smile. "Yeah, it was okay."

I brought the bag up to my room and then headed back out to my car. Once I confirmed that there was nobody around, I made my way to the spot where the birds had been. I expected to see a raccoon or opossum lying dead in the woods, but other than scattered leaves and twigs, there was no sign that the birds had even been there. The entire backyard was clear, not even a squirrel in sight.

I walked all the way around the perimeter of the yard until I was satisfied that I was just worrying over nothing. _Of course nothing was out here._ I rubbed my hands over my face. I couldn't help wondering if this was how it had started for my mother—paranoid over every little sound, every strange happening.

I walked past the fence to Nicole's yard and froze when I heard a hushed conversation on the other side.

"Obviously he wants to get with Allison because she's like, _no-man's land_. Once he gets in her pants, he'll lose interest." Rachel said my name like it was acid on her tongue.

"Give me a break, Rach," Nicole replied. I could just imagine her dramatic eye roll.

"What? Isn't she still, like, a virgin or something?" Rachel said, snickering. "She's probably a lesbian anyway."

"I think you need to back off my cousin." Nicole's voice hardened. "Got it?"

When I realized what I was doing, I hurried inside. I did not need to hear any more of that conversation. Time to take a quick shower and read for awhile. That would sort me out.

My mother was perched in her usual spot on the couch as I entered the living room, with Gram and Pop in their seats. The television was on, but when I glanced at my mother, I noticed she wasn't watching it. She was looking out the window. Her expression was blank, but there was a tear trickling down her cheek.

_My mother walks through an endless stretch of green forest. There is a man by her side, with big, blue eyes and wavy, caramel hair. She beams up at him. His hand gently rests on her back, steadying her as she steps over fallen branches and stones. His eyes are constantly moving, restless._

_Black birds surround them. One swoops down at my mother, and its red eyes glare at her as it drags its talons across her chest. As quickly as it came, it flies off with the rest, leaving her shirt torn and streaked with blood. The man's eyes are wild, searching the forest. He's yelling words I don't understand as he pulls my mother toward him._

* * *

I jolted awake, my pajamas soaked in sweat, my breaths coming fast. But it was just another dream. Yet, muffled sobs came from my mother's bedroom across the hall. I climbed out of my bed and hurried to my mother's room.

Her bed was empty, and my chest seized. But when I spun around I saw her in her window seat, staring out at the woods. Relief flooded through me.

"Mom," I whispered, but she didn't move. "Mom, please look at me," I tried again, sitting down on the seat beside her. She turned to face me then. Tears lined her cheeks like silver rivers down her moonlit face.

"Allison," she murmured. I shivered at the clarity in her voice. I hadn't heard her say my name since I was six years old.

"It's okay, Mom." I wiped her tears away with a tissue from the nightstand. Her eyes shone brighter than I'd ever seen them, and they burned holes into mine.

"You look...so much like him." She didn't have to say who she meant. I knew she was thinking about my father.

"I'm sorry if that hurts you," I said, trying to hang onto the moment of lucidity.

"No," she whispered, staring back into my eyes. "Your father was beautiful, just like you."

"Did he hurt you?" I immediately regretted my words—I knew how easy it was to push her over the edge.

My mother shuddered, and just like that, she was gone. Her eyes glazed over, completely void of recognition. She turned her head slowly and stared back out at the woods.

# Chapter 3

Sunday morning, I sat at the kitchen table after my run, picking through the newspaper that Pop had already dissected. My mother sat across from me, threading and unthreading her fingers. I picked up my coffee cup and grimaced when I took a sip to find it unexpectedly cold. I walked over to get a warm-up and the doorbell rang.

I glanced around, Gram was out in the garden, and Pop had taken a ride down to the hardware store to do paperwork. I set the coffee pot aside to answer the door. A young man stood on the other side, looking off into the woods. I didn't think I'd ever seen him before, but there was something familiar about him.

"Hello. I'm looking for Beth O'Malley, please," he said with a heavy Irish accent.

"Beth?" Nobody ever came over asking for Beth O'Malley. Then his eyes met mine.

Just like in a movie, when the camera zooms into someone's face and everything else ceases to exist for that moment, my world stopped.

Because I _had_ seen those eyes before.

They had gazed affectionately at my mother in my dreams.

His light golden-brown hair was short, but I could tell that if he grew it out a few inches, it would be wavy just like mine. He looked exactly like the photos I had in my room.

"She can't come to the door." The words tumbled out, my heart thrumming in my chest like a thousand butterfly wings. "I'm her daughter, Allison. Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, I see." His brow furrowed, like he didn't actually understand at all. "No. Thank you, Allison. Good day." He turned toward the stairs.

"Wait!" I shouted. "Liam?"

He cleared his throat, froze, and spoke over his shoulder. "Yes. Has she told you about me then?"

"Not really, no."

It was true. I only ever heard his name during her episodes. When I was little, she would sit in her room sometimes holding a piece of paper in her hands and cry. One day I snuck into her bedroom while she was playing her violin and stole the paper—what turned out to be pictures of her and Liam. I thought that if I took away the thing that made her cry, she would be happy with just me.

I shook my head. "She mentioned the name to my grandmother, after she came back from Ireland."

"Right." He turned back to face me again. "Do you suppose I might be able to speak with your mother later?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "You haven't spoken to her in the past twenty-two years, obviously."

"I beg your pardon?" Liam cleared his throat again.

"I said it's obvious you haven't talked to my mother since she came back from Ireland twenty-two years ago."

"Please, you must understand—"

"Oh, I think I understand perfectly. You knocked my mother up and sent her back to the US, and now...what? You're in the neighborhood so you thought you'd drop by to say hello?"

"I don't know what you've been told. But"—he paused, swallowing hard—"I assure you, I knew nothing of a child."

I stepped out onto the porch, quietly shutting the door behind me. I tried to keep my expression calm and indifferent.

I noticed his jaw muscles clenching. Something else we had in common, I guess.

"I don't know what to say," he whispered as he passed a hand through his hair. "I didn't know you existed, yet... here you are."

"Here I am," I laughed, without humor. "I guess you're wondering why I won't let you see my mother?"

"I suppose I am. But I might have a bit of an idea," he said. His blue eyes looked sad and far older than I'd originally thought.

"You think so?" I snapped. "And why might that be?"

"Oh, Allison. I daresay I know far more than I wish to." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.

"So, you know that my mother is crazy? That she can't even leave the house without being sedated? Do you know that most days she doesn't say more than ten words? And on those _off_ days, she rants and screams your name?" I took a deep breath, my chest heaving with emotion. I had been going for cool and indifferent, but, his innocent act set me off. I couldn't even look at him. "Is that what you wish you didn't know?"

"Won't you let me see her?" he pleaded, his fingers still laced in his hair. "I have loved your mother all these years. I know this is my fault, believe me. There was nothing I could do, but I would have done anything..." His voice trailed off, and there was a faraway look in his eyes.

I was at a complete loss. How could he just show up twenty-two years after tearing my mother's heart apart? How could he stand here, claiming to love her in one breath, and yet say he was helpless to do anything about it in the next?

"Let me guess—you were married, with a kid or two already. I bet the American student and her illegitimate baby didn't fit well in the family portrait, right?" My hands clenched into fists.

Liam laughed then, but it was a cold, terrible laugh. His face clouded over, and for a moment I regretted speaking to him so harshly. I didn't know this guy. I had no idea what he was capable of.

For what must have been the longest two minutes of my life, he didn't say anything. He didn't even look at me, just stared off into space. His eyes were hard and shiny, like marbles, glistening with unshed tears.

"No, I was never married," he finally answered. "I wish it were so simple."

He looked directly into my eyes then, and for a moment I couldn't think of a single thing to say. Questions tumbled through my mind, but there were so many that I had no way of knowing where to begin. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he spoke first.

"I will find a way to undo what has been done, or I will die trying." He took two steps back. "I understand your anger. You're completely justified. But know this—you _will_ see me again." He nodded curtly and strode down the front walk. Just like that.

I didn't have to work on Sunday, but I almost wished I had, if only for the distraction. The sky was bright blue as I stepped back out onto the front porch, and I could hear the chords from "Drowsy Maggie" floating out from the den. My mother hadn't played such a peppy tune on her violin in years. I sat on the top step with an ice-cold glass of lemonade, tapping my foot to the melody. Uncle David had mowed that morning, too, so the smell of freshly cut grass added to the illusion of a perfect summer day. Puffy clouds moved swiftly through the sky, matching the speed of the thoughts passing through my mind.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Gram and Pop about Liam showing up. Every time I considered it, I pictured Liam's face—he was so... _young_. Something about him didn't sit right. It wasn't just that he spoke in riddles. It was that his face hadn't changed a bit from the photo strips my mom clung to when I just was five years old.

_No. I did the right thing,_ I encouraged myself. They had enough to deal with, and something told me I should keep his arrival to myself.

I took a sip of my lemonade and looked around the yard. There were no signs of the fighting black birds, at least. It was actually a peaceful day. It was warm but not as hot as it had been the past week. I stretched my legs out and leaned back on my hands, letting the sun warm my face.

My mother's music danced through my head. When I was a very little girl, she would let me choose the music she'd play. I always loved the fast tunes like "Drowsy Maggie." I would watch her bite her bottom lip in concentration as she moved through each piece. She withdrew completely when I was around seven years old, though, and I missed turning the sheet music for her and dancing along to the reels.

I opened my eyes, and lights sparkled across my vision. I looked down, letting my eyes adjust. Once I could see normally I stood, figuring I should probably do a load of laundry before Gram had a chance to do it for me. But to my left, I saw a twinkling silver light. I turned to walk up the stairs, and sure enough, the same light caught my eye, even when I faced the house.

I remembered Gram would sometimes hang aluminum pie plates near her vegetable garden to keep the birds away. I must have not been paying attention when I walked past her gardens—surely she had put some out.

The rumbling of an engine announced Jeff's arrival next door and jerked me away from my thoughts. I looked over to see Nicole bouncing down the driveway. She glanced over at me, her face all lit up.

"There you are! I've been texting you all morning." She signaled to Jeff that she'd be just a minute and made her way over to me.

I sighed, knowing what was going to happen before she was even in front of me. Once again, I had no believable excuses.

"I'm going to a cookout at Jeff's parents' house. Wanna come?" No matter how many times I'd turned down her invitations in the past, she never lost hope that I would one day be happy to tag along with her and her friends.

"I have laundry to do, Nic," I mumbled as I walked into the house, wincing when I heard her follow behind me. She would never give up so easily.

"And, it will be here tomorrow, won't it?"

My mother was still playing her violin in the den. Her talent never faded, no matter how ill she became. As I walked past, I could see Gram coming in through the sliding door. She was wearing her gardening hat and gloves, the knees of her pants caked with soil.

"Hello, girls." Gram smiled at us as she pulled the gloves off, wiping her brow.

"Hey, Gram," Nicole said, grinning. "Aunt Beth is doing okay, isn't she?"

Gram looked between the two of us, a knowing smile forming on her face. She licked her lips and laughed.

"Aunt Beth is just fine, why do you ask?"

I widened my eyes at Gram. She usually helped me fend off Nicole's endless invitations.

"Great, so you can come, Al!"

"Are you sure I'm even invited?" I knew I was just putting off the inevitable. But I had to put up a little bit of a fight. I couldn't let Nicole get complacent.

She glanced at me and frowned. "I _just_ invited you."

I breathed deeply. "If I come, will you leave me alone for the rest of the week?"

Her dismissive expression made me laugh. "Yeah, sure. Let's go. This will be so much fun," she said, sounding much more excited than I felt.

I made a "how could you?" face at Gram and followed after my cousin. I would never let Nicole know, but the idea of being surrounded by mindless conversation might actually be the only way I could make it through this day.

The Magliaro family never had small get-togethers. They were a huge Italian family with plenty of relatives and friends constantly stopping by unannounced. A cookout there meant three times as many people around as there usually were. Luckily, their house was enormous.

It stood a mile back from the road, and I sat in the back of Jeff's Jeep, bumping and bouncing all the way up the long, snaking driveway. Half a dozen cars were already there when we arrived. Jeff pulled right onto the front lawn and secured the parking brake.

I followed them into the house, smiling at relatives I'd met before, even if I couldn't remember their names. The air was thick with the smell of spicy Italian cooking. Two booming male voices were having a friendly argument about which Patriots tight end should be starting in the fall, and little kids were running around, darting under our feet.

"Eli, what did I tell you about running inside Auntie Joanne's house?" Jeff mock-scolded a dark-haired boy as he ran by. The boy grinned up at him, showing several missing teeth, and scooted out the front door.

In the kitchen, Joanne was putting chips into bowls and chatting with an older woman. The second she saw me and Nicole, her eyes lit up, and she excused herself before rushing for us.

"Hello, girls! So glad to see you," she said before turning to Jeff. "Did you offer them anything to drink Jeff?"

"Uh, not yet, Ma. We just got here."

Joanne made shooing motions to her son, and he threw up his arms before going off in search of drinks.

She leveled me with her eyes. "How's your mom, honey?"

"You know...same old." I put on my best polite smile.

Joanne nodded, her face showing that she saw right through me. "Well, I'm sorry I haven't stopped by in a few days. I'll come by soon, I promise."

I nodded. I knew she would.

She gave my arm a gentle pat and then excused herself as Jeff came back with two bottles of water. I took one from him and caught sight of Ethan across the family room. My smile faltered a bit—he was leaning against the back of the sofa, whispering into the ear of a redhead who looked vaguely familiar.

Nicole cleared her throat. "Whatcha looking at, Al?"

I scowled at her as my cheeks heated up. "I'm not looking at anything," I said, looking down at my flip flops.

I snuck a peek back at Ethan, who was laughing and standing inappropriately close to the girl. Then I remembered: she went to high school with us.

"Hey, man." Sean came up, clapping his hand on Jeff's shoulder. Behind him, Rachel stood watching Ethan talk to the redhead, too.

"Hey. We still on for some Home Run Derby?" Jeff asked, curling his arm around Nicole's waist.

I glanced back at Ethan. _Lisa_ , that was her name.

Sean grinned. "Of course I am. Let's do this!"

"Hey, Ethan," Jeff hollered across the room. "Get your hands out of Lisa's pants, and let's go play ball!"

Nicole smacked him and Joanne shot him a look, but Jeff and Sean just cracked up. They weren't the least bit sorry.

Ethan separated himself from Lisa and walked over to where we all stood, his smile wicked. Sean punched him in the shoulder.

"What? We were just catching up." Ethan's teeth gleamed against his deep tan as he laughed. I stared back down at my feet again, wishing I were home doing laundry.

"Hey, Al." Ethan said, turning his grin on me. I attempted to make my face completely unreadable.

_Dammit. Why did I always have to react to him?_

"Hey," I said, trying for indifference but only achieving awkwardness.

"Come on, come on." Jeff let go of Nicole and nudged Ethan toward the back door.

While the guys were playing ball I sat on the deck with Nicole, Rachel, and a few of their other friends, and listened to them talk about who was dating whom and who was pregnant with whose kid. I recognized the tone of Rachel's voice every time she spoke. The same one she'd used when she'd called me no-man's land and decided I was a lesbian.

This was the kind of the thing I avoided. Playing Home Run Derby sounded way better than listening to gossip from Nic's snooty friends. I stood, kicked off my flip flops and headed off the deck, ignoring Nicole calling my name.

Ethan stood with a wiffle ball in his hands, his expression intrigued. "You playing?"

I glanced back at the girls on the deck watching me and shrugged. "Count me in."

Sean jogged over with the bat and held it out for me, grinning. He knew I'd played softball and run track all through high school to pad my transcripts. And I was no slouch at either sport. "Pick your pitcher, Allie-O."

The smirk on Ethan's face was a challenge, and I couldn't resist. "Ethan has the ball. He can pitch to me."

"I hope you haven't gotten rusty," Ethan said. He made a big show of stretching and winding up before he finally tossed the ball to me.

I swung and smacked it over the pool house, and Sean started shouting and cheering. Ethan shook his head, but he was smiling. He clearly thought I would be an easy out.

But no. I made it all the way to the final round, kicking Sean and Jeff out of the game.

"You gonna let her win, E?" Jeff called, winking at me from the picnic table where he sat drinking a beer.

Ethan chuckled, showing off those damn dimples. He looked down at the ball in his hands and then back up at me. "If I do, will you let me take you out?"

"What? Like on a date?" I snorted, trying to look braver than I felt. "Not a chance."

"Wait a sec...I like this. Let's make a wager," he said.

The guys were all hooting and hollering at me, my face no doubt crimson. I bit my lip, feeling all their eyes on me. "What do I get if I win?"

"I'm thinking, hang on." He held up his finger, his brow furrowed in thought. His eyes widened with excitement, and I knew I would regret whatever he had to say.

"If I win, I get a kiss." If it was possible, my cheeks flushed even more. Cue the laughter and the cat calls.

"And, if _I_ win?" I said, setting a hand on my hip to stop the shaking.

He looked at me for a second, considering. "If you win, I won't ever ask you out again."

The idea earned a chorus of "Yeah, right" and "No way" from the guys.

My mouth fell open. I had not been expecting that, but his expression was serious. The laughing around us fell away for a second, and I could only stare at him, feeling the color drain from my face. His expression remained solemn, and he met my gaze head on.

I nodded stiffly and swallowed. "All right."

His grin came back in full force. "Oh, and Al?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "I won't lose."

He was right. I swung at his third pitch and completely missed. And when it was his turn, he smacked the first ball I pitched a hundred yards past the mark.

I couldn't help but laugh at his victory dance—his hips swinging, fists rotating over his head. His energy was contagious. He bounded toward me, a grin on his face.

"Told you," he said.

I shrugged, about to make some kind of snide remark when Joanne shouted from the deck.

"Food's ready!"

When it was time to go, the nervous feeling in my stomach intensified, and I almost regretted eating so much. This wouldn't be the first time I'd kissed Ethan Magliaro; I knew what he was capable of.

_It's just a stupid kiss,_ I repeated over and over in my head. I could get through it, and then everything would go back to normal. Then my long-lost father's face flashed in my mind. Okay, as normal as possible. Nothing had to change because of one little kiss.

When Nicole asked Jeff to bring her home, I stood to join them, but Ethan shot me an "oh, no you don't" look. I hadn't really expected to get out of the bet, but I didn't want to appear eager, either. That would only make things worse. He grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward his truck, while my cousin and his brother left us to drive back to Gram's alone. I waved at Joanne without meeting her eyes, knowing she probably knew all about our little wager.

He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I was settled before closing it. He came around and slid in next to me. He didn't start the engine right away, though. We sat in silence in his parents' driveway.

Ethan finally looked over at me, his forehead crinkling in concern. "You know I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do, right?"

A nervous laugh escaped. "You won the bet."

Ethan laughed and shook his head as he started the truck. He headed toward the road, and the silence stretched between us. We didn't speak, but he kept looking over at me with an undefinable expression on his face.

I had spent more than my share of time watching Ethan's face. I'd watched him play hockey, I'd watched him play baseball. I'd watched as he flirted with girls, I'd watched him stand stoically at his grandfather's funeral. I thought I knew how to read him pretty well. But at that moment, I couldn't figure out what was going through his mind.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the number. _Nicole._

"Don't freak out, but I just—"

"Nicole!" I couldn't help raising my voice. Sometimes she could be so exasperating. I hadn't even gotten home yet, and she was already drilling me.

"Wait, Al, listen – it's your mother. Gram and Pop had to take her to the hospital. She'll be okay, but she needed to get stitches."

My heart stuttered in my chest. "Stitches? What happened?"

"I don't really know. Mom just said she had an episode during dinner and was banging on the window...and the glass broke."

I looked over and Ethan met my eyes curiously.

"We're almost home, meet me there." I clicked my phone shut and leaned my head against the back of the seat. "My mom broke a window with her hand. She needs stitches."

I looked over at Ethan, expecting to see pity, but, thankfully he just nodded and kept driving.

"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"You don't mind?"

Ethan clenched his jaw, and I looked away. "Of course I don't mind. You should probably text Nicole and let her know, though."

We drove the rest of the way in silence, a million feelings—namely guilt—running through my mind. I should have been there. I should never have gone out. But what would it have mattered if I was there? Would I have been able to help? Oh god, did Liam show up again? I was starting to hyperventilate.

Ethan placed a hand on my knee as he parked the car, and for once, my heart rate slowed rather than raced. "She'll be okay," he said.

I nodded, and then we hurried into the emergency department, scanning the crowded lobby. I didn't see my grandparents anywhere, so I headed to the Triage station where a middle-aged woman was typing something into the computer. She didn't even look up when I arrived. I bounced on the balls of my feet for a second, waiting for her to greet me. Finally, I coughed to get her attention.

She glanced up at me. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice nasally.

"Yes, my mother is here—Elizabeth O'Malley. I need to know where I can find her."

"Just a minute." She yawned and typed a few strokes into her keyboard.

I looked over at Ethan to find him watching me, his expression anxious. As I turned my attention back to the woman at the desk, I saw Pop walking toward us, carrying two coffees.

"Thanks, I'm all set," I said to the receptionist. She returned my gaze with a bland expression.

"Allison, what are you doing here?" Pop asked, glancing between me and Ethan.

"Nic called and said you had to bring Mom in for stitches, so Ethan drove me over. How is she? Is she okay?"

He smiled tiredly. "She'll be fine. Twelve stitches in her left hand. Those darn birds in the yard were making an awful racket. She was really upset." Pop shook his head and motioned for us to follow him.

"Al, do you want me to take off?" Ethan asked. "I can stay if you want me to."

I looked at him. "You can go. I'll be fine."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out the huge glass window in the lobby. "Okay, well, let me know if you need anything."

I smiled and nodded. "Thanks for bringing me, Ethan. I owe you."

The corner of his mouth lifted. That was a look I recognized. "I'll keep that in mind."

# Chapter 4

Gram was sitting at the table with a clipboard when I walked into the kitchen the next morning, remaking the chart that kept track of my mother's medication schedule. She now had to add painkillers to the anti-psychotic drugs she already took daily.

I watched my grandmother fill in the sheet, whispering to herself about the dosages and medication names. I wondered, not for the first time, if I'd actually be able to handle the medications and care of my mother on my own.

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I had to work the ten o'clock shift at the hardware store. My grandfather wasn't working that morning, but I didn't see him around the house. Then the sight of the plastic covering the window in the living room gave me a pretty good idea where he was.

I poked my head into the den to check on my mother. The sight of the bandage on her hand wasn't what upset me most. She just sat there in a chair, staring at the trees. Pain was written in the tight lines around her mouth and eyes. Knowing she was on pain meds, I guessed it wasn't something physical.

I cleared my throat quietly, letting her know I was in the room. At first I didn't think she'd look at me, but after several heartbeats she turned her head toward me. A tiny gasp escaped before I could cover my mouth with my palm. Her eyes were vacant and dull, but it didn't mask her misery. I had never seen her so despondent.

I made my way into the room and sat on the sofa across from her. She shifted her gaze back toward the window. I wished I knew what went on in her mind when she was like this. Maybe then I could help. Was she thinking about Liam? How would she react if she actually saw him again?

The screen door creaked from the porch, and I heard my grandfather's voice. And then Ethan's...

From where I sat I could see him walk in carrying a new window. He was dressed for work in his hunter green Magliaro Construction T-shirt. The muscles in his forearms were taut as he brought the window into the living room. The door slammed, and my grandfather followed.

With a small sigh, I rose and tiptoed out of the den, leaving my mother still staring out into the woods. I grabbed my keys from the sideboard in the living room as Ethan measured the frame of the window with a tape measure, a pencil stuck between his lips. I smiled at how boyish he looked.

"I'm off to work." I walked over to the table in the kitchen and placed my hand gently on Gram's back and kissed her hair.

"Oh, honey. Did you get something to eat?" She pushed her papers away and looked up at me with a frown.

"I'll just grab something on my break." I smiled to reassure her, even though I knew better.

"Give me just one minute. I'll pack you a lunch."

"If it will make you feel better, I'll come home for lunch?" I met her gaze, wishing she wouldn't worry about me so much.

Gram's frown smoothed. "That'd be good."

I shook my head and sighed, but I was still smiling in spite of myself. I turned to leave, and Ethan met my eyes, his expression unsure.

"How's your mom today?"

I twisted the end of my ponytail, "She seems okay," I said. "Thanks for helping with the window."

Ethan looked down at the floor. For a second I thought he might be embarrassed but when he looked up his roguish smile set my cheeks on fire.

"My pleasure, Allison."

The look on his face spread the blush down my neck, and I hurried toward the front door. As I walked out, I could still feel Ethan watching me.

"Which color would you go with, Allison?"

I looked up from the ordering screen on the computer to see Gus Baker holding two strips of paint chips up for me, frown lines etched between his winged eyebrows. I took a deep breath before walking over to the counter where Gus stood waiting for me, his watery blue eyes watching me. From across the counter, I could smell the tang of dirty laundry and decaying teeth.

I tried not to be annoyed at the little old man, but Gus was in here _every day_. I guess he was lonely, but he spent as much time in this store as I did. And he never bought anything.

"I'd go with the eucalyptus green," I said in my friendliest voice.

"I just don't know. There are so many of these colors! How does anyone choose?" Gus grumbled, his eyes intent on my face.

I swallowed, forcing my smile to stay in place as I breathed through my mouth. I just wanted to get the big order that just came in all set for Pop, but Gus had been here for the past forty-five minutes comparing shades of green. I sighed inwardly. He needed to find a new hangout.

The door jingled, signaling a new arrival. I glanced at the door. Ethan. Figures.

Seeing me, his eyes lit up and his face broke into a stomach-twisting half-smile. I shook my head at him, and he chuckled. He knew the effect that grin had on girls, obviously.

Gus's rumbly throat-clearing brought me back to reality. He was still watching me, waiting for my reply as though his life depended on it.

"Maybe going with green is a bad idea, after all," Gus said. "I guess I'll just keep it the way it is."

I nodded and closed my eyes to hide my exasperation. When I reopened them, Ethan was standing a few aisles back, toying with the foam paintbrushes. His smirk stayed firmly in place, his dimples doing a number on my willpower.

"You know," Gus said. "I've heard the lunch special down at The Pickle Barrel includes a meal for two for ten dollars. I would really like to treat you sometime. You're such a big help to me here."

I opened my mouth in shock, staring back at Gus without replying. I could hear snickering from the paintbrush aisle and glared in Ethan's direction as he coughed to cover up his amusement.

I had to say something, but words wouldn't come. Gus just looked at me with his cloudy eyes wide and hopeful.

"Hey, how's it going Gus?" Ethan sauntered over and clapped Gus on the back. I cocked my head at him in confusion.

"Oh," Gus sputtered. "Hey, there yourself, Ethan. How's the family?"

Everyone knew everyone in this town. You couldn't go anywhere without someone asking about your family.

"Doing well, thanks. I'm just popping in to bring my girl her lunch." He grinned and held out a little brown lunch sack. My eyes widened with surprise. _Now what is he doing?_

"Your girl, huh?" Gus looked between Ethan and me, his expression crestfallen. "Well, that's great." Gus stared at me a minute longer before muttering something about seeing me later and shuffling toward the exit.

"You're welcome," Ethan said, waggling his eyebrows at me.

"Who said I was _your girl_?" I huffed, placing my hands on my hips. I tried to be serious but a laugh escaped. The relief of avoiding turning down Gus's invitation kept my annoyance at Ethan's remark at bay.

Ethan placed the lunch sack on the counter and leaned forward on his palms. "Just having a little fun."

I rolled my eyes at him.

"How long have you had poor Gus smitten?" Ethan was still leaning forward, his big brown eyes glowing with humor.

" _Poor Gus_ is just lonely. He's in here just about every day."

Ethan shook his head and placed a hand over his heart. "I know how he feels. The poor sap."

"So, what are you _really_ doing here, besides saving Gus from heartache?" I asked, heading back to the computer and perching myself on the stool to work on the order.

"After I put in the window, your grandmother asked me to bring this down....to save you having to come home for lunch."

I snorted, keeping my eyes on the screen.

"And, I don't intend on forgetting our little wager." He straightened and crossed his arms, daring me to protest.

I laughed. "What, here? While I'm at work?" I avoided his eyes. Many girls had gotten lost in those eyes, but I knew better.

"What time do you get off work?" he asked.

I turned and narrowed my eyes at him. "I close at six. Then I have to balance the register, so around six thirty."

Ethan looked down at his hands for a second, then glanced up at me through his thick lashes. "You want to get something to eat when you're done?"

I licked my lips, his dark brown eyes pulling me in. I tore my gaze away and tried to focus on the computer screen. He didn't say anything for a few moments, and I fidgeted, knowing he was watching me. When I turned toward him, his expression was so intense that my stomach somersaulted.

"Just one time," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Say yes, just one time." Ethan slowly moved behind the counter, his eyes never leaving mine.

"If you don't have a good time, fine. But, I've been trying to get you to give me a chance for years. Don't act like you didn't know."

I shook my head slightly as he approached, wanting him closer but afraid of what it would mean.

He stopped, his brow creasing. "I won't hurt you," he whispered.

His expression was so earnest my mind went blank for a moment.

"Ethan," I began, my thoughts scrambled. "You know I'd like to—"

"So say yes."

I looked up at the ceiling. I was tired of always pushing him away. If I went out with him once, maybe then I could convince him too that this was a bad idea. I covered my face with my hands. "All right," I mumbled through my fingers.

"What was that?" I felt the warmth of Ethan's hands as he pulled my own away from my face.

"I said _all right_ ," I repeated, my insides fluttering.

He gathered my hands and pulled them close to his chest. His scent, clean and fresh like sun-warmed denim, made my knees go weak.

With his head tilted back, he exclaimed in a mock reverent tone, "Yes! Thank you! Six-thirty on the dot. Be ready. I'm picking you up!"

"Cut it out. Don't make me change my mind." I laughed, pulling my hands away.

"Oh, no. You can't back out now!"

I ushered him toward the door. "Ha! Watch me!" I couldn't believe I was flirting back—it went against everything I was trying to do.

But it felt surprisingly good.

I was in big trouble.

Even on weeknights, Inland Seafood was always packed. The smell of fried clams and french fries would be on our skin for a week, but the food was so worth it.

Dinner was the easy part—I could sit across a table from Ethan just fine and make mundane conversation. But when Ethan and I walked to his truck, all I could feel was the heavy air between our swinging arms. Then he stopped in front of the ordering window at Dee Dee's Ice Cream Parlor and looked over at me expectantly.

My eyebrows shot up. "What?"

He laughed, showing his dimples. "Were you really gonna walk past _ice cream_ without demanding some?"

I felt the warmth rise up my neck. "I do have self-control, you know."

"So I see." He snorted. "But _I_ want ice cream. You don't mind, do you?" His smile glinted in the bright lights outside the ice-cream window.

"Ice cream's fine," I shrugged, trying for nonchalance.

After we each had a cone in hand, we walked straight to his truck. Ethan opened the door for me, but when I moved to climb in, he put his arm across the doorway. I glanced back at him, confused.

"Actually, let's sit on the tailgate and eat these," he said, yanking a quilt out from behind the passenger seat. He handed me his ice cream and opened the tailgate. After he laid the quilt down, he glanced over at me, mischief clear on his face. Before I had a chance to question him, he hoisted me up onto the tailgate. I yelped in protest, but it was no use.

"It's a perfect night," he said, jumping up next to me and grabbing his ice cream. His arm brushed my bare shoulder, igniting my skin where he touched me. I inhaled sharply, breathing in his scent.

"The stars are all out tonight. There's the Big Dipper," I said, pointing with my free hand. I had to keep talking, even if I was just babbling, so that I wouldn't think about how close he was.

"Allison?" His voice was soft and serious, sounding warning bells in my mind.

"Mm-hmm?" I was afraid to look at him, afraid of the way he said my name, so I kept looking at the sky.

"I want to know why you never date," he said.

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't come up with an appropriate answer so I closed it.

"You could have anyone you wanted. Why is it you're always alone?" I could feel his eyes on me as I stared into the star-studded night.

"Anyone I wanted? That's a little excessive."

"Come on, I'm being serious."

I sighed, trying to think of the right response, one he would understand. "I guess I'm just always busy."

He chuckled. "Everyone is busy. You have to give me a better reason than that."

My mouth felt like cotton. Why did I have such a hard time forming coherent sentences when he was looking at me like that? I licked my lips and looked over at him. He stared directly into my eyes, the question still hanging between us.

"I want to take care of my mother. It's all I want. So, I need to make that happen." I curled my fingers into fists and pulled my shoulders back, looking back up at the stars. I'd had this conversation countless times with Nicole over the years.

"I know you do," he said softly. I glanced back at him, surprised he wasn't telling me that what I wanted was ridiculous. "But...who will take care of you?"

"I will take care of me." I shook my head sadly. "My whole life everyone has had to take care of me. My grandparents, my aunt and uncle. They all sacrificed so much for me."

"You act like it's your fault, but it's not."

Now I was back in familiar territory. "My mother was _normal_ before I was born, Ethan. When I came along she began her descent into schizophrenia. You don't think that's connected?"

He shifted in his seat. "I just know sometimes things happen, things that can't be explained. But you still deserve to be happy."

I glanced over at him before looking down at my hands. I uncurled my fingers. "I am happy. I'm enrolling in grad school, working and saving the money I make at the store. It's what I want."

"But what about friends? What about fun?"

"My idea of fun is just different from yours, I guess. I don't need to be with a lot of people to be happy." I hoped he would pick up the double entendre of my answer.

Ethan sighed and turned his body to face mine. He reached up and lightly traced a finger down my cheek. A shiver ran through my body. I turned my face away and focused my attention on finishing my ice cream. There were people everywhere. I didn't want anything that happened between me and Ethan to be the subject of town gossip.

"Thanks for coming tonight," Ethan said, unaffected. He reached down and picked up my left hand, interlacing his strong fingers with mine. "It seems like I've been trying to get you to go out with me forever."

I stared down at our joined hands, too shocked to move. "Ethan, you've never had a lack of dates. I'd even say you've had more than your fair share."

He ducked his head and laughed. "You think I'm a jerk, don't you?"

I looked at him and smiled. "No. I don't, actually. What you did today, for my grandparents... that was really great. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It was no big deal." He squeezed my hand and jumped down from the tailgate. "I'm going to take you home now, while you still think I'm so great."

_A girl stands in a poorly lit room. There are no windows or lights, but behind her, a flashlight beam brightens the loose dirt beneath her feet. When the girl turns in the direction of the light, it's my face that illuminates. The man holding the flashlight is huge, wearing a tight, black T-shirt, black cargo pants, and enormous black leather boots. His head is shaved like a soldier's, his expression grim. He looks around, and my eyes follow. Broken-down wooden shelves line the stone walls, each one holding all manner of dusty glass jars and bottles, some broken and lying on their sides. It looks like a cellar of some kind._

_Liam appears, placing his hand on the wall as blinding light fills the room. I turn to look at the big man, eyes wide. He gestures for me to go after Liam, who has disappeared into the wall of light._

_I walk into a large, bright room. The ceiling and walls are rounded, like they are in an enormous dome, something straight out of a fairy tale. I notice an oversized wooden table in the center of the room, where a glass ball the size of a fish bowl sits. It shimmers and glitters from within. I walk toward it, almost as if I'm under a spell. When I reach out to touch the orb Liam grabs my arm and shakes his head. I look up at him, disappointed. I can't tell what he's saying but his lips move as he pulls my arm away from it. Inside the glass ball, suspended in a sparkling prison is a tiny black-haired woman._

* * *

I sat up in my bed— _another strange dream_ —and sighed in relief to find myself in bed at Gram's. But as my heart settled, I considered how many dreams like that I'd had in the past six months. A whisper in the back of my mind taunted me. _Crazy_. _Just like her._

I couldn't remember if my mother's illness began with bizarre dreams, though. The days before my mother really lost her sanity were hazy at best. Memories of her in the mirror combing my hair were outnumbered by the breakdowns and vacant stares.

I look over at my clock. It was early but there was no way I'd be able to get back to sleep. Might as well get my run in before the heat became unbearable.

The rhythmic thumping of my sneakers soothed me when my mind worked overtime. I had always been fast, so fast I sometimes felt like I was flying. It had won me countless medals and awards over the years, but that's not why I did it. Running was something that was for me and only me. Things like schizophrenic mothers, reappearing fathers, and boys with dimples didn't exist when I ran. All I felt was the wind and my heartbeat, my feet carrying me along. And the less I felt right then, the better.

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I got closer to home, my heart pumping, each beat throbbing in my ears. My body felt strong, but inside I felt weak, scared, overwhelmed. I needed to cool down—in more ways than one—so I slowed my pace, trying to match my breaths to my footsteps. Anger at Liam was sitting heavy on my chest, a cannonball filled to the brim with years of guilt and hurt threatening to implode. Why did he have to show up? My mother was sick enough already.

As I approached my grandparents' driveway, a flash of black caught my attention. Those damn black birds had been watching me whenever I came or went. They hadn't caused any more upsets with my mother, at least, so I tried to ignore their beady little eyes, even though I wanted to chase them all away.

I pulled my ear buds out as one flapped its wings. But it was a movement beyond the bird that startled me.

Several yards in from the street I could just make out the figures of two men standing by a pickup truck in the clearing. They were on my grandparents' property, so I edged closer to the tree line to see what they were up to. Through the branches I could see one of the men gesturing with his arms. I couldn't make out their words, but I easily recognized the rich, low voice. Ethan.

_What is he doing here?_ I squinted to identify the man he was talking to, but Ethan's frame obstructed my view. I moved up the path to get a better look.

And when I did my jaw just about hit the dirt.

The man in front of Ethan was a few inches shorter, one hand rested in his light-brown hair, as if it helped him concentrate on what Ethan was saying. I'm not sure what gave me away, but those sharp blue eyes quickly shifted to where I stood. What was Liam doing here talking with Ethan?

As I began backing away, Ethan followed my father's eyes, nailing me in place. His entire demeanor changed upon seeing me there. One minute he was all business, the next his eyes brightened like he was a man in the desert and I was a cold drink of water.

Ethan started toward me, and I was filled with dread as my father walked alongside him, both pairs of eyes trained on my face.

"Hey, Al," Ethan said.

I did my best to smile at him, but my attention was on the man walking to his left.

"I didn't even know your grandparents sold this plot," Ethan said as he approached.

My eyes darted to Liam. This was news to me, too.

"This is Liam McKeown. Liam, this is Allison O'Malley—Tom and Jane's granddaughter."

I nodded politely, and Liam cleared his throat. Being around Liam and Ethan at the same time wasn't something I'd anticipated, and obviously neither did Liam. The tension between us was palpable. When Ethan's cell phone went off, the air in my chest heaved itself out. I couldn't hold my tongue for much longer. He held up his finger and walked a few yards away to take the call.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" I hissed, glancing over at Ethan who was laughing heartily into the phone.

"Well," Liam began, not meeting my eyes. "I've just bought this lovely piece of land, and I've hired the Magliaros to build a house for me."

"What kind of game are you playing?" My voice was much louder than I'd meant it to be. Ethan looked over his shoulder at me, holding his index finger up.

Liam sighed. "We all have to have a home, don't we?"

Anger licked at the base of my neck. "I won't let you hurt my mother again."

"Easy now, Allison." The sad expression from the first time we met reappeared. "I'm not going to hurt your mother. In fact, I think I can help her. I just need a little more time."

My jaw clenched as cold fear gripped my heart at the memory of mother's tear-streaked face staring out the window. She was so beautiful, so fragile. She would shatter like hand-blown glass if Liam made an appearance in her life. I just knew it.

Ethan hung up the phone and start back to us. "You don't know what you'll do to her if she sees you," I said quickly.

Ethan looked between Liam and me, puzzled, as he stopped beside us.

"Everything okay, Al?"

"Everything is just fine, my friend," Liam answered, his smile reappearing. "Ms. O'Malley and I have just learned we have a lot of the same interests. Isn't that right?"

I swallowed down the first reply that came to mind and glanced down at the ground. Then, looking at Ethan, I put my mask back in place. "Yeah, it seems that way."

Ethan cocked his eyebrow at me and turned to his new client.

"Thanks for meeting with me today, Ethan," Liam said evenly. "I'll be in touch with your office to make arrangements."

Ethan and I stood quietly as Liam walked down the path toward the road.

"What just happened here? It sounded like you were arguing."

"I was taken by surprise, that's all." I smiled, hoping to be convincing. "I had no idea someone had bought this plot." I looked back down the path after Liam. The only vehicle on sight was Ethan's pickup truck. How had Liam gotten here? And what on earth was he up to?

# Chapter 5

I ran my finger over the clingy, green tank top hanging in my closet. It was a little revealing for a Fourth of July cookout. _Maybe I should wear a simple T-shirt._ I stood pondering my outfit, focusing on something I could control for a change. Why was I so worried about how I looked for this cookout anyway? I'd known the Magliaros forever. I'd known Ethan forever.

I sighed and reached for the green tank when a flash in the woods stole my attention. There was no way that was just the sun reflection off an aluminum pie plate. I walked over to the window and saw... _nothing_. What was wrong with me? I let out a frustrated groan, threw on my top, and jogged down the stairs. I was going to find those pie plates hanging from trees in the backyard—there was no other explanation for it.

I walked out back, my eyes scanning the trees. I heard footsteps behind me and whipped around, my hand flying to my mouth when I saw my mother standing directly in front of me. She stared over my shoulder into the woods, her gaze intent. She must've seen it too.

"Mom? What are you doing out here?" I asked, looking around for my grandparents. My mother only left the house to go to doctor's appointments, and even then she had to be heavily medicated. She didn't answer me, just kept looking beyond me into the woods where Liam and Ethan had met the other day.

"What is it?" I asked turning back toward the tree line. I bit my lip, hoping she hadn't glimpsed Liam that day.

My mother started walking toward the trees. _Oh, no. Not a good idea._ I rushed up beside her. "Uh, why don't we go back inside, Mom? I think The Ellen Show is coming on."

She stopped and turned to me. She stared into my eyes for a minute, her expression full of longing, then she nodded, the light in her eyes flickering out as she allowed me to lead her toward the deck.

As we climbed the stairs Gram opened the slider, still holding a dishrag in her hand. "There you two are," she said, casting me a curious glance.

"We were just listening to some animals squabbling in the woods, Gram. But we're heading in now since we don't want to miss Ellen." I raised my eyebrows and hoped Gram caught my _I'll tell you later_ look.

"Oh, I see," Gram said, nodding.

After I got my mother situated in front of the television, I joined Gram at the kitchen counter where she was chopping a cucumber and adding it to a salad.

"I heard something in the woods," I explained. "I guess Mom followed me outside."

Gram continued chopping. "Hmm...that's strange. Was there anything out there?"

"Just some birds squabbling," I said, grabbing a cucumber slice. "But that reminds me. Ethan told me he's building a house on that empty plot?"

Gram placed the knife on the counter and wiped her hands on a towel. She looked into my eyes and smiled. It wasn't a happy smile, but a silent plea for understanding.

"You're wondering why Pop and I didn't tell you about selling the property. I understand."

"I know it's none of my business, but it was just a surprise."

"No, of course, it's your business. That land was supposed to be your mother's, just like the property on the other side belongs to Aunt Jessie," she said. "Pop and I talked it over, and we decided to sell it to Mr. McKeown. He paid more than twice what we asked for it, and we're putting the profit in an account for your mother's future."

I nodded and smiled. They had tried to give the land to me after my high school graduation. I hadn't wanted it then, and I didn't want it now. Their plan was definitely a good use for it. But the fact that Liam was the one to instigate it shot off major warning bells in my mind. But I couldn't tell her that...

"Is this for me to bring to the cookout?" I asked, changing the subject.

She glanced up at me, then continued chopping. "It is."

"I don't have to go, if you and Pop want to instead," I offered. "You guys are always cooped up here."

Gram placed the knife on the counter again and turned to look me in the eye. "Don't be silly, Allison." She bent to pull a box of plastic wrap out of the bottom drawer.

"I'm not!" I laughed, knowing exactly what I was doing, but continuing anyway. "I don't mind staying home. Cookouts aren't really my thing."

"You're going to that party, and you'll have a good time. I don't want to hear another thing about it."

The driveway at the Magliaro house was twice as full as it had been for the last cookout. There were even cars parked down the street. Nicole had warned me that in addition to family and co-workers, several of the Magliaro's clients would be there too, networking opportunity that it was. She saved a spot for me right on the lawn in front of Jeff's Jeep, though, so I scooted past the parked cars toward the house.

There were people of all ages everywhere I looked, kids running around the enormous yard, elderly women sitting in the shade of an ancient oak tree. As I walked by the floor-to-ceiling living room window, I could see that inside was just as crowded. Climbing the steps of the deck, I heard my name being called.

"Allison!" Joanne waved at me from one of the French doors leading inside. I smiled and went to say hello. As I approached, she opened the screen door and ushered me inside.

"Hello, sweetheart. I'm so glad you made it. Let me get that for you," she said warmly, taking the salad out of my hands.

I followed her through the mass of people into the kitchen. She put the salad down on the center island, which was already crowded with similar dishes.

"How's your mom?"

"Pretty good today. The nurse came yesterday to take out her stitches."

"Good. That's good, honey. I really am glad you could come today." Her expression turned mischievous. "Ethan told me you two went to DeeDee's the other night. I always knew he had—"

"What did you always know, Mom?" Ethan appeared from nowhere, poking my side and making me jump.

"Ethan! It's not polite to eavesdrop!" Joanne laughed as she smacked him.

"Hey, now—no hitting!" He rubbed his chest. "And I wasn't eavesdropping, I just wanted to come greet our guest."

"All right, all right. I get the hint," Joanna said. "Have a good time, Allison. I'll talk to you later."

Ethan looked down at me then. His eyes skimmed over my tank top and then back up to my face. "Hey."

"Hey," I mumbled, embarrassed at the smoldering look in his eyes.

That was as much of a greeting as I would get, though, because Nicole and Jeff walked over then.

"There you are, Al!" Nic wrapped me in a hug. "Did you have anything to eat yet?"

"Um, no. I just got here," I said, extricating myself from her grip.

"You've got to try the scallops Jeff's dad is grilling. Oh, and we made these amazing cookies, too. Come on!" She tugged my arm, leading us all out onto the back deck. As Nicole went on about the food and what I needed to try, I felt the strangest sensation in the back of my head, like someone was tickling my brain with a feather.

_Allison_...

A enchanting, musical voice, unlike any I'd heard before, whispered my name. I looked around.

_Allison_ , it said again.

I couldn't pinpoint who was speaking. It sounded like it was coming from _inside my head_. But that didn't make any sense...

"I'd just love to try some of your cookies, Jeffrey," I heard Ethan tease. He hadn't heard it, I guess.

"Make fun of me all you want, pal. But, I make some mean peanut butter cookies." Jeff lightly punched Ethan in the shoulder.

_Allison_...

There it was again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two people standing far away from the crowd. _You've got to be kidding._ Liam and a blonde woman I'd never seen before stood close together. I blinked, and they were gone.

Four guys, as tall and as built as Ethan, approached us, each with a beer and a plate of food balanced in their hands. They greeted Ethan and Jeff, and it was obvious they knew each other well.

Ethan stiffened a tiny bit and put his arm around my shoulder. Surprised, I looked up at him.

"Oh, guys. This is Allison, Nicole's cousin. Al, these are the guys on our crew—Ted, Jack, Vinny, and Rich."

I tried to be polite and smile, but my eyes scanned the yard, trying to track down Liam and the mystery woman.

_Allison_.

The soda can slipped out of my hand and crashed onto the deck, fizzing all over the legs of the men I'd just met. I dropped down onto my knees to grab the offending soda, horrified.

Snippets of past conversations regarding my mother's behavior seeped into my mind.

Aunt Jessie's soft, concerned tone: " _She's always so tense._ "

The deep, baritone of the psychologist: " _It's paranoid schizophrenia_."

Gram talking quietly with Pop: " _The voices in her head_."

Hands trembling visibly, I looked up, and my eyes locked on Liam and the blonde, who were across the yard from me. Liam looked uncomfortable; the woman just looked amused.

"Let me just get some napkins," I muttered, searching for anything to clean up the spill.

Ethan frowned at me and followed me to the table that held napkins. "It's okay, Al. It's just a soda, no big deal."

I huffed out a breath, realizing what a fool I was making of myself. I pursed my lips and nodded.

"Hey, where should I put the fireworks?" Sean asked as he and Rachel joined us. I was grateful for their arrival, hoping my embarrassing overreaction would be forgotten. Sean's arm was wrapped loosely around her waist. Apparently they were on-again today. It didn't stop her from batting her eyelashes at the guys, though, and of course, she sneered over at me. Then as if I didn't exist, she turned her back on me and launched into conversation with Nicole.

I tried to relax, listen to the conversations around me, and have a good time. Just before twilight, the guys went out to the fire pit to get the fireworks ready. Nicole and Rachel were at the picnic table near the pool chatting with a group of friends. I saw my chance to take a minute alone so I headed to get another drink.

"This is some party," a familiar voice said from behind me. I turned to see Liam standing in the shadow of the pool house.

"What are you even doing here?" I asked, looking around for the blonde woman he'd been with earlier.

Liam smiled, and his eyes flickered to Ethan. "My new contractor invited me, of course."

"Where is...where is the blonde you were with before?" I ground out. Not exactly the way to convince me he really still loved my mother as he'd claimed.

Liam looked tense and ignored my question. "You have every reason to hate me, Allison. I know that. But I'm here to help your mother, not harm her. There were circumstances that kept me away until now."

"They must have been _some_ circumstances."

"I know that's vague." He coughed a little and looked down. "But it's the most I can tell you at the moment."

I laughed, surprised at how cold it sounded. "No comment."

"I know that I'm responsible for your mother's current state. But I really believe I can help her recover."

I twisted to look him in the eye. "I told you I don't want you near her."

"Please, allow me to finish. Helping your mother isn't the only thing I wanted to talk to you about today."

I frowned at him.

"I believe she's in danger."

"My mother is schizophrenic. There is no chance she can, as you say, _recover_." I shook my head in frustration. "And, as far as any danger she might be in, there is _nothing_ more dangerous than having her see you again."

"I'm not able to explain further right now, but I'm begging you, please try to trust that I'm telling the truth."

"Trust you? That's a joke, right?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"We'll be watching to make sure your entire family stays safe," he continued without missing a beat. "But if I do contact you at your grandparents' again, please understand that it's important."

"Wait, what do you mean 'we'?"

Liam looked away, and when he looked back at me, his eyes pleaded with me to understand. Ethan was walking across the lawn, looking from Liam to me with a concerned expression.

"Ethan, your family's home is stunning," Liam said. "Thank you so much for inviting me today, but I'm afraid I must be going."

"All right, man. Talk with you soon." Ethan glanced down at me, a question still in his eyes.

"Allison, lovely to see you again," Liam added with a nod.

I watched him walk away, every muscle in my body thrumming with tension.

"You don't like him much, do you?" Ethan asked, watching me as if gauging my reaction.

"I don't even know him," I replied. Okay, I needed a change of subject. "Are they almost ready for the fireworks?"

"I think so. Keep your fingers crossed that they know what they're doing."

I laughed at Jeff and Sean across the yard, fighting over a box of matches. Ethan muttered something under his breath, and I turned to see Rachel sauntering over to us.

"Such a great party, Ethan," Rachel sputtered, taking a sip of her wine cooler.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, Rach."

Rachel giggled, batting her heavily made-up lashes at Ethan. "Is it just me, or is it starting to get a bit chilly?"

"I brought a sweatshirt, so I'm fine," I said, pointing to the sweatshirt I'd wrapped around my waist.

"Oh, you're so smart, All-i-son," Rachel stammered. "Do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow, Ethan? I'm getting goose bumps all over." She held her arm up to Ethan's face.

She was such an annoying drunk.

"Yeah, sure. I'll see what I can find," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him.

"You all right?" he asked, his eyes scanning my face. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine." I tried to smile, but I knew my voice sounded shaky.

"I think I have one of Sean's old sweatshirts up in my room. She can have that," he said as he led me through the house.

"So, are they back together?" I asked him as we walked up the stairs to the second floor.

Ethan snorted. "Sean and Rach? Who knows? Who cares?"

He paused just inside his bedroom door and turned to look at me. His face was scrunched in concern. "What is it, Al?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking about something Rachel said to my cousin the other day."

He waited for a moment. "Are you going to tell me what it was?" he asked.

"Um, no. I don't think I will," I whispered. I tried to keep my voice from cracking as he moved closer to me.

"Well," he said, his gaze moving down to my lips. "How am I supposed to make you feel better if you don't tell me what upset you?"

I inhaled sharply as he kept moving forward. I took two steps backward before I bumped into the wall.

"She might have said something about you only being interested in me because I'm _no-man's land,_ " I managed to squeak out.

Ethan chuckled, and I could feel it vibrate through me. "No-man's land, huh?"

"That's right. And she said I'm probably a lesbian, anyway."

His face was inches from mine now.

"You're not a lesbian, are you, Al?" he teased, trying to meet my eyes.

"I don't really have much to base my opinion on," I said, the words just barely audible above the beating of my heart. "I'll have to get back to you on that."

"For the sake of your own peace of mind," he whispered, leaning in so that I could feel his breath on my lips. "I'd be willing to help you figure it out."

My pulse spiked, and I willed it to slow down so that I could form a witty reply. But, he didn't give me a chance. His lips just brushed against mine, soft as a feather. He brought his hands up and cradled the back of my head. _So gentle_. His lips moved against mine—not taking, only asking.

His fingertips trailed down my arm and made me shiver. I pulled back, needing to breath. He didn't let go of me though.

"We should go back outside, before we ruin this by fighting." His smile was genuine, if the slightest bit wistful.

I blushed. Yeah, he was probably right.

_Liam walks through a room lit by tiny glowing spheres suspended in the air. The round lights cast shadows on the high-curved walls. He keeps his head bowed as he nears a woman seated on a dais against the far wall. Her hair, as black as a moonless night, is gathered at her neck by a jeweled clip, and hangs in loose waves over one shoulder. Eyes as blue and cold as ice watch him approach._

_Liam kneels slowly at her feet, eyes trained on the floor. The woman smiles, and cocks her head to the side like a bird, grabbing his chin and pulling it upward until his eyes meet hers. As he speaks, the woman's face contorts in rage. He winces and she loosens her fingers, leaving behind a bloody trail where her fingernails have cut him. The woman closes her eyes for a moment before shoving him roughly onto his back_.

* * *

I sat up in my bed, my lungs screaming for air. I pulled my legs up and rested my forehead against my knees as I attempted to catch my breath. Rain beat against my window, matching the drumming of my heart.

For the past six months I'd dreamed about Liam almost every night. Most of the dreams involved blood and fear. They'd gotten more intense now that I'd actually met him too, more foreboding.

The need to go for a run came upon me so suddenly that when I jumped from my bed, my head teetered. I counted backward from twenty as the dizziness subsided and changed into shorts and a tank top. A little rain never hurt anyone.

I inhaled the smell of wet grass as I bound down the front steps. The air was misty, and a gray cloak hung over the trees and early-morning streetlights. It took all of my self-control to force myself to warm-up when all I could think of was launching into a mind-numbing sprint.

The rain eased as I ran, leaving a dreary fog in its wake. After an hour, I looped back around to the bend in the road just before the path to what was now Liam's property.

_Allison_.

The voice was the same as last night. It made my name sound like a song. But this time there was no one around.

I stopped running, forgetting about cooling down or stretching. My stomach clenched with leftover panic as I looked around in the gloom. I approached the path when Liam stepped out of the trees. His expression was the same uncomfortable one he wore when I saw him last night, as though he dreaded speaking to me.

The blonde materialized next to him, as if the mist had been hiding her body. She cocked her head to one side...reminding me of the woman in my dream. She looked nothing like that raven-haired woman, but she was equally beautiful. Her golden hair was sleek and smooth, cascading down past her shoulders, and her eyes were such a light gray they appeared nearly colorless.

I stopped walking. Something about this woman made me nervous. She smiled at me, her icy eyes glinting, even though the sun hadn't yet made an appearance today.

"Allison," she said out loud in the same voice I'd heard in my head. A shiver raced down my spine when she spoke. Why were they even here?

"Liam? What's going on?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"I wasn't prepared for this," Liam said, his eyes focused on the ground. He was grinding his teeth, too.

"I'm sure you weren't," the blonde said. "But too much time has passed already. You should have known you couldn't put this off forever."

Liam looked at me then, his eyes filled with regret. My heart lurched, and I had the urge to bolt. I shouldn't feel empathy for the man who left my mother pregnant and alone.

"I would've liked to..." He broke off and turned to look at the blonde woman. "She knows nothing of your kind."

Anger and frustration instantly replaced any other emotions that may have been building. "What are you talking about?"

Liam took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "The things I didn't think I could explain to you last night"—he exchanged a look with the woman—"well, it appears I can explain them now."

"Okay," I said, "So, explain."

The woman started walking toward me, her strange diamond eyes holding me captive. "If I may?" It came out as a question, but she didn't appear to actually be asking permission.

"Of course," Liam replied, closing his eyes.

"Your people often use the expression, 'Things aren't always as they appear.'" She paused and I raised my eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "Whether you believe it or not, your father is here to help your mother."

"Wait." I held my hands up to interrupt. "Who are you?"

She smirked and glanced back at Liam. "My name is Niamh. I am one of the Tuatha de Danaan."

"What?"

"A Danaan—a descendent of the Goddess Danu. You might recognize the term 'fairy' or 'the people under hill'?"

"Fairy," I repeated, the word sounding disjointed from my lips. "Are you a fairy too, Liam?" I choked out a laugh, looking between the two of them. They just stared back at me.

Liam cleared his throat. "Ah, well. I haven't always been..."

"Listen, I don't know what kind of _joke_ this is, but my mother is ill. Just stay away from her."

I started to turn around, but Liam held out his hand to stop me.

"Please," he said. "Let me explain."

I threw my hands up in exasperation.

"I was raised in County Monaghan, north of Dublin. I was born the son of a farmer"—he paused and looked me in the eye—"in 1862."

"This just keeps getting better," I said. _Why am I even listening to this?_

"My Da passed away when I was nineteen. I took on many of his responsibilities. After supper I would sneak off to a little clearing in the woods and just play my fiddle until my arms ached."

He stopped and watched for my reaction. I just tapped my foot. "One day as I played, a lovely woman appeared. She told me she had heard the music and wanted to see where it came from. Her name was Aoife, and she was the most glorious creature I had ever seen, with raven hair and eyes like sapphires. I was completely enraptured by her. And the longer I played for her, the more I wanted to make her mine."

Liam paused, his eyes far away, remembering.

"I soon began to long for her day and night. On the days I couldn't slip away, I ached for her—"

"Explain how this has anything to do with my mother," I said. He expected me to believe this?

He ignored my question and continued. "I was becoming physically addicted to her. Aoife and her folk believe that humans are their playthings. They think nothing of capturing a human and filling them with longing, only to dump them back into this world. After their encounters with the Danaan, humans are nothing but empty husks."

Niamh cleared her throat and Liam paused.

"Not all Danaan are so callous," she said. "Aoife is my sister, but we don't share the same beliefs. She has been defying our laws and customs for some time now." She motioned for Liam to go on.

"One day, I begged Aoife to come home with me. She took me to her home instead. By then, I was completely enthralled by Aoife. She was all I cared about. I forgot about my family—they were totally wiped from my mind. And as time went on, I began to come back to myself, my mind began to clear. Just by living in Tír na n'Óg, I was becoming immortal."

"Immortal?" I asked, laughing. "What? Like a vampire?"

"We are as alive as you are, Allison. But unlike your kind, we don't grow old," Niamh said, her lips curving into a smirk.

"So," Liam went on. "I started to remember my life before entering their world. I longed to see my family. I didn't realize that decades had passed here. It seemed such a short time in Tír na n'Óg, because nobody aged there, including me. Aoife would leave occasionally, with only her handmaiden Eithne to watch over me. The first time I asked if I might join Aoife in her travels was in 1979. She agreed to take me along to Dublin.

"Several years later at the Music in the Street Festival at Trinity College, I met your mother."

I thought of the photos I had of Liam and my mother, smiling and happy. Those must have been at the music festival. If any of this were to be believed.

"I couldn't stop thinking about her and planning ways to see her again. I hid her from Aoife. It wasn't easy, but I had fallen hopelessly in love with your mother. It was nothing like the obsession I'd felt for Aoife— _that_ was nothing like love."

Niamh looked away with an uncomfortable expression. When she caught me watching her, I quickly turned back to Liam.

"By then I had become more Danaan than human. I'd stopped aging and had developed some magical ability. Nothing like a true Danaan, but magic nonetheless."

He frowned, and I noticed his eyes beginning to glisten.

"Your mother and I were able to continue seeing each other for about five months before Aoife suspected anything. She assumed I was involved with Eithne, her handmaiden, and began watching me closely. It was nearly impossible to meet with your mother. She didn't understand my situation, and I was too afraid to tell her the truth. I knew I was breaking her heart by staying away, but I didn't have a choice.

"When I returned to Tír na n'Óg, Aoife was waiting for me. She'd figured out with whom I had been meeting and was infuriated I had a desire to be with another, let alone a _human_."

Liam blew out a shaky breath, and Niamh took over. "Aoife's temper is well-known among our folk. But none of us had ever seen such fury as when she felt she was betrayed by Liam," she said shaking her head.

"What did she do to my mother?" I blurted out, anger coloring my tone.

"She didn't do anything to your mother—not directly anyway," Liam said, his hands balling into fists by his sides. "Aoife placed a geis, an enchantment, on me so that I was unable to touch your mother," his voice faltered. "And then I was forbidden to leave Tír na n'Óg, and your mother left Ireland, thinking I had abandoned her."

I just stared at Liam, though he looked everywhere but at me.

Niamh spoke again, and her face softened. "That's not the worst of it, though. Like Liam said, when humans are abandoned by one of us, they are driven crazy with longing. He experienced it firsthand when Aoife stayed away for just one week. Your mother has been kept from your father for _twenty-two years_. She doesn't have schizophrenia—she has an _unfulfilled addiction_. Until she is able to touch him again, she'll never be more than an empty shell of what she once was."

I felt tears sliding down my cheeks as I listened to Niamh. If this story were true, maybe Liam really could help my mother. For that reason, I wanted it to be true. Another thought hit me hard and fast.

"Where is Aoife now?" I asked, my chest squeezing. "Is she the one who you are trying to protect us from?"

Niamh kept speaking as though she didn't hear me. "During a recent gathering, I sensed something was very wrong with your father."

Niamh looked into my eyes, and I heard her voice in my mind again.

_I can read and speak to minds, so I could communicate with Liam without making Aoife suspicious_.

"Liam told me everything that happened. I agreed to imprison Aoife in a fey globe. It was the only way to stop her from keeping Liam captive."

Niamh stared into my eyes again. An image of a beautiful woman trapped in a shimmering sphere flashed into my mind.

"Aoife may not be able to cause trouble now, but there are others who would restore her to power—"

"I've seen her," I interrupted. "The black-haired woman in the sphere, I've seen her in my dreams."

I looked at Liam. "When I first met you, I knew who you were because I'd dreamed of you. I knew you were my father because we look...so much alike." I paused for a beat and swallowed hard. _This can't be happening._ "And last night I dreamed of the woman with black hair. _Aoife_."

Niamh's brow shot up. "I don't understand why my mother didn't tell me about this," she whispered to Liam.

Liam kept his head down. The muscles in his jaw were tense, his hands clenched at his sides.

I couldn't help wondering how her mother would know about me, but my phone rang just as I was about to ask. Ethan's name showed on the display. I turned my back to Liam and Niamh to answer.

"I need your help," he said, sounding distressed.

"Wh-what's wrong?" I asked warily. I didn't know how much more I could handle right then.

"We have way too much leftover food here. Come help me eat it... _please_."

I let out the breath I had been holding. "Oh, okay," I said, relieved that there was no more earth-shattering news.

"Hey, is everything all right?"

I swallowed the truth, wondering if the fact that my life had just turned into a Disney movie would be considered _all right_.

"Allison," Liam said from behind me in his thick Irish brogue.

"Oh, is someone there with you?" Ethan asked.

"Uh, yeah. I just bumped into Liam while I was out for a run."

"Okay," he said, something off in his voice. "Just give me a call later then."

I put the phone back into my pocket and closed my eyes, trying to reconcile the image of Ethan's face in my mind with everything I'd just heard. What would he think if he knew about all of this?

The answer was simple: he could never know about any of it.

I turned around just as one of the giant black birds landed on a branch just over our heads.

"You have these dreams often, you said?" Liam asked, his eyes darting up to the bird.

I nodded. "Almost every night for about six months."

Niamh's gaze flickered between my father and me as I told them about the dreams. Liam stared at the ground, stroking the back of his neck as I recalled the different scenarios I'd witnessed.

A loud caw came from the trees, and Liam looked up at Niamh, some kind of silent conversation taking place between them.

I put my hands up. "Don't do that. Don't make it so I can't tell what you're saying. Not after all you've put me through already."

Liam cleared his throat. "It was a mistake for us to have met with you out in the open like this."

"It's time for us to go," Niamh said. "It's not safe to stay here any longer."

"So, that's it? You're just going to leave? What am I supposed to do now?" I asked.

"I will see you soon," Liam said, taking one more look at the house where my mother was.

The black bird cawed again and flapped its wings in the tree above.

_Go home, Allison_.

Niamh and Liam turned as if they were going to walk away, but instead they completely disappeared.

# Chapter 6

Monday evening I was at the hardware store closing out the cash register when the bells hanging over the door clanged. I looked up from the receipts to see Ethan strolling up the aisle.

"Oh, hey, Ethan." I looked back down, ignoring the jolt in my heart. I hadn't called him back yesterday after my run-in with Liam and Niamh.

"I was just wondering what time you get off work?"

"Well, as soon as I finish counting up these receipts." I kept my voice casual, keeping my eyes on the papers in front of me.

"Something wrong, Al?" he asked in a low voice.

I shook my head, pretending to be confused. "Not really. I just have a headache."

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his faded blue jeans and shrugged. "You busy tonight?"

"The only thing I'll be doing is taking an aspirin and lying down."

Ethan's mouth tightened, but he nodded.

I wrapped the totals sheet around my receipts and locked them in the safe, avoiding his eyes.

"Everything else is okay though, right? You seem a little...distracted," he said. "And you never called me back..."

"Everything's fine," I said. "Just busy."

I turned off the lights, grabbed my purse, and walked around the counter. He walked by my side to the door, his arm brushing mine as I reached past him to set the alarm. The air felt thick and charged.

Ethan walked me to my car silently. I took a deep breath, and as I turned to face him, a flood of emotions washed through me. Who was I kidding? I'd loved him since before I could remember, reputation and all. But I had a plan: get through school, get a job, and take care of my mother. Being in a relationship was not part of it.

I knew he wouldn't walk away without a fight, but I didn't want to pull him any deeper into my life than he already was. If all of these things with Liam and my mother made no sense to me, how would I ever explain them to Ethan? And if they were true...he'd be in danger. There'd be a rogue fairy out to get me.

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" I said softly.

He was quiet for a minute, and I started getting even more nervous. "I took the day off Wednesday," he said with an odd note of uncertainty. "I wanted to take you to lunch on your birthday."

My mouth went dry, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. I let it out in a puff. "You shouldn't have done that."

Ethan swallowed and looked away, then cleared his throat. "I'll...I'll just call you Wednesday. Hope you feel better." He tapped the hood of my car before turning and walking away.

Two days dragged by with no word from Liam. I kept replaying the conversation with him and Niamh over and over in my head. They had answers for so many of the questions I'd had my whole life—why I'd never known my father, why my mother lost her mind. And, why I felt like I was losing mine. Their answers sounded _crazy_ , but they explained it all so perfectly.

They even acted like my dreams meant something, like I might not be going insane after all. Unless they were just as crazy as I was. Which was highly possible.

I typed the word _Danaan_ into the search engine on my laptop, tapping my chin with a pen as I scanned through the results. I'd spent every spare minute the past two days looking up Irish fairies.

* * *

_The Tuatha Dé Danaan are magical descendants of the pre-Christian deities of Ireland who lived alongside the druids and Gaels. These human-like beings were forced to retreat under the hills of Ireland into another dimension of space and time with the rise of Christianity._

_It was reputed that only iron weapons could injure them. They became known as the people of the Sidhe (mounds) or fairies_.

* * *

_Deities? As in gods?_ I scrolled through web pages on all manner of magic and fairy stories. Paintings of women wearing flowers in their hair with flowing gowns were on every page. _Beautiful._

I jumped when the phone rang. Again. It had been ringing non-stop all day. I glanced at the caller ID, seeing that it was Nicole this time. I silenced it and tossed it back on my nightstand.

"Allison," Gram called from outside my bedroom door.

I heard the worry in her voice and tried to ignore it. "Come in."

She poked her head in, her brow creased with concern. "Supper's ready, honey." Gram was using her "cheerful voice."

"Okay, I'll be down in a sec," I said as I shut off my laptop.

Gram smiled and tried to make her face look relaxed before nodding and heading back downstairs, leaving my bedroom door open.

The smoky smell of grilled chicken that wafted in from the kitchen made my stomach grumble. I must have forgotten to eat lunch.

_Oh my god, lunch!_

Ethan had taken the day off so he could take me out for lunch on my birthday. No wonder the phone had been ringing non-stop. I groaned and rubbed my hand over my face. How could I have forgotten? I stood and smoothed my ponytail. I needed to pull myself together for Gram's and Pop's sakes. I was sure they had put together a nice supper while I sulked in my room all day.

I went downstairs, and started when I saw Aunt Jessie and Uncle Dave setting the table.

"Hey, birthday girl!" Aunt Jessie said as she walked by.

Pop came in off the deck carrying a plate of grilled chicken. "There she is! Finally showing her face today. Happy Birthday, young lady!" His eyes twinkled like they always did when the family was all together. As he set the plate down, he kissed my mother on the cheek.

The front door shut with a crash. _Uh oh._ There was only one person missing from the table.

Nicole walked into the kitchen, staring at me with her eyes wide and lips pursed, but said nothing. It might as well have been a slap for what it meant.

Gram saved me by announcing it was time to eat. Everyone loaded up their plates, the typical chatter going on across the table. I was about to take my first bite when Nicole spoke, her voice loud enough to stop all other conversation. "So, Al. I'm glad you're okay."

"I'm fine, Nic," I replied without looking up. I knew my family was looking at Nicole for an explanation.

"That's really good, you know, because I was convinced you were in some sort of accident or that you'd been mugged...seeing that you haven't answered your phone _all_ day."

"Nope, I'm all right," I said evenly, fighting the urge to apologize. I had a secret now, something that set me apart from even Nicole, and I had to keep it that way.

"Fabulous." Nicole said sharply.

Gram cleared her throat pointedly, and my head snapped up. My grandparents, aunt, and uncle were quietly cutting the food on their plates, and, my mother was slowly sipping her drink gazing out the back door. Finally, I raised my eyes and met Nicole's hard stare. I shook my head and looked back down at my plate.

I turned on the sink and picked up the sponge. Dinner was over, and helping to clean up was the best excuse I could think of to avoid Nicole. But Gram stopped me.

"It's a beautiful evening, and your birthday, so why don't you go enjoy it on the deck?"

I sighed. It would be no use to argue. I nodded and gave her a kiss, then took my iced tea out back and sat in a lounge chair. Nicole inevitably followed.

She leaned back on the railing and folded her arms. "All right, let's hear it."

"There's nothing to tell."

"I'm used to this sort of thing from you," Nicole began, "but I'm family, I have no choice but to accept your weirdness."

"Nic—"

"No, let me finish. You told Ethan you'd go to lunch with him. Now that I see for myself that there's no catastrophe, I don't understand why you would blow him off."

"First of all, I never agreed. And besides, I haven't been feeling well, and I just laid down for a minute and..." I trailed off, not wanting to lie but hoping Nicole would come to her own conclusions.

"This is Ethan we're talking about, Al. You have been in love with him since you were in the first grade! So, what's the deal?"

"It was a mistake, Nic," I whispered.

Nicole shook her head and stalked back in the house without another word.

I closed my eyes, and let my head fall back on my chair. The sounds of the dishes clattering in the sink began to fade.

* * *

_I walk into a room. I've seen it before...the curved ceiling is familiar. A man stands in the center of the space, his black hair pulled back at the base of his neck. His face is all sharp angles, and he smirks at me, a cruel and twisted smile. He looks like he's been expecting me, but I've never seen him before._

_The cry of bird makes me stop, my feet not wanting to enter any farther into the room. A large black bird lands on the man's outstretched arm, and he looks into the bird's eyes, then back at me._

_His laughter is as cold and sharp as an icicle as he turns to look at me again. "Do you know where your mother is, girl?"_

* * *

"Allie?" I jumped at the sound of my name, and woke to find Ethan gently shaking my shoulder.

"Where is she?" I shouted.

"Whoa, Allie, it's okay. It was just a bad dream," he said as I stood up. "You were kind of thrashing around."

I gulped in the summer air and tried to catch my breath. "I'm...I'm fine. I'm just not feeling that great."

His expression was hopeful. "You must be coming down with something. Nic just told me you slept all afternoon."

I nodded and stretched my arms above my head.

"We were thinking of doing your cake, sweetie," Aunt Jessie said as she stuck her head out the back door and smiled sheepishly at us.

"Oh, thanks Aunt Jessie," I said, grateful for a reason to not have to give Ethan any more explanations. I gave him a halfhearted smile as we headed inside.

My family was seating themselves back at the table with coffee, and in front of my seat was a beautiful cake with lemon icing—my favorite.

As I blew out my candles, I wished for the same thing I did every year—to be strong enough, and capable enough, to take care of my mother.

But, this year's wish was slightly different. I hoped for a real chance at my mother getting better.

When I got up the next morning to go for my run, it was already in the eighties and the sun had barely risen over the trees. The humidity made my tank top stick to my skin, but I didn't care. My headphones blared in my ears, cares shattered into pieces by the pumping bass line. I welcomed the sweat trickling down my back and pushed harder.

I walked the last half mile to cool down, and as I came around the corner I saw Liam standing, once more, in the path leading up to his property.

As I approached, he raised his hand in greeting, and something silver gleamed out from the short sleeve of his shirt.

"Good morning, Allison."

"Hey," I said, feeling awkward and not sure how to act after all he'd told me a few days before.

"They're beginning to clear the property today."

I looked up the path to see a group of men pulling chainsaws out of a truck. "I guess I won't be sleeping in anytime soon."

Liam laughed a little, and his lips curved upward. He had a nice smile—I hadn't seen him smile much since I'd met him.

"I had another dream last night," I said, grabbing my ankle to stretch my leg.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I said, suddenly unsure if I should share it. He waited for me to continue, and I shook off the fear. "I was in that same room where I saw Aoife before. There was a man with long, black hair. He had a black bird on his shoulder." I looked straight into Liam's eyes. "He asked about my mother."

I didn't like the way his eyes widened at this. "Breanh," he murmured.

"And that means...what?"

"Breanh is Aoife's adviser. He's the one who introduced her to dark magic in the first place. I'm sure he's trying to find Aoife right now."

The way Liam was talking now, fast and without really looking at me, filled me with dread.

"Wait a sec! That doesn't really tell me anything. This guy is the one you think will hurt Mom?"

For a moment, Liam just looked down, his jaw working. When he finally raised his eyes, his expression was tight and reserved.

"If Breanh discovered why I'm here, he'll use your mother against me. In order to get Aoife back."

"I'm guessing letting Aoife go is out of the question?"

Liam sighed. "It would just make everything worse if we released Aoife at this point."

"Worse for who? How can I keep my mother safe if she's now some evil fairy's bargaining chip?"

Liam sighed again, heavier this time. He looked up at the house where my mother was probably watching the early talk shows.

"The workers will keep him away for now, I think. But the nighttime is more of a concern. Stay inside today. I think you'll be safest there."

"No way," I said, raising my voice. "I can't just stay home and hide. I need to do something, find a way to protect her."

"I just need to speak with Niamh, We'll figure something out."

"No, that's not good enough." I was nearly shouting, but the words died in my throat as Ethan's pickup truck pulled up next to me.

Liam turned and walked quickly into the woods in the opposite direction of the workers.

Ethan hopped out of the truck, shutting the door with a _thud_. "Good day for a run," he said with a smile.

"Oh, yeah."

He turned to look at me then. I felt like he could see past all my secrets, so I quickly looked away.

"I just have to go over some things with these guys," he said as he gestured toward the lot next door. "But, after that, I'm free for awhile. You wanna grab lunch?"

"Actually, I was thinking I'd like to spend a little time with my mother before I take over for Lenny at the store."

Ethan nodded slowly, rubbing his hand across his chin. His gaze traveled in the direction where Liam had walked off. "I was hoping to talk to Liam for a minute today, too. Think he'll be back?"

I was caught off guard. "I don't know. He didn't say."

"I had thought..." He struggled to find words, but I already knew what he was going to say.

"What, Ethan?" I asked, keeping my voice low and cool. "You won a _bet_. What more do you want?"

"So, that's it?" He straightened up. "I think we both know it was more than that."

I felt backed into a corner, so, I used the only weapon I had. "I'm sure it's hard for you to believe," I said, adding ice to my voice. "But, it's true."

"Fine." He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. "I guess I'll see you around, Al."

He narrowed his eyes and stared hard into mine, stripping me of the last of my defenses. Without another word he turned and walked away.

I headed inside. It really was a scorcher outside. As I headed up the stairs to take a shower I wiped the sweat from my forehead and the tears from my eyes.

# Chapter 7

The hardware store was slow that night, and it was even harder to get through the hours than usual as I was constantly fighting back tears. When I could finally close up, I went straight home. I hadn't heard from Liam yet and it was nearly seven, and between worrying about my mother and replaying my conversation with Ethan, I was completely exhausted and beyond emotionally drained.

Thankfully, everything was quiet when I got home. I walked into the living room to find Gram sitting on the couch folding laundry.

"Just the person I was thinking of," Gram said as I dropped my purse on the sideboard.

"Hi, Gram. Where is everyone?"

"Your mom is upstairs lying down. Pop is down in the cellar, I think."

I sat down in the recliner and leaned my head back for a minute.

"Are you feeling okay, honey? You look a little pale."

I yawned and settled further into the chair, opening one eye to look at her. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Gram stood and hauled the laundry basket up to her hip. "There are leftovers in the fridge, I'm just going to put this laundry away, and I'll heat something up for you."

"I can manage," I said, stretching one more time before I stood.

I took the leftover pasta out and heated a bowl in the microwave. As I waited for it to cook, I sliced a piece of fresh Italian bread.

I wanted to be able to tell Gram everything, to share the weight of all I now knew with someone. But there was no way I could even tell Gram and Pop about who Liam was, let alone all the insane-sounding things he'd told me about his life. Plus, I hadn't had a chance to come to terms with his arrival yet myself, as my father.

I took a deep breath and watched the microwave. Now that my mother was in potential danger, I needed to take care of this myself. There could be no more distractions. But the image of Ethan staring into my eyes, his expression cold and angry, was burnt into my memory. He'd never been angry with me before. But—I reminded myself—angry was better than hopeful.

Once again, I was left waiting to hear from Liam. The hope I'd let myself feel since he'd shown up was being replaced by dread. Liam had said Breanh was dangerous. But would Breanh even know where we were if Liam hadn't shown up here? Now he may as well hand-deliver my mother right to the bad guy.

The ceiling creaked loudly, and I looked up, wondering what Gram was doing up there. It sounded like she was scurrying in and out of the bedrooms. A second later, she bustled down the stairs. Her face was flushed, and strands of white hair escaped from her bun.

The bread knife slipped from my fingers as she approached me, landing with a clatter on the cutting board.

Mom. Something was wrong.

"Gram?"

She blinked at me before hurrying over to the living room window. "Your mother isn't in her bedroom," she said as she turned away from the window.

"Tom," she called as she walked toward the cellar stairs and opened the door. "Tom, have you seen Beth?"

"Coming, Jane," I heard Pop holler from the bottom of the stairs. "What is it, dear?"

"I can't find Elizabeth. She isn't down there with you, is she?"

"No," Pop said, wiping sawdust off his brow.

"Maybe she wandered out into the backyard again," I said. Before anyone could respond, I threw open the screen slider and hurried outside. I ran around the entire house shouting her name, but there was no sign of her.

I climbed the porch steps two at a time and charged upstairs to my bedroom. My hands shook as I scrolled through the numbers on my cell phone, trying to find the one Liam had called from.

I heard him pick up but was speaking before he had a chance to say anything. "My mother," I shouted. "She's missing."

After a moment of silence, he finally replied. "I'll be there in just a moment, Allison. Stay put."

I threw the phone down on my bed. Pacing back and forth, I tried to imagine how this could have happened. How could she have left the house without my grandparents even noticing? It just didn't make sense.

Pop was on the phone when I came back downstairs, and Gram stood by the slider, wringing her hands, looking out into the darkening backyard. My grandfather hung up and walked over to where Gram stood. He wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned her head into his shoulder. I could see she was trembling.

"She can't be far, Jane. I told the police about Beth's condition—they'll be here soon. They'll find her."

"I just don't know how this could have happened," Gram said in a shaky voice.

"Mom?" Aunt Jessie walked down the front hall and froze by the side table, looking back and forth between me and my grandparents.

Gram pulled away from my grandfather and pursed her lips. At Gram's expression, Aunt Jessie rushed over to her.

"She's just...gone," Gram murmured into my aunt's shoulder as they held each other for a moment.

The sound of car doors cut through the tension then, and we were out on the front porch in seconds. A police car was parked in front of the house.

While the officers spoke with my grandparents, I caught sight of Liam standing on the sidewalk a few yards away. He had his back to me, and it wasn't until I was just a few feet from him that he turned around.

"What's happened?" he asked.

I inhaled. "I don't really know. My grandparents thought she was up in her room. But when Gram went to check on her, she wasn't there."

Liam nodded and turned toward the house. His eyes slid over the yard and the vehicles in the driveway.

"You got here so fast," I whispered, barely even aware that I had spoken out loud.

"That's one advantage of being a Danaan." He cleared his throat and glanced over at me. "Speed."

I wasn't sure what that meant, but it wasn't important right now. All that mattered was finding my mom.

I heard one of the officers tell my grandparents that due to her schizophrenia, they'd be able to file a missing persons report immediately. The second officer walked to his squad car to call into the station, while the other continued speaking to Gram and Pop.

Uncle Dave stood at Aunt Jessie's side, rubbing her back as they listened to my grandfather describe my mother's physical appearance.

A car door slammed, and I heard the clatter of heels on tar.

"Al?" Nicole said as she and Jeff walked to the sidewalk. She glanced at Liam and then at me. "Allison? What's going on?"

"My mother," I said, but my voice came out like a croak and I cleared my throat. "My mother's missing."

Nicole's eyes widened in alarm. "Missing? Oh my God." Her arms came up around my shoulders, squeezing me with all her strength.

Jeff spoke from behind Nicole. "Can we form a search party? What are the police doing?"

Nicole didn't give me a chance to answer, she half pulled me toward the rest of our family. I looked over my shoulder at Liam, and he nodded, as though he knew just what to do.

I hurried down the cellar stairs and over to the map of Stoneville that hung above my grandfather's workbench. Standing on my tiptoes, I reached for the pushpins that held it in place. My fingers just barely brushed the rounded heads of the pins, and I strained to get my fingernail underneath. The frantic energy buzzing through my body wouldn't allow me to pop each pin off the board one at a time, and I ended up tearing the map from the wall, barely keeping it in one piece.

I sprinted back to the kitchen and spread the map across the table. My grandparents sat in two chairs pushed close together. Jeff and Nicole, Joanne and her husband Frank, plus half a dozen friends and neighbors had arrived to help look for my mother. Looking down at the street names, I jabbed my finger into the spot that I knew represented our property.

"Okay, we're here. If we divide into groups of four, we can each spread out in all directions..." I looked up to see everyone was waiting for my instructions, as if I really knew what I was doing.

As I assigned paths for everyone to follow, the front door slammed and footsteps came down the hall. Ethan walked into the living room, carrying an armload of flashlights and lanterns. His mouth was set in a grim line and fear flickered in his eyes. I breathed deeply through my nose and looked back down at the map.

I felt each step he took as he came to my side. As I spoke to Ethan's parents and Sean's parent's—the Connor's—I heard the trembling in my own voice.

"You four can take the old cart road up behind the Connor's house. Do you have flashlights?" I grabbed the lantern Ethan held out and passed it to Sean's father, accepting the comfort he offered me with a tight smile.

_Allison_.

Niamh's voice in my head caused a shudder to ripple across my shoulders. I looked toward the door, but she wasn't anywhere I could see.

Ethan touched my elbow. "It'll be okay, Al. We'll find her."

I looked up to see his brown eyes fixed on mine. He squeezed my arm in reassurance, and I pulled back. I needed to keep my head clear, and his touch was too much.

"Let's go, Ethan. We're going to look behind the old Miller farm," Jeff said as he and Nicole walked over. Nicole's eyebrows pulled down as she assessed the situation.

That's when another familiar voice spoke behind me.

"Mr. and Mrs. O'Malley? I've heard about your daughter," Liam said. "I'll search the woods on the property. She's sure to turn up soon."

My grandparents barely responded, they just gave him watery smiles.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Liam—in my house, talking to my grandparents. About my mother. I had to hold my tongue and remind myself that this wasn't his fault, that he was trying to help bring her home.

I felt Ethan watching my reaction to Liam. I didn't know what was going through his mind, but I was sure any ideas he had about my relationship with Liam were completely off the mark.

My father turned toward the door. Each assigned search party was making its own plans now, so I followed him out onto the porch. Niamh stood on the sidewalk, and she held me in her gaze as I approached.

_Follow me_.

I didn't want to, but without hesitating, I followed her to the path leading up to Liam's property. My feet felt like they were moving without my consent.

_I gave my word to protect your mother, Allison. No harm will come to her_.

I shook my head, not understanding how she could promise that. Or why she would even want to. I got the impression humans meant very little to the Danaans.

_I swore to help your father. We will return your mother unharmed_.

I sighed. This mind reading thing was already getting annoying.

Niamh smiled wryly. "I can speak aloud if you'd like."

"Thanks," I muttered as we walked farther up the path into the trees.

It was fully dark now, and the moon was waning. The flashlight helped a little, but I still managed to trip over a rock hidden under some leaves. I blew out a frustrated breath and felt someone grab my elbow to steady me. But when I looked over, no one was there.

"Allison, meet Tagdh."

"What?" I asked, looking at Niamh.

"Tagdh is Niamh's guardian," Liam explained. "He's wearing a glamour to stay hidden from human eyes."

My eyebrows shot up. "What does that even mean?"

"A glamour is an enchantment," Niamh said. "It's like a cloak of magic that keeps your mind from registering his presence."

I rolled my eyes, but nodded as if I heard this kind of thing all the time. "I see."

The air shimmered in front of me, and a young man slowly came into focus. He bowed his head, raising his solemn eyes to meet mine. Their color reminded me of the bright green buds of early spring, and his auburn hair curled around his ears.

"Tagdh was able to use glamour to keep hidden." Liam gestured for me to stop walking now that we were away from the others. "And we have news. The birds we've been seeing around your house are confirmed as Breanh's spies."

Liam watched for my reaction, but I was determined to keep a straight face. "Breanh is able to control the minds of all creatures, including humans."

"Your mother could have easily been coerced to walk right out the front door," Niamh said. "Your grandmother might have seen the whole thing and not remember a bit of it if Breanh wiped her memory."

"So what are we looking for exactly then?"

"Right now, we're keeping up appearances, for your family. Wherever your mother truly is, she's far, far away from here."

Time stopped, and my mouth dropped open. "Keeping up appearances?"

"Your family would think it was strange if you weren't taking part in the search." Niamh shrugged, the slightest pull of her shoulder upward.

"How can you be positive it was Breanh that took my mother? How do you know she didn't just wander off?" I glared at Niamh, but she remained unaffected.

"The chances that she is still in this world are very small," Liam began. "We will go to Tír na n'Óg and see Niamh's mother, Saoirse. She is a Seer, able to see many paths into the future."

I shook my head. "Okay," I said, though I didn't comprehend what that actually meant.

"You will stay here," Niamh added. "Your father and I will go to my mother."

I threw out my hands, breathing hard. "You expect me to sit around and wait?"

"Taking you would be too big of a risk," Liam said.

I gritted my teeth and glared at him. "I need to find my mother."

"I know you're frustrated," he said. "But what's important is that we keep you and your mother safe."

"Obviously our ideas of keeping her safe are very different," I said, spinning on my heel and marching back down the path without sparing another glance at either of them.

I could hear Liam's footsteps behind me as I walked up the sidewalk. I tried to ignore him for as long as possible, but when I stopped he came around to stand in front of me.

"What?" I snapped.

He chuckled a little under his breath as he shook his head. "I've never seen anyone talk to Niamh like that."

I snorted. "Just wait 'til she finds out that I'm going with you."

"Absolutely not," he said, his posture rigid. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you see? Niamh doesn't care about my mother—I don't even understand why she's helping you in the first place." I walked around him, heading toward where the crowd still gathered in our front yard. "But if you care about her, you'll take me with you," I called over my shoulder.

Aunt Jessie was talking on the phone when I walked up. I looked around for Gram and saw her surrounded by a group of my mother's old friends, including Joanne. I was grateful that they were there to reassure her.

When Gram saw me, she excused herself from the ladies and hurried over. "Oh sweetheart, how are you holding up?" she asked, placing her palm on my cheek.

"I'm fine. But what about you?"

"I'm terrified, Allie-girl. It's not like your mother to wander off for this long," Gram said, glancing over at Pop.

"We'll find her Gram," I said. I knew Liam could hear me from where he stood on the sidewalk. "I'll do whatever it takes."

_My mother lies in a bed, swathed in gauzy fabric, her eyes closed in peaceful sleep. The room is quiet, and warm light comes from globes suspended in the air. A young woman with scarlet hair approaches her bedside, carrying a platter of fruit and a golden cup. Her blue gown looks straight out of the Middle Ages with floor-length, open sleeves and gilded embroidery on the hems. She bends to place the platter on a table by my mother's head, her hair tumbling over her shoulder._

_Another woman with mahogany curls and a similar mauve gown appears on my mother's other side. She laughs as she smooths my mother's hair back onto her silky pillow._

_Suddenly, both women straighten up as another walks into the room. Her glistening blonde hair flows to the small of her back. She takes the golden cup in her hands and brings it to her curved mouth. After she takes a sip, she trickles a few drops of liquid onto my mother's lips. As soon as it touches, my mother's eyes open. She stares dreamily at the women surrounding her. She doesn't look afraid—she looks content_.

* * *

I opened my eyes, and rubbed my palms across my face before looking at the clock.

4:43 a.m.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch while waiting to hear from the police.

It took a minute to clear the cobwebs from my head. I could still almost smell the ripe fruit and hear the laughter from my dream. I reached over and patted the end table until I found my cell phone. I clicked it open and tapped a text message to Liam:

_Where are you?_

Not ten seconds later, my phone beeped with a message:

_Right outside_.

My eyebrows furrowed. Had he really waited for me?

I stood and walked to the window that looked out on the woods next to the house. A sliver of the moon still hung low in the sky, but it was too dark to see anything.

I sent another message:

_What are you still doing here?_

After a brief pause, my phone beeped again:

_Niamh went without me_.

I looked up from my phone and out into the trees. I squinted and saw a tiny bit of movement in the woods. Slipping on my flip flops, I hurried out the sliding door. The sky was streaked with the lavender and peach light of early morning as I walked toward the spot I'd seen the movement.

"Good morning."

I jumped as Liam appeared out of nowhere beside me. "How did you do that?"

He chuckled, the sound so quiet I barely heard it. "I told you—we're fast. Too fast for you to see."

I closed my eyes and inhaled. _Nothing should surprise me anymore_.

"Why didn't you go with Niamh? And why are you standing in the woods at this hour?" I asked, glancing up at him.

He looked toward the sky as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It didn't feel right," he began, his accent thick. "Leaving you here didn't feel right."

My eyes widened and I swallowed hard to hold back the biting comment that came to mind. "What about my mother?"

"Allison, this is all happening so fast and I know you're frustrated." He swallowed, shooting me a pleading look.

"You worried about what I might do, didn't you?" I said, the realization striking me as I spoke.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. "You're the first daughter I've ever had," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "All right, fine. Does this mean you're taking me to fairy land?"

Liam sighed. "I suppose it does."

The screen door bounced a few times before it shut behind me as I walked back into the house. I smelled coffee brewing and heard dishes clanking in the sink. As I passed the den, I saw my mother's violin sitting in its case, open on the coffee table. It looked like she had just been about to take it out before she'd disappeared, not up in her room at all.

Gram sat at the table, idly stirring a cup of coffee in front of her, while Pop gazed out the back window. Aunt Jessie stepped away from the sink where she was washing the dishes from the night before.

"You all couldn't sleep either, I guess.... Any news?" I asked, as they all looked at me questioningly.

Aunt Jessie smoothed back my hair and smiled at me with pity in her eyes. "No, honey. Nothing yet. There were a couple calls during the night but"—she sighed—"they were all dead ends."

It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. I wanted to tell them they were all wasting their time, that I was going to find her and bring her home myself.

"I'm just going to grab some breakfast, and I'll be heading back out," I said instead.

Uncle David walked into the room holding up his phone. "Nic said she'll come here first, and you can go out with them. They're about to head to the mall to see if for some reason she wandered down there."

I shook my head. "I'd rather split up for now, cover more ground."

Pop cleared his throat, and when I looked over at him I froze. His face was ashen, with dark circles shadowing his eyes. "Allie, please don't go out alone. Wait for your cousin."

I felt a sharp twang of guilt as I packed my duffel bag. Leaving might hurt my grandparents a little at first, but it would be worth it when I brought my mother back safely. Staying here to keep them calm now would be worse in the end. As I zipped my bag closed, my bedroom door opened slowly.

Nicole stuck her head in, her expression worried. "You planning a trip, Al?"

"Actually...yes. And you're just in time to help me."

Nicole frowned. "I don't think I like where this is going."

"Come on, I never ask you for anything. I need you to cover for me, to keep Gram and Pop from worrying," I said as I picked up my bag. "Now, I can't tell you where I'm going, but you need to just trust me."

"Are you kidding? You're just leaving, and you expect me to cover for you without _any_ information. Of all the times for you to lose your cool, Al."

I put my hands on Nicole's shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "I need you now, more than I have ever needed anything. I am going to find my mother, and you need to have faith in me. Whatever you have to say, just cover for me."

Shaking her head, Nicole turned away. "Fine, but don't do anything stupid. It's not like you to be so crazy. _Please_ don't do anything stupid," she repeated

"Thanks, Nic...really."

"Did I mention I don't like how you're acting?" Nicole said over her shoulder, walking out of my bedroom.

I met Liam in the clearing after I snagged a few snacks to bring with me. He looked curiously at the bag slung over my shoulder.

"You're ready, then?"

"Yep, I'm ready."

"And you're sure about this?"

"Stop stalling. How are we getting there?"

"The portal is at Niamh's house, about an hour from here." he said, hesitating. "By car. But if we run, we'll be there in about a minute."

My eyebrows shot up and I gasped.

"I know, I know. But it's true."

I shook my head. "Maybe you can run at light speed, but I can't."

"Allison," he said, as if I was being ridiculous. "I'll carry you."

"Whoa, I don't think so. I'd rather drive."

"We're wasting time," he said, his jaw tightening. "It'll be over very fast. You won't even have a chance to think about it."

I looked at him a moment longer. "Fine." I threw my hands out. "Carry me."

In a flash, he had me up over his shoulder like a fireman rescuing a child, and the air was sucked straight out of my lungs like a vacuum. The change from standing still to flying through the air was so intense that I swore I left my vital organs in the wooded lot. I tried to pry open my eyelids, but the pressure kept them locked down. The only thought I had was of falling from Liam's shoulder and exploding into a million pieces.

When Liam slowed down and I felt the pressure release, my lungs automatically gulped in air. I opened my eyes to see grass and boulders and a dirt road blurring by. Then he came to a complete stop and I wriggled off his back. My equilibrium was still in Stoneville, so I was glad he held me steady by the elbows. I might have gone down like a sack of rocks otherwise.

The trees on either side of the road towered above us, their long branches intertwining overhead to give the impression of a tunnel. The grass was wild and tall around the two indents of the road. It was obvious that no vehicles had been up this way in quite some time.

"Niamh's house is just around that bend," Liam said, walking along the overgrown path.

I followed closely behind, keeping underneath the green canopy where the air was cooler. The only sounds were the chirping of songbirds and our footsteps on the earth.

"It's pretty here. But why are we in the middle of the woods?"

"We're backed up to a wildlife preserve in Wheelwright. We try to stay away from iron as much as possible, so this spot is perfect."

"How can you stand being in Stoneville then? Iron and steel are everywhere."

"We use magic," he said, glancing at me sideways as he walked. "There is no iron in Tír na n'Óg, as you can imagine. There _is_ a mineral known as fháillan, however. Fháillan is, in many ways, the opposite of iron."

He lifted the sleeve of his shirt. A silver-colored band decorated with intricate swirls and triskelions encircled his upper bicep. _That's what I must've seen those days ago._

"This fháillan band repels the effects of iron for a time. It's not complete, but it's bearable."

As we walked, I thought about the dream I'd had the night before. "I dreamed of my mother last night."

"Oh?" he asked, waiting for me to continue.

"She was in a room, surrounded by these women. One of them was so beautiful it practically hurt to look at her. They were all smiling and laughing."

Liam's eyebrow furrowed. After a moment, he asked, "What did the woman, the one you said was beautiful, what did she look like?"

"She had long, pale blonde hair. Her skin was equally pale, flawless. At first I thought it was Niamh, but Niamh's hair is much more golden."

"That sounds like it might be Niamh's mother, Saoirse," Liam didn't seem to actually be talking to me, but rather thinking out loud.

"I hope that's a good sign, that my mother seemed happy."

Liam didn't say anything, just kept walking until we came to a vast clearing. The rolling hills were dotted with purple and yellow wildflowers. Nestled between two ancient oak trees sat a pale blue shaker-style farmhouse. It appeared to be at least two hundred years old, yet impeccably maintained.

As we opened the front doors, we heard low voices. I widened my eyes as Liam gestured for me to follow him inside.

The old wooden floorboards creaked under our feet, and the house smelled of wood and old, oiled leather. In the small foyer, a staircase led to a second floor. Doorways were at both sides of the room.

Sitting at a round wooden table to the left were two young men, one I recognized as Tagdh. He didn't seem very surprised to see us, though. He smiled tightly and glanced across at a man with shaggy black hair. It seemed as though they were expecting us, even.

A large map lay on the table in front of them. I didn't recognize the locations, but there were little blue beads dotted over its surface.

The black-haired man rose to his feet. "Liam. We were wondering when you'd arrive." He spoke with a thick Irish accent. His gazed moved past Liam to rest on me.

"Allison, meet Diarmuid, Niamh's advisor," Liam said.

Diarmuid looked at me curiously. His eyes were soft blue and gentle. "Lovely to meet you, Allison."

"And, you met Tagdh in Stoneville," Liam said.

Tagdh stood and inclined his head and looked at me with a blank expression. I tried to smile at them, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Liam." I turned to see a young woman with wavy, ginger hair come through a swinging door.

She hurried to place the plate of fruit she was carrying on the table and turned to Liam. She grabbed his arms, and her gaze ran up and down the length of him.

"I'd heard you were all right, but I'm so glad to see for myself." She turned to me, confusion plain on her face. "And, who's this?"

The woman released Liam and tilted her head to the side as she appraised me. I felt heat creep up my neck.

Diarmuid came to stand at the woman's side. "This is Allison. Liam's daughter."

"Daughter?" The woman stood frozen, looking at Liam with utter shock.

Liam cleared his throat. "It was a surprise for me as well."

For an awkward moment there was only silence.

"Forgive me, Allison. I'm Eithne. Come, sit." Without meeting my eyes, she gestured to a chair across the table, and I sat down. Liam took the chair next to mine.

"Eithne was once Aoife's handmaiden, the one I told you about," Liam said. "She and Diarmuid are bond-mates, similar to a married couple."

Liam waved his hand at the map, clearly done explaining. "I'm guessing Aodhan is on another mission?"

Diarmuid leaned back in his chair. "That he is."

Now, that I was closer, I could see that the map showed the Northern United States and Canada, most of the beads concentrated in lower Ontario.

"Who's Aodhan?" I asked. "Does he have something to do with my mother?"

Eithne's eyebrows shot up and her mouth formed an O.

"Aodhan, like your father, was once human," Diarmuid said.

The other three Danaans kept their eyes cast on the floor, and I got the impression that talking about Aodhan made them uncomfortable for some reason.

"After a time in our realm, he wished to visit his family. When he returned, they were long gone. He'd been in Tír na n'Óg nearly three hundred years, but now he lives here, alone, hunting for Danaans who harm humans."

I wished we had someone like him on our side. He sounded like just the guy to help get my mother back from Breanh.

"My brother Niall tracked him to Canada," Tagdh continued. "There are reports of serial killings up in Thunder Bay. Humans left completely drained of blood just left on the streets." Tagdh's voice was strangely void of emotion considering the gruesome news he shared.

"Is there a portal there that's been left unguarded?" Liam asked.

Eithne got up and excused herself, exchanging a look with Diarmuid. _Huh. What was her deal?_

"There's one just over the Canadian border. Since Aoife was imprisoned, her folk have been running wild up there. It was just a matter of time before Aodhan caught up with them."

Liam cleared his throat and turned away, but I could see his jaw clench. Between his reaction and Eithne's I guessed there was more to this story than I was getting.

"Does Niamh know about the situation up there?" Liam asked, still gazing out the window.

"No, when she first came here, her father showed up in a rage. She went back to Tír na n'Óg before we had a chance to tell her," Diarmuid said.

Liam's head swiveled in Diarmuid's direction. "Deaghlan was here? Does he know what's happened with Aoife?"

Diarmuid and Tagdh both hesitated.

"He does, Liam. Breanh told the King and Queen everything."

Liam smacked his palm on the table and muttered an oath under his breath. "Where is the fey globe now?"

"Deaghlan demanded that Niamh give it to him."

Liam swore, louder this time. "We need to go, Allison. Deaghlan is Aoife and Niamh's father. If he releases Aoife, she'll go back to Breanh. Things could go very wrong if we don't hurry."

Butterflies as big as helicopters filled my stomach. "Why would Deaghlan let Aoife out?" I stammered. "What about all the trouble she's caused?"

The muscles in Liam's jaw popped under his skin. "Deaghlan doesn't value human life. Humans are just playthings at his disposal. I'm fairly certain he doesn't even think Aoife has done anything wrong."

I stared at Liam for a moment. It was like a nightmare, where no matter what you did things just got worse. How could I have lived my entire life without knowing these people existed? And now they held everything I cared about in the palms of their hands.

"If Breanh has my mother, and Aoife goes there..." I couldn't even finish that sentence.

"Liam?" Diarmuid asked. "What will you do?"

"We're going to Tír na n'Óg to get Allison's mother before something terrible happens to her."

Diarmuid and Tagdh rose gracefully from their seats. "We've been given specific orders not to allow you to enter the portal."

"I don't understand," Liam said, looking between the two men. Both stared back blankly.

My heart plummeted at their grave expressions, and I knew that we would not get past them without a fight. They were stronger and faster, and who knew what kind of magic they were capable of. It wouldn't be a fair fight. And judging by Liam's frown, he knew it, too.

I stared down at the table, running my finger along the image of the Great Lakes. Why would Niamh forbid Liam to go through the portal? I'd been wary of her before, but I didn't think she would purposely keep Liam from being able to help find my mother.

"Maybe it's best this way," I said, pushing up from the table.

At any other moment, I'd have paid money to see the incredulous look on Liam's face. But the beginning of a plan had taken root in my mind. And in order for it to work we needed to hurry.

I stood up and walked straight out the door without another word.

# Chapter 8

I counted my steps as I walked away from Niamh's house. Frustration and panic boiled inside me, but I needed to keep calm. I stopped walking when I realized Liam wasn't with me.

I was _not_ going back in there. The Danaans were lovely to look at, but their behavior was not normal. It was as if they were made of stone, incapable of emotion.

Minutes passed and Liam still hadn't come out. I paced back and forth in the field, willing myself not to panic. When the front door slammed, I turned to see my father at my side in an instant, his expression wary.

"You're taking all of this too well," he said, his brow furrowed.

I sighed, knowing this would be a fight. "I've come up with a plan."

He stiffened. "Oh?"

"You and I are going to go find this Aodhan guy and bring him back here," I said, nodding toward the house. "I can tell those two are at least a little afraid of him. We need someone on our side."

"Absolutely not," he said.

"Niamh doesn't care about my mother," I said. "Who knows what she's doing now? If you want to find my mom, you'll come with me to ask this guy for help. Otherwise, I'll go alone."

"You've only seen a handful of the Danaans, Allison. You don't understand what you're dealing with. Did you hear what Tagdh said in there? _They're draining the blood of humans._ Aoife's folk are involved in all sorts of forbidden magic."

"All I care about is getting my mother home safely. Are we supposed to just sit around until Niamh comes back before we do anything?" I put a hand on my hip, acting braver than I felt. "I get that Breanh isn't someone I can face on my own. But maybe Aodhan will help us." I paused. "I have to do something, and if this is all I can do, I've got to try."

Liam looked away from me, past the trees to the hills in the north. After a few minutes, he exhaled and looked back at me.

"I suppose you're right. We need to do something and waiting on the whims of Niamh is not looking like much of a plan now."

"I'm ready. Are we going to... _run_ again?"

"I guess that was more uncomfortable for you than I expected." He took a couple steps toward me, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked into my eyes. I stared back, and then everything went black.

_A young woman with fire-truck red curls and multiple facial piercings clings tightly to a guy's arm as they walk through a large, mirrored door. The guy is tall with black gelled spikes and tattoo-covered arms. She scans the darkness surrounding them while they walk toward an alley. He looks pleased at the way she is pressed tightly to his side._

_"Tori, look, there's nothing there. It's okay."_

_The woman pouts her full, black-painted lips and buries her face in his arm, making a low whimpering sound._

_"Seriously, how many of those drinks were for you, and how many did you give Val?" he asks her, laughing._

_"I'm not that drunk, Wes. I'm telling you I heard something." She pulls away from him and smacks his arm before the heel of her black boot catches on a crack on the sidewalk, making her stumble. The guy kneels by her side as she examines the tear in her black fishnet stockings._

_Without either of them noticing, two tall shapes move out of the shadow of a striped awning, heading straight toward them_.

* * *

"Allison." My eyelids fluttered open to Liam staring down at me in concern.

I took a deep breath and blinked, trying to figure out where I was. I lay in the center of a double bed, in an unfamiliar room. _A motel room?_

The walls were dingy white and the bedspread smelled like fabric refresher—chemicals covering unwanted body odor. There was one large window with its floral drape pulled closed. On the bedside table, a tiny lamp cast shadows on the wall, and the alarm clock flashed 12:00 in red.

"We're in a motel in Thunder Bay," Liam said. He was sitting on the side of my bed, looking down at me.

I sat up and stretched my arms over my head and yawned. "Did you cast a spell on me?" I asked, moving my fingers and toes, feeling a little groggy.

"No, not exactly. Mind magic doesn't really work like that. I was able to coerce you to go to sleep."

"All right," I said slowly as I stood up. A horrible possibility occurred to me. "You could coerce me to do whatever you wanted?"

He looked aghast. "I suppose I could, Allison, but I wouldn't. I still have my humanity."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Did he? I sure hoped so.

"Before we left, though, I found out a little more about the situation up here," Liam said, changing the subject.

I raised my eyebrows as I waited for him to continue.

"Aodhan is staying at a motel adjacent to a nearby crime scene." He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and glanced up at me before continuing.

"The entire area is on alert because of a suspected serial killer. There was a group of teenagers murdered on their way home from a concert Wednesday night. Then on Friday, a bartender and his girlfriend were found completely drained of blood not far from the spot where the teenagers' bodies had been discovered."

I sucked in a breath. "That's _awful._ " The memory of the dream I'd had of the couple out walking played in my mind.

"Yes. What they're doing, this kind of magic, it _taints_ them. Makes them wicked. And they don't give a damn if they leave a mess behind."

"What do they actually use the blood for?" I asked, not positive I wanted to know the answer.

"There are two kinds of magic the Danaans can use. One is mind magic. It is all about being able to control things with ones will. For instance, Eithne is a healer. She is able to use her mind to see what it is that ails you and reverse it. Niamh is able to use her mind to hear your thoughts and share hers.

"The other is elemental magic. It involves using outside forces. Some aspects aren't bad, but what it sounds like Aoife's guards are doing has been forbidden by Saoirse for a very long time. They're taking the blood of humans and harvesting the small levels of magic in it to increase their own abilities."

"So humans have magic in them too?"

"That's right."

"Did Diarmuid and Tagdh tell you all this?"

"After you walked out they told me that Tagdh's brother, Niall, is one of the guards tracking Aodhan."

I nodded and went to get a cup of water from the tap. I took a sip and then glanced at myself in the mirror hanging by the bathroom. My hair was a disaster, and I had circles rimming my eyes. No surprise there.

Once I pulled myself together, Liam took out his cell phone and opened the door. I watched him curiously but kept quiet as I followed him outside.

The motel was like the dozens of others I'd seen in my life, with the lot butted up to a highway. We walked out to the sidewalk, and I looked around. Thunder Bay was a busy place. Cars were flying past and people rushed around, talking on cell phones or yelling to their friends. Across the street was a park littered with people playing Frisbee or walking their dogs. Beyond the park, I could see a marina that edged out into Lake Superior.

Liam's phone snapped shut, and I looked over at him. "That was Niall. He's about three blocks away. Let's go."

We walked past several businesses and apartment buildings until we came to a corner where one of the murders had taken place. Two buildings down, on the side-street, were three metal doors with mirrors on their surfaces. I looked at the reflective doors, and my jaw went slack.

The doors from the dream I'd had on our way to Thunder Bay.

A black sign above the door read _Black Pirates Pub_ in curling, white letters _._

Liam stopped walking, not noticing my preoccupation. His lips curved into a little smile. Following his gaze to a bench, I saw a man with shoulder-length chestnut hair reading a newspaper. He put the paper down and turned. As soon as he recognized Liam, the man stood and walked over to greet us.

"Liam," he said, clapping him on the shoulder and glancing curiously at me.

"Allison, this is Niall. Without his help I may have never escaped Aoife in the first place."

Niall smiled, clearly glad to see my father. "So, Liam, what news do you bring?"

"I'm afraid I don't bring good news. We've come to find Aodhan to seek aid."

"Good luck there, my friend," Niall laughed.

Liam made a face. "We must at least try."

"Have you found your lady, then?" Niall asked, looking at me.

Liam cleared his throat. "Yes, but this is actually my...daughter." The corner of his mouth lifted.

Niall pursed his lips, as if trying not to laugh. "Indeed."

"Have you seen Aodhan today?" I asked, pushing down my embarrassment at Niall's amused expression. We were running out of time.

Niall shook his head, still surveying me. "He usually stays inside during the day. He'll be coming out once it gets dark. Give him a couple hours."

"This is the pub where the couple had last been seen Friday night," Liam cut in, looking up at the sign.

"Yeah, I know," I nodded.

Liam's eyebrow quirked up. "Did you just say 'I know'?"

"Well, yes. I had a dream about a couple walking out of there," I said, gesturing toward the doors to the pub. I looked back at Niall as I walked toward the three metal doors at the entrance.

"Blá's watching the back exit. We'll let you know when he comes out." Niall said as he sat back down on the bench.

"Blá?" I asked Liam.

"Bláithín is Niall's partner. There are always at least two guards assigned to watch Aodhan," Liam said with a sardonic grin.

I paused before opening the door. "What?" I asked.

Niall now wore the same wry expression as Liam. "Nothing," he said, trying to hide his grin. "It's just that Niamh wouldn't risk losing track of Aodhan."

I huffed in exasperation. "If Aodhan isn't out yet, we should get something to eat, maybe ask a few questions—let's go."

Inside, the Black Pirate was quiet. There were a few employees setting up tables, and at the end of the long, polished bar was an easel holding a blown-up photo. I recognized them as the couple from my dream. A wreath of flowers hung on the corner, and several teddy bears and bouquets were placed nearby.

Liam and I sat at the far end of the bar. As we opened our menus, a man with a white button-down shirt approached from the other side of the mahogany.

"Good afternoon. My name's Jack. What can I do for you?"

"I'll just have a BLT," I said, picking the first thing I saw on the menu. Liam ordered the same.

"Are you two here on vacation, or just passing through?" Jack asked as he took our menus.

"We're just passing through, actually. Seems like a rough time around here, eh?" Liam said, gesturing to the easel by the bar.

Jack's face fell. "Oh, yeah. Such a tragedy. Wes was the bartender here a couple nights a week."

"Wow. What _really_ happened?" Liam asked, looking hard into Jack's eyes.

"They're saying serial killer. Must be a real psycho," Jack said, launching into the story of all the bodies being found drained, six altogether.

After we ate, we walked back outside, and Niall was gone.

"I guess Aodhan's on the move."

Liam opened his phone and typed a message. We sat on the bench and waited for Niall to respond.

Minutes passed and still nothing.

"Can we take a walk down to the water, just to look around?" I said, itching to do something.

Liam looked at me for a couple seconds, considering. "Right, let's do that."

We crossed over to the park and down to the marina. A light breeze blew off Lake Superior, rustling the leaves above our heads as we walked down the path. The only other sound was the occasional faint whir of traffic up on the street.

Liam walked close by my side, his eyes constantly roaming the area.

"I feel like there's something you're not telling me about Aodhan," I said.

Liam coughed, looking uncomfortable. "The situation with Aodhan is...complicated."

"Did you know him?"

"I knew him briefly. When I first arrived in Tír na n'Óg, he had just started asking about his family. He'd been there the equivalent of nearly three hundred years and had _no idea._ The time passes differently there, especially when you're in thrall."

"In thrall?" I interrupted.

"Well, yes. Aoife had me so deeply under her spell, I had no will of my own. All that mattered was her."

"Oh, okay. Go on."

He sighed but continued. "When I met him, he asked me about the war. As I told him, he looked at me like I was daft. The Ireland of 1602 was a far cry from the Ireland of 1888, I'm sure you can imagine."

The park was deserted, only the long shadows of the oak trees crisscrossed the path in front of us. "We should head back, see if we can find Niall."

I inhaled and we turned back up toward the street. "I wonder if—"

Before I had the chance to finish, a shadow moved ahead of us.

"Liam," a tall figure said, pushing away from a tree just five yards away.

I froze on the path as the man walked down to where we stood. As he got closer, I took in his gaunt features and sunken eyes filled with malevolence.

"Stay back," Liam hissed, pushing past me.

"Has Aoife let you off of your leash?" the stranger asked.

Something shifted in Liam's stance, he stood straighter and tension rippled through his body.

"This is all your doing, Aengus?" Liam gestured to the city.

"How long is your mistress going to keep us locked out of Tír na n'Óg?" Aengus asked, ignoring Liam's question.

"I don't know anything about you being locked out. Things have been"—Liam hesitated—"out of sorts in Tír na n'Óg. You can probably thank Breanh for keeping you out."

Liam looked back at me, but quickly realized his mistake when Aengus noticed me standing there. Before I could even try to move, Aengus appeared in front of me. He reached out and stroked my jaw with a long, bony finger.

"Ahh, and who do we have here?" he asked, his warm breath blowing in my face as his eyes raked over my skin.

Liam ran back to my side and grabbed Aengus's hand to shove him away. I heard the metallic whoosh of a blade, and in a flash, Liam was on his knees. The color drained from his face, and I looked down to see the handle of a knife sticking out of Liam's side.

Before Aengus's sneer had a chance to fully form, he was knocked to the ground by a blur of silver light. I quickly figured out that the silver blur was actually a gigantic man, dressed all in black with a closely-shaved head.

Without hesitation, the man yanked Aengus's head back by his hair and put a wicked-looking dagger to his throat. Aengus grimaced as the edge of the dagger drew a thin line across his neck.

I rushed to Liam's side as his body went limp, and I struggled to get him down to the ground without injuring him more. He tried to speak but all he could manage was a low gurgling sound.

"Shhh," I crooned, trying to calm him. I sat him in an upright position as I scrambled to figure out how to help him. I needed to put pressure on the wound, but the dagger was still sticking out. And I knew that if I pulled it out, it would increase the blood flow.

"Aodhan," I heard Aengus hiss between clenched teeth. "Another pleasant surprise."

"You like torturing the innocent, do you?" Aodhan asked as he yanked Aengus's head back further.

"Just kill me and get it over with," Aengus spat.

"Oh, no. That would be much too easy," Aodhan growled as he pulled a cord out of his pocket, the dagger still held firmly to Aengus's throat. "How do _you_ like being tortured?"

Aodhan secured Aengus's hands behind his back and lifted a length of steel chain from a cargo pocket at this thigh. He put the dagger between his teeth and wrapped the chain around Aengus's throat.

Aengus groaned, and his knees buckled out from under him. Aodhan shoved him to the ground and looked up at me. I could only stare back in silence. There was something familiar about this guy.

His gaze flickered over my shoulder. "Take care of him," he snarled.

I looked back and saw Niall approaching cautiously. His eyes remained on the sprawled form of Aengus lying face down on the pavement. Without a word, Aodhan approached us and gently lifted Liam up.

"Come on," Aodhan said to me, his Irish accent thicker and harder to understand than Liam's. "We need to take care of his wound."

I nodded and followed Aodhan up the deserted street toward his motel. The bartender had told us the city had imposed a curfew, and there wasn't a soul out now that dusk had fallen.

Aodhan's room was on the second floor, but he carried Liam up the flight with no trouble at all. He pulled out a key card and unlocked the door, pushing it open and laying Liam on the bed.

Relief flooded through me that he wasn't bleeding as much as I'd feared, but his shirt was ruined.

"Get the towels from the bathroom and fill the basin with hot water," Aodhan instructed.

When I came back with the supplies, he had Liam's shirt off, and I could see that the dagger stuck just below his rib cage on his left side. His milky-white skin was covered in a sheen of sweat and streaked with a rivulet of blood.

"I'm going to pull this out. When I do, I want you to immediately apply the towel to the wound."

I unfolded the towel and knelt by Liam's side. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow.

"Ready?" Aodhan said.

I nodded.

The blade made a wet, squishy sound as he pulled it out in one swift movement.

"Now."

I applied the towel, holding the gaping wound together with as much pressure as I could.

"Good, it will only take a few minutes for the bleeding to stop. It's not as bad as I thought."

He walked over to the chair by the window and opened a duffel bag. Inside was a small first-aid kit.

"Should we get him to a hospital?" I asked, biting my lip.

Aodhan leveled me with his gunmetal eyes. "No, he's just unconscious. His body is trying to heal itself."

He walked to the window, opening the heavy drape just a crack. The muscles in his jaw were tense as he scanned the night.

"Aodhan—" I began.

Aodhan held up his hand, effectively silencing me. He turned away from the window, eyeing both me and my father thoughtfully. His gaze rested on Liam.

"I knew I recognized him...Aoife's pet."

I didn't know how to respond to that, but Aodhan wasn't done.

"I've grown accustomed to Niamh's minions following me all these years. But," he said narrowing his eyes, "for the life of me, I can't imagine what Liam would want from me."

The way he spoke, so low and empty of emotion, filled me with cold fear. I could feel my heart pounding in the tips of my toes, like flames licking at ice.

"It was me who wanted to find you," I said, my voice taut.

He slowly turned to me, and it was all I could do to keep from shrinking back. "What is it _you_ want from me?"

I closed my eyes and scrounged for every shred of courage I could find. "My name is Allison, I'm Liam's daughter," I began.

"My mother was kidnapped by Breanh. I was hoping you could...could," I stuttered. "I was hoping you could help me get her back."

" _Breanh,_ " Aodhan said, but it came out as a low growl.

"Liam has Aoife imprisoned in a fey globe." I stole a glance at Liam before launching into the full story.

Aodhan leaned against the wall as I spoke, not interrupting, only nodding occasionally. I told him about Niamh and Liam showing up in Stoneville and the black birds that were everywhere, always watching. I told him about the night my mother had gone missing and that Niamh had gone back to Tír na n'Óg without us, effectively shutting us out. I even told him about the dreams I'd been having for months. There was something trustworthy about him.

When I finished talking, Aodhan straightened and walked to the tiny table in the corner of the room. In one fluid motion, he pulled the dagger he'd held to Aengus's throat from its sheath on his hip. Then, from a wooden box, he pulled a small square of red cloth with which he began to wipe the dagger.

Without turning around, Aodhan spoke, his words clipped. "Do you know where he's taken her?"

"We're assuming he's taken her to Aoife's home in Tír na n'Óg."

There was a knock at the door, and for a second Aodhan just stared at it. He walked over to open it. Niall stood there with a tall, black-haired woman I assumed was Bláithín, his partner. His eyes flickered in to me and then Liam before resting on Aodhan's massive chest.

"We wanted to see if Liam was okay," Bláithín asked, running her fingers through her short, spiky hair. She, unlike Niall, obviously had no problem meeting Aodhan's fierce look.

Aodhan stepped aside, and let them into the motel room. Bláithín hurried over to the bed and placed her hand on Liam's cheek.

"Where's Aengus's dagger?" she asked, looking between Aodhan and me.

"There on the floor, just under the bed," I whispered.

Aodhan had gone back to leaning against the wall, clearly uncomfortable with all the company.

"This dagger is steel, just like I thought," she said, toeing it with her boot. "It looks like the tip is broken off, too."

"Come on, Allison," Niall said. "We'll take you and your father back to Niamh's house in Wheelwright. He needs to see a healer to get the tip of the dagger out. Hopefully Eithne is still there."

All three Danaans looked at me expectantly. If I went with Niamh's guards, I'd be expected to wait on Niamh's whim. I needed Aodhan to come, too.

I looked at him, silently praying. He hadn't agreed to help yet.

He met my gaze. "I'll take her," he told the guards simply.

Bláithín walked to my motel with me to grab my bag, so that we could go back to Wheelwright. She didn't say much; she only spoke when it couldn't be avoided.

I caught sight of Niall and Aodhan walking toward us as we left, belongings in hand. Niall held Liam easily in his arms. They all had a silver glow to them, their glamours hiding them from the eyes of passersby. I looked over at Bláithín, and when I squinted I saw she had a glamour on as well.

"Should I put on a glamour, too?" I asked her quietly, scrunching my face at the strangeness of the question.

She laughed. "Allison, you _are_ glamoured."

"Oh," I looked at my skin, and for the first time realized that I had the same glow as the others. How could that have happened without me even knowing it?

I sighed, trying to focus on our next move. I assumed we'd be running—that made the most sense, I guessed—but I wasn't sure how I felt about being carried by Aodhan. He was so intimidating, and it had been awkward enough with my own father.

Liam looked so helpless lying in Niall's arms, and I realized that somehow in the past few days I'd actually grown to trust him. Maybe even care about him.

Aodhan narrowed his eyes at me, and I tried to even out my features. I didn't have a choice of who I went with, so I needed to just accept it.

"Liam made me go to sleep last time we...traveled. Do you know how to do that?" I asked.

Aodhan almost smiled. "I do. It would make it less harrowing for you, but I don't have to do it."

I gritted my teeth and held up my hands. "It's fine," I said.

With one last look at me, Niall disappeared into a run, Bláithín on his heels.

Aodhan took a step toward me, and the last thing I knew he was staring hard into my eyes.

# Chapter 9

_I'm standing at the top of the Magliaro's driveway, watching Ethan walk out his front door. He starts toward his truck but turns around, as if someone called his name._

_I see myself walk out the door and over to where he's waiting. He wraps his arm around me and gives me a gentle squeeze. But when his fingers make contact with my skin, my form wavers. It's not me at all. It's a tall, ivory-skinned girl with long, brown hair and sapphire eyes._

_Ethan hooks his finger in hers, and her features turn back into mine as they walk together toward his truck. When he turns his back to her, the corners of her mouth turn up into a grin, wicked and predatory_.

* * *

I jerked awake to find myself propped up on an old wingback chair. Aodhan knelt on the wooden floor in front of me, his thick arms held out like he was about to shake me. I wasn't sure if his expression was fear or astonishment. He raised his eyebrows at me but didn't say a word as he rose to his feet.

The sitting room at Niamh's house was straight out of a museum of 18th-century living. There was a huge fireplace in front of me with a mural painted directly onto the wooden paneling above the mantel. The shelves held all manner of crockery, and on the various tables sat brass oil lamps.

I stood up slowly, wringing my hands as I walked to the window that looked out onto the barn. I could feel Aodhan watching me from the sofa across the room. I ran through the dream of Ethan in my mind, trying to make sense of it.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"I had one of the dreams I told you about," I said.

I looked down at my clasped hands before continuing, "It was of a fr-friend of mine, Ethan. I saw him walking with...with me. Only, it _wasn't_ me. The girl he was with was glamoured to look like me."

"Does that mean anything to you?" Aodhan asked.

"Well, I don't know. These dreams never really make much sense," I said.

"The Danaans don't think like humans. You must second-guess _everything_. Their actions often don't make sense, but they always do things for a reason. And if one of them has your friend, my guess would be they are trying to get your attention."

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I had to call and check on Ethan. To my surprise, I actually had service. But his number went straight to voice mail. That wasn't a good sign.

I decided to try his parents' house. His father picked up, and I asked if Ethan was home.

"No, I haven't heard from him." He paused. "But didn't he leave with you not too long ago?"

My breath caught in my throat. He hadn't left with me, but if my dream was turning out to be true, he thought he had. I had to think fast.

"Uh, yeah. He just dropped me off, and now his phone is going to voice mail," I lied. "I can text him. Thanks, Mr. Magliaro."

I hung up and looked over at Aodhan. "They think Ethan's with me. I think Breanh really has taken him."

"Eithne and Diarmuid went back through the portal a few hours before we arrived. Your father needs a healer immediately, so I've arranged to go with him to Tír na n'Óg to find Eithne. We'll find your friend and bring him home, too."

He stood and gestured for me to follow him. I exhaled, and swallowed back my fears. I had to be stronger than that. "And what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?"

Aodhan didn't answer. Instead, he led me outside, where Tagdh was opening the weathered wooden door of a flat-stoned entryway. The structure was dug into a low hillside, assembled with moss-covered stones held firmly in place by the earth surrounding them. A still unconscious Liam lay in the grass just to the left of the hill. Niall was talking in a low voice to Bláithín just a few feet away.

Tagdh turned around as we approached. He nodded respectfully at Aodhan.

Niall bent to gather Liam in his arms again, and he and Bláithín joined us at the door.

"We ready?" she asked.

"Let's go." Aodhan said. He nodded at me. _Okay, I guess that's my answer._

Bláithín went in first, glancing back at us as she walked. Niall ducked through next, walking sideways to keep Liam's limbs from hitting the frame.

Inside the door, crumbling stone steps led down to a dim root cellar. The arched ceiling was made entirely of rock, and old wooden shelves lined the stone walls. Each one held dusty glass jars and bottles, some broken and lying on their sides.

An acute sense of dèja vu struck me as I looked around. This room was from one of my dreams, too. The only difference was that in my dream, Liam had been leading the way.

I turned and looked at Aodhan. He also was from my dream—the gigantic man, I was positive. He looked back at me blankly.

The room was only about fifteen feet long. At the far end, Bláithín placed her hand on the stones and blinding light filled the space. I reflexively turned away, but Niall and Bláithín walked into to the light and disappeared.

Squinting and averting my eyes to the floor, I took a deep breath and followed.

The light swallowed itself, and we appeared in a gathering room of sorts. In the center of the room was a wooden table long enough to seat ten. The edges were carved with spiraling flowers that matched the scrollwork on the chairs. The whitewashed ceiling arched up, supported by thick, knobby roots. The room itself felt wild, like a part of nature.

As I examined it, I realized that the tree that was attached had actually grown to form the room's frame. Windows showed hints of trailing flowers in a multitude of colors just outside, and on the wall was a little alcove that held a sphere similar to the one I'd seen in my dream. I walked toward it, looking at the little shimmering ball. Inside were only bubbles that sparkled in the light.

Niall and Bláithín disappeared through a hallway in search of Eithne. No one had said it in quite as many words, but it was clearly urgent to remove the iron from his body. And judging by the pallor of his skin, the sooner the better.

Aodhan ran his finger along the flowers and looked up at me. "We need to be armed."

I laughed, not because the need for weapons was funny, but the idea of me _using_ a weapon was ridiculous.

"I don't really know how to use any weapons."

My face flared at the look he gave me, as though what I said was the most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. He smoothed his hands over his buzz-cut and gestured for me to follow him.

He led me down the same hallway the others had gone through. As I walked, I felt disoriented, as if I went through too quickly and hadn't taken enough steps. I shook my head and looked back. The length of the hallway didn't match the amount of time it took to get through.

We entered a room similar in size and shape to the gathering room, but instead of a table, the room had couches and cushions arranged in a circle. Against the back wall, a stone staircase curved up to a second floor. As I followed Aodhan up, I lost my equilibrium and had to hold tight to the wooden railing to stay upright. He looked back at me, his eyebrows drawn together.

I laughed at myself, but it came out more like a shaky breath. "Give me a minute, I just got a little dizzy."

"Time and space are different in this realm," he explained. "Your body needs a chance to adjust."

At the top of the staircase we entered a room with bronze helmets decoratively set on stone pedestals. Aodhan walked over to kneel in front of a polished stone case. He opened it to reveal three bronze swords and two bronze daggers lying on a cushion.

"This was once Deaghlan's weapon collection. When he and Saoirse bonded he inherited the weapons of the High Court, but there hasn't been a need for them in a very long time."

"Which one is Deaghlan again?" I asked. My mind swirled with all the new names to remember.

Aodhan turned and looked at me, swallowing roughly. "Niamh and Aoife's father."

Bláithín appeared at the doorway then. "We need to go to the Bruidhean. Eithne isn't here."

Aodhan rose and handed me a scabbard before sliding one of the swords into a strap across his back.

He cast a look at Bláithín.

"In English, Bruidhean means Fairy Palace," she said. "It's the home of the King and Queen."

I nodded as I flipped the dagger in my hand. I wasn't sure what I'd be able to do with it.

"You never know what they'll do," Aodhan said, his voice thick with disdain. "It's best to be prepared."

I followed them out of the room, muttering to myself. "I guess I could poke someone just as well as anyone else."

The sky in Tír na n'Óg was bluer than I'd ever seen it at home. It was like stepping into Oz and I was Dorothy. Everything here was richer, more vibrant than I could have imagined.

Niamh's house was built into a low hill. The windows and doors were round and merry like an oversized hobbit hole. The lush flowers I'd seen through the window covered everything, making it nearly impossible to see what the actual house was built from.

I found it hard to focus on the fact that Liam's life was in jeopardy or that my mother and Ethan had been kidnapped by a psychotic faerie. Everything in Tír na n'Óg was mesmerizing.

The sound of the Danaan's boots hitting the dirt directed my gaze to the dusty path they walked. I took a deep breath and quickened my steps to catch up. Rich, moist air filled my lungs leaving a sweet taste like honey on my tongue.

Movement on the side of the path caught my attention. The grass and bushes swayed, but with more of a natural grace than by a breeze or wind. I brushed my fingertips along a flowering vine that hung between two low tree branches. I gasped—I could actually _feel_ life pulsing from not only the vine, but the tree it hung from.

It was enough to alert the others several yards ahead. Aodhan's hand went immediately to the hilt of the sword at his back. He hurried over to me, and gave me a knowing look when he saw my fingers splayed across the vine.

"It's a bit of a shock, no? This realm is utterly different from ours. The plants, the wild creatures, they're all... _aware._ " __ He glanced again at where my hand had been. "They won't harm you. They're simply curious, I think." He reached out his hand to stroke the delicate leaves on the vine, then titled his head toward the others. "Come on. Time to go."

As we continued over the top of a grassy hill, I could see a valley with a sparkling river snaking through it. Beyond the river, the land was rippled with green hills, and speckled in each hill were doors and windows, similar to Niamh's. Farther along was a steeper hill, or maybe a low, green mountain.

"It's always just as breathtaking," Aodhan said, quiet enough that I could just make out his words.

"Is that the br—I can't remember what you called it." I could feel the flush rising to my face. "Is this where the king and queen live?" I rephrased.

"Yes, that would be the Bruidhean," Aodhan said over his shoulder. He continued walking after the others down the hillside, leading me toward god knows what.

# Chapter 10

Bláithín reached the round, wooden doors of what they called the Bruidhean first. She pulled on the bronze handle and ushered us in. Inside the doorway was an impressive entry hall. Niamh's advisor, Diarmuid, was walking up a stone staircase that curled around the room.

At the sound of the door, he looked over his shoulder at us. He smiled, apparently not surprised to see us, until he saw Niall carrying Liam in his arms. Then he turned and hurried down to us.

"He's been stabbed with a steel dagger," Bláithín explained. "When the dagger was removed, a piece broke off and is still deep in the wound."

"Follow me. Eithne is upstairs." Diarmuid led Niall up the stairs in a flash.

Bláithín turned and put her hand up. "We should wait here. I'm sure the queen will be here soon."

"You are quite right," called a lilting voice from the hallway under the staircase.

The skin tightened around Aodhan's eyes, and I looked over Bláithín's shoulder, freezing at what I saw.

_The woman from my dream_.

The memory was nothing compared to reality. Dressed in a white gown embroidered with delicate green vines along the trim and waist, the queen of Tír na n'Óg was radiant. Her blonde hair was luminescent. Her skin milky white and flawless. But the most captivating thing about her was her eyes. The light made rainbows along their surfaces, like an opal.

As she came closer I started to raise my hand to touch her face, just barely stopping myself when I realized what I was doing.

"Welcome, Allison." Saoirse's smile drew me toward her like a flower drawn to the sun.

I couldn't speak.

After a moment of being trapped in her stare, Saoirse looked over my shoulder.

"It's been a while, Aodhan."

"Yes, my lady," Aodhan said.

Saoirse focused her smile back on me then, causing warmth and joy to radiate through my veins again.

"You're here to see Niamh?" she asked slowly, each syllable gliding from her lips.

After a beat, Aodhan spoke, the tension thick in his voice. "We realize Niamh already came to seek your counsel in finding Allison's mother, but Liam has been injured and needs care."

"Yes, Niamh has explained the situation to me," Saoirse replied, tilting her head slightly to one side. "Aoife has caused many problems."

I blinked at Saoirse, who smiled demurely back at me.

"Why don't we continue our talk in comfort?" Saoirse asked, walking out of the entryway without waiting for a response, her flowing gown and bell sleeves trailing behind her.

She led us into a gathering room with high ceilings, and like Niamh's house, the palace was framed by thick roots from a tree above the hill. Blue fabric was draped along the walls, and although there were no windows, tiny spheres of light were suspended to illuminate intricately embroidered flowers and trees. The effect was like a summer day, even though we were deep in the hillside.

Saoirse folded herself onto one of the plush divans, gesturing for us to each do the same. She met my gaze and smiled, and I was lost in the strange beauty of her eyes once again.

"Tell me about your dreams, Allison."

I licked my lips, trying to remember what dreams I was supposed to recall. "Well, sometimes I dream of things that might have happened in the past. But some of my dreams are of things that haven't happened, at least not yet."

Saoirse nodded, her sweet expression not changing. "You have the blood of my people. It isn't potent, but you are gifted with the Sight."

"I dreamed that my friend Ethan," I started to say, but the sound of footsteps and low laughter stopped me.

Two figures entered the room. Niamh froze in the entryway, her eyes wide. My breath was stolen by the laughing figure behind her.

My mother.

My mother was _laughing_. But when she stopped, her sparkling green eyes followed Niamh's gaze to where we sat. The moment our eyes met, time froze, and everything else fell away. This woman was—and yet was not—my mother.

"In Tír na n'Óg your mother is as she should be," Saoirse murmured.

I stood and walked to my mother, even though my whole body felt numb and tingly. She drew her lips in, just like she did when she was playing the violin. She really was my mother.

"Allison," she whispered as tears pooled in her eyes.

I felt my own tears welling as dozens of emotions buzzed around in my heart. Love, relief, awe.

Her arms came around me and I hugged her back, my own arms shaking. "I never thought..." She sniffled and laughed into my hair. "I never thought this could happen."

"I don't understand," I said, pulling back to look at Niamh.

Her eyes flicked between mine and Aodhan's. He sat completely still, staring straight ahead. The only thing that showed he wasn't a statue was the trembling muscle in his jaw.

"I promised your father that your mother would be safe," Niamh said. "But Breanh can read minds, like me. If I had told either of you that I was taking Elizabeth here, Breanh could have read it in your thoughts. He would have come after you, Allison."

For the first time since I'd entered the Bruidhean, I felt the haze lift from my brain. It was quickly replaced by anger.

"But, you let us worry," I said, inhaling deeply. "You locked us out and left us with Thunder Bay as our only hope...where Liam almost died!"

My mother gasped quietly. "Liam? He's here?"

"He's going to be okay, Mom," I said, rubbing her back. "He was already healing when we brought him here." I had no idea how true that was, but I'd spent my entire life being cautious of my mother's fragile mental state, and it was a habit.

I took a breath and refocused on Niamh and Saoirse, Aodhan's words sounding in my head. _They don't think like you. They're not human._

I let it drop. "So, since both of my parents are here, can we break the geis?"

Saoirse sat calmly watching me from her perch, rubbing her finger lightly across her bottom lip. "From what I've seen, Aoife used a fháillan amulet infused with drops of Liam's and Elizabeth's blood for the geis. In order to break it, we need the amulet that binds it."

Frustration mingled with despair in my heart. The chance to bring my mother back was so close. "Do you know where the amulet is?" I asked.

Saoirse looked into my eyes. "The amulet is hidden in Aoife's home, but her lands have become polluted with iron and chemicals—it makes it difficult for even me to see."

I shook my head. No. There had to be a way. "But what if I—"

"Allison," Aodhan interrupted. "What about your friend?"

_Ethan_. Anger licked at my mind for becoming muddled again.

"Saoirse," I said. "That's another reason we're here. I dreamed of my friend Ethan the other night, and the girl he was with was glamoured to look like me. Something wasn't right about her—she looked at him... like a predator. And I think—"

"Perhaps we could take a walk, Allison?" Saoirse asked. "I have something I'd like to show you."

Aodhan cut in before I'd even opened my mouth to reply. "Wherever she goes, I go."

I didn't want to leave my mother, not when I'd just gotten her back. But I knew in my heart that Ethan was in danger—he had actually gone off with that girl, after all—and I needed to figure out a way to get to him.

"I'll still be here when you come back, Allison." My mother smiled at me, the way I'd been dreaming of since I was just a little girl. "And, I'd like to see your father."

Aodhan and I followed Saoirse through a door in the back of the hill. A stone path wound down to a lush garden nestled between the rises in the land. Trees heavily laden with fruit surrounded the garden walls, and the air smelled sweet like honeysuckle and apple blossoms, nearly making my mouth water.

Saoirse led us to the farthest end of the garden, where a sparkling stream flowed into a pool at the bottom of one of the hills. The water in the rocky pool was as clear as pure glass. Saoirse gestured for me to sit on a smooth, stone bench along the shore.

Saoirse sat down by my side, folding her slender fingers on her lap. "This is Danu's Basin. It has been said that The Great Mother herself gained knowledge from this very pool before she traveled to The Land of Promise, _Magh Mell_."

Aodhan stood in the shade of a giant tree, but I could see that his eyes were in constant motion as Saoirse and I spoke.

"You're worried about your friend?" she asked.

"Yes, Ethan."

"I am a Seer, but the future can change drastically with one simple decision. The visions I see in in the water, though, are absolute."

She held up her hands, and the water in the pool began to move in a circle like a whirlpool. Mist rose from its surface, and I looked over to Saoirse who had closed her eyes. She dropped her hands down, and as they fell, the mist cleared away. On the smooth surface of the water I could now see Ethan, walking into a room of six beautiful women. He was wearing only his jeans, and his eyes were dull, his smile bemused.

The woman I recognized from my dream led him to a low bed where the others all sat, laughing and smiling at him. They crawled on all fours to get closer to him, their cold, bright eyes filled with lust and something else I couldn't decipher. They reached out with greedy fingers to touch him and stroke his skin. So many voices were speaking, too fast to understand what they were saying.

I closed my eyes, trembling with hurt and shock.

"She's seen _enough_ ," Aodhan said from his place under the tree.

Saoirse raised her hands, and the mist reappeared. When she folded them back in her lap, we were once again looking at the clear pool.

I shook my head. "What _was_ that?"

"That was Aoife's home. It appears that Breanh has provided himself with a new bargaining chip. Since your mother disappeared, he must be holding Ethan in exchange for Aoife."

"But, I can't give him Aoife. I don't even know where she is."

"No, it is for the best if she remains in the fey globe for now," Saoirse agreed.

"Who were they? And why were they doing that to him?" I asked. Despite the erotic way they touched him, there was something twisted and wrong in their eyes. Hot anger—and a bit of jealousy—shot through me. _If they hurt him..._

Saoirse closed her eyes and sat still and silent. When she reopened them, she looked into my eyes. "You must go to Breanh. You are the one who must save Ethan."

I looked up at Aodhan who remained impassive. My heart was forming ice crystals as I tried to understand what all of this meant. "Has what I saw already happened?"

Saoirse shook her head. "No, there is still time. But if this plays out, Ethan will become enthralled to whoever he is intimate with."

I ground my teeth together, trying to keep the anger at bay.

"Don't tell me you're having a party without me?" an unfamiliar voice said from the path.

I looked over my shoulder to see a man walking toward us. He smiled as he approached Saoirse. Like all of the Danaans, he was stunning. His hair was glossy black, his jawline pale and chiseled. When he smiled, it was smooth and rich, like butter on freshly baked bread.

"Deaghlan, this is Allison," Saoirse said, her lips forming an enigmatic smile.

When I met his curious blue lapis eyes, longing coursed through my veins. Somewhere deep in my mind I knew that looking into someone's eyes shouldn't cause me to come undone like this, but my body wasn't listening to the tiny voice in my mind. When he reached for my hand, I only stared at it for a minute before realizing I was supposed to give it to him. When he grinned at me, it was like he had a secret and he liked it that way.

"Surely she isn't _just_ a human," Deaghlan said.

Saoirse smiled. "You sense the mark of our people on her, too?"

Deaghlan waved his hands dismissively, but didn't take his eyes off me. Something in the way he had scoffed at my being "just a human" caused the fog in my head to clear.

"As much as I enjoy being the topic of this discussion, I need to go to find Ethan."

Then I noticed the way Aodhan stood, so rigid with tension he might snap. "Right. We appreciate your help, Saoirse, and we'll return this way when our business is through."

"Aodhan! I didn't see you there," Deaghlan exclaimed. "Don't leave on my account. I meant no offense to the girl."

Aodhan's calm facade stayed firmly in place. "Of course not. But Allison and I really must be going."

Aodhan walked down the little hill and grabbed my elbow, a bit forcefully.

"Surely you aren't leaving before the night rains? I insist you join us for food and drink and wait to leave until the first light of day," Deaghlan said. He smirked as he looked at Aodhan, but his tone was commanding.

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on Aodhan's face made me shut it immediately. His expression said no one argued with the king of Tír na n'Óg.

# Chapter 11

I couldn't decide what the texture was like, exactly. It felt smooth, like silk, but it was soft and comfortable like cotton. The way it hugged my skin was something like spandex, but it was flattering in a way that spandex could never be. The dress fit me so perfectly, like it had been made just for me. The color was a glacier blue, precisely the same shade as my eyes.

I shook my head, trying to get my thoughts to refocus. For the moment, my parents were safe. My mother had not returned from her reunion with Liam. I desperately wanted to know how he was, but no one would tell me anything.

"He's like a wolf," Aodhan muttered from where he sat at my side. His gaze flickered around the gathering room, constantly vigilant.

"Hmm?" I asked, wondering if he was even speaking to me.

"At one point, I worshiped Deaghlan. He seemed so _strong_ when I first met him."

I followed his gaze to where Deaghlan stood among a group of other Danaans.

"Don't let him fool you. Don't think for a _second_ that he doesn't see every move you make."

"You really do hate them, don't you?" I asked, knowing I was crossing some unspoken line but not letting it stop me.

"I won't let myself care about them enough to hate them," he said, leaning back. He crossed his arms and went back to scanning the room.

Beautiful men and women were scattered around, laughing and dancing, eating and drinking. The women wore dresses similar to mine, floating in flowing jewel-toned gowns of sapphire, amethyst, and emerald. The men wore embroidered tunics in earth tones of moss, bark, and sand with pants tucked into their boots.

Lights twinkled from the spheres high in the ceiling, sparkling off silver chalices and platters as the sounds of laughter and music mingled in my mind with the scent of ripe fruit and fresh cream. Plates were piled with scones topped with berries ripe enough to burst, and the silver cups were full of a shimmering golden liquid. My senses were overwhelmed—I felt dizzy trying to take in the extravagance of this world.

When a plate and cup were placed on the table in front of me, Aodhan leaned in to speak in my ear. "Eat only what you must, and drink very little. You don't want to get a taste for their food; you'll never want to eat human food again."

I stared longingly at my plate, and a voice spoke from behind me.

"I hope you don't think I'm rude, Allison," Deaghlan said smoothly, taking the chair on my other side.

He chuckled at my startled expression. I wanted so badly to be annoyed by his smugness, but his eyes were so deep and so blue that I couldn't look away.

"You're my guest, and I haven't paid you any attention," he went on.

I pulled my eyes away and focused on the bowls of flowers in the center of the table. "No," I answered, trying to put an edge in my voice. "I don't even want to be here, so it doesn't matter."

Deaghlan laughed again, and I knew it was because rather than sounding firm, my words came out shaky.

"You'll need to eat and get some sleep so that you'll be of use to your friend, Allison."

The way he said my name caused a shiver to pass through me. I stared down at Aodhan's fisted hands as they rested on the table. The muscles in his forearms were taut, showing how he reacted to Deaghlan's presence.

Aodhan's face was impassive as ever, but for a moment, I noticed how he watched Niamh across the table. The fire in his eyes skirted between hatred and longing, but as if he sensed me watching him, he went back to scanning the room.

I needed to get myself away from Deaghlan if I were to be able to think straight. He was too beautiful, painfully so. When I looked at him, every thought I had about my parents and Ethan scattered and all I could do was drown in his eyes. This attraction to Deaghlan and Saoirse, all of the Danaans, was unnatural. But I only realized what was happening when they weren't speaking to me.

And I had more important things to worry about. I needed to come up with a way to see Liam and my mother, and save Ethan. And Aodhan was right—not just Deaghlan, but all of the Danaans were watching every single move I made.

"I need a moment," I told no one in particular. "I need a _woman's_ moment," I said hoping this was enough to keep them from asking any questions.

Deaghlan smoothed the sleeves of his tunic, only the slightest touch uncomfortable with my words. "Eithne," he called out, and the girl I'd met in Wheelwright appeared immediately at his side.

He looked up at her charmingly. "Allison needs assistance. You'll take care of her, won't you?"

Eithne bowed her head at him, and I rose quickly to follow her out of the gathering room. She didn't meet my eyes as she led me away, which made me uncomfortable. I wasn't sure what it was, but I felt like she was afraid of me.

"Eithne," I said quietly, stopping as I walked through the entryway with the stone staircase. She stopped in front of me, her sandy-colored hair forming a curtain around her face.

"Is my...is Liam going to be okay?" I asked.

She turned partially around, peeking up at me from behind her feathery lashes. "Liam is going to be fine. He had a shard of iron in his wound, which has been removed. He will sleep for another day before his body is healed. And Niall took the iron out of Tír na n'Óg before it did any more damage."

I nodded, and she led me up the stone steps and down a hallway lit with the mysterious little balls of light—fey lights, I'd learned they were called. A few doors were closed along each wall, and at the end, another set of steps curved up to another floor. As I climbed the steps, a shifting feeling stopped me. I leaned against the cool stones and squeezed my eyes shut.

Eithne was watching me warily when I opened them. I laughed quietly, trying to regain my equilibrium. Breathing through my nose, I continued to the top. I followed her into a room to the right of the landing where stone basins lined the wall on one side and three curtains covered what looked like alcoves carved into the stone of the other.

"Wait, I don't really need to use the ladies room. I'm sorry," I said. I should've said something sooner. "I really wanted to see Liam. Please take me to see him?" I asked, hoping she could see how important it was by my expression.

"Very well," she said, and I almost asked her to repeat herself. It seemed too easy.

"Eithne?"

She continued averting her eyes. "Yes?"

"Have I done something to make you uncomfortable?"

She met my eyes. I could see that she was afraid of something, but I couldn't tell what.

"If Aoife finds out that I've helped you..." she trailed off.

"Aoife? What does Aoife have to do with me?"

Eithne's eyebrows shot up, and a little sound escaped her lips. "I'm not sure what you know about how Liam and I met..."

"I don't know anything about it," I said even though Liam had mentioned something about it. My interest was piqued by what Eithne would tell me.

"Well"—she looked around nervously—"I was once Aoife's handmaiden. When she would leave Tír na n'Óg it was my duty to take care of Liam. I am her cousin, and I was the only one she felt she could trust, you see.

"I helped him when I could. He would go back into the human realm, and I would sneak him back without Aoife's notice. But one day, she felt I'd betrayed her. I knew too many of her secrets, she said, and she banished me to the human realm."

I gaped at her. Niamh had told me that Aoife was known for her temper, but I wasn't sure how Aoife could hurt her now.

"Liam and Niamh have imprisoned Aoife, though," I said.

She nodded. "Yes, but there are eyes everywhere. Deaghlan won't allow her to stay in the sphere for much longer, and when she finds out you're here, and that I've helped you..."

"Is it because I'm Liam's daughter that you think she'll be angry?"

Eithne's eyes widened in fear. "I can't say anymore, Allison. Please."

"Wait," I said, holding my hands up, trying to placate her. There was something I was missing. I needed to figure out what Eithne was so afraid of.

"Why will Aoife be so angry?" I asked again, begging her to confide in me.

"Because she made me keep your existence a secret. I don't know how Liam and Niamh tracked you, but when Aoife finds out, I know I'll pay for it."

"But you weren't the one who told them about me. Everyone knows that."

"Oh, it doesn't matter. When I hid you for her, I was so careful. I never understood how she could give away such a beautiful creature, but she detested you. Liam didn't even know about you, but she was seething with jealousy over a harmless baby girl—"

"I'm not following," I interrupted. "What do you mean you hid me? I didn't think Aoife even knew about me. Niamh and Liam didn't know about me when they showed up looking for my mother."

"Your mother?" Eithne said, tilting her head to one side.

I got the distinct feeling we were talking about two completely different scenarios, but I had no idea how to untangle the threads of the story she'd just told me.

"Yes. Liam came to my grandparents' house looking for my mother, Elizabeth—"

If Eithne's expression could have become more horrified, it did then. "Elizabeth is your mother?" she asked slowly, some of her confusion disappearing.

"Uh, yes." I said, shaking my head. "You've lost me again."

"Oh, Allison," she muttered, covering her face in her hands. "Please, forget what I've told you. It is best for everyone if you pretend we hadn't spoken."

Eithne clearly thought I was someone else. From the sound of things, she thought Aoife was my mother. I shook my head. I needed to calm her down.

I put my hand on her shoulder until she uncovered her face and looked at me. "I don't know who you think I am, Eithne, but right now I have to see my father. Can you take me to him? Please?"

Her face relaxed a fraction and she nodded. "Follow me."

Liam lay in a bed motionless, covered with soft blankets pulled up to his chest. His eyes were closed, but he'd regained his normal coloring. He looked like he was just sleeping soundly.

My mother sat in a chair that had been pulled up right next to the bed. She gazed down at him, her face a collage of different emotions. The strongest by far was love.

I sat on the arm of the chair and placed my hand slowly on her shoulder. When she looked up at me, she smiled again, her eyes reflecting the light like sea glass in the sun.

"I never dreamed we would all be in the same room, Allison. It was too much to hope for." She lifted her hand to Liam's face but wasn't able to break through the geis to touch him.

"Were you aware of everything that went on around you? All of this time?" I asked, not sure if she would know what I meant.

"Yes," she whispered, pain evident on her face. "It has been like being stuck in a room while I watched your life unfold on a television. All of this time I've been trapped in my own mind, screaming, but nobody could hear me."

"Oh, Mom...once Ethan is safe, I'm going to figure out how to make this right."

"Allison, you should return before they notice you are missing," Aodhan said, appearing in the doorway.

I smiled at my mother and kissed her cheek. "I'll be back soon."

Aodhan brought me back to the gathering room where most of the Danaans were now dancing in the center of the room. Deaghlan sat at the head of the table with Saoirse, both leaning back in their chairs watching the dancers.

They were dancing closer than before, more intimately. Their bodies pressed tightly together, moving with each other. As the music played on, they changed partners and entwined their bodies with no shame or self-consciousness. Liam told me that, by nature, the Danaans weren't a monogamous race. Some had a bondmate, like Diarmuid and Eithne, but they considered intimacy something that wasn't restricted to any one individual.

Aodhan and I went back to our seats, and I wondered how much more time I had to spend here before it was considered polite to go to the bedroom that awaited me. The morning couldn't come soon enough. The panic was setting in, and I was forced to have faith in Saoirse's visions that I would get to Ethan before any permanent damage was done.

"Perhaps a dance would take your mind off of your friend?" Deaghlan appeared at my side, startling me.

I shook my head, refusing to look up into those eyes. "I think it's time for me to get some sleep," I said, watching the way Niamh stared at Aodhan over the shoulder of her dance partner.

For a moment, Deaghlan didn't respond. "Would you like an escort?" he asked, his words smooth and tantalizing like honey, but with a touch of something sharper.

Aodhan snorted softly. "It's no trouble for me to take her to her room. I'll be going too."

"Very well," Deaghlan responded.

I was more than a little afraid of the unhappiness of his tone.

_Gram sits on the couch, her hair pulled back in a bun that's coming undone. Her eyes are downcast, and she's holding a picture of my mother in her hands, worrying the edges with her fingers._

_I can see Pop is sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space as Aunt Jessie tries to talk to him. His eyes look sunken in, his skin so pale. His eyebrows knit together, and he closes his eyes tight. His hand flies to his chest and Aunt Jessie shouts at him, asking him what's wrong. His eyes slacken, and his mouth opens as he starts to slip out of the chair_.

* * *

I woke with a start. The bed was so comfortable, but I knew I wasn't at home. Memories began flooding back to me. I was in Tír na n'Óg. Liam had been stabbed. My mother was herself, if only temporarily. And Ethan was captured by sadistic faeries who wanted to do all kinds of bad things to him.

Then, the memory of the dream hit me: my grandfather was having a heart attack.

I jumped up out of the bed, just as Niamh walked into the room. Her expression wasn't the typical haughty one I was used to. She looked like she had something to tell me.

"I saw your dream," she began.

"Oh?" I asked as grabbed my clothes off the table next to my bed.

"Not all of your visions will come true, you know."

I froze after popping my shirt over my head. "That hasn't happened?" I asked.

Niamh shook her head. A huge weight lifted off of my shoulders. That meant I might still have time.

"Now I just need to get Ethan away from the seductress fairies at Aoife's brothel or whatever it is, we can figure out what is needed to break the geis, and we can all go home," I said, yanking a sock onto my foot. Frustration was setting in—I was surprised I hadn't snapped sooner.

"Don't worry about your grandfather, Allison. My mother has sent decoys to take your place while you're here."

"What do you mean by decoys?" I asked, scrunching my face around the word.

"Two of my handmaidens and one of my guards are glamoured to pass as you, Ethan, and your mother."

I stared at her for a second, unsure how to respond.

She huffed a little and waved dismissively. "We have to keep up appearances. I know it feels like you've only been in Tír na n'Óg for a single day, but in your world it's been about three weeks."

I shook my head and stood. "Aodhan mentioned the time difference. That is so bizarre."

"Maybe, but it's true."

As she was speaking, I caught a glimpse of Aodhan standing just outside the doorway. Before last night I might not have picked up on the pinprick of emotion in his eyes as he watched Niamh. As it was, I wasn't sure I was reading the whole situation correctly, but something was there.

"We should be going," Aodhan said firmly. Any emotion I thought I'd seen burned away as fast as it had appeared. Niamh gave me a tiny nod and quietly slipped past him.

"We've been given provisions to last two days," he said without another look at Niamh.

His face screwed up as he muttered under his breath, "However long that really is."

I'd never really been able to achieve comfortable silence with anyone other than my family before. For whatever reason, people feel this innate need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, but Aodhan led me down the hill quietly. I wasn't sure exactly why he hadn't offered to run, but I had a feeling it was because he needed some time to think too.

Seeing my mother the way I'd always heard her described—smiling and radiant—had been one of the best moments of my life. Leaving her so soon was hard, especially after learning that as soon as we set foot out of Tír na n'Óg she'd go back to the way I'd always known her.

The memories of Ethan with all of those women and what they could do to him burned my eyelids. I couldn't let him become like my mother. His family would be devastated, and I still had a chance to prevent it from happening. I didn't know how, but Saoirse's words made me hopeful that she had seen a future in which I'd saved Ethan.

I heard chattering then as I walked past a smattering of ash trees. On a low branch, a squirrel watched me with intelligent eyes. I thought of how Aodhan had said the vines were curious about me. Apparently, this critter was also.

Aodhan walked several paces ahead, tense and alert to every sound and movement. The way he moved reminded me of a panther. I wondered if he had always been this agile, or if it was the effect of being in Tír na n'Óg for so long.

"Aodhan," I called ahead.

He stopped and turned. "Aye?" he asked.

"I was just wondering what your _gift_ is?" All the Danaans had some kind of ability, but he hadn't mentioned his yet.

He snorted, turning his head away. "My gift," he muttered as he started walking again.

"Sorry," I said, embarrassed for having brought it up.

"I suppose the gift you speak of would be my strength. I'm stronger than most of the others, faster probably, too." He slowed his pace so that we were walking side by side.

I nodded, but he wasn't done.

"I can do a little of everything they can do, I think. I can use glamour to stay hidden—so that would be the mind control. And I can sometimes, but not often, move things with my thoughts. It's sort of like singing. Anyone can sing, some just do it better than others."

To hear him speak openly like that was surprising and wonderful. He had such a deep accent, too. I wondered what his life had been like growing up in Ireland so long ago. And what had made him decide to come with me.

"You want to know why I agreed to help you," he said as he rubbed one hand across the fuzz growing on his chin.

I laughed nervously. "Did you read my mind?"

Enough time passed that I didn't think he would continue, but he surprised me again.

"I had a family once," he began, looking over at me. "Three brothers, two sisters. My father was the chieftain of our clan. I spent most of my life dreaming of ways to make the English pay for what they were doing to my country.

"We fought for our freedom, but in the end we were forced to leave our home, made to flee like thieves in the night. Once my family had made it to safety, I took one last sweep of our camp. I vaguely remember being shot in the back," he closed his eyes, remembering. "I can still see the English scum spitting on me as I lay face-down in the mud. All I could do was lay there and wait to die.

"After the English left, I heard a voice whispering in my mind. I opened my eyes, and Niamh was there. In that moment I forgot about pain, forgot about my family. There was only _her_.

"By the time I met Liam, hundreds of years had passed. Everyone I'd ever known was dead and gone." He shook his head slowly. "It hadn't even occurred to me to care."

I didn't say anything in response—no words would be enough.

"There's a stream just ahead, we should stop for a drink." Aodhan started off the path, and I followed, my heart aching for all that he'd lost.

Everything in Tír na n'Óg felt like it was the way nature intended: bright blue sky during the day, soft misty rain at night. The grass was a lush green carpet rolling over the hills and smoothing out over the plains. Flowers and fruit grew everywhere you looked, all bursting with color and crisp fragrance.

But when we came to a wall of twisting brambles, it didn't feel anything like the beauty I'd seen so far. There was a sense of foreboding seeping out of the thorny vines.

"I don't remember this being here," Aodhan said as he paced the wall, looking for a way through. He attempted to loosen the snarled vines, but they wouldn't budge. He pulled a dagger out of his belt and began sawing at it.

"It's tedious," he said. "But these vines are immovable, and I can't see another way through."

I slid the dagger out of the scabbard that hung on my hip. The vines felt like dry bones rattling together as I cut them away. The thorns bit at my skin, and the smell coming out of the vines caused black dots to blur my vision, but I kept hacking away.

Aodhan cut a small path ahead, and I struggled to keep up with him. Thorns snagged my sleeves, and I wrestled the dagger through to free them. My hands were sliced and stinging, and when I looked up Aodhan was moving farther and farther away from me.

I willed my feet to move faster and stumbled forward. I landed hard on the thorny ground. My vision swam, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

"Aodhan," I gasped, but there was no response.

Panic blossomed in my chest. I had to keep moving forward. I needed to find Aodhan. But my joints were locking up, making it difficult to do anything more than draw ragged breaths. I tried calling out to him again, but my voice came out as little more than a croak. I couldn't let it end like this, curled up in a web of brittle vines and thorns.

As I finished that thought, I heard a low moan come from ahead. I pushed my leaden legs up from beneath me, moving as best I could toward the sound.

When I found Aodhan, he was tangled in a mass of coiled vines. His arms and face were sliced open even worse than mine, and his bloody lips were parted. I knelt beside him, carefully cutting away the vines that ensnared him. It was like trying to cut down an oak tree with a butter knife.

I could feel him watching me as I worked, and after a few minutes, he became more coherent and wriggled his arms free.

"Get back," he whispered. I scrambled away as he tore himself free of the net of branches and vines.

I leaned back on my elbows and inhaled the sickly sweet air. The edge of the thorny forest was only twenty feet away.

I started to tell Aodhan how close we were, but he didn't give me a chance. "Come on," he said, holding out his bloody hand to help me to my feet. "It's time."

# Chapter 12

Beyond the briars and thorns, the ground was covered in dry, brown grass that crackled when we walked over it. Trees with no leaves dotted the landscape, their limbs reaching up to the sky in a silent plea for mercy. The ground turned rockier, and the trees were replaced by stout bushes that resembled steel wool.

The sun was hot and unforgiving in the jaundiced yellow sky, but we didn't even stop for a drink. The scent of salty sea air mixed with sulfur got stronger the farther we walked. We came to the edge of a steep cliff before Aodhan spoke again. His voice was barely audible over the crash of waves below.

"The entrance to Aoife's house is on the face of this cliff. The path is steep, so stay alert."

I looked over the ledge and down the narrow path, the wind whipping strands of hair in my eyes. I saw the gaping mouth of a cave halfway down to the rocky shore. Aoife had chosen the perfect place to live if she didn't want visitors.

I followed close on Aodhan's heels. As I walked, I leaned my body into the rocky wall.

When we reached the cave, I could only see about five feet inside before the path was swallowed up by darkness. Aodhan walked in, and after three steps, a chain of fey lights blinked on in a domino effect, lighting the cavern within.

I hurried after him. The cave entrance was charcoal gray and smooth, but as we walked deeper inside, we came to a corridor carved with intricate scrollwork, like trees with long curly-cue branches. The corridor came to an end with two crescent-shaped wooden doors. Aodhan opened one side with no trouble—we must be expected. I shivered at the thought.

Inside was a high-ceilinged entryway, lit by dozens of fey lights lining the walls. Beautiful spiral designs were carved into every surface. It didn't smell like the sea in here; there wasn't really a smell at all, just clean air. But it was quiet, and each step we took felt like the beat of an ominous drum.

Three doors led out of the entryway. I looked over at Aodhan for instruction, and he headed for the one directly in front of us.

A gasp escaped my lips as we entered the room. I remembered this place from my dream of Liam and Aoife. A man sat casually across the room—the same one I had dreamed of standing there with a black bird on his arm, smirking at me.

_Breanh_.

"Welcome, Allison. I'm so pleased you came," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features. His black hair was shoulder length, framing his angular face.

At first I couldn't think of anything to say. I just stared at him until I sensed how much he enjoyed my discomfort. I looked up at Aodhan, but he just stared blankly at Breanh.

"Where's Ethan?" I asked, my voice as firm as I could make it.

"Oh, Ethan is fine. More than fine, you might say." The look of delight on his face increased as he spoke. Breanh took a step toward us, and I shrunk back, which only seemed to add to his pleasure.

"I must tell you...I'm impressed you made it through those nasty vines. They tend to be such a _problem_ ," he said with mock sincerity. "It's just too bad Aodhan wasn't so lucky."

Before I could say aloud that this guy was a total lunatic, Aodhan's form wavered beside me. I came close to screaming when I realized the man by my side was not Aodhan at all, but a complete stranger wearing a glamour.

Icy cold panic ran through me as Breanh looked on with another cruel smirk.

"What have you done with him?" I whispered.

He leaned forward on the balls of his feet, as though he was savoring my fear. "Aodhan took a terrible fall into a pit below the vines. I do hope he'll make it out soon. I'd love to see him."

"You're a monster." I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the fact that Aodhan was still alive. I needed to find Ethan before he was completely enthralled by any of those women, then I would somehow find Aodhan in the thorny vines.

"This doesn't have to be painful, Allison," he said, speaking each word slowly.

"I just want to bring Ethan home," I said, hating the way my voice sounded so small.

"Of course you do." His words dripped with false sympathy. "And you will have him just as soon as Aoife is returned here."

"You think _I_ know where Aoife is? Last I knew, Liam and Niamh captured her in a fey globe and gave it to Deaghlan."

With a flick of Breanh's wrist a curtain at the opposite end of the room lifted. "I believe you can be persuaded to find out more."

Behind the curtain, my nightmare came to life. On a low bed covered with silky sheets lay Ethan. Tangled up in his limbs were the women from my dream. They all ran their hands along his naked body, making sounds of lust and longing. His eyes were closed, and his lips were parted as they kissed his arms and stroked his thighs.

The girl who had been glamoured as me ran her tongue from his navel to his clavicle and turned her head to smirk at me.

My knees went weak, and I held onto the wall to keep my balance. If he slept with one of them—I shuddered at the thought—he'd end up addicted to her, the way my mother was addicted to my father. He could end up schizophrenic, too, or worse. The room grew hotter as I struggled to breathe.

"As you can see, Ethan is a bit preoccupied. I'm sure while we wait, you and I can come to an arrangement of some sort."

"Ethan!" I shouted, my chest starting to heave in panic. "Ethan, look at me!"

Breanh laughed, slowly clapping his hands. Ethan didn't open his eyes but rolled his head back as the women continued nipping and tasting his skin.

Unable to watch anymore, I ran toward the bed. "Ethan, listen to me!"

Before I made it halfway, Breanh grabbed me. He chuckled in my ear as he gripped my neck. "You actually think Ethan would prefer you?" He laughed. "I can be very patient, Allison. And you have no idea how much I will enjoy getting you to cooperate."

The sound of footsteps behind us surprised Breanh. He turned around, taking me with him.

"Just what do you have in mind, Breanh?" The woman standing there had her eyebrow arched up over one of her bright azure eyes as she waited for a response. Her black hair was loose and cascaded over the shoulders of her deep navy gown. At the base of her throat was a silver amulet on a delicate silver chain.

Breanh's hold on me loosened, and I sucked in a deep breath.

"Aoife. You're here at last," he crooned to her.

"Answer the question," she said, not moving.

"I would do anything to get you back where you belong, of course."

"I see," she said coldly. "Then let her go."

Breanh's arms fell to his sides. Without pausing to consider what was happening, I ran to Ethan. He lay alone on the bed now—the females had apparently scattered when Aoife arrived. His head was on a pillow, and his eyes were closed. Fingers trembling, I pulled the sheet up to cover his body before turning back to Breanh and Aoife.

"Aoife," Breanh began, glancing over to where I sat.

"Don't," Aoife cut him off. "How could you bring her here?" She flung her hand toward me.

Breanh's eyes widened as he struggled to answer her. "I-I told you I would have done anything..."

"The last thing I want is for Liam to know about her," she said.

"But..." The glare she shot him silenced him.

I secretly enjoyed watching as Breanh transformed from a ruthless brute to a whimpering coward as Aoife paced in a slow circle around him.

"Every time the responsibility to take charge falls on you, you create more problems than you started with. First with Liam and the human, then with the imbeciles in Canada." She shook her head and came to a stop directly behind him.

Breanh swallowed hard and waited for her to continue. Aoife moved in closer to him, standing flush against his back, and trailed one finger up his arm. His eyes fluttered as he inhaled a shaky breath.

"If Liam finds out he has a daughter, do you know what that means?"

"But, I didn't—"

She tapped his chest with her finger. "Answer the question."

Breanh inhaled as she trailed her hand from his pectoral muscles down to his abdomen.

"It means I lose everything," she whispered. "Again."

Breanh let out a grunt and swayed on his feet for a moment before collapsing into a heap on the floor. Sticking out of his back was the jeweled hilt of a dagger.

I squeezed my eyes shut, once again grasping in my mind for a way out of my current predicament. I was within an arm's length of Ethan, although he was still in some eerie lust-filled oblivion, and Aodhan was trapped in a forest of vines and thorns.

Aoife sidestepped Breanh and walked over to the bed where I sat beside Ethan's still form. She tapped her lip thoughtfully and narrowed her eyes.

"You will be easy enough to get rid of. Provided we have no more problems."

I didn't think she was actually speaking to me, but rather thinking out loud. I stood, hoping that I looked braver than I felt. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide the trembling.

"How did you get out of the fey globe?" I asked, struggling to keep my composure.

Her eyebrow arched again. "It seems my mother doesn't subscribe to the whole _imprison Aoife_ plan."

"Saoirse let you go?" That made no sense. Why would Saoirse let Aoife just go free? She'd admitted to the trouble her daughter caused and the harm it did.

"Tell me where Liam is"—with a frustrated huff, Aoife's eyes flickered to Ethan—"and I won't harm a hair on this boy's pretty little head."

"Liam is lying in a bed unconscious right now because one of _your_ crazy guards stabbed him with an iron blade."

A flash of concern showed in her eyes before she rearranged her features into a coy smile.

"I must admit, Samantha...this is an exquisite human you've got here," Aoife said as she ran her eyes down Ethan's exposed chest.

"Samantha?" I asked. "Who's Samantha?"

Her eyes darted to mine. "Isn't that what the humans named you?"

"My name is Allison."

"Hmm, no matter." Aoife blinked. "Come, we must get you back home to Thunder Bay before Liam wakes up. I'll deal with him then."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"I need you out of Tír na n'Óg before Liam wakes up. Breanh was a fool for bringing you here, but once you're back in Thunder Bay I can straighten everything out."

"Straighten what out?" I asked. "I don't understand."

"I have lost the upper hand with Liam. He can't find out about you, too. Humans are sentimental about their children. He'll wonder why I never told him about you." She waved her hand dismissively.

A faint buzz began in my ears at her words. I could hear Eithne sobbing that I must forget everything she had said, and then it all clicked. Aoife had given birth to Liam's child. Another child. And, like Eithne, Aoife thought I was her.

A pinpoint of hope ignited in my heart as I looked at Aoife's waiting expression. "I don't live in Thunder Bay. I'm not your daughter, either. My mother is Elizabeth. And she is with Liam right now, nursing him back to health."

Just as her lips parted in understanding, Aoife grabbed me by the throat. I struggled against her, but she had a firm grip as she pulled me to her face.

"I will enjoy killing you, then."

I tried to speak, but her fingers were crushing my windpipe. Frantically, I fumbled along my belt for my dagger. Stars were dancing in front of my eyes as I pulled it out of the sheath and, with all my strength, stabbed it into her side.

Aoife cried out, and let go of my throat. I coughed and gasped, my lungs desperate for air. She tilted her head to one side and laughed cruelly.

"He'll never love you if you kill his child," I croaked. I knew it was a stretch, but I had to use her obsession with Liam against her; it was my only chance.

Indecision played across her features. "He'll never know it was me," she hedged.

From somewhere close I could hear the pounding of footsteps and a deep voice calling my name.

Aoife's eyes grew wide with panic as she scanned around the room. "Who else knows you're here?"

"Aodhan came here with me." I barely recognized the sound of my own voice.

Aoife grabbed a fistful of my t-shirt, pulling me toward her again. "You won't say a word of this to anyone," she whispered, her eyes boring into mine.

I licked my lips and nodded, feeling a little strange as I watched her pupils dilate. _A word, never a word to anyone._

Then, with a glance over her shoulder, Aoife disappeared.

Seconds later, Aodhan charged into the room, looking around in alarm. When his eyes settled on me, I sunk down onto the bed. The adrenaline that had been coursing through my body had fled, leaving me drained.

Aodhan looked down at Breanh lying in a heap on the floor and back up at me. I let him draw whatever conclusions he would. It was easier at that point than trying to come up with a story of my own.

"Well," he said, a tiny smile playing at his lips as he walked over to where I sat with Ethan. "It looks like you didn't need me after all."

# Chapter 13

I sat in the chair like my mother had the night before to watch my father sleep. Ethan now lay in his place.

His eyes were closed, and his breaths even. There was a shadow on his cheeks. I'd never seen him with stubble before—if I didn't know better I'd think he was just sleeping.

But I did know better.

Aodhan had carried him all the way back to the Bruidhean. He'd used mind magic to get Ethan to sleep, but the glazed expression on his face was still vivid in my memory. I forced myself not to think about the Danaan woman tracing her finger down his jawline.

Aodhan stood guard at the door while we waited for Deaghlan to come alter Ethan's memories. It felt very wrong to let them tamper with his mind, but there wasn't much of a choice. If we let him go back to Stoneville as he was, he'd think the women were just a dream, but he'd also be missing a three week chunk of memories. A day and half in Tír na n'Óg meant we'd missed nearly a month back home.

A dark brown curl fell over Ethan's eye, and I reached out to smooth it back.

Saoirse and Niamh had been here a little while ago. Niamh had showed me, what had happened while we were away from reality so I could play along when we returned. Saoirse's watery basin was pretty handy when you needed to get caught up to speed on what you'd missed in your life.

The story was that I'd found my mother sitting by the Duck Pond halfway between our house and the house Joanne had grown up in. Life had gone back to normal after that, or as normal as life can be when it's a bunch of faeries disguised as you and the people you care about. Both Ethan and I had come down with "mono" to keep our interactions with others limited. I could just imagine all the jokes about us both coming down with the kissing disease.

Pop had spent a lot of time going to the doctor. He'd been feeling some discomfort in his chest, and I watched Gram tell fake-Allison that Pop would be fine, that the doctor visits were "just to be on the safe-side."

Aodhan cleared his throat, announcing Deaghlan's arrival and breaking me out of my thoughts.

As soon as he entered the room, Deaghlan's eyes found mine. He walked toward me, and I couldn't make myself look away. I could feel each step he took in my pulse as he got closer. Aodhan had said Deaghlan was like a wolf, but to me he was more like a tiger. Every move he made was a smoldering combination of intimidating and enticing.

His lips curved up, he knew exactly what he was capable of. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing together the tiny threads of my mind that hadn't come completely unglued.

"Allison," Deaghlan said. His smug expression confirmed that, yes, he absolutely knew the effect he had on me.

My face screwed up into what I hoped passed as a pleasant smile. I drew my knees up under my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs. Tearing my eyes from Deaghlan wasn't easy, but I managed to somehow focus on Ethan lying on the bed.

Deaghlan stood in front of me, and with one last smirk, he leaned over the bed and placed a hand on Ethan's forehead. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, not making a sound.

After several minutes, he opened his eyes and stood. I glanced over at Aodhan, still standing by the door. His face was completely blank, but I didn't miss the way his jaw stood out or that his knuckles were completely white.

"He's done," Deaghlan said, clasping his hands in front of his waist.

I looked down at the white tips of my sneakers. "Thanks."

I heard the sound of footsteps as Liam walked into the room. We all watched quietly as he paced for a moment.

"Liam, what is it?" I asked, unable to keep quiet for long.

He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. He met my eyes briefly before rubbing his hands over his face.

"Your mother is adamant about not going home. But we don't have the amulet yet...we can't break the geis."

"Not going home?" I said. The rest I had already had to accept.

"She's panicking about going back to the way she was. I can't even talk to her."

I dropped my feet to the floor and stood, not even looking in Deaghlan's direction. "Where is she?"

"In the gardens," Liam said. "But Allison, once we get her home safely, I'll figure out how to break the geis. I will. This will all be over soon."

Something cold trickled down my spinal cord. "To break the geis," I said,"we need Aoife's amulet, don't we?"

Liam shifted. "Well, yes."

"And where is Aoife?" I looked over at Deaghlan.

I hadn't said anything about the incident with Aoife to anyone, but Deaghlan and Saoirse must have known she'd somehow escaped the fey sphere.

"You make things so much more interesting, Allison," Deaghlan said. He arched his brow, a slow smile spreading across his features.

"Aoife will be dealt with," Saoirse said from the door. "But, now it's time for all of you to go home."

"I'll talk to my mom," I said, and I slid out the door, happy to let Saoirse and Deaghlan handle the rest of that conversation.

My mother sat alone on a stone bench in one of the many thriving gardens. This one was filled with what smelled like herbs.

Her head hung limp as she stared at her hands folded in her lap. She lifted her chin as she heard me approach, though, and a hint of the mother I was used to stared back into my eyes. Not the Elizabeth from the stories my grandparents told, but the despondent mother I'd known most of my life.

I knew better than to be angry with her. None of this was her fault, I was well aware of that, but something snapped inside of me as I looked at her. Years of frustration and guilt bubbled up in my chest, bursting out in my words.

"You can't stay here," I said.

My mother nodded, looking back down at her hands. Her silence fueled my growing anger. Where was the strong, independent woman I'd heard so much about over the years? The rational part of my brain was appalled that I could feel this way, but the irrational side was much stronger at the moment.

"Do you remember my first day of kindergarten?" I said.

Her eyes jerked in my direction. "Yes," she said. "I was still lucid back then. Sometimes, anyway."

"I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home with you and Gram. Do you remember what you said to me?"

My mother pressed her lips together and for a second I didn't think she'd answer me.

"No, not exactly. I just remember telling you that you had to go to school."

"You told me that you'd be right there waiting for me when I got off the bus. That's what got me through the day, knowing you'd still be there when I got home.

"No matter what happens Mom, I will be with you."

She took a deep breath and stood, looking at me with bright green eyes. I held my hand out and together we walked back inside.

# Chapter 14

I tapped the steering wheel in time with a love song on the radio as I pulled into my grandparents' driveway. The song itself was upbeat, but the message was that two people in love were lost without each other.

I shifted into park and climbed out into the oppressive mid-August heat, my thighs sticking to the seat. This was the kind of heat that kept my grandparents in the house all day, especially since Pop had started having the discomfort in his chest. I hadn't had a choice, though—the graduate program I would be starting in the fall was holding orientation, and I couldn't miss it. I reached across the seat to grab my backpack, the words to the song still echoing in my ears.

The sound of Ethan's laughter came through my open window from Nicole's pool area, causing my heart to hiccup in my chest. I stood, grabbing the top corner of the door, trying to ignore that sound I loved so much. I hadn't seen him in the week we'd been back from Tír na n'Óg as we'd both been laid up with "mono." I'd only convinced Gram I was feeling better two days ago.

I shut the car door and looked over at the fence surrounding the pool area. In a split second, I made a decision. I was tired of lying to myself and to everyone else. It had been a mistake to tell Ethan I didn't want him. That much was clear after everything that happened in Tír na n'Óg. I couldn't even remember a time in my life when I didn't want him.

The thought of him not giving me that stomach-tightening grin every time I saw him made my chest feel like a black hole. I couldn't be his friend, not now that I knew what it was like to be more.

I couldn't get to the gate fast enough. I fumbled with the latch, and it creaked as it swung open. I felt a ridiculous grin spreading on my face as I imagined telling Ethan how I really felt.

Nicole stood on the diving board, waiting to see who was coming in. Jeff was holding himself up with his arms resting over the side of the pool, and Ethan sat with his legs in the water of the shallow end. He was still laughing at something a petite blonde said as she stood gazing up at him from the water between his legs.

Dizziness flooded over me, as if all the air had been stolen from my lungs, and I froze as her hands moved suggestively up his thighs. When he turned my way, his smile fell, and for just a second we stared at each other.

"Hey, guys," I said, looking at Nicole and Jeff. "I just wanted to...let you know that I'm back from orientation." I tried to back away but stumbled, and my elbow hit the gate in a way that jarred my entire body.

Tears burned behind my eyes as I spun on my heel, and let the gate swing closed behind me. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could but skidded to a halt when I saw the three familiar men standing by my SUV. Liam, Aodhan, and Deaghlan watched as I made my walk of shame back from my cousin's house.

"Liam?" My mind registered that they must be waiting for me. Immediately my thoughts went to my mother. She should be in the house; I hadn't heard anything otherwise from Gram. "What's wrong?"

I vaguely heard the groaning of the gate opening behind me, and a voice calling out to me, but I was caught in Deaghlan's blue stare again, and he was pulling me toward him like a tractor beam.

"Al?"

The trance was broken when I realized it was Ethan saying my name.

I turned and saw him walking toward me, raking both of his hands through his damp hair.

I couldn't trust myself to speak, so I turned back to Liam, avoiding Deaghlan completely.

"Hello, Allison," Deaghlan said anyway as he sauntered over and kissed my forehead. As he pulled back, he stared hard at Ethan.

I peered back over my shoulder to see Ethan's eyes widen with surprise. He quickly looked over at Liam, his gaze questioning.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Why are you here?"

Liam cleared his throat, looking down at the ground. When he raised his eyes up to mine, his face was ashen.

"Aoife has escaped."

Book 2 in The Danaan Trilogy, _Stone of Destiny,_ is available at your favorite retailer.

* * *

Learn more on the author's website, or go here to sign up for her mailing list.

# MARKED

### Soul Guardians, Book 1

**Kim Richardson**

* * *

Sixteen-year-old Kara Nightingale is unpopular, awkward and positively _ordinary_ —that is until one day she is struck by a bus and dies...

Within moments her life changes from ordinary to _extraordinary_ as she wakes up in a mysterious world with a new career—as a rookie for the Guardian Angel Legion. Kara is pulled into the supernatural where monkeys drive the elevators, oracles scurry above giant crystal balls and where demons feed on the souls of mortals.

When an Elemental child is kidnapped, Kara is sent on a danger-filled quest and plunges into a situation more dangerous and deadly than anything she could ever imagine.

# Chapter 1

### Reborn

**"** Wait for me!" Kara jogged along Saint Paul Street. She pressed her cell phone against her ear with a sweaty hand. "I'll be there in two minutes!"

Her black ballet flats tapped the cobblestones as she avoided oncoming traffic, her portfolio swung at her side. She jumped onto the sidewalk and ran through the crowd.

"I can't believe you're not here yet," said the voice on the other line. "You had to pick today of all days to be late!"

"Okay, okay! I'm already freaking out about the presentation. You're not exactly helping, Mat."

A laugh came through the speaker. "I'm just saying...that this is supposed to be the most important day of your life. And you, _Mademoiselle Nightingale_ , are late."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time...MOTHER. It's not my fault. My stupid alarm didn't go off!" Kara dashed along the busy street, her long brown hair bouncing against her back. The smell of grease and beer from the pubs reached her nose and her heart hammered in her chest like a jackhammer. She knew if she missed the presentation her hopes of landing a scholarship were over. She didn't have any money for college, so this was her only shot.

Over the heads of the crowd, Kara could just make out the sign, Une Galerie. Stenciled elegantly in bold black letters, the name hovered above the art gallery's majestic glass doors. She could see shadows of people gathered inside. Her chest tightened. She was only a block away now.

"You know, the presentation won't wait for you—"

"Yes, yes, I know. I swear I'm gonna kick your butt when I get there!" Kara growled into the phone, trying to catch her breath.

For a horrible moment she thought she wasn't going to make it on time and considered getting off the sidewalk to run along the edge of the street instead. She looked back to see how bad the traffic was.

Then her heart skipped a beat.

Less than half a block behind, a man stood motionless and indifferent to the wave of humanity that flowed around him. He was staring at her. His white hair stood out against his dark grey tailored suit. Kara frowned.

_His eyes are black_ , she realized.

A chill rolled up her spine. The man melted into the crowd and vanished, as though he were a mere trick of the light. The hair on the back of Kara's neck prickled as a sense of foreboding filled her and the urge to scream. Who was this man?

"I think I'm being followed," Kara spoke into her cell phone after a few seconds, her mouth dry.

"You always think you're being followed."

"No! I'm serious! I swear...this guy is following me—some psycho with white hair. I...I think I've seen him before. Or at least my mother has..."

"We all know your mother is a little _nutty_ sometimes. No offense, I love your mom, but she's been seeing and talking to invisible people since we were five. I think it's rubbing off on you."

"Listen. I was with my mom yesterday on Saint Catherine Street, and she said we were being followed by someone _._ What if this is the same guy? Maybe she's not as crazy as everyone thinks." Kara wondered if there was a little truth in her mother's visions. She loved her mother very much, and she hated herself at times for thinking her mom belonged in a loony bin.

Mat laughed. "Are you serious? It's bad enough that your mom sees spirits and demons. If you start believing in all that, they'll lock you up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Remind me why you're my best friend again?" Kara decided to drop the subject. After all, the strange man was gone and her fear of him was melting away with every step, replaced by nerves and restlessness for her presentation. She focused on the gallery sign as she ran. "Okay...I can see you now."

Mat was leaning against the gallery's brick exterior. His head was turned toward the glass doors. He pulled his cigarette from his lips and blew smoke into his phone's receiver. "I think it's starting. Hurry up!"

Kara felt her cheeks burn. Her heart pounded in her ears and muffled the sounds around her. She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm the fluttering in her stomach, and she sprinted onto Saint Laurence Boulevard. Her cell phone slipped out of her hand and hit the pavement.

"Crap!" Kara crouched down to grab her phone. "Stupid phone—"

A flicker of movement appeared in the corner of her eye.

"WATCH OUT!" Someone shouted. She stood up and turned around.

A city bus hurtled towards her. She stared, transfixed. The bus kept coming.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

An arm reached out to her. She saw a split second image of two monstrous headlights.

And then it hit.

Thirteen tons of cold metal crushed her body. She didn't feel any pain. She didn't feel anything at all.

Everything around her went black.

A moment later, Kara was standing in an elevator.

At first, streaks of white light obscured her vision. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. The elevator was elegant...three sides appeared to be made of handcrafted cherry panels decorated with golden-wing crests. The smell of moth balls lingered in the air, like her grandma's dusty old closet. When her eyesight improved, she realized that she wasn't alone.

On a wooden chair facing the elevator's control panel covered in black fur and wearing a pair of green Bermuda shorts from which protruded two hand-like callused feet, sat a _monkey_.

It spun on its seat, wrapped its feet around the backrest of the chair, opened its coconut-shaped mouth and said, "Hello, Miss."

Kara's jaw dropped, and she swallowed the urge to cry out. She stared at the beast, terror rising up inside her.

His hairless face crinkled into a grin so that he looked like an oversized walnut. His square head sat directly on powerful shoulders. He raised his chin and looked down upon Kara. His yellow eyes mesmerized her; she couldn't look away.

_He looks like Old Man Nelson from the hardware store,_ she thought wildly.

After a minute, Kara was able to force some words out of her mouth.

"H...hey there, little talking-monkey-person," she croaked and then whispered to herself, "This is definitely the wildest dream I've ever had. I have to remember to tell Mat about this tomorrow when I wake up." Her throat was dry like she hadn't had a sip of water in weeks. She tried to swallow, but all she could do was contract her throat muscles.

The monkey frowned. Then he growled. "I'm not a _monkey_ , Miss. I'm a chimpanzee! You mortals are all the same. Monkey-this, monkey-that. Might as well call me a _dog_!" A splatter of spit hit Kara's face as the words escaped his lips.

Kara retched as she wiped the spit from her face. It was yellowish green and smelled like a bad case of gingivitis.

"Ah...sorry, monk—chimpanzee." She rubbed her hand on her blue jeans and made a face. "This is _beyond_ weird. I thought you _couldn't_ smell anything in dreams, at least that's what I thought. But this...it actually smells real and totally gross."

The chimp glared at Kara with a mixture of disdain and indignation. " _Chimp_ Number 5M51, if you please."

He then began to scratch his behind, and only stopped once he noticed Kara's disgusted expression.

"You'll be arriving at your destination momentarily." And with that, he turned his attention back to the control panel.

Gradually, Kara began to feel more awake, as though she had woken from a long, deep sleep. Reality slowly crawled back in along with the fear that perhaps this _wasn't_ a dream. She bit her lower lip as she told herself to _think_.

"Um, what destination? Where are we going?" she asked, her eyes focused on the talking chimpanzee.

Chimp 5M51 turned his head and smiled, exposing rows of crooked yellow teeth. His eyes locked onto hers. "To Orientation, of course. Level One."

"Orientation?"

"Yes. All mortals who have passed must go through Orientation. That's where you're going." Chimp 5M51 clamped his feet around the edges of the chair and extended an abnormally long arm in the direction of the elevator's control pane. He pointed to the brass buttons.

Kara leaned over for a better view. The panel read:

* * *

**_1. Orientation_**

**_2. Operations_**

**_3. Miracles Divisions_**

**_4. Hall of Souls_**

**_5. Department of Defense_**

**_6. Council of Ministers_**

**_7. The Chief_**

* * *

A feeling of dread slowly rose up inside her. She stared at the panel, dizzy, her knees weak like she was about to collapse. "This...this doesn't make sense. I...I'm dreaming. This is a dream!"

Kara shut her eyes and pressed her back against the elevator wall, trembling. "It _can't_ be happening. It just _can't_! I need to wake up now. Kara you need to _wake_ up!"

"You're dead, Miss."

Kara opened her eyes. The word _dead_ echoed in her ears like some sick joke. The weight of his words started to pull her under. She fought against the overwhelming feeling of panic.

"I'm not dead!" she hissed, "I'm right here, you stupid __ BABOON!"

"...Chimpanzee!" Spat Chimp 5M51. "Think what you must," he said, as he lifted his chin. "But think about this. Can you remember the events before this elevator?"

Kara floundered, trying desperately to remember. Bits and pieces flashed inside her brain: a white light...metal... darkness...

_The bus._

Kara dropped to her knees. The city bus had hit her...pulverized her core and crushed her like a tomato. But then she remembered something else, something that didn't make any sense. It was coming back to her now, like a faded memory sharpening into a clear picture. It flashed before her eyes...she saw an arm reach out and touch her during the bus crash. Someone had tried to save her...

"See? You're dead," said the chimp matter-of-factly, and Kara detected a hint of amusement in his voice, as though he enjoyed watching her struggle in misery and confusion.

As she pulled herself together she pressed her hand against the left side of her chest, she couldn't feel a heartbeat. She pressed down on her rib cage. Nothing. She clasped her wrist. No pulse. No beating. No movement at all.

"See. No beating. No heart...you're dead," declared the chimp again. Kara felt herself wanting to punch him.

But before she could make sense of what was happening, she was thrown off balance as the elevator stopped abruptly.

"Level One. Orientation!" The chimp announced.

"Wait!" Kara pushed herself away from the elevator wall and wobbled up to the chimp. "I don't understand. What's Orientation?"

With his finger still on the button, he turned his head. "Orientation is where all the new GAs are categorized."

Kara stared stupidly into chimp 5M51's yellow eyes. "What are GAs?"

"Guardian Angels."

"Huh?"

Kara heard the swish of doors opening. A hint of a smile reached the chimp's lips. He raised his arm and pressed his hand on her back. Then she flew out the elevator.

# Chapter 2

### Orientation

Kara belly-flopped onto a cold stony surface. Face glued to the floor, she raised an eyebrow. The floor vibrated against her cheek. She winced as chaotic noises hit her ears, as though thousands of voices were speaking at the same time.

Carefully, she lifted her head off the ground and looked around. Her jaw dropped.

She was surrounded by people. As she jumped to her feet, she saw they were gathered inside an assembly hall the size of ten football fields. Lines of people of every shape, size, and ethnicity twisted through a maze of offices and corridors. The air was humid, and it smelled remarkably like the ocean.

_Crack!_

Kara turned just in time to see the elevator with chimp 5M51 disappear back into the ground. "Well, there goes one monkey I'm not going to miss," she muttered to herself.

The commotion was louder than a rock concert. Kara pressed her hands to her ears. There were thousands of them, and they were all dead...just like her. They pushed and shoved one another, itching to get to the front of the line. This wasn't exactly how she had pictured the afterlife, especially not with self-satisfied apes. But then again, she had never really given much thought to the spirit world, or death for that matter. She was only sixteen and she had felt invincible.

Kara was alone, lost, and _dead_. She knew she should be feeling something like happiness. After all, she'd just discovered that life after death existed. But she couldn't. Beside her, an oversized middle-aged man chatted happily with an old bald man. _They_ looked pretty excited. Most of the walking dead around her seemed overjoyed, except for a few people who looked like she felt—nauseated and horrified.

Not knowing what else to do, Kara joined the line nearest her. She stared at her feet. She wasn't up for a chat, especially with some stout dead old guy who was prancing around as though he'd just won the lottery.

But she wasn't _ready_ to die just yet...she wasn't _finished_. All her hopes and dreams—vanished into thin air. The soundless empty hole where her heart once lived was cold. She knew her life was over.

"Ahem." Someone cleared their throat.

Kara kept staring at her feet.

"Excuse me, Miss. Are you feeling okay?" the man persisted.

Was there any hope that she could avoid _sharing?_ Couldn't she just disappear?

Unfortunately for Kara, it appeared that he wanted to share. "You know, it's really not _that_ bad," continued the voice.

Kara stole a look and saw that the voice belonged to the fat old man. His face was plastered with a lopsided grin. He licked his pink lips in anticipation. "We're in Horizon! Alive! Can you believe it! Well—sort of alive. We're dead, but alive! Isn't this great?!"

Kara lifted her head. She tried to fake a smile, but the corners of her mouth were sewed in place. "Yeah. It's really great."

The man beat the air with his arms. "This is _so_ exciting!" And, with great effort, he leaped into the air and twirled. His tiny legs kicked underneath his gigantic undulating belly. He hovered for half a second, and then landed with an echoing _boom._ "Who would have thought that Horizon actually existed! Life after death...it's _real!_ " If he wasn't already dead, Kara was sure his heart would burst out of his chest like red, chunky sauce and hit his neighbor smack in the face.

She studied the man for a moment. "What's Horizon?"

He stopped twirling to give her an answer. "Utopia. Shangri-la. Zion. Elysium. Horizon is the afterlife. It's real, and we're here! Isn't this wonderful?"

Kara scowled as the man spread his enthusiasm to his next victim in another row of the dearly departed. She felt a presence behind her, and turned to see that at least a hundred newly expired folk were bringing up the rear. The noise level increased, if that was actually possible. Kara hung her head and tried to cry, but no tears would come. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared into space.

Time seemed to have no effect at Orientation. Before she knew it, Kara was next in line to enter one of the score of office buildings that surrounded the acres of happy dead. She wrinkled her face and stared at the building. From the outside it looked like a regular office: beige painted walls draped with beige colored paintings, beige industrial carpeting and glass windows with beige horizontal blinds.

_Creative._

The door was the only thing that looked out of place. It was ancient, with a mammoth sized wooden frame, and it was decorated with a brightly-lit neon sign which read: _Oracle Division # 998-4321, Orientation_.

Kara frowned. She wasn't sure whether or not she should knock. Sooner or later she knew she would have to make up her mind, for thousands of impatient dead people were anxiously pushing her against the door.

She sighed. __ "Okay, here goes nothing."

Making a fist with her right hand Kara raised it to the door, and as her hand lingered in the air the door swung open with a screech. The office was jam-packed. She sneaked in and stopped. A salty gust of ocean fragrance embraced her. Hundreds of scattered papers covered the ground and littered the desks. Filing cabinets filled the office, stacked on top of each other, twisting all the way to the ceiling—and then there were the giant crystals balls.

It was like a crazy bowling alley. Huge glass balls rolled across the office flattening everything in their path. Tiny old men ran balanced on top of the spheres like circus acrobats, their silver gowns flowing behind them. Using their bare feet, they maneuvered the balls effortlessly in all directions. Like single entities, man and ball moved as one.

The crystal balls bumped into cabinets, and the men rummaged through the contents. They tossed their long white beards over their shoulders, flipped through papers, and caused an avalanche of white parchment. Kara's eyes darted to a drifting sheet of paper that was making its way down towards her. She jumped up, caught it, and read:

* * *

**_Guardian Angel: Peter Jones_**

**_Class order # 4321_**

**_Rank: Rookie 2nd year, W-1 Guard squad, (lowest rank)_**

**_Assignment: Elizabeth Grand. 5585 Sherbrooke Street, front entrance._**

**_11:42 am. Crushed skull by slipping down 2 flights of stairs._**

**_Status: Pass. Saved Charge. Soul untouched._**

* * *

Kara shook her head. She bent down and picked up another paper from the floor and read it. It was similar, except that this time it was Tina Henderson who had saved Affonso Spinelli from choking to death on a meat ball at Luciano's Porte Vino Restaurant.

Were all these papers about guardian angel assignments? She let the paper slip from her hand. She snooped around the filing cabinets. Papers rustled under her feet as she moved around the office. Along the way, she discovered several smaller rooms from which more men emerged treading above their glass spheres like oversized unicycles. They all appeared very much engaged at the moment...

"KARA NIGHTINGALE!"

Kara nearly jumped out of her own skin. Her legs wobbled as she made her way through the towers of filling cabinets and followed the voice. Around the corner to her left, she spotted another office. The door stood ajar. There, above a large crystal ball, sat another one of those men, surrounded by piles of paper. He jumped down to a great semi-circular wooden desk. He wore a frown on his brow and gestured impatiently.

"Come in. Come in. No time to waste. Lives to save!" he said in a strange, high-pitched voice.

Kara dragged herself inside the cramped office. More cabinets were stacked on top of each other and spread across the walls. A five-foot round pool was mounted in the back corner. The aroma of salt water was strong in the little office. A low _tick tock_ distracted her. Following the sound, Kara spotted a huge grandfather clock leaning against the wall to her left, its long pendulum swinging from left to right.

She walked over to the desk and stood with her hands at her sides, biting her lips. She opened her mouth to speak...but shut it again. Alive, when she'd get nervous, her heart would pound so hard against her chest that it would sometimes hurt. But not this time. No hammering or pounding, only nervousness with a silent core. It didn't feel normal.

She forced the words out of her mouth. "How...how did you know my name?"

The old man finally stopped ransacking his desk and grabbed a file. His eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "Ah, yes, yes. Here it is. Kara Nightingale...age sixteen...hit by a bus...pretty nasty way of dying...so sorry about that...soul was already chosen to be a guardian..." He stroked his beard and was silent for a moment.

Kara cleared her throat. "Um...excuse me, sir? Um...what am I doing here?"

The man's head snapped up. "Doing here? Why...you've been chosen, that's what! And now we need to get you started on your new job. Okay. Let's see here...what's the assignment again...? Oh dear. I think I've forgotten." His face cracked into a grin. "It's not as easy as it seems...to see into the future. You tend to get the present and the future mixed up! Now, where is that piece of paper?"

Kara frowned deeply. __ "I don't understand...what new job? I have a job?"

The file slipped from the man's hands. He fell forward to collect the papers. "Oh! Right!" His face lit up. "Well, you're _dead,_ obviously. And you've been preselected to become a guardian angel! To work at saving lives! Isn't that wonderful?" He crumpled the papers in his excitement. "And today is your first day on the job!" He scratched his bald head. "Or is this your second day? Oh dear."

Kara stared at him. "Me, a guardian angel?" She remembered movies she'd seen with guardian angels protecting men and women from evil. She wondered if she would get a pair of wings.

"Well, let's see here...right. As a rookie you'll be stationed in the W-1 Guard Squad of the Guardian Angel Legion, lowest rank. Your duties today will be to _observe_. Your combat training will commence _after_ the orientation period is over...after your first trip." His kind eyes glistened as he looked upon Kara.

She tried to speak, but her lips were glued together. She shivered. She wasn't sure if it was because of the excitement of the situation, or pure fear.

"Your Petty Officer will enlighten you with the details." He closed the file, slammed it down against the desk with a _bang_ , clapped his hands, and bellowed, "DAVID!"

Kara glanced sideways and turned her head. A handsome teenager, a year or two older than her, popped into the doorway. His broad shoulders were covered by a brown leather jacket which hung closely around his muscular build. He strutted his way towards them. Two golden stars marked his forehead, just above his brow.

"Yes, oracle? You called, Your _Holiness_?" Smiling widely, he combed the top of his blonde hair with his fingers. He stopped beside Kara and gave her a wink. His laughing eyes were the color of the sky. Normally Kara would have blushed, but seeing as she was without blood flow she felt a strange tingling instead, from the tip of her head all the way down to her toes, as if her body were under attack by hundreds of prickling needles.

The oracle jumped up and extended his arms. "Clara, meet David McDonald. David, meet Clara Nightingale." His eyes darted from Kara to David. " _She_ is to be your new rookie."

"Uh...it's _Kara_ , not Clara."

The oracle stared at her as if she had said the strangest thing. "Oh, right! Forgive me, Kara."

David laughed. "They usually get it right after about a hundred times."

Kara studied David's face. His lips parted and twisted into a sly smile. He clasped her hand in his and shook it. She felt an electric current flow from her fingers to her toes. His hand wasn't the blood-warm touch she remembered feeling when shaking a mortal hand, but it wasn't cold either. It was perfectly cool.

"Hey, there, kiddo," he said, as he flashed a row of dazzlingly white teeth. "Nice to meet ya. And it's _McGowan_. Not McDonald." He let go of her hand and lifted the collar of his leather jacket.

"Um, hi...it's just...let me get this straight," stammered Kara. "I'm getting a new job as a guardian angel, and you're going to be like my boss? Is that what's happening here?"

"You better believe it, cutie." David marched up and grabbed her dossier from the oracle.

"I think I'm losing my mind."

"No...you're just dead."

_Dead_ , Kara thought. She wanted to dissolve on the spot. She might be dead, but her core could still feel pain. She didn't want to be dead, she wanted to be alive...

"Come closer, Clara," said the oracle. He steered his crystal ball away from the desk with his feet and came towards her. "It is time for you to take the oath! Or did you take it already? Oh dear. Here I go again, mixing everything up! Have we been here before?"

Kara shook her head. "Uh...no. What oath? I never took an oath."

"Oh good," sighed the Oracle. "It is the oath all guardian angels must swear to. A sealed oath which can only be broken if the soul dies." A sudden glow emanated from the crystal ball, bathing the oracle's feet in a soft white light. The brightness subsided. A cloud-like mist formed from inside the globe. It swirled around, changing its form with every twist. The oracle pressed his wrinkled hands together in front of his chest, his eyes still fixed on Kara's. To her great surprise, they started to change color, morphing from blue to brilliant golden.

Kara's eyes widened as she backed away. "Wait! What if I don't _want_ to become a guardian angel? Can't I just go back home?" This was all happening so fast that she wasn't sure she wanted to be part of it.

The oracle shook his head. "I'm afraid not. This is how it has to be...there is no other way. Your life as you knew it is over. Today you're starting your new life and your new job."

Kara blinked, her mind working overtime. It had to be better than doing nothing, being _really_ dead. And then there were the broad shoulders of Petty Officer David...

"Come closer," said the oracle sternly.

Fighting the urge to run away from David and the oracle, Kara stepped forward. "Wait a minute...I think you're making a mistake. I don't think I'm the right person for this job..."

The oracle put a finger to his lips and nodded imperiously. "The Chief has chosen _you,_ Clara _,_ to join his army, to become one of his guardian angels—a true and sacred honor." His golden stare hypnotized Kara. "Now, you must repeat after me."

Kara nodded.

The oracle continued. "I, Clara Nightingale..."

"It's Kara."

"Oh no! Did I get it wrong again? My memory is not what it used to be." The oracle smiled and wiped his brow.

"Let's start this again." He cleared his throat. "I, _Kara_ Nightingale, declare myself servant of the Legion of Angels. I will perform my duties as a guardian angel wholeheartedly. May the witnesses of my oath hold me to it."

Kara felt foolish, but repeated everything word for word anyway.

"We will hold you to it!" declared the oracle and David together.

And then something strange happened. First, the oracle's skin started to blaze a soft golden color, and then he leaned forward and pressed his thumb on Kara's forehead. His touch burned a spot between her eyebrows and sent a sizzle of electricity from her head to her fingertips. She felt heavier somehow, as though the simple touch had weighed her down. After a moment, the oracle leaned back and Kara watched his eyes slowly return to their natural blue color. The crystal ball shimmered and then lost all of its brilliance.

She reached up and touched her forehead, running her fingers along the spot where she had felt it burn. Her brows drew together. She could feel the outlines of a star...just like David's. The oracle had branded one on her as well.

"I have a _star_ on my forehead?" said Kara, which was more of a statement than a question, as she rubbed her brow. A tiny smile reached her lips.

"It is the symbol of the Legion of Angels. You are a guardian angel now...you swore the oath." The oracle steered his crystal ball back to the other side of his desk and sat back down. He glanced at the clock. "And now _you_ have a job to do. Time is of the essence! Daniel!"

David flipped a black duffel bag over his shoulder and strutted over to the pool. "That's me. Let's go, kiddo. We only have a half hour to get to Mrs. Wilkins before she dies in a weird dishwasher accident." He climbed up the little ladder hanging over the edge of the pool and stepped onto the ledge.

Kara frowned. "Hold on. You mean to tell me that to reach Mrs. what's-her-name, we have to jump into the pool?"

"That's right," answered David as he lowered his bag and jammed the file into it.

It was too weird. But then again, she _was_ dead—walking, talking, with a golden star burned into her forehead.

Kara took a few tentative steps towards the pool. "Wait a minute...how come _I_ wasn't saved? Where's _my_ guardian angel?" Images of her life flickered inside her head...her family, her friends, her paintings. "Why wasn't there anyone to save me?"

David zipped up the bag and threw it over his shoulder. He flicked his eyes down at Kara and grinned widely. "You were saved—well, your _soul_ was, that is."

"Huh?"

His eyes were thoughtful as they rested on her. "Your soul was chosen. You were destined to become a GA. It was just a matter of time before you died and were shipped up to Horizon! We're running low on guardian angels, you see, and you were next on the list." He winked.

"I was _chosen_?"

"Yup. By The Chief himself. Thinks you've got what it takes to do the job. And, speaking of the job, we have to go..." David threw out his hand and beckoned her to join him.

"So, how do you know what's going to happen to her—that woman—before it happens?" Kara clamped her hands around the metal pool's cool railing. "I mean, how is that possible?"

"You forget where you are. Oracles can see into the future. It is their gift. They know days before that someone is about to die. So they assign a guardian angel to save that person's soul. It's your job to save them, no matter what, before the demons devour it."

"Demons?" Kara's eyes widened. She felt her body tense up. It took a few seconds to gather herself. "Are you kidding me?" An image of her mother flashed in her mind's eye.

She turned her attention to the oracle, who was ignoring their conversation completely. His eyes were gold again. He stared into space, still as a statue. Kara wondered if the little man was scrying into the future at this very moment.

"The oracle's busy now. He's doing his job; now it's _our_ turn." David grabbed hold of Kara's arm and pulled her up the little staircase, settling her next to him. His gaze narrowed. "Now listen carefully. Are you listening?"

"I'm all ears." But Kara couldn't shake it off, the feeling of dread. Demons were her mother's favorite subjects—a crazed woman's imaginary foes...right? "No...no one said anything about demons." She tried to put on a brave face for David, but she knew it wasn't working.

"Don't worry. Nothing's gonna happen...it's a real easy assignment, trust me. We'll be back before you know it."

He smiled and studied her face. His blue eyes glistened. "Up here, water is important. Remember that. It's the gateway between Horizon and Earth...it's how we travel." He flashed another smile, his teeth exposing their radiance. "So we have to jump in. You ready?" He grabbed Kara by the elbow, edging her forward.

Kara stared at the pool's reflections, imagining demons in the deep water—waiting for her.

"All right then," said David, "on the count of three..."

"What? Wait! I'm not sure I want to do this..."

"One..."

Kara jerked her arm around, desperately trying to rid it of David's iron grip.

"Two..."

"Wait!" squealed Kara. "I can't swim!"

"Three!" David pushed himself off the ledge and jumped, dragging Kara down with him.

She splashed into the water and sank to the bottom. The water didn't _feel_ like water at all, more like fog, or a heavy mist, like when you've stayed too long in the shower. Kara could breathe easily, somehow, probably because she had no lungs. She turned her head and tried to look for David, but she began to spin fast—horizontally—with ear-piercing shrieks as whitish bubbles seemed to consume her. White light exploded all around her. Shielding her eyes, Kara managed to look down. The light was coming from her. Her entire body was illuminated by fluorescent white light. She felt a sudden pull and watched her body disintegrate into millions of brilliant particles. Then she started to float away.

With a last flash of light, everything around her disappeared.

# Chapter 3

### The M Suit

Kara forced her lids open and looked around. She frowned.

The shadows of the world around her were a hazy blur, as though she had opened her eyes under water. She felt dizzy, almost like the time she stole a bottle of wine from her parents' wine cellar and drank half the bottle. But this was different. She was trapped in a strange body. She searched inside this body and found herself. She willed the body to move...she moved her fingers, then her arms. This new body felt like she was wearing it on top of her other self; a skin-tight suit.

As the dizziness lessened, her nerves calmed. She concentrated on her hearing. She could hear the distant sounds of traffic and the soft murmurs of people talking. She blinked. Shapes became focused. It was as though she were watching the world through someone else's eyes. She looked down at her new body and pressed her hands against her chest. Nothing. No beating of the heart, no lungs compressing. Empty.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows around her. She was in a humid alleyway that stank of last week's garbage. She followed the smell and spotted cats eating from the metal dumpsters. Tall brick buildings masked the light. Shapes moved within the shadows. Kara recoiled as two grubby looking men eyed her from a dark doorway, whispering at each other.

Then something touched her shoulder.

Kara jumped backwards and nearly fell.

"Relax, Kara, it's me." David reappeared. He wore the black duffel bag on his back. His cheeky Colgate smile made his face a little too handsome. Kara turned away so that he wouldn't see the flush she felt staining her cheeks. Then she remembered—she couldn't blush. She had no blood.

"How you feeling?" he asked, as he clasped her shoulder.

Kara grimaced. "Like my sixteenth birthday hangover." She lifted her head. The world around her was in focus now, but the ground still wavered slightly. She felt excited to be back, even if it was only for a short while.

David stared into space, a silly grin on his face. "Yeah...those were fun times."

He sighed and turned back to Kara. "But that's normal. It'll go away in a few minutes."

He let go of her shoulder and dropped the duffel bag on the pavement. He bent down, rummaged through the bag, and pulled out a map. After studying it for a moment, he stuffed it back and pulled out a brown leather wrist watch. "Good, we're only a few blocks away." He leaped to his feet and strapped the watch around his wrist.

A breeze masked the dumpster smell for a moment as it brought in exhaust fumes, hot pavement, and dog poop from the busy street. Kara brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She brought her hand up to her face and studied it, wiggling her fingers, focusing on the fact that she was in a body that didn't belong to her.

Back in Horizon, before taking the big plunge, she remembered feeling like her old self, just without the internal organs...but like herself. But now back on Earth, after her death, this body felt alien. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to this.

"The M suits take some time to get used to the first time. Believe me, I know!" David clapped his hands together. "Man, I remember my first time...I was totally spacing out." He laughed, his eyes sparkling.

Kara smiled. He reminded her of the college boys she'd seen around the city: young, beautiful, and full of themselves. They oozed an _eau d'arrogance_. Most of the high school girls drooled over these boys. She had labeled them "The Untouchables." David was one of them. He was very handsome, with a strong athletic build. She felt uncomfortable being so close to him. Their eyes met for only a second, and Kara was sure he had just read her mind. He smiled.

"But you know, after a few suits, you'll hardly feel them anymore...they kinda become part of you." David straightened out his jacket and flipped the collar up. "Yeah...that's more like it."

Kara frowned. "What do you mean by _M_ suits _?_ "

"Mortal—humans—Earth dwellers. If you're not part of the Legion, you're a mortal."

"So you're saying I'm wearing a _human_ suit _?_ "

"Yup."

Kara made a face. "That's disgusting!" She shook her head. "I still can't figure it out. How did we get here?" Her brown eyes searched his face.

"You see," explained David as he studied her, "when we jumped into the pool back on Horizon—remember? Right, well, we were sorta _transported_ to Earth." He lifted his arms and pointed to his chest. "In these babies."

"Right...in these body bags," said Kara, and she looked down at herself. She studied her arm. She pulled back her sleeve and passed her hand over her skin. "Feels...different?" she said and looked up into his eyes.

David nodded as he smiled at her. "I know. You'll get used to it."

"So these bodies just _magically_ appeared?"

"Ha!" He laughed. "You're funny. But...ah... _no_. See, when we travel between Horizon and Earth, we need to submerge ourselves in water...the pools, remember? Water serves as a gateway between the two worlds. It also allows us to create our M suits and then shed them later. Don't ask me how, it just does. And we call the process 'Vega.'"

Kara blinked _._ "I'm a puppet without the strings." Her mind wavered inside her mortal body, anticipating movement. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other...a thought was all it took now. The body responded. Like water sucked into a sponge, her spirit was absorbed entirely; body and soul moved as one. She didn't need to will her body to move anymore. It was quickly becoming second nature to her. She rested her hands on her hips. Perhaps it wouldn't be as difficult as she first thought. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

David watched her and grinned. "In Horizon we don't need flesh and blood bodies, our bodies are immortal. You're still the same person you were, just not in the same mortal body. You think and feel exactly the same. It's like you never left your old body. But our mortal bodies are gone...and as a GA, you have to submerge yourself in M suits to walk on Earth...your soul would die without them. Think of them as another version of your old body. But I have to admit, I love wearing suits...they make me feel invincible!"

Kara felt her mind ease with every passing moment. It wasn't so bad after all, this new life that was starting to emerge.

"Okay, wow...so where do we go from here?" asked Kara, as she practiced moving her limbs. She took a few steps, staring at her feet, grinning. She had to admit, it did feel pretty awesome once you got used to it.

"We have less than _fifteen_ minutes to get to Mrs. Wilkins before she _slips_ and _dies—_ in a freakish accident _._ You ready?" David cocked an eyebrow. "It's time to reveal my _extraordinary_ talents!" His teeth gleamed, and he rubbed his hands together.

She looked up into his grinning face and shrugged. "I guess?"

"Don't worry, I'm here with you," said David. "And _you_ , you will be witnessing a true master of his craft...first hand! I'm _that_ good."

Kara shook her head. "Wow...are all guardian angels this cocky, or am I just really lucky to be stuck with you?"

"I'm the hottest thing in Horizon, baby," said David, his eyes flashed mischievously. He threw the black bag over his shoulder, straightened out his jacket, and strode off. "Let's go!" He yelled back.

"Sure thing, hot stuff," __ laughed Kara.

She ran to keep up, trying not to trip on her new legs. Soon the alleyway disappeared, and they found themselves in sunlight, facing a busy street. Tall palm trees decorated the length of the street on either side, like enormous lamp posts. Their leaves ruffled in a light breeze, bringing forth the smell of the ocean. Instantly, Kara knew she wasn't in her hometown anymore. She spotted a metal street sign at the corner. "Northeast 5th Street" was stenciled in white at the top, on a green platform. She had never been here before.

"Where are we?" asked Kara after a moment. She stared at a giant aloe plant.

"Fort Lauderdale, Florida, baby," answered David. He strutted up the street with ease, and Kara assumed this wasn't David's first trip to Fort Lauderdale.

They walked along 5th Street, zigzagging through crowds of shoppers. The smells of onion, garlic, fish, and spices surrounded them. She imagined a juicy cheese burger.

"Can we eat? I mean...do we need to eat? Like...can we taste food?"

"No. These are mortal suits, not real mortal bodies. We don't eat."

"That sucks...I was hoping to try a slice of pizza or something."

"You could try...but it'll be like eating paper."

"I think I'll pass, thanks."

Kara followed David closely. She still felt uneasy about wandering the streets in a new body. She looked passersby in the face and wondered if these people noticed something different about her. "Do you have a mirror on you?"

"Why do you want a mirror?" David stopped walking and met Kara's eyes.

"To see myself. I'd like to see what I look like."

"Oh...of course. You want to make sure _you_ are still _you..._ come over here." David walked up to a parked car. He made sure no one was looking. "You can check yourself out with this." He pointed to the side mirror.

Kara leaned in and took a peek. "I look exactly the same? Same eyes, nose, hair? Great...I even have the same zits! How's that possible?"

"Because you're you."

"But what happens if someone I know sees me? They'll flip out!" Kara pictured her mother's frightened face. She figured she'd probably die of a heart attack, seeing her dead daughter wandering the streets like a zombie.

David grabbed Kara by the elbow and steered her away from the car. "They won't because you don't look _exactly_ the same to them...you'll appear a little different. You'll have the same brown eyes and brown hair, but you'll look like a cousin or something."

"Oh. I don't have any cousins."

They walked along another block until they reached North Andrews Avenue and turned south. Couples with children passed them by, and Kara thought of her own family. At that moment she felt miserable. She missed her mother. Even though she was a little mad, she was the only mother Kara ever knew. She imagined her mother's grief-stricken face and wished she could tell her somehow that she was okay.

"Do you miss your family?"

David was silent for a second. "Sure I do. I miss them all the time, but I wouldn't trade my life in Horizon for anything. I love my job. We're part of an elite group...chosen to keep the mortals safe. The rush I feel on a mission...you can't get that same feeling doing anything else. It's dangerous, and I love pushing the limits. I'm good at it. It's like...this is what I'm supposed to be doing. Besides, we get to play with the coolest weapons!" His face lit up.

Kara wondered if David had had many girlfriends back when he was alive. She knew the answer to her own question, and realized she was being silly. But another question burned in the back of her mind. "Can...can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

Kara avoided his eyes. "How...how did you die?"

"Oh, that," laughed David. "Well, it wasn't anything spectacular. I drowned."

"You drowned! Oh my God! That's a horrible way to die."

"Well, actually, I drove my parents' car off a bridge. So it's a little more bad-ass."

Kara imagined the scenario in her head. "What was it like? I mean...to drown? Did you suffer? It must have been terrible."

"The last thing I remember was a feeling of flying—which was really cool, by the way," said David. "Then the car hit the water, and I hit my head on the steering wheel. I blacked out. And then I woke up with a monkey breathing down my neck."

"Right, the chimp in the elevator."

David adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "Then I joined the Legion...became famous with the ladies...pissed off a few angels...and the rest is history." He paused for a second before continuing, his expression thoughtful. "What about you? What do you remember about your death?"

Kara scratched the back of her neck. "I didn't feel anything when I died—I mean, I didn't feel any pain. I remember the bus coming at me. I remember thinking it was too late to run out of the way...then it hit. The next thing I remember, I was in an elevator." She shook her head. "I thought I was dreaming."

"I think we all go through that." David pointed. "There it is, 187 North Andrews Avenue, apartment number three...your first assignment. Let the show begin!" He glanced at his watch. "We don't have much time. Quickly!" He jogged to the front of the grey stone building and ran up the metal staircase, three floors to apartment number three.

Kara stared up at him from the bottom of the stairs and shrugged. "Great. I'm stuck in The Amazing David show." But she ran up the stairs, her body completely in tune with her.

"The key to a successful assignment is to do the job _quickly_ and discreetly. Save the mortal...and get out. No need for any demons if you save the mortal."

"Um, these demons," said Kara, "what do they look like?" She couldn't help but cringe while she waited for the answer. If demons existed, there was a slight chance her mother saw them too.

"Depends. There're lots of different kinds of demons. Some can look like monsters from your worst nightmares, and others can look just like you and me—mortal."

"With black eyes?"

"Yeah...how did you know?"

Kara's head spun. She tried to gather her thoughts. "My...my mother saw them I think. She...she called them demons. She said they were after us. I mean...we all thought she was nuts. I never saw anyone or any demons. I wanted to believe her. I tried so hard. She made it sound so _real..._ but I couldn't. I spent most of my life hiding her away from everyone so they wouldn't put me in foster care. See, my father died when I was five...so it's just...it was just the two of us."

"Well, she wasn't crazy." David cocked his head to the side. "Some mortals can see spirits and demons...they're called Sensitives. They formed a secret mortal society and have been dealing with the Legion for hundreds of years. Your mom is probably one of them."

"Sensitives," repeated Kara. "I...I guess you're right." Her guilt weighed her down. Her mother wasn't crazy. She remembered her mother screaming and pointing to invisible foes, and now Kara was filled with regret. Her mother had been telling the truth all these years. It only made Kara feel worse.

"Now, watch and learn." David rang the doorbell.

After a moment there was a screeching noise as the intercom went on.

"Yes...?" answered a woman's coarse voice.

David cleared his throat and gave Kara a wink. "Hi, Mrs. Wilkins? My name is John Mathews. I'm here with my friend Karen. We're from Saint Thomas's high school, and we're collecting donations for the swimming team. We're sure to win this year ..."

There was a loud screech from the intercom. "Oh! Yes, yes. Of course. Come on up!"

The door buzzed and vibrated as David pushed it open. "Her son used to be on the same swimming team. Let me do all the talking," he whispered, "your job for now is just to observe...see how I take care of the _damsel_ _in distress_! My good looks sometimes are enough."

"Sure thing, lover-boy." Kara followed him into the building. The air was thick and had a faint stench of lingering mold. She wrinkled her nose. Dirty brown stains painted the light grey walls, and leftover gum was smeared into the cruddy carpeted stairs. Dead cockroaches the size of mice lay on the floor next to the walls, and live ones disappeared into tight crevices. Voices from the neighboring apartment's television seeped through the walls.

When David reached the top of the stairs, he turned around. "And another thing," he said. "Mortal suits are temporary. They only last a few hours. Staying on Earth too long will give the demons our location. The longer we stay here, the easier it is for them to find us. They can sense us. That's why we have to hurry. But don't worry, demons don't just show up. We still have lots of time to do our job. But if ever you do see one, _don't_ panic!" He studied Kara's face. "The worst thing you can do is go ballistic and scare the mortal. She's not supposed to know anything about demons—or about us. We have strict rules about these things. Besides, I'm here to protect you. Do you understand?"

Kara nodded, biting her lip, although she wasn't entirely sure she _wouldn't_ flip out if she saw a demon coming her way. "Okay. Um, the demons...can they hurt us? I know we're dead but..." Her mind travelled back to when she was a child. "When I was little I used to have horrible nightmares about monsters...I used to see dark shapes following me all the time. My mom would say that they were demons, and that they wanted to eat my soul. Is that true? Jeez, listen to me...I'm such a spaz."

"You're not a spaz," said David, his eyes suddenly kind. "You're a guardian angel...and not a bad looking one either."

Kara rolled her eyes. "But seriously, can they hurt me now...or are we, like, _invincible_? Do we have _special_ angel abilities?"

David faced a door covered in peeling white paint. "Demons are the only ones who can take a guardian angel's soul. If a demon takes your soul then you stop existing, and there's no coming back. But with training, you'll develop your abilities. Look, for now, just leave the demon to _me..._ if there _is_ one. Today it's watch and learn."

Kara struggled to stay calm. She didn't want David to think she was a wimp, especially not on her very first day on the job. "But what do I do if I see one?"

David knocked on the door. "Show him the finger and maybe he'll disappear. No, seriously, just stay near me. Nothing's gonna happen. I'm here."

"Yeah...I feel a lot better, thanks." Kara sighed. She concentrated on David's relaxed demeanor to ease her mind. She realized she had no idea what she would do if she saw one.

The door creaked open to reveal a plump lady in her sixties. "Hello, dears...come in, come in," she said, as she waved them in. "So...you're both on the swimming team?"

"Yes," said David and Kara in unison, as they entered a small entranceway. Kara could see parts of a kitchen from where she stood, partially hidden behind walls which then opened up to the left to reveal a dining and living area. The small apartment reeked of dingy carpets and potpourri, and a smidgen of cat pee. How she missed her grandma.

Mrs. Wilkins surveyed the young couple. "Hmm. Well, you're a nice looking pair, aren't you?" Smiling, she wiggled her oversized body excitedly, sending waves rippling all the way down to her feet. "My Stanley always came home from practice dying for some juice. I'll fix you some." She turned slowly and teetered towards the kitchen.

David glared at Kara. Shaking his head, he showed her his watch and mouthed, _No!_

Kara peeked into the tiny kitchen and spotted the dishwasher's open door, and on display, a row of sharp knives flickering in the kitchen light, sticking out from the plastic cutlery basket in the dishwasher—the murderer.

"Um, that won't be necessary, ma'am," said Kara. "We...we just had some coffee not too long ago," she lied, putting on her best fake smile. "We're not thirsty, really."

Mrs. Wilkins halted and turned around. "Oh. I _see_. You young people are always in a hurry."

Kara scratched the back of her neck. "Um, yes...but thank you very much." Grinning, she stretched the corners of her lips as far as they would go.

Mrs. Wilkins frowned and studied Kara once more. She pinched her lips together. "Well, then. I'll go get my wallet." She wobbled down the wallpapered hallway and disappeared behind a door.

"That was close," breathed David. He glanced at his watch and grinned. "Well, Kara, today is your lucky day. One minute left, the charge is safe, and there are no signs of demons. This was an _excellent_ first assignment. Man, I'd kill for a beer right now."

Something moved in Kara's peripheral vision. She turned her head. In a dark corner of the hallway, down past the door where Mrs. Wilkins had disappeared, Kara saw a shadowy shimmer. At first she wasn't sure she saw anything at all...maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. But as her sight adjusted to the darkness, the shadow appeared again. It was little more than a shifting fog that flashed and disappeared. As it glistened in the dim light and flickered in and out of sight, it took solid form long enough to expose fragments of a corrupted and twisted body. The shifting shadow glided towards them.

Exactly like her nightmares.

# Chapter 4

### Down the Toilet

David dropped his bag. He shoved both hands into it, pulled out a long silver dagger with his right hand and grasped a brilliant white orb in the other. "Kara, move!"

But she couldn't. Glued to the spot, Kara's body suddenly turned ice cold, as though the temperature in the room had dropped by twenty degrees. Weakened by the evil the creature oozed, Kara felt icy hands tighten around her neck, suffocating the life out of her. "What's happening?" She brought her hands to her throat and felt the weight of the demon pull her down. Darkness lurked inside her, threatening to consume her mind.

But Kara wasn't about to let this ugly demon kill her. She was stronger than that. With her inner strength she strained and fought against its evil. After a moment, the cold released itself and dissipated.

"Quick...Behind me!" David pushed Kara hard to the ground. He ran past her and planted himself in the middle of the hall, swinging his weapons before him.

And at that moment, Mrs. Wilkins decided to join the fun.

"What's all this _racket_?" She bellowed as she bounced into the hallway between David and Kara. First she saw David, who was holding a very large dagger, and then she turned her attention to Kara on the floor a few feet behind him looking very pale.

"Good Lord!" Shrieked Mrs. Wilkins, cowering against the wall, "what are you trying to do with that knife?!" she cried. "Are you going to murder us...cut out our innards and sell them on the black market?" She squealed as she clutched her chest.

"Lady, we're here to _protect_ you!" cried David, his eyes locked on to the shadow.

Mrs. Wilkins followed the direction of David's eyes and saw the demon at the end of the hallway. She gave out a yelp. Taking on a solid form for a moment, the demon showed its true self, a putrid core of intertwined monsters. Wormy tendrils formed legs that it used to propel itself towards them. It shimmered before changing back into black mist.

"Go back to the Netherworld, shadow demon!" David thrust the white orb before him. Brilliant rays of white light shot out of the globe. They flew straight at the shadow demon. They hit. The demon let out an ear-piercing cry as its solid form reappeared, covered in light. Convulsing, it flickered and changed back into a black cloud, then vanished.

"Kara!" shouted David as he turned around and faced her. "Take Mrs. Wilkins outside...quickly...before more demons come!"

Kara blinked. She stared into David's face, her feet glued to the ground. Images of demons flashed inside her head...her childhood nightmares were real. Her mother had been telling the truth all along. The demon that tormented Kara in her dreams, time and time again, had just appeared a few feet away from her. She shook herself out of her trance and forced herself to concentrate on David's words. She had to do something. Mrs. Wilkins's body was trembling, her face screwed up in complete terror and bewilderment. She needed Kara's help. Kara was the _guardian,_ after all. Compelled to do the right thing, she pushed herself up and jumped towards Mrs. Wilkins, tripped, and fell flat on her face. _Oops._

Mrs. Wilkins, on the other hand, decided to move. Trampling over Kara she stumbled into the kitchen, screaming like a banshee.

"Kara!" yelled David, as he saw Mrs. Wilkins wobbling into dangerous territory. "Mrs. Wilkins's in the kitchen! The _dishwasher!_ Keep her from it!"

A chill prickled on Kara's M suit as she felt the temperature in the hallway drop again. She lifted her head off the ground and flinched as another shadow demon appeared behind David. "DAVID! BEHIND YOU!" She pointed towards the corrupted creature.

The shadow demon glistened back to a mist and grabbed David from behind, enveloping him in a black cloud. For a moment, Kara thought the demon had devoured him—there was nothing but a black fog where David had stood. Suddenly, the creature materialized back into its true self and David emerged. He leaped into the air as he fought the shadow demon off with his dagger, stabbing and slicing off parts of the creature. Black liquid sprayed the walls.

"Get—to—Mrs.—Wilkins..." he panted as he fought the demon.

"Right!" said Kara. She had to try to keep the lady away from the dishwasher. She struggled to her feet and staggered to the kitchen. She spotted Mrs. Wilkins hiding under the kitchen table, praying.

Kara fell to her knees, inches from the table. "Mrs. Wilkins, come, come with me...we have to get out of here!" She grabbed hold of the old woman's droopy arm and pulled. "Please, we have to go!" She urged.

But Mrs. Wilkins wasn't moving. With her eyes wide she just rocked back and forth, praying silently. Kara could hear David still fighting the shadow demon. She knew she had to move fast. She yanked Mrs. Wilkins with both hands, pulling as hard as she could. But nothing happened. Kara couldn't pull her out from under the table.

And when Kara thought things couldn't get any worse, she felt a chill as another shadow demon materialized in the kitchen, two feet away from Mrs. Wilkins's crying face. Nasty black cloud-like tentacles rippled along the kitchen floor, slipping their way towards them. Mrs. Wilkins screamed and rushed out from underneath the kitchen table, sending chairs and Kara flying back and crashing into the wall.

Kara watched the events as they happened as if she were watching a movie clip in slow motion. Mrs. Wilkins clambered out from under the kitchen table, slipped, and flew two feet in the air. Her body hovered for a moment—and crashed face first onto the open dishwasher door. With a loud _crunch_ , the dishwasher's door fell off its hinges and flattened under Mrs. Wilkins's weight.

Kara stared open-mouthed as Mrs. Wilkins lay spread-eagle on the kitchen floor, knives protruding from her bloody scalp. Her unspoiled left eye fixed on Kara, accusingly, as though this was her fault. After a moment the woman's body sparkled, as though her skin was painted with millions of tiny diamonds. The diamonds then detached themselves and hovered above the body, slowly coming together in a ball of light, like a tiny sun.

Something moved in Kara's peripheral vision. As she turned, she watched in horror as the shadow demon crawled towards the dead woman. Without thinking, she pushed herself up and ran towards the ball of light; something inside her told her to protect it. But after three strides she felt something grab a hold of her left foot. She fell flat on her face. Then her body was lifted in the air by her feet and thrown across the room. She hit the wall with a crash and fell hard on the floor. Kara struggled to her feet and whipped her head around. A pulpy mass of flesh with exposed veins slithered on the kitchen floor. Blood red tentacles lashed out, like an overgrown octopus. Multiple heads and mouths with razor-sharp teeth covered its body. The demon ignored Kara and crawled towards Mrs. Wilkins.

Stiff as a statue, Kara watched in horror as the creature's tentacles wrapped themselves around the woman's feet and pulled itself up, inches from the ball of light. Its misshapen form rolled onto the dead woman's corpse. Its touch corrupted her body, and her skin turned immediately black and rotted away, peeling. The shadow demon pulled itself up towards the light.

"NOOOOO!!!" Howled David, appearing suddenly in the doorframe, and ran towards Mrs. Wilkins.

But it was too late.

The shadow demon shimmered and grew. It then threw itself forward, swallowing the ball of light completely, and vanished.

David ran towards Mrs. Wilkins and looked down at her blackened body.

"Oh...this is _not_ good." He dropped to his knees. "We've lost the _soul_. I'm going to get sacked," he said, as he narrowed his eyes. "I HATE demons! I HATE THEM!"

He jumped up and started to kick the dishwasher. Mrs. Wilkins's shriveled body rebounded as it jiggled and bounced up against the door. Black ooze dripped out from the corners of her mouth.

David shook his head. "Wait a minute...I don't understand? How did they get here so quickly? It doesn't make any sense!"

"What...what do you mean? David, what are you talking about?"

"The demons. They never show up that fast. It's like...they knew we'd be here."

After a moment, he looked up at Kara, his eyes wild. "We have to get out of here!" He stood still for a moment, then sprinted out of the kitchen and vanished into the bathroom, leaving Kara staring open-mouthed.

"Quickly, this way!" yelled David from the bathroom doorway. "It's clear." He disappeared inside the bathroom.

"Crap...I don't have a good feeling about this!" Kara struggled to her feet. "Ow!" She felt a sharp pain on her right ankle. She lifted up her pant leg. A tiny black mark in the shape of a spider web traced her ankle. "What the...?" She rubbed her finger across it and felt no discomfort. The pain was gone. She rolled the bottom of her pant leg back down and took off after David.

When she reached the bathroom doorway, David was kneeling beside the toilet convulsing, but he wasn't puking his nonexistent guts. Instead, raging mad, he rummaged through the contents of his bag and pulled out a file. He shoved it in Kara's face. "Here, take this...you'll need it. We're going to Level Four. We have to tell them we've _lost_ a soul!"

Kara stared down at her shoes, feeling miserable. She wasn't entirely sure what this meant, or what she had done, but from the crazy expression on David's face she figured losing a soul was _very_ bad.

"I'm sorry," she managed to croak. "I...I—tripped and then I couldn't pull her out. I kept pulling and pulling, and then I tripped again and the demon...—"

"Don't worry about that." David straightened up and he threw the duffel back over his shoulder. "Right now, the best thing for you and me is to get out of here." He lifted up the toilet seat with his foot. He glanced up at Kara and cocked his head towards the toilet. "You go first, I'll cover you." He jumped over and stood in the doorway protectively, watching.

"What? What are you doing?" cried Kara, flabbergasted, her eyes bugging out of her head. "You don't want me to—you can't be _serious_. That's disgusting!"

David turned to face her and said sharply. "We really don't have time for this! Haven't you noticed the demons here— _hello?"_

Kara blinked. "You're crazy—no, you're insane! There's no way I'm touching that. It's nasty!"

"That's what they tell me." David turned his head and watched the hallway, then turned back to Kara and met her eyes. "I need you submerge your head in _water,_ and I'm not going to wait to draw you a bath. Do you _really_ want to wait around and see if the shadow demons decide to come back?"

Kara leaned towards the toilet and clasped her hand on her mouth "But it's got...it's got old-lady _residues_..." She grimaced as she gawked at the yellow water and the slimy brown ring around the inside. "You can't _seriously_ put your head in that!"

David sighed loudly as he dropped his shoulders and looked up at the ceiling. "You're not going to catch a _disease_ or anything, kiddo, you're _dead_. You're going to have to get used to it. It's your new career. Quickly...I'll be right behind you." He came forward and edged her towards the toilet.

"Wait!" said Kara desperately. "What happens after I put my head in...in...that?" She pointed to the toilet.

"You'll be back in Horizon, on your way to Level Four," said David after a long pause. "You'll be safe. Let's go, come on!" He pushed her forward.

There was a sudden loud _crunch_ from the kitchen.

Kara winced. She turned and looked at David with her eyes wide. He jumped into the hallway, his dagger clasped in his hand. Kara strained her legs to move and stepped into the doorframe. Sticking out her shaking head from the bathroom doorway, she realized the noise was only Mrs. Wilkins's shriveled up body slipping a few inches off the dishwasher's door.

Kara trembled. "David...the...the demons...they can come back. They can suck out our souls..."

David jumped back into the room and pushed Kara forward towards the toilet. "Okay, that's it. Don't make me throw you in there." He cocked an eyebrow. "I will if I have to...trust me."

Kara wobbled over and stared down at an empty toilet. __ "I can't believe I'm about to do... what I'm about to do. We need water—right."

She clasped the file against her chest. "I can't catch anything. I'm already dead." She shut her eyes. "It smells like roses...big, beautiful roses—like at Nanny's house." Kara pinched her nose, plunged her head in the toilet, felt her millions of molecules separating, and vanished.

# Chapter 5

### The Hall of Souls

Kara forced her eyes open. She stared at a grey marble floor. Half of her face was squished against the cool ground. She felt her knees folded under her and her butt in the air. Walls with wood panels surrounded her. She pushed herself up and sat on her heels.

An enormous primate sat in the operator's chair. Although he was sitting, his frame reached the top of the elevator's ceiling, his bald head grazing the top. His long hairy arms brushed the floor and his fat behind drooped on both sides of a wooden chair. Bright orange fur toppled over his red slacks and covered every inch of him...a jumbo-sized orangutan.

Kara scrambled to her feet and checked herself out. She studied the orangutan for moment and cleared her throat. "Hey there," she said and gave a little wave. "You're not chimp 5M51."

The orangutan rotated its head in Kara's direction. It blinked, and then whirled around in the chair to face her. A small pair of round spectacles rested crookedly on the bridge of his flattened nose.

"What floor, Miss?" It lowered its head to be at eye level with Kara and pushed the spectacles up with an exceptionally long finger. "Hmm?"

Kara raised her eyebrows. "Right...um..." She glanced down at the crumpled file still clutched against her chest. "Uh...I think I'm supposed to go to Level _Four_?" She looked behind her half expecting David to suddenly appear. She wished he was here with her.

The primate watched her. His watery eyes darted to the file she held near her middle. In one slow movement, it lifted its arm and pressed the number four brass button on the control panel. Long strands of orange hair swayed below his arm. "Level Four!" He said loudly, his peach colored eyes bewitching her.

"Thank you," she managed to say staring at the floor. "So...you work with chimp 5M51?"

"CHIMP!" interrupted the primate furiously. " _I_ am no _chimp!_ Do not mistake me for one of that _dreadful_ lot. My species is superior. _I_ am an orangutan. Orangutan 7PT9, if you please," he said as he puffed out his chest. He straightened his spectacles and wrinkled his face in contempt.

"Okay then, orangutan 7T-something-something...?"

Kara sighed as she waited in a long and uncomfortable silence. The elevator ascended to a higher level. She noticed the orangutan staring at her. "Why do you keep staring at my head?" she said after she couldn't bear it anymore. "Is my head on the menu or something? What is it?"

The orangutan dropped his eyes and stared at the floor. "Hmm...no reason. I wasn't staring at your head."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"You just did it again! I saw you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." 7PT9 lifted his chin and faced the control panel. His left eye stared at Kara.

Kara bit her lip. "Whatever." She hid her head behind the file. Her hands shook. "Stay calm. Level Four can't be as bad as Level Three," she said to herself.

Her mind flashed back to what had happened to Mrs. Wilkins moments ago. Images of shadow demons flashed before her eyes. A tiny ball of light hovered above Mrs. Wilkins's dead body. Kara frowned and lowered the file. She wasn't sure she was guardian angel material. She wrapped her arms around her chest. What happens to guardian angels who've lost a soul? Kara leaned against the panel. Her body trembled. She waited.

Suddenly the back of Kara's head bounced and hit the panel as the elevator jolted to a stop.

"Level Four: Hall of Souls!" yelled the orangutan.

"Okay, here goes nothing. Wish me luck!" Kara clasped the file against her chest and stepped up to the elevator doors, only to feel a sudden tug on her head.

"OUCH!" Kara rubbed her injured scalp. "Are you crazy! What? Is my head a dandruff buffet to you? What is _wrong_ with you _monkeys_!" she yelled.

The orangutan lifted his chin in the air. "Ah, correction...not _monkey_ , Miss, but _orangutan._ " He turned and faced the control panel. "Level Four," he called again as he sucked his fingers.

Kara glared at the orangutan. "Cannibal," she hissed under her breath.

"Tasty," replied the primate.

The doors swished open. Kara stepped forward. "Wow..."

She stumbled out of the elevator with legs made of jelly. She stood in a never-ending ebony sky. The Hall of Souls sparkled like a great field of fireflies. It reminded her of the sky above the farmer's fields behind her grandma's house at night, of watching the lightening bugs as they lit up the black skies like twinkling stars. The corners of her mouth curled up.

Kara trod forward on black marble floors. As she ventured deeper into Level Four she came to realize that her fireflies were, in fact, millions of dazzling spheres hovering in the air. Soon she found herself surrounded by light. Brilliant globes floated all around her, as though Christmas lights draped down from the sky. She peeked through the glowing spheres and caught a glimpse of something huge and white. It flickered in the midst of the great hall. The white shape glistened and grew brighter, like an enormous flame. A humid breeze caressed her cheeks. Soft humming filled her ears. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"Whoa!" cried Kara as someone crashed into her. She tripped and fell to the ground, then rolled over onto her elbows. Her aggressor walked away in the opposite direction and disappeared behind a wall of light. "Excuse _me!_ " growled Kara. She struggled to her feet. "What am I... _invisible?_ " She marched on, then stopped dead in her tracks.

Hundreds of golden-haired children scurried around the majestic space. They made their way through thousands of floating globes and carried what looked like large glass jars. Their Forget-me-not-blue robes swished behind them. Kara stared at their identical faces.

Three-wheeled vehicles sped erratically across the floors, driven by the same golden-haired kids. The back seats of the little cars were overloaded with more glass jars. They clinked together as the vehicles dashed through the walls of light and out of sight.

Kara was surrounded by a Cirque du Soleil extravaganza. She peered over the kids' heads. A sparkle caught her eye. She walked towards it. After a moment, she stepped into a clearing. A desk chiseled from a large block of glass stood on a raised platform. Catching the light from the globes, it sparkled like a giant diamond. A great man sat behind it.

Kara's feet vibrated below her and the mass of glowing globes hummed in unison, as though millions of fireflies took flight at the same moment.

But where was David? Had something happened to him? He was supposed to be right behind her. She shook __ her head, trying to purge the images of David being ripped apart by demons.

"Uh...excuse me?" said Kara to a flock of kids. She forced a smile reminiscent of David's. "Hi...can you help me? I'm not sure what to do with this?" She held up the file.

They ignored her and walked away, as though she was invisible.

"Thanks for nothing!" yelled Kara. Tapping sounds caught her attention. She turned around. "David! Ah...not David."

A pair of guardian angels with golden stars on their foreheads emerged from a wall of shining spheres. They marched past her, looking somber, and headed towards the glass desk. Kara decided to follow them.

They walked in single file towards the desk. It glimmered like a crystal in the sunlight. A rainbow of colors spilled onto the black floor. The desk was covered with books, with a large flat-screen computer monitor sandwiched between them. A massive man with a furrowed brow sat amongst the clutter of books and papers. He was dressed in a white robe, open in the front with a high gold-trimmed collar, his long sleeves folded on the desk. Gold cloth trimmed the wide cuffs. His face was handsome and serious. A golden glow emanated from his pale skin. And as Kara tiptoed closer, she noticed his forehead was marked with a golden shield, crisscrossed with two silver swords. He terrified her.

The two guardian angels dragged themselves up to the desk and spoke with their heads bowed. Kara stayed a few feet behind them. She fumbled with her file. The thought of addressing this man made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Perhaps no one would notice if she ran away. After a moment, the man looked up and gave them a malicious and calculating look. One of the angels held out a file. The man grabbed it and flipped it open. In a quick movement, he beckoned to the driver of one of the three-wheeled contraptions. The vehicle swerved around, sprinted towards the dais, and jolted to a halt. The guardian angels climbed into the back seat. With their heads bent awkwardly, they squeezed themselves into the tiny space. They raced out into the fields of glowing spheres. Kara stared after them.

"Where's David?!" whispered Kara. Her body tickled unpleasantly. Her mind was working hard. She bit her lower lip. Her hands shook and she teetered back and forth on her heels like a seesaw. After a moment, she edged forward. Her eyes were glued to the large man's hands. She halted with the file clasped tightly to her middle. She waited. He didn't seem to notice her at first. He studied the pages of a thick, leather-bound book. Kara recalled images of her once-upon-a-time-happy life back on Earth—alive—where angels and demons existed only in her paintings, and where she was enjoying a juicy piece of pepperoni pizza, with grease dripping down the corners of her mouth...

PLOP!

Kara stared wide-eyed at her file on the floor.

The giant man lifted his perfect head and examined her. "Name, class order, and rank," demanded a booming voice.

Kara forced the words out of her mouth. "Uh...I-I'm, Ka-Kara..." she stammered as she bent over and picked up the file. Her fingers trembled. "Um, I don't know my class order, but I know I'm a _rookie_?" She pushed herself up.

His flaring blue eyes searched her for a moment. He held out his hand in front of her. "Give me the file," he commanded.

Kara obeyed and handed him the file. Her hands trembled, and she clenched them into fists.

The man sat back and flipped through the file. His head snapped up. "You are the rookie, Kara Nightingale. Your class order is # 4321. You're back from your first assignment...where is your Petty Officer?" He lifted his brows and looked behind her.

"Um...I'm not sure. He was supposed to be right behind me..." Kara said nervously. She turned her head around, searching behind her. "He...he told me to come here to Level Four. That's all I know." She clasped her hands behind her back and fumbled with her fingers.

The man eyed her in silence for a moment. He looked back down at the file. "Tell me, what is the name of your Petty Officer?"

Kara blinked. "David McGowan."

With eyebrows raised, the man pursed his lips and looked up at her. "I see," he said flatly. "You're with _David_."

"Ah...do you know him? Are we in trouble or something?" She let her arms fall at her sides. "Do you know where he is?"

"I will have to report this." At that moment his hands moved over a keyboard. His brows dropped slowly and shot up every few seconds as he typed. After what seemed to Kara to be a very long five minutes of staring at someone's fingers there was a loud _tap, tap,_ and Kara turned to see David jogging up to her.

"Ah...there you are, Kara," said David, smiling widely. His hair was a bit messy, Kara noticed. But other than that he appeared fine. He turned to the giant man, "Hello, Ramiel. You miss me? Oh, Mighty One?"

Kara glared at him. __ "What took you so long?" __ she __ whispered. "I'm dying here!"

David dropped his duffel bag on the ground. "I was delayed. You know...demons."

Ramiel glared at David. His blue eyes blazed. "Well, David McGowan, I see you haven't lost your sense of _humor_ ," he said coldly. His face twisted in discontent. Kara stole a quick look at David, just long enough to catch him winking at her. She turned around.

"I see you have _abandoned_ your rookie on her very first assignment? I'm sure Lieutenant Archangel Gabriel would be interested in this information," said Ramiel. "Never playing by the rules...are we, David? Believe you are _above_ the rules? You're not setting a very good example for your rookie. Putting her life in danger—this isn't good for your record." He waved a large finger annoyingly at Kara, and then his eyes moved to David. He gave him a reproachful stare.

David smiled, studying Ramiel's face. "You're always so kind to me, Your Lordship. But don't worry, she was never in any danger—I took care of it."

Ramiel cocked an eyebrow. "We hope you will guide Kara and help her embrace her duties as a guardian angel...without the loss of her soul or _rule_ breaking."

David flashed his perfect teeth and put on an innocent look. "Me? _Rule_ breaking? Never, Your Blessedness! I am a true believer in playing by the rules...you just remember that," he beamed.

Ramiel's expression darkened. His beautiful face creased in contempt. With a loud _screech_ he pushed back his chair and stood up. He towered over Kara and David easily. "As I understand it, you're on very _thin_ ice already as it is, David. Unfortunately for you, the Legion is tired of your mess. You lack discipline. I better not hear of any foolish business like jumping out of airplanes or going after seven higher demons by yourself! What kind of example are you setting for the rookies?!" he roared.

Kara wondered how many other rookies David had trained before her. He couldn't be that bad, could he?

David lifted his right hand, palm facing Ramiel. "Cross my heart and hope to do die—oh, wait a minute. I'm already dead!" he laughed.

Ramiel's scowl was frightening. Kara had a feeling that, if he wanted, he could probably squish her and David into jelly. Instead he threw the file at David, who caught it easily. "There is a _soul_ to be burned." He sat back down and immediately returned his attention to his keyboard.

David opened the file and scanned through it. He closed it and turned to face Kara. His beaming face transformed quickly to a gloomy one. "Um...this burning soul business isn't the most pleasant, you know. But, hey...better get it out of the way. Let's go." David turned around and grabbed Kara by the arm. He pulled her along with him.

"What?" Kara blurted out, as she wiggled out of his grip. "Wait, uh...David, can you tell me what's going on? What am I supposed to do here? What did Ramiel mean by, ' _there's a soul to be burned_?'" Kara had a terrible feeling _her_ soul was the one to be barbecued.

"Huh? Oh, right. Don't worry about Ramiel. _Archangels_ think they own the place, just because they report to The Chief in person. Think that makes them _special_. Just a bunch of swollen-headed morons, if you ask me," he sneered and turned on his heel. He set off towards the fields of brilliant globes.

Kara chased after him. "So...soul burning—what's that? The thought of burning anything makes me nervous."

"You've lost Mrs. Wilkins' soul...so we have to go burn it. We have to throw the dead souls into the white fires of Atma. They can never be reborn."

"Souls can be _reborn_?" said Kara in awe. She couldn't picture it.

"Of course... when a mortal body dies, the soul is reborn into another mortal body when a new child is born. And the process just keeps going, over and over again, unless the soul gets killed...like Mrs. Wilkins'. Then it's finished—finito—they're goners."

Kara felt as though she had just been punched in the gut. Her legs stiffened. "I...I killed her. I killed her soul—this is all my fault." She imagined Mrs. Wilkins reborn as a cute little baby. Her throat tightened. "She'll never be reborn because of _me_. I...I killed her."

"It's not your fault. Don't torture yourself. Listen...these things happen, it's part of the job."

Kara dropped her shoulders. "Well...this part _really_ sucks."

David shoved his fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly. A three-wheeled car jerked to a stop. Kara followed David to the waiting car and squeezed herself into the back seat after him. He opened the file and showed it to the driver, who nodded and then stepped on the accelerator. The engine roared loudly. Kara and David flew against the back seats, their cramped bodies squished together in an extremely uncomfortable body tangle.

"AHHH!" wailed Kara, as the driver zigzagged his way around the great hall. She suddenly wished she had a stomach full of partially digested food, so that she could throw it up all over the driver.

Tall white flames wavered and danced up ahead, like a giant candle. The flames grew in size as they drove past them. The car raced on. It flew down invisible roads and paths in an endless blackness. Finally, it stopped. Thousands of globes sparkled all around them.

Kara looked around. A tall white fire burned in a majestic stone fireplace behind them. To Kara, it looked like a fire that belonged in a fairy tale. She wondered if she could touch the flame.

David yanked himself out of the vehicle and walked towards a wall of glowing spheres. He paid particular attention to a blackened globe which hung inches from the ground. Unlike the other sparkling spheres, no illumination came from it.

Kara pulled herself out of the car. The driver remained seated and stared in the opposite direction. A salty smell filled her nose, and her mind flashed with images of the ocean. She walked over and stood next to David. "What's the matter with you? You look like someone just died."

David leaned over the dark sphere. He sighed and was silent.

"What's going on? Why is everyone so frantic out about this black ball?" She looked at it suspiciously. "What's so special about it?"

Kara moved closer towards the dark globe. Immediately, she felt a wave of desolation pass through her, as though someone close to her had just died. She was overcome with sadness, which frightened her. She took a step back. "What...what _is_ that?" She shook her head and tried to shake the feelings away. "David...what's happening? Why do I feel like this?"

He knelt down and carefully grasped the sphere in his hands. "You're feeling the loss of a life. This soul belonged to Mrs. Wilkins. When the soul is killed on Earth, it also dies in Horizon. The life lights have gone out. All that's left is this blackened shell. Here...take it," said David as he pushed himself up and stretched out his hands.

Astounded, Kara took another step back. "What? You want me to hold it? No way!"

"You have to. You were the guardian angel of that soul. You're responsible for it." David grabbed Kara's right hand and pressed the globe into it.

As the cold sphere touched her skin, Kara was hit with an alarming number of different emotions, as though a collection of feelings from thousands of years had exploded into her all at once. She staggered and nearly dropped it.

"Careful now, don't _drop_ it," said David, as he grabbed Kara by the arm and steadied her.

"This feels so weird. W...what am I supposed to do with it?" Kara trembled as the emotions ran through her body.

"Throw it in the fire. Dead souls need to be burned in the white fires of Atma," answered David, and gestured behind them towards the huge stone fireplace. It towered fifteen feet above them. Tall white flames flickered hundreds of feet in the air.

"It's better if you make it quick, _trust_ me." David walked towards the impressive fireplace. He dragged Kara by the elbow with him. "This part of the job _really_ sucks. What you do is...you need to throw it in the fire."

They reached the fire and stopped. Kara blinked several times. The brightness of the flames hurt her eyes, like when she used to stare at the sun without blinking.

David studied Kara's face. "And better do it fast."

Kara raised her eyebrows. "Wait! Why do you look so tense? What's going to happen once I throw it in?" She had the horrible feeling that things were about to get a lot worse.

"Um, I can't really describe it...just do it," said David as he sensed her reluctance and pushed her forward with his hands against her back.

Wide-eyed, Kara took a step forward. She grasped the dead soul in her shaking palms. Kara approached the white fire. She was surprised to feel no heat. It was white hot, but she felt nothing...no burning sensation against her skin. She lifted her hands before her and threw the dead soul into the white fires.

The ground shook.

Millions of screaming voices exploded inside her head, as though all the existing souls cried out in excruciating pain the moment she dropped the globe into the white flames. Kara's body burned from the inside. The screams tormented her. They pulled at her soul. Images flashed before her eyes: a dark woman working in a field, a young blond girl riding her bike in a manicured suburb, an old woman bargaining for fish in a loud market. A sudden passion rose inside her as she saw images of a beautiful red headed woman kissing her lover. More images of different women flashed inside her brain. They screamed as their souls slowly pulled away from her, dying. She swayed on the spot, as the thunderous emotions ransacked her being. And then the feelings and images disappeared. She fell onto the hard floor.

Kara opened her eyes a moment later, only to see David's concerned face inches from her own. "It gets easier, I promise. I passed out, too, the first time. You don't look as bad though. Okay, let's get you up!" He yanked her back on her own two feet.

"That was..." she said in a harsh voice as she tried to regain control, "...very interesting. When do I stop shaking?"

"It'll pass in a few minutes. I know how painful it feels..." David reached out and pressed his hand against her back, rubbing gently in a circular motion. "It's really the worst part of the job."

Kara lifted up her head. Their eyes met and locked. Her skin prickled as she felt warmth spilling throughout her being. Tiny electric shocks zapped all the way from her head to the tip of her toes. She pulled her eyes away. There was a long and uncomfortable silence. She didn't dare look into his eyes again. So instead, she spoke to his boots. "When do we leave? I don't think I can stand another minute here."

David removed his hand from her back and stepped away. He stretched. "Right now."

"Good." Kara felt sick, if that was even possible in her guardian angel body. "So—where are we going now?"

David clasped his hands together and rubbed them. He beamed. "Now comes the fun part!" He danced on the spot. "You and I are going to Operations!"

# Chapter 6

### Operations

On the elevator ride to Operations, Kara watched silently as two identical monkeys operated the control panel. The size of common house cats, they were completely covered in black fur except for two white streaks along the sides of their backs. More white covered the bottom half of their faces, like an old man's beard. Long bushy tails wrapped around the chair's back rest. In a flash, one of the monkeys leaped off the chair and dashed across and around the elevator walls. It brushed the top of David's and Kara's heads before settling back beside its brother. It put something in its mouth and started chewing.

Kara rubbed the top of her scalp. She wanted to choke them. "That's gross! You little _creeps!_ "

" _Don't worry about it, I got this_ ," whispered David from the corner of his mouth.

Kara glared at the monkeys and put her hands on her head, protecting it from the furry cannibals. She blinked. A black shape rocketed across the walls—and then stopped. Its tiny feet dangled in the air as David grabbed a monkey by the throat.

He brought the monkey to his face. "I will pull off your tail and then your brother's tail if you try that again...rat. _Believe_ me."

And when he let go of the monkey, it scurried away and climbed back onto the chair, facing the panel. It stood still for a moment, then turned its head and stuck out its brown tongue. Its twin gave them the finger with its four hands.

"You're making this too easy for me, you little rats." David took a step forward.

"Okay, we'll stop!" said the monkeys in unison. "We promise we'll be good." Both monkeys flashed a set of yellow teeth and wrapped their arms around each other. Somehow, Kara wasn't convinced. She covered her head with her hands, just in case.

After a very long three minutes of obscene theatrics from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, the elevator jerked to a stop. The doors swished open, and Kara stepped off the elevator. Her feet pressed into soft ground.

Kara lifted her head and looked around. Operations was like the Sahara Desert. Rolling hills of ruby red sand stretched out for miles, rippling like giant Ruffles potato chips. A soft breeze tickled her forehead, and she wiped her bangs away from her eyes. A strong salty fragrance filled the air around them. It reminded her of the times when she was about ten years old, running across the beach at her grandparents' cottage, chasing the waves. Kara smiled. It was her happy place. Fluffy white clouds raced each other across a baby blue sky and out of sight.

_Whloop._

Kara turned. The top of the elevator disappeared into the ground, as though a patch of quicksand had swallowed it up. She followed David down a slope leading into a populated area in the middle of the red desert. Her feet pressed deep into the sand with every step as they got closer. Soon she was walking through a maze of tall white pyramids. She squinted. "What are those?" Kara side-stepped closer to one of them and stretched out her hand. Her fingers pressed right through it. She frowned. "Is this some kind of white sand?"

"No. It's salt," answered David.

Kara took a handful. She opened her fingers and watched the tiny white crystals escape through the gaps. She wiped her hand on her jeans and ran to catch up with David.

"Why is all this salt here?"

"It's for the pools."

"Right. And...why is that again?" asked Kara.

David smiled. "It's for protection."

He stared into Kara's eyes. "Salt is a weapon against demons. It acts as a repellent, sort of. It hurts them—and we can use it to kill them, too."

Kara nodded her head. "Good to know."

Loud thumping and squeaking noises surrounded them. Kara peeked around one of the pyramids. Hundreds of large construction-like trucks dumped huge quantities of salt onto the ground. The vehicles wheeled themselves right into the salt pyramids and sucked out the salt with long metal hoses, like giant vacuum cleaners. Massive round glass containers rested on their backs. They filled up with salt. Her eyes darted to the drivers. They were the same yellow-haired kids from the Hall of Souls.

David noticed Kara staring at the drivers. "The little guys are cherubs."

"Cherubs?" repeated Kara. "Aren't they supposed to have wings and fly around like cupid?"

"Don't believe everything you read."

Before she could open her mouth again and ask more questions, David grabbed Kara by the elbow and urged her forward. She followed him through the jungle of the salt pyramids. After a few minutes, they came to a clearing with thousands of open blue tents arranged in rows across a flatter part of the red desert. Long white drapes of cloth on poles rippled in the breeze atop each of the tents, like enormous flags. The tents were alive and loud with the clatter of steel on steel and the clamor of fighting. Hundreds of guardian angels fought each other in combat practice. They stabbed and sliced with shiny silver swords. The clanking of wood hitting wood grew louder as she spotted other angels hitting and blocking each other with wooden staffs. Puffs of red sand shot up in the air. The combatants kicked up their feet and plowed them into their opponent's chest.

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt." __ Kara studied David's face. "Am I going to learn all that?" She pointed to the fighting.

David turned his head and looked at her. He smiled. "Yup. And...you're gonna learn how to kick demon butt! Today's your first day of combat training."

Kara's face twisted in a grin. She felt tiny sparks of excitement. "I always wanted to learn how to defend myself...like learning some martial arts or something. I think it's cool." She skipped alongside David and increased her speed.

Some tents sheltered desks, spread out in rows as in a classroom. Guardian angels sat behind them with open books. Oracles stood on their crystal balls at the front of each of these classrooms and addressed the angels.

The salty ocean fragrance lingered in the air. Kara pressed her shoes into the red sand and followed David. She stretched her neck in every direction, not wanting to miss anything. Groups of oracles rolled past them. They conversed amongst themselves, carrying large books that left long paper trails behind.

After a few minutes of walking, they reached a gully where hundreds of round pools spread out in rows and disappeared beyond the red dunes. Shining metal staircases leaned against them. Loads of guardian angels jumped into the pools at the same time, like an international diving competition. Flashes of white light hovered above the pools, and then disappeared.

Kara and David walked through the crowds of angels and oracles to a tent filled with every kind of weapon imaginable: swords, bows, daggers, maces, axes, and glowing white nets. They all dangled from hooks screwed into standing wooden panels, like large tool walls. Tables were covered with shiny blue arrows and white crystal orbs of every size. David unhooked two long daggers and hid them inside his jacket.

"What am I supposed to use?" Kara glanced at the hundreds of weapons hanging from the panels. "Hey...what do I use? Yes, very good, David."

With a stupid smile plastered across his face and making sure he had Kara as an audience, David was juggling three orbs. He threw them higher and higher into the air. "Pick a sword or a dagger..." He caught the orbs one after another and bowed. "Whichever you want."

Kara shook her head. He was beginning to grow on her. She saw a small golden scabbard amongst the rows of larger swords. She walked over to the panel and lifted it from its hook. It had a gold handle with wing cross guards. She clasped her left hand around the scabbard, and pulled the blade out with her right hand. A flicker of light shone on the golden blade. She turned it in her hand. Stars appeared to be etched into it. The sword felt strangely familiar in her hand, and very light.

"So, you've picked this one, eh?" said David, as he moved beside her.

Kara looked down at the shiny sword and grinned. "Yup. I like it. It _sparkles._ " She twirled it in her hand, as she would one of her paintbrushes. She sliced the air as she brought it down. "I'm ready to cut me up some demons!"

David pressed his right hand against his chest and screwed up his face. "I'm so proud of you, I could _cry_."

"Please don't. So...where to now?"

He jumped up in the air. "Now you're talkin' like a true GA! This way!"

David grabbed Kara by the arm and pulled her out of the tent. He dragged her with him until he found an empty tent. Then he balanced himself and pulled off his boots with his feet. "It's better if you take your shoes off."

Kara looked down at her black ballerina flats. "Right...these aren't exactly combat material." She pulled off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the red sand. The soft sand felt wonderful against her toes.

"The Legion has a few basic maneuvers that all GAs have to learn...real easy stuff." David pulled off his jacket and threw it on the wooden table near the end of the tent. "I'll teach you how to attack, to parry, and how to riposte." He walked to the middle of the area beneath the tent, where the form of a circle was drawn with a white powder. He stood with legs apart. "Above all, you need to learn how to protect yourself. Once you've mastered this, then I'll teach you the fun stuff...how to _hit_ and _vanquish_ demons!" He stretched out his right arm and gestured with his hand for her to come where he stood. "You have to know where to _cut_ them...where it hurts."

"I can't believe I'm actually going to do this." Kara stepped forward and stood in the circle facing David. "Um...this should be interesting." She studied David's grinning face. "I must warn you...I sucked in gym class." She twisted her sword in her hand. "Never had good eye-hand coordination."

"You'll do fine."

"You might lose an eye."

"The ladies love an eye patch."

"Okay then, I'm ready, Captain Hook."

David flashed a smile. "First, always make sure to have sufficient distance between your feet..."

Kara mimicked David's feet position and stood with her legs apart.

"Good. And keep track of all the moves your opponent makes. Now, I'm going to show you how to parry. When you parry, the blade should be closer to the body like this..."

David clasped the sword with both hands and pointed the blade down with his wrists pronated, "...for self defense. You should always be looking for an opening to counter the attack. You ready?"

"I think so."

"Okay, I'm going to raise my sword and come in for an attack. Let the swords hit."

David moved forward and with a _clang_ he hit Kara's sword with his own.

He stood facing her. "Now you want to sidestep and wrap your sword around so that you're holding it over your head...and ready to strike back. Like this..."

David rolled around, forcing Kara to follow his momentum. She came up around him and held her sword over her head, deflecting David's strike.

"I can do this!" said Kara. "I can really do this!"

David studied her face. "You see...you want to try it again?"

"Yeah! This is amazing. I can't believe it..."

"If you don't stop smiling soon, your face is gonna stay like that," laughed David.

Kara flashed a frown at David. "What's _wrong_ with my smile?"

He raised his eyebrows, a huge smile of his own plastered across his face. "Nothing. Smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips."

"Hey!" Kara shoved David forward, grateful for the non-existent flush on her cheeks. "Let's go!" She tightened her grip on her sword.

David showed Kara how to disarm her opponent by twisting his blade and leaving him no choice but to drop it. She tripped on her own feet a couple of times and fell flat on her face, which was totally normal. But what felt abnormal to Kara was the fact that she didn't even break into a sweat and never got tired. She had no need for water, for food, or even for sleep. Like the energizer bunny, she kept on going and going and going. And for the following days—what Kara believed to be days—they spent every hour going over the hitting and blocking techniques.

"Keep your guard up!" yelled David. He slashed Kara across the arm with his blade. A deep wound.

Immediately, Kara dropped to her knees and covered the cut with her hand. She stared open-mouthed at her arm. "You-you _cut_ me? You cut my arm?" She glared at David, who only stared back.

His face crinkled into a smile. "Relax, it's nothing..."

"Nothing! You practically sliced my arm off!" Kara narrowed her eyes and looked back at her wound. She bit her lip, closed her right eye, and peeked with her left eye through her bangs. She prepared herself for the worst. But as Kara lifted her hand from her injury, she fell over backwards. A flash of brilliant light obscured her vision. She blinked. Rays of white light poured out from the gaping wound, as if a flashlight shone through the cut.

"What the...?" The wound started to heal itself. It pulled the edges of the cut together slowly, until not even a scar remained, as though her skin had stitched itself together. "I'm going mad!" She stared at her arm. "Holy shi..."

"Ah! None of _that_ here," laughed David, "you don't want Gabriel to hear you, _trust_ me."

"But, my...my arm? My skin? It just...fixed itself!" Kara couldn't believe her eyes; she felt as if she had just witnessed a really good visual effects stunt.

David pulled her up on her feet. "You're an _angel_ , what did you expect, blood? You have no blood—you're not _human_ anymore."

"Right...I...I forgot. I'm not human anymore." Kara stared at her arm where the cut had disappeared. She passed her hand along her skin. She smirked. "Wow. I'm like a super hero! I can heal myself."

Kara was surprised to find that she enjoyed the training sessions with David. Her many injuries healed themselves, and remarkably, she developed a knack for it. The moves suddenly made sense. Her reflexes were good, and she could keep up with David.

A crowd of GAs grew slowly and formed a circle around Kara and David. Her neurons acted up. She felt prickling all over her body. She hated having any kind of attention on her. A tall and powerful-looking older teen guardian angel stepped out from the crowd. He walked up to David and Kara with a grin on his face. His brown hair shimmered in the sun. Two golden stars flashed on his forehead.

"Wow, pretty good for a rookie. But then again, your teacher lacks discipline...any rookie could beat him," he laughed as he turned and encouraged the crowd to laugh as well. He turned his handsome face and eyeballed Kara.

"Care to test your skills on me? Unless of course, _your_ Petty Officer is afraid I'll make him look bad in front of his peers?"

He flashed his gleaming white teeth at David. A few GAs snickered.

David pursed his lips. Kara saw hatred in his eyes as he stepped up to the angel. "Don't you have a hair appointment or something, Benson? Stop wasting our time, douche bag," he said, as he shifted his sword between his hands menacingly. He looked at Kara momentarily and gave her a wink.

A second later, Benson pulled out a gleaming silver sword. "Always a wise-ass."

The crowd around him dispersed. His face twisted up in concentration. He bared his teeth in a snarl with his eyes glued on David.

"What is this, a testosterone fight in Horizon?" Kara took a step towards them, lifting her hands in the air with her palms facing outwards. "Okay, boys, let's not do anything stupid. We're in a _happy_ place, right? There's no need for this."

Benson turned his attention to Kara. His tawny eyes glittered as he stared her down. He studied her with a strange look in his eyes. "I see why you've picked this one...she's _pretty_. We all know what you do to the pretty ones."

Kara frowned and watched David's reaction. She couldn't read his face under all the angry wrinkles.

"I'd mind my own business if I were you," David growled.

"It is my business. She was my _friend_. I knew what you were doing to her!"

"What?" said Kara. "David...what is he talking about?" A sudden feeling of jealously welled inside her. She tried to shake it off, but somehow it was getting worse.

And without warning, Benson charged forward and kicked David hard in the stomach. Kara watched in horror as David stumbled backwards. He regained his balance quickly and stepped back into the fighting circle, his blade grasped tightly in his hand.

Benson's face cracked into a sly smile. "I'm surprised the Legion even gave you a rookie, after what happened to Sarah. I always said you were going to get one of us killed! What you did to her was unforgivable. You broke our most _sacred_ law!"

He turned his head and read the puzzlement on Kara's face.

"Oh? So she doesn't know? You're better off looking for another Petty Officer, Rookie. _Love_ affairs are forbidden in Horizon."

Kara looked at David and saw a flash of fury in his eyes as he threw himself at Benson.

"ANGELS!" an oracle bellowed, "What is going on here?" Kara watched the oracle roll over towards them. She had never seen an oracle look so outraged.

"Nothing, oracle," answered Benson, with the face of an angel. "We're practicing combat maneuvers...that's all."

The oracle's blue eyes went from Benson to Kara to David, before going back to Benson. The oracle pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow. "It didn't look like practice from where I was...and I've _seen_ it many times before! A bit _harsh_ , don't you think? You are not savages...you are angels! It's time you behave like them."

"We need to be able to defend ourselves...in extreme conditions..." said Benson. "Nothing we can't handle."

"You _can't_ handle anything." David met Benson's glare.

" _Your_ methods are not safe! They're insane! __ Your rookie will _die_ because of you!" spat Benson as he clasped his sword. His knuckles turned white.

"That's enough!" yelled the oracle.

The ground shook. The light from inside his crystal ball seemed to darken.

The oracle twirled his beard around his fingers. "Everyone out! You have jobs to do and souls to save. Let's go!" Immediately, the crowd dispersed.

Benson threw a finger in David's direction. "You'll _pay_ for her death! Filth like you doesn't belong in the Legion." Kara watched in silence as Benson marched out of the tent and out of sight. A few of his minion GAs tagged along behind him like sad little puppies.

"It really upsets me to see you angels not getting along," said the oracle. "And as for the two of you," he said as he pointed a skinny finger, "you have a bus to catch." Then he steered his glass sphere around and rolled away.

David stared at his feet. His expression changed like clouds before a storm. Kara wanted to ask David who had died, but something told her now was not the time. Instead, she settled for the obvious. She bent her body sideways and searched David's face. "Why does Benson hate you so much?"

"Because I'm better looking," he answered, as he met her eyes and winked.

"You're so full of crap. You know that?"

David's face cracked into a smile. "And that's why you _love_ me."

"Oh, _please_. Did he hit you on the head or something? I think you're suffering from a bit of brain fart."

"Maybe," laughed David. "Okay, I think that's enough training for a while. You're more than ready for your next assignment."

They walked in silence through the red desert. Kara's mind filled with unanswered questions. But some in particular kept coming back. Who the heck is this Sarah? And what happened to her?

# Chapter 7

### Fish Nets and Salt Shakers

David led Kara down a little slope into the heart of the desert. They made their way towards a large white tent resting in the midst of a sandy red ocean. A large powerful man with short black hair sat in a chair.

"Is that another Archangel?" asked Kara.

"Yup."

"Thought so. They're all, like, really... _big_."

"Big men with bigger egos."

The Archangel's dark brown skin contrasted against his white linen top and trousers. Her eyes moved to his face. It was beautiful, as if some higher power had sculpted it to perfection. She forced herself to look away.

In the light wind, sheets of paper fluttered across the top of a great wooden table that ran the length of the tent. Kara counted ten oracles rolling on their glass globes, rummaging through files along the table. A line of about fifty guardian angels waited patiently on the other side. Some angels stood at the front of the table. They each conversed with an oracle. After a moment one of the oracles gave an angel a file, then the angel nodded and marched out of the tent. He walked down a gully and headed towards the pool area. A few minutes later, the guardian angel climbed up a metal staircase and jumped in without hesitating.

A loud _tick tock_ sound found its way to Kara's ears. A large brass grandfather clock stood in the background...it read two o'clock.

She followed David to the end of the line and looked up at him. His face cracked into a grin. She rolled her eyes and turned her head towards the pools. Silhouettes of GAs jumped into the waters of their next assignments. Kara and David stood in silence for a while. The waiting was driving her mad.

"So...what's the next assignment?" Kara asked.

"Don't know yet. We'll know what it is once the oracle gives us the job file."

Kara sighed. "Right...do you think it'll be easier or harder this time?"

David shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure."

"Hmm."

Kara's mind flashed to the mysterious Sarah. She couldn't get her out of her head. Who was she? Did David break the sacred Horizon laws and had an affair with her? Could angels fall in love? She fought the strange jealous feelings creeping inside her. When Kara looked towards the grand table, they were finally at the head of the line and David addressed the Archangel.

"Hey...what's up, Gabe?" David bared his teeth.

There was a long pause before the Archangel lifted his eyes from his paper and gazed upon David. Kara saw him fully. Tall and powerful, with fierce black eyes that seemed to pierce through you. His face was dark and commanding; a magnificent beast of a man and as dangerous as a grizzly bear. His face was twisted in a scowl. "It's _Gabriel_ ," growled the Archangel as his mood darkened. "Ah, and here is our _famous_ delinquent." The Archangel Gabriel towered over them, narrowing his eyes.

Kara bit the inside of her cheek. Does anybody like David in Horizon?

"Ha, ha, ha...very funny, Gabe," David said and turned to give Kara his trademark wink. He rolled his head back to Gabriel. "So...got anything good for us?"

Gabriel's dark brown eyes flashed with resentment. "That depends on what you mean by _good_. But something has come up which might suit you, and your _particular_ way of doing your job."

Kara felt a poke at her side. David raised his eyebrows. With a goofy smile painted across his face, he gave her two thumbs up. She smiled back and nodded. While David shifted with excitement, Kara studied Gabriel. He got up from his chair and walked over to an oracle to his right. They exchanged words, and after a moment Gabriel came back with a file clutched in his hand. He glanced at Kara for the first time, for about two seconds, and then he glared back at David.

"This assignment should agree with your rookie," boomed the Archangel, "as it is simple and should not have any _complications_." Kara noticed the emphasis on the word _complication_. Gabriel stepped forward and thrust the file at David.

"Seems simple enough," said David after a moment, a slight lifting at the corners of his mouth. "And right up our alley." He closed the file.

Gabriel's hands turned into fists. "Remember our last conversation, David."

Kara realized that wasn't a question.

"No fooling around, you understand? I'm tired of covering up your messes. If you don't smarten up and take your job seriously, you'll be stricken from your GA post." He pointed a large finger at David. "This is your _last_ warning!"

David kept smiling. "It's all good, Gabe."

"I'm _dead_ serious, David!"

David rolled his eyes. "Ha, you're already _dead_!" He placed his right hand on his chest. "Don't worry, Gabe. I'll be a good little soldier—I promise."

"David, stop it! You're going to get us in trouble," __ whispered Kara.

"Don't worry...Gabe loves me," whispered David through his teeth.

"You're so full of crap! Oh no..."

The Archangel turned his attention to Kara. His dark eyes focused on her unnaturally, as though trying to break into her mind. He blinked and looked back to David. "After this _simple_ assignment, I want you and your rookie to report back to me. Understand? She still needs more combat training."

Kara followed Gabriel's gaze over to the closest blue tent, where two guardian angels fought one another with swords. Their feet moved quickly in the sand, kicking up little clouds of red dust. Their weapons collided with loud clatters.

The oracle's voice woke her from her trance. "What are you waiting for? Get to it!" he yelled and clapped his grubby little hands together. "No time to waste! There are _lives_ to be saved!" He turned around and looked at the clock. "Quickly now, you have less than an hour!" He waved his short arms in the air as he urged them on.

David turned and faced Kara. "Let's go." He walked out of the red tent with Kara at his heels.

"DAVID!" bellowed Gabriel. "Remember what we discussed!"

"Sure thing, Gabe," answered David as he turned back around. He grabbed Kara by the elbow and steered her out from the tent.

Kara glanced back and met Gabriel's eyes, and saw a flash of suspicion in them. She quickly looked away.

After they replenished themselves with weapons in the weapons tent, Kara followed David down a slight slope to one of the many pools. Loud _plops_ could be heard in every direction as hundreds of guardian angels plunged into them. Kara grimaced. A splash of salt water hit her face. She heard a motor running and turned to see a contraption that looked like giant vacuum cleaner. It rolled up to a neighboring pool and spit out the salt from its belly into the water.

"This place just gets on weirder by the minute," Kara said.

David placed himself behind a short line of guardian angels and waited to climb up to the pool's deck. "You ready?"

An old man five pools down pressed his hands together in front of himself, squatted, and with great effort he leaped into the air and belly-flopped into the water with a huge smile on his face.

"I'm not sure," said Kara. Water spilled out and around the edges of the pool. "What happens if I fail again?" Now Kara watched an Asian couple holding hands as they jumped into the pool together yelling, "Woo hee!"

"You won't. Trust me." David nudged Kara on the arm with his fist.

But somehow she wasn't convinced. She had a premonition that this new job wasn't as easy as she first imagined it to be, and a lot more dangerous.

David searched Kara's face for a moment, and then pulled himself up the metal staircase attached to the pool. "You'll see, it's going to get better, I promise. Stick with me and I'll show you a great time." He knelt down and passed his hand in the water. "Come on in, the water's great!" He beamed.

Kara sighed and climbed the staircase. She stepped onto the ledge and settled herself beside David. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as soon as her lips parted.

Benson stood on the edge of the neighboring pool. He stared at David with an expression of disgust, as though he had just bitten into a sour fruit. He stood there, his body hard and motionless, like a statue. Only his eyes moved as they looked David up and down. And then David noticed Benson. To Kara's surprise, he regarded him with disgust as well. Both men stared at each other down from a distance, as in a western pistol duel. But Kara saw pure hatred in David's eyes as he glared at Benson. He turned his head away and looked at Kara. "Okay, you ready?"

"Uh—what was _that_ about?" Kara said, still staring at Benson. "You guys look as if you want to rip out each other's throats." She turned and looked at David.

He met her eyes. "Nothing worth mentioning. Benson's a douche bag."

Within seconds, Benson pinched his nose, bent his knees, and jumped into the water. His body lingered for a moment through the moving waters, and then he started to spin horizontally. Seconds later, his entire body sparkled in brilliant white light. And then Benson vanished. No sooner had he performed his disappearing act than another guardian angel stepped up to the ledge and took the plunge. It was like watching a line of falling dominoes—angels kept jumping into the pools one after the other.

"We really should go," said David. He edged forward, ready to dive in. "We have to jump in at the same time. We can hold hands if you want...?"

"No thanks. I'm good. Can you stop smiling please?" Kara stuck her hands at her sides and bit her bottom lip. "We'll jump in at the same time."

"Okay then. On the count of three."

Kara nodded. She stared at the reflections on the water's surface. The water was a sheet of diamonds, sparkling in the sun light.

"One..." said David.

_One_ , echoed Kara in her head as she tried to suppress her nerves.

"Two..."

Kara felt tiny electric shocks move around in her body—her nonexistent nervous system acting up.

"Three!"

David and Kara leaped into the air and plunged into the pool at the same time. Water splashed all around as they sank to the bottom. Kara opened her eyes and turned her head to the right. David was covered in light. A muffled sound escaped his mouth as his lips flapped together. He lifted his left hand and flipped his thumb up. Then Kara's vision blurred as she felt her body starting to spin. She kept her eyes open. Whitish bubbles floated in front of her and white light illuminated her body. Brilliant particles detached themselves one by one from her body—and then everything around her vanished.

Kara opened her eyes moments later. She sat in the back seat of a parked car. Cracked brown leather covered the seats. The only light came from the windows, which were nearly completely covered with grey grime. She crinkled her nose. It smelled like dirty old shoes and cigarettes. She blinked. Her vision adjusted itself to her new surroundings. David sat comfortably in the front seat. The leather seat screeched as he turned around to face her.

"How you feeling?" he asked, his face worried. "You okay?" He was almost angelic in that soft light, not at all the cocky soldier she was getting to know, but a beautiful creature from the heavens. She wished he'd stop being so concerned.

Kara pursed her lips and nodded. "I will be after the spinning stops."

She took a moment to get used to the dizziness. "That's weird." She said after a moment. "The dizziness is gone...I'm not spinning anymore. What the...?" She moved her hands. "I feel in more control of this body than I did the first time. It's still weird—super weird—but much better this time. A lot better." Her lips curled into a smile.

"That's great. The dizziness goes away after you've done about five Vega—after that, piece of cake. You won't feel a thing." David smiled at her, teeth bared.

Kara rubbed her forearm and pressed her hand against her mortal flesh. "Wow, this is still so weird!" __ She passed her hand gently on her skin. "It feels synthetic. Like there's a layer of saran wrap on top. Creepy," she laughed. She let go of her arm and looked around the car. "So... where are we?" She strained her eyes to see outside the car windows.

"Let's find out." David grabbed the file from inside his leather jacket. He flipped it open on his knees. "Okay," he said after a moment, and looked outside his passenger window. "I think we're on Saint Hubert Street...yeah, I see it! We need to be on the corner of Notre Dame and Gosford Street in..." David glanced at his watch, "...in about forty minutes."

Kara looked out the window. "I know where we are. We're in Old Montreal! Most of my art classes were in this area. All the best art galleries in the city are here." She pressed her nose against the dirty glass.

"You were an artist? Before the..."

"Yup. Well... more like a wannabe artist." Kara turned and met David's eyes. "I was on my way to a really important competition...when I got squished by the bus."

"Ouch...that's pretty nasty." David looked away. "Was your boyfriend waiting for you...at that competition?"

Kara's mouth opened but nothing came out. She composed herself. "Uh...no, I didn't have a boyfriend. My best friend Mat was waiting for me, actually." She noticed David had a strange expression on his face.

"Were you guys close?"

"Close? Well, yeah. He was practically the only real friend I had. Whenever I brought new friends to my house they usually ran away screaming."

"Because of your mom and her demons?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't the only reason. I don't know how to explain it—and you'll probably think I'm crazy—but sometimes my mother would _disappear_ before my eyes and reappear seconds later...somewhere else. Like one minute she's in the kitchen, and then the next, she's in the bathroom. And I can see by the look in your eye that you think I'm nuts."

David shook his head. "No. I'm trying to understand what you're saying. Your mother would just... disappear?"

"Yup. The only explanation that makes sense was that I probably suffered from recurring blackouts. You know, like loss of time? I'm pretty sure my brain was protecting itself from my mother's insane behavior. At the time I didn't know anything about Sensitives. This whole demon thing was probably too much for me."

David flicked the file with his thumb. "I don't think they were blackouts."

"What?" Kara leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"In fact, I don't think _you_ had anything to do with your mother's disappearances." David rubbed his chin. "I'll have to check with Gabe...but if what you're telling me is true...your mother is a guardian angel."

Kara's head spun. David's words hit her hard. She struggled with her thoughts. "W...what? But...no...that's impossible. My mother never _died_. She can't be an angel."

"Yes she can." David gave her a warm smile. "You just didn't know."

It took a moment for Kara to speak again. "I...I don't under...what are you saying?"

"I think your mom's a guardian angel. Like you and me. You wouldn't have noticed when she died. Her soul went straight to Horizon. And they probably sent her right back at that same point in time...before she died, and made it look like she didn't die."

"Okay, I'm confused."

"Try not to think about this now; we'll figure it out later. Let's concentrate on our mission." He glanced at his watch again. "We have less than thirty-five minutes."

"How am I supposed to concentrate when you tell me my mom might be a guardian angel?!" Kara held her face in her hands. "All those years I thought she was nuts. I even wished I could run away...away from the madness. And...all along...all this time...she was helping people and fighting demons. I feel like such a jerk."

"Don't. You didn't know. And I might be wrong. Kara, listen to me. We'll look into it when we get back to Horizon...I promise. But now we really have to go."

"Okay." said Kara. She'd have lots of time to feel sorry for herself later. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Um, what's the mission—the job thing?"

David passed her the file. She read:

* * *

**_Petty Officer: David McGowan_**

**_Guardian Angel: Kara Nightingale_**

**_Class order # 4321_**

**_Rank: Rookie 1st year, W-1 Guard squad, (lowest rank)_**

**_Assignment: Mr. Jean Tremblay, on the corner of Notre Dame and Gosford Street, sidewalk. 15:07 pm._**

**_Crushed by a two ton concrete block when a cable from a giant crane snaps._**

* * *

David pushed open the passenger door with a pop. "Let's go." He whirled his legs out of the car and pulled himself up and out.

Kara struggled out of the car and gave David back the file. "Uh, you know... if we can't stop the crane from collapsing it's going to get a little messy."

"The messier the better!" David beamed. He pushed Kara's door closed. "We're only a few minutes away by foot. Follow me." And with that, he turned on his heels and walked southwards on Saint Hubert Street. Kara followed closely behind, her mind filled with thoughts of her mother.

They arrived on the corner of Notre Dame and turned right, heading west. The street was packed with the usual business types: women and men in expensive suits, carrying café lattes in one hand while chatting on their cell phones with the other. Taxis honked loudly as Kara and David zigzagged through moving cars in the crowded street. The taxi drivers were making obscene gestures through their windows at the jay-walking pedestrians.

Kara smelled the exhausts fumes. "Mmm...it's good to be back."

David laughed. "Nothing like a good whiff of city streets to make ya home sick."

They arrived at Gosford Street about ten minutes later. A giant crane towered over the city's buildings. Its long metal neck reached for the sky. It rotated slowly, carrying a large load hooked on its metal cable. Men in dark blue uniforms and bright orange construction hard hats shouted over the loud thumping noises and roaring engines. The construction site spilled over an entire block.

Kara watched as a single man with an orange hat waved the pedestrians along with a striped white and black flag. His face was sunburned, and it cracked into a million wrinkles when he took a drag from his cigarette. A huge round belly sprouted out of him, hanging low above crooked legs. To Kara, he looked like a very ugly pregnant woman.

"Well, we have about twenty minutes to kill," said David, as he glanced at his watch. "Enough time to get ready." He looked up and down the giant crane, studying it for a moment. "The crane will probably rotate this way... and then the cable will snap at around there." He pointed north. "That concrete block is big enough to splatter someone all right. Wow, that's gotta hurt."

Kara stood and watched the passersby, waiting for the event _du jour_. She tapped her foot on the ground. "David—you really think, with my new training, I'll be able to handle the demons? I mean—I feel stronger, and I have these new skills... but will it be enough? David...?"

David waved at two voluptuous mortal women, who happened to be waving and smiling back.

"You've got to be kidding me! David!" Kara punched him.

"OUCH!" cried David, as he rubbed his arm.

"That didn't hurt, you _liar_." She couldn't help smiling.

David continued to rub his arm as he grinned widely. "Yeah, well, you have _man_ hands!"

The two women watched David with suspicion in their eyes. Then they stared at Kara and whispered to each other, wide-eyed. After a moment they walked away, but not before giving David the evil eye _._

Secretly, Kara hated those women—the voluptuous kind, sculpted by the hands of a higher power, perfect in every aspect, impossibly beautiful: long silky hair and healthy-looking curves in the right spots, the exact opposite of the straight lines from her tomboyish body. The boob-fairy had never visited Kara, even with all the money she had collected and hidden under her pillow. Nope. The boob-fairy skipped her house and magicked all the other girls from her high school with great-looking chests. No wonder David had eyes for the other girls...there was nothing to look at over here.

What happened next was purely incidental. She didn't know what possessed her; the words just busted out of her mouth, and before she realized what was happening it was already too late. "Who's Sarah?" _Oops._

David winced, clearly not expecting it. "Huh?" He turned around to face her, his face twisted in distress.

Kara wished she hadn't asked, and stared at a spot on his shoulder. "Me and my big mouth. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's all right." David sighed and was silent for a moment. "Sarah was a rookie, like you...and my friend. We worked on missions together. And we were really close."

"I see."

"No, not like _that_. We were just _friends_. But then rumors started spreading about our alleged affair—which wasn't true. Romance is forbidden in Horizon. We're told to be soldiers, not lovers. If you're caught, you're banned from the Legion forever—I've heard stories that they even take your soul away. So, anyway...the Legion got involved. They tried to separate us, but we always managed to hang out anyway and go on jobs together."

"So, what happened to her?" Kara asked softly. "Did she...die?"

David stared at the ground. "After we'd completed one of our missions, we decided to hang out longer on Earth. It was Friday night, so we went to a few clubs. You have to understand something...we were all mortals once, and sometimes we still long some of those mortal feelings: the naivety and carefree attitudes. We wanted a break from our responsibilities. Anyway, we had far too many drinks, we both made some new mortal friends of the opposite sex, and we forgot who we were and how long we'd been out." He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. "And then when they came, we were weak and unprepared."

"Who came, David?"

"Demons. I fought them off me, but when I reached Sarah...it was too late."

The images of shadow demons devouring Sarah rose up behind Kara's eyes. She took a moment to process it. "I'm sorry, David. You must have been in a lot of pain."

He stared out into the crowds of people wandering the streets. "It was a long time ago. But I live with it every day."

Kara couldn't think of anything to say. She watched his pain in the creases of his forehead and remained silent.

Sometime later, David spotted the crane's cable starting to give way. Smaller wires snapped and curled away, leaving the cable thinner and weaker. "Okay, get ready Kiddo. Here it comes." He pointed north on Gosford. "I'll try to stop the crane from moving this way—you look for Mr. Tremblay; he should be walking on Notre Dame Street, coming towards us."

"Right." Kara glanced westwards on Notre Dame Street. "It would help if I knew what Mr. Tremblay looked like!" She stared at the tiny crowds of people wandering the street.

"Look for the one with the name tag...Mr. Tremblay."

Kara sighed. "Very funny, smart ass."

"I know."

"David, w...what about the shadow demons?" croaked Kara. She remembered her last encounter with them. "What am I supposed to do if I see one?"

David plopped his backpack on the ground and zipped it open. He rummaged through it and handed Kara a small fish net and a salt shaker.

"What the...?" said Kara, bewildered. She took them. "Is this a joke?"

"Nope."

"You can't be serious? Have you _seen_ what shadow demons look like? How am I supposed to protect myself with this?" she cried, as she waved the fish net in the air. "I'm going to get killed!"

"No, you won't; you're with me. Stop freaking out."

"I am freaking out! I'm not out here to catch _butterflies_!"

"Just relax..."

Kara couldn't believe how cool David was. This had to be some sort of mistake. "Why can't I get a proper sword like you? Didn't you pack the golden one I used for training?"

David zipped up his backpack and threw it over his shoulder. "Nope. You don't have the proper training yet. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself! Are you _serious_! I'm going to get _killed_!"

"You're over-reacting. Stop screaming...you're making a scene. Look...the mortals are looking." David curled the corners of his lips. "Ah...women."

"You saw what I can do...you know I can use a blade! Come on!"

"This discussion is over. Nothing's going to happen, just keep Mr. Tremblay out of harm's way. See, we have plenty of time to stop the crane and..."

David's jaw dropped. His were eyes focused on something.

"David? What's the matter?" Kara followed his gaze. He was staring at a mortal man across Gosford Street. The man was in his mid-thirties, tall with powerful shoulders. He wore an expensive-looking grey suit, tailored perfectly to his muscular body. His white hair was cut short and styled neatly. His skin had a grayish-blue tint to it, like a few-hours-old corpse. To Kara, he looked like a regular business man, except...

_He has black eyes._

Like endless black pits, it was like staring into two black holes. And the man stared back at them. In the pit of her non-existent stomach, Kara felt something was wrong. He stood there without moving, watching them.

"David. The man with the black eyes...he's a demon, right? Like the ones my mother...David?"

David's terrified expression sent panic waves through Kara's body.

"David!" shrieked Kara, "Say something!" She frowned. Another man wearing the same grey suit with the same short white hair emerged slowly from the crowd and stood a few feet away from the other man. His eyes were as black as midnight, and he was identical in every way to the other black-eyed man.

"I don't understand?" David said. "How did they find us so fast...?" he whipped his head towards Kara. "How is that possible?"

"Why are you _looking_ at me like _that_? I didn't do anything!"

"It doesn't make sense..."

"What doesn't make sense, David? You're scaring me!"

He pressed his hands on Kara's shoulders. "Listen. I don't have time to explain. We won't have time to save Mr. Tremblay anymore...but we _have_ to save the soul, you hear me?"

Kara turned her head. She could see that the crane's jib was pointed in their direction now, the cable holding on barely by a thread. "But how?" She looked down and waved her sad fish net. "With this?"

"Do exactly what I say and you will. Do you understand?"

She nodded. She glanced back at the black-eyed men. A third one emerged. He crossed Gosford Street, coming towards them. Kara looked around at the faces in the crowds. "The mortals can't see them. David, what are they?"

"They're called higher demons," said David, "and I can't fight them alone with you here. Okay, here we go..."

SNAP!

The cable broke. A large concrete boulder fell from the sky. It reached the man called Jean Tremblay and crushed his entire body in half a second. It was like dropping a heavy book on top of an egg. People screamed and ran for cover, away from the rubble of concrete and body parts, for all of Mr. Tremblay's limbs lay severed from the rest of his body, which was flattened under the concrete block like a juicy raspberry pancake. Mortals threw up their lunches. They stared at four perfectly cut limbs resting by the block of concrete, as though they had been cut with giant scissors. Within seconds, light covered the skin from Mr. Tremblay's arms and legs. A shower of little glowing particles flowed from his dead body and hovered a few feet in the air above the concrete boulder. They came together slowly and formed a ball.

Kara studied the mortals gathered around the body. The soul was invisible to them, she realized.

David twisted through the crowd and ran towards the boulder.

A higher demon walked away from the soul. "David!" Kara yelled. "It's coming after you!"

The higher demon made its way towards David, who had jumped over the dead body and ran in the middle of the street to meet it head on.

"Open the shaker!" cried David. He lunged at the higher demon, a long sword in his right hand. A small group of mortals jumped out of David's way, their eyes glued to his sword.

Across the street from them, the other two higher demons approached, their black eyes fixed upon Kara.

"Okay...here goes nothing!" She twisted the metal shaker top and looked up for a second. David fought off the demon. He pushed him away from the body and from Kara as she walked forward towards the soul.

"Great...I'm going to die—again." She held the fish net in her left hand, and the salt shaker in the other.

One of the two remaining higher demons stood but a few feet away from her. An evil grin flashed across its face. It only had to leap, and it would be on top of her. Its hard body was posed in anticipation.

"THROW THE SALT AT IT!" She heard David yell over the panicked crowd.

Without thinking, Kara dropped the fish net, fumbled with the salt shaker, and threw the metal cap—right in the middle of the higher demon's forehead.

SMACK!

The demon froze, as though expecting something to happen. After a moment, it glanced down at the tiny metal cap between its shiny black shoes and kicked it. Its thick shoulders moved up and down as it laughed. Then the demon looked up at Kara, its ebony eyes glittering. It cracked its face, bared its teeth in an evil grin and took a step forward.

"Oops. That can't be good."

"THE SALT! THROW THE SALT!" she heard David howl.

Kara threw the shaker at its face. The salt exploded all over it. The demon screamed as it covered its face with its hands. Black smoke emitted through its fingers; its skin melted away, exposing rotten flesh beneath. The horrid smell of burnt flesh surrounded her.

"The soul!...Use the net!" David gasped. She saw him lash out at the demon and cut it, right across its chest. The creature screamed in pain and anger as it backed away, shaken for a moment.

Kara bent down and grabbed the fish net. She pushed her way through the crowd that was growing by the minute. She kept her eyes on the hovering soul. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the other higher demon running towards her. She waved the fish net before her with her right hand.

"Do it now!" cried David.

Kara leaped into the air, unaware of the strange looks the mortal crowd gave her seeing a strange girl with a fish net jump into the air as she tried to catch invisible butterflies. Like an overhand softball throw, she swung her arm and caught the brilliant ball of light in her net. She landed with a hard _thump_ on top of the concrete block. The soul bounced lightly in her net. The size of a large grapefruit, it weighed less than a roll of toilet paper.

She sat on the boulder and brought the net closer to her face for inspection. Like a miniature sun, the soul's light warmed her face. "Hey, I caught it! I really caught it!" She looked up as mortals appeared. They screamed and yelled at her, their faces screwed up in scowls of horror as they pointed to the pancake man below. "Oh no."

David appeared to her side. "Run!" He dashed off.

"Huh?" She stared at David running away.

Kara swung her legs over the boulder, jumped down, and sprinted after him. They ran all the way down Gosford Street to the Old Port. They turned right onto De La Commune Street. Her mortal legs didn't tire. She ran fast, leaping over benches and dumpsters along the way like a gazelle running away from a predator and clutching the fish net against her chest.

"What just happened?" yelled Kara as she galloped behind David. "Why didn't they try to get the soul?"

"They're not after the soul." David yelled back. "They're after _us_!" He stared up ahead as he ran.

Kara looked back. She wondered why these demons were chasing them. Two higher demons ran after them at an incredible speed. She turned her head and ran close to David, a bit awkwardly as her right arm held the soul protectively against her chest.

"David...we're not fast enough. They're going to catch up!"

"Keep running!"

"We're dead in about fifteen seconds! I don't even want to think about what they're going to do to us!"

"Keep running...and stop talking!"

_Thirteen...twelve..._ Kara counted backwards in her head as she ran behind David. He ran in a straight line onto the Promenade Du Vieux-Port. They zigzagged through the roller blading kids and tourists. Kara followed David as he pushed his way through the crowds and headed straight for the...

_Water_ , said Kara to herself.

"DAVID!" cried Kara, as she realized what he was about to do.

But he wasn't stopping. Soon they'd reach the end of the Old Port, where the concrete ended, and where the Saint-Laurence River began. A thick metal railing ran the length of the port along the walkway, protecting the people from accidentally falling to their deaths into the chilly grey waters. They were running right for it.

_Three...two ..._

And just when they were about to hit the metal railing, Kara felt David's hand wrap around hers. He squeezed hard and jumped, pulling her along with him...and flew over the edge.

_One ..._

Kara heard screams from above as she hit the water and plummeted twenty feet into the deep dark Saint-Laurence River. Instinctively she looked up, half expecting to see the higher demons cascading above them. But all she saw was the sun's beams reflecting on the water's surface above her. Then everything around her went dark.

# Chapter 8

### David, the celebrity

Kara opened her eyes. She stared at a brass ceiling that was divided into perfect rusty squares. She lay on the bottom of an elevator and clutched the fish net with the soul inside it against her chest. She lifted up the fish net, suspended it in front of her face, and gazed intently at the soul. It was unharmed, lighting up her face with its brilliance. Rolling over, Kara pushed herself up and looked at a grinning David.

"That was awesome!" He jumped lightly up and down, looking thrilled. "I haven't had this much fun in years!"

"Don't get too excited, cowboy. We barely made it." Kara suppressed a laugh.

There was sudden _snort_ and Kara stepped to the side.

A medium-sized grey monkey sat in a chair near the control panel behind David. It had large, square shoulders and a powerful chest. It scratched its bare purple behind while it stared at David and Kara. Its long face was hairless, and sported a furrowed brow. "What floor?" said the monkey, sounding annoyed.

Kara flashed her eyes at David. "I don't think I'll ever get used to monkeys talking..."

"It's _baboon,_ not monkey! __ Baboon L006, if you please," hissed the primate.

David jumped to the opportunity. "Level Four, then... _good looking_ ," he said. The baboon screwed up its face.

"Careful," said Kara, "it looks about to spit in your face."

"You GAs are all the same," said the baboon. "No _respect_!"

David dusted off his jacket, not paying any attention to the baboon. "Sure thing, hot stuff. Level Four...we're waiting..."

For a moment nothing happened. Then the baboon spit on the floor, an inch beside David's boots. It stared at him, its face crinkled in hatred. Grimacing, it bared a row of large sharp yellow teeth. This baboon looked dangerous. It puffed out its chest, showing off its hard body, and turned around on its chair. Lifting a long arm, it pressed the brass button.

After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Kara followed David off the elevator to Level Four, still clutching the soul against her chest as a mother would her newborn child. They walked through the Hall of Souls. The vast space sparkled and shimmered as though it rained diamonds. Millions of hovering souls illuminated the way as they walked up to the dais where a great glass desk glistened. The Archangel Ramiel was busy writing in a large book. He did not look up.

"Ahem, Oh Blessedness!" said David as he smirked and curtsied. Kara hid her smile in her hair.

Ramiel lifted his eyes in David's direction. A frown materialized on his brow. Suddenly, moving with incredible speed, he pushed back his chair, stood up, and threw a newspaper at David, barely missing his face. "YOU FOOL!" he roared. "You were SEEN!"

Kara picked up the paper from the floor. It was today's Montreal Gazette. She and David were on the front cover holding hands, falling into the Saint-Laurence River. The heading read:

**_Couple's suicide!_**

**_A young couple in love plunge to their deaths off the Old Port in Montreal._**

"Uh oh," said Kara, "this can't be good."

David grabbed the newspaper from Kara. "Hey...I look _good!_ "

Ramiel slammed his fist on the desk and a loud _boom_ echoed throughout the chamber. "What were you _thinking?!_ You know our laws! You were not to be seen going into water!" If Ramiel was warm-blooded, Kara was sure his face would be red hot with large veins pulsing on his forehead. Instead, there was a terrifying white coldness. It wasn't natural.

"You've been warned before, _David McGowan_! Your days as a guardian angel are numbered!" He growled and pointed a long finger at David. Kara was almost certain laser beams were about to shoot out of Ramiel's eyes and strike David, melting him on the spot. The Archangel's face twisted in fury.

"David, we're so screwed," whispered Kara.

"Don't worry...I got this," he whispered back.

David smiled and puffed out his chest. "Relax, Your Holiness...see here? My rookie saved the soul." He gestured towards Kara's chest, where she kept the soul protected inside the fish net.

With Ramiel's attention suddenly on her, Kara cringed and backed up. "David! What are you doing?" she said through the corner of her mouth.

She felt her nerves starting to act up. The Archangel's flaring blue eyes made her nervous, but she found she couldn't look away—some sort of eerie hypnosis. She was suddenly made aware of his power, as though he made it known to her somehow with his mind. She tried to speak, but the words would not come.

The Archangel cut the silence. "It doesn't _excuse_ what you did. You broke the law!"

This time David's smile disappeared. He looked at Kara, then back to Ramiel. "Listen...there were three higher demons. They attacked us. There was no other way...we _had_ to jump."

Ramiel backed up, as though getting a blow from an invisible force. He narrowed his eyes. "W...what? Higher demons? That's impossible!"

"Yup. Three of them. It was like they knew we were coming. You know anything about that?"

"What? Of course not!" Ramiel shouted, his face twitching.

Kara watched in silence as the big Archangel seemed to battle something from the inside. He paced up and down. He rubbed his head, and his eyes and brow narrowed. He seemed angrier than before, if that were even possible. Kara took another step back.

Finally, after some time, Ramiel spoke. "I need to speak to Michael about this. Here, give the soul to the cherub," he said, as he gestured to one of the spiked blue haired persons, who came at once with a glass jar. The cherub placed the jar in front of Kara and it waited.

"Huh?" Kara said. She thinned her lips and glared at the cherub. "Why should I give it to him? I saved the soul...and I nearly died saving it. No... I'm not giving it to him. What if he drops it? What then?" She reached into the fish net and grasped the soul in her hand, letting the light shine though her fingers. She looked at David for help.

He tapped her shoulder. "It's ok, kiddo. You did _good_. Now, give the shiny white ball to the cherub." The cherub tapped its foot on the ground. It cocked an eyebrow, clearly annoyed by Kara's reluctance to give up the soul.

She dropped her shoulders and looked down at the soul. The glowing ball emanated light onto her frowning face. Kara pulled her hands away from her chest slowly, and gently dropped the soul into the glass jar. Immediately the cherub turned on its heel, strolled away, jumped into a tiny vehicle, and drove off, leaving Kara staring after it. A sudden feeling of sadness washed over her, as though she had just lost a part of herself.

"What's going to happen to it?" Kara asked, as the cherub disappeared into the walls of light.

"It'll be reborn, like every other living soul," answered David.

A thought nagged at the back of Kara's mind. "David. You think you can ask Ramiel about my mom? Maybe he knows something?"

"Sure." David cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Your Highness, but Ms. Nightingale here has a question... about her mother."

"Yes?" said the Archangel heavily and leaned forward.

"Well, she told me that her mother can see demons—so she's probably a Sensitive—but then the interesting part is that her mother likes to... _disappear_ at times. Reappearing at different places. So, you see...I believe she might be a guardian."

The Archangel's face was impassive, apart from a light twitch in his lip. "I will consult her profile."

He moved his hands over his keyboard and started typing. He looked up at Kara. "Is your mother's name Danielle Dubois?"

Kara's jaw dropped. "Yes."

"She is indeed a guardian angel. She's back on Earth in her mortal body, waiting for her next assignment."

"I knew it!" David's face lit up. He nudged Kara on the shoulder. "How cool is that! My parents are just regular mortals. My Dad's a mechanic and my mom's a teacher...nothing special."

But Kara didn't feel the news to be special. Things just started to make a lot more sense to her, now that she knew why her mother behaved so strangely. Somehow she felt a lot worse.

"My mother—a guardian angel. It explains a lot. I wish she could have told me somehow." Kara dropped her eyes and stared at the floor.

"She couldn't," said David with kind eyes. "We're forbidden to reveal ourselves to mortals. It's one of the laws or something. Plus, it was for your own good. I doubt you would have believed her anyway. It's like you said...you thought she was mad."

But Kara thought otherwise. She would have believed her. She knew it somehow. She looked up at Ramiel. With his eyes closed and his head arched up, he looked as if he was meditating. She studied his perfect face as he opened his eyes again and spoke.

"The Archangel Gabriel is waiting for you. Your _rookie_ needs more training. Don't make him wait."

"No worries, Your Divineness...your wish is my command!" David bowed and flashed his teeth.

Ramiel stepped forward, looking down upon David with flares in his eyes. " _You're_ still here only because your rookie shows a lot of promise. Don't disappoint her by being a fool!"

"Ah...but I'm the best damn fool in all of Horizon," said David. "Later, Your Worship."

And with that, David whirled around, grabbed Kara by the elbow, and steered her back towards to the elevator.

"You're a real ass, you know that?" laughed Kara. She knew David was way too cocky with the Archangels, but at least he made her smile.

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much." He lifted his chin and smiled into the black skies. "I'd like to think of myself as an entrepreneur...a visionary."

"Keep it up and you'll be visioning Ramiel's fist when it makes contact with your face."

* * *

The elevator ride back to Operations was a silent one, apart from the loud scratching noises coming from a chimpanzee in a blue fisherman's hat that kept rubbing its behind. Kara pressed her head against the wood panel at the back on the elevator, closed her eyes, and thought of her mother.

"What are you thinking about?" asked David. He leaned against the panel beside her.

"Oh, nothing much...the usual."

"And... what's the usual?"

Kara opened her eyes. "Just that I was flattened by a bus, got a new job as a guardian angel, souls are everlasting and reincarnated into body suits, my mother is an angel, demons are freak'n real...and some, apparently, are out to get you."

David scratched the back of his neck. "You'll get used to it."

"So you keep telling me."

They jumped off the elevator and walked along the red sand.

"Um, David?" Kara brushed a long strand of brown hair behind her right ear. "Uh...those higher demons...you said that they were after _us_? Why?" She felt a slight shiver pass through her body. Their black eyes still haunted her.

David looked intently at Kara. "Not _only_ after us, but after guardian angels in general—especially the rookies, since you're easy targets."

Kara frowned with curiosity as she walked. Puffs of red sand escaped her feet as she kept up the pace with David. "So they were after my mother, too. But why? I thought demons were only after _souls..._ like, to eat or something?"

"Well, they do eat them, sort of." He combed the top of his hair with his fingers. "Lesser demons, like shadow demons, devour souls. Souls are a life force. The more they feed on them the more powerful they become, and it gives them longevity on Earth. Without the souls, they would die."

Kara stared at the salt pyramids as she and David walked past them. She reflected on this new information. White puffy clouds ran across a perfect blue sky, shaped like wild animals. An ocean fragrance surrounded them.

Kara raised her brow. "This place is even creepier than I could have imagined." Her mind flashed to thoughts of the black eyed demons. "So, what about the black-eyed monsters? Higher demons?" As she said that, a guardian angel with two stars tattooed on his forehead approached them. He smiled, lifted up his hand, and he and David high-fived one another. They exchanged a few words. The angel patted David on the shoulder and then walked away.

"So, I see you're a celebrity in Horizon," laughed Kara.

"Huh?" A smile reached David's lips. "Right...the higher demons. Yeah, they're nasty," said David as he lifted up the collar from his leather jacket. "Can't be too careful when they're around." He gave Kara his wink _du jour_.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Wow, you're so full of yourself. I could slap you!" She kicked up some red sand with her shoe. "But why were they after us? After me?"

"'Cause, you have something they want. Your GA life source is like a thousand regular souls. One guardian angel soul can make a higher demon almost as powerful as an Archangel—and trust me, you don't want that." David looked away and seemed lost for words.

"You said that the higher demons knew where we were? That seemed to disturb Ramiel a little...why's that?"

"Well, for starters, that's never happened to me before. It usually takes hours before the higher demons—or any demon— can sense us back on Earth. They don't just show up like that, a few minutes after we show up. I don't get it." He searched Kara's face, with that same puzzled expression on his face.

"Don't look at me like that! It's not like I _announced_ our arrival or anything. Besides, I'm new here! How would I know anything?"

David shook his head. "I don't know, but it smells bad."

Kara felt that was probably true, but there was nothing she could do about it. This new job came with a lot of unanswered questions and a lot of new dangers.

David raised his eyebrows. His blue eyes glittered. "It almost feels like...someone from the Legion told them."

"What? But that makes no sense?"

"It makes perfect sense. And it's happened before." He face hardened. "Traitors, working for the demons from inside the Legion. They're fallen angels who go over to the dark side, their heads filled with a lust for power."

Kara stayed where she was, frozen, as her mind strained to process all this new information. "But why us? Who would do this to us...to me? And why?"

"I can think of someone." David stepped beside Kara. She saw a flash of anger in his eyes. She knew exactly who he was referring to...someone tall and powerful who happened to hate David's guts.

"Benson? _No..._ are you sure?"

David's tone was sharp. "Positive. This is his chance to get rid of me for good. It's his _payback_ for what I did to Sarah."

If what David was saying was true, that meant Benson was going to get her killed as well—caught in the crossfire—just to get to David. She had just barely escaped with her angel life on their last job. _It's just going to get worse._ A part of her felt betrayed. She hadn't done anything to anyone; she had just _died_ recently. And now her life was in danger. Another part of her was angry that someone wanted to hurt David. She looked up into his clear blue eyes. "So...what do we do?"

He looked fierce. "We get him...before anything else happens. We'll need proof, obviously, or to catch him in the act. I'd love to see how Gabriel fries his ass!"

"So, should we follow him?" asked Kara.

David narrowed his eyes. "Yeah...he'll probably have to rendezvous with the demons back on Earth. We should find out what his next assignment is and follow him there. He's bound to make contact with them sooner or later."

Images of the higher demons flashed behind Kara's eyes and she started to feel anxious. "But shouldn't we tell Gabriel, or one of the Archangels? This is pretty serious, David; shouldn't we tell them?"

He looked down at the ground. "No, they'll just think I'm up to something because of our _history_. They won't believe me. Don't think I'm Mr. Popular with the Archangels—or haven't you noticed? And if Benson finds out somehow, we'll never catch him. No one can know about this."

Kara knew David was right. They'd never believe him, or her. They would have to do this on their own.

They wandered through the twisted rows of blue tents, watching the ongoing combats. Operations was full of noises: bursts of combat cries, the clatter of metal on metal and the raised voices of the oracles teaching classes, and then forgetting what they were supposed to teach. The fragrance of salt drifted in the air.

She followed David into the weapons tent. Two guardian angels were making their selection of weapons and looked up as they saw David and Kara enter.

"Yo, Dave! What's up?" said the taller one. "We heard about your _jump_. Awesome! It's spreading all over the Legion already."

"Don't think Gabriel's too happy about that," laughed the smaller one, as he eyed Kara. "He's in a _really_ bad mood. You sure you want to be here right now?" he slapped David on the arm.

David lifted his chin and puffed out his chest. "Gabe _loves_ me. He just doesn't know it."

The three young men laughed stupidly while hitting one another. To Kara, it was like watching the end of a winning basketball game, where all the boys danced around excitedly after the match. David, so it seemed, had won the popularity game—David versus the Archangels.

More and more guardian angels stopped their training and came to congratulate David on his wild escape. Some even congratulated Kara. She turned around quickly and became very interested in a short silver dagger. She flicked the blade with her fingernail. The sound was drowned by sudden loud cheers. She looked back towards the crowd. She saw David jump down from one of the large tables. He was surrounded by an animated group of predominantly male guardian angels. He re-enacted their suicidal plunge off the Old Port. His cronies giggled excitedly, like a pack of wild hyenas. He bowed after each performance...which were many.

Kara wondered if she was really stuck with this idiot for all eternity.

# Chapter 9

### A Traitor among Us

Time passed in Horizon. From time to time Kara thought about her painting, and about the life she left behind. But now her old life seemed insignificant and dull compared with the busy new life she led now. Every now and then, when she thought of her mother, the feelings of guilt and homesickness would start. But with all she had to learn at combat training and her new lessons with the oracles, Kara didn't have time to feel sorry for herself.

She learned from Gabriel that the Legion was nervous about the fact that higher demons kept showing up whenever she was on the job. They feared a connection between Kara and the demons. If they suspected a traitor they didn't mention it to her, or to David. Instead, they had her spend hours on end trying to _connect_ with her other souls...which wasn't happening. It was not until she cussed out the oracle for getting her name wrong for the hundredth time that he finally dismissed her until their next lesson.

Before long, Kara started to adjust better to the new life and job in Horizon—she even saved three other souls. But she soon found out, according to the Archangel Gabriel, that this wasn't good enough—she had to try to save the mortals first, before the soul.

Otherwise, her training sessions with David proved to be fruitful and enriching in every respect. Her senses became more powerful, and so did her instincts. Kara was getting better with each lesson, and in a short time David began training her on different weapons. She even surprised herself a little when she began to enjoy herself and even began, if only slightly, to accept her new fate as a guardian angel.

Then David broke the news about Benson to Kara.

"He's on his way now—566 Saint Catherine Street East," he informed her. "Apparently the Legion's got him on a Scout mission."

"What's a scout mission?"

"Scouts gather info for the Legion...like detective work, but GA style."

"That sounds cool!" Kara imagined herself in a dark trench coat and black fedora hat, spying on would-be traitors in a dark alley way, snapping pictures with her sparkling new iPhone.

David made a face. "Na...it gets boring sometimes. Too much paperwork...it's pretty _geeky_ if you ask me. But we know what he's doing, eh? It's so clear now! I can't believe no one suspects him. But we'll get him." David's face cracked into a grin. His eyes glittered in anticipation.

Kara liked how his lips curled when David was enjoying himself. He reminded her of a little boy in a toy store, going crazy as he played with all the new gadgets his little hands could hold. She couldn't help but smile back. "Good job, inspector. Is he near the pools already?" Kara nodded her head towards the hundreds of pools beyond the red hills.

"Yup...let's go get him."

Kara jogged behind David. As they approached the pools, she could make out Benson's silhouette on the ledge of one in the first row. She saw him squat, pinch his nose, then leap into the air and disappear with a splash.

Kara narrowed her eyes. "You really believe this creep is the traitor?"

"Without a doubt."

"I wonder what is going on in his head. How can he risk the lives of other angels?"

"'Cause he's a douche bag."

"He must really hate you." Kara bit her lip. "Maybe he has an entirely different agenda? __ Maybe he wants me dead and not you?"

David shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous...he's after _me_. You're only involved because of me."

A moment later, Kara and David took their turns and jumped into the salty waters.

As if an army of ants had poured out of their hills in search of food, Saint Catherine Street was a mass of crawling mortals. Kara blinked. Red, green, and yellow flashing street lights illuminated the busy street. Kara passed pawn shops, strip clubs, and bars, as the humid air stuck to her M suit. A stink of exhaust fumes lingered. and a smell of moist soil filled the air

The street was alive with the energy of young people. Kara felt it prickle her M suit. The night was young, and like any Friday, the street vibrated with the sounds of motors running, squeaking brakes, and kids on full party mode.

Teenage girls walked in groups attached at the waist, their faces painted in layers of makeup. With barely-there tops and the shortest of skirts, which Kara liked to call _under-skirts_ , they approached the nightclubs. They batted their eyelashes at the bouncers who then let them in without question. Kara felt a slight ache of envy in her chest as she watched them.

She brushed off the feeling and followed David. "So what's 566 Saint Catherine?"

David turned back and looked at her before turning back and looking straight ahead. "It's a nightclub. I have a feeling he's meeting someone there—probably a demon." David glanced at his watch. "He should already be there," he looked up. "Ah...there it is."

Kara followed his gaze and saw a crooked grey building. The windows were painted black, and a large metal sign hung from the top. It read, _The Club_.

"Wow, how original—must have taken weeks to come up with that name." Kara turned her head. A long line of teenage hopefuls waited to get in. "Ah, David...where are you going? Aren't we going to wait in line over there?"

David grabbed Kara by the hand and pulled her with him to the front entrance. A man the size of a small SUV waited with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey man, what's up?" said David as he walked right in. The bouncer didn't pay any attention to them.

"Wow! How did you do that?" asked Kara as David dragged her. "Do GAs have some kind of hypnotizing abilities?"

"Sort of...but my good looks got us in."

They passed through the front door. Music exploded all around them. Kara felt the ground shake beneath her as hundreds of dancers hit the floor. Not wanting to miss anything, she turned her head every which way as David pulled her along.

"I've never been inside a club before," she yelled over the music.

David turned his head and frowned. "Never?"

"No. You have to be eighteen to be allowed in."

"Yeah, but you never made a fake ID?" bellowed David.

Kara shook her head. "No...guess that makes me a loser, right?"

David's white teeth flashed in the darkness. "No, not everyone likes to go clubbing. Besides, you were probably too busy with your art to want to join a bunch of talentless fools jumping up and down in a tight space."

Kara smiled and looked down. "Yeah, I'm sure that's the reason."

Strobe lights illuminated faces, as David pulled her through the tight crowds. The salty smell of sweaty armpits and the thick stink of booze were like an invisible wall of stench.

The further they ventured away from the dance floor, the more Kara could hear over the music— faint sounds of bottles that clashed together and mumbles of conversations.

David pulled her along. She felt her body stiffen as crowds of people brushed up against her. But then David squeezed her hand gently and her skin tingled. She liked the feel of his M skin against her own. It wasn't the same feeling as back when she was alive, of skin brushing up against skin. This was different, and to Kara, much better—like her sensations were ten times as strong. She wished silently that she could hold on to his hand forever.

Kara made faces at the gorgeous girls that eyed David as they passed. They all gave Kara the what-are-you-doing-with-such-a-hottie look. And when David wasn't looking, Kara whirled around and gave them the finger...followed by the biggest smile she could muster.

David pulled Kara towards a round metal table in a back corner of the club, beyond the crowded dance floor and lost in the shadows. Benson sat two tables down from them. He was huddled over the table, presently engaged in a conversation with a dark-haired man in his late twenties. They did not look up.

"Be right back."

Kara watched as David disappeared into the crowd. He came back two minutes later with two drinks. "Here...gin and tonic. Have you had this before?"

Kara shook her head. "Uh...no, but can we actually _drink_ liquids?"

David laughed. "Not really, but it is fun to pretend. The best part is that you can actually start feeling the alcoholic effects after a few drinks. Here...have a taste."

Kara leaned in and took a sip. The liquid evaporated in her throat. The alcohol vapor lingered for a moment and then made its way up slowly to her head. It wasn't at all like drinking real liquid, but it still felt nice. She grinned at David. "That was weird." She licked her lips. "But I like it."

"Good. Listen. Let's move in closer to hear their conversation." David drank the entire contents of his glass in one shot. He smacked his lips and slammed the glass down. "Follow me."

David sneaked closer towards the table that Benson and the stranger occupied. Their heads were huddled together, deep in conversation. David walked with exceptional stealth through the crowds to get to the next table without Benson noticing. He sat with his back towards them and leaned against the seat just a little for better hearing. Kara grabbed the empty seat next to David and sat down. She sipped her drink. Her eyes were on the young crowds dancing in front of her, but she strained to hear behind her. She heard Benson speak first.

"...it's not good enough. I need more information." Benson said.

"That's all I know, man," answered a deep voice.

"But you can't be sure it was the same _child?_ "

"Hey man, it's like I said. I'm _not_ sure."

"In what warehouse was this? What part of the city? I need to know!" Benson asked.

"I've given you all I've got," said the stranger. "If the demons knew I was speaking to you, I'd be a dead man."

There was a pause, and then Benson spoke again. "Yes, I know, but this is really important."

"No you _don't_! I'm not _paid_ enough for this shit." Kara heard something slam down on the table.

Kara couldn't make out the rest of the conversion as the music thundered around her. __ She bristled with anxiety and was pleasantly excited—she was detective Kara Nightingale, bad-ass profiler vigilante. But something troubled her. The stranger had mentioned a child. __ What was Benson involved in?

Out of the corner of her eye, Kara saw Benson get up. In a flash David had squeezed himself against her. With his right arm around her shoulder, he pressed his hard M suit against hers, his face close enough for a kiss. Her mortal skin prickled with his nearness. She knew not to look into his eyes, for fear she might give her true feelings away. And just when she thought she would burst, David released her and backed away.

"Okay, he's gone. I think he's going towards the washrooms...be right back!" And with that, David disappeared into the crowd.

Kara clasped her forehand with her hands. She wasn't prepared for the intense feeling she felt. If romance was forbidden between angels, then why did she have feelings for this guy?

She moved her hands away from her face and looked down at her glass. "Why not?" She drank the last of her gin and tonic. She felt calmer. Then David squeezed out from a wall of mortals, with four more gin and tonics in his hands.

His face cracked into a wide smile. "Benson went down the toilet. So, the night's still young...no reason to let it go to waste. Right?"

"Right." Kara grabbed a glass and took a drink. She wanted to stay here with David for as long as she could.

"David...did you hear them talking about some _child_?"

David smacked his lips together. "Yup...don't know anything about some kid, though. I'm not sure what that means." He screwed up his face and gawked at his drink.

Kara swirled the straw around in her glass. "Do you think maybe we were _wrong_ about Benson? If he's looking for a kid, then maybe he's not the one involved in trying to get us killed? I didn't hear anything about a plot to get _us_ killed. Did you?"

After a pause, David brushed the top of his hair with his fingers. "Nope. I don't know. Maybe he was finished with his plan before we got there, and we only heard part of something else."

"Or maybe it's not _him_. Maybe we have it all wrong."

"It has to be...no one else in the Legion would do this to us! I'm sure Benson is the one."

But Kara was unconvinced. If Benson truly was behind the strange demon attacks, then why would he risk a meeting with some creepy mortal just to talk about some kid? It didn't add up. But Kara didn't press it any further.

Soon Kara was on her fourth drink. She laughed away at David's silly jokes, the kind of laughing which would normally have made her innards ache. But without innards, Kara only felt a slight tingle in her chest. She couldn't remember the last time when she had so much fun.

The music changed, and she felt David's hand on hers as he pulled her to her feet.

"Time to go."

"Huh? Already?" Kara hit her glass on the table.

They pushed their way out of the club and walked back along Saint Catherine Street. "We'll go through Berri Park, towards the water fountain." He told Kara. "The park will be deserted...perfect for a skinny dip on the way back to Horizon—ouch!" cried David. He rubbed the back of his head.

Kara pursed her lips. "Serves you right, Casanova."

They reached the park after a short walk. The only sources of light came from the moon and the one flickering park light at the entrance. The trees cast long, ghostly shadows on the ground. Male crickets chirped in the night as they tried to attract a female. A raccoon the size of a small dog enjoyed an early morning feast in a city garbage can. He hissed at them as they passed _._

"Can animals see who we really are?" asked Kara.

"Yes. Animals are sensitive to different energies...they can sense us."

The raccoon kept hissing. "I don't think he likes us very much."

David laughed. "Poor little guy. He probably just doesn't want to share his meal."

"Gross."

Kara returned her attention to David. She watched him strut beside her, grinning. She liked how his shoulders moved back and forth as he walked, with his head in the air, like a proud peacock...

"AH!" Yelled Kara, as her foot got caught in a tree root. She went straight down to the ground. After a moment, she hauled herself up and sat on the grass. She giggled. "Oops."

"I love ladies who can hold their liquor," laughed David. He grabbed Kara by the arm and pulled her up—just a little too hard, for she flew into his arms. David wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. She looked up. His blue eyes sparkled in the moon light. Kara blinked. She thought his face was even more beautiful close up. His full lips parted slightly, as he stared at her mouth. His face was closer now. Warmth spread through her mortal body. She felt on fire. And then she felt his lips pressing against hers; softly at first, and then harder.

The kiss was sudden and fast.

The next thing Kara knew, David had released her and backed away, his face intense. He had a fiery look in his eyes. Her body exploded in tingles and he broke into a wide grin. He knew she was his.

But Kara was in shock.

David was still holding on to her, as though he were reluctant to let her go. __ She had never been kissed before. It felt amazing. She grinned.

_What the...?_ Kara felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of her neck.

She reached back with her hand, and was suddenly propelled back with incredible force. She crashed onto the hard floor. If her body had been human, it'd have been broken. She rolled over. She felt something hard tightening around her neck, like a thick rubber hose. Her neck burned, as though the mortal flesh was on fire. Her body lifted off the ground as she twisted her M suit, trying to break free. But the hold was too strong. Kara looked down and got a glimpse of her attacker.

A shadow demon, three times larger than the ones she saw in Mrs. Wilkins' apartment, glistened in the moonlight. It had her wrapped around her neck with one of its tentacles. Kara could smell the foul stench of blood and rotten flesh. The demon let out a loud shriek that sounded almost like a laugh.

"Let her go, demon!" David ran towards her, his sword shimmering in the moonlight. He leaped into the air behind her. Kara heard a _swish,_ and then felt a release. She hit the ground hard. She rolled over and tugged at her throat, and pulled off the foul tentacle. She scrambled to her feet and watched as the demon flickered, and its solid form disappeared into a black mist.

"Stay behind me!" yelled David, as he ran towards the demon. Kara stared in horror as he threw himself into the black fog, arms flailing as he struck at the creature. "I...HATE...DEMONS!" he panted. And then he disappeared into the mist. For a moment nothing happened, and then David came into view as he jumped out of the black fog. The demon shimmered and flickered into its solid form again. Wailing, it lashed out at David with its many limbs and knocked him off his feet. His sword flew out of his hand.

"DAVID!" screamed Kara. With incredible speed, the creature wrapped its tentacles around David's body. It lifted him up...and started pulling.

Panicked, Kara understood that the creature meant to rip him apart. She searched frantically for the sword. _Where is it!?_ "Crap! Crap! CRAP!"

Kara caught a glimpse of something silver flash in the moonlight. Like a bullet, she bolted after the sword. She grabbed it, the blade heavy in her hand, and turned back. She ran towards the demon, the sword held high in her hand. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it once she got there, but she knew she had to save David, no matter what.

The demon slammed David's body hard on the ground. It lifted him up and started to pull his limbs.

Kara saw her chance. She took it.

She pushed off the ground and jumped into the air, landing on the creature's back. She thrust the blade down into its head.

Black ooze poured out of the wound like thick tar, drenching Kara in black blood. She pushed off and landed back on the ground. Immediately, the demon wailed and let go of David. David fell to the ground and rolled on the grass. The demon reached behind and pulled out the blade. It shrieked and threw the sword aside. Then the shadow demon flashed, changed into a black cloud, and with a last flicker it disappeared.

Kara ran to David. "David! Are you all right?" She knelt beside him, searching his body for any missing limbs. "Your mortal body seems to have all its parts."

A silly grin materialized on his face. "I am now," he laughed. "Man, I've never seen a rookie take on a shadow demon like that! Kara, you were fierce! Wait till I tell the guys what you did! That was awesome!"

Kara shook her head. "What, are you _insane?!_ You were almost killed!"

"But I live to tell the tale—this is better than the soup I created with demon blood!" David jumped into the air, with no signs of injuries, and started to dance. "We make a great team. We'll be the talk of the town!"

Kara shook her head and sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Skinny dipping, here we come!"

As they walked towards the water fountain in silence, David's face was twisted in a wide grin. And Kara's mind was loud with thoughts only of the kiss.

# Chapter 10

### Oodles for Noodles

In the following days, neither of them mentioned the kiss. Kara wasn't sure if she should bring it up. She couldn't shut her mind up on the subject either. Maybe David regretted doing it? Maybe it was the aftereffects of the gin and tonic, and he thought he was kissing some gorgeous voluptuous model instead of her? And now, realizing the truth, perhaps he was embarrassed and hated himself for kissing a girl whose feminine curves had been flattened by a giant spatula. She decided to wait for the perfect moment to bring it up, if he didn't bring it up.

And so, she and David submerged themselves in their work.

After a good combat training workout, they strutted away from the great white tent at Operations with their next job. David handed Kara the file, and they made their way towards the pools.

Kara's jaw dropped as she stared at the paper. "A drunk city bus driver is going to crash his bus into a busy Chinese restaurant—Oodles for Noodles. Ten dead mortals, including children!" She looked up at David. " _This_ is my next assignment? Are they mad? I don't want to be responsible for this!"

David took the file back from Kara, folded it, and hid it inside his leather jacket. "We all get tough assignments like this once in a while. It's part of the job." He clasped his hands on the metal railing and pulled himself up the four sets of stairs onto the pool's platform. "We stop the accident, we stop all those people from dying," David said, as Kara climbed up behind him.

"I'll never get used to this new life," said Kara. "The life I had before was _so_ simple... I didn't have to save anyone from dying...I just...ate ice cream and painted...." She stared down at the caustics rippling along the surface of the light blue waters as her mind flashed back to the remnants of her mortal life, the simple life. "... and demons didn't want to suck my brains out and have them for lunch."

David ignored her and stretched, preparing for the jump. "You have your gear?"

"Yup." Kara slid a blue and white backpack from her shoulders and rummaged through it. "I got my map, sword, salt shakers, and my _bad-ass_ butterfly net," giggled Kara, as the idea of salt shakers and fish nets as gear was still a little outrageous to her.

David stepped up to the ledge of the pool. "Let's go. On three—one...two...three...!"

Kara and David strutted up Decarie Boulevard. They zigzagged through crowds of students who were cutting class, and some elderly shoppers who dragged their feet as they went. The busy street overwhelmed Kara's ears with loud honks and running motors. They made their way north, taking in the stink of exhaust.

"What's the address again?" asked Kara.

"674 Decarie Boulevard, near the corner of De L'Église Street."

Kara looked up the street. "And we have to be there for 3:45pm...what time is it now?"

"It's 3:38pm," said David, as he glanced at his watch. "And I can see the address from here."

He pointed with his right arm to a one-floor stone building, where Oodles for Noodles was squished in the middle by shops on either side, like the custard from a giant _mille-feuille_. It was just a block away, and they reached it within two minutes.

Kara stared at the oncoming traffic. "Do we know what city bus we are looking for? The number or something?"

"204," said David. "It should be an out-of-service __ bus."

She turned her attention southwards and searched the boulevard for the bus. She felt an excitement growing in her breast. The idea of being responsible for so many mortal lives made her truly nervous.

"Uh, David?" asked Kara after a moment. "How are we going to pull this off? How can anyone pull this off?" She let her hands fall to her sides. "What's the plan?"

David turned to face her. "Well, we know the bus loses control and crashes into the 674 building on Decarie, precisely at 3:45pm. So...we have to stop it before the crash."

"Duh, I _know_. But how? What's the _super_ plan?" She watched David's eyes flicker as he thought.

"I don't think out-of-service buses stop for anyone. And the guy is drunk, right? We'll have to force it." David scratched the back of his neck as he surveyed the boulevard, his brain working at a million miles an hour. "We have to stop the accident from happening—so we have about five minutes to figure it out."

At that moment, Kara felt a sharp pain starting to throb on her right ankle. She wiggled her leg, trying to shake off the pain. After a while it seemed to do the trick, and she focused on the job again. Kara searched the oncoming traffic. Her mind flashed back to the day she died and she saw the huge bus coming straight at her. She forced the thought out of her head and focused at the task at hand.

"Are you okay?" asked David, his face concerned. "You look a little upset."

Kara met his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. I was just thinking about the day I died. I didn't think seeing a city bus again would make me so nervous."

"It's normal. It was a pretty traumatic experience," said David.

"I keep seeing huge headlights coming straight at me." Kara looked at her feet. "Then I remember feeling hard metal—and then the darkness. I just...I just can't stop thinking...why didn't I look before crossing the street? I might be alive again, with my whole life ahead of me."

"I can see how this assignment has you a little anxious. But you're a guardian angel now...that is your new life."

Kara let out a sigh. "I know. I'll be fine in a minute...I'll try not to think about my body splattered under a bus."

"Oh yeah, I remember that."

Kara frowned. "What? How did you know that?"

"Because I was there." David turned his attention back to the street.

Kara's eyes widened. "What? What do you mean _you_ were there?"

She stood frozen in place, her mind working overtime, playing back the events of her death in her head. She remembered a hand reaching out and grabbing her. "That was you?"

"Your soul was my assignment—I see it!" yelled David, "Look!" He pointed southwards on the street.

Kara followed David's gaze and spotted the bus. It swiveled left and right as it made its way north, just a few blocks away from them. "David! We _have_ to think of something fast!" She brushed the hair out of her eyes. "What if we can't stop the accident...what...what would happen after? Would all those dead mortals attract a whole lot of demons? David?" yelled Kara.

In a flash, David ran across Decarie Boulevard. His backpack bounced behind him. He got to the sidewalk and turned around. He watched the oncoming bus and then glanced at Kara for two seconds before looking back at the bus. "We only have one option," he yelled from across the street.

"What's that?" Kara struggled with her nerves.

"I'm going to jump in front of it...hopefully he'll turn the opposite direction and hit the parked cars. That should stop it."

"That's your _master_ plan?" Kara shook her head. "What if it doesn't work?" she yelled back, as a group of people eyed her strangely. "What if it crashes into the oncoming traffic? That's not better!"

David paced on the spot, his hands on top of his head. "Well, if you come up with something better, you better tell me in about ten seconds, kiddo, 'cause here it comes!"

Kara turned her head. David was right. She could read the _Out of Service_ sign at the top. The bus was almost upon them. She looked behind her at the restaurant and saw shadows of people inside, not knowing that this might be their last meal. It was packed.

Kara hit her head with her fists searching for a solution. She bit her lip and looked up the street. A red fire hydrant stood but twenty feet from her.

Without breathing a single word to David, Kara turned and bolted towards the restaurant. With her super-hero-chick M suit, Kara plowed through the glass front door, which shattered with a loud _bang_. Chopsticks fell onto plates as the customers stopped eating and stared wide-eyed and open mouthed at the crazy girl who had just interrupted their meal. Kara knew she only had seconds before the bus came crashing in, killing everyone—including the children.

There was only one thing she could do. She roared, "FIRE!!!!!!!!"

No one moved. They all just stared.

"FIRE!" screamed Kara again. "FIRE! QUICK...GET OUT! GET OUT!" She jumped up and beat the air with her arms.

But no one moved.

Kara searched the small restaurant for any kind of alarm system and spotted one on the wall near the entrance. She sprinted towards the red little box fixed to the wall and pulled the lever. Immediately, an ear piercing ring engulfed the tiny restaurant. The customers looked at each other, and then they all jumped up and started to run. Mothers cradled their babies as they hurried out the door; even the cooks at the far end of the restaurant jumped over tables and pushed their way through.

"Fifteen...fourteen...thirteen..."counted Kara. She waited until everyone was safely out of the restaurant.

"Five...four..." Kara ran out of the front door.

"Two..." The front of the bus rolled up onto the sidewalk and came straight for her.

"One!" She jumped out of the way, and the eight-ton metal monster plowed into Oodles for Noodles. Glass and bricks flew everywhere as a thundering _crash_ exploded all around. The bus shuddered to a stop, but not before demolishing a path to the far end of the restaurant. The ground shook as walls and ceiling came crumbling down. The bus was flattened like a soda can by the weight of the structure.

Kara pushed herself up. Rubble was all that was left of the restaurant. She wiped the dust from her face and turned to look at the many stunned faces. Remarkably, no one was hurt. She even spotted the driver of the bus, staggering his way out of the restaurant. "It'll be the twelve-step program for you, buddy," she called out.

Kara smiled. She had accomplished her task. It felt great. She heard David's voice over the chaos.

"Hey! You're a _genius_. The fire alarm! Why didn't I think of that?" David beamed as he ran towards her. He put his hands on his waist and cocked an eyebrow. "Gabe's going to be _very_ happy." He watched the crowds of people who were now taking pictures of the wreckage with their cell phones. "Told you it was going to get better!" He patted Kara on the back, like you would a dog that had performed a task. "You did _really_ good, kiddo."

Kara smiled. "A good day on the job, wouldn't you say?" she laughed. "I'm just really, really happy no one was hurt." She looked around. "And no demons showed up...now that's a first."

"Yup." David dropped his bag on the ground. "It's times like these that make it all worth it, you know... almost as good as...thirty gin and tonics."

Kara gave David a light shove. "You're an idiot." A smile reached her lips. "But an idiot—on a rare occasion—can be right sometimes."

Kara's attention went to a mother comforting her crying child. "This does feel awesome."

"Told ya."

"Ouch!" A stinging pain erupted on her right ankle. Kara bent over and pressed her hand over it.

"What is it?"

"I don't know...I have this thing here..." she pulled up her pant leg and heard David gasp. The mark had grown. It was the size of a fist now, sprawling up and around her calve like a spidery hand. It was mad and ugly.

"You're _Marked!_ "

"I'm what?"

"You're a _spy_!" hissed David. He pushed her roughly away from him. His wide eyes flashed with anger. "How could you? A demon spy! _You're_ the traitor! You've been the traitor this whole time, haven't you?!"

"What? David, don't be ridiculous...I'm not a _spy_."

He was yelling now. "YOU'RE MARKED! Only demon _spies_ are Marked!"

Kara frowned. "Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. I can't be a spy... I just got here! This must be some mistake...it's probably not even a Mark, as you say...maybe it's something else?"

David's expression darkened. "Don't try to _fool_ me again, traitor!"

His words cut through Kara's being like a knife. What is going on? Her new angel world was crumbling down just as she had finally felt part of it.

Kara felt her soul breaking. "This can't be happening to me _._ " She closed her eyes and then opened them again. "David. I...I'm not a traitor," she croaked, her throat tightening up. "David...listen to me, please..."

"When did it happen, eh? When did you _sell_ your _soul_ over to the demons?" He shook his head. Disgust wrinkled into his face, as though Kara was the foulest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

"Please stop! Listen to me. I don't how I got this. I felt some pain on my leg, and then there was this tiny mark...but it didn't hurt, so I forgot about it. It didn't hurt again until today." She stepped towards David.

"Get away from me!"

Kara recoiled, she felt like she just got punched in the gut. "David, please. This is a mistake...I would never do anything to hurt you."

David studied her face. "All this time I wondered how it was possible that the demons sensed us. Why the higher demons were up our asses all this time? You've been playing me this whole time, haven't you? You were Marked, and you led them to us."

Panic consumed her as she realized David wasn't going to believe her. "No. Why can't you believe me? I'm innocent! I don't know why I have this thing. It's not my fault!"

"Don't play innocent with me, _Kara_. The Legion will take care of you. Mark my words."

A few days ago David had kissed her, and now he looked at her with such loathing...she wanted to stop existing entirely. She closed her eyes.

"Ah...your friends have arrived!" said David.

Kara opened her eyes and looked around. "What? Who's here?"

"Have you sent them to kill me!? To finish the job!?" He shouted behind a huge group of people as he backed away from her.

"David! Wait!" Kara took a step towards David and stopped. Two higher demons walked in her direction. They pushed and shoved through the tight crowd, their black eyes fixed on her. She felt a wave of panic wash through her as she backed away. She reached over her shoulder for her bag—but it was gone.

Kara jumped up. She looked over the many heads for David. She spotted him. He was staring at her, a frown on his face. He glanced at the demons before looking back at Kara. A shadow of confusion flashed across his face. He read her true panic. And then he was fighting his way back through the crowd, towards her. Three other higher demons broke through the mob of people and made their way towards David.

"David!" she yelled. He vanished under a wave of mortals.

Kara trembled as she backed away, her eyes on the two higher demons marching towards her. The world around her grew still. She felt helpless and stuck, like a mouse caught in a trap, as she stared at the black-eyed monsters.

One of the demons pulled out a long black blade from his jacket. It was opaque, and a black mist emitted from it, like rippling black smoke. She felt a strange prickling from the inside, as though tiny electric shocks were going off all at once inside her mortal body. The demons broke into a run.

"DAVID!" she cried desperately. She waited ten seconds. Then she ran.

Kara bolted down Decarie Boulevard. She ran without looking back, and pushed her mortal legs as much as she could. Her M suit, it turned out, was better than she could have hoped. Her powerful legs moved with incredible speed. She glanced back and nearly fell as the shock of the higher demons being so close took her by surprise. They were faster than she was.

Kara pressed on. She knew she wasn't trained to fight these demons...not yet. She imagined demon torture. That gave her the fuel to keep running.

She had been running non-stop for so long that she felt her spirit starting to dampen. Her M suit didn't tire, but she didn't know how long she could keep this up. How long could she stay in her suit? She knew they didn't last long. What was going to happen when she outlived it? She knew she had to do something, fast. Dread overwhelmed her whenever she looked back and met those evil black eyes. And David hated her now. The unfairness of it all filled her with rage.

A bright red neon sign, Stan's Diner, appeared in front of her. Kara saw her chance and took it. She ran into a large group of teenage girls, stole a blue jacket from one of them, pulled it on and squeezed herself in with them. She hid with the giggling girls until she was right in front of the diner. Ducking her head, she sprinted straight for the front door and nearly collapsed as she rushed in. She crashed into a few people. "Oops, so sorry! Excuse me!" Kara whirled around and looked out the front glass door.

The higher demons passed Stan's Diner. They ran along the sidewalk, then they stopped. Their heads moved around, as if to follow a scent.

She ran towards the back. A waitress walked down a hallway. "Toilet!" yelled Kara. "I need a toilet—hurry!"

The waitress stopped and pushed up her glasses. Her white hair was pulled back in a tight bun. "Okay. Keep your pants on," she laughed. "The washrooms are over there," she pointed behind her, "but they're out of order."

Kara stared. "Are you kidding me?"

"You'll have to try Stone Grill down the street," the waitress told her.

"I'm not going to make it!"

The waitress blinked. "Are you sick?"

"Something like that." Kara ran past the waitress and stopped in front of a wooden door. Two small paintings of a man and a woman with each sitting on a toilet reading the paper were nailed to the door. A paper sign taped on the front read: _Out of Order_. She tried to force the door open, but it wouldn't budge. "Oh no, this can't be happening!" cried Kara. She pulled on it again as hard as she could—and lost three fingers.

"AHHHHHH!" screamed Kara. She watched her fingers fall to the ground and bounce to a stop. Her index, middle, and ring fingers lay by her shoes, looking like a couple of merguez sausages. A flash of blinding white light radiated from her severed hand, illuminating the entire hallway as if someone had just turned on a huge spotlight.

Kara bent down and scooped up her mortal fingers with shaking hands. She squeezed them with her left hand. They felt like rubber. They were hollow, like empty shells. She dropped them in her pants front pocket. Then she shoved her glowing hand underneath her shirt and turned to check if she had been seen.

A man in his fifties with salt and pepper hair appeared in the hallway. He smiled at Kara as he passed by her. Kara put on her best fake smile and pretended to be talking on the phone. He disappeared into the kitchen where the smell of grease was as thick as tar. A metal coat rack stood against a wall, near the entrance to the kitchen. Kara dashed over to the rack and grabbed a pink silk scarf. She quickly wrapped the scarf around her glowing fingers.

Kara jogged down the hallway to the front of the restaurant. A faint clatter came from the dining area, where customers enjoyed their greasy meals. She saw a young waitress setting up a new table. Kara looked out through the tall glass windows which ran the length of the diner. A higher demon searched the grounds outside. It prowled down the block searching, like a wild animal sniffing out its prey.

She hid her pink hand under her shirt and leaned back against the wall. The waitress filled the empty salt shakers with a large bag of salt.

Kara ran to an empty table. She grabbed a salt shaker and shoved it in her pocket. She knew what a bit of salt could do to a higher demon. But this time she was alone. And there were two of them. She ran to the next empty table and grabbed another salt shaker. There were only two empty tables in the diner. But she needed salt.

The men and women in the restaurant eyed her suspiciously. Kara flashed them a smile. "I have low salt levels."And with that, Kara rushed over to a booth with a family sitting comfortably inside.

"Hi there," she said as she grabbed the salt shaker, "do you mind? I'm all out. Thanks a lot." She shoved the shaker inside her other jean's pocket. And just when she was about to turn around—her right ear fell onto the table.

"Crap!" yelled Kara as she scooped up her ear. She looked at the terrified family.

"Ah...it's just a rubber ear," she smiled, "nothing to worry about. Stupid little prank."

But a beam of light had exploded from the right side of her head. A look of complete shock masked the faces of the family. Their eyes were glued to her head, at the glowing hole where her ear used to be.

Wide-eyed, Kara smacked the right side of her head. She pressed her hand against the hole. "I'm having a seriously _bad_ day!"

She swung herself out of the booth and threw her mortal ear on the floor. She ran to another booth and scooped up three more salt shakers. Satisfied, she headed towards the back of the restaurant, but not before grabbing a knife from one of the tables.

A bell rang, and she turned to see a demon pushing the front door open. He stepped into the diner. His black eyes locked onto hers and grinned. Kara pushed open the back door and ran into an alleyway.

The other higher demon stood in the back alley. Hands in his pockets, he waited calmly outside for her. His pale face cracked in an evil grin. His black eyes watched her every move.

"I'm _so_ not ready for this!" Kara put as much distance as she could between her and the demon. She knew running was not an option anymore. Her mortal body was shutting down. With her butter knife in one hand and a salt shaker in the other, she waited for the demon to attack.

A door slammed shut behind her. The second demon stepped into the alley with a black blade smoking in his hand. Kara blinked and backed away.

"How about playing by the rules?" said Kara. "Two against one, that's hardly fair!"

Rotating his dagger skillfully between his fingers, the demon took a step closer. Kara watched silently as he positioned his body in anticipation.

And then he struck.

But Kara was ready. The demon lunged forward, his weapon going for her stomach. Kara side stepped and thrust her knife into his side, cutting away at his flesh. She rolled and stepped back, watching in horror as black blood oozed from the cut. The demon clasped his wound with his hand, with a stunned expression on his face. Black blood dripped between his fingers. Then he came at her swinging.

Kara went into defense mode; positioning her right foot in front of her while adjusting her weight with her left, she blocked his hit. The impact nearly forced her to her knees—but she held on. She felt the mortal body strain...she knew it wouldn't last long. With all her strength, she pushed off and backed away, watching the demon's corrupted face screwing up in anger, its upper lip trembling.

The demon attacked again. He swung his blade with brutal force, aiming for her head. She blocked it, but the force of the strike forced her to the ground. Her butter knife flew out of her hand. Blinking, she looked up at the demon, its black eyes filled with a mix of hatred and hunger. She felt a cold fever rushing through her. She trembled. She felt the M suit weakening beneath her, melting away. Her vision blurred. She blinked desperately, trying to see clearly. The second demon walked slowly towards her, a smile materializing on its face. It opened its mouth to speak.

"The end is near, _angel_ ," hissed the higher demon.

Kara opened a salt shaker.

"You can already _feel_ it. We will _drink_ your essence, little one...and you will be no more!" Its jaw dislocated and opened abnormally long, all the way down to its chest, like a ventriloquist's dummy's wooden mouth. Kara could only stare. It lunged at her...

Kara threw the salt shaker in its mouth. The demon fell over and screamed. Convulsing on the ground, his mouth sizzled and popped. Black smoke rose from his body like burnt toast. He howled in pain.

Kara grabbed another salt shaker and readied herself as the other demon attacked. She threw the salt at it, but the demon brushed it aside with its blade. With lighting speed, the demon struck and sliced off her right arm.

"Ahhh!" Agonizing pain surged through her M suit. Her body burned, the poison of the blade eating away at her soul. She stared at the hole where her right arm used to be; black mist emitted from the wound like smoke from a candle. A kind of acid surrounded the cut, eating its way around the stump, leaving it blackened. The pain was so intense that Kara shut her eyes and rolled on the ground. She was burning alive from the inside. She felt the poison of the blade spread through her M suit...and into her soul. She was dying, for a second time.

_Kara...Kara ..._

Kara turned and looked at the demons. Their lips didn't move.

_Kara ...be strong ..._

"Who—where are you...?" She whirled her head around.

_We are here with you ..._

Kara trembled. "I can't s...see you. H...help me. Please."

_Feel your strength, Kara. Don't be afraid ..._

"What d...do you m...mean?" She shook uncontrollably.

"Who are you talking to, little _angel_?" The higher demon tossed her severed arm in the air. "No one can help you now."

The demon stretched open its mouth and swallowed her arm. Its eyes suddenly glowed white, before going back to black. The demon grinned. It turned its attention to the remaining parts of Kara. "Your essence tastes great," said the demon. "You will make me very powerful, little _angel_. You should be happy your _meaningless_ angel _soul_ will have served a purpose."

Kara blinked as she forced herself to sit up. She cradled the stump of her arm. Part of her wanted to die, to stop the excruciating pain. She waited.

_Kara...don't let go...you can do this...hang on a little longer..._

"M...my head," breathed Kara, "I'm hearing voices in my head."

A door opened with a loud creak on the opposite side of the alleyway. A man dressed in white threw some large black garbage bags on the ground, plopped a large bucket of soapy water with a wet mop beside it, and slammed the door shut.

"Hmmm," continued the demon as it approached her, "how splendid you will taste."

_The bucket, Kara,_ said the voices. _The water...run to it. Feel the strength in you, Kara, run!_

Kara couldn't explain it, but she suddenly felt stronger, as though the strength of a hundred people burst into her. The higher demon's jaw loosened up grotesquely as he prepared to eat her, and Kara mustered the last of her energy and ran towards the bucket.

She plunged her head in the water. A sharp pain erupted in her legs—and the darkness took her.

# Chapter 11

### Miracles Division

It seemed like days had passed when Kara finally opened her eyes.

Her body was enveloped in something soft. It followed her every move like the waterbed she had once tried at her Aunt Tracy's house. Kara turned her head in every which way and saw only orange. As she moved, a semi-liquid substance pressed against her like jell-o. She reached out. Her hands stopped at a harder subsurface. She felt up and down and around. She was inside a globule. She opened her mouth to scream, and liquid poured in. She closed her mouth again.

Kara strained to see past the semi-translucent shell. Shadows of bubbles floated all around her. She looked down at herself; her clothes were gone. She was completely naked. She whirled around inside her bubble, kicking with her legs and flailing her arms.

There was a sudden loud _pop_...Kara felt the bubble break below her, and she slipped and fell into a pool of water. She struggled to the surface, where buckets of the jell-o substance came drooling down on her.

"Gross!" she yelled, as she wiped her eyes. She was inside a massive warehouse-like building made of shimmering brass metal. A great metal contraption of interwoven pipes and wires stood at her left, reaching all the way to the top...like her uncle's car garage, but without the oily cigarette smell. The pool ran the length of the building and sparkled in the sun light, which spilled from the skylights above.

Thousands of soft orange spheres the size of a person hovered in the air, like giant soap bubbles. They bounced off of each other in the crowded space.

Kara heard a shuffle of feet and turned to see a cherub with a glass jar full of souls stop at an operational panel on the left. With some effort, the cherub stood on the top of its toes and dumped the souls into an opening. They flowed up through a pipe, where she couldn't see them, to a giant translucent tube extruded from the top of the machine. The souls rolled inside the machine for a moment and then popped out, one by one, enveloped by orange bubbles. She could make out the silhouettes of GAs wiggling inside these bubbles, as they grew slowly into their human forms.

Something moved in Kara's peripheral vision. A group of guardian angels stood below one of the globules, looking up. Suddenly the bag broke, and with a _splash,_ a naked GA plopped into the pool. She heard buzzing as she read a huge flashing neon sign, Healing-Xpress.

Kara made a face. "Whoa...I think I swallowed too much of that orange stuff."

Kara brought her hands to her face. Her body gave off a strong citrus smell, as though the orange substance was some sort of fruit punch. She heard the faint patter of some walking behind her. She turned and looked up into sparkling blue eyes.

"Here..." David threw her a towel and turned his back. "You can cover yourself with that until we get you some clothes."

Kara's mouth seemed sewn shut. She struggled to open it.

"Thanks," she croaked. She pulled herself up and over the ledge into a sitting position. She wiped her body down. "And you've been here for how long...staring at my naked body, if that's what this is?" She wiped her face with the towel and then carefully wrapped herself in it.

"I just got here."

Kara studied David's back. He had come to see her. Maybe he believed her now?

She brushed a sticky strand of hair behind her ear. She felt prickling all the way down her back as she tried to come up with something to say. She was never good in these kinds of awkward situations. But then again, _she_ was dead, and she had been naked and covered in sticky orange slime; what could be more awkward than that?

"You can turn around now." Kara watched as his body shifted and turned.

"Hm." David thinned his lips, a scowl materializing on his brow.

She studied his face for a moment. She had never seen David look so troubled. It was as though he was fighting something from the inside. When she couldn't bear it anymore, she asked the one question she'd been dying to ask since he arrived.

"So...do you believe me now? About the demon's mark on my leg?"

David stared at the floor, his face expressionless. "It doesn't matter what _I_ think. The Legion is divided about what happened. They haven't come to a decision. Not everyone believes you're innocent."

Kara looked into his face. She wanted David to believe her. It was the truth, after all.

"You still don't believe me...and you think I'm some _spy_?" she said angrily.

"It doesn't matter what I think." His quiet tone was worse than if he'd been yelling.

"Right...you said that. So then, why are you here?"

David met her eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. "I'm still your Petty Officer...it's my job to make sure you're okay."

"Right." Kara narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "You said the Legion was _divided—the Legion_ —does everybody know about this? And angels have taken sides?"

A loud _splash_ cut the uncomfortable silence between them. More GAs plopped into the pool, their naked bodies struggling to a sitting position as they wiped the orange liquid from their supernatural skin.

After a long pause, Kara turned her attention back to David. "So, how did I get here—in these _bag_ things?" She pointed to the floating orange bubbles. "The last thing I remember was being attacked by higher demons and reaching the bucket of water. Then everything went black."

David looked up as more GAs plopped into the pool.

"Your soul was in a bad shape...you needed to be healed. This is where all angels come to get fixed."

"Oh." Kara felt like a car that needed an oil change. She cleared her throat.

"Um, David? Something...something _strange_ happened to me when...when I thought I was going to die... when my soul was dying."

"What do mean, _strange?_ "

Kara blinked. She wasn't sure whether hearing voices in your head up in Horizon could mean the same thing as hearing them back on Earth.

"What is it?" said David. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Kinda." Kara sighed and closed her eyes. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but I...I heard voices."

She opened her left eye and peeked at David.

"What?" David cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe you just bumped your head or something."

"I don't think that's it. I really _heard_ voices inside my head...they...they helped me escape. You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

David's expression was distant.

"I've never heard of guardians hearing voices. I'm pretty sure it was your own voice, Kara. Remember...you were weak, and you thought you were dying. Our minds do strange things when we're about to die."

He threw out his hand. "Come," he said as he gestured for her to take it. "The Archangel Raphael wants to meet you."

Kara took David's hand and pulled herself to her feet. She realized she should be more cautious about what she said from now on. Hearing voices was not common among the angels. She feared it might make her look more like a traitor. So she dropped the subject.

"Who's Raphael?" she asked instead. She pulled her towel tighter around her.

"An Archangel," David squeezed her hand.

"I know...but who is he? What does he do?"

"You'll see."

They left the Healing-Xpress building through giant metal doors, and Kara stared up into a scarlet and orange sky. Like a rainbow, the colors chased one another, twisting and swirling as they spread above and beyond. In the forest before them, tall green trees rippled in a light breeze.

Surprisingly, Kara felt great. She kept the towel wrapped tightly around her body and followed David through the forest. The dirt path led up to a clearing where they looked out across a valley to a mountain that rose high above and was lost into a sea of red clouds. As they neared the base of the mountain, Kara realized that a city was carved from the mountain's core. Groups of oracles and guardian angels poured out from the many stone edifices, going about their business.

"What is this place?" asked Kara.

David seemed to relax a little. "Miracles Division...where the _magic_ happens."

"Huh?"

"Just a handful of GAs get to work here," explained David. "Sometimes—but it's very rare—we get to perform miracles. Usually by healing the sick. What the mortals can't explain with their science...how a person is suddenly cured of cancer...that's us."

Kara thought of all the sick people she had seen in the hospital last year when she had cut herself and needed a few stitches...back when she was alive. She remembered _a lot_ of sick people. "But...there are still _so_ many sick people in the world? Why aren't they cured?"

"I'm not sure," answered David. He passed a hand through his hair. "All I know is there are only a few special cases...and that the orders come from The Chief himself."

"Oh." Kara followed David down a small slope. Her bare feet pressed against a smooth stone path. "I feel kinda awkward in just a towel... everyone else is dressed." She tugged the top of her towel and held it in place with her right hand.

"You're not the only one...look." David pointed to another group of GAs waddling down a path in white towels.

"Thank God. I don't feel like such a moron now."

When they reached the opening of the city, two giant man-like rock sculptures stood on either side of the entrance, like soldiers guarding the entrance to the palace. Their rough faces were carved into downward grins.

Kara stared at the jungle of winding and turning walkways that wound between buildings carved from huge walls of rock, as though chiseled by gigantic hands. Other buildings were wood and stone, molded into perfectly balanced designs.

Kara followed David inside a massive stone structure, down a hallway, then finally into a large chamber. Red rays of sunlight poured through square openings at the top, like stained glass windows. Five guardian angels in blue lab coats worked on wooden tables cluttered with plants and pots, mixing and measuring elements in glass containers. The liquids morphed into green and orange colors.

A beautiful Asian-looking woman, draped in white linen, examined the contents of a square glass container, which looked to Kara like a small trapped rainbow. Red highlights reflected off the jet black hair that spilled all the way down her back. She towered over David and Kara.

"So, this is Raphael?" whispered Kara. "She's a woman."

David had a huge grin plastered across his face, his eyes fixed on the beautiful lady.

Kara rolled her eyes. "You're so predictable."

They walked towards the impressive woman. She looked up, and her perfect face melted into a brilliant smile.

"Ah, David." She put the glass container on a table and walked towards them. "I'm so glad to see you again." She reached out and hugged him.

Kara noticed a golden shield crisscrossed with two silver swords marked on her forehead.

"I'm very happy to see you too, Raphael," David was smothered in Raphael's bosom as he spoke. She let him go, and Kara thought she could see the blush on his cheeks.

Raphael's brown eyes locked onto Kara. "So, this must be Kara...let's have a look."

She took Kara's hands in hers as she examined her closely. Kara felt a strange ripple pass through her body, as though she had just gone through an internal x-ray.

"Well, then...I'm going to put my hands on your face, okay? I need to make sure there aren't any traces of the death blade inside you."

"A what kind of blade?" Kara wrinkled her face.

"A death blade...a demon blade. It's poisonous to any angel," answered Raphael, "it can kill you."

"Right...I remember those."

The Archangel studied Kara's face closely. "Are you ready, Kara?"

Kara blinked and looked over at David. He gave her a reassuring nod and then his eyes darted back to Raphael. Kara bit her lip and turned back to face the Archangel.

"I feel a little weird with you staring at me like that," she said.

Raphael smiled. "Don't worry. It won't take long," she laughed, "I promise I'll stop staring at you in just a minute."

Raphael's almond eyes hypnotized Kara, and she could only nod.

Raphael pressed her hands around Kara's face and then closed her eyes. Immediately, Kara felt a soothing warmth spread from her head to the rest of her body, as though someone had just poured a bucket of warm water over her head. The sensation turned to little pricks inside her, like tiny lightning bolts bouncing on the inside walls of her core.

And then it stopped.

Raphael took a step back and her face broke into a smile. "Wonderful. You show no signs of the poison. And the demon's Mark is gone. _That_ , is _very_ good news, Kara." She turned around gracefully and walked over to the large wooden table.

Kara bent over and stuck out her right leg. She twisted it inwards so that she had a clear view of the bottom part. She smiled. It was olive colored, smooth and clean. The mark was gone. She danced around on the spot, flashing her clean leg. She locked eyes with David and smiled. But he didn't return her smile. Instead, he focused on Raphael.

Raphael rummaged through piles of clothes neatly placed on long wooden shelves. Kara studied her angelic face, wondering if she thought her a spy or not. Raphael didn't act as though she thought Kara was a traitor. Raphael was kind to her and wasn't giving her the cold shoulder like David was.

"Raphael, is there a way you can sense...I'm not a traitor somehow? That I'm telling the truth when I say I'm not a spy?"

The Archangel turned to stare at Kara. Her eyes switched to David's momentarily, then back to Kara. "I'm afraid I cannot help you with that. I'm a healer. I don't get involved with Horizon politics." She smiled. "I cannot read your mind."

Kara sighed. "Oh. Well...thanks anyway." She stared at the floor.

Raphael stacked a pile of clothes and handed them to Kara. "Here, these are your new clothes. You can get changed in the back." Her voice was so soothing and motherly; just having Raphael close to her made her feel as though she was with her own mother.

"Thank you. I can't wait to be out of this towel."

Kara took the clothes and went to change in a small room with a round door and no ceiling. Red light flooded from above, and a smell of moist soil filled the air. She pulled on some undergarments, a cami, blue jeans and a grey hooded sweater and walked back to join the others. She smiled as she watched David with the Archangel Raphael, putting on his best moves: the winks, the famous smile, the cocking of the eyebrow _._ Kara felt a little jealous.

"I'm back," announced Kara, "but I'll need some shoes." She wiggled her toes.

"Here..." David handed her a pair of running shoes.

Raphael clasped her hands in front of her and cleared her throat. "The Archangel Gabriel is expecting you both back at Operations shortly. There are lots of jobs for the two of you."

Her eyes shifted to David and didn't move again. "And please, _try_ to be nice, David."

David pursed his lips. "I will, if he will."

The Archangel sighed loudly and shook her beautiful black hair. She looked at Kara. "Please try and talk some _sense_ into this one? It's not helping his case to be insubordinate to the Legion commander."

"He's a putz," said David.

"But he's also three times your size," said Kara. She pushed her feet into her new shoes.

Raphael placed her hands on her hips. "Gabriel is a bit intense at times, but he is your superior. Come now. He is waiting. I will accompany you back to the elevators."

Her long, white linen dress swished behind her. "Oh, I almost forgot," said Raphael as she turned around. "He has also informed me that the two of you will be summoned to the Council of Ministers."

David jogged to catch up to her. "The Council of Ministers? Are you sure?"

"Yes," answered Raphael and kept walking.

Kara ran next to David. "Why do you look so worried?" She studied his face. "And angry? What's going on, David? You're making me nervous! What's this council?"

David turned to look at her. "It's where all the big decisions are made in Horizon."

"And this is bad?"

David's face was grim. "It is when you're _summoned_."

# Chapter 12

### The Council of Ministers

After Kara and David left the Miracles Division, they went back to Operations. They could only wait until the Council of Ministers decided to summon them. Gabriel handed them piles of new job files instead, never mentioning the demon's Mark. It was as though it had never happened.

Their first assignment: Mr. John Yong, 1240 Peel Street, sidewalk, 1:24 pm. Suffocates due to a severe allergic reaction to cherry gum. And while David was on the lookout for demons from the shadows of a building, Kara sneaked behind Mr. Yong as he popped in his gum and gave him the Heimlich maneuver of his life. The gum came rocketing out of his mouth and landed in some woman's hair. Too shocked and confused to speak, Mr. Yong's bulging eyes were a good enough sign that he was alive and that the job was done.

Moving on, they then tackled: Mrs. Rose Roy, at 359 Messier Street Apt. # 34, 6:12pm, who fries her brain by using the convection oven to dry her new perm. Impersonating students selling the local newspaper, Kara and David were able to sneak into the retirement home, go up the third floor, and talk Mrs. Roy out of using the oven to dry her hair.

During all this time on the job, David gave Kara the silent treatment. Kara stuck to small talk and work-related conversations. She hated him one day, and was totally into him the next. She hated herself for being so _sensitive_ , so typically _female_.

At times she wanted to give up and leave him to hate her and to ask for a new Petty Officer. But Kara was determined to prove her innocence to David and to the rest of the Legion.

Kara and David hopped out of the elevator back to Level Two when they had completed their rescue missions. Gabriel greeted them with a scowl.

"Files!" he barked. He took the job files from David and waited for the oracle to roll over and take them away. Kara watched the Archangel as his dark eyes darted from David to her and back again. The look in his eyes was fierce, and it frightened her.

"It is time," said Gabriel, his perfect face showing no emotion.

"Time for what, Big G?" David flashed a set of pearly whites.

Gabriel fixed his eyes onto Kara. She shook as she felt a tickle inside her, moving from the top of her head to her toes. Then her forehead got really cold, as when you eat ice cream really fast and get brain freeze. She looked at Gabriel. He wasn't blinking, as if he were in a trance. Somehow, she could feel a part of him inside her, searching her core. And for a long moment, he didn't speak. He turned his attention back to David as he spoke.

"The Archangel Uriel is ready for you. The council will see you now." And with that, Gabriel turned and left Kara and David to contemplate their fate.

"Why was he staring at me like _that?_ " she shuddered. "I feel a little violated. It was like he was trying to see through me—a bit freakish."

David flipped the collar from his leather jacket. "I don't know, but we better get going."

Kara searched David's face. "So what is the Council of Ministers going to do?"

David turned around and started to walk back to the elevator.

Kara ran to catch up. "Do you know why we have to go?"

"It's a _council_. And we're going because we have to," said David, back to his usual avoiding-Kara game.

"Right...but why? This has something to do with the demon's Mark, hasn't it?"

David kept staring at his boots as he pattered onward. "I'm sure it's because of the Mark. You don't just get summoned to the high council for tea."

"I knew it! Everyone thinks I'm a traitor!" Kara could feel herself starting to shake. "I'm starting to _flip_ _out_ here...what are they going to do to me?"

"I don't know."

"Is this like a trial? Am I going to be able to defend myself?"

"I don't know."

"Great. I feel so much better."

The ride up to Level Six, the Council of Ministers, was a silent one. Kara glanced angrily at David. He looked as though he was frightened, too. He stared at the floor with his arms crossed over his chest.

A large brown monkey operated the elevator. Its orange eyes darted back and forth from Kara to David. It adjusted its purple bowtie around its neck, mumbling to itself. After a moment, the monkey picked at its tail and popped things Kara couldn't see into its mouth. It checked its fingernails, and then scratched its bottom.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Kara made a face.

The monkey lifted its chin. "You're just saying that because you can't have some."

"I don't want some, that's the point. It's gross."

The monkey smacked its lips. "You don't know what you're missing!"

When Kara turned away from the monkey and looked at David his brows were scrunched, and he was staring at the floor again... _so_ not him. She missed the old David...the new one hated her guts.

"What happens to traitors in the Legion?" she asked.

David stared at the floor. "They're thrown out, banished forever... never to return. They're left to serve their demon masters."

Kara clasped her trembling hands behind her back.

"Level Six! Council of Ministers," called the monkey at the control panel.

The elevator jolted to a stop. Kara stared straight ahead as the doors slid open. Blinding white light came flooding in, and she had to shut her eyes. Gradually she adjusted to the light and could see. She stepped to the door and peeked out. She looked down. Tiny puffs of clouds spread out sporadically above a vast plane of greens and beige, divided into rectangles. Dark blue curves wiggled through the landscape and out of sight. Miniscule cities were surrounded by monopoly-game houses that disappeared over the horizon.

The bottom of the elevator rested on a soft white cloud, the size of a small car. They were floating in the air. Kara started to feel unsteady and grabbed the sides to support herself. She felt _really_ dizzy. In the distance, mountains hovered in the air, kept up by some sort of magic.

"You okay? You look like you're about to be sick," David said, as he rested a hand on her shoulder. She winced, totally unprepared for him to touch her so suddenly. She tingled at his touch.

Kara nodded, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the bright blue sky.

"Don't worry, we're not going to _fall_. We're just waiting for the sky-car."

Kara frowned and turned to look at David, not sure she heard him correctly. "The what?"

"The sky-car." David pointed out towards the sky.

Kara followed his gaze. Something white and small floated their way. It maneuvered easily in the open air at great speed. Kara could hear the soft _tat tat ta_ sound of a motor getting louder and louder, until finally the sky-car lingered at their door. It was an oval-shaped cloud, the size of a normal car, with four upholstered blue seats in two rows in the middle. A metal T steering gear stood at the front. Puffs of white clouds shot out from the back, like balls from an automatic tennis ball launcher.

"So, how does this thing—what the...?" Kara noticed the driver.

"Sky-car 2555, at _your_ service!" the driver said.

A large white and black bird was perched on the steering gear. On the top of its head rested a red cap with the numbers 2555 stitched across it in gold letters.

The bird puffed out its chest and opened its beak. "Step right up, step right up! Sirs and madams!" He spoke perfect English. He pulled out his left wing and bent it at the elbow, flapping it, gesturing for them to come aboard.

David jumped down easily with a loud _thump_. He turned and gave Kara his hand. "You won't fall. Just don't look down if you're scared."

"I'm not scared!" Kara forced herself to look only at the sky-car. "I'm just not used to getting into flying cars, that's all." She grasped the door's frame. "I don't remember seeing it in the job description."

"Let's go, Miss," said the bird, "I have other appointments..."

"Okay, okay!" said Kara. "So what if I fall... I'll just reappear in an elevator, right?" she whispered to herself. She took David's hand and jumped into the sky-car. She was relieved to land on solid footing.

"The name's Sam," said the bird. He jumped up and twirled around in the air, landing with his back facing them. With his feet clasped tightly around the steering bar, he swung upside down and extended his right wing in greeting.

"Pleasure to meet ya," he blinked several times.

David shook his wing. "I'm David, and this is Kara," he said to the upside down bird.

"Okay then! Now that we're all acquainted..." Sam flapped his wings, swung his body back upright on the steering gear, straightened himself, and said formally, "Please take a seat! Take a seat!"

Kara and David sat down together. "There are actually seat belts on this thing? Why?"

David put his belt on. "Trust me...buckle up." He raised his eyebrows. Kara clipped her seat belt together and pulled it tight.

"Now should I be scared?"

Sam flapped his wings excitedly. He adjusted his hat.

"Ready?"

David nodded. "We're good to go."

Sam used all his weight to push the accelerator.

"Hang on to your _butts_!" The motor kicked into life, and the sky-car rocketed towards the floating mountains.

"HOLY CRRRAAAAPP!!!"

Kara's head was pinned to the headrest, as though she was on a circus ride. The wind whistled in her ears, and she squinted her eyes into slits. The sky-car flew across the sky. Soon, the mountains came more in focus and Kara realized that she had been mistaken. What she had believed to be huge mountains were in fact parts of a massive city, floating on individual clouds.

When they reached the floating city, Kara felt a cool spring breeze. Sky-cars flew in and out of buildings and disappeared between the clouds, picking up and dropping off guardian angels and oracles. The huge city sparkled in the sun like massive pieces of jewelry. The sky-car swayed and hovered over a large concrete landing zone, then dropped and settled onto a platform.

"You okay? You look green." David grinned and combed his hair with his fingers.

"Peachy," grunted Kara, as she swayed on the spot.

Sam the bird swung around and around on the steering gear. "Don't forget to tip your driver!"

He beat his black wings, hopped to an upright position, and held out a tin can in front of him.

"We have to leave a tip? Are you serious?"

"Oh, yeah...I almost forgot." David ripped a button from his shirt. He dropped it in the can.

"Buttons are tips?"

David flattened the front of his shirt. "Tips can be anything...just as long as you give them something."

Sam shook the can, delighted. "Smell ya later!"

The sky-car lifted up, hovered for a moment, and raced off.

"And I thought the monkeys were the ones on crack!" Kara stared after the flying car until it was just a grey speck in the vast blue sky.

There was a sudden _click_ , and a door at the far end of the platform opened. An oracle appeared and maneuvered his giant crystal towards them.

"Ah! Here you are at last." He crumpled the front of his robe in his excitement.

"Quickly now...the two of you should know that you are going to be questioned about the demon's Mark situation...the council is waiting...this way please." The oracle steered his crystal around and made his way towards the door at the end of the platform.

David sighed and followed the oracle.

Kara jogged over to his side. "So...what do you think is going to happen to me?" asked Kara as she studied David's face.

David looked into Kara's eyes as he walked. "I'm...I'm not sure exactly. But I know it has to do with the demon's Mark. A spy in the Legion... is some serious stuff."

Kara felt the anger rising inside her. "But I'm _not_ a spy!" she hissed between her teeth. "I haven't done anything wrong."

David turned away from Kara slowly. "That's for _them_ to decide. You'll have to convince them, not me. I'm not on the council."

"Right. I forgot. You _hate_ me."

David grabbed Kara by the elbow and pulled her around to face him. "You _betrayed_ me!" he growled, trying to stay calm.

" _I_ betrayed _you_?" Kara narrowed her eyes. "You won't even believe me when I'm telling you the truth! You pretend I don't exist!"

"The truth is that you're _Marked_!" said David.

Kara made fists with her hands. "It's not my fault! I didn't know I was Marked! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"You _played_ with my emotions," said David, recovering his composure. "You used me." His voice was almost a whisper.

"What...?" Bewildered, Kara just stared at David, not believing she had just heard what came out of his mouth.

"Ahem...am I _interrupting_ something? Are you in _control_ of your feelings?" The oracle tapped his foot on the glass sphere.

David straightened up. "Yes, oracle."

The oracle glared at the two of them for half a second. Then his face broke into a smile. "Was that convincing enough? I used to think...if I were born mortal...I'd be a swell actor."

"It was great."

"Yeah, you were really convincing." Kara put on a fake smile. She was still shocked by David's words.

"Well, I've watched myself perform this very act hundreds of times—oh, dear." The oracle screwed up his face. "I can't remember what I'm supposed to say next? My mind is blank. Are we on our way to an exhibition?"

"No, you're taking us to the High Council," said David.

The oracle's eyes widened. "Right, that hasn't happened yet. So mixed up, so mixed up. Well then, let's get going. The council won't wait for you." He tossed his beard over his shoulder, spun around, and rolled away, mumbling to himself.

David was silent as Kara followed him and the oracle through the grey metal door at the end of the platform. Her mind was numb and her body fluttered with the words he just said. They moved through a great hall with colorful carpets and portraits of oracles, Gas, and important looking Archangels hanging high on the walls. Haunted eyes stared back at them. They passed many doors with golden signs nailed above them, stenciled in black letters. Kara stopped to read: Council Officer # 78-ORC. She peeked through the open door and spotted an oracle sitting on his crystal ball before a long wooden desk, going through some papers. They darted along to the end of the hall, where they met two massive brass doors.

"Well then, here we are," said the oracle as he pushed open the doors. "The Minister will see you now." He disappeared behind them, leaving Kara and David standing alone.

Kara gasped.

Fourteen eyes stared back at her. She blinked. A group of seven determined-looking Archangels sat upon a dais at the opposite end of a large round chamber. The room had a rounded glass dome, and Kara could see the blue sky and hints of other tall buildings floating around them. Rays of light spilled through the glass. The Archangels sat around a black half-moon desk, which sparkled in the light like a huge black diamond.

Kara staggered behind David as they walked through the majestic doorway. Her skin prickled all along her back, as she felt the entire room go still around her. The only sound was the echoing patter of their feet.

Rows of wooden seats were angled along and around the chamber, like seats in a stadium, but this time they were all empty. She started to feel extremely cautious. A long bench was placed ten feet away from the dais, anticipating their arrival. David walked casually to the bench and faced the group, mouthing to Kara to do the same. She flicked her hair behind her ears and waited. And as she looked up, seven pairs of eyes were still watching her every move. Kara bit her lip, feeling small and insignificant. _I'm so dead._ She couldn't remember feeling this nervous before, even when she first presented her paintings. She wished she could throw up.

The largest of the Archangel males, who sat in the middle, stood up and spoke.

"Welcome, guardian angels, to the Council of Ministers. I am Uriel, the Minister of Ministration and Peace."

Uriel's voice was soft and almost musical, not at all like the booming voices of Ramiel and Gabriel. His dark brown wavy hair sparkled in the light. There was something very soothing about his presence. Kara felt herself relax a little. He was also very easy on the eyes. A long golden robe swished and swayed as he lifted his arms.

"Let us begin," he called back. "Please, sit down." He threw out his arms, gesturing for Kara and David to take a seat.

Kara fell into the chair with an echoing _thump_. The sound cut through the thick wall of silence like a knife. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She felt the energy of the council focus upon her. Kara flinched.

"Ahem...members," said Uriel, "there are two matters to be discussed regarding guardian angel, Kara Nightingale, of the class order # 4321. First, let us begin with the delicate subject of the demon's Mark."

Kara lifted her eyes and gazed at the speaker. Uriel sat back down and brought his hands together in front of him. For a moment, he considered the council, his face stained in discountenance.

An Archangel with a shaved head and dressed in a long grey robe pushed his chair back and stood up, his hands clasped together in front of him. "Let me be the first to object to bringing her to the council. She is a demon spy! She wears their _Mark!_ We should cast her out to join her filth!" He turned his attention to Kara and glared at her with deep-set eyes.

Kara bit her lip. "This is not so good," she whispered.

A woman stood up. Her curly red hair rippled all the way down her back. Her robes were green, and her skin gave off a milky glow. "We understand your concern, Zadkiel. But under these new circumstances, I feel it is our obligation as elders to this council to seek the truth and believe in our guardians. From what Gabriel has told us, she had no previous knowledge of the Mark. There is no evidence that implicates her in any demon activity. The demons could have Marked her without her knowledge. Without any proof, I must believe she is innocent."

There were a few mumbled consensuses amongst the council members.

Zadkiel pressed his lips together. "Camael, do not be fooled. The Marked are best at concealing themselves...they are true chameleons. She is a danger to us all. Having her here will only bring death to our world! Can you not see this? Her soul is evil!"

Those last words rang in Kara's brain. She felt herself sinking on the bench.

Camael lifted her hand in a calming manner. "There's no need to shout. I understand the dangers involved if we are wrong. But I believe she is innocent. There is no evidence that points to her deceiving us."

Kara's anxiety rose to an uncontrollable level; her head was spinning. She rocked back and forth on her chair, fumbling with her fingers.

"This is against all High Council laws. Never before have we permitted a Marked angel to stay in Horizon. This cannot be! I forbid it!" bellowed Zadkiel. His lips trembled as his face was cloaked in a scowl.

Another member of the Council stood up. His night black skin contrasted against his blood red robes. His face was twisted in contempt. "I agree with Zadkiel. Letting this angel stay amongst us will only result in our _ruin_. She should not be permitted to stay!"

"She will be killed if we cast her out. She must be allowed to stay!" protested Camael.

Kara heard some members gasp.

"Members," said Zadkiel. His tone had changed into a soothing melody of words. "How can we trust this angel? We know nothing of her. Who is to say she is not a spy? She might not look evil, but do not let your eyes deceive you... evil has many faces."

"I'd like to hear what Petty Officer David McGowan has to say about this," Uriel's voice silenced everyone in the room. Kara felt its power. His eyes darted over to David. "He's been with her since she arrived in Horizon, some short time ago. He's watched over her. I'm sure he can give us a better understanding of her temperament. David?"

Wide-eyed, Kara shot a glance at David. His expression was unreadable.

David stood up. "Um...she seems to be a regular sixteen year-old girl—a bit of a loner at times—but I haven't seen her do anything suspicious... or against our ways. I don't sense any evil in her heart."

Kara frowned. Did he just call her a loner? She searched David's face.

"How can you be sure? You cannot know what's in her heart! No! We cannot allow this!" Zadkiel hit the table with his fist.

"This angel is innocent!" said Camael. "There is no proof supporting your claim!"

"She is a _traitor_! Have you already forgotten that she was Marked?!" shouted Zadkiel.

"ENOUGH!" said Uriel. His voice thundered through the great dome. "Let us vote on the matter now. All those in favor of banishing Kara Nightingale from Horizon, raise your right hand."

Panic moved down her body slowly. Kara counted the hands. Three.

"All those in favor of keeping her in Horizon so that she may continue to excel as a prominent GA?" continued Uriel, and he raised his hand. He pulled back the corners of his lips and showed her his teeth.

Kara waited patiently as she watched the hands go up. Four.

"The council has spoken...Kara Nightingale will stay in Horizon. Without conclusive evidence, we find no fault in her actions, nor do we find any in her Petty Officer."

Uriel looked at Kara, his deep-set eyes searching. She felt as though he was trying to see through her. Uriel lifted his brow. "And so, the council has closed this matter...let's move on to the next."

Kara had only just begun to feel calm again when she realized it wasn't over yet. The Archangels who were standing seated themselves. She looked at David for help. But he wasn't looking at her. He stared at the floor.

Another woman Archangel from the council stood up. Her long blonde hair covered the front of her white robes. She was looking at Kara.

"The council has been informed about a grave matter. An elemental child, born of mortal and angel parents, has gone missing. The elemental are very powerful creatures. They possess power of great magnitude. The mixing of mortals and angels is forbidden, but unfortunately it has happened, and we have to deal with the consequences. And to make this serious matter worse, we have now learned that the child has been taken.

"This child is _very_ special, both to us and to the demon ruler, Asmodeus— for the power it can give the demons is unimaginable. Asmodeus and his kingdom of demons could perpetuate their stay in the world of the living. He wants to create havoc and take possession of Earth. It is our belief that the child is being held by some demon troops, hidden in the mortal world. When the time comes, Asmodeus will kill this child and use its power to rule the mortal world."

There were a few acknowledgments among the council.

Kara's head was spinning. An elemental child? __ Was this the same child Benson had mentioned? Twisted images of demons torturing a child flashed before her eyes, as a faint echo of a baby's cry made her shiver. A feeling of dread crept inside her. She looked across at the council members. Her eyes rested on Uriel; his face was unreadable. Amongst all these wise men and women she felt insignificant, as if her body had melted into the bench.

The Archangel Uriel glanced over at the speaker and motioned her to sit. "Thank you, Jophiel," he said, as he placed his hands flat in front of him. "And now, at this time, you have been summoned to the council, Kara Nightingale, to be given a _life-quest_."

At these words she heard David gasp. She turned to see his eyes bulging out of his head. He mouthed the word, " _What!"_

She heard another gasp behind her, then a _thump_. And when she turned, she could see that the oracle had fallen off his orb. He clambered back up on his crystal and threw his arms around it.

Kara shook her head. "David!" she whispered, "What's a life-quest?"

David spoke with the side of his mouth. "It's a special assignment. If you succeed, you get your life back...your mortal life back as it was before you died!"

Kara could only blink.

"It's very rare," he continued whispering.

Kara's jaw dropped as she let David's words sink into her brain. " _Your mortal life back...are they serious...?"_

"Kara Nightingale," said Uriel quietly. "Your life-quest will be to retrieve the elemental child. We have called upon you to fulfill your duty as a guardian angel and to complete the life-quest which is now appointed to you."

His dark eyes glittered, and he waited to meet Kara's eyes. "Will you accept this quest?"

Kara had lost her voice. She stared at the council, wide-eyed, with her lips glued together. She looked up at Uriel. His face was lost in shadow. Visions of her past life came crashing down upon her, nearly knocking her off balance on the bench.

"I...I can have my life back? Is this for real?" her voice cracked.

"It is very real," answered Uriel. A hint of a smile reaching his lips.

"And I can see my mother again?" She hoped for the chance to make up past wrongs.

"Yes. You'll have your whole life ahead of you."

As crazy as it sounded, she had already made up her mind. She just couldn't utter the words. She forced open her mouth and stammered, "Y...yes? Yes. I'll do it."

Uriel nodded, apparently pleased with her decision.

"Good. And for your information, this life-quest has also been appointed to five other guardian angels. This will be a _difficult_ challenge, and we will need as many chosen angels as possible. Each guardian was chosen for their specific skills."

"Elementals are very rare—and very dangerous," he continued. "They are not born evil, but their power tends towards the darkness, unless we can prevent it. But I must warn you: Elementals can only be touched by mortals. If an angel or a demon touches an elemental, they will die. You will be given a pair of silver gloves to wear. With these gloves, the elemental's touch cannot harm you."

All eyes were on Kara. She hated being the center of attention. She felt like a mutant. She cast a quick glance in David's direction, but he did not meet her gaze. She did not know what would happen next. She felt her body jolt as an electric shock burned from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

Uriel cleared his throat.

"As the appointed minister of this council, I call this meeting adjourned. We will look forward to your progress on this quest, Kara Nightingale. You will report to the Archangel Gabriel for your briefing with the others. That is all."

Kara watched David stand up. She heard the echo of an oracle's orb rolling towards them.

"Well now, that wasn't so bad. This way please," said the oracle with his tiny arms outstretched, "no point in hanging around...the meeting is over."

He pointed towards the door. "Let's get going, angels. There is work to be done!" The oracle rolled away.

Kara pushed herself off the chair and followed David. Before she left the room, Kara turned around and stared back at the council one last time. Uriel fumbled with some papers, but did not look up.

As silent as a grave, the threesome walked and rolled back down the hallway leading to the landing zone. Kara stole a sideways glance at David. She could see that he was preoccupied with thought. And she was doing some thinking of her own. Dizzy with the events that just happened, Kara's mind was on but one thought only...to be with her mother again.

# Chapter 13

### Life Quest

On the ride back to Operations, travelling by sky-car and then the elevator, Kara relived the events from the council in her head. If she succeeded in her new mission, she would be with her mother very soon. It was her only chance to make things right. Failure was not an option.

But some of the events with the High Council had left her feeling less than perfectly happy. Clearly, some of the members didn't believe her and wanted her _dead_ , which meant a big part of the Legion was also in doubt. But Kara was even more determined to prove her innocence. She wasn't a liar, or a traitor. Her new mission, this life-quest, was the perfect opportunity to show them all...including David.

Kara thought of all the possibilities that having her life back again would offer her: She'd be with her mom again. She'd have a chance at her career as an artist, and she could maybe even slip into a little love? She stole a look at David and felt herself go limp. He had accused her of playing with his emotions—of using him—did that mean he cared for her? Now he was giving her the cold shoulder again. And something was different about the way he looked at her. She thought she saw fear flash behind his eyes a few times. But why? What was he so afraid of?

They strolled along in the ruby sand on their way to the large white tent. Gabriel hovered over a table and examined some documents. Five other guardian angels lingered around and talked amongst themselves. None of them turned to greet Kara and David. They all ignored her. Some smiled at David, but most of them avoided eye contact with Kara.

She felt a sting in her chest. "Does the entire Legion know about the Mark?" she asked David.

"Words travel fast here. I'm sure everybody knew about it before we were called to the council meeting."

"Great," she sighed. "They're all treating me like I'm guilty. But I'm not!"

"Don't waste your time with them...you need to stay focused on your new mission."

She stared at the small gathering of angels. "Hey? I'm the only rookie...everyone here is a Petty Officer? Is that normal?"

"I don't know."

"And look...Benson is here."

David scowled. "Well, well... my favorite douche bag. What were the odds of him showing up?" Benson looked at David with contempt. He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders.

Kara bit her lip and followed David towards the group. Gabriel lifted his head as they approached and met her eyes. She looked quickly away and stood next to David.

"Kara Nightingale," said the Archangel, "glad you could join us."

He waved a large hand over to the group. His attention then turned to David. "You don't have to stay with Kara, David. She will be well taken care of."

David kicked some red sand and looked up. "I'm here for _moral_ support, Gaby," he grinned. He met Benson's glare and blew him a kiss.

A moment later, Benson sneaked away from the group and moved closer to David so that only he and Kara could hear what he had to say. "Didn't know you liked your women _dirty,_ David?" Benson cracked a smile.

Kara saw David's jaw tighten. "You've got five seconds to get lost."

"I would have never pictured you _frolicking_ with the enemy," said Benson, as he cocked an eyebrow and stared at Kara, before looking back at David. "I didn't think it was your _style_."

A cool smile curled David's lips. "My _style_ is my foot up your butt if you don't leave."

Kara sensed a rush of anger spilling inside her. "Stop it! Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything..."

"I don't speak to traitors...I kill them." Benson smacked his fist into his hand and his face twisted in an almost animal expression. He looked at David. "I'd watch my back if I were you."

Rage flashed in David's eyes. "Thanks for the advice, _dumbass_ , why don't you run along now...I hear your mother calling."

"She'll have you killed, you know." And with that, Benson walked back to the group.

It was worse than Kara had hoped. If Benson openly loathed her, who else did? David looked in a worse mood than when they left the council. His expression was livid as he stared at the ground.

"You're...you're never going to believe me, are you?" Kara's voice started to crack. "You still think I'm a traitor... don't you?"

"I don't know what to think anymore," said David softly.

What was more frightening than the dangerous life-quest was losing David's friendship. Kara felt him drifting away from her. She forced herself to look away from David. Gabriel was about to begin his briefing.

Gabriel straightened himself, a scowl on his brow as he pursed his lips. He placed his two hands on the table facing the angels and addressed them. "Listen up, guardian angels! You are gathered here now because you have all been chosen to carry out a life-quest. Do not be mistaken. This is no _ordinary_ assignment—and some of you will not return..."

At that moment there was a sudden collective silence. Kara looked around at the five guardian angels' looks of bewilderment spread across their faces as they gawked at Gabriel.

"We have acquired information regarding the whereabouts of the elemental child," continued Gabriel, his dark eyes darting from face to face. "Our Scouts inform us that the child is in the hands of some higher demons and is being held in one of their many demon safe houses. They move the child around from house to house...and they use decoys, so we're not sure in which safe house the child could be." Gabriel paused as he concentrated.

"You will be put into pairs and assigned to three different locations," continued Gabriel after a short moment. "All of you will be geared up with the weapons and tools you will need to survive. We know this is probably the hardest assignment of your GA careers, but remember, you have been chosen out of thousands because we _know_ you can succeed. You all have what it takes."

The last time she checked, Kara didn't have any special talent. Could she paint a demon to death? Drown it in some gouache?

"Keep in mind that you are responsible for your partner. Let's not make this harder than it already is. Good luck." Gabriel stepped back and folded his hands in front of him.

An oracle steered his great crystal ball to the front of the table carrying a folded piece of paper. He opened the paper and cleared his throat. "The groups are as follows," he called, holding the file in front of him.

"Benson Henderson and Ravi Aruna!" Kara watched as Benson walked over to stand next to a thirty-something East Indian man.

"Lindsey Steel and Carlos Lopez!" Lindsey was a thick, forty-something brunette who stood at about five foot ten. To Kara, she looked more like an Amazon than a guardian angel. She turned her head as Carlos walked over to Lindsey, his five-foot-five frame appearing fragile beside hers.

Kara blinked as she looked around, realizing that this meant there was only one guardian angel left to be paired with her: a twenty-something woman, who was probably regretting her acceptance of the life-quest right about now.

The oracle's eyebrows shot up on his forehead as he continued. "And for our last group, Brooke Miller and Kara Nightingale!"

Kara bit her lip and shot a glance at David, who gave her a reassuring nod. Fidgeting on the spot, she moved towards her new partner who was walking towards her. Kara saw a reflection of disappointment in Brooke's eyes, for just a second, but it was long enough for Kara to see. Then Booke's face cracked into a wide smile and she extended her hand. "Hiya! I'm Brooke," she said. Her long blond ponytail bounced behind her.

"Kara." The two girls shook hands and turned to face the oracle.

Kara blinked as she watched Gabriel stepping forward.

"And one more thing," declared Gabriel. "As you know, if you succeed in this life-quest, you will indeed get your mortal life back as it was. But if you decide to stay in Horizon, the Legion will promote you to First Officer. So, you will have a choice." He stepped back, clasped his hands behind his back, and lifted his chin.

The oracle fidgeted on the spot and cleared his throat again.

"Guardian angels...each group will have _precisely_ two hours to complete their mission. If you stay longer than that — pay attention now— your M suits will _expire..._ did you all hear me? Good." His blue eyes glistened with unease.

For a moment he studied the three groups, and then he grabbed three separate files which were piled on top of one another on the table. He opened the first file and glanced quickly inside before shutting it.

"Group 1—Benson Henderson and Ravi Aruna. Here is your assignment," said the oracle, as he stretched out his tiny arm and waved the closed file in their direction. Ravi walked up to the oracle and took the file from him, opened it, and read it while returning to his spot. Once Ravi had finished reading the file, he handed it to Benson. Kara watched Benson's eyes widen as he kept on reading.

"Group 2—Lindsey Steel and Carlos Lopez!" he called. Lindsey broke away from Carlos and took the file from the oracle. She opened the file only when she was back beside Carlos. Their heads nearly touched as they absorbed the information on the file.

_One group left_ , thought Kara. Her eyes flashed to David. He stood with his arms crossed, scowling at the oracle.

"And lastly, Group 3!" the oracle called as he opened the remaining file. He took a quick look inside before closing it again.

"Brooke Miller and Kara Nightingale...here is your assignment."

Kara couldn't move. Brooke gave Kara a nod and then hopped over to the oracle. She grabbed the file and came bouncing back, her large blue eyes glistening, as she settled beside Kara. She and Kara opened it and read:

* * *

**_Group 3: Life-Quest_**

**_Guardian Angels: Brooke Miller, Kara Nightingale_**

**_Rank: Petty Officer W-2, Rookie 1 st year, W-1 Guard squad_**

**_Assignment: Rescue Elemental child, from Demon safe house #3;_**

**_1228 Pine Avenue West. 9:00 pm._**

* * *

Kara pulled out a blueprint of a house.

"Please report back here within two hours," the oracle told the groups. "You will be debriefed and sent out again if the child is still missing. Quickly now...report to the weapons tent for gearing right away!"

The old man clapped his hands. "Off you go! Off you go!"

Kara watched the other groups breaking away and marching towards the weapons tent. David jogged over to her.

"So... do you know what to do?" he said, as he jammed his hands into his front jean pockets, avoiding her eyes. "You think you can handle this?"

"I think I can manage." Kara watched David as he eyed the file in her hands. "Uh...you want to take a look?"

"That won't be necessary." Gabriel came striding behind them. "This isn't your assignment, David. And the location isn't of your concern."

David turned to face Gabriel. "It is when _I'm_ her Petty Officer, Gabe!"

"You're not on this assignment." Gabriel towered over David, his dark eyes threatening as he tightened his jaw.

"Um...it's okay." Kara lifted her hands in protest. "I don't mind David taking a look...seriously, it's fine."

David took his hands out of his pockets and made them into fists. "You know as well as I do that this is an _impossible_ mission!" he yelled at Gabriel, his face cracked in contempt.

" _You_ shouldn't even be here, David."

"YOU'RE SENDING THEM TO THEIR DEATHS!" said David angrily.

Kara thought it strange that he was pointing only to her at the mention of _them_. She could see that David was really concerned.

"What?" asked Kara, puzzled. "What are you saying, David? The Legion wouldn't send us on a suicide mission, would they?"

Gabriel pulled out a massive hand and grabbed David by the arm with such force that he lifted him off his feet, as though he were a toy soldier.

"I've had enough of you today! It'll be a pleasure to escort you out personally."

Kara took a step back as Gabriel started to emanate a golden glow. The air around them tightened and the light dimmed.

David kicked his legs and shot Gabriel a dangerous look. "Go ahead, _Your Holiness_... I'd like to see you try."

"Enough!" shouted Kara, her eyes wide, shocked that the words had actually escaped her lips. "Uh, sorry...Mr. Archangel, sir, uh, Your Majesty," she stammered. "Um...I'd like David to help me choose my weapons... please?" Kara pursed her lips, scrunched her forehead and tried her best to make sad puppy eyes.

Gabriel studied Kara for a moment, still holding David off the ground with one arm.

"If you think _he_ can help you...then I will let him stay." He dropped David to the floor and bent over him. "Open your mouth again, and I will rip out your tongue."

David stuck out his tongue in Gabriel's face when he looked away for a second.

Kara walked over and pulled David back on his feet. "Very mature, you know that? You'd think you were twelve." She looked across to the weapons tent and could see that Brooke was already gearing up. "Let's go, I need some weapons...and I'm running out of time."

"Sure," David said. He and Kara marched up to the weapons tent, with Gabriel following closely behind.

Kara could see that the GAs from the first group had finished gearing up and were headed down towards the pools. She watched Group 2 stuffing blue arrows and daggers into their duffel bags. And over at the far end of the tent, Brooke was trying out a long silver dagger. She sliced the air with it. She looked up and saw Kara and David approaching. Her face broke out into a grin.

"Hiya, what do you think of this one?" Brooke jumped into the air and stabbed the invisible foe in front of her. She landed with a slight _thump_ and looked up at them, eyes blazing. "I think I can cut me up some shadow demons with this little baby!"

Kara had a strong feeling that she and Brooke were going to get along just fine.

"Awesome," said Kara, as the corners of her mouth lifted. Brooke looked bad-ass with that dagger in her hand, and she moved with great skill. As a Petty Officer, she was a few years ahead of Kara in terms of combat training. She was also strong and athletic.

Having had hours and hours of combat training herself, Kara felt pretty confident that she and Brooke could rescue this elemental child. How hard could it be, really? She hoped that they would get the real safe house where the child was being held captive. Her instincts and her strong desire to get her old life back were strong motivation to rescue the child.

Kara smiled as she grabbed a long curved silver sword from the weapons stand. She brought it up close to her face and saw that the stars embedded along the blade formed seven tiny circles. She rotated her wrist and watched the blade flicker in the light. It was as light as a feather and cool against her skin.

"It's a soul blade. Usually rookies aren't allowed to use them—too powerful—but I think in _your_ case, they'll make an exception," David looked over to Gabriel and raised his voice to make sure that Gabriel had heard him.

Gabriel, who seemed very interested in a white globe on one of the many littered tables, didn't look up.

"You're going to need these, too." David pulled off Kara's backpack and started to fill it with red and white orbs. He held up one of the red orbs. "The red ones are called firestones—smash it near a shadow demon and it will implode, swallowing the demon with it." He arched his eyebrows as he waited for Kara to respond.

"Okay," Kara said.

He placed the red orb in her backpack and then held up a white orb. "The white ones are moonstones—they give off rays of light that are harmful to any demon, even the higher demons. Like this..." David's arm shot up in the air with the orb within his hand. "You don't have to be too close; I've used it at about fifty feet away, and it worked."

"I've packed a whole bunch, too!" Brooke bounced into view, her ponytail flailing behind her. "And...one of these!" She pulled out a white net, the size of a large trench coat. She looked at Kara and David, her blue eyes sparkling, "Shadow chains. I've used them once before and they were _amazing!_ We trapped the shadow demon in it, and it couldn't transform into shadow anymore...and we killed it!"

She flashed a smile at David as she stuck out her hand. "Hiya, I'm Brooke."

David took a step forward and took Brooke's hand. "David," he said, as he gave her his trademark wink. "David McGowan."

Kara was jealous of the attention he showed Brooke. He used to bombard her with his winks, but he hadn't winked at her since he had seen the mark on her leg. She'd been feeling disconnected from him ever since, like she'd lost a best friend. She looked up at his beautiful face and his lips. The memory of the kiss flashed before her. She shook her head, trying to clear it, but other images came flooding in...images of his strong arms wrapped around her body, of him holding her close. It was too much. She looked away.

"You're _that_ David?" Brooke raised her eyebrows. "You're kidding!" She let go of the shadow chains and pressed her hands against her shaking head. "I can't believe it's really _you_!" She studied his face, "I'm a _huge_ fan!"

David flipped his leather jacket collar up and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Yup...that's me." He cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay, lover boy...we..." said Kara, as she pointed to herself and then to Brooke, "gotta go save the kid! Life-quest, remember? Chosen ones?"

"I know, I know."

David helped Kara finish packing her bag with some extra salt shakers and an extra soul blade, the size of a dagger. She hid it under her jeans, strapped around her calf.

"Kara Nightingale! Brooke Miller!" An oracle rolled towards them. Silver cloth glistened in his hands. "Your Sparks...here." He stretched out his little arms and handed them their gloves. "Hurry up now! You don't have much time left. Off you go! Off you go!" He waved his arms impatiently.

Kara stared at her Sparks. Twinkling like diamonds, they hardly weighed anything.

"Ready?" said Brooke.

Kara shoved her gloves in her backpack, zipped it up, and threw it over her shoulders. "Ready."

She followed Brooke and David and the three of them walked over towards the pools. They passed tents with groups of guardian angels practicing their combat training. She could hear the clangs of metal on metal.

They approached the first rows of pools. The air was thick with salt and loud s _plashes_ and _plops_ surrounded them. Kara looked up and saw Group 2, Lindsey Steel and Carlos Lopez, standing near the edge of a pool. Their lips moved in unison...and then they jumped. With a _wallop_ , they hit the water at exactly the same time. A second later a brilliant light shot up through the water, and they vanished.

Kara bit her lip and followed Brooke to the metal staircase, David at her shoulders. Brooke climbed the steps easily and waited for her on the platform.

David grabbed Kara's arm. "Hey." David turned Kara around to face him. "Remember what I taught you in combat training...how to parry, how to riposte, and how to attack?"

She nodded. "I do."

"There's still so much we didn't cover yet...you're just a rookie." David's face twisted in a frown. "You shouldn't be doing this!"

"I _want_ to do this, David. And I'm happy I was chosen. This is my chance to go back home...to finish my life...to have my life back. There are so many things I still want to do...to experience. Don't you understand how important this is to me?" She searched his blue eyes. "Besides, why do _you_ care? I'm a _traitor_ , remember?"

David winced and stepped back, his face wrinkling into a scowl. They stood staring at each other for a moment without moving, without saying anything. Kara saw a shadow of pain glistening behind his blue eyes. "Just be careful," he said softly.

Kara studied David's face for a moment. She could still sense his suspicion, as though he wore it like a heavy coat.

"I will," she answered.

Securing her backpack, Kara grabbed the metal staircase and pulled herself up to the top. She stepped beside the grinning Brooke. The pool's reflections rippled along the water's surface. The smell of salt filled her nostrils.

"You ready?" said Brooke.

Kara took one last look down at David. She watched him as he gave her a slight nod. His face had no expression. "I'm ready," she said as she turned to face Brooke, and cleared her mind of thoughts of David.

Brooke flashed her teeth. "Okay, on three?"

Kara nodded.

"One..."

She blinked.

"Two...—"

If she had any spit, she would have swallowed.

"THREE...—!"

Kara pushed herself off the ledge of the pool and plunged into the water beside Brooke.

# Chapter 14

### Elemental

Kara opened her eyes and blinked in the blackness. Vega still made her feel a little dizzy, but right now the darkness troubled her. She tried to blink the blackness away, but it didn't work. She wiggled her mortal suit's hand up to her face, but she couldn't see it. There was only blackness. The air was tight, and she could hear the faint drippings of a water pipe.

"Brooke?" whispered Kara. Her eyes strained to adjust themselves to the darkness that they couldn't penetrate.

"I'm over here," Brooke whispered back.

Kara heard the scrape of feet on concrete, and after a moment she felt a hand touch her shoulder.

"I think we're in a basement. See if you can find a light switch on the wall to your left...I'm gonna try over to the right." Brooke let go of Kara's shoulder, and Kara heard her footsteps go in the opposite direction.

"Okay." Kara was in complete darkness. She forced herself to calm down and thought about what she was going to do once she was alive again. When her nerves were calm, she struggled to move her feet. After five steps, her hands touched a cold hard surface.

"I've found a wall." Kara slid her hands up and down and tried to feel for a switch of some kind. She heard a faint _click_ behind her, and the lights went on.

"Found it," declared Brooke, at the opposite end of the basement.

The basement was unfinished, with a dirt-filled concrete floor and open walls with exposed insulation. Cobwebs fell from the ceiling like see-through curtains and covered some scraps of old wood furniture that were piled in the corners. The room looked forgotten.

"There's some stairs over here." Brooke pointed to her right and waved Kara to follow. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait!" said Kara. "Is this 1228 Pine Avenue?"

Brooke shook her head. "No. The Legion wouldn't transport us to the safe house directly. But we're probably really close."

They climbed out of the basement, pushed open a heavy wooden door, and found a hallway. The old oak floors creaked as the girls sneaked down the hall, trying to find the way out. A musty carpet smell lingered in the air...just like in Kara's grandma's house. She loved that stink. She was certain this house belonged to an elderly person. They came to a foyer, which opened to the front door. Even in the dark, Kara could make out the flowered wallpaper covering the walls. Brooke mouthed, "This way," and trod towards the door. She turned the lock very slowly and pulled open the front door.

They stepped down three concrete stairs onto a sidewalk. A full moon shone down from a black sky. The cool September wind, carrying the smell of wet pavement, caressed Kara's cheeks, while a light drizzle of rain patted her hair. She wiped the wet from her cheeks and turned to face Brooke.

Brooke turned her head, "Look...we're on 1194 Pine Avenue West." She pointed to the black numbers that were nailed to the front of the Cape Cod style house they had just left. "We're just a few blocks away."

Kara glanced at her wrist watch. "It's 8:40 pm. We have 20 minutes to get there."

At that moment, thunder exploded above their heads and released a deluge of rain. The angry skies had sucked in the moonlight, and only the old street lamps showed them the way.

_Squish, squish_.

Their shoes pattered onward, squashing the water out as they trod up the street. Crooked grey maple trees swayed back and forth in the wind.

After only a few minutes, Kara was drenched. The rain felt strange against her mortal suit. It felt cool, but it was as though the wetness didn't seep through, like it stopped midway. Glancing down at the sidewalk while she walked, she saw two dead birds: red cardinals, their necks twisted, resting in small puddles of water. A feeling of dread crept inside her. She kept thinking back at what David had said to Gabriel...that this was an impossible mission, and that the Legion was sending them to their deaths.

Brooke stopped abruptly, and Kara nearly walked right into her. They had arrived at a street corner. The heavy rains had turned to a soft drizzle. Kara glanced up and read the street sign: Cedar Avenue. They were close.

A tingling sensation spread inside her as she surveyed the area. She imagined her old life, where she painted and had a family. _I'll have my family again soon._ A group of teenagers appeared on the opposite side of the street, giggling without a care in the world. _That'll be me soon enough._

They crossed Cedar Avenue and were back on Pine Avenue. After four strides, Brooke stopped again. She stared in front of her. Kara followed her gaze.

1228 Pine Avenue was staring back at them. It was an old Tudor-style home with a worn down paver walkway covered in black puddles. An overgrown cedar hedge covered most of the front of the house. There was no light coming from inside. It stood alone in the dark. And all the curtains were drawn.

"Come..." whispered Brooke, as she steered Kara by the elbow towards the neighboring house's cedar hedge. She crouched down, peeking through the trees. Kara followed her example. There was no movement inside the house, from what Kara could see. Brooke slipped her backpack from her shoulders, settling it on the wet grass. She opened it and pulled out the blueprint of the house. Kara leaned in for a closer look. She could see that there were three floors to the house: a basement, a ground floor, and a second floor. She could see a back door exiting from the kitchen area.

"Two ways out," whispered Kara. "The front and back doors."

After a moment, Brooke looked up and met Kara's eyes.

"What do you think if we separate?" she whispered. "If the elemental is here, they probably put him in the basement," she pointed to the blue rectangular shape on the paper with "Basement" written under it.

"Demons like dark and dingy places, and my feeling is that he's there."

Kara looked down and studied the blue print. "Okay."

Brooke raised her eyebrows. "So, since you're still a rookie, I was thinking you could check out the ground floor..." Her hand moved over a few inches as she pointed to a new drawing, "Check out that area, and then we'll rendezvous back near the front door in about ten minutes. The child might not be here in this house. But if you see the child, come back to the rendezvous spot, wait for me, and we'll go back in together with our Sparks." An intense look flashed in Brooke's blue eyes as she stared at Kara. "You think you could do that?"

A gust of wind brushed Kara's bangs into her eyes. "Yes," she whispered back as she glanced at her wristwatch. She sensed that Brooke had faith in her abilities and wondered if she should tell her about the demon's Mark—that she was innocent—but decided against it. Tiny rain drops started to fall again.

"I'm ready," Kara said after a moment. "I can do this. I know I can."

She studied Brooke's face. "But, are you sure you can handle the basement alone?"

"Don't worry about me. I haven't lost a fight yet!"

With determination spread across her face, Brooke shoved the blueprint back in her bag. She rummaged through it and pulled out a long soul blade and two firestones. She pocketed the firestones in her blue jeans and grasped the soul blade in her right hand. Kara copied her and pulled out her soul blade from her backpack. She jammed two firestones into the large front pocket of her hoodie sweater.

Brooke nodded and the pair threw their packs on their shoulders and stepped out of the cedar hedge. Glancing around, Brooke went up the front stairs first. Kara followed a step behind, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. With her hand gently placed on the door handle, Brooke turned it slowly counter clockwise, and with a soft _pop_ , she pushed the door open.

Their eyes were already adjusted to the darkness around them, and they could see the inside of the house in shadows of grey. They walked into a large foyer, which opened up into a hallway with two rooms on either side of them. The air was stale, with a lingering faint stink of mildew. Although it was dark inside, Kara could tell the house was abandoned. The stairs to the second level stood at the end of the foyer. She knew from studying the blueprints of the house that the entrance to the basement was through the kitchen. She turned and looked at Brooke, who gave her a nod. Kara nodded in return, and with her soul blade in her right hand she pulled out a Firestone from her pocket, grasped it tightly, and stepped into the room to her right. She felt Brooke moving on her left, but she was as silent as a cat.

Kara glanced at her watch: 9:02 p.m. She had ten minutes to scout out the first floor and then rendezvous back in the foyer. She sneaked inside the large room. She could make out a large sofa and chairs. The air was stale as she crept on. Keeping close to the walls, Kara saw an opening at the left end of the room. She walked carefully towards it. She gripped the soul blade tighter in her hand...any tighter and she was sure her mortal fingers would snap off. She stepped into the opening to her left and was in a hallway. She blinked. To her right was the kitchen. A soft ray of street light came in through the kitchen window above the sink...enough to make out the old nineteen-fifties style kitchen with metal kitchenette table and matching vinyl and metal chairs. She brought her left wrist to her face and glanced at her watch: 9:06 p.m.—she still had five minutes.

Straight in front of her was a room, probably a bedroom. The door was closed. She strained for any sound and heard nothing. Nervously, she turned the door knob and pushed open the door. The door swung open and revealed an empty bedroom. Kara dropped her shoulders and closed the door. Moving down the hallway, she came face to face with another closed bedroom. She pushed open the door, and again it was empty. She shut the door behind her and glanced at her wrist watch: 9:12 p.m. She turned to her right; the foyer stood empty. Kara walked back into the foyer and watched the faint light in the kitchen down the hall from where she stood. She would see Brooke coming back from the basement from here.

9:15 p.m.

Kara blinked and looked up at the stairs leading to the other level.

9:22 p.m.

The rain hit the foyer windows with soft continuous taps. Kara started to feel uneasy. Brooke should have been there by now.

9:31 p.m.

Something was definitely wrong. _You're responsible for your partners,_ she remembered the oracle telling them.

_CRASH!_

The loud noise came from the basement, as though a wall had come crashing down.

Kara sprinted down the hall and entered the kitchen. She turned to her right and saw the doorway to the basement. She rushed to it and started to descend to the basement. She could hear muffled voices...male voices. Quickly, she stepped down the rest of the stairs. It was darker down in the basement. The windows had been covered up with newspaper. She followed the voices, her soul blade in front of her as she stepped deeper into the blackness.

_BAM!_

Kara jumped. She heard a woman scream. They were torturing her. Kara ran blindly into the dark, following the voices. A faint light shone from a room at the end of the hall. She ran towards it; the door stood ajar. The voices were clearer now.

"Commander Urobach...kill the angel female! I want to _taste_ her soul..." said a hoarse voice. Kara could hear someone moaning. Brooke.

Heavy boots thumped the ground. "Not yet, Zelar," said another voice, as smooth as silk. "Be patient. She still hasn't told us what we need to know."

"You want me to rip off another arm, Commander?" said a high-pitched third voice.

Trembling, Kara edged forward and then flattened herself on the wall. She inched forward. Hidden in the shadows, she stared in horror. Brooke lay semi-unconscious, spread-eagled on the ground. Her left arm was missing, a luminous hole near her shoulder. Three men stood around her. Even from a distance, Kara could see their black eyes—higher demons. Two were dressed in the same grey suits Kara had seen before, and both carried death blades. Black mist emanated from the shafts. But the third man stood out. His long leather jacket swished at his heels as he paced around Brooke. Standing about six-foot-seven, he towered above the other two. His black, oily hair hung loosely over his shoulders. He carried no weapons. He crouched down near Brooke's head, wiping her wet hair off her face.

"Come on now, little _angel..._ tell me, who else is coming?" asked the same silky voice. "How many guardian angels has the Legion sent after the elemental?" Urobach turned his attention away from Brooke for a moment and looked over to the opposite side of the room. A rusted metal cage about the size of a large bird cage rested on the floor.

And inside the cage, Kara saw a young child. He was wearing only a thin pair of white and blue pajamas. She could see him shivering. His eyes were red, and dried tears smeared his dirty face.

Urobach turned his attention back to Brooke. "How did the Legion know where to find us, eh?" He stood crouched over her, his black eyes searching. "If you don't answer me, I will hurt you."

After a moment, Brooke struggled to open her mouth. "I...I don't know," she croaked. Pain flashed in her eyes. "I was given an assignment...they told me where to go..."

The Commander's lip curled into a smile. "Tut, tut, tut.... I'm afraid, little _angel..._ that is not a good enough answer for me..." With frightening speed, he jumped up, and black electricity shot out of his fingertips and attacked Brooke. Her body convulsed up and down. She cried out in pain. Kara watched in horror as Brooke's mortal body sizzled. Brilliant light shone through tiny holes all over her body. Her angel core was spilling out. She was dying.

Without another thought, Kara jumped through the door frame. "STOP! YOU'RE KILLING HER!" She lifted her weapons in front of her and prayed silently that she was going to make it out alive.

Urobach snapped his head around towards the doorway. He stopped his attack on Brooke. His eyebrows shot up on his forehead, and an evil grin materialized on his face. "Well, well, well...what do we have here, my friends?" The Commander's black eyes widened, as though he was trying to suck her energy out. The other higher demons turned to face her, their bodies bent.

The Commander came closer to Kara. He flashed a crooked smile. "Hello, little one. Aren't you a pretty thing."

Kara glanced over at Brooke; was she still alive? She tried to move, but her legs seemed to be glued to the spot. She turned her head and met Urobach's black eyes again. "W...what do y...you w...w...ant?" was all she could muster.

He moved a massive leather boot a step closer to her. "Want?" answered Urobach. "My friends and I just want to have a little chat."

The demons nodded in agreement. Their bodies started to sway from side to side, their eyes glaring at her, anticipating an attack.

A tiny voice inside her head told her to run. She blinked hard and struggled to find her voice. "S...stay away from her!" She yelled as she thrust her soul blade into the air.

At this, Urobach chuckled. He wrinkled his forehead. "I like this one better."

And before Kara could react, he reached down and lifted Brooke's rag doll body up above his head, smiled at Kara...and ripped the body easily in half, as if it were made of paper.

"NOOOOOO!" screamed Kara. She watched hopelessly as Urobach threw her friend's severed body to the higher demons. They snatched up the body parts from the floor and opened their mouths. Their jaws extended grotesquely down to their waists as they swallowed her friend.

Kara's knees buckled beneath her. "Brooke!" She cried. She trembled uncontrollably. She stole a glance at the child. It cried silently, eyes wide and on Kara; a silent pleading. They were both going to die.

One of the higher demons stepped forward, close enough that Kara could smell his foul breath. "So, the question is, will _you_ play with us now?"

Licking his lips, he displayed rows of rotten teeth. "My Commander requires some information."

Urobach cocked an eyebrow as he strolled over to Kara. "I will not lie to you, little _angel_. It will hurt...yes. And you will die, eventually. My _master_ wouldn't have it any other way. Pain is necessary." He was only a few feet away from her.

Kara looked over to the elemental, and she cringed. Fear flashed in the child's eyes; its tiny little hand grasped the metal bars as it whimpered. Kara's training took over, and in one fluid movement she threw her firestone at the Commander's feet. It shattered as it hit the ground. A red mist engulfed the demon.

But then it evaporated. Urobach was still there. He grinned at her.

Kara shook her head in disbelief. "What...?"

The Commander wiped down his jacket, as though specs of dirt clung to it. "Your little toys don't work on us," he laughed. He glanced at his cronies and snapped his fingers. They charged.

Kara ran out the room and raced up the basement stairs, the demons at her heels. Summoning all the strength she could muster from her mortal legs, she pressed on as fast as she could. Jolting down the hallway, she ripped open the front door and bolted down the street.

Kara ran down Pine Avenue West and headed towards the Mont Royal Park. She knew the park well. She'd come here by herself during the summer holidays. She knew perfectly well what lay beyond the forest...Beaver Lake.

She reached the park, hopped the fence, and ran into the thick forest. It was an uphill run from here on, and she prayed her mortal legs could keep up. She ran for her angel life. She knew if they caught her, they would kill her. She shot a glance behind her and spotted the higher demons, just a few yards behind. She knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up. Images of Brooke's pale face pulsed in her mind, and a feeling of hopelessness washed over her.

"You cannot hide from us, little angel!" yelled one of the higher demons from behind. "And since you won't come quietly, it gives us great pleasure to use force!" The demon wailed a high-pitched screeching laugh.

His laugh echoed in her ears. But Kara pressed on. She could see a clearing up ahead. _Almost there._ Straining her mortal suit with everything it had, she ran for her soul, and for Brooke's. She reached the clearing at the top of the mountain. She spotted Beaver Lake, its oval shape reflected in the moonlight. Kara rocketed downhill, concentrating hard not to trip over tree roots or rocks. She could hear the demons behind her, so close.

The lake was getting bigger and bigger, bouncing into view. It was only a few yards away. Soon she would be safe.

A sharp pain shot into her back, and she stumbled to the ground and rolled to a stop. Dizzy, she pushed herself up; the pain was so intense that her vision blurred. She blinked. She could make out dark shapes running towards; they were almost upon her. She felt sick and weak. Excruciating pain shot from up her back. The poison was paralyzing her.

_Run, Kara,_ said the voices inside her head. _You're almost there._

_I can't. I won't make it,_ answered Kara.

_Yes you can. Remove the death blade...it's making you weak. You can make it. Run._

She felt a sudden rush of new energy and hope. She reached around and felt the blade in her back. She wrapped her hand around it and pulled. She stared at the black blade gleaming in the moonlight. She pushed herself up, threw the dagger on the ground, and started to run again. Kara felt the blade's poison inside her, eating away at her soul. She knew she only had a few seconds.

Little waves rippled in the moonlight as Kara reached the lake's shore. She heard the demons' breathing behind her. She heard a hiss in the air, and something stung the back of her neck. Then, with one last effort, Kara fell head first into Beaver Lake.

# Chapter 15

### Last Hope

Kara recuperated in a rejuvenating orange bubble, at Level Three of the Miracles Division, in the Healing-Xpress. When she was herself again, the Archangel Raphael sent her to Operations on Level Two to debrief.

Kara ran out of patience with the elevator's operator: a huge gorilla, who tried to steal some of the dried flesh from her scalp. When the gorilla had turned around, she grabbed a handful of fur from his butt.

"Take that, King Kong!" __ said Kara as she flicked the black fur from her fingers and watched it fall on the ground. After that, King Kong did his best to ignore her and kept to himself, rubbing the bald spot on his bottom.

She jumped off the elevator and headed towards the white tent. The air was thick with salt. Kara quickened her pace. She could see David at the head table, speaking to another angel. She felt a stinging in her chest. She was a bit mad that she had awoken at Miracles Division without a David to accompany her. But why would he be there, anyway? He had labeled her a traitor. Maybe he'd hoped she wouldn't make it back? She watched Gabriel converse with another Archangel whom she had never seen before. He was even larger than Gabriel. His golden brown skin shone brightly in the sunlight and contrasted with his silver and golden robes. Silky, dark brown hair brushed his muscular shoulders, and his face was the fairest Kara had ever seen...a male model fresh out of a fashion magazine.

Kara walked up to the table. Her eyes turned to David immediately. He turned towards her.

"Hey...how you feeling?" He lifted his hand, but as he was about to place it on her shoulder he withdrew it, as though her body was contagious, still hot with the Mark. He let his hand drop at his side. His face was screwed up, as if he had bitten into something sour.

Kara looked away, hiding the pain in her eyes. "I'm okay, I guess."

She turned her head around and looked for the members of the other two groups. Images of Brooke haunted her. Maybe she could have done more to try and save Brooke. She searched the tent. There were angels in combat practice, but no recognizable faces from the life-quest mission.

"Where is everyone?" Her eyes locked with David's. "Am I the first one back?"

David threw a quick glance over to the Archangels, before turning back to Kara. He dropped his shoulders.

"They didn't make it." He spoke in a whisper.

The floor started to spin. Kara blinked several times, trying to compose herself. "What do you mean... _they didn't make it?_ What are you saying?"

Although she had no lungs, at that moment she felt as though she was suffocating.

"They were all killed." The husky voice came from the handsome Archangel, as he broke away from Gabriel and took a step towards Kara.

"You're the _only_ survivor, Kara."

He wiped a long fringe of hair away from his face as his piercing green eyes studied her closely, as if she were an abstract painting.

"I'm the only survivor?" Kara croaked, "No...that can't be... I don't believe it."

"It's true," said David.

Kara shook her head stubbornly. "No! The elemental child was at the safe house where Brooke and I went, not the others. They're probably late...yeah, maybe they're on their way back now."

"They didn't make it, Kara. They're all gone," said David.

"What...?" Her mind wandered to Benson, and she felt a sting in her chest. She didn't really like him, but he didn't deserve to die.

Kara cleared her throat. "I...I don't understand." Brooke's death flashed before her. A chill rippled through her being.

"I'm just a rookie...I'm the one who should be dead...not them." She felt numb all over.

"The Archangel Raphael informed us about what had happened to your partner, Brooke Miller, when you arrived at the Miracles Division," said Gabriel. His black eyes glowered beneath his scowling brow. "Raphael told us what you told her, before you entered the Healing-Xpress shop. We knew then that you were the _sole_ survivor."

As the words reached her ears, Kara flinched. How was this possible? She shook her head, frowning, and looked at David. His face was twisted in sadness as he met her eyes. But when Kara turned and looked at the Archangels, they weren't looking at her with sadness as David did; their eyes were filled with bewilderment...and was there also fear? She forced herself to look away.

"Kara Nightingale," declared the larger archangel. "I am the Archangel Michael, the Legion's commander."

He bent his head, looking down on the rookie, like a redwood tree towering over a misty shrub below. "I would like you to tell us what happened. And don't leave _anything_ out."

Kara watched Michael's full lips compress, his eyes locked onto hers. She couldn't look away. She recalled the events of the assignment, starting with the killing of her friend, Brooke, to the caged elemental child, and finally to her escape from the higher demons into Beaver Lake. When she had finished, the Archangels were silent. They looked at each other with disbelief.

"We will send the Scouts out again," Gabriel broke the silence. "She came very close...there is still a chance. We should meet with the others."

Kara thought about the life-quest. "So...I can still get my life back, right?"

A bit of hope came flooding back into her.

"So...when do we get more chosen GAs to pair into groups?" She wondered who she'd be paired with this time.

She looked at the Archangels' puzzled faces and cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you staring at me like that? What is it?"

It was Michael's turn to speak. "There won't be any other groups."

Kara shook her head. "I don't understand? What do you _mean_ by there won't be any other groups?" She looked to David, who avoided her gaze and stared at his boots.

"What are you talking about? Are you saying we're not going to be paired up again?"

Archangel Michael's green eyes fixed on Kara. "There are no other guardian angels on this mission. You are the only one, Kara."

The words hit like a ton of bricks. Her jaw dropped. "What!" She stared at him in disbelief.

"You are the only one left who can save the elemental child. No one else," said Michael.

"But...but can't you _choose_ more angels? Aren't there like... _thousands_ to choose from?"

Kara felt a wave of panic coming on. Soon she would be drowned in it.

Michael clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was listening to another voice from inside his head.

When he opened his eyes he spoke to Kara. "Six were chosen from the entire Legion. Only those special six were destined to save the child...no others. That order comes from The Chief himself."

Kara shook her head. She exchanged a nervous look with David. "But, that doesn't make sense...I can't do this alone. That's crazy!"

"She's right," shot David, "you can't ask her to do this!" Kara was relieved David agreed with her.

David let out a soft yell of frustration as he paced the ground, his hands on his head. "She's just a rookie...it's not right!"

"She was _chosen_ , David...this is out of our hands," answered Michael.

"I'm not going to let you send her off like that...I won't!" spat David.

Kara was surprised to see how flustered David was; it almost felt as if he cared, like before.

Gabriel stepped up to David. "It's not up to you. You can't stop this, David."

"There has to be another way!" David shouted. "It was a miracle she came back at all! Now you want to send her back? She...she needs more time to train!"

"You know how important this is, David. You know what'll happen if the demons use the child." Michael's green eyes flashed dangerously. "You know...this _is_ the only way."

David opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He kicked the ground.

Michael stepped over to Kara and placed his large hand gently on her shoulder. She felt lost in his brilliant green eyes, as though she would do anything he asked her.

She shook off the feeling and looked away. "I'm not going to let you hypnotize me with your good looks."

"Kara," said Michael, his expression softened by a degree. "You are part of this Legion, chosen by The Chief to be a soldier. He has chosen you to do this task—you alone—because no one else can do it."

"The demon leader, Asmodeus, is waiting for the elemental child's power to grow to its full potential, which could be anytime now, and he will use it to destroy us. Elementals are creatures of great power—of wild, uncontrollable power—and if Asmodeus uses it, he will become more powerful than any of us. We will not be able to fight him. If you don't succeed in your mission, Asmodeus will overthrow the Legion and destroy the world of the living. He will bring havoc to the Earth. Horizon's fate rests with you."

Kara's mind was working overtime. "But...you're _stronger_ than me," she looked at Gabriel and then back to Michael, "why can't _you_ look for the elemental? I'm sure you'll have a much easier time than me."

She stared down at her puny body, wishing it were strong and skilled like Brooke's—maybe then she'd have a chance. She wished she could throw up.

"Because only the chosen can do this task," said Gabriel, his dark eyes piercing through her.

Michael squeezed her shoulder lightly. "That is why, you, Kara Nightingale, are the Legion's _only_ hope."

# Chapter 16

### Asmodeus

Kara blinked as she stared at the reflections rippling along the water. She wondered if this was her last time staring down at the shining waters of the pools. Or her last mission jump? The jumps were by far her favorite things so far. She would miss the tingling sensation she felt all over her body, right before she'd disappear. It reminded her of the crazy rides at La Ronde—the saucer-like ride that spun extremely fast, which pinned your back against the wall so that you were unable to move...and when the machine went into overdrive you felt as if your body was coming apart, piece by piece. It was really cool.

The salt water smell filled her nostrils. The _plops_ and _splashes_ from the neighboring pools echoed in her ears. She tried to think positively about her assignment, even though the outcome was ninety-nine point nine percent sure to fail. She wondered what the Archangels felt about leaving Horizon in the hands of a rookie guardian angel. She was probably going to die today, which meant she'd be responsible for destroying the entire Legion...just a wee bit of stress on her life-quest.

David had taken Kara to train for a few hours before her mission, so that she could practice a few moves before taking the big plunge. She wasn't focused and she kept falling, missing her strikes and landing with her face three inches deep in the sand. Frustrated, she couldn't concentrate on anything except David and how he still didn't trust her. She just couldn't get it out of her head.

He put on a brave face for everyone else, but she sensed the suspicion; saw it flash in his eyes and in his body language. He tried to hide it, even now, with the fake training...the fake caring. She felt betrayed...the kiss had meant nothing to him.

It was a strange thing to fall in love in Horizon, without a heart to break...but a broken soul felt just as painful as a broken heart to Kara. She noticed that David never made eye contact with her either and he kept yelling out words to the invisible person above her head. She felt anger...she wanted to hit him hard in the face.

Soon, David gave up. He sensed she wasn't there in spirit. Kara stopped lifting her blade entirely. They walked back in silence to the big white tent. Kara received her new assignment. The oracle told her that the Scouts had only just arrived back. They had given one positive location of the elemental. She had only one hour to find the child this time. Time was of the essence, and she knew her own time was running out.

To make matters worse, the entire Legion seemed to have come to Operations to see Kara off. She looked around at the hundreds of gathered guardian angels staring at her. She heard them whispering.

"Look! That's her, she's the one..."

"Is she really a _traitor_?"

"Tom says he saw the demon's Mark himself...she must be..."

"Look! I can see the Mark on her..."

"Strange how she was still chosen."

"Yeah, but she's a rookie, she'll never make it back."

Kara stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the stings from the words she had just heard. She wiggled her backpack and tightened the straps. She thought of her mother. If she succeeded, not only would Horizon be safe but she would have her life back. She would take care of her mother. For now, it was the only glint of hope she had left. Her mortal life would have to do.

"You ready?" called David from below. He gave her half a smile, the one where the corners of the mouth stretch out and snap right back. He was joined by hundreds of onlookers. She felt like a celebrity, and hated it.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Kara answered, keeping her eyes on the shimmering waters.

"If the elemental isn't there, you come straight back! Don't wait for things to happen."

Kara turned her head and met David's eyes. She wasn't sure if this was a charade or real concern. How distant they seemed from each other now, not how they had once been...that night at the club when they had kissed. She bit her lip and wiped that thought from her mind. She might never see him again. She gazed into his brilliant blue eyes, stepped off the ledge of the pool, and plummeted to the bottom of the water.

Kara stood in the shadows of Sources Boulevard. She looked up at the brass letters hanging from a black metal gate door: Birch View Cemetery. She glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight, and the eerie garden of dead bodies glowed in the moonlight. Tall dark shadows edged the length of the rock walls around the cemetery. The front gate was padlocked and topped with barbed wire. Through the spaces between the metal gate, Kara could see hundreds of grey headstones with withered flowers lying at their feet. The night air was cool against Kara's mortal suit. The place looked sad and creepy.

_Perfect for demons_ , thought Kara.

She couldn't squeeze through the front gate, so she walked around the stone border of the cemetery until she found a spot where she could climb over. She pressed her hands against the cold rock and pulled herself up. She crawled over the edge and jumped down on the opposite side of the wall. She pushed herself up and dusted off her jeans.

She strained her ears for any sudden sound and watched for movement. The park, it seemed, was holding its breath. She walked in the silent darkness, trying to fit parts of a plan together, like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece.

Then she heard muffled voices in the dark.

Kara slid behind a large headstone and dropped her bag. She pulled out her soul blade and threw her bag back onto her shoulders. She followed the voices. Sneaking from headstone to large bush to more headstones, Kara edged her way deep into the cemetery until the demons came into view. She counted three higher demons sitting in a circle. The odds weren't good. She recognized the demon, Urobach—Brooke's murderer. She felt her body shake with hatred as she remembered how he killed her. Revenge would be bittersweet.

Kara sighed. How the Legion believed she alone could do this was beyond insane.

She scanned the area and saw the small cage with the elemental child inside. The cage rested at one of the higher demon's feet.

"We should be moving soon, Asmodeus...the angel Legion will have sent Scouts by now," said a voice in the dark.

"Let them come...I'm in the mood for a little _excitement_ ," answered another voice. "Soon, my friends, when the elemental's power has reached its full potential, we will be invincible! And we will _crush_ the Legion and take back what is ours!"

Kara heard grunts of agreements.

One of the demons kicked the elemental's cage. Kara's soul ached as she heard the little child whimper. She crouched in the dark, thinking.

She needed a diversion.

She felt the ground and wrapped her hands around a stone the size of a softball. With the rock in her hand, she crawled out of her hiding place and sneaked behind the demons. With all the strength her mortal suit could muster, she threw the rock past the demons and into the darkness behind them. The rock landed with a loud crash.

The three higher demons jumped up. "Zanu, stay with the elemental...Urobach, take the left side. I'll take the right." With their weapons drawn, the demons ran into the darkness.

Kara grabbed another rock and threw it close to the ground near the one they called Zanu. He whirled around and began searching the ground. Kara threw her soul blade. It hit the demon's chest. The demon cried out in pain, as he fell to the ground convulsing.

She only had seconds to react before the others came back.

Jumping over the body, Kara ran to the cage. The elemental child's eyes were wide and wet. She wondered how a thing so cute could be so deadly.

"I'm here to help you," she said, hoping he understood.

There was a lock on the cage's door. Kara searched the ground and grabbed a large stone. She hit the lock over and over until it broke. She yanked open the cage's door. The little child trembled uncontrollably. She knew she couldn't touch him. She dropped her bag and searched inside it for her Sparks. Seconds later, she pulled out the shinning gloves.

"Ahhh!" Kara cried out as something hit her hard in the back.

She fell over the cage and landed on the ground. The gloves flew out of her hands.

Crying out in excruciating pain, she rolled over and pushed herself up on her elbows. The cage was empty.

Something moved in the darkness twenty feet in front of her. The elemental's bare limbs shone in the moonlight as he ran. He disappeared from sight behind a head stone. He was safe for now.

Kara turned around and faced the demons. They walked casually towards her. Urobach picked up the metal cage as they approached.

"You think you can run away with my _prize_? You _stupid_ little angel!"

Kara blinked. She could feel the poison of the death blade in her back. The demon leader's face shone in the moonlight. He looked exactly like an Archangel...unbelievably handsome, with short black hair framing a strong jaw. His grey eyes glimmered in the moonlight. He wore a dark tailored suit. He pulled out a long sword from under his black leather trench coat. He then snapped his fingers and glanced at the other higher demon. "Urobach, take care of this monkey!"

Urobach dropped the metal cage. He brought his death sword up to his mouth and licked the blade. Grinning widely, he walked towards Kara, his long leather coat trailing behind him. "I'm glad we meet again, my little angel. You won't escape me a second time."

Kara wrenched the death blade out of her back, and sick with the pain, wincing, she threw it ineffectually at Urobach. She scrambled for her backpack, digging frantically inside for her soul blade. She pushed herself up and planted her feet. With her body bent, she was ready.

The demon lunged. He stroked downward toward her head, but she wasn't there. She jumped over him, slashing as she came down. But Urobach was quick. He twisted away from her and blocked her blade with the end of his hilt.

His face twisted into an evil grin. "Not bad, little angel. I'm almost having fun."

He came at her again, slashing with force...and cut her in the chest. Kara cried out in pain as she sidestepped, backing away from his killing strikes. She felt her energy drain from her body, as the death blade's poison spread through her core. He slashed again, outmaneuvering her as she desperately concentrated on not getting cut into tiny little pieces...like an angel shish kabob. The poison burned her from the inside, and Kara began to see double. Urobach grinned as he licked his lips when he sensed that Kara's strength was fading.

_You've got to put your blade into his head_ , said the voices inside her head. _Get in closer and strike._ _Do it now, Kara._

Kara felt energy surge inside her body, as the voices spoke to her again. Under normal earthly circumstances they'd lock her away in a loony bin, but Kara didn't care. The voices inside her head were like invisible sidekicks, enabling her to see opportunities that she might have missed.

Kara backed away from Urobach, trying to find an opening. And then she saw it. Urobach came forward, grinning confidently as he swung his blade up towards her head. Kara sidestepped, whirled around, and jammed her soul blade into his chin...pushing it right into his head. Black blood spilled around the hilt and down his throat. The higher demon dropped and lay motionless on the cold ground.

Asmodeus screamed with rage. "YOU'VE KILLED MY LIEUTENANT!"

In one rapid movement Asmodeus lifted his arms, and a large jet of black electricity shot out of his fingers. The brute force picked her up and threw her hard against a large headstone.

CRUNCH!

Kara crashed against the hard rock and slumped to the ground like a rag doll. She winced in pain and pushed herself up on her elbows in search of the child. She spotted him crouched in a corner, shaking. His big watery eyes glistened in the soft light. __ Blinking, she felt dizzy, as her vision blurred. She wasn't sure she was going to make it.

_Have faith, Kara_ , said the voices inside her. _Take the child into your arms._ Kara turned around. "Those gloves! Where are they?" she breathed.

Asmodeus roared with laughter. "Where's who? No one is here. Now, little angel...you _are_ going to die. And I'm going to enjoy it immensely. But I think I'll start with the kid. Why wait? I can feel his power strengthening." He took a step forward.

Kara turned towards the child. Her body prickled as she felt a wave of energy wash through her.

_Take the child, Kara. Don't be afraid...he will not harm you._

Without a second thought, Kara jumped to her feet and ran towards the elemental. She reached out her hand and touched his face.

"What the...? Nothing's happening? I'm...I'm still here!" She held his face with both of her hands. "I can touch you?" She opened her arms. "Come," she said smiling, "we have to go."

A tear escaped the little child's eyes as he stretched out his tiny arms towards Kara. She lifted the little boy in the air and clasped him tightly against her chest.

"Well, well, well...what do we have here?" Asmodeus strolled towards them, a confused look on his face. "How is that possible? You are touching an elemental...and your angel soul is still intact! This is very, very interesting."

The warmth of the child felt good against Kara's cold mortal suit. She felt him shivering and held him tighter.

"I would never have believed it possible, but yet here you are... with this child against your breast. Only mortals can survive the touch of an elemental. So how can this be? You are an angel, no doubt, and yet you can survive his touch. Tell me, little angel...what is your name? You seem... familiar." Asmodeus edged closer.

"Stay back!" she yelled. "Don't you touch him!"

The demon lord laughed. "Touch him? I certainly don't want to _touch_ him...I want to kill him and use his power! With the elemental's energy, I will become invincible! I will destroy the Legion!" His forehead came together in a frown and his evil eyes mocked her.

Kara narrowed her eyes and made fists with her hands. "You will never hurt him!"

"My, my, aren't we motherly...tell me, what is your name, little angel?" Asmodeus walked slowly towards Kara. Pain spilled inside her core, but she wouldn't give up the child.

Asmodeus flashed his white teeth. "No name? Perhaps I can guess. Let me see..." He closed his eyes and lifted his eyebrows. Kara sensed a sudden chill forming inside her forehead behind her eyes, the same kind of brain freeze she'd feel when drinking an iced coffee too fast. And then the brain freeze faded. She felt lightheaded, with a tickling sensation as though hundreds of tiny fingers were going through the files inside her brain, reading all her thoughts.

"Ah, of course. Kara... Kara... Kara... tut, tut, tut. We meet at last."

"What?" Kara backed away, she didn't like anyone prying inside her most intimate thoughts. "How...how do you know my name?" She shook her head, trying to rid it of the awful tickling.

"Kara Nightingale...rookie in the famous guardian angel Legion...on a life-quest," said Asmodeus. "Hmm. This is very interesting."

Kara saw his lips curl. "You're _in love_ with someone called David...how very _mortal_ of you," laughed Asmodeus. "And he is not returning your _amour_ anymore, is he?" He rolled his eyes at the sky. "Romance is _so_ overrated. So many insignificant feelings get in the way. It's too distracting. Who has time for love nowadays, anyway?"

He closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows. "Ah, yes...you want your life back. I can feel it...yes, very strongly. You want to be with your mother again, don't you?" Asmodeus's gaze searched Kara's face. "You were going to become a famous painter before the bus hit you, were you not?"

Kara pressed her mouth shut.

Asmodeus closed his eyes again. "Ah...what is this? I feel something else inside you... something different from anything I've ever felt before. I feel a sense of _power..._ of a wild power." He opened his eyes and smiled. "It feels almost... elemental."

"That's impossible. You're lying!"

"But it's the truth, my dear." The demon lord cocked his head to the side. A strange eagerness flashed in his eyes and his hands trembled. "Such a pity you're playing for the _wrong_ team." His face twisted in disdain as he shook his head. "But you're still so _weak..._ look at you! Getting _emotionally_ attached to the job! Regardless, with your power and my power combined... we could achieve greatness!"

"No thanks, I think I'll pass," she hissed.

There was a short pause, and then Asmodeus continued, a sly smile forming across his face. "You see...you were supposed to be on _my_ team, Kara. I had _chosen_ you to be part of my army."

Kara's jaw dropped to the ground. This couldn't be true. "W...what?"

"It's true," continued Asmodeus, his voice pleasantly soft. "Who do you think gave you that Mark?"

"What?" It was as if a ton of bricks had fallen on her. "You... you gave me that Mark? You did this to me! Why?" She felt paralyzed by his words.

"You have the potential to become a great warrior...the greatest perhaps." Asmodeus placed his right hand on his chest. "I can feel it...just like I felt it before. You are destined for greatness!"

Kara saw him lift his shoulders and then let them drop.

"Some guardians beat me to you. When we got to the crash site, your dying body was already protected. But not before I grazed your leg with my hand. Half a second earlier...your soul would have been _mine_."

"I would _never_ have been _yours_!" said Kara, her voice shaking.

Asmodeus twisted his face in a smile and chuckled. "Either way, you have something of mine. I'll give _you_ what you want, if you give me what _I_ want."

Kara shook her head like a stubborn child.

Asmodeus took a step forward.

"I can give you your life back, little angel. Just like that..." He snapped his fingers.

Kara frowned. "No...you can't. You're lying!"

"Oh yes, I _can_. And all I ask in return," he kicked the metal cage between him and Kara, "is that you put this silly little boy back in his cage." Asmodeus's beautiful face creased into a smile.

Fragments of her past life flashed before her eyes. She felt her grip on the child loosen.

Asmodeus spoke softly. "I was an Archangel once...the most powerful angel in all of Horizon! They resented me for it, and that's why I left."

He paused for a brief moment and then held out his arms. "I can give you back your life, Kara, I promise. All I need from you," he said, his voice as smooth as silk, "is to put the child in the cage, and..." he snapped his fingers, "...you'll be back on Earth, in your old body, without any knowledge of your angel experiences. Your life will be as it was. As it should be."

Kara felt sick and confused. She looked down into the child's wet blue eyes and cringed at his tears. She knew the demon would kill the little boy. She couldn't live with that. She might never remember any of this once she was inside her old mortal body again, but she believed in karma. And karma would eventually bite her in the ass. She wouldn't give him up...not even for her own life.

"No... I will never give him to you. I would rather die." said Kara.

Asmodeus's eyebrows lowered dangerously.

"NO?" he repeated as he came rushing towards her. "PUT HIM IN THE CAGE—OR I'LL KILL YOU!"

She stepped back shaking her head.

"I—SAID—PUT—HIM—IN!" Asmodeus scooped up the cage and threw it at Kara. It hit her hard and then bounced on the ground. He edged closer. He was nearly on top of her.

Kara tightened her grip on the child, cradling him. "Don't be frightened. I'm here with you."

An image of David flashed suddenly before her eyes. She trembled. She was ready.

In a frightening rage, Asmodeus lurched forward and charged. He moved with lightening speed, striking out at her with lines of black electric current.

Kara threw out an open hand protectively in front of her. Her palm hit his chest and golden light exploded from her hand. Asmodeus was propelled back in the air and landed hard on the ground. He rolled over, howling in pain. A golden glow emanated from his chest and spread slowly all the way around his body until he was covered in golden light.

Kara stared at her hand. Traces of gold light hovered over her palm and fingertips.

She backed away and watched as the demon lord convulsed uncontrollably. He spit up a thick liquid that showered the floor in black puddles. He wailed as he clawed at his own flesh, scratching bloody holes into his body and face. He let out an ear-piercing scream. And then his body twisted, bent inwards and with a pop...he vanished.

Kara blinked several times. She walked over to where Asmodeus had stood seconds before. There was nothing left of the demon lord, not even a burn mark. Kara searched the ground with her shoe, brushing away clumps of dirt and dry leaves. The ground underneath was bare.

She stared at her hand again and made a fist.

Pursing her lips, she turned her attention to the little boy. Kara lifted the child by its armpits and searched his grinning face.

"You know, we were really lucky...you're like my good luck charm. But how come I can touch you and no one else can, eh?" She lowered him into her breast. "I guess you don't know either. Boy, do I have a lot of debriefing to do!" She laughed. "I'll be in there for weeks! But the important thing is...you're okay!"

The child grinned and clapped his tiny hands together.

Kara laughed. "We make a good team! Good job, little one. High five..." she held out her hand, palm facing the little boy. He smacked it and giggled.

She studied the boy for a moment, her eyebrows low. "You need a name." She bit her lip and squinted. "From now on, I'm calling you... Lucky. You like that?"

The child smiled and wrapped his small arms around Kara's neck. His cool skin brushed against the nape of her neck. She felt a shiver. She knew that Lucky was part human and was probably cold.

"Here...let me put this over you." She took off her jacket and wrapped him in it. "There you go. I don't want you to catch a cold, now."

Lucky looked up at her and smiled. His big fat cheeks wrinkled his face.

"Okay. Let's get out of here."

She held him tight in her arms as they walked out of the cemetery.

# Chapter 17

### Level Seven

Kara debriefed for hours back at Operations. Gabriel was speechless when she told him she could touch the elemental without the silver gloves. But when she got to the part where a golden beam shot out from her hand, Gabriel stopped blinking. The three oracles writing up the reports fainted and fell off their crystals.

"Golden light shot out of your hand?"

"Yup."

"It...it came out of your hand?"

"Yes, like I told you... it just sort of came out... and bam! Asmodeus went flying. Then he started to shake and twitch. He was all covered in a golden light, and then he vanished. I'm sure that's happened before, right? Um...are you okay? You look like a little worried?"

"I have to speak to the Council of Ministers. Stay here." Gabriel stormed out of the tent.

"Okay...?" Kara watched him disappear beyond the red dunes.

A few hours later, an oracle found her and told her to present herself to Level Six, where the Council of Ministers awaited her.

She had succeeded in her mission, her life-quest. Soon she would be reunited with her mother, back in her old mortal body. She needed to make up for all the years she had wronged her mother...her mother who has been a guardian angel all along. She was restless. She ran all the way back to the elevator.

Kara followed the oracle down the platform towards the entrance to the Council of Minister's chamber. Her mind flashed back to Asmodeus and she wondered if she should tell the council that he had given her the Mark, but she decided against it. It didn't matter anymore, she was going home.

The oracle pulled open the metal door to the building and rolled himself back out of the way.

Kara stepped inside.

Cheers exploded all around her, like a sudden burst of thunder. In the thousands, the entire Legion of guardian angels was gathered along the length of the hall to welcome her back. The thousands of clapping hands sounded like firecrackers. She walked through the crowds. She saw angels pushing and shoving each other just to get a look at her. She saw a young angel fall flat on her face in a faint.

"Look, it's her! That's Kara Nightingale!"

"The one who beat Asmodeus!"

"She saved the elemental!"

"She saved us all!"

Kara couldn't help but laugh. It was strange to have her own paparazzi.

The oracle plowed his way through the mob and down the hall to the large council doors. He pushed them open and rolled to the side. Kara left the crowd behind and entered the council chamber. The doors shut behind her.

One by one, the council members stood up and started clapping. Embarrassed, she looked at the floor. A long red carpet spread all the way down to the dais. She'd never thought that one day she'd be walking down a red carpet.

Kara followed the red carpet until she was near the dais. Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, and Michael stood at the head of the council table, their faces cracked in wide grins. Kara turned her head to her right and saw David. She couldn't believe she had forgotten about him. She felt a tingling of hope. He made his way over to her, smiling broadly. His perfect face was just as she had last seen it. But his eyes seemed darker than usual. She saw a trace of sadness in them.

He stopped at her side and passed his hands through his hair. Lifting his head high, he squared his shoulders. "You did good...and I think you scared the crap out of everyone..."

Kara gestured with her hand. "But I'm okay. See? Still in one piece. So...what happens with Lucky? Is he going to be okay?" She remembered his tiny smiling face and realized that she missed him.

"He's fine. A family of Sensitives took him in. They'll take good care of him, don't worry. They're the best mortal guardians the little elemental could ask for."

"I guess so." Kara studied David's face, searching for a whisper of some sort of affection...anything which might give her the hope she desired. The smallest spark would suffice.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and David looked quickly away. "I'm...I'm sorry, Kara. I should have believed you...I'm such a jackass. Will you ever forgive me?"

Kara felt her bottom lip start to shake. "Of course I forgive you. Besides, what would I do without my favorite jackass?" She strained to keep her true feelings hidden.

David laughed. He fumbled with the zipper on his jacket. "So... have you decided what you're going to do? Are you staying... or going...?"

Kara felt a strange prickling on her cheeks reminiscent of a flush. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. "You know what I've always wanted. I want to go back home...to my mother. I need to take care of her. It's like—I feel I was robbed by having only sixteen years on earth. I want to experience life, my _mortal_ life. I want to do all the stupid things that young people do. I need that...before I die...again. I have the chance to get my life back just as it was before I died. I'm going to take that chance."

She felt a sharp pain in her chest. She was glad that angels couldn't cry, otherwise her face would be soaked.

David dropped his shoulders. He was silent for a long moment. "I know. If I had the chance to go back one last time...I'd want to go back too. I miss my dad's purple face when he'd yell at me for using the car." He shoved his hands in his front pockets. "I just wanted to check."

"Maybe we'll meet again?" Kara asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

"I know we will. You can count on that." He looked over to the dais. "They're waiting for you." He stepped back.

Kara stared at David. There was so much she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. Someone cleared their throat, and Kara turned her head towards the council.

Dressed in red robes, Uriel lifted his arms before the crowd. His long sleeves brushed the black marble desk. "Welcome, guardian angels, to the Council of Ministers," his voiced echoed throughout the chamber, bouncing off the walls. "We are gathered here at this hour for a special celebration...a celebration of life and of the success of a life-quest. I'm honored to present to you all, Kara Nightingale...a rookie guardian angel who has saved us from great peril. Without her, we would be lost."

Kara pursed her lips, her eyes wide as she continued to stare at Uriel.

"She has shown us the true meaning of courage and devotion—a true guardian angel." Uriel stretched a long arm in Kara's direction and beckoned her to come forward. "Come, Kara Nightingale."

Kara stepped up onto the dais before Uriel. She bent her head back and looked up into his face. She watched him turn around momentarily to pick up a shiny golden medal on a fine golden chain.

"Kara Nightingale," declared Uriel. "It is with great honor, that we, the Council of Ministers, award you with a life-quest. This medal celebrates our world's highest honor." He slipped the chain over Kara's head and smiled. "We are forever grateful to you." He stepped back and clapped. The rest of the council members joined in and clapped enthusiastically.

Kara clasped the medal in her hands, feeling its smooth surface against her palm. She moved it around so that it caught the light. She traced her fingers around the silhouette of a person with widespread wings. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

After a moment the clapping slowly died, and Uriel cleared his throat.

"And now we must discuss something that is most important." He looked at her with kind eyes.

"Gabriel and I have had a long chat with the council members about the events leading to your rescue of the elemental. We have learned of your extraordinary abilities...abilities which are unknown to us. Since the very beginning of Horizon, no angel has ever touched an elemental and survived."

Kara fidgeted on the spot. She felt something was wrong. "So... what are you saying? That it was a mistake to touch that little boy? I _had_ to do something to save him...I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Let me explain. That golden beam you conjured against Asmodeus...that is an elemental's power. Only elementals have that kind of immense energy. We believe that your soul is part elemental, Kara. It explains why you were able to touch the child without your Sparks. It explains how you were able to vanquish Asmodeus. It would have taken a team of our most skilled guardians to challenge the demon lord...yet you faced him alone...and vanquished him.

"You are special, Kara. You have powers—strong and wild powers that have the potential to do great things. And that is very unfortunate. You see, Asmodeus desires power above all else, and now he has had a taste of yours. He will stop at nothing to try and possess it."

"Wait a minute...I killed Asmodeus!" said Kara. "I saw him die with my own eyes. He's dead, I swear he is..."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. Asmodeus is not dead, but simply weakened. We have gathered information from our Scouts which tells us he is back in the Netherworld...weak, but still alive.

"We must send you back to Earth for your own protection," Uriel continued. "You cannot stay here in Horizon, vulnerable and exposed to traitors. We still do not know your full potential, Kara. And while we ponder this, we need to keep you hidden and safe. Asmodeus and his demons will not be able to find you if you are hidden in your mortal body. He will search for you in Horizon."

Kara's eyes flicked at David. He stood tall, his strong shoulders back, his eyes fixed on the council. She didn't know why, but she waited, staring at him. After a second or so she turned to face the council. "So...am I going to remember any of this? When I'm back on Earth, will I remember you, or me—or the fact that Asmodeus wants to kill me? Any of this?"

"No," said Uriel softly. "Once you are back within your own mortal body, you will have no memories of your time spent in Horizon. You won't remember a thing."

She remembered her kiss with David. She was sorry she wouldn't remember it...it was such a good kiss. But something else occurred to her. "What about my mother? I want to remember that I know she's a guardian. I mean...does she know what's happened to me?"

"Your mother knows about the situation. She will look after you. But for your own protection, your memory will be erased. A group of guardian angels have already been assigned to look after you while you are on Earth."

Kara opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again. She knew that things would be different this time around...that she would eventually figure out that her mother was _special._

"But," said Kara, "will I ever come back here? To Horizon?"

"Of course."

A hint of a smile reached Uriel's lips. "When the time is right, we will call upon your services as a guardian of the Legion again. I'm sure that we will need your special talents again. But for now, it is best that you return to Earth."

"Okay. I understand."

"Although you will be sadly missed by your friends," Uriel's eyes darted to David and back to Kara, "we believe it is the right decision."

He studied her for a moment and then addressed the council. "Let us give our thanks to our fellow angel, Kara Nightingale...who has surpassed all obstacles and proven herself to be a true and devoted soldier. She shall be missed. We salute you!"

Loud voices echoed from the chamber walls as the council members repeated, "We salute you!"

Kara felt very small. She fumbled with her medal. Her eyes fell on David, who beamed at her. She couldn't help but to grin back.

Uriel clapped his hands together. "It is time, Kara. Report to Level Seven."

Kara turned and was immediately lifted in the air in a bear hug.

"See you soon," said David. He let Kara go and stepped back.

She looked into his eyes. Her body tingled, "I hate goodbyes...I never know what to say." Her eyes darted to the council for a moment. She fumbled with her fingers. "Plus, we have an audience."

"It'll be okay, we'll see each other soon enough."

"Just try to behave, David. And don't piss off any of the Archangels."

"I won't, if they don't."

"God, you're such a baby," she laughed. Part of her wished she could stay. But she knew it was impossible. She sighed and looked into his eyes. "Goodbye, David."

"Bye, Kara."

As Kara rode in the sky-car back to the elevator her mind was a storm of thoughts. She was part elemental. She had these extraordinary powers. David was her friend again. And best of all, she would be with her mother very soon. The only down side was that Asmodeus was still alive. She tried not to think about their next encounter.

After a short ride, she jumped off the sky-car and hopped into the elevator. To her surprise, it was chimp 5M51 at the controls. He lifted his eyebrows at the sight of her.

"Oh, it's _you_ ," said the chimp.

Kara made a face. "Oh, it's _you,_ too!" she spat. She stepped to the back of the elevator.

Chimp 5M51 scratched his butt. "I'm told to bring you to Level Seven?" He eyed her suspiciously. "Not many guardian angels get to go to that level. Why are _you_ so special?" He frowned as he studied her.

Kara lifted her chin. "Well, I am." Her body tingled in excitement.

"Um...did you ever meet The Chief? What's he like?"

"I have no idea, Miss. I have never met him."

"Oh."

The chimp sighed and turned his attention to the control panel. "Level Seven...The Chief!" Kara watched as his long finger pressed on the brass number seven button.

The elevator rocked slightly as it ascended higher. Kara felt a mixture of excitement and regret. She was excited to go home again, but she already missed David and her life in Horizon. It was impossible to know if she'd ever see him again, and that left a mark on her soul.

The elevator shook and stopped.

"Level Seven!" cried chimp 5M51.

Kara pushed herself off the panel with her hands and walked up to the elevator doors. Her eyes flashed at the chimp. He raised his eyebrows and stuck out his tongue.

She shook her head and laughed. "Moron."

With a swish, the doors swung open. Immediately, blinding white light spilled into the tiny elevator. Kara covered her eyes. A few seconds later, her eyes adjusted and a feeling of warmth spread through her body.

_This is it_ , she said to herself. _I'm going home_.

She stepped into the light.

# Chapter 18

### Déjà vu

Kara ran along Saint Paul Street. Her long brown hair flowed behind her. She balanced her portfolio in one hand and pressed her cell phone against her ear with the other. She jumped onto the sidewalk and rushed through the oncoming crowd, her mind on her big presentation.

"Wait for me! I'll be there like in...two minutes!"

"I can't believe you're not here yet," said the voice on the other line. "You had to pick today of all days to be late."

"Okay, okay! I'm already freaking out about the presentation. You're not exactly helping, Mat."

A laugh came through the speaker. "I'm just saying... that this is supposed to be the most important day of your life...and you're late."

"Yes, I heard you the first time... _Mother_. My stupid alarm didn't go off!" Kara dashed along the busy street. "Excuse me! Coming through...coming through..."

She squeezed herself through the crowd and kept running.

"You know, the presentation won't wait for you..."

"I swear I'm gonna kick your butt when I get there!" Kara looked behind her as she jumped back onto the street.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Less than half a block behind, a man with white hair and dressed in a grey tailored suit stood staring at her.

_His eyes are black_ , she realized. A chill rolled up her spine. The man vanished back into the crowd.

"I think I'm being followed," said Kara, after a moment.

"You always think you're being followed."

"No...I'm _serious!_ I swear this guy is following me—some psycho with white hair. I've seen him before. Or at least my mother has..."

"We all know your mother is a little nutty sometimes...no offense... I love your mom, but she's been seeing and talking to invisible people since we were five. I think it's rubbing off on you."

"Listen. I was with my mom yesterday, on Saint Catherine Street, and she said we were being followed by someone _._ What if this is the same guy? Maybe she's not as crazy as everyone thinks." Kara wondered if there was a little truth in her mother's visions.

Mathieu laughed on the other end of the phone. "Are you serious? It's bad enough that your mom sees spirits and demons. If you start believing in all that...they'll lock you up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Remind me why you're my best friend again?" Kara focused on her presentation as she ran. "Okay...I can see you now."

Mat was leaning against the gallery's front brick exterior. "I think it's starting...hurry up!"

Kara took a deep breath and sprinted onto Saint Laurence Boulevard. Her cell phone slipped out of her hand as she ran. It hit the ground with a crash.

"Crap!" Kara crouched down to grab her phone.

A flicker of movement appeared in the corner of her eye.

"WATCH OUT!" Someone shouted. She stood up and turned around.

A city bus hurtled towards her.

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHH!!!_

Kara watched in horror as a city bus came charging straight for her. In a second it would hit.

Kara closed her eyes and braced herself for impact...

But the impact never came.

Kara felt something hard wrap around her left arm. She was lifted off the ground. She floated in the air as something pulled her body away from the bus, and not a second too soon. In a blink of an eye, Kara watched the bus as it skidded to a stop and plowed through the spot where she had stood moments before.

She landed a few feet away. Her portfolio flew out of her hand.

Crowds of people ran to her, all yelling at the same time.

"Oh, my God! Are you okay?"

"Is she hurt?"

"Did you see that? That guy saved her life!"

Feeling the touch of a hand still wrapped tightly around her arm, she turned around to get a glimpse of her savior. She met a grinning face. He was young and extremely handsome, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. His full lips were curled up into a sly smile. He wore a brown leather jacket, weather worn, with the collar rolled up. He cocked an eyebrow.

"Careful there, kiddo," said the stranger. "It's not time yet...not for a little while, anyway."

He stood there searching her eyes for a moment. His closeness made her skin prickle with goose bumps. She inhaled a strong musky smell.

"Huh? Time for what?" It took Kara a moment to compose herself. "What just happened?" She swayed on the spot.

"Looks like you were almost hit by a bus."

Kara looked at the stranger. Their eyes locked. Her heart hammered at her chest. "Hey...you look familiar... do I know you?"

"No, I don't think so."

She couldn't take her eyes off his face. "This is going to sound really crazy, but...I feel like...like I know you? Are you sure we've never met?"

"I'm sure."

Her cheeks burned. "Whoa...this is the biggest feeling of déjà vu I've ever had!" She pressed her hands on her head, feeling dizzy.

"Take care of yourself," said the stranger.

He let go of her arm. And with a smile, he turned on his heel and walked away. Kara stared after him until he was lost in the crowd.

"Wait!" she cried. But he was gone.

Kara stood staring at the spot where the stranger had stood.

Then she picked up her portfolio. The pedestrian walk sign flashed green. She took a deep breath, walked to the other side of street, and pulled open the gallery door.

The second book in the Soul Guardians series, _Elemental_ , is available at your favorite retailer.

* * *

Learn more at the author's website, or go here to sign up for her mailing list.

# RELENTLESS

### Book 1

**Karen Lynch**

* * *

Sara Grey's world shattered ten years ago when her father was brutally murdered. Now at seventeen, she is still haunted by memories of that day and driven by the need to understand why it happened. She lives a life full of secrets and her family and friends have no idea of the supernatural world she is immersed in or of Sara's own very powerful gift.

In her quest for answers about her father's death, Sara takes risks that expose her and her friends to danger and puts herself into the sights of a sadistic vampire. On the same fateful night she meets Nikolas, a warrior who turns Sara's world upside down and is determined to protect her even if it's the last thing she wants.

Sara's life starts to spin out of control as she is hunted by an obsessed vampire, learns that her friends have secrets of their own and reels from the truth about her own ancestry. Sara has always been fiercely independent but in order to survive now she must open herself to others, to reveal her deepest secrets. And she must learn to trust the one person capable of breaking down the walls around her.

# Preface

He put his mouth to my ear and his words sent waves of fresh terror through me. "I am going to savor you, little Sara. I had planned to have you now but why rush when we can take all the time we want later."

"No..."

"But I think a taste first to whet the appetite." His face lowered as he forced my head to one side, baring my throat. His lips touched my skin and his tongue lapped at the spot where my pulse beat. Blackness swam before my eyes.

"What is this?" he murmured and sniffed as if he was trying a new wine. His tongue touched my skin again. "You taste like –" His head whipped up and his eyes glittered like he had just been served a favorite dessert. "You're a –"

# Chapter 1

"YOU'RE LATE."

Malloy huffed as he slid into the booth across from me. "Don't get your panties in a knot. I got other business to tend to besides yours you know."

I scowled and tapped my watch and he threw up his hands. "I'm sorry, alright? Jesus, you're an impatient one."

"You're not the only one with places to be."

He made a harrumph sound as if he could not imagine what someone my age had to do that was so important– if he only knew. I schooled my expression to hide the anxiety gnawing at me.

"Alright then, where is it?" he asked.

I patted my chest where the small lump lay inside my coat and lowered my voice so no one outside our booth could hear it above Lynyrd Skynyrd blaring from the jukebox. "Half an ounce, as promised."

Malloy's brown eyes widened and he leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table. Shorter than me by a few inches with a small pinched face and dull brown hair, he reminded me of a little brown field mouse. Not that I was fool enough to be taken in by his harmless appearance. You don't survive in this business by being nice.

"Well, let's have it then." His eyes swept the dimly lit bar before settling back on me. I could have told him not to worry; the patrons at Jed's were good at minding their own business, which is why I'd suggested the biker bar in the first place. That and the fact that Jed kept a wooden bat and a .44 behind the bar in case of trouble. No one was stupid enough to start something at Jed's.

I reached inside my coat and pulled out a rolled up paper bag. Malloy grabbed for it but I pulled it out of his reach and put on my business face. "Payment first."

"Ah yes." He made a sour face as he put a hand inside his own jacket. His hand stilled. "This wasn't easy to come by, you know. Maybe –"

"We had a deal, Malloy." Damn it, I should have known he would try to pull this again, and on the one day I didn't have time for games. My cell phone was lying face down on the table. I picked it up.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" I did not look at him as I scrolled through my short contact list. "Half an ounce is worth ten of what you're paying for it and you know it. But if you don't want to do business I'll have to go through someone else." I bit my lip. I really didn't want to go elsewhere and I was running out of time. If I had to wait even one more day to get what I came for, it wouldn't matter anymore. A day? Hell, hours was more like it.

"Excuse me. I need to make a call." I moved toward the edge of my seat, hoping he did not see through my bluff.

"Wait." He sighed and pulled out a small square package wrapped in dirty gray cloth. Laying the package on the table, he covered it with his hand and slid it toward me. I did the same with the paper bag and we made the exchange at the halfway point. I stifled a sigh of relief when my fingers closed around the package.

I lifted the cloth-wrapped package to my ear and shook it before I sniffed it to confirm its contents. Satisfied, I tucked it into an inside pocket and picked up my soda, taking a long sip to hide my eagerness to get out of there. It was never wise to appear desperate or hurried to people like Malloy; you might as well paint a big red target on your back.

Malloy tipped the paper bag and spilled a small glass vial out onto his palm. His eyes glittered as he rolled the vial of yellowish-brown liquid between his fingers.

"Kid, I'd give my left gonad to know how you managed to get your hands on this stuff... and lived to tell about it."

I let out a short laugh to hide my nervousness. "Who said I'm telling?" I set my glass back on the table and inclined my head toward the vial. "I wouldn't show that off in public too much." What I really wanted to say was, 'Put that goddamn stuff away before you get us both killed', but I refrained because it would not do to lose my cool.

"You don't need to tell me how to handle my affairs," he retorted, but at the same time he made the vial disappear with a sleight of hand that would do a magician proud.

"There is no way anyone can trace that back to me, right?" Malloy had a wide network and a reputation for discretion. But the contents of that vial could bring a lot of unwanted attention.

He sat up straighter. "Like I told you last time; I wouldn't be in business very long if I gave away my suppliers. And I got to protect my own head, too. I move my stuff through some middle men who'd take the names of their business contacts to the grave. Ain't no profit in talking. And those guys have no idea where I obtain my merchandise. You can be sure I ain't telling anyone."

"I'm glad to hear that." I slid out of the booth. I'd stayed here too long already.

"Wait! I have some other items you might be interested in – if you can get more of this stuff, that is."

I stood and put my hand over the small bulge inside my coat. "I got what I came for. If I need anything else, I'll be in touch."

He shook his head. "You know, you are way too serious for a girl your age. You ought to loosen up, have fun every now and then."

I turned toward the exit. "Yeah I get that a lot."

The sun's glare blinded me after the bar's gloomy interior and I blinked a few times, sagging against the heavy wooden door. _God I hate this._ My hands trembled as I pulled up my sleeve to glance at my watch. "Damn it." I pushed away from the door, cursing Malloy for running late. My business with him would all have been for nothing if I stayed here much longer.

I pulled my short coat together and set out to meet Remy, making it to the bus stop two streets away just in time to catch the next bus. Sinking gratefully into a seat in the back, I leaned against the window and watched the streets and buildings flash by. We passed a football field where a practice game was in progress and I watched a group of cheerleaders waving red and white pompoms. My hand went to the lump in my pocket and the weight of the responsibility I carried made me feel years older than the girls on the field.

The bus line ended near an old brewery that went out of business two years ago and I jumped off in front of the padlocked gates. No Trespassing signs hung along the wire fence and the whole place had a sad, deserted look about it. My nose twitched as it always did at the smell of sour barley that lingered there as I hurried past it.

Behind the brewery was an older subdivision of duplexes and two storey houses, most of them needing a fresh coat of paint. Five years ago this was a thriving neighborhood, before the brewery shut down along with the automotive parts plant that had employed half this area. Now the lawns were overgrown and the cars in many of the driveways were badly in need of maintenance. A country song blared from someone's stereo and in another house a young couple argued until a baby started to bawl loudly. I passed a group of younger kids playing road hockey but they largely ignored me. I did stop for a moment to rub the head of a familiar lab-shepherd mix that trotted up to greet me, but when he made to follow me I shooed him back. He stared after me forlornly, but I was too busy to play today.

At the last stop sign, I turned right and jogged down an empty street lined with tired looking boarded up old houses and yards that backed up to the woods. I slipped between the last two houses and ducked under a broken board in the fence of the last house. Grass and weeds had taken over the backyard, while ivy strangled the ancient swing set and covered the back of the house. I followed a narrow path through the grass to the back door where I gave a quick look around and then slipped inside.

"Remy, you here?" I called softly.

It was dark in the house except for the dusty bands of light that spilled in between the boards over the windows. Thankfully I knew the house pretty well and I didn't need much light to find my way around. I left the kitchen and walked down a short hallway. On my right was the empty shell that used to be a living room and on my left was the closed door to the den. I pushed the door and it swung inward on creaky hinges.

"Remy?" I whispered loudly, trying to see through the dense shadows of the room. Silence greeted me. _Where the hell is he?_ I spun around to go back the way I'd come.

"Argh!" I found myself face-to-face with a thin, pale grey face with large round violet eyes and a mop of shaggy gray-brown hair. I stumbled back and he reached for me, grabbing my shoulders in a strong grip that belied his slender build.

"Jesus, Remy!" I slapped a hand to my chest as he steadied me. "Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

The troll gave me a lopsided grin, revealing a row of short sharp teeth. "You too young for heart attack," he said with a fierce little smirk that would send a chill through anyone who did not know him.

"You late," he chastised me.

"I'm sorry. Malloy was twenty minutes late and I got here as fast as I could. How are they doing?"

"Not so bad. Fren worried but I tell him if Sara say she get medicine, she will." He gave me an expectant look.

I smiled and pulled the package from inside my coat to lay it in his eager hands. "Have I ever let you down?"

Remy immediately turned and headed to the kitchen with me close on his heels. Curious about the contents of the package that had come at such a high price, I watched as he removed the cloth to reveal a small rectangular wooden box. He lifted the lid and poured the contents out into a large shallow stone bowl, then picked up a smooth rounded stone and began to grind whatever was in the bowl. I moved closer and saw pale golden crystals the texture and color of coarse cane sugar. As Remy ground the crystals into powder the smell of rotten eggs and ammonia I'd gotten earlier grew stronger. I waved a hand in front of my nose. Definitely not sugar. Remy had called it _Baktu_ when he asked me to find it but he hadn't been too clear on exactly what it was, just that it came from some place in Africa.

He quickly reduced the crystals to powder then he spat in the bowl several times and stirred the mixture with a smooth wooden stick to make a thick paste. "Come," he said at last, taking up the heavy bowl and heading for the stairs. I followed him quietly. My part was done and the rest was up to my friend now.

In the first room at the top of the stairs, a pallet of rags had been laid on the bare wooden floor and a small dark shape lay curled up on the rags whimpering. The upstairs windows were not boarded up so I could make out the creature's rounded body and long spindly limbs. Kneeling by the pallet was a second creature and his ugly squashed face looked at us hopefully when we entered the room. I gave him a smile and pointed at the bowl in Remy's hands and he grunted softly to his mate who replied in kind. I had no idea what they were saying because I didn't speak boggie, but it didn't take much imagination to guess that he was reassuring her.

Remy knelt beside the pallet and I stood behind him where I could observe but not get in the way. He laid the stone bowl on the floor and grunted at the boggies in their own language. Then he gently repositioned the female boggie until she lay on her back with her swollen belly bared to us. Boggies live in bogs–as their name implies – and they are usually covered in mud. The female was unusually clean and I wondered if Remy had done it in preparation for the procedure.

Fren, the male boggie, moved closer and took one of his mate's small hands in both of his. His large eyes brimmed with love but it could not hide the fear I saw in his face. I wanted to tell him it would be okay but he could not understand me, and I wasn't sure if everything would be alright. According to Remy, boggies normally have easy births, but Mol's pregnancy had been very difficult. After being ill for months, she was very frail and her baby refused to come. Boggie pregnancies are not like human pregnancies where the baby comes after nine months. If the mother is sick or weak, the body will not go into labor. If the baby is not delivered, both mother and child will die.

I watched as Remy began to smooth the paste over Mol's extended belly with gentle hands. She stiffened and made a weak mewling sound because her belly was so swollen and tender that the slightest touch hurt her. This close to her, I could sense her pain and fear, and a familiar urge awoke in me; the need to go to her and try to take away the pain. But I trusted Remy and right now he was Mol's best chance of getting through this. I just clenched my hands and observed.

He finished applying the thick paste and laid the bowl aside. Then he spread his long hands across Mol's belly and applied the slightest pressure against the bulge that was her unborn child. He started to chant in troll tongue and I only recognized a handful of words, but they were enough to tell me that he was praying. Trolls are deeply faithful to their god and they mix prayer with their magic in whatever they do. I had seen enough of Remy's abilities to have great respect for his faith and his magic.

The paste soon dried to a brittle shell and I noticed that Mol seemed to be in less pain now and able to bear the weight of Remy's hands. __ Was it working?

Mol's scream made the hair lift on the back of my neck. I fell to my knees beside Remy as Mol's stomach began to contract so violently that her whole body shook from it. "What's wrong?"

"This normal," he replied, lifting his hands from the boggie. "Baby coming."

"It's coming?" I asked dumbly. Mol looked like she was being ripped apart from the inside, not about to deliver a baby. But then I had no idea what was normal for a boggie birth. Like most of the People, boggies are secretive and shy of humans. It was a sign of their gratitude and respect that I was permitted to stay and witness this event. Tears filled my eyes as I watched nature take over and Mol's body find the strength it needed to bring her baby into the world.

Fren was there to take the infant when it arrived. The little brown body was incredibly small and doll-like and made no sound when its father cradled it in his arms. Fren stared at his newborn and ran his fingers over the infant's face as if he could not believe it was real.

"Shouldn't the baby be crying?" I whispered to Remy, trying not to disturb the boggies. Fren cooed at the baby and Mol lay there with her eyes closed, too exhausted to even look at her child.

Remy nodded, his face grim.

That's when I felt it, the familiar pulling sensation drawing me toward the baby like steel to a magnet. I gasped softly. "He's sick, so sick..." The first icy tendrils of death brushed my skin and I knew we were too late. If I'd only gotten here earlier.

I yanked off my coat. "Give him to me! Hurry – there's not much time." Already I could feel the new life draining away.

Remy reached for the baby but Fren shook his head, holding the little body to his chest. Grunting forcefully, Remy leaned forward again. Whatever he said to the boggie worked because Fren relinquished the infant to him. I held out my hands and Remy placed the naked, wrinkled little body in them. It was no bigger than a week old kitten and as soon as I touched it I felt the weak fluttering heartbeat and the coldness already settling into the tiny limbs. "Try to hold on, little one," I murmured as I pulled him to my own chest and covered him with my hands. Then I reached inside of myself and let my wall down.

It was like opening a furnace door. Heat flared in my chest and roared through my veins like a spark following a fuse. I didn't have to tell my power where to go, it always knew. My body buzzed like a live wire as currents of energy raced along my nerve endings toward my hands and chest, any part of me touching the dying creature.

Normally I release the power in a controlled stream, letting it flow gently to find the source of injury or illness. It's so strong, so forceful, that I worry it will shock my patients and kill them outright. But when a body is shutting down and preparing to die, a jolt to the system is sometimes the only thing that can help it. It's kind of like those defibrillator paddles they use in emergency rooms, only mine works on the whole body instead of just the heart. That's the only way I know how to describe it; my power didn't exactly come with an operations manual.

The heat pooled in my hands until they gave off a pale white glow. Hotter and hotter the fire burned until it felt like I grasped a hot metal pipe, but I didn't stop. I bit my lip to keep from crying out and held on, waiting for the power to grow to the right intensity before I released it.

Power exploded from my hands, pouring into the little body. I felt it race through veins and bones and weave through tissue, saturating every cell like a spring storm saturating the earth. My power is an extension of me so I felt it coiling around the failing heart, pulsing and surging. With each push it sent a spike of energy through the heart, causing the creature to jerk and spasm before it went still again. I sent wave after wave of power into the body, praying that each would be the one to fix the damaged heart.

I lost track of the minutes but at least ten passed before I was forced to accept that I could not save the boggie. My power was the only thing keeping his heart pumping and I could not keep it up much longer. One of the earliest and cruelest lessons I learned about my power is that sometimes I can't save someone, no matter how much of myself I pour into them. I held the baby away from me and felt a painful tug at my chest when I looked at its lifeless face. _I'm so sorry, little one._

A broken sob rent the air. I opened my eyes to meet Mol's stricken stare as she grieved for the baby she had never held in her own arms. My heart ached for her. No one should watch the one they love die.

_It's not fair!_ We had done everything right. Mol's baby deserved to live.

I pulled the power back to me until my hands grew hot again. The pain lanced through me but I barely felt it past the anger building inside me. I sent power shooting back through the baby with the force of a lightning strike. That much energy could stop a heart completely but there was nothing to lose now.

The power drained away. I was used up and vaguely aware of Remy and Fren breathing and Mol's sobs as the little heart pressed against mine gave a long irregular flutter and stopped.

There was only silence.

Then... lub-lub, lub-lub, lub-lub.

Then the slightest of movements as tiny lungs expanded with their first breath of air.

Then the tickle of a tiny foot moving against my chest.

I lifted the infant, cupped in my hands, and watched in wonder as the squashed little face quivered and the tiny mouth opened. It started as a faint wheezing sound that quickly became a mewling wail and suddenly my hands were full of a squirming, crying, healthy baby boggie.

I laughed and cried at the same time as shouts filled the room. Mol grunted anxiously and held out her arms and I laid her baby boy on her chest. I watched as mother and father touched their child with awe, exploring the baby they both thought they had lost.

I sat back heavily and then laid down on the dusty floor. Healings always drain me, some more than others, and normally I just need a few minutes of rest to put me right again. But bringing back a life from so close to death is very hard and my body felt like I had run half a marathon. No matter how many times I used my power, it did not get easier.

I was six when I discovered what I could do. In the beginning, I often over did it until I learned not to drain myself too much. It's easy to overlook your own welfare when you are trying to save a life. I had to learn how to lock my power away unless I needed to call on it. Otherwise, every time I came within a few feet of a sick or injured creature, the energy got sucked right out of me. Now when I heal, I let out just enough to do the job. Releasing a torrent of power like I'd just done for the boggie was almost like overloading a circuit, except there is no breaker to reset my energy. My power always replenishes itself; it just takes a little while.

A cool hand touched my arm. "You okay, Sara?" I heard the worry in Remy's voice and I gave him a weary smile.

"I'll be fine. You know how I am. Just need to rest a bit."

"Yes, you rest." He gently lifted my head and stuffed my folded jacket beneath it. I heard him talking to Fren and Mol and sounds of movement but it all became muffled as I drifted off.

Somewhere between wakefulness and sleep I felt a familiar stirring in the back of my mind. After expending so much power, I was not surprised it was on the move. It was always active after a healing when my power was low. Not that it would get far. Even exhausted, I had enough left in me to push it back down.

I called it the beast. It used to scare me having this dark thing inside my head even though I knew it came with my power. I read a quote once that said 'when you light a candle, you also cast a shadow' and I wondered if the same was true for me. My power was the candle – bright and warm – and the beast was its shadow – sullen and dark. Remy said that most power is a balance of good and bad and I should not be afraid of something that is a part of me. I did not embrace the beast, but I had no choice but to learn to live with it.

The room was quiet when I woke up and the long shadows told me it was late afternoon. Turning my head to the side, I saw I was alone. The boggies had most likely gone home but I knew Remy was still here. He would never leave me alone while I recovered.

I groaned as I got to my feet. My body ached, partly from the intense healing and partly from lying on the hard floor, and I stretched several times to get the kinks out. Then I picked up my coat and went downstairs where I found Remy looking out through the cracks in one of the boarded up living room windows. I walked over and leaned against the wall, ignoring the peeling wallpaper that snagged my hair.

He smiled down at me. "You sleep deep this time. Feel better?"

"That was a hard one," I admitted. "But worth it." I heard laughter outside and I peered through the crack at a group of teenage boys hanging out down the street. Remy had been watching them in case any of them decided to venture this way while I slept. I wondered what they'd do if they came in and found a troll waiting for them. Probably wet their pants. If I didn't know my fierce friend I'd probably do the exact same thing.

"Mol and the baby are okay?" I asked.

"Yes. Fren and Mol take baby home to show family. They say you have big magic. Ask if you are sorceress."

"Hardly." If any magic had happened here today, it had come from Remy, the way he'd helped Mol deliver her baby. Though he didn't have my power, he was as much a healer as I was and his knowledge of medicines never failed to amaze me. In troll years he was still a teenager like me, but he already knew more than I could hope to learn in a lifetime.

He looked at the street again. "It get dark soon."

"Not for another hour. And I'm not afraid of the dark."

"Uncle will not be happy if you stay out late."

"Nate's not happy about most things I do," I quipped. Remy shot me a disapproving look and I said, "You know it's true. I love Nate but we're just so...different. He wants me to be someone I'm not. He wants a normal niece who has girlfriends and joins the band or the cheerleading squad or whatever. That's not me and it never will be."

"That not true. He just want you to be happy."

I raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you an expert on human parents?"

"All good parents want children to be happy." He pushed away from the window. "Come. Boys leave."

I poked him in the back as I followed him to the back door. "You know, you're getting kind of bossy these days."

He let out a gravelly laugh. "Not even trolls boss you."

"That's right! I'm a strong independent woman and don't you forget it."

We crossed the yard and slipped through the fence. Remy turned to me. "You do good today."

" _We_ did good," I said. "By the way, you never did tell me what Baktu is."

"Baktu is winged serpent from desert lands."

My brows drew together. "Huh? How does a serpent turn to crystals?"

"Crystals not serpent. It dried baktu dropping."

"Dropping? You mean poop?" I wrinkled my nose. "Ugh! That's disgusting, Remy!"

Remy laughed and started for the woods. "Baktu is poisonous serpent. Dropping makes strong medicine."

Before I could reply he disappeared. I envy the way trolls can melt into their surroundings like vanishing into thin air. It'd be a handy skill to have at times.

The streets were empty when I walked back to the bus stop. Even though it was a Saturday evening, not a lot of people were headed into town so there were plenty of seats to choose from on the bus. The same driver always drove this route on weekends and he nodded at me when I dropped my change in the farebox.

At least I could relax on the return trip because Remy and I had done what we set out to do. I'd helped save two lives today – how many girls my age get to say that? Not that I enjoyed hanging out in smoky bars, doing illicit business with people who are the underworld equivalent of drug dealers. Just because I had enough wits to keep a cool façade and act like I knew what I was doing did not change the fact that I was in way over my head. But I couldn't stop now, not when lives depended on me.

When Remy asked me two years ago to help him find powdered chimera horn to help a dying kelpie I had no idea there was an actual black market for that and practically anything else you can think of – if you can pay. Since then I'd found half a dozen other items for him and I also got pretty good at negotiating since none of them were cheap or easy to find. It's not like you can buy hydra scales on Amazon or eBay. Well not yet anyway.

We were lucky that Remy could afford to buy pretty much anything. Of course there are some things more valuable than even money, like the contents of the vial I gave Malloy, rare and nearly impossible to obtain. He'd sell his own mother to know how I'd gotten my hands on it but I'd never tell him – or anyone else. It was dangerous enough just letting someone like Malloy know that I had some to trade. People killed for a hell of a lot less. And if Remy's people ever found out what we were up to... I shuddered at the thought.

Troll bile is a potent drug and priceless, not just because of what it can do but also because there are few brave enough to try to get it. Trolls are not only secretive and elusive; their vicious reputation keeps humans and nonhumans alike from seeking them out, let alone trying to take something from them.

It disgusted me when Remy first told me about it. But if you can get past the ungodly smell and not think about where it comes from, it has incredible regenerative properties. It can slow aging and degenerative diseases such as Alzheimer's or Parkinson's and it can even reverse balding. I heard it can even fight certain types of cancer. I know from experience that it can not fix every injury, but half an ounce, like what I gave Malloy, could stop someone from aging for up to five years if used properly. It's basically the fountain of youth and there are people who would pay almost anything to get their hands on it.

The younger the troll, the more potent the bile, but trolls are so protective of their young that it is near impossible to get close to them without meeting a horrible end. Remy gave me his own bile to barter with on his behalf, but his people would be furious if they ever got wind of what we were peddling. Trolls don't like humans, though for some reason the elders tolerated Remy's friendship with me. But I didn't kid myself about where I stood with them. I was still just a human.

The bus pulled up to my downtown stop in front of the post office and I waved to the driver as I exited by the rear door. Market Street, the financial and commercial hub of New Hastings during the week, was quiet now except for the people heading to the Subway or Antonio's. I crossed at the light and cut through the small parking lot between two buildings to come out on the end of the waterfront near the wharves. South of me lay the pier and the shops and restaurants that lined the waterfront. Almost home. After the day I'd had, all I wanted was to curl up in bed with a book for the rest of the night.

When two boys emerged from between the buildings ahead of me and ran across the waterfront to disappear down the bank by one of the fishing wharves, I recognized them right away. I knew they were probably up to no good but I was too tired and hungry to care. _Let someone else deal with them_.

Out of sight, one of the boys let out a familiar laugh and yelled, "Don't let it get away."

I stopped walking.

"Look at it, Scott. It's half dead."

"Ah hell!" I swore and turned toward the wharf.

# Chapter 2

I looked down at Scott Foley and Ryan Walsh on the beach below me. Tall and good looking with straight dark hair, Scott stood with his back slightly towards me. Ryan, who was a few inches shorter than Scott, stood several feet behind him, looking like he would rather be somewhere else.

"Leave it alone." Ryan ran a hand through his blond curls. "This is not cool man."

"Dude, when did you turn into such a pussy?" Scott scoffed. "I'm only having some fun and like you said, it's half dead already."

My fists clenched and I scoured the beach for whatever animal they were talking about. Seeing nothing, I moved closer to the edge of the bank to get a wider view.

I let out a yelp as my foot slipped out from under me, sending me tumbling down the four foot embankment to land in an undignified heap at the feet of the two startled boys. Not exactly the entrance I would have chosen.

For a moment neither of them moved. Then Ryan crouched and peered at my face through the curtain of dark hair that had come loose from my ponytail. "Whoa. You okay?"

"I'm fine." I pushed my hair back out of my face and got to my feet, wincing at the pain in my left ankle. I put my weight on it to test it. A light sprain maybe. Great.

I faced the boys and found Scott's wide-eyed gaze fixed on me. He narrowed his eyes when he realized who he was staring at. "What do you want?"

My eyes left his to scan the beach. What the hell were they after? "You guys look like you're looking for something. Anything I can help you find?"

"No," Scott retorted. His eyes went to a spot behind me and I followed his gaze but saw nothing but a pile of old fishing nets.

"Are you sure because–" I broke off when the nets made a plaintive mewling sound. In the fading light I saw them move as a scrawny grey tabby emerged. The cat was a sorry sight. Its ribs stuck out painfully and it walked unsteadily for a few seconds before sinking down on its hind legs.

I whirled on Scott and Ryan, my eyes blazing. "You were going to hurt that cat!"

"No." Ryan could not meet my eyes. "I wouldn't..."

Scott shifted from one foot to the other. "Yeah right. Like we'd waste our time with that flea bag."

I stepped between them and the cat. Scott and I had known each other since elementary school and if I knew one thing about him, it was how to tell when he was lying. "This is low, even for you, Scott."

A flush crept across his cheeks. "I told you, I could care less about a stupid cat. And what's it to you anyway?"

"You think I will let you hurt a defenseless animal?" My voice rose. Scott always managed to irritate me but for some reason I was having trouble keeping my anger in check this time. "Is this how you get your kicks on a Saturday night? Does this make you feel big and manly?"

"Shut up!" Scott glared at me and for a second I thought I saw something else in his eyes that looked like regret but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

Scott and I were friends for a time way back in elementary school. He was the first person to approach me when I moved here even though his buddies teased him about making friends with a girl. Our friendship was short-lived, ending the day I caught him and some other boys throwing rocks at an injured crow outside the school. I'd yelled at him and pushed him to the ground and told him I could never be friends with someone like him. Any feelings of friendship he had for me quickly changed to animosity after I embarrassed him in front of the whole school like that.

"Make me shut up." Even as I said the words, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Why was I goading someone who had six inches and at least forty pounds on me – and who already couldn't stand me?

Scott's face darkened. "If you know what's good for you Grey, you'll get out of my face."

"Or what?" I took a step toward him. "You going to beat me up too?"

"Whoa! No one's beating anyone up." Ryan laid a hand on Scott's arm. "Come on Scott, let's go. This is not worth it, man."

Scott shook off Ryan's hand. "No one talks to me like that."

_Try and stop me._ The thought flitted maliciously across my mind. Another voice told me to calm down and step back but I ignored it. Instead I let out a mocking laugh. "Come on then and shut me up if you can. If you're man enough, that is."

Scott's eyes glittered dangerously as he took a step toward me.

"Dude, you can't fight a girl." Ryan sounded scared now.

"Shut up, Ryan," Scott and I said at the same time. I gave Scott a cheeky grin and his nostrils flared.

I glanced down at my coat and let out a sigh. "Just try not to bleed too much, okay. It's a bitch to get blood out of this thing."

Scott made a choked sound and Ryan yelled something as Scott raised his right arm. I don't know if he intended to strike me. I'm not sure even Scott knew what he was going to do.

Roaring filled my ears and a strange prickling heat spread through my body. It felt nothing like the fiery power I'd released a few hours ago. This fire held no healing, just rage and wild exhilaration like a lion set free from its cage. In the back of my mind the beast stretched and swelled with joy. I blinked and it was like a veil lifted from my eyes, bringing the world into startling focus.

My right fist connected with Scott's cheek before he even realized I had swung. I barely registered the pain in my knuckles as I watched him stagger back several feet from the force of my blow. _Again_ , cried the beast and my other hand curled into a fist.

Scott recovered faster than I expected and I ducked just in time to avoid the brunt of the powerful fist that would surely have knocked me senseless. I felt a sharp pain in my lower lip as his fist clipped it and a coppery taste filled my mouth.

"Scott!" Ryan yelled, his voice muffled in my ears. "What the hell are you doing?"

Moving faster than I could have believed possible, my left fist plowed into Scott's chin and spun him off balance. I pivoted on the foot I was sure I'd sprained just a few minutes ago and delivered a well-aimed kick to his midsection, a move I had never even attempted before. He doubled over with an agonized moan that made my lips curl in a wicked little smile. The beast crowed with glee.

Scott roared and came at me like an enraged bull but I sidestepped his charge and he stumbled past me. Behind me I heard Ryan smother a laugh but that only seemed to anger Scott more. He turned and came at me with both arms raised.

My hand moved so fast it seemed to blur as my fist met Scott's nose with a sickening crunch. He fell to his knees with both hands over his face. "You bitch!" he wailed. "You broke my nose!"

Standing over him with my hands on my hips, I savored the delicious triumph at seeing my opponent brought low. I reveled in how easy it had been to take down a boy who was bigger and stronger than me. Heady with power, I spat, "You're lucky that's all I broke, you asshole."

"Jesus, Sara!"

I felt Ryan's eyes on me and I took in his stunned expression as his gaze moved from me to his moaning friend. It was like a bucket of cold water in my face. The rage drained out of me along with the bizarre heat that had enveloped me a few minutes ago. _What am I doing?_ I thought as the world around me returned to normal and I stared aghast at Scott's bloody face. His nose was swelling grotesquely and bruises were already beginning to show around his eyes. I was no angel but I had never inflicted this kind of beating on another person. The knowledge of what I'd done made my stomach churn.

"Scott, I –"

"Stay away from me, you fucking lunatic!" he growled, throwing a hand up to keep me from coming near him. As he spoke, a spray of blood dotted the rocks in front of him.

I backed away, sick with remorse as he staggered to his feet. What the hell had come over me and made me go all berserker on him? I was mad about the cat, yes, but Scott would have gone on his way if I had left well enough alone. I'd baited him and deliberately made him angry and I had struck first. The memory of my fists hitting his face filled me with disgust. It was as if I'd been possessed and if Ryan hadn't spoken and woken me up, there was no telling what I might have done.

"We were just messing around. You know he wouldn't have hurt the cat, right?" Ryan asked, forcing me to look up and meet his gaze, to see the truth on his face.

He turned away to help Scott climb the embankment. As soon as I was alone I sank down to sit on the ground, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. It was the beast. I always kept a tight grip on it but whenever I used up some of my power for a healing, I felt it stirring, pressing against the walls that imprisoned it. Today I'd depleted my power so much that I lost control of it – and look what happened.

I hadn't fought since I was ten and never with such intent to hurt someone. Hell, I'd never _moved_ like that before. No wonder Ryan had looked at me like I was some kind of circus freak.

A weak meow intruded upon my unhappy thoughts and I lifted my head to see the scrawny little cat sitting beside me. Up close he looked even more pitiful with half a tail, one ear in tatters and his whole body wavering like a breeze would blow him over.

"Hey there, kitty." I reached out to stroke the back of his head. He hissed but didn't try to run away, which told me how sick he was. Animals are drawn to me, especially the sick ones. I think they can sense my power even when it's locked away. Even so, the feral ones need a little encouragement to get past their natural fear of humans.

I opened my power to let a wave of soothing calm sweep over him and within thirty seconds he stopped hissing and leaned against my leg. As soon as my fingers made contact I sent a stream of healing energy into his frail body and he immediately laid down. My hand moved down his back, feeling the bones almost poking through his skin as I sought out his injuries. He had mange and his fur was full of fleas but there were no broken bones. I got rid of the fleas and mange, took care of a few cuts and scrapes and knocked a respiratory infection out of his lungs before I pulled back my hand, satisfied he would be okay.

"There. You're still one of the sorriest looking things I've ever seen but I think you'll make it." I stood slowly, a little drained from my second healing today. "Stay away from those mean boys from now on, you hear me."

The cat's amber eyes met mine and he let out a sad yowl.

"None of that," I warned him as my heart felt a little tug. "I can't take you with me. I'm not supposed to bring home any more strays."

He got up and walked unsteadily over to rub his thin body against my calves. Even through my jeans I could feel the outline of his ribs.

"No fair." I sighed and bent down to scoop him up. He began to purr as soon as I cradled him in my arms. "Okay you can come home with me for now but I can't guarantee anything. My uncle's not exactly a cat person and he still hasn't forgiven me for the last houseguest I brought home."

The steel door swung open noiselessly on well-oiled hinges and I slipped inside, easing it shut behind me. Silence greeted me. I started to smile but it turned into a wince when the split in my lip stung. Eyes watering, I crossed the storeroom to the far wall and set the cat on the floor. I climbed one of the sturdy shelving units to the ceiling where I stuck my hand under one of the tiles and pulled out a small black metal box. Inside the box were a few hundred dollars and a tiny vial of troll bile half the size of the one I gave Malloy. The bile was my own personal stash that Remy insisted I keep on hand for emergencies. I usually heal very fast and hardly ever get sick – a benefit of having healing power – but it wouldn't do for Nate to see me with a fat lip.

I uncorked the bottle, tipped it to wet my finger and dabbed the pungent liquid to my swollen lip and bruised knuckles. There was an instant burning sensation then blessed numbness as the sting faded away. I didn't need a mirror to know that my lip was already mending and in no time it would be healed completely. The bile doesn't heal broken bones but it makes cuts and bruises disappear in minutes. I dabbed a bit on my knuckles and watched the redness fade from them, trying not to think of Scott who was probably having his nose reset right now. I corked the vial and put the box back in the ceiling, thinking that if anyone should have the bile right now it was him.

"Come on, cat." I picked him up again and headed for the stairs.

Nate and I had a whole building to ourselves, which was actually pretty cool. Years ago the first floor used to house a bookstore, but it went out of business when the large chain stores came to town. After that, Nate decided that being a landlord was too much hassle. He didn't really need the rent so he decided not to lease the space again. We lived in the two storey apartment upstairs and the bottom floor was mostly used for storage now and Nate's home gym.

I dragged my tired body up the stairs and slipped quietly into the apartment. Sounds from the den told me Nate was at work on his computer and I crept past the open door, hoping he was too involved in his work to notice my entrance.

"You missed dinner again."

I back-tracked and stood in the doorway wearing an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I lost track of time."

Nate looked at me over the top of his monitor and I met his green eyes that were so like my own. With the same chestnut hair and golden skin we resembled each other so much that people often mistook us for father and daughter. Nate's hair was already streaked with grey making him look a little older than his thirty-nine years, but I thought the grey suited him. Or maybe I told myself that to feel better about being guilty of putting some of that grey there.

His hair was mussed and the shadows under his eyes told me he wasn't getting enough sleep again. He had been working night and day on his latest book, barely coming out to eat and sleep; he always gets like this when he is near the end of the first draft. Nate writes military suspense novels and he was on the fourth book in his series. His work was very good. He didn't know it but I read all his books.

"What on earth have you been up to? You look like you've been in a fight." There was no accusation in his voice, just disappointment. I opened my mouth in denial but he said, "You have blood on your coat."

"Oh." I frowned at the spots of dried blood on the front of my tan coat. "This is my favorite one too. I'd better put it in cold water."

"Sara," he said in warning tone. I stopped and he sighed heavily. "What happened?"

I made a face. "You say that like I'm out there brawling every other day."

"So you were in a fight."

_Busted_. "I had a perfectly good reason." I held up the cat so he could see it over his monitor.

Nate stared at the scrawny bundle of fur in my arms. "Is that thing alive?"

"Of course it's alive!" I stroked the cat's head and he purred loudly. "Do you think I'd be walking around with a dead cat?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

I made a face. "Didn't I tell you? I'm into voodoo now and I thought I'd start with zombie cats." I wondered what he'd think if he knew that there were people out there who really could reanimate corpses.

He stared at me like he was trying to decide if that was a joke. I used the opportunity to try to slip away.

"Not so fast. You still didn't tell me what happened. Sit."

I took the chair in front of the desk and laid the cat on my lap as Nate maneuvered his motorized chair around the desk. He parked it two feet from me and said, "Spill it."

I told him about seeing Scott and Ryan chasing the cat and how I followed them to the beach. With as little detail as possible, I related the altercation between me and Scott, making the fight sound more like a shoving match than a fight. I still felt so ashamed and afraid of what I'd done that I really did not want to relive it.

"So where did the blood come from?"

"Um... this poor little guy is all scratched up. It must have come from him."

He case a suspicious look at the cat. "Speaking of your new friend – what do you plan to do with him?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Clean him up and feed him for now."

Nate was silent for a long moment. I waited for the double scolding – one for fighting and the other for bring home yet another stray. My uncle isn't an animal hater. He just likes order in his home and animals aren't exactly the tidiest roommates.

As if on cue, Daisy, our three-legged Beagle limped into the room. I don't know how she lost her leg. I used to see her around the waterfront and it amazed me how well she moved on three legs. One day six months ago she didn't move fast enough and got hit by a car. Healing her took a lot out of me but I saved her. Nate was not happy when I came home with a dog, but who could put a three-legged dog out in the street? Now Daisy was his almost constant companion and, though Nate would never admit it, I knew he liked her company.

Daisy came over to me and sniffed and the cat let out a warning hiss. Chastised, the dog sat back on her haunches to watch the newcomer from a safe distance.

"Sara, you're seventeen, too old to be fighting with boys down at the wharf no matter what the reason." I tried to speak up but he held up a hand. "You spend too much time alone when you should be going out with your friends, having fun. And you should be dating boys – not fighting with them."

I squirmed on my chair. I was pretty sure no other teenage girl had a parent telling them to go out to parties and date. "I have friends," I argued weakly. Okay maybe I had never dated and I wasn't a social butterfly but I did have friends. As for girls, well they didn't seem to warm up to me much. I didn't know why. It wasn't that they hated me; they just didn't seem comfortable around me.

Nate scoffed. "Friends like Greg you mean? There is a model of good behavior. I suppose that's where you learned to fight."

"Greg is not a bad guy – and no, he didn't teach me to fight. Just because he's a biker doesn't make him a criminal." There was that _one_ thing but I didn't think juvenile records counted once you reached eighteen. And I wasn't about to bring that up to Nate.

"He might not be a criminal but he's no angel either."

I had to suppress a smile because Nate was right about that. Greg was definitely no angel. A year older than me, Greg was already the school bad ass when I started high school and met him for the first time. He grew up working in his uncle's bike shop and he was tougher and brawnier than half the senior boys and not afraid to show it. There was something about the roguish tilt of his head and the gleam in his green eyes when he smiled – or scowled at you – that either drew you in or scared the heck out of you. I wasn't sure if it was the way he did his own thing without a care for anyone's opinion or the fact that he could have bullied anyone in school and chose not to, but I liked him immediately. He didn't really associate with the other students so I'm not sure why he decided to befriend me. One day he just started sitting with me at lunch and when he got his first bike he gave me rides and took me to Jed's with him and his friends. I even had a crush on him for a short while until his friend Mike told me I reminded them of Greg's younger cousin which put a damper on any romantic notions I had for him.

I missed Greg. He and Mike had moved to Philadelphia right after graduation to work for Mike's uncle who owned an automotive parts plant. It wasn't the best job in the world but as long as it paid the rent and kept his bike running, Greg was happy. We kept in touch through email but it had been over a week since I last heard from him.

"Greg moved to Philly, remember? I haven't seen him since June."

"Well I won't pretend to be sad about that." He tapped the arm of his chair. "What about Roland? I remember when you two used to be inseparable. And Peter too."

"We still hang out. We just like to do some different things now, that's all." It wasn't that Roland didn't try to include me, and I _did_ go to an occasional party with him. I just wasn't into partying as much as my best friend. Roland understood that even if no one else did.

"It just seems like you've become more closed off the last few years. It's not healthy to shut everyone out." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's my fault. I left you alone too much when you were younger. I know I'm not your father... I just wish I knew how to get through to you." He gave me a pleading look. "You spend so much time alone or off doing God knows what. I have no idea where you are or what you're doing."

"Nate, I–" I faltered because we always seemed to end up here. I mean what was I supposed to say? _"Hey Nate, guess what. I saved a life today. I have this amazing power that lets me heal things. But I can't fix your spine because it doesn't work on humans. By the way, can I invite my troll friend over for dinner?"_

He pressed a button on his chair and it began to back around the desk again. "Go get some dinner. I left lasagna in the oven for you."

I carried the cat to the kitchen and found a can of tuna for him, making a mental note to pick up some food for him tomorrow. Daisy followed us and I poured some food into her dish before I popped my own dinner in the microwave.

Nate's lasagna was one of my favorite foods but I could have been eating cardboard and not noticed it with the myriad of emotions swirling through me. What had happened to me on the beach? In the span of a few hours I went from saving a life to hurting someone. Seeing what I was capable of freaked me out more than a little.

To top it all off I had lied to Nate again. I sat quietly at our small kitchen table pushing my food around with my fork. I hated deceiving Nate, but there were too many things in my life that I couldn't tell him about. It was easier to let him be disappointed in me than to try to tell him the truth.

I wished there was a way to bridge the distance between us. He was all the family I had and I knew my dad would have wanted us to be close. It wasn't Nate's fault; he had been a good parent to me after my dad's death. I was pretty messed up when I came here and I never opened up to him as much as I could have. And then I discovered Remy and the real world and suddenly I had all these secrets I could not share with anyone.

It's not that I didn't care because I loved Nate more than anything in the world. We just had so little in common. Nate was one of those people who didn't believe in the paranormal or supernatural or anything that did not have a solid scientific explanation. He never read fantasy fiction or watched supernatural movies or TV shows. It drove him nuts when I watched Buffy reruns so I usually watched them in my room. In some ways, he was more closed off than I was and I wasn't sure he could handle learning about my power and the real world around him.

I rinsed my plate and retreated upstairs with the cat in my arms. The top floor of our building was split into an attic and an open space that served as my bedroom, kind of like a loft apartment without the kitchen. On one side stood my bed, dresser and desk. Beneath the large window on the other side was a faded green couch that was barely visible beneath the clothes and books strewn across it, and beside the couch were two tall overflowing bookcases. My dad had been an English teacher and he had loved books, especially the classics. He used to say "No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books." I looked it up a few years ago and found that it came from Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Sometimes I'm not too sure about God, but I agree with my dad and Browning about books. I've read all of his books and added my own to the collection. I think he'd be pleased to know I grew up to share his passion for reading.

The walls of my room were bare except for a few pictures of my dad and some of me, Roland and Peter. Roland called the room depressingly empty and lamented the fact that I refused to replace my dad's old stereo with a newer one. But I liked my space. It was private and I had my own bathroom, even if it was the size of a closet. The best part was that the room had lots of windows with a wide view of the bay. What more could a girl want?

"Alright cat, let's get you cleaned up before you go anywhere near my furniture." I grabbed Daisy's shampoo and a towel and proceeded to wash the filthy animal from head to toe. He was too lethargic from his meal and the healing to put up much of a fight and he purred like a little engine when I toweled him dry. I set him down on an old blanket on the couch and he stretched happily and curled into a ball, completely at home.

After I set up the litter box used by our last feline guest, I left the cat to his nap and jumped in the shower, hoping the hot water would wash away more than the grime from today's events. But nothing could cleanse me of the memories of what had happened with Scott. I had always thought of myself as a good person, but only a monster would relish hurting a person the way I had. I shivered despite the hot water flowing over me.

My thoughts went to the little boggie family as I dried myself and I wondered how they were doing. Instead of grieving the loss of a child tonight, Fren and Mol were at home with their new baby. I had saved a life today – that had to count for something. Was that enough to redeem me for the awful thing I'd done after?

Dressed in a cami and my favorite pajama bottoms, I popped in a Fleetwood Mac CD and carried my sketchbook over to the bed. I inherited my dad's CD collection after he died along with his love for seventies rock. It was one of the few things Nate and I had in common – our taste in music – and he even borrowed it on occasion. I shook off my regret as I flipped open the sketchbook to a clean page. If it wasn't for this whole secret life thing I had going on, my uncle and I might have been a lot closer than we were.

I thought about the boggies, summoning an image of the tiny boggie infant I'd held in my arms. My pencil flew over the paper as I tried to capture his likeness. I drew him in my hands because that was my clearest picture of him, the moment he opened his mouth and bawled for the first time. When I was finished, I smiled at the drawing of the little creature, his squashed face scrunched up unhappily and his tiny mouth open in a silent cry. I was no da Vinci but my sketches weren't half bad. It wasn't like I shared them with anyone anyway.

A tapping at one of the windows drew my attention away from my sketch and I ran over to open the window to admit a large black crow. He cawed and flapped around the room a few times before landing on my outstretched hand.

"Harper, it's about time you came home," I scolded him, stroking the soft feathers at the back of his neck. He'd been gone for two days and I was worried he'd gotten into trouble. Technically, he didn't live with us but he liked to hang out here, especially on the roof. He had kind of adopted me after I saved him from Scott but he still liked to go off and do his own thing.

"If you're hungry, there's food in your dish," I told him when he shifted restlessly, a cue that he wanted a treat. I wasn't surprised when he left my hand and flew out the window headed for the roof. More than once I'd suspected he understood me when I talked to him. I read that crows very intelligent and Harper had gotten a good dose of my power when I'd healed him. Who knew what other affects it had on animals?

I left the window open for him and sat down at my laptop to check out the online activity. Today was the second time I'd used troll bile to purchase medicine for Remy and I was paranoid as hell that someone would trace it back to me and especially to Remy. It was the main reason I dealt only with Malloy. For all his crafty ways, Malloy was very discreet about his business. In his line of work he had to be if he didn't want to end up gutted in an alley.

The message boards were busy. There was no mention of troll bile but another thread caught my eye – one about vampire activity in Portland. Vampires were the most common topic discussed on the boards and there were always tons of posts about vampire sightings though it was pretty easy to distinguish the real deal from the hype. I'd never seen a vampire but I knew plenty about them, mostly learned from Remy, and my education had taught me that Hollywood and fiction writers have absolutely no clue.

Vampires usually keep to large cities where their hunting can be camouflaged by the higher crime rate. They live in covens and like to hunt in small packs and, while they are mostly active at night, mature vamps can handle exposure to daylight as long as it is not direct sunlight and not for long periods. Younger vamps, those less than a hundred years old, not strong enough to withstand even a minute of daylight. Most vamps, young and old, wouldn't risk the chance of meeting the sun so they stay hidden during the day.

And there are no solitary vamps wandering the earth with tortured souls waiting to be saved by true love. Vampires are pure evil and their only redeeming quality is that they can be killed with the right weapons. Unfortunately, if a human gets close enough to see a vampire in the flesh, chances are they will not survive to talk about it.

The posting about Portland caught my attention because Portland was a little over an hour from New Hastings, and I used to live there with my dad. There usually wasn't that much talk about the Portland area because its population was not big enough to hide unusual activity. So when I read that four teenage girls, aged seventeen and eighteen, had disappeared in the last two weeks, a chill went through me. All the girls were reported as suspected runaways, though they had taken nothing with them and none of their friends believed they would run away. None of the girls knew each other and the police had no leads. The poster said it looked like a vampire was at work in the area.

Bile rose in my throat. Vampires take great pleasure in torturing their victims before they drain them. And what they leave behind... A shudder passed through me as an image came unbidden to my mind. I closed my eyes but the scene had been seared into my brain.

I gritted my teeth and waited for the old fear and pain to pass. At times like this I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and hide under my covers. But I didn't. If there were vampires in Maine, I had to know.

The rest of the thread did not offer any more information other than the girls had all disappeared at night. The user who had started the thread was a regular on the site, and we talked often. He really knew his stuff so I pinged him and asked for a private chat. Within minutes he popped up in a separate window.

**Wulfman:** Sup PG. Been a while.

**PixieGirl:** Yeah been busy. Reading your post. Vamps in Portland?

**Wulfman:** According to my sources. Weird though. Not their usual scene.

**PixieGirl:** Wonder what brings them back to Portland.

**Wulfman:** Back? What do you know?

Pause.

**PixieGirl:** Knew someone killed by vamps ten years ago.

**Wulfman:** Wow. I never knew. Sorry.

**PixieGirl:** You remember any activity back then?

**Wulfman:** I wasn't on the scene then. I can check my sources and get back to you.

**PixieGirl:** Thanks.

**Wulfman:** It would help if I had the name of your friend who died.

Long pause.

**Wulfman:** Still there?

**PixieGirl:** Yeah... his name was Daniel Grey.

# Chapter 3

_The sparrow twitched restlessly in my hands so I opened them and watched him take flight, his newly healed wing moving like it had never been broken. I giggled as he circled my head happily a few times then flew up to perch on a branch above me._

_"I hope you're more careful next you see that old tom cat," I told him as I stood and brushed dirt off my jeans. I pulled on my mittens and set off across the small park at the end of our street. The sky was heavy with gray clouds and I could smell snow in the air. If we got enough snow this time, Daddy promised to take me sledding. My pace picked up and I hurried home._

_I could hear our neighbor's basset hound, Charlie, baying from halfway down the street and I wondered what had upset him. Charlie was old and he didn't even bark at squirrels or cats anymore. When I reached our neighbor's house I walked around to their backyard to see what Charlie was making so much noise about. It surprised me to find him straining at his wire run, barking and howling at my backyard. Something about the way his hackles were raised made the hair on the back of my neck stand up._

_I ran back out to the street and up the walkway to our front door. "Daddy, I think there's something wrong with Charlie," I called, opening the door. I tossed my mittens and cap on the bench in the hallway. "Daddy?" I called again._

_No answer._

Where is he? _The house was filled with the aroma of pot roast so he had to be here. He would never leave with the stove on._

_Something did not feel right. Then I felt the cold draft coming down the hallway. He must have gone out back to see why Charlie was barking and left the door open. I shook my head. He was always scolding me for doing that._

_I smelled it just before I reached the kitchen, a warm coppery scent that made my stomach lurch and my pulse quicken. A cry burst from me when I stepped inside and saw the spray of red across the white cupboards and the trail of blood that disappeared out through the open door._

_Fear exploded in my chest. "Daddy!" I cried, running for the door. My boots skidded on the slick blood and I flailed as I fell through the doorway, landing hard on my hands and knees on the back step. My head came up and I saw the bloody steps, the broken railing and..._

_"No!" I crawled frantically toward the figure lying at the bottom of the steps, his favorite blue shirt shredded and bloody. I felt it then, the horrible pulling sensation of a life draining away. "No, Daddy, no!" I threw myself on him, begging him to stay with me as I poured my power into him until there was nothing left to give. It was not enough. His green eyes stared sightlessly at the grey sky as the first snowflakes touched his ravaged face._

"No!" I came awake with a cry and stared blindly in the dark with my heart thudding against my ribs. Reaching up a trembling hand, I swiped at the tears on my cheeks and pushed damp strands of hair out of my face. I lay there for several minutes as my heart rate returned to normal and the last vestiges of the dream left me.

The curtain fluttered, drawing my eyes to the pale light coming through the window. Far out in the bay a buoy clanged and closer to shore a sea otter whistled. Soothed by the familiar noises, I threw off my covers and went to push the window open wider, letting cold morning air fill the room. I took a deep calming breath of ocean air as I listened to the muted sounds of the bay and let myself think about the dream.

In the beginning the nightmare came every night, the same paralyzing dream that ripped me from sleep, screaming in terror. Time after time Nate tried to get me to tell him about the dream, to talk about what I'd been through, but to speak of the horror out loud and relive those moments was more than I could bear.

I'd seen the police reports. Our neighbor called in the disturbance and when the police responded they found me lying on top of my father's body, both of us covered in snow. At first they thought I was dead too, until one of the policemen checked and found a pulse. I was rushed to the hospital, suffering from shock. The child psychologist who examined me later said I suffered from "severe psychological trauma from witnessing her father's brutal murder". She recommended a few weeks in a child psych ward.

Nate's response: "Absolutely not." My uncle knew something about post traumatic stress. He was twenty-three when he was hit by shrapnel in Bosnia that left him in a wheelchair. He said I needed to be with family and, since my grandmother was too ill to care for a child, he brought me here to live with him. I knew it wasn't easy for him, a single man in a wheelchair suddenly faced with raising a traumatized kid. But he did it anyway and I loved him for it, though I could not find the words to tell him what it meant to me. Sometimes I thought of us as a pair of damaged bookends. We both had our flaws but we belonged together even if there was always something between us, keeping us apart.

My alarm clock said six o'clock so I knew it was useless trying to go back to sleep. Instead I drew the covers up over my bed and headed for the bathroom to get ready for school. I splashed cold water over my face and studied my pale complexion and my eyes that were still haunted by the lingering effects of the dream. I released a shuddering breath and started the shower. _What a way to start the week_.

"I heard her bike gang did it. He's lucky he's alive."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, I think Greg McCoy just got out of prison or something."

"I had no idea she ran with such a hard crowd."

"You guys are all way off base. I say she did it herself and knowing him, he deserved it."

I glanced up from my book and the whispers died as the students at the surrounding tables suddenly found their lunch trays interesting. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I dabbed a French fry in ketchup and plopped it in my mouth. I should have been used to it by now. When you keep to yourself, people will fill in the details about your life themselves. But a bike gang? Really?

I looked at the end of my table where Jeffrey Crumb sat eating his hamburger and fries. Jeffrey gave me a lopsided smile, sharing in my amusement over the gossip before he bent over his own book again. Blond and painfully thin, Jeffrey was two years younger than me and he lived with his grandparents, one street over from me. I heard his mother was a serious drug addict who got pregnant at eighteen and Jeffrey was born with a bunch of health issues. He was pretty smart but small for his age and he found it hard to talk to other kids. We started sharing a table a few years ago because we both liked to read at lunch, even when Greg chose to sit with us. No one dared mess with Jeffrey after that, most likely because they were afraid I'd sic Greg on them. Greg might be gone now but it looked like some of his reputation had rubbed off on me. I didn't mind if it kept people from bothering us.

I wondered how word got out about the fight because I knew Scott and Ryan would not tell anyone. I'd gotten a glimpse of Scott in second period Chemistry and I'd had to suppress a gasp at his black eyes and swollen nose. Apparently no one was buying his story about swerving his car to avoid hitting a deer, but how on earth had they connected his bruises to me?

I gave a mental shrug and went back to my well-worn copy of Jane Eyre. As long as they left me alone, they could think whatever they wanted.

The chair across from me scraped over the floor as someone pulled it out and sat down. I didn't bother to look up. "Go away, I'm busy."

A hand snaked out to grab one of my fries. When I didn't object it reached for another one. I pushed the plate toward them. "Help yourself."

"Hmm, I don't see any bruised knuckles. What did you do, take a baseball bat to him?"

I lifted my gaze to Roland Greene's laughing blue eyes. He leaned toward me and his dark bangs fell over forehead. "So?" he asked, pushing his hair back. It was a useless gesture. I kept telling him he needed to cut it but he said the girls liked it that way. Based on the number of girls making cow eyes at him right now, he was probably right.

"So what?"

Roland snorted. "Don't even go there. What happened?"

I picked up my Coke can and took a long swallow, debating whether or not to tell Roland the truth. He wouldn't repeat it if I asked him not to, but there was no way he'd be able to hide his gloating and that would just confirm everyone's suspicions. Scott wasn't on his favorites list either.

"Hey, did you guys see Scott Foley's face? I heard some gang beat him up." Peter Kelly took the chair next to Roland, his cheeks flushed and his rusty hair sticking out at all angles as usual. His green eyes flashed as he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Of course that's not half as interesting as the other story I heard." He gave me a meaningful look.

I shook my head. "Sorry to disappoint –"

"Sara almost made him cry."

My mouth fell open as I swung my head to stare at Jeffrey.

Roland smirked at me and slid his chair over next to Jeffrey. "Is that so? Why don't you tell us about it?"

I shook my head. "You weren't there, Jeffrey."

"Ha! So you did do it." Roland crowed.

Peter's eyes widened. "You really beat up Scott Foley? How is that possible?"

"Hey!"

"No offense Sara, but Scott is way bigger than you and... well you're a girl."

"Gee thanks for pointing that out."

"She's the best fighter I ever saw," Jeffrey declared. "I was on the wharf and I saw it all. She was super fast too."

Roland grinned wickedly and moved back across from me. "So now are you gonna tell us what happened?"

"I hit him. He hit me. We went our separate ways."

"Nice try. We want details," Peter said.

I took another sip of Coke, wondering how much I could tell them. "Scott was tormenting a cat." I said in a low voice, not wanting to share with the whole cafeteria. "I overreacted a bit and hit him. There's really not much to tell."

"She kicked him in the privates too," Jeffrey piped in loudly, making Roland and Peter wince. I heard snickers from the table closest to us.

Peter looked at my hands. "How is it you hit him hard enough to break his nose and your knuckles aren't even red? And I don't see any bruises on your face either."

"You know I hardly ever bruise. Besides Scott barely touched me." _And I have the world's best first aid kit at home._

Roland shook his head. "I don't know what it is with you and Scott. He always gets weird around you." He chewed another fry. "He's never going to live down getting his butt kicked by a girl. Sorry, Sara, but it's true. I'd feel bad for him if he wasn't such an ass."

I could only shrug because I was not proud of what I'd done. It was true that I didn't like Scott but I'd attacked him, not the other way around. And I knew, even if Scott didn't, that it wasn't exactly a fair fight.

I glanced at my watch. I still had about twenty minutes left before English but I had no desire to sit here and relive the whole Scott thing again. "Well boys, it's been fun but I gotta run."

"Wait." Roland laid a hand over my book before I could take it. "Friday night Pete and me are going to hear Dylan's new band play at the Attic. You want to come?"

I made a face. "Is he still doing that rap thing?"

"Nah his new band is more rock... kind of like Pearl Jam. They're pretty good."

"I don't know."

Roland tilted his head to one side and gave me a dimpled smile. "Come on. We haven't hung out in ages."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You know that doesn't work on me, right? Besides, don't you guys have camping or something this weekend?" For the last few years, Roland and Peter had been going on weekend outdoor trips with their cousins once a month. Their families were close and they did a lot of things together. Roland complained a lot about having family always up in his business but I envied him. My dad and I were close like that before he died.

"We just got back." Peter shook his head at Roland. "I can't believe we were gone a whole weekend and she didn't even notice."

Roland put on a wounded expression. "That hurts."

I grinned at their lame antics. "After a weekend in the woods, I'm surprised you don't have a date lined up for Friday night already, Roland."

"Sara, you know you're the only girl for me." He laid a hand over his heart. "I'm just passing time until you realize that."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw two girls at a nearby table watching his display with equal expressions of jealousy and dismay. "Yeah okay. Cool it, Romeo," I said, laughing. "Before you break every heart in here and start a lynch mob after me."

"What?" he asked innocently.

I shook my head because I knew Roland was not as clueless about his effect on the opposite sex as he let on. Girls had started chasing him around long before he began to notice them. Then he went through a growth spurt in eight grade and bam – instant heartthrob. His casual disregard for rules added just enough bad boy to his image to make the entire female student body lust after him. I couldn't fault a guy for having good genes but I often thought Roland was a little insensitive where girls were concerned. He dated a girl a few times and as soon as she started to get serious, he ended it. He was always nice about it, which probably made it even worse for them. Whenever I said anything about it, he argued that no one's heart gets broken after two dates. But I'd seen the pining faces more than once. I love my friend but he is an idiot when it comes to matters of the heart.

"I'll cool it if you say you'll go to the Attic with us. Come on, we'll have a blast."

"I'll think about it," I said, taking my book from him and stuffing it in my bag.

I left the two of them finishing my plate of fries. No one else spoke to me as I made my way to the door but I heard the whispers. Already, Jeffrey's comments were circulating the cafeteria.

The door swung open just as I reached it and I had to step back to avoid getting whacked in the face. The malicious smile on the face of the pretty blond standing in front of me told me she had been aiming for me. I wasn't surprised. Faith Perry and I weren't friendly on a good day and I didn't expect her to be happy after what happened to her boyfriend.

"Excuse me." I started to walk past Faith but she moved to block my way. I groaned inwardly as the cafeteria fell silent behind me. It was only the second week of my senior year and already I was wishing for graduation.

"Are you happy?" she hissed, her venomous green eyes glittering.

I pasted an innocent expression on my face. "About what?"

Faith tossed her long straight hair back over her shoulder. "I'm talking about Scott."

At that moment, I spotted Scott and Ryan coming down the hallway toward us. They stopped walking when they saw me and Faith. Scott's eyes flashed angrily then looked away as if he couldn't face me.

I shrugged. "Seriously Faith? You honestly think I could have done _that_?" I spoke loud enough for my voice to carry to the people behind me. "Do I look like I was in a fight?"

That brought her up short and she stared at me as if she noticed my lack of bruises for the first time. I felt Scott's gaze on me too and I knew he must be wondering how I didn't have a fat lip today.

"How the hell do I know?" Faith scoffed. "For all I know you had those loser biker friends mess him up. I wouldn't put it past you."

I bristled. If anyone here liked to hurt other people it was Faith. She'd been a bully ever since we were little kids and she only grew worse as we got older. When I started school here, Faith was not happy that Scott wanted to be my friend and did everything she could to make my life miserable. I was already devastated from losing my dad and she might have broken me if it wasn't for Roland. His friendship had filled some of the aching void inside me and gave me the strength to stand up to Faith. I'm not sure what made her dislike me more – not being able to hurt me anymore or the fact that Scott had liked me first – but she'd hated me ever since. I usually kept my distance from her because it was just not worth the hassle.

"You know what Faith?" I took a step toward her and she stumbled back a step. I leaned toward her and I could sense everyone in the cafeteria craning forward in their seats. "If I was you," I whispered in her ear, "I'd be less worried about whether or not a girl beat up my boyfriend and more concerned about why my boyfriend wasn't with me instead."

Faith's mouth fell open. It probably wasn't wise to stir her up like that. After years of crushing on Scott, Faith had finally gotten him, but she was very jealous where he was concerned. If she wasn't such a bitch I would have told her not to worry because she and Scott were made for each other.

I pushed past her, leaving behind a room full of curious onlookers. More people had stopped in the hallway to hear our exchange and I ignored their stares as I walked past them. Scott stepped aside when I reached him and Ryan and our eyes met briefly. I could see the confusion and suspicion on his face and I knew he was wondering why I'd denied hitting him when I could have totally humiliated him in front of half the school. I just walked by because I had no desire to explain my actions to him or anyone else. Let him think what he wanted.

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. There were no more run-ins with Faith, and Scott kept his distance as well. Neither of them was going to forgive or forget any time soon but I had a feeling Scott at least would keep a wide berth from me for a while. I hoped they both did because I didn't like the person I became around them.

I was on Market Street on my way home after school when I started to feel like someone was watching me. It was an eerie sensation but I shook it off and cut though the small parking lot between the pub and the antique store, emerging on the waterfront. Our place was the seventh one down at the end of the row.

Just as I passed the pub, the feeling of being watched came over me again, stronger this time. Was someone following me? I stopped and listened for footsteps but this close to the beach the gulls and waves drowned out a lot of noises. It was the middle of the afternoon so I was not afraid, but I was growing annoyed.

"Scott or Faith, if that's you, you'd better turn around and go home right now if you know what's good for you," I called, not really expecting an answer.

After a few seconds I resumed walking. It was a warm afternoon and there was barely a wind save for the light breeze on my ankles. I watched absently as leaves from the lonely maple tree in front of the coffee shop swirled around my feet then tumbled ahead of me like a playful puppy all the way home.

"What the –" I came up short when I rounded the corner of our building and came face to face with a mini whirlwind of leaves and dirt hovering directly in my path. I stood and watched the leaves spinning faster and faster as the little cyclone picked up more of them and began to form a blurry outline about three feet high. My mouth fell open and I snapped it shut as a creature I had only heard about took shape before me. I knew about elementals of course but I had never dreamed I'd see one up close in my lifetime. I didn't know whether to be scared or excited by the rare appearance.

"Um, hello," I said hesitantly.

The sylph made a movement that looked like a bow and, not knowing the proper etiquette for elementals, I bowed in return. That seemed to please her because she moved closer until I could hear a soft whispery sound, almost like the wind in the fireplace flue during a storm. When I listened closely I could pick out words. "Hello, Sara Grey," she said in a breezy voice. "I am Aine."

I swallowed and sat down hard on the bottom of the stairs to our apartment. She knew my name. Why would an air elemental know my name? A lot of the People in these parts knew me for my healing but I doubted a sylph needed my help in that area. I wouldn't even know where to start anyway.

"Do you need my help, Aine?" I asked and I heard a whispery laugh.

"I have watched you and seen your power and how good you are to the People. You are a kind child."

"I'm almost eighteen."

The sylph laughed again and I could not help but smile. She had lived countless lifetimes and compared to her I was an infant.

I didn't know a whole lot about elementals except that they were super powerful and they pulled their power from the earth. They were highly revered by the People, including the trolls. Remy talked about elementals sometimes but even he had never met one.

"Aine, do you know where my power comes from?" If anyone could answer that question, it was an elemental. Maybe she was here to give me the answers I desperately wanted.

Aine moved closer till I could feel her brush against my legs. I wanted so much to lean down and touch the distorted shape, but I was afraid she might vanish.

"All power comes from the earth," she answered cryptically. She moved away again. "Why do you heal the People, little sister?"

The question caught me off guard; no one had ever asked me that before. "I don't understand. Why wouldn't I heal them?"

"Humans fear the People. You do not."

"No. Some of them are my friends."

"And what of the ones who don't wish to be your friend? Do you help them?"

I wished I could see the sylph's face clearly to understand the reason for her questions. "I've never had to make that decision so I honestly can't say what I'd do. I guess I would help most creatures."

Aine seemed to hang in the air in front of my eyes. "Most – but not all?"

"Well, I'm not going to heal something that will turn around and kill humans, if that is what you mean. I know there are some who aren't nice but they aren't evil either. I'd help them if they asked for it."

"And you decide who is evil and who is not?"

I let out a short laugh. "I think the evil ones are easy enough to identify."

A long moment passed before the sylph nodded. "You are wise for one so young. I am glad I came to meet you."

"I'm glad too." This was one of the strangest conversations I'd ever had and I half expected to wake up in my bed and find out it was all a dream.

"I think we will meet again, little sister." The swirling mass of air began to move away until it suddenly dissipated, leaving a loose pile of dirt and leaves on the ground.

_An elemental. I just met an elemental!_

I sat on the steps for a good ten minutes after she disappeared because it took me that long to recover from the shock of my encounter. Elementals are extremely elusive beings and I could not fathom why Aine would come here just to talk to me. I had a little power, yes, but it was nothing compared to her immense magic. And she said she had been watching me? For how long and why?

Nate was in his office when I finally schooled my face into a somewhat normal expression and went inside. I grabbed a blueberry muffin from the kitchen to tide me over until dinner and went upstairs, calling hello to Nate as I passed his door. Throwing my backpack on my bed, I changed my clothes, put on some Carly Simon, and sat at my laptop. I was dying to know if Wulfman had found out anything for me. It was probably too soon to hope for anything but I felt like anything was possible after my encounter with Aine.

To my surprise there was an email from Wulfman in the mailbox I used for the message board. I opened his message, curious about what he'd found out already.

_It looks like you were right. There were several suspicious deaths in Portland about ten years ago. Your friend was one of them. I'm still waiting to hear from all my resources. Hope to get back to you in a few hours._

I stared at the screen. In a few hours I could be closer than I'd ever been to getting answers about my dad's murder. All these years the biggest question tormenting me was: why him? He was a good person and we had lived a very quiet life. What drew them to that neighborhood, to our little house that looked like every other house on the street? That question was a fire inside me and it would never stop burning until it was answered. The truth would not help me get over what happened to him, but maybe it could bring me some kind of closure.

Grabbing the muffin, I nibbled it as I paced the room, my eyes going to the laptop with every turn on the floor. The cat lay across the back of the couch watching me as I walked back and forth, his head following me around the room. I tossed him a small piece of muffin and he watched it bounce off the couch in front of him but he made no move to catch it before it fell to the floor.

"Two few days ago you would have been glad to get that," I scolded softly as I bent to pick up the crumb.

A tiny shuffling sound behind the attic wall caught my ear and I smiled behind my hand. Breaking off a large piece of muffin, I unlatched the small attic door and set the food on the floor in front of it. Then I retreated to the couch to watch. It took a few minutes but I was rewarded when the door squeaked and a tiny pale arm reached out from the shadows to snatch away the piece of muffin. I heard a gleeful snicker as the little fiend retreated with its prize.

"You're welcome, you ungrateful little wretch," I called after him.

The only response I got was a muffled burp from inside the wall. Little buggers never said thank you.

I shook my head and finished my muffin. Some houses have mice – mine has imps. Imps are the vermin of the supe world, notorious thieves and the devil to catch. For a while I couldn't leave anything of value lying around or it would disappear – until last fall that is when one of the little beasts got caught in an old mouse trap in the storeroom. I freed him and fixed him up even though he tried to bite me in the process. Remy said I was nuts but I can't stand to see a creature in pain. I guess one good turn does deserve another because nothing had gone missing since that day. Of course, the imps aren't any friendlier, but what can you expect from six inch tall kleptomaniac demons with sharp teeth.

I forced myself to do homework for an hour before I finally gave in and went to my laptop to check my email. Nervous excitement twisted my stomach when I saw a message requesting a chat. I clicked Okay and Wulfman responded immediately.

**Wulfman:** Have something. Not sure it's what you want.

**PixieGirl:** What is it?

**Wulfman:** One of my sources lost a friend when you lost yours. Same M.O.

**PixieGirl:** And he thinks it was vampires?

**Wulfman:** He's sure of it. He knows a lot.

**PixieGirl:** So what now?

**Wulfman:** He wants to talk to you. But it has to be in person. You up for that.

**PixieGirl:** You trust him?

Wulfman: 100%

**PixieGirl:** Ok but it has to be very public.

My cell phone vibrated where it lay on the desk. The corner of my mouth lifted when I saw the text message from Roland. **Fri night?**

**PixieGirl:** I think I know of a place. Have him ping me and we'll talk.

**Wulfman:** Will do. Let me know how it goes.

**PixieGirl:** Thanks, I will.

I leaned back in my chair. Was I insane to agree to meet a total stranger even if he might know something about my dad? I'd heard enough stories about girls disappearing after going to meet someone they met online. But then this wouldn't be the first time I'd made contact with someone this way. It was how I met Malloy the first time and there were several others I'd dealt with before him. I was always careful and it wasn't like I'd be alone with the guy.

And it might be my only chance to learn the truth about what happened to my dad. After all these years, there was no way I could pass up this opportunity. I was willing to take a few risks to finally get the answers I sought.

My mind made up, I picked up my phone. **I'm in.**

# Chapter 4

By the time Delilah's Crush began pelting out their last set, my temples were pounding and I wished I could heal myself. Roland was right – Dylan's new band was great – but I like my music more rock and less metal. I didn't think Delilah's Crush knew exactly what type of music they wanted to play so they went somewhere in between. Roland and Peter were having a great time, cheering and moving with the rest of the crowd. My sigh was drowned out by the music. Maybe it was me; I just didn't know how to enjoy myself like a normal teenager.

The truth was that I was disappointed and more than a little annoyed that my reason for coming here tonight had not shown up. NightWatcher, the guy I'd talked to online this week, was supposed to be here at ten o'clock and it was almost eleven with no sign of him. We had agreed that I would wear a silver cross in plain sight where he could see it, I guess because vampires can't touch silver. My fingers went to the cross to make sure it was still hanging outside my shirt and I almost smiled at the idea of anyone mistaking me for a vampire. It looked like that didn't matter now since he hadn't even bothered to show, or if he had, he was not approaching me for some reason.

I scanned the room again and this time my gaze fell on a dark haired man who looked more out of place here than I felt. Leaning against a wooden column at the edge of the dance floor in dark jeans and a snug grey knit top, he looked more at home in a Calvin Klein ad than here at the Attic. It wasn't just his clothes or the way his dark eyes swept the room lazily that drew my attention; he was just too...beautiful, like one of those androgynous male models. In a room full of teenagers and college students wearing t-shirts and jeans, he stood out like a beacon.

It took me a few seconds to realize that Mr. CK's eyes were staring into mine. The boldness of his gaze brought heat to my cheeks and my eyes darted away from his seductive smile and the invitation I saw in his stare. I had little – okay zero experience with the opposite sex – but I'd have to be comatose not to understand the signals coming from him. What I couldn't understand was why he was turning his attention to me with all the attractive girls here trying to catch his eye. Not that I think I'm unattractive; I'm just not what you'd call alluring and I'm certainly not used to hot guys giving me the 'come hither' look.

A little breathless, I shifted my attention to the stage where the drummer was revving up the crowd with an awesome solo. I moved forward and nudged between my friends, dancing along with them. Five minutes later I stole a glance at Mr. CK and I smirked when I found him engaged in conversation with two shapely blondes who were almost comical in their attempts to out-flirt each other.

The band finished the song and started another and everyone on the dance floor began dancing again except for me. After downing two bottles of water in two hours, what I really needed was to find the restroom. I tapped Roland on the arm and mouthed "restroom" to him to let him know where I was going. He nodded and I headed for the ladies room where I stood in line for five minutes before I got inside. I was washing my hands when the two blond girls I'd seen with Mr. CK came in.

"I saw him first, Shelley," one of them said, pulling a tube of dark red lipstick from her handbag.

"You always say that, Trish," the other girl replied with a scowl. She started retouching her own makeup. "This one is mine."

Trish checked her perfect hair in the mirror. "If you think I am letting you walk off with this one, you are nuts."

"Letting me?" Shelley's voice went up a notch.

I shook my head and left the restroom before the two of them decided to start to brawl over the guy. There was no arguing the fact that Mr. CK was incredibly hot, but no guy is worth fighting over, especially one you just met in a bar.

Apparently, Trish and Shelley disagreed with me. I barely made it ten feet from the restroom when I heard them coming behind me in a heated argument that drew amused looks from the people nearby. I slowed and stepped sideways to let the angry pair pass me. _It's no wonder I don't go out much._

I heard Shelley shout "You bitch!" a second before she gave Trish a hard shove that sent Trish stumbling backward into me. "Umph!" I grunted as one of the girl's elbows got me in the stomach before we went down in a tangle of arms and legs. I saw stars when my head hit the hardwood floor. It didn't help that I had cushioned the bigger girl's fall.

Someone pulled Trish off me and a girl asked, "Is she alright?" I assumed she was talking about me because I was the only one still lying on the floor, a little dazed and not sure whether I was more embarrassed or pissed.

A hand waved in front of my face and I realized someone was bending over me. "Are you okay?" he asked in a deep voice that carried the trace of an accent I could not place. The ceiling lights behind him made it impossible to see his face but from his voice I guessed he wasn't more than a few years older than me.

"Um, I think so," I said, moving to get up. The man reached down and took my hand and I started at the warmth that rippled through me. I stared at our clasped hands as he helped me to my feet and I stood there for a moment before I realized I still held his hand. I let go and looked up at him with a sheepish smile. "Thank –"

He stood so close I could reach out and touch him. His face was no longer hidden in shadows and I found myself gazing into a pair of steel grey eyes that looked at me with such intensity I almost forgot to breathe. Mutely I stared at him while my stomach twisted with a sensation I could not put into words and I felt a touch against the back of my mind like the flutter of butterfly wings. I experienced the strangest sense of recognition though I knew I had never seen him before and deep inside me something stirred like a cat uncurling from a long nap.

The man blinked and took a step back, breaking the spell that held me. Remembering to breathe again, I glanced down to steady myself then looked back to find him watching me with a slightly confused expression that probably matched my own. My eyes moved up his handsome face taking in his square jaw, firm lips, aquiline nose and black hair that fell across his brow in careless waves with a few strands curling around his ears. His skin was lightly tanned and the shadow of a beard played around the curves of his jaw.

I suddenly realized we were staring at each other and I smiled to cover my embarrassment. "Sorry, I must have banged my head harder than I thought."

My words did not elicit the reaction I expected. His whole body stiffened and his eyes suddenly blazed as if I had slapped him. I took a step back, stunned by the hostility in his stare, especially after his kind assistance. "Okay... well thanks for your help," I mumbled and fled.

I slipped through the crowd until I spied the door that stood open to the deck and suddenly I was in desperate need of fresh air. _What the hell was his problem?_ I stewed as I leaned against the rail and stared at the dark building across the street. This night just kept going downhill. First my contact doesn't show and then I get dumped on my butt in front of a room full of people, and on top of that I act like a total idiot. I cringed, remembering how I'd stood there like a fool staring at him. What had gotten into me, going all slack-jawed over a hot guy? _God, I'm as bad as Trish and Shelley_ , I groaned inwardly and closed my eyes, letting the night air cool my burning cheeks.

"I believe this is yours."

The voice so close behind me made me jump because I hadn't even heard him approach. I turned to see a silver chain dangling from his fingers and my hand went to my bare neck. I reached out gingerly without looking at his face and he laid the necklace in my hand. "Thank you." I ran my finger over the cross then put it in my front jeans pocket. The chain was broken but I was glad to get it back. It had been my grandmother's and Nate gave it to me last year on my birthday.

I expected the man to leave then but he stared at me for a long moment studying me. It felt like he was sizing me up, trying to figure me out as if I was a weird piece of art he couldn't understand. There was nothing suggestive in his look. If anything, he looked at me with something akin to dislike.

"Are you done?" I finally asked after I'd had enough of his rudeness. His eyes widened a little and I got the distinct impression he wasn't used to being rebuffed, especially by the opposite sex.

"You are a bit young for this place," he said brusquely, ignoring my barb.

I bristled at his tone. "I'm sorry but I don't think that is any of your business."

"You can't be more than seventeen or eighteen. You shouldn't be here alone."

"You're not much older than me," I shot back. "And I'm not here alone."

"I am older than I look." His voice was cool but his eyes burned into mine and the beast in my head stirred again. After what had happened to Scott, I clamped down tightly on it until it was silent. All I needed was for that thing to get loose again. Besides, this guy might be aggravating but I didn't sense any real danger from him.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked out at the city. I could not help but think that he really was gorgeous. Not like Mr. CK, who was way too pretty for my taste. No one would dare call the guy in front of me pretty. There was an edge to him, serious, almost guarded.

"Nikolas," said a voice from the doorway. We both turned to face a blond man who gave my companion a 'raised eyebrow' look, as if he wasn't surprised to find his friend alone with a girl. "Ready to move out?"

I wasn't sure if Nikolas's frown was for me or his friend. He gave me another searching look then nodded. "Be out shortly, Chris."

I expected him to say something else to me but he only stood where he was for a long moment before he strode to the door. He swung toward me again before he stepped inside. "Stay with your friends. This part of town is not safe for a girl alone at night."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

_And that wasn't weird at all_. It was definitely my week for strange encounters.

I waited another minute then made my way back to Roland and Peter. They were still dancing where I'd left them and Roland had made a new friend. A petite brunette girl had taken up my spot and she was rubbing against him like a cat on a post. I was beginning to wonder if the girls in this place had never seen a good looking guy before.

When Roland saw that I had returned he beckoned me closer, earning me a glare from the brunette which I chose to ignore. The band had almost finished their last set and I was ready to leave. My head was pounding even harder after my fall and I was a little wigged out from the whole encounter with that Nikolas fellow. I wasn't sure what bothered me more; his behavior or my reaction to him. He was gone now so it didn't matter, but I couldn't put it out of my mind.

The band finished their last song to loud cheers and shouts for an encore. Peter hooted at them then turned to me and Roland. "That was sick! Did you hear Samson's solo?"

"It was hard not to," I said with a laugh. My ears were ringing.

"I told you they were good," Roland said, nudging me with his arm. "Dylan's gotten a lot better than the last time you heard him play."

"Yes he has," I agreed.

Peter punched Roland's arm. "They're starting to pack up. Let's go." They both looked expectantly at me and I waved them off.

"Go on, I want to sit down for a bit anyway. I'll be over there." I pointed at pair of leather chairs being vacated by a couple of girls. Roland nodded and he and Peter headed for the stage with the brunette in tow. I snagged one of the chairs and laid my head back with my eyes closed, trying to will my headache away. It was a little better now that the music had stopped. I listened to people milling about, content to sit there quietly until Roland and Peter came back for me.

Someone took the chair across from me. I opened my eyes, expecting to see one of my friends, and I was more than a little surprised to find Mr. CK sitting there watching me. He was alone and I wondered how he had managed to slip away from Trish and Shelley.

He was maybe nineteen or twenty and up close he was even more beautiful, if that was possible, with ridiculously thick lashes and full lips that parted in a disarming smile. I could not help but smile back.

"Did you like the band?" he asked in a voice so silky it was almost a caress. For a moment I forgot to answer.

"They weren't bad. You?"

He gave a small shrug. "They're decent, but the next one is much better. The Furies; have you heard of them?"

"No." I found it a little hard to believe that he was into hard rock. The Attic and this type of music really didn't seem to suit him. But then what did I know?

The leather chair creaked as he leaned forward with his elbows on the armrests. His bottomless indigo eyes bored into mine. "You should stick around to see them. You won't regret it."

I felt an inexplicable urge to lean forward too, to get closer to those mesmerizing eyes, but I stopped myself before I did. Wow, this guy was good. I wondered if he was aware of the effect he had on the opposite sex. I almost laughed out loud. He definitely knew.

I gave a mental shake to clear my head. "We only came to hear our friend play," I told him, pointing to Roland, Peter and Dylan. We're leaving as soon as they finish packing up."

He seemed puzzled for an instant but then he gave me a small smile of resignation. "That is too bad." He leaned closer and spoke in a soft voice. "You're not like the other girls here. It's quite refreshing."

Not sure how to take that, I quipped, "If the girls here don't suit your tastes, maybe you are looking for women in the wrong place."

His eyes flashed in amusement and he settled back in his chair. "I think you may be right."

I saw Roland waving me over. "Looks like my friends are ready to leave." I stood and my companion stood too. "It was nice talking to you."

The corners of his mouth turned down slightly. "Are you going to run off without leaving me a name to put with your lovely face?"

_Smooth_. "I don't give my name to strange men."

He raised his eyebrows and gave me a beguiling smile. "Not even a first name."

"Sara," I replied without thinking. I immediately wanted to kick myself.

"Sara." He said my name like he was tasting an exotic fruit. "I'm Eli and it has been a pleasure. I hope to repeat it sometime."

I doubted the likelihood of that ever happening, but I smiled anyway. "Well enjoy your band." I turned toward the stage, blinking several times to shake off the feeling of lethargy that stolen over me while I sat. I must be more tired than I thought.

"You ready to go," Roland asked when I reached them. I saw with some amusement that the brunette was hanging off Samson now and the blond drummer was looking around helplessly for someone to come to his rescue.

I glanced over at Eli as we headed for the exit and saw that the seats around him had already been snatched up by some new girls who were vying for his attention. He gave me a slight nod as we passed and I returned a polite smile.

The Attic was on the second floor of a converted warehouse and we had to descend a set of stairs to get to the street. Music had started playing inside the building again and it wafted down the stairs after us.

I yawned. "That was fun but I'm pooped all of a sudden."

"You guys stay here and I'll go get the car." Roland set off running to the parking garage at the far end of the street. I sat on the bottom of the staircase while Peter called someone on his cell and started raving about the band.

I took out my own phone to call Nate and let him know we were leaving the club and I'd be home in an hour or so. Nate was pretty cool about me staying out late as long as I let him know where I was. Before I could dial, the stair above me creaked and Eli appeared beside me. I tried to hide my surprise and dismay. I hoped he didn't think I had been flirting with him upstairs because I wasn't; at least I didn't think I was. It was not exactly my area of expertise.

"Have your friends abandoned you?" he asked and I felt a little tremor pass through me at his nearness. Really, what was this guy's secret?

"No, Peter's right there..." I trailed off when I realized that Peter had wandered off. I could still hear him talking on his phone so he wasn't that far away.

"I thought you were leaving," Eli said, his breath warm against my cheek. Too close for comfort.

I shot to my feet not caring what he thought. Okay enough of that. "We are. My friend went to get the car and we're waiting for him." I knew I was babbling but I wanted to put some distance between me and Eli. Something didn't feel quite right about him and he was starting to make me nervous. I started toward Peter until I felt a hand on my arm. It wasn't restraining me, but it still set off alarm bells in my head. Nikolas's earlier words rang in my head. _"Stay with your friends. This part of town is not safe for a girl alone at night."_

"You seem to be in such a hurry to leave all of a sudden. Nothing I have done, surely?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I just think I hear my ride coming." I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry. Where was Roland?

"You are a terrible liar, you know," Eli said softly. He moved so fast he was standing right in front of me before I knew what was happening. "But you are such an intriguing creature that I will forgive you for it."

My mind struggled to grasp what my eyes were seeing. _How did he...?_

The truth hit me like a truck, knocking the air from my lungs and sending spikes of fear into my brain. I opened my mouth to call for help, only to find myself rendered mute by a hard hand. The street blurred and I found myself in the alley, pressed face-first against the building and unable to move or call out.

"Sara," he hissed against my hair. Terror threatened to choke me as the image of my father's mutilated body swam before my eyes. _Oh God no. Please, not like this._

I screamed into Eli's hand and struggled wildly to twist out of his hold, but his grip was like steel bars holding me fast. He laughed softly in my ear and pressed his body against my length. "You are a fighter, I like that." I could hear the excitement in his voice and I felt his body respond to my fear. My heart threatened to explode from my chest.

"As soon as I looked into those beautiful green eyes of yours, I knew I had to have you. Those other girls, they simper and fawn and they would do anything I asked of them. But you... you are different. You are an orchid in a field of dandelions." He ran his free hand along my throat and I whimpered. "Now you are mine, little flower and I cannot wait to taste your sweet nectar."

His words sent shudders of revulsion through me. Pinned between him and the wall, his scent assailed my nostrils and I almost gagged at the sickly odor that permeated his skin. It had been faint at first, camouflaged by expensive cologne, but the longer he held me the stronger it grew. I found a fox once with a badly infected cut. Eli reeked of that same stench of rotting flesh and death.

"I just have to know one thing first," Eli whispered and spun me around to face him while keeping me silenced with his hand. In the weak light of the alley I could see him as he smiled at me almost tenderly. "How did you do it? How did you break the compulsion? No one has ever resisted my will before."

He started to lift his hand from my mouth and I sucked in a deep breath to scream my head off. He tilted my head, forcing me to look into his eyes. "One thing, little flower. If you call out, I will rip your little boyfriends to shreds. You don't want that, do you?"

My eyes widened even more and I shook my head frantically.

His lips parted in a smile and I watched in horror as two curved snake-like fangs grew from his mouth, gleaming in the pale light. In that moment I knew what a mouse feels like when it looks into the eyes of a rattlesnake. The mouse knows it is going to die but it is too mesmerized with fear to move.

When Eli lifted a hand to my face I tried to jerk away from the inch long black claws where his fingernails had been. He touched my cheek lightly and I shuddered at the feel of the cold hard claws on my skin.

"Now tell me how you resisted me and I promise your friends will not be harmed."

"I–I don't know."

He sighed impatiently and his clawed hand moved down to brush against my throat. I swallowed convulsively. "I'm not lying. Please... I don't know what you want me to say."

Eli's eyes narrowed and he stared down into mine. "I think I believe you. Hmm, can it be that you don't even know what you can do? It makes me wonder what other charming little talents you might be hiding." He licked his lips and gall rose in my throat at his meaning. "What a delight you are. To think I almost settled for one of those insipid blondes."

He put his mouth to my ear and his words sent waves of fresh terror through me. "I am going to savor you, little Sara. I had planned to have you now but why rush when we can take all the time we want later."

"No..."

"But I think a taste first to whet the appetite." His face lowered as he forced my head to one side, baring my throat. His lips touched my skin and his tongue lapped at the spot where my pulse beat. Blackness swam before my eyes.

"What is this?" he murmured and sniffed as if he was trying a new wine. His tongue touched my skin again. "You taste like –" His head whipped up and his eyes glittered like he had just been served a favorite dessert. "You're a –"

"Now that is no way to treat a young lady," said a deep masculine voice from the other end of the alley. The voice was cold and menacing and the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

Eli moved so he was backed against the wall with me dangling in front of him like a rag doll. "You are very brave my friend, but you will move on if you know what's good for you."

"I have been told that I don't heed orders well." The shadows shifted and a tall shape moved forward into the meager light. He wore the jeans and navy blue sweater I'd seen him in earlier, but over them he now wore some kind of leather harness that crisscrossed his muscled chest, holding an assortment of knives. Behind his right shoulder I could see the handle of what looked like a sword strapped to his back. I was so happy to see him that I almost sobbed his name.

Eli stiffened and let out a hiss. "Mohiri!" Fear crept into his voice and my dazed mind wondered what on earth scared a vampire.

Nikolas chuckled and I felt a tremor run through my captor. "I see there is no need for introductions. Good. I hate to waste time on formalities."

"Stay back or I will rip her apart." Eli's hand was at my throat now, the icy claws biting into my skin. I was afraid to breathe and risk being sliced open. I froze and focused on Nikolas's face, praying he would save me from this nightmare. For a second his eyes met mine and I saw barely controlled rage in them, I glimpsed something feral and lethal simmering below the surface.

"A bit melodramatic, don't you think?" Nikolas quipped but steel laced his voice. He took a step forward and Eli jerked in response.

"Her death will be on your hands, Mohiri." Eli's claws pressed tighter against my throat and I felt warmth trickle down my neck. He shuddered at the scent of warm blood beneath his nose and I could tell he was about to lose it. Nikolas would never reach us before those fangs tore my throat out.

Nikolas's expression never changed. His voice grew deeper, colder and I shivered at the power radiating from him. "Do it and it will be your last act, vampire."

Eli quailed but he did not loosen his grip. I could sense the struggle inside him. He was afraid but he craved my blood. Would he stay and fight for his prize or run for his life?

"Brother, how like you to sneak off and sample the sweets by yourself," drawled a male voice from above. "And look at the trouble it has wrought you."

Dread filled me as I looked up at the figure standing on the fire escape above our heads. I felt Eli's grip on my throat loosen and his sigh of relief against my hair.

"Come now Joel, you know I always save some for you," Eli's voice rang with triumph and the hope I'd felt a minute before died. What chance did we have against a pair of vampires?

Joel laughed and leaned against the metal railing. "I think I deserve a little more than a nibble this time. Mmm... she looks like a tasty little bit."

Eli caressed my cheek. "This one is mine."

"No!" I shouted, twisting out of his hold. For a second I was free and my eyes immediately flew to Nikolas. I saw his body tense to spring.

Eli snatched me back against him just as Joel landed softy beside him. I found myself flanked by two snarling monsters and my newfound courage floundered.

Nikolas drew a long lethal sword and faced them with no trace of fear on his face. In that instant I knew that no matter what happened, he would not desert me. For whatever reason he had risked his own life for mine and live or die, we were in this together.

"You can't take us both and save her," taunted Eli. "She will die and your efforts will be for naught."

The ghost of a smile passed over Nikolas's face. "Then I will have to settle for killing only you."

If Eli reacted to that statement, I did not see it. But I thought I detected a small quiver in his voice when he said, "Bold words for one outnumbered."

Before Nikolas could reply a new voice cut through the tension in the alley. "Sara?" called Roland, followed by Peter shouting, "Sara, where are you?" My heart constricted and I had to bite my lip to keep me from calling out to them. I couldn't drag them into this and watch them die beside me.

Eli's head jerked a little and Joel's eyes darted from Nikolas to the alley entrance.

Nikolas laughed harshly. "Do you smell that my friends? I believe the odds just changed."

I shot him a horrified look. Was he planning to use Roland and Peter as decoys to draw the vampires away from us? I would rather die than watch my friends get hurt because of me.

"Come Brother, there are sweeter meals to be had," Joel said, not taking his eyes off Nikolas.

"No." Eli spat. "I want this one."

Nikolas shifted and his sword gleamed wickedly. "Release her or die: your choice. And you'd better make your mind up very soon."

"Sara, damn it where are you?" Roland sounded frantic. They were closer, almost at the mouth of the alley.

Eli's hold tightened convulsively and I let out an involuntary cry.

One of my friends shouted, I couldn't tell who it was. I heard a commotion in the street, followed by a growling noise that made my hair stand on end. _Oh God what is that?_ I didn't want to think about what horrors Roland and Peter could be facing now too.

I couldn't see the street but I heard something big run into the alley. Eli let out a screech unlike anything I'd ever heard and lunged for the fire escape, pulling me with him like I weighed nothing. When he reached for the metal ladder, my gut twisted because I knew if he made it up the fire escape I was dead. Once he reached the roof he could easily jump to the next building and there was no way Nikolas would catch him. I'd rather die here in this alley than be tortured at the hands of a vampire.

Behind us, I heard snarls and the sounds of a battle as Nikolas engaged the other vampire. There was no time to wonder who was winning that fight because I was fighting for my own life. I scratched and kicked and struggled futilely to break free from the vise-like arm around my waist. Eli's other hand snared the ladder and pulled it toward us.

He made it almost to the first landing before he shrieked in pain and jerked backward violently. Hanging from the ladder with one hand, he lashed out with his feet at whatever was coming at him from below. He could have thrown me at his attacker to save himself, but he held on, determined to keep me while I screamed and clawed like a wild cat. The ladder groaned as the thing below tried to pull the vampire to the ground. Eli kicked at it with a force that would have killed a human but it held on. Whatever it was, it was as strong as a vampire. The thought of something that powerful, terrified and thrilled me at the same time and I twisted my body to see what it was.

The creature had to be almost seven feet tall, even while slightly hunched over. It stood on two legs and it was covered in dark bristled hair with broad shoulders and clawed hands and feet. My eyes lifted to its face and I sucked in a sharp breath at the yellow eyes, short pointed ears and long snarling snout that revealed the biggest teeth I'd ever seen.

_Werewolf!_ My mind struggled to come to grips with what my eyes were telling it. I was face to face with a real live werewolf. I knew vampires and werewolves were mortal enemies but what were the chances of me ending up in the middle of a battle between the two in an alley in downtown Portland?

The werewolf's terrifying gaze met mine and I saw savage intelligence in his amber eyes as his powerful jaws clamped down on Eli's calf. As the deadly fangs tore through his flesh and bone, Eli screamed in pain and his arm around me tightened until I gasped for air. With a bloodcurdling roar, he kicked at the werewolf with his other foot and the force of the blow sent the wolf staggering backwards. It was all Eli needed to pull us both up to the metal landing.

He lay there panting for several seconds before he struggled to stand on his ravaged leg. Through the grate I saw the werewolf recover and jump at the ladder again. Elli saw it too and pulled me toward the stairs. I looked at the distance between us and the wolf and my heart plummeted because I knew it would never reach us in time. Werewolves are powerful creatures but their bodies are not designed well for climbing. And once we got to the roof, Eli would have healed enough from his leg wound to carry us both away from here.

Eli sped up the stairs and I grabbed for the rail to slow our ascent but he was too strong. At the last landing he paused to adjust his grip on me. "Now it is just you and me," he said with a triumphant leer as he started up the narrow ladder to the roof.

We were almost to the top when Eli let out a pained screech and stopped climbing. I looked down, hoping to see the werewolf latched onto Eli's leg again but the creature was two landings below us. Eli gasped and struggled to hold onto me and the ladder with one hand while his other hand tried to reach something behind him. My eyes followed his movements until I saw the silver hilt protruding from a smoking hole in his side. I watched him grasp the handle of the knife, then yank his hand away, screaming as the pure silver scorched his skin.

The fire escape shook below us as the werewolf drew closer. _Please hurry,_ I begged him silently and I could have sworn he looked right into my eyes and sped up.

Eli saw him coming and abandoned his attempts to remove the knife. He reached for the roof two feet away. I did the only thing I could think of to stop him. I stretched out my hand and grasped the hilt of the knife. Pulling it free, I twisted and swung at the vampire. I didn't aim, I just tried to make contact, anything to slow him down, and I felt a bolt of satisfaction when the knife sank into the soft flesh of his shoulder.

His scream of rage and pain was like a thousand nails on a chalkboard. He shook me violently and I dangled away from the fire escape, three stories above the ground. Far below, I saw Nikolas's furious face as he reached for another knife. At his feet lay the decapitated body of the other vampire.

Nikolas drew back his hand to throw the knife but he stopped when he saw me hanging above the ground. He was afraid Eli would drop me if he wounded him again.

"Do it!" I screamed. I didn't want to die. But I would rather fall to my death now than to let this monster carry me away to rape and torture. My voice turned pleading. "Nikolas... please."

His arm moved so fast I barely realized the knife had left his hand before it whistled past me to embed itself in Eli's other shoulder. The vampire moaned in pain and scrabbled to maintain his grip on the ladder. He looked up at the roof then stared fearfully down at the werewolf who was now at the bottom of the ladder directly below us. He was out of time.

The fury and hunger in his eyes when he glared at me sucked the air from my lungs. "I will have you," he rasped right before he let me go.

Time seemed to stand still. In one suspended moment I was dimly aware of the werewolf's roar, of shouts below me and the smoking dagger in my hand before time sped up again.

# Chapter 5

"Sara! Sara, can you hear me?"

"Is she –?"

"She's breathing."

"Christ! Did you see what he did?"

"I-I couldn't reach her, Pete."

"Forget that now. Let's get her out of here."

Strong arms picked me up and cradled me against a warm chest. I opened my eyes to see a familiar face above me.

"Roland?"

"She's awake," Roland said hoarsely and I heard Peter whisper "Thank God."

Roland sat me on a bench at the bus stop near the building and knelt in front of me. Peter sat next to me and I let myself lean against him. The world was coming back into focus and along with it, my memory. I pulled my knees up against my chest as my whole body shook and I began to sob uncontrollably. I hadn't cried in front of another person in years but it now felt like a long-sealed dam had burst open.

Roland rose and sat on my other side. He put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his warmth. "You're safe now."

I let him comfort me for a minute before I pulled away from him. My dad used to hug me all the time but since his death I shied away from most physical contact. It provided comfort but it also gave you a false sense of security. I used to feel safe when my dad held me, like nothing could ever hurt either of us. Letting someone get that close to you only opens you up to more pain when they are gone.

"No one is safe," I croaked between hiccups. I was such a fool. I knew what was out there, I knew there had been vampire sightings in Portland and still I came and nearly got all of us killed. I shuddered and buried my face in my hands, wondering if I'd never feel safe again.

"Shit, Sara, I'm so sorry," Roland moaned. "If I had any idea something like that would happen, I never would have brought you here."

"It's my fault." Peter's voice was full of regret. "If I had stayed with her..."

Roland glared at Peter. "I was gone for five minutes. What the hell happened, dude?"

"It–it's not his fault." What could a teenage boy have done against a vampire? Then I remembered Nikolas fearlessly facing down two vampires, armed with nothing more than a sword and a bunch of knives.

"Where is Nikolas?" At Roland's confused look I said, "In–in the alley. He saved my life."

"I'd say. He ran over and fucking caught you!" Peter exclaimed. "You fell thirty feet and the guy caught you."

"I remember falling but that's it." How was it possible to catch a person falling from that height? How was I still alive after that?

"Probably better if you don't remember." Roland eyes took on a haunted look. "Seeing you fall like that... I never want to feel like that again."

"So he caught me and left?" I could not keep the tremble from my voice. He saved me from a fate worse than death then just... disappeared?

"Yeah, he went after the um..."

"Vampire. You can say it, Peter."

Roland and Peter exchanged looks and Roland's tone gentled like he was speaking to a child. "You've been through a lot and you're in shock right now. We should talk about this later."

"I know about vampires, Roland," I said wearily. I heard Peter's sharp intake of breath as Roland's mouth fell open. Another time I might have found their reactions comical. "Of course I know more about them now than I ever wanted to."

"How do you –" Roland broke off as a group of people left the club and came down the stairs. It felt surreal to see people laughing and carrying on after what I'd just experienced and I had to force down another wave of tears.

Roland jumped to his feet. "We should leave. We can talk in the car."

"Okay." I stood with him but I pulled back when I remembered there hadn't only been vampires in the alley. "Wait! What happened to the werewolves?"

He paled and looked around nervously. "Werewolves?"

"Don't tell me you didn't see them. Or hear them." My mind was still a bit fuzzy but I'd never forget those yellow eyes or that massive jaw. "I only saw one but I think there were more. For a minute there I was sure they got you. How could you not have seen them?"

"It was pretty crazy in there. I'm not sure what I saw," Peter replied slowly and right away I knew he was hiding something because his face grew flushed. He never could lie worth a damn.

"Oh come on, you were –"

"I really think we should get out of here," Roland cut in and I heard the urgency in his voice. "Vampires normally travel in groups. There could be more of them around here."

I pulled back. "Wait, how do you know that? How do you know about vampires at all?"

"We'll explain later but right now we have to get out of here in case there are more." Roland tugged on my arm.

The thought of encountering another Eli sent a tremor through me and I almost ran to his mother's blue Toyota Camry parked across the street. Roland waited until I had buckled myself into the front passenger seat before he went around to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. Through the windshield, I saw Peter pull out his cell phone and make a call. Peter's worried eyes met mine as he spoke into his phone and I wondered who he was talking to at this hour.

Peter hung up and climbed into the back seat. He looked troubled when he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the backs of our seats. "Dad said we need to bring Sara there before we take her home. He's pretty pissed at us."

"Take me where?" I asked apprehensively. "Why does your father want to see me?"

Peter and Roland shared a look before Peter answered. "To the farm. Dad will explain it all to you when we get there."

"Why don't you guys explain it to me now?" I unbuckled my seat belt and turned in my seat to face them. Neither of them could look me in the eye and that made me nervous. "Roland, what is going on?" I demanded.

Roland gave me a pleading look. "Please Sara, let's just get out of here and I promise we'll tell you everything."

"I don't understand. What do you mean...?" The question died on my lips when something brushed softly against my mind just as my eyes fell on the dark figure striding down the empty street toward us, light glinting off the knives strapped to his chest. I remembered how he had walked out of the dark and faced down the vampire without a trace of fear and a shiver went through me. I wasn't sure if it was pleasure at seeing my savior or fear; maybe a bit of both.

"Stay here," Roland ordered before he and Peter jumped out of the car to intercept Nikolas.

"Yeah, I don't think so _,_ " I muttered, already reaching for the door handle. After what I'd been through, I had no intention of staying put. And something told me that Nikolas had not come back to see my friends.

"... hunter doing around here?" Roland was saying to Nikolas as I approached them. "This is not Mohiri territory."

_Hunter? Mohiri?_ Eli had used the word _Mohiri_ too. There was obviously a whole lot more going on here than I knew about.

Nikolas looked past my friends at me. "Hello again. You seem to have recovered quickly from your adventure." He wore a wry smile but I thought I heard admiration in his voice.

He waved a hand at Roland and Peter. "So these are the friends you spoke of earlier," he said with less warmth. "It's no wonder you were attacked with nothing but a pair of pups to protect you."

Peter scowled. "Hey!"

I pushed between my friends to face Nikolas. Saving my life did not give him the right to talk to my friends that way. "It's not their fault. How could they have known something like this would happen?"

Nikolas's brows rose. "How indeed?"

"What do you mean? What's going on here?" I'd have to be blind and deaf not to notice the thinly veiled animosity between my friends and Nikolas. When no one answered I turned to Roland. "Roland? Do you know this guy?"

Behind me Nikolas made a sound that told me he did not like being referred to as 'this guy'. I ignored him and glared at Roland until he shook his head. "I've never seen him before."

"But you know something about him? What does Mohiri mean?"

"I am Mohiri," Nikolas said. All traces of mockery were gone from his expression.

I faced him again. "And you hunt vampires." That much was kind of obvious when you figured in his attire and the headless vampire in the alley, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"Among other things." He had the same expression he had worn on the deck like he was trying to figure me out. God, was it really only an hour ago?

"What about your friend from the club? Is he a hunter too? Why didn't he help you?"

"Chris scouted the area for more hostiles while I handled the situation here."

The _situation_. That's what he called battling two bloodthirsty vampires in a dark alley? I shook my head. "So what happened? Did you get the short straw or something?"

"Or something," he drawled as his gaze burned into mine. Warmth curled in my stomach and I dropped my eyes in confusion.

"What about the other vampire. Did you get him?" Peter asked.

"Chris is tracking him."

"He got away?" Roland's voice echoed my alarm. Eli had vowed to have me. Was he going to come after me again?

"He's injured so he won't get too far. Don't worry. He won't stick around here now that he's being hunted."

"We should put some distance between us and this place all the same," Roland said and I silently agreed with him.

"You live in Portland?" Nikolas asked and we shook our heads. "Good. The farther you get from the city the better. It's not safe here right now."

"No shit." Roland took my arm. "We need to get out of here."

We made it ten feet before it hit me. _I haven't even thanked him._ I spun back to face Nikolas and found him watching me with that same impassive expression. "Thank you... for what you did. If you hadn't come when you did..." My voice cracked. After the night I'd had, the last thing I needed was to start blubbering in front of a complete stranger.

Nikolas's expression softened for a moment and I saw a flicker of something raw and turbulent in his eyes. It pulled at me like it was an invisible cord attached to my chest and I almost started walking toward him. But in the next moment it was gone and I was left wondering if I had imagined it.

"Just doing my job."

"Oh...okay, well thanks anyway." His clipped words stung after what we'd just been through. It was the second time tonight he had suddenly gone cold toward me for no apparent reason. It shouldn't have bothered me because it wasn't like I'd ever see him again. But for some reason it did.

I didn't look back this time as I walked to the car. I got into the front seat again and laid my head wearily against the headrest while I waited for Roland to get in and start the engine. When I felt the car move I looked up but the street was empty.

"Oh God, I need to call Nate." Eli had shown up before I could call Nate when we left the club. "What am I going to tell him?"

"Well I don't think you want to tell him the truth," Roland said and I shook my head. He thought for a minute. "Just tell him we are going to hang at my house for a while. It's what we would have done anyway."

Nate, not surprisingly, was still up working on his book. I told him I was going to Roland's and he just said to not stay out too late. It weighed on me after I hung up how easily the lie had flowed from my lips. Nate was good to me and all I did was deceive him. But I honestly could not see any way to tell him the truth.

No one spoke as Roland drove us through downtown Portland. We passed a few bars with people lined up to get in, as taxis of more people arrived for a night of partying. It was Friday night and the night life was in full swing. At one stop light I watched a group of laughing young women crossing in front of us and I couldn't help but think how that had been me a few hours ago. Was there another Eli watching them right now, selecting one to meet the fate that could have been mine tonight?

_God, I'm nothing more than a statistic now_. I read stories online all the time about vampire sightings and people disappearing. I'd always felt bad for the unsuspecting victims who had no idea what was out there. Until tonight I believed I was smarter than them, more prepared because of what I knew. It was scary and humbling to know that I was just as vulnerable as everyone else.

As soon as we hit the interstate I heard Roland let out a sigh of relief. None of us were sorry to put Portland behind us. Roland fiddled with the radio until he found a classic rock station and an Eagles song filled the car. We all relaxed a little after that, but none of us seemed inclined to speak. I knew they were keeping something from me but my brain was too tired to process anything else right now.

A little more than an hour later, Roland took the exit ramp to New Hastings but instead of heading into town, he drove toward the rolling farmland on the outskirts called the Knolls. He and Peter lived in the Knolls and when we were kids I used to come out here all the time. I couldn't count the hours I'd spent on their Uncle Brendan's farm. As we passed the sign for the Knolls, it hit me that I hadn't been out here in almost a year. Had it really been that long? Up until two years ago, not a weekend passed when I wasn't with Roland and Peter. It was around that time that they began doing some 'male bonding' thing with their cousins, going off on their outdoor excursions. I was hurt at first that they excluded me from their fun until I started spending more time with Remy. Eventually, I stopped coming out here at all.

It was funny, now that I remembered it, that Roland had agreed to spend so much time with his cousins, especially Francis who was four years older than us. Roland and Francis had never gotten along and as far as I knew, they still didn't. Francis didn't like me and he never hid his feelings, which angered Roland. In fact, they had a huge fight – and I mean a bloody brawl – right before they started to hang out. We were at the farm when Francis came by and asked if I had a home to go to instead of always being underfoot. I would have told him where to go if Roland hadn't punched him first. Next thing I knew, the two of them were tearing through Brendan's cornfield, making a God awful racket like two wild dogs trying to kill each other. Then Peter's father Maxwell showed up and roared at them until they slunk out of the damaged corn like scolded puppies.

My mouth fell open. _No!_

_Do you smell that my friends?_

_It's no wonder you were attacked with nothing but a pair of pups to protect you._

A large furry body jumping to catch me...

"It can't be." My hand clutched the seatbelt that suddenly threatened to choke me.

Roland glanced over at me. "Sara?"

I would know, right? All the days, the hundreds – no thousands – of hours together, I would have seen some sign. It wasn't like I was ignorant of the real world. Sure I'd never seen a werewolf in person until tonight, but a person would never be able to hide the obvious drawbacks of lycanthropy from people close to them. That's why most werewolves are reclusive. Like vampires, they can't touch silver, and it would be pretty hard to explain how you got second degree burns from a silver fork. And werewolves are predators, they have to hunt. They can't live among humans unless they transform and hunt live animals at least once a month...

My hand flew up to cover my mouth. "Stop the car."

"What's wrong?" Roland asked in alarm.

"Stop the car!"

Peter leaned forward. "Dude, I think she's going to hurl. Pull over."

Roland let off the gas and eased the car over onto the shoulder in front of a dark field. As soon as the car stopped moving, I opened the door and ran to the fence where I bent over trying to suck air into my lungs. Behind me, I heard car doors open and leaves crunch as my friends came after me.

My best friends, the werewolves.

Roland spoke hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

The worry in his voice penetrated the ache in my chest. I took a deep breath but I couldn't face them. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"I was in shock back there but my head is clear now." I gripped the top fence rail and the rough wood dug into my palms. It was solid, more real than anything else tonight and I clung to it. The desperate words I had heard as I woke up came back to me. _I couldn't reach her._ "It was you on the fire escape, wasn't it Roland?"

Silence.

"Sara, I—" Roland began weakly.

"Shit," Peter muttered.

A breeze soughed through the trees and ruffled my hair, close by a small animal rooted through the underbrush. It was so dark and quiet here, and so calm compared to the city. I took a deep tremulous breath of the country air as I tried to think of what to say.

"Please don't be afraid," Roland said in a rush. "We would never hurt you."

I turned to face them. "I know that, I'm not afraid of you. I'm upset because I had to wait for a vampire to attack me to find out the truth. And even then you tried to cover it up."

I felt like a hypocrite as soon as the accusation spilled from my lips. I was yelling at my friends for keeping a secret from me when that's exactly what I had been doing as long as I'd known them. My not-so-righteous indignation drained out of me and I sagged against the fence, cold and tired.

Roland walked toward me slowly. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice heavy with regret. "We had to hide it from you. We were bound by our laws."

"And when my dad lays down a law, no one disobeys," Peter added earnestly. "We wanted to tell you but humans are not allowed to know about us."

"Your father?"

Peter grimaced. "He's the pack leader."

Of course. Who else but Peter's imposing father, Maxwell, would be alpha? "So both of your families, all your cousins, you're all werewolves?"

"Yes," Peter replied.

My breath came out in a whoosh.

"I know you're upset but please hear us out before you hate us," Roland implored.

"I could never hate you guys." My voice cracked. "It's just a lot to take in after..."

Roland reached for me but I put up a hand to keep him from trying to hug me again. Instead I took his warm hand in mine to let him know my feelings for him hadn't changed. He was still the same Roland I knew an hour ago, nothing would change that.

"Guys, my dad is waiting for us and I bet he's not alone. We should probably go."

"Pete's right." Roland squeezed my hand. "You up for this?"

I nodded and we walked back to the car. The mood during the rest of the drive was subdued. Roland and Peter kept shifting restlessly like they wanted to talk but couldn't. I had a ton of questions for them but it looked like I wasn't going to get any answers until we saw Maxwell.

For the first time in my life, I was nervous about visiting the farm and I felt a stab of apprehension as we turned onto a narrow lane and I saw the large white farmhouse looming ahead. Every window was lit up and I saw Maxwell's Jeep parked next to Brendan's big Chevy pickup.

I rubbed my forehead as Roland pulled up behind the pickup and shut off the engine. He reached across the console to lay a hand on my arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah, it's just been a long night. Guess we should get this over with."

Peter leaned forward. "It's not that bad... depending on how you look at it. I mean you just faced a couple of vampires. Can't be as bad as that, right?"

"Pete, you're not helping," Roland said sharply.

A shadow appeared in one of the windows and I knew they were waiting for us to come in. I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. Peter was right. I'd just survived a vampire attack. A pack of werewolves should be a piece of cake.

I followed Peter as he opened the front door and entered the house. The first person I saw in the archway to the living room was Maxwell. Tall and sinewy with a hardened face, graying reddish brown hair and beard, he watched us with a shuttered expression as we filed inside. As many years as I'd known Maxwell, I had never gotten used to his austere ways. Not that he had ever been mean to me. But he was the only person I'd ever met who could intimidate the heck out of me. Of course, knowing that he was the alpha of a werewolf pack put things in a bit more perspective. It took a tough person to fill that role.

Standing next to Maxwell was his younger brother Brendan. The two men were matched in height and had similar features but Brendan was stockier with receding hair and a rounder face that gave him a less severe appearance than his brother. The serious, contemplative look he gave us made me nervous and I almost turned and ran back out the door. I didn't know if I could cope with another confrontation tonight.

Maxwell opened his mouth to speak but a woman's voice cut him off. Roland's mother, Judith, was tall and slender but still inches shorter than her son. They had the same dark brown hair and blue eyes, though at forty-five Judith's hair was speckled with grey. I'd never met Roland's father because he died when Roland was a baby but I always figured my friend had inherited his father's size. He sure as hell didn't get it from his mother.

"Not now, Max," Judith said in a voice that brooked no argument. "Give the girl a few minutes." She took my arm and led me to the stairs, calling over her shoulder, "Roland, go put the kettle on."

I wasn't used to having someone coddle and fuss over me, but it felt kind of nice to let Judith take charge. She bustled me up the stairs to the bathroom and told me to shower while she went to get me some fresh clothes.

After Judith closed the door behind her, I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped at the disheveled girl staring back with tangled hair, tearstained cheeks and a dirty ripped shirt that was spotted with dried blood. It was like looking at a stranger.

I tilted my head to the side to see the four small claw marks on the left side of my throat. My fingers went to my throat to touch the marks and a shudder passed through me as I remembered Eli's hands on me. My stomach turned over suddenly and I retched violently in the toilet as hot tears streamed down my face.

I would have curled up in a ball right there on the floor if Judith hadn't knocked softly on the door and roused me. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Yes," I called weakly. I flushed the toilet and grabbed some tissue to blow my nose. "I'm just getting in the shower." I tore off my dirty clothes and left them in a pile on the floor then slipped under a blissfully hot stream of water. I stood there for a good five minutes letting the water cascade over me, soothing my aches and pains. It did little for the hurt inside me but that one would need some time. The water washed away a few more tears before I finally turned it off and stepped out.

A clean pair of jeans and a soft red sweater had been left on the vanity along with a steaming cup of tea that smelled like chamomile and peppermint. I sipped the tea gratefully while I dried myself and got dressed. Brendan's daughter Lydia was away at college and I knew these must be some of her things because I had to roll up the legs and sleeves.

I toweled-dried my hair and combed out the tangles before I headed downstairs with the empty cup in my hand. At the bottom of the stairs, I heard Maxwell's raised voice coming from the kitchen. "... can't believe you took her to a club in Portland with everything going on," he said harshly. "And how could you be so careless? Where was your training?"

"But you said yourself this week that they had moved on," Roland protested.

"And we've been to the Attic loads of times. No one's ever messed with us," Peter chimed in. "We figured –"

"Of course no one messed with you!" Maxwell sounded even angrier if that was possible. "So you two idiots not only endangered Sara, you exposed us to a human."

"But Dad she –"

"I won't tell anyone about you."

All conversation stopped when I walked into the kitchen. Judith sat at the table with Maxwell and Brendan and Roland leaned against the refrigerator. Peter stood by the back door looking liked he wanted a quick escape from his father's wrath. I walked over to the sink, rinsed out the cup and laid it in the dish rack. Then I steeled myself and turned to face the room, aware that every pair of eyes in the room was watching me.

Judith pushed out the chair next to her. "Sara, why don't you sit and we'll talk. You must be pretty confused right now."

"I'd rather stand if that's okay." I was amazed at how steady my voice sounded.

Maxwell cleared his throat but Judith laid a hand on his arm. She nodded at me and gave me an understanding smile. "We know you've been through a lot tonight so take all the time you need."

I didn't need time, I needed answers. Surprisingly, the first question on my lips was not the one I'd intended to ask. "Why did you let us become friends? Weren't you afraid that I'd find out what you were, spending so much time here?"

It was Maxwell who answered. "There were some in the pack who thought it a bad idea, but if we are to live among humans we can't shut ourselves off from people. And we have ways of concealing what we are."

Apparently. Until tonight, I hadn't the slightest clue that my friends were anything but human. I wondered about the people who'd been against my friendship with Roland and Peter and I knew I could name at least one of them. Francis had never hidden his dislike for me. Now I knew why.

"I know you guys go hunting once a month but Roland and Peter have only been doing that for a few years. Why didn't they go when they were younger?"

Maxwell's eyebrows shot up and he sent a scorching look at Roland and Peter. Peter raised his hands in defense. "We didn't tell her anything, I swear."

"It wasn't them. I know werewolves have to hunt or... bad things can happen." I glanced around at the faces showing various degrees of surprise.

"See, I told you. She _knows_ things," Peter piped in.

"How do you know this?" Maxwell asked.

"I –" How much could I tell them without giving away secrets I was not ready to share? I thought about what I was going to say before I continued. "I've seen things and I talk to people online." At Maxwell's look of disapproval, I said, "It's mostly message boards but I do chat with some people. I've been doing it for a long time. I'm not sure if you guys know this but there are a lot of people, humans, who know about the real world. We just don't go around telling everyone about it. Who would believe us, right?"

Maxwell's scowl softened. "You said you've seen things. What kind of things?"

_Oh you know: vampires, trolls, elementals._ "Um... imps."

"Imps?" Judith repeated.

Her startled expression was so funny that I almost laughed for the first time since the attack. "Our building is infested with them."

Roland wrinkled his nose. "Ugh! You know there is a remedy for that. Pete and me can take care of them for you."

I shook my head. "I know they're a bit of a nuisance and no one likes them, but they're not so bad once you get used to them. They love blueberry muffins so I leave them a few treats every now and then and they leave my stuff alone. They're great at catching rats too."

Brendan coughed into his hand.

Peter's brows drew together. "I've never heard of imps infesting a human home. Is that normal, Uncle Brendan?"

Brendan shook his head. "No, but then how many human homes have you checked for imps? Guess it had to happen eventually with towns and cities growing and all."

Maxwell looked pensive. "You say you've known about our world for a long time. How long, exactly?"

My fingers gripped the edge of the counter behind my back. The only person I'd ever told this to was Remy but there was something about my fierce friend that made it easy to tell him my troubles. Telling people who were like family to me was a different matter.

"I've known ever since my dad was killed and I saw... what they did to him." I swallowed hard. "No human could have done that no matter what the police said. It took me a few years to figure it out."

"Vampire," Peter said and the word hung in the air between us.

Roland straightened. "Jesus, Sara. I had no idea."

"No one did." I toyed with the hem of my borrowed sweater. "It's not like I could tell Nate or the police. Who would believe it?"

Maxwell rubbed his fingers through his beard. "We suspected. We have friends on the Portland PD so we know there were several suspicious deaths around that time. You were so young, I had no idea you saw it or that you knew the truth."

A chair scraped the floor and I found myself in Judith's warm embrace. "You brave girl. I can't believe you had to deal with this alone all these years."

I had not been hugged so much since before my father died. I wanted to pull away but that seemed rude somehow so I let her hold me.

She stepped back and cleared her throat. "I think I need some tea. Anyone else?"

I moved aside so she could fill the kettle. "Is that true that werewolves hunt vampires?" I asked Maxwell who nodded.

"I can't believe I never caught on to what you are." All the days I'd spent out here, all the sleepovers with Peter and Roland and dinners with the family and I had never seen a single clue that they were different in any way. I certainly never would have pegged them as vampire hunters.

Maxwell smiled for the first time. "We're very good at keeping our secrets. I'd be very put out if we couldn't hide them from one little girl."

Roland snorted and his uncle shot him a dark look. "You won't find it as funny when you are running drills for the next month."

Roland's face fell and I almost laughed at his pitiful expression. To save him from Maxwell's glare, I said, "So is that how you know that guy, Nikolas? What is his story anyway?"

"The Mohiri are a warrior race of vampire hunters who have been around probably as long as there have been vampires. They are very secretive and they hardly ever communicate with other hunters though our people cross paths with them sometimes. We don't care for them and they don't like us, but we're on the same side so they leave us alone."

"Why don't you like each other?"

Brendan had been quiet since I came downstairs and he spoke up now. "The Mohiri don't only hunt vampires. They hunt anything that is a threat to humans. A long time ago, our kind was not as... civilized as we are now so they were hunted too. We changed over time but every now and then there is an incident. The Mohiri don't trust us and there are still some hard feelings among werewolves for them."

The kettle began to whistle and Judith lifted it from the burner and poured hot water over teabags in two mugs. The scent of jasmine wafted toward me as she slid one of the mugs across the counter to me then carried her own cup to the table. I let mine steep for a minute before taking a sip. I loved Judith's teas; she grew and dried the plants herself and stuffed the dried leaves in little mesh bags she bought at an Asian market in Portland. She always seemed to know the best tea for a situation.

"You didn't answer my question about why Roland and Peter didn't start hunting until a few years ago," I reminded Maxwell.

"We don't get the urge to hunt until sometime after puberty starts," he explained. "It's different for everyone."

"Yeah and we also have to train... a lot," Peter added.

I looked at my friends, still finding it hard to believe they could become the terrifying creature I saw tonight. "Have you ever hunted vampires?"

Roland shook his head. "Not until we're eighteen." A satisfied gleam entered his eyes. "Not many of us get to tangle with one before our first vampire hunt."

Maxwell shot him a withering look. "It's nothing for you to crow over. If that Mohiri hadn't been there we might be having a different conversation right now."

The kitchen grew quiet as the weight of Maxwell's words hit us. If Nikolas had not shown up when he did, Eli would have taken me away before Roland and Peter knew I was in any danger. No one would ever have known what had happened to me, just like those other missing girls. And Eli had left no doubt about the horrors he planned for me in the last hours of my life.

Pain and guilt crossed my friends' faces. I couldn't tell them the things Eli had promised to do to me or how close I had come to never seeing them again. They already blamed themselves; I would not add to it. And if there was one thing I was good at, it was keeping secrets.

"Sara, you seem to be handling this well, all things considered," Judith observed.

I blew on my tea. "You didn't see me two hours ago."

Maxwell turned to Brendan. "We'll have to call a meeting in the morning. It looks like we're not done in Portland after all."

Brendan nodded grimly. "Wish we knew what's keeping the suckers there. They're brazen bastards to go after a girl with two pack members and a couple of hunters nearby."

I thought about Eli's determination to have me even at risk to his own life. Could he really have become obsessed just because I rejected his advances and I could not be compelled? That raised another question: why couldn't he compel me? Did it have something to do with my power? Maybe there wasn't enough room in my head for the vampire with the beast already lurking there.

"Whatever their reason, I won't tolerate them in my territory any longer. We'll add more patrols here around town and send a team to go over every inch of the city. They'll leave or die." Maxwell's voice rumbled with authority unlike anything I'd ever heard from him and I shivered in spite of the cup of hot tea in my hands. I stole a glance at him, expecting to see glowing amber eyes but his face was unchanged.

"I think this discussion can wait until tomorrow," Judith said firmly, obviously not in the least intimidated by her alpha brother. "Sara, why don't you stay at our place tonight? You still look too shaken up to face Nate."

I almost said no to her offer because all I wanted was my own room and my own bed. But she was right about me not being ready to see Nate. One look at him and I'd probably dissolve in tears and there would be no hiding it from him then.

I looked over at Roland who nodded, his eyes hopeful. I could tell he was afraid tonight had changed how I felt about them and I wanted to reassure him that nothing would ever come between us.

"I'd like that, thanks." I told Judith. Roland smiled.

Judith stood and went to rinse her cup. She took mine and washed it too. "Alright, I think it's time we head home and let you get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight." I knew that as soon as I closed my eyes I'd see Eli's face.

"Then we'll keep each other company," Roland said, following us.

Peter caught up to us. "Me too."

Judith turned around to confront them. "This is not a slumber party. Sara's been through a lot and she doesn't need you two keeping her up all night, no matter what she says."

"You boys can stay here tonight if you want," Brendan offered and Roland's smile faltered. It wasn't hard to read his emotions because I was sure the three of us felt the same thing. After going through such an ordeal together, none of us wanted to be separated from each other right now.

"I'd feel better if they came with us," I said, unable to keep the slight quiver out of my voice. Judith gave me a concerned look and I hoped she wasn't going to hug me again because I was afraid I might get weepy this time. I'd cried enough tonight.

Judith smiled in understanding and I thought for the thousandth time how lucky Roland was to have her for a mom. "Okay. Roland you can drive."

Roland reached out and squeezed my hand as we headed for the door. " _Later,"_ he mouthed to me, tilting his head towards his mother. I gave him a small nod back. When we used to have sleepovers, he'd wait until his mother went to bed then come get me. All we did was hang out in his room and watch movies or talk until one of us started to fall asleep, but it was always the best part of my stay.

I suddenly longed for those days when the monsters were still faceless things I'd only heard about. Thanks to Eli, I'd probably never feel safe again and I fervently hoped that Nikolas and his friend had tracked the vampire down and sent him straight to hell where he belonged.

# Chapter 6

"Remy, please stop glaring at me like that. You're scarier than the vampires when you make that face."

"This not funny," he scolded, pacing the mouth of the small cave we had claimed as ours years ago. His tone was angry but I could see the worry in his eyes. "You almost die. Why you not tell me you going to city?"

I turned away from him to stare at the waves crashing against the rocks below. We both knew why I hadn't told him. He would have fussed and made me promise not to go and it's hard to say no to a troll when he sets his mind to something.

Trolls don't fear vampires or much else for that matter, but Remy worried about me a lot. I had some amazing supe friends and the power to heal things, but I was still just a human. I had never felt more mortal than when I thought I was going to die in that alley.

I'd been tempted to not tell Remy what happened because I knew exactly how he would react. I forgot that my troll friend had the nose of a bloodhound and he smelled the vampire on me as soon as he got within a few feet of me. The knowledge that after three days, I still carried any scent of that monster made me want to jump into the ocean and scrub it away.

But the ocean couldn't clean the images from my mind or the memory of those cold claws pressed against my throat. I saw them whenever I closed my eyes and at least once a night I woke in a cold sweat, still seeing Eli's snarling face and hearing his parting words, _I will have you!_

Other times I dreamed of falling, only to be caught by a dark haired man with granite eyes. He never smiled and his eyes were cold but I felt safe in his arms. I woke from those dreams feeling oddly bereft, but they were infinitely better than the nightmares.

The hardest part was hiding everything from Nate. I stayed upstairs most of the weekend, coming down to eat and do my usual housework chores. I felt Nate's questioning stares when we ate together but thankfully he didn't bring it up. Roland texted me a few times to see if I wanted to do something but I just wanted to hide in my room and lick my wounds. The animals seemed to sense my distress and made it their mission to keep me company. The cat, who I'd named Oscar, took every opportunity to snuggle up next to me, purring like a little motor boat. Daisy left Nate alone and spent the weekend sleeping at the foot of my bed. Even the imps were oddly subdued. Usually I could hear them shuffling behind the walls, but for the last two days they had been quiet except for an occasional chirrup.

After so much time alone with my thoughts, I had looked forward to getting back to school today but I found it almost impossible to focus on classes. School seemed trivial compared to what I'd been through and I didn't feel like the same person who had walked out of school on Friday. How do you go to back to everyday life after experiencing something so life altering?

"You know city not safe. Best to stay here with uncle."

Remy hated the idea of me leaving New Hastings, but someday I'd have to if I ever wanted to go to college or see the world. Or find the truth about my father.

"I had to go. If there's a chance of learning more about my dad, I have to take it." I still didn't know why NightWatcher hadn't shown up at the Attic and he hadn't been online since then either. Wulfman said it didn't sound like his friend and he'd see what he could find out. I did tell Wulfman that two vampires had been seen at the Attic so he could warn others but I asked him not to quote me as his source. His post had shown up last night and caused quite the stir. PixieGirl was not mentioned.

"Knowledge not bring father back. It not make you less sad."

I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the waves. "I need to know, Remy. He was everything to me." I looked up at him. "What would you do if it had been your mother or father?"

Remy came over to sit beside me, his longer legs dangling beside mine. "I not lose anyone yet so I not know how you feel," he admitted. "It different with us. Humans alone but trolls always stay together. If one killed, all trolls rise up and find killer. Protect our own."

The thought of a horde of angry trolls made me quail inside. There is a good reason why everyone fears trolls. It all started about five hundred years ago. Trolls and vampires hated each other because trolls mined silver and silver can kill vampires. One day a vampire hunting party came upon four troll children unprotected in the woods and they slaughtered all but one who escaped. The trolls went on a bloody rampage and literally destroyed every vampire within two hundred miles. Since then no vampire will mess with a troll.

"Promise you not go back to city," he implored.

I watched a gull dive toward the water and rise up with a wriggling fish in its beak. "You know I can't promise I won't ever leave here. But I will promise to stay away from Portland for a while. The werewolves are hunting the vampires now and they said the city will be safe again soon."

Remy nodded. "Werewolves not as strong as trolls but they good hunters. Good you have werewolf friends."

"Oh yeah, about that." I faced him. "Why didn't you ever tell me? And don't say you didn't know because you must have smelled them on me."

"Not my place to tell," he said unapologetically. "Trolls respect other Peoples. Other Peoples respect trolls."

"Does that mean my friends know about you?"

"No. Werewolves know trolls live here but keep distance." He gave me a shark grin. "You braver than pack."

I laughed and he joined in. I wondered how Roland and Peter would react if they ever came face-to-face with a troll. What would they say if they knew about me and Remy? Maybe someday I could bring them all together and find out. That would be something to see.

I glanced at my watch and got to my feet. "I'd better head home. It's my turn to make dinner." Which meant we were having tacos. I could make three meals well: tacos, spaghetti and hamburgers. It was a good thing Nate liked to cook or it would have been ground beef every night.

Remy stood and patted his shoulder. I climbed on his back and wrapped my arms around his neck. The cave was halfway down the face of a one hundred foot cliff and partially obscured by a couple of sturdy little trees growing out of a crevice in the rock. You could climb down to it if you were brave enough and knew where all the hand holds were. But the fastest way was on the back of a very strong troll. Remy started bringing me here when we first met and it was one of our favorite hangouts because no one could see us here. This was also the ideal place to hide the troll bile because it was too dangerous to keep it at my place. At that moment we had three small vials tucked away in a hidden crevice at the back of the cave. Even if someone managed to stumble on the cave, they would not find the bile.

My stomach did a little flip when Remy grabbed a jutting rock and swung us out over the boiling waves. It always felt like this would be the time he lost his grip and sent us falling to our deaths. But he quickly scaled the cliff, never faltering once.

At the top, I slid off his back and picked up my bike helmet which I'd tucked under a lone stunted pine tree. We crossed a small meadow and entered the woods to start the short trek to where I'd hidden my bike. Neither of us needed a trail to find our way to the road. Remy and I had explored every inch of the woods and cliffs south of town and we probably knew the area better than anyone.

"Sara! Sara!" a high voice thrilled as we trekked through the woods. I stopped and peered through the trees because I knew that voice. Suddenly a small body landed on my back and a pair of thin arms slid around my neck.

I reached up to swing the little troll around into a hug. "Hey Minka, what are you doing out here alone?" The trolls lived in a network of underground caverns somewhere south of here and they did not allow their young ones to go far from the clan. That rule did not contain some of the more adventurous young trolls like Minka. Remy had been just like her at that age.

Remy's little cousin gave me a sweet smile that would one day make grown men quiver with fear. "I not alone. You here."

"Minka, you not allowed out here," Remy scolded. "You go home now."

Her lip quivered and tears welled in her round eyes. "Not yet Remy please. Sara fix Nog first."

I gave Remy a questioning look. "What's a nog?"

He made a face that suggested he didn't care much for it, whatever it was. "Nog is his name. He one of the People."

_One of the People?_ Curiosity overcame me. "If he's hurt we should help him, shouldn't we?"

Remy sighed heavily and nodded. "Show us," he said to his cousin.

Minka slid down from my arms and ran ahead of us. "This way!" she cried. "Not far."

It was only a few minutes before we heard voices up ahead. We came to a small clearing where we found Minka's brother Haba and their cousins Creah and Sinah. The three little trolls were gathered around someone huddled on the ground.

"I got Sara!" Minka yelled happily and the others cheered and ran over to greet me. I was pretty sure the elders would not be happy to know the youngsters were this familiar with me.

Strong little hands grabbed mine and pulled me forward. "You fix Nog?" Sinah asked.

I smiled down at him. "I'll try."

"Oh!" I stared at their friend, Nog. The creature on the ground was about two feet tall with walnut colored skin and wild yellow hair that came to his shoulders. His face was long with owlish eyes, a long nose and a mouth that was turned down either a scowl or in pain, I couldn't tell. On either side of his head, a pointed ear stuck straight out. He wore a crude vest and short pants made of some kind of animal hide.

He was not happy to see me. As soon as I approached him he started thrashing and making a screeching sound that hurt my ears. I backed up a few feet into Remy.

"Remy, is that what I think it is?" I turned to him. "Is that a gobel?"

Remy nodded and I held back a gasp. Gobels – or goblins as they are commonly called – were rumored to have died out a long time ago. Horrid creatures, they stole, liked to torment children and were known to eat any small animal they could catch, especially cats.

"I thought there were none left," I said over the screeching.

Remy shrugged. "Not all gone. Nog live here many years. He stay away from most other People. They not like him."

I rubbed my ears. "Gee, I wonder why. Is his name really Nog?" It seemed more fitting for a Disney character than a real life goblin.

"His real name too long to say in human tongue."

"Oh. Nog it is then."

Remy stepped past me and spoke to the goblin in what I assumed was Nog's language. He gestured toward the goblin's leg and then pointed at me, which only set the creature off again. Then Remy raised his voice, something I rarely heard him do, and spoke very forcefully. Watching the goblin suddenly calm down and glower at me sullenly, I was reminded of how Remy had talked to Fren that day in the old house. Very few could stand up to a determined troll.

"Come," Remy said. I followed him cautiously, not wanting to upset Nog again. Remy pointed at the goblin's leg and I saw blood around his calf. "He caught in trap. Little ones free him but his leg hurt."

I gave Nog what I hoped was a comforting smile and knelt beside his legs. "I'll need to touch his leg."

Remy spoke to the goblin again and then said "Fix now."

I reached out tentatively and pulled the pants leg up over the wounded leg. The cut wasn't as bad as I had expected but there was a lot of swelling and I suspected the bone was broken. When I laid a hand gently across the swelling, Nog made a growling sound and bared his teeth at me. _Of course he had to have a mouthful of needle sharp teeth._

"Is he going to bite me?"

"No," was Remy's response. I trusted him so I set to healing the goblin's leg. The heat filled my hands and quickly found the fractured bone. I heard the creature gasp as my power did its work, fusing the bone together until it was whole again. Soon after, the swelling shrunk and the last of the heat seeped out of my hands.

I sank back on my heels. "All fixed," I said and the younger trolls cheered.

"I knew you fix him," Minka said, running over to give me a rib-crushing hug.

Remy spoke to Nog and the goblin got to his feet slowly, testing out the leg. He peered at me for a long moment then said something to me that I could not understand. I looked to Remy for help.

"He say you smell bad and now he smell bad like you for days."

"Not big on gratitude, is he?" I retorted and Remy grinned. I turned back to the goblin who had already started walking away. "Next time you get caught in a trap I hope a bear eats you," I called after him.

"Gobels not know how to say thank you," Remy explained. "This just their way."

I let him pull me to my feet. "It's no wonder they almost went extinct."

Remy chuckled. He ordered his little cousins to go home then we resumed our walk to my bike. We took our time so I could regain my energy. Strangely, I didn't feel as drained as I normally did after mending a broken bone.

"So what is Nog's story? Does he have family here?"

"No family. He like to live alone. Gobels not like other People much."

"He seemed friendly enough with your cousins," I said as we reached my bike where I'd hidden it behind some bushes.

Remy made a snorting sound. "Little ones think he funny. When they grow older they not like him so much."

"Yeah, everything looks different when you grow up." I strapped on my helmet and grabbed the bike's handlebars to stand it up. "By the way, I've been keeping an ear out and no one's mentioned the bile. I think we're safe. But we should probably lay low for a while."

"Okay. We wait some time before we make more trade."

"We'll have to wait a few months, maybe longer" I reminded him. For someone wise in so many ways, Remy knew very little about technology or the resourcefulness of humans. He did not understand that someone determined enough could track trade patterns in this area. I'd used the bile twice as currency and I always tried to be as vigilant as possible, trading only with Malloy. But there was no telling who was paying attention out there.

"You feel strong to ride?"

I wheeled my bike up to the road. "I'm fine. It's only a few miles."

The road was little more than a gravel path with grass pushing up in the center. A long time ago there used to be an old silver mine down this way but that closed up back in the forties. Now the only vehicles that came down here were the occasional ATV or dirt bike. There were a lot better trails out past the Knolls and up near the old lighthouse.

It was a rough ride until I reached the main road. I thought for the hundredth time that I really needed to get my license. Nate had a Honda Element that fit his wheelchair and he'd probably let me borrow it sometimes if I could drive. Roland was always offering to teach me, maybe it was time to take him up on it.

Once I hit the main road I moved to the shoulder to avoid the evening traffic. Halfway home a sleek black Ducati roared past me and the wind almost knocked me sideways. "Watch it!" I yelled at him as if he could hear me. For a moment, he started to slow down and all I could think was _Oh crap!_ But he apparently changed his mind and kept going. Hanging around Jed's I'd seen a lot of bikers and most of them were decent guys, but there were always a few troublemakers. The way my luck was going lately, I didn't want to push it.

Needless to say, I was taken off guard when I reached the waterfront and saw a black Ducati sitting in front of the coffee shop next door to our building. It could have been a coincidence – there are lots of black motorcycles – but something told me that wasn't the case. I considered cutting between the buildings to Market Street and going the long way around to our building, but I dismissed that idea. Eli had made me suspicious of strangers but I wasn't a coward and I would not start acting like one now.

I changed my mind when I spotted the tall figure leaning casually against the side of the coffee shop. Wearing jeans and a black leather jacket over a grey t-shirt, Nikolas appeared to be waiting for someone – and I didn't need three guesses to figure out whom.

As I drew near to him, I felt the stirring in the back of my mind, the same faint tickle of recognition I'd experienced the moment we met. My stomach fluttered as I remembered our first encounter in the club and then how he had faced down two vampires to save me. But then I remembered his strange behavior. One minute he'd looked at me with something akin to hostility and the next he was swooping in to save my life. Then he was back to being cold and distant again. Which Nikolas was waiting for me now? More importantly, what did he want?

I was tempted to ride past him but curiosity got the better of me. "How did you find me?" I asked brusquely. After the way we'd parted the other night, I didn't see any need for niceties.

The corners of his mouth turned upward and amusement flashed in his grey eyes. "What, no hello after everything we've been through together?"

He could turn that charm on someone else because it was wasted on me. "Hello. How did you find me?"

If he was bothered by my less than friendly greeting, he didn't show it. "I tracked your friend's license plate."

I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or disturbed; maybe a bit of both. "Why?" He hadn't exactly left on a friendly note the other night and I could not think of any reason for him to come looking for me. He didn't strike me as a guy who made house calls.

My question seemed to make him pause for a moment before he pushed away from the building. "We need to talk."

His tone had lost some of its teasing and I instantly felt uneasy. I tightened my grip on the handlebars. "Talk about what?"

Nikolas raised an eyebrow. "You look ready to flee. I don't bite, you know."

"Yeah, that's what I thought about the other fellow," I replied dryly and he surprised me by chuckling. His face lost its hardness and his sensual smile made my stomach flutter before I gave myself a mental shake.

"You sound like you are well recovered at least." His eyes met mine unwaveringly. "I'm not here to harm you and we really do need to talk."

"What could we have to talk about? I don't even know your last name."

"It's Danshov and your last name is Grey. Now that we are acquainted, can we talk?"

He sounded sincere and we were out in the open so I didn't think I was in any real danger. Plus he _had_ saved my life. I should hear what he had to say; I owed him that much at least. "Okay."

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

I thought for a moment. "We can go down to the wharves. They're usually pretty empty this time of day."

"That will work."

I told him I'd be back in a minute then I wheeled my bike around the corner of our building and hid it behind Nate's car. When I came back he was standing in front of his motorcycle waiting for me. Neither of us spoke as we started walking toward the wharves. I wondered if he felt as awkward as I did. No, guys like him probably never feel uncomfortable. His every movement emanated confidence and he had the added advantage of size. I'm five-five and I felt dwarfed by him as we walked side-by-side.

He was silent until we passed a stack of lobster traps and began strolling along one of the deserted wharves. "How long have you been friends with the werewolves?" he asked.

The question confused me until I remembered what Maxwell had said about the werewolves and the Mohiri disliking each other. If Nikolas had a problem with my friendship with Roland and Peter he would just have to get over it. "A long time."

"And your parents don't mind?"

"It's just me and my uncle and he likes my friends but he doesn't know what they are. He doesn't know about any of this," I said pointedly.

He nodded. "Do you mind if I ask about your parents? How did you come to live with your uncle?"

"My parents are gone. My mother left when I was two so I don't remember her. My dad died when I was eight." I swallowed the familiar lump and stared straight ahead. "Uncle Nate is his brother."

"Do you know your mother's maiden name?"

I stopped walking and looked at him. "Why do you want to know about my parents? What do they have to do with anything?"

His face gave nothing away. "Answer my question and I will answer yours."

I turned away in a huff and resumed walking. "Her name was Madeline. I think her maiden name was Cross or something like that. She abandoned us. I don't really care who she was."

It took me a few seconds to realize Nikolas was not beside me. I turned to look back at him and saw an odd expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Madeline Croix? That was her name?"

"It could be. I'm not sure. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He stared out at the water. "I just haven't heard that name in a while. If she is the Madeline I knew, it explains a lot to me."

"Well it doesn't tell me anything so why don't you fill me in? You said you would answer my question if I answered yours."

He gave me a small smile as he walked toward me. "I will." We were almost at the end of the wharf where two large lobster boats were moored. Nikolas pointed at some overturned crates. "Let's sit. This is a good place to talk."

I sat on one of the crates. Nikolas took the other and turned it so he was facing me. This close, his eyes were like liquid mercury and I tried to ignore the funny twisting in my gut.

"You didn't know who the Mohiri were before the other night. How much do you know about us now?"

I lifted a shoulder. "I know you guys are vampire hunters and you and the werewolves don't like each other. That's pretty much it."

"I imagine your friends don't talk about us any more that we do about them. Would you like to know more about the Mohiri?"

"Yes." I had no idea why he was telling me this but I was curious about him and his whole race.

My response seemed to please him because he smiled. "You seem very familiar with our world but how much do you know about demons?"

"Nothing, except to stay as far away from them as possible."

"What if I told you there are thousands of types of demons and that vampires are one of them?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'd ask you if you are deliberately trying to scare the hell out of me."

He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs. His eyes held mine with the same intensity I'd felt when we first met. "I am not here to frighten you."

I tore my gaze from his and looked down at my hands. _Too late._

"Do you still want to hear about the Mohiri?"

I looked at him again, glad that whatever I'd seen in his eyes a minute ago was gone. "Go ahead."

"You sure?"

I gave him an encouraging smile. "Yes. I want to hear this."

He looked out at the bay. "It all started two millennia ago when demons learned how to leave their dimension and walk the earth in corporeal form. Most of them were lesser demons and they were dangerous but not a major threat to humanity. But then a middle demon called a Vamhir appeared. It took a human host and gave the human immortality... and the thirst for human blood."

"The first vampire," I whispered, feeling a mixture of revulsion and fascination.

Nikolas nodded. "The demon soon learned how to make more like him and before long there were thousands of vampires. The earth's population was small back then and ancient civilizations were virtually defenseless against the vampires' strength and blood lust. If left unchecked, the vampires would eventually overrun the earth and wipe out humanity. So the archangel Michael came to earth to create a race of warriors to destroy the vampires. He took a middle demon called a Mori and put it inside a human male and had the male impregnate fifty human women. Their offspring were half human/half demon and they had the speed, strength and agility to hunt and kill vampires. They were the first Mohiri."

He stopped and looked at me waiting for my reaction. But I was still trying to absorb the part about a demon impregnating women without squirming off my seat. It finally hit me what he was saying and I couldn't help the incredulous look I gave him.

"The Mohiri are demons?"

"Half demon," he corrected me. "Each of us is born with a Mori demon in us."

I felt the color drain from my face. "You mean you live with a demon inside you like... like a parasite?"

"Exactly like that," he said as if it was no big deal. "We give the Mori life and in return it gives us the ability to do what we were created to do. It is a symbiotic relationship that benefits us both."

It was too much. I got up and walked to the edge of the wharf, struggling to grasp what he was telling me. Demon parasites? I peered down at the water and I could just make out a few tomcods and a sculpin below the surface. The water looked deceptively shallow here but I knew it was over fifteen feet deep at this end of the wharf. Nothing in this world was what it appeared to be.

"You're not planning on jumping are you?" There was amusement in his voice but also something that sounded like concern.

I sucked in a fortifying breath and faced him. He was still sitting on the crate watching me expectantly. What was I was supposed to say to him? Everything I'd ever heard or read had taught me to fear demons and keep my distance from them. Now Nikolas was telling me that he was a half demon warrior who went around protecting humans by killing other demons. I didn't know how much more weirdness I could handle.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Somehow I didn't think he had tracked me down just to educate me on demons.

He stood and walked toward me, stopping a few feet away. "Because you need to hear it."

"Why? What does this have to do with me? Or my parents?"

Nikolas's face grew more serious. "I'll get to them in a minute. First, tell me, haven't you wondered why you're different from everyone else you know?"

"D-different?" How could he possibly know about that? "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

"Listen I –"

His gaze captured mine again, his eyes turning a deep charcoal grey. Before I could contemplate how a person's eyes could have so many different hues, I felt the softest brush against my mind. Some unseen force pushed gently against my walls, testing them, and in the recesses of my mind the beast stirred in response. Panic flared in me and I reached for my power, suddenly feeling like I was locked in a battle of wills. The comforting strength of my power coursed through me and slammed against the foreign presence, flinging it away from me. Gasping, I whirled away from him. _What was that?_ I'd never felt so exposed and vulnerable in my life and it terrified me.

"Sara?"

_I can't do this._ I wasn't sure what _this_ was but I suddenly knew I didn't want to hear anything else he had to say. "I have to go," I uttered, moving to go around him.

"Running away won't change anything, Sara."

I didn't answer, just kept walking.

"I didn't take you for a coward."

His taunt brought me to a halt but I didn't turn around. "You don't know anything about me."

"I think we both know that's not true."

I spun back to him because there _was_ one thing I wanted to know. "What about my parents?" I demanded. "Did you know them?"

"Not your father. But I knew Madeline Croix for many years."

I shook my head. "You're only a few years older than me."

His face was unreadable. "I'm older than I look."

"So what are you trying to tell me?" I asked weakly. "How do you know Madeline?"

There was no softness in his voice, only truth. "I watched her grow up."

I stared at him mutely and his words hung in the air between us. No, it wasn't possible. Madeline Croix was a terrible wife and mother but she was not... one of them. Because if she was then that would make me...

# Chapter 7

"No!" I spun away from him and this time I did not stop when he called my name. I bolted for the waterfront, afraid to hear whatever he started to say next. It wasn't true – it couldn't be true. There had to be more than one woman named Madeline Croix and for Nikolas to make such an assertion after our one encounter was insane.

He appeared in front of me, feet apart, blocking my only means of escape and I skidded to a stop inches from him. My hands flew up to brace me from slamming into his hard chest.

"How –?" I panted.

"Demon speed, remember."

I winced and backed away. "Someone could have seen you."

He gave a small shrug. "You and I both know that people see only what they want to see and believe what they want to believe." He took a step toward me, forcing me to take another step back. "But just because a person chooses to not believe something, that doesn't mean it's not real."

I hugged my arms to my chest. "How can you be so sure?" I asked, hearing the desperation in my voice. "There must be more than one Madeline Croix."

Nikolas's sigh sounded almost regretful. "I was sure of what you are before I heard her name. As soon as I saw you the other night, I knew." He averted his gaze as if he knew I would not like his next words. "My Mori recognized yours."

The air left my body. "What?"

"Mori can sense each other when they are near. It is how one Mohiri always recognizes another." He glanced at me and he must have seen the denial forming on my lips because he added, "They are never wrong."

"I..." I had no idea how to respond.

Nikolas's dark eyes swept over my face as if he was searching for something. "You felt it, didn't you?"

I thought about that night and the weird sense of déjà vu that hit me when I first looked into his eyes. There had been an instant where it felt like I knew him somehow even though I was sure we had never met. The same feeling I had when I saw him waiting for me by the coffee shop.

My nod was almost imperceptible. "This can't be happening."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "There are worse fates, you know."

"You're telling me I have a demon parasite inside me and I'm supposed to be okay with that?"

"It's not as bad as you make it sound."

"No, it's worse." All these years I'd fought with the beast in my head and now I discovered it was something far worse than I could ever have imagined. Nausea curled in my stomach.

He made no move toward me but I heard a softening in his voice. "I know this is strange and frightening, but you are not the first orphan we've found. You will adjust as they have."

"Orphan?"

"It's just a term we use for young Mohiri who were not born to our way of life. They have no idea who they really are until we find them."

"Then there are others like me?" The thought that someone else had gone through this gave me a small measure of comfort.

"Not exactly like you." His brow furrowed. "The others have been much younger."

"What does that matter?"

He looked away briefly and his expression was serious when his gaze returned to me. "Our Mori need us to survive as much as we need them but they are still demons and they have certain impulses and a will of their own. We learn from a very early age to control those urges and to balance our human and demon sides. Otherwise, the Mori will try to become dominant. Orphans who are not found young enough to be trained, grow up with deep mental and emotional problems, tormented by their demon side. The worst cases become severely schizophrenic and end up in institutions... or they kill themselves."

I inhaled sharply as I thought about the thing in my head and the dark elation I'd felt as I punched Scott. It had always felt like another consciousness lived in my head, one that would take over my mind if I let it. A shudder passed through me when I thought of where I'd be if I hadn't learned to control it. I would have ended up just like those kids Nikolas was talking about. Maybe I still would.

"How old was the oldest orphan you ever brought in?"

"The oldest reclaimed was ten and she was the exception. The others were no more than seven."

"Ten," I squeaked. If what he was saying was right, I should be insane or dead by now. Maybe he was wrong about me. Maybe I wasn't one of his orphans after all.

"I know what you are thinking; I see it in your face. You are Mohiri. I know that with one hundred percent certainty." He took another step toward me, his eyes searching mine. "What I don't know is how you learned to subdue your demon without training. I've never seen control like yours. Your Mori is practically dormant."

Warmth spread through my belly at his nearness and something fired in my brain. I backed up a step to keep several feet between us. I knew it was that _demon_ inside me reacting to another of its kind but that didn't make me feel any better about it.

"Is that why I'm not fast or strong like you?" I asked to cover my discomfort.

"That and we reach maturity around eighteen or nineteen, which is also when our Mori reaches full strength. You should already have noticed some of your abilities starting to show by now but you'll have to learn how to use your demon side to enhance your physical abilities."

My demon side. A shudder went through me. I didn't want this.

"Are you okay?"

"No," I told him honestly. "It's just so much to take in."

He nodded in understanding. "It will take time."

My throat was dry when I tried to swallow. "So what else can you do besides move really fast and catch people falling off buildings? What other powers do you have?"

"Powers?"

"You know: can you compel people like vampires do or read minds or heal things. Stuff like that."

He chuckled. "No special powers or compulsion or anything else. We have the speed and strength to fight vampires. That is all we need."

"Oh." Not the answer I expected. If my healing ability did not come from the Mori, where did it come from?

"You sound disappointed."

"No, I'm just trying to understand it all." The sun was low in the sky now and it suddenly bathed his perfect face in golden hues. "How old are you? And I don't mean how old you look."

I thought he wasn't going to answer until he said, "I was born in eighteen twenty."

My jaw fell open but I did not care. It wasn't hard to do the math; he was almost two hundred years old. And he looked twenty, twenty-one at the most. Then the impact of his answer hit me. "Am I...?"

"Yes. Once you reach maturity, aging will stop for you too."

"Oh," I said faintly. People are always searching for the fountain of youth. Even I had wondered what it would be like to live many lifetimes and see how the world changed. But suddenly being faced with the prospect of never aging while Nate and everyone else I loved grew old and died filled me with a sense of loss so great it almost sent me to my knees.

"That upsets you?" His voice held a note of surprise and I guessed most orphans were happy to learn they would live forever.

I nodded mutely. A cool breeze came up and I rubbed my arms, thinking that fall was just around the corner. I almost laughed hysterically at my thoughts. Here I had just discovered I was immortal and I was thinking about the weather.

"You're cold." He started to remove his jacket but I waved it away, not sure I could deal with kindness from him.

"I'm fine thanks." I stared down at the worn boards of the wharf then back at him. "What if I don't want to join the Mohiri?"

His brow furrowed. "You don't join. You _are_ Mohiri."

"What if I don't want to live with them and I just want to stay here? You said yourself that I can control this demon thing better than anyone you've ever seen so I don't need your training." I'd gotten by okay so far and I didn't want to leave Nate, Remy or Roland and Peter. I was grateful to Nikolas for saving me and I couldn't deny I felt some strange attraction for him, but it wasn't enough for me to turn away from the only life I knew.

"You don't belong here anymore. What will you tell people when you stop aging? What will you do when everyone you know here grows old and dies? You need to be with your own people."

Nikolas's words hurt even though I'd had the same thoughts a few minutes ago. "These are my people."

"That is because they are all you've ever known. Once you get to know the Mohiri –"

"No! I knew a Mohiri, remember, and all she did for me was to abandon me and my father." He opened his mouth to speak but I blazed on. "My _loving_ Mohiri mother deserted us and my dad was murdered by vampires. Where were my people then?"

His face registered his shock. "Vampires killed your father?"

I laughed bitterly. "Pathetic isn't it? You'd think someone like me would be a lot less likely to be taken in by a vampire, considering my past and my genes. Some warrior."

I pushed past him and he didn't try to stop me. Instead he kept pace beside me. "That vampire, Eli, knows what you are now. He'll be looking for you. Vampires love nothing more than draining Mohiri orphans. We deprived him of that pleasure and he will not forget it."

My step faltered but I kept going. "I thought you said he wouldn't get away."

"He was more resourceful than most."

"Well if he does come back, he'll think I'm in Portland, right? There is no way he'd know to look for me here. Besides, this is werewolf territory and the werewolves are doing sweeps of Portland to find the vampires."

"The werewolves might not catch him either."

I shot him an angry look. "Are you _trying_ to scare me?"

"No but I will not lie to you either." Nikolas sounded sincere and for some reason that annoyed me even more. I wanted to go home and put him and the Mohiri behind me, to go back to the life I knew and understood.

We reached his motorcycle and I stopped and faced him. "I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for you saving my life because I am, more than I can say. But your way of life, your people – I don't belong with them."

He did not look happy. Obviously most orphans were willing to give up everything they knew for the Mohiri. I was not one of them.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a white card containing only a phone number. "This is my number. Call me if you need me or when you reconsider your options."

I took the card and stuck it in my back pocket knowing that it would end up in a drawer somewhere and I'd never use it. "I won't reconsider."

"One more thing." Nikolas put his hand inside his jacket again and withdrew a sheathed dagger. He turned the knife over in his hand and thrust it toward me handle first. "You may feel safe here now but as you found out Friday night, danger can find you when you least expect it."

I tried to refuse the weapon but he pressed it into my hand and my fingers closed around the handle of their own accord. When I pulled the knife free of its sheath the silver blade gave off an almost ghostly gleam in the fading light. It looked like the one I had stabbed Eli with, only smaller, and the intricately carved handle was made of a dark polished wood. It fit my hand like it was made for me.

He donned his helmet and swung a leg over his motorcycle. "I'll be seeing you, Sara," he drawled before the Ducati purred to life.

"No you won't," I replied, but it was drowned by the roar of the engine as he sped away.

I moved like a sleepwalker as I made dinner. It was a good thing Nate was too busy working on a big scene to eat with me because I was incapable of making normal conversation. After I finished my tasteless meal, I escaped to my room where I watched TV, read a book, even did homework; anything to avoid thinking about the weapon hidden in the back of my closet and the train wreck that was my life. No matter what I did, the truth hovered over me like a wave of misery about to crash down and suffocate me and there was nowhere to hide and no way to outrun it.

I paced the floor of my room like a lion in a cage, except I could not roar out my anguish with Nate downstairs. How could I tell him what was going on and who or what I really was? I pictured the revulsion on his face if he learned that I was part demon. My skin tightened and my stomach rebelled whenever I dwelled on the fact that a demon parasite was burrowed inside me. I wanted to scream and rip the ugliness from me so I could go back to feeling human again.

But I never was human, was I? My whole life was a lie. Did my dad know what Madeline was? Did he die knowing his daughter had a monster living inside her?

I stared at my face in the bathroom mirror, looking for signs, anything that would give my horrible secret away to the world. But all I saw was a normal, seventeen year old girl. I'd always scoffed at the kids at school for not being themselves, for trying to be something else to fit in. Jock, cheerleader, bully; they were all masks that hid the real people. But now I knew that I wore the biggest mask of all. I was a demon wearing a human face.

How could I live like this, to endure this knowledge for the rest of my life – my immortal life? I put a hand over my mouth to smother the sob torn from my throat. Nate, Roland, Peter, even Remy; everyone I loved would die someday but I would live on. I could never have a normal relationship because everyone around me would eventually grow old and die. The thought of such a dismal existence brought on a swell of loneliness so fierce I almost doubled over from the pain in my chest.

Sleep was impossible and the next morning I was bleary eyed and hollow as I got ready for school. I managed to avoid talking with anyone all morning and instead of going to the cafeteria at lunch, I holed up in the library. I had no appetite and I couldn't bear to face Roland and Peter yet. The werewolves had made it clear they did not like the Mohiri. What would my friends do when they found out I was Mohiri? I couldn't keep something like this from them, but I needed more time to prepare myself. I needed a few more days to pretend my life was not being ripped apart from the inside out.

The week passed in a blur of classes, skipped lunches and tormented nights. On Thursday after school, Roland caught me before I could slip away and asked me if I was sick because I was pale and even more withdrawn than usual. I mumbled an excuse about the flu and escaped before he could see through my lie.

At home it was easier to hide my turmoil. Nate worked long hours on his book, trying to meet a deadline. When he wasn't writing, he was on the phone or going out to meet with a group of local environmentalists who were concerned with rumors about some oil company suddenly showing interest in the area. Fishing and tourism were the main industries in New Hastings and any kind of energy exploration could be damaging to both of them. I liked my town just as it was and I hoped the oil companies would leave it alone. It was easy to forget my own misery for a little while when I thought about the animals and other creatures that could be hurt or displaced if such a thing came to pass.

I stayed close to home on Saturday and Sunday except for a walk down to the wharves. On Saturday afternoon, I spent a few hours on the roof with Harper who strutted around, upset that I'd neglected him lately. Normally, spending time with him relaxed me but nothing could ease my mind now.

Roland texted me on Friday night and again on Saturday to see if I wanted to do something with him and Peter. Both times I replied that I wasn't feeling well yet. I knew I was a coward and it wasn't fair to my friends, but I still didn't know how to tell to them and see our friendship end.

On Monday, Roland and Peter ambushed me in the parking lot after school. "All right, Sara, what is up with you?" Roland demanded after they pulled me out of earshot of everyone else. "And don't give me that crap about being sick because you've hardly been sick a day in your life."

"I –"

"Is it us?" Peter asked with some hesitation. "Are you freaked out about... you know... what we are? We're still friends, right?"

"Of course we're still friends." I saw doubt on their faces and realized I had been so caught up in my own misery that I hadn't seen how my sudden reticence affected my friends. While I was trying to gain the courage to tell them the truth, they were worried that I didn't want to be around them anymore because they were werewolves.

"That doesn't bother me. It's..." I bit my lip as and looked down to hide the dread in my eyes. _How can I tell them?_

Peter moved closer. "You alright?"

I started to nod but I shook my head instead. I couldn't count how many times someone had asked me if I was okay since last Friday and I always said yes but the truth was, I was far from okay. In the last week my world had changed so much that I felt like I had stepped into someone else's life without a script. I didn't know how to think or act anymore.

"Come on," Roland touched my arm and pointed to his old red pickup. "Let's get out of here."

None of us spoke as we piled into the cab of his small Chevy truck. Roland pulled out of the parking lot and headed north. I didn't pay much attention to where we were headed. I stared at my hands most of the way and tried to find the words to tell them my awful secret when we got to our destination.

The truck slowed and I looked up to find that we were at the old Signal Point lighthouse. The lighthouse had been decommissioned years ago and it used to be a favorite teenage hangout a few years ago. They still threw the occasional party up here because the police didn't bother with it for the most part. The sight of the peeling white tower surrounded by the faded white picket fence brought back a lot of good memories but did little to ease the weight on my chest.

Roland opened his door. "You want to go inside?"

The wind was surprisingly calm up here today so I said, "Let's go sit on the bluff."

We strolled through the grass until we neared the edge of the bluff. The three of us sat in a circle, obscured from the rest of the world by the tall grass. Overhead the blue sky was dotted with small white clouds and below us the surf broke against the rocks in a familiar rhythm. In this peaceful setting it was almost hard to believe that bad things could happen.

"Nikolas came to see me last Monday."

"What the hell did he want?" There was no mistaking the dislike in Peter's tone and I cringed inwardly. Would he feel the same way about me soon?

"He told me some things that kind of freaked me out. I'm not sure how to tell you about it." I looked from Peter to Roland and saw the mingled curiosity and concern on their faces. 'This is really hard so let me finish before you say anything. Okay?"

They both nodded. I took a deep breath and started at the point where I came home and found him waiting in front of the bookstore. I told them how he had tracked Roland's license plate and how he'd asked about my parents and told me he had known my mother. When I told them that Mohiri can sense each other and Nikolas had recognized me as one as soon as we met, Roland made a small sound but didn't say anything. He did not speak until I said that Nikolas told me I should be with the Mohiri.

"What did you tell him?" He asked in a tight voice.

I clutched my hands together. "I told him I belong here with you guys and Nate."

"Good."

"I thought... that since you guys hate the Mohiri you wouldn't want anything to do with me when you found out I was one of them."

"Is that what you were upset about all week?" The hurt in Roland's eyes made my own sting. "You honestly think that we would do something like that."

"No – I don't know. After what Brendan and Maxwell said about them and you two didn't hide how you felt about Nikolas – what was I supposed to think?"

Roland let out a long breath. "We don't like the Mohiri but we don't consider them our enemy. And you being one of them doesn't change who you are."

"I guess I was just so upset that I didn't think of it that way."

"So your mom was one of them?" Peter shook his head. "All this time we were friends with a Mohiri and never knew it."

Roland could not hold back his smirk. "I bet he wasn't happy when you told him you'd rather stay with a bunch of werewolves."

I remembered Nikolas's expression when I told him I didn't want to go. "He wasn't."

"What happens now? Will they leave you alone?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. Apparently finding orphans is a big deal to them and I'm a lot older than the other orphans they bring in. They want me to join them but I won't let them force me into anything I don't want."

Roland swiped at an insect near his ear. "Why are you older than the other orphans?"

I bit my lip. I'd deliberately left out certain details about the Mohiri because I wanted to see how my friends reacted before I laid the whole thing on them. "What do you guys know about the Mohiri – other than that they are vampire hunters?"

Peter lifted his shoulders. "Not much. Like Dad said the other night, they are like some kind of secret society. They're super fast and strong and –" he grabbed my arm. "Hey that means you can move like them."

I shook my head. "Nikolas said I am suppressing that side of me. In order to be fast like him I'd have to stop holding it back."

"Then let it out. What's stopping you?" Roland said.

I tugged at a tuff of grass, unable to look at them. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

There was never going to be an easy way to say it so I blurted it out. "It's a demon."

Roland let out a choked laugh. "What?"

"The Mohiri are half demon." I looked up, waiting for the realization to sink in, waiting to see the same revulsion I'd lived with for a week. The only sound was the crashing of waves against the rocks. I looked away from the shock and disbelief in their faces and waited for the inevitable reactions.

"Half demon? How is that possible?" Roland's voice sounded dubious instead of repulsed but I still couldn't look at him.

"It's called a Mori demon. The Mohiri were created specifically to kill vampires and each one of them is born with a Mori inside. They have to learn to live with the demon side and control it and it makes them able to fight like they do. Orphans have to be found really young so they can learn to control their Mori. If not, the demon drives them insane. Nikolas says my Mori is practically dormant and he has no idea how I'm doing it. Otherwise I'd probably be locked up in a mental ward right now."

Peter let out a long low whistle. "That is the craziest thing I've ever heard." He immediately ducked his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything bad by that. It's just that I never heard of a demon living inside a human like that."

"Actually you have. Did you know that vampires have demon parasites inside them?"

They stared at me with similar expressions of shock. Roland found his voice first. "Nikolas told you all this?"

"Yes."

"That must have been some conversation."

"You could say that."

He ran a hand through his hair causing it to stick out in places. "I can't believe you've been carrying this around since last week. No wonder you seemed so out of it."

"I was afraid you guys would think I was some kind of freak. You have to admit it's pretty messed up."

Roland barked a laugh. "We turn into giant mutant wolves. You don't think there is anything strange about that?"

"You can't compare yourselves to demons." My voice rose. "Demons are evil. They come from a hell dimension."

His eyes widened and his smile faded. "You think you're evil?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. In my heart I didn't believe I was a bad person but I had glimpsed my dark side before. I didn't know what I was capable of. What if I lost control of the demon in me? What if I hurt someone even worse than I had hurt Scott?

"There is no way you are evil," Peter stated unwaveringly.

I wanted so much to believe him. "How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure because I know you. You're a good person and you never hurt people – well except for Scott but some exceptions are okay. You hate bullies and you always watch out for Jeffrey at school. I seriously doubt an evil person would care about him. I know you love Nate and it's easy to see how much you loved your father. I don't think an evil person can love like that. And you are so good with animals. Uncle Brendan says animals can sense when someone is bad so there is no way they'd let you near them if you were evil."

Roland reached over to take my hand. "You can't possibly be evil no matter what you are. I think evil is a choice and you choose to be good. In fact, your demon is probably dormant because you are too good for it."

I sniffed. "You mean that?"

"Yes," Roland replied with conviction. "Do you think Nikolas is evil?"

"No." Evil was the last word I'd use to describe Nikolas. Hard and direct, maybe a little overbearing. But also strong and courageous. He had put his own life at risk to save mine and he'd displayed kindness on the wharf.

"Me either," he said to my surprise. "The Mohiri are arrogant bastards and I don't like them but they do kill vampires. That Mori demon might be bad news on its own but they keep it under control and use it to make them better hunters." He pointed at himself and then at Peter. "We had to learn to control our wolf side so it didn't take over. There is a reason for the scary werewolf stories. Not all weres are good and sometimes even good ones lose control."

It felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off my chest and I was able to take a deep breath for the first time in a week. I let out a shaky laugh. "When did you get all wise and philosophical?"

Roland gave me a lopsided grin. "Hey, I'm not just all good looks you know."

I fell back in the grass, giddy with relief. "I can't believe how much I let this screw with my head."

"Maybe next time you'll come to us before you freak yourself out," Roland chided. "Don't ever be afraid to confide in us. No more secrets, okay?"

I didn't answer him. My Mohiri lineage was only one of my many secrets. What would my friends think of me if they learned that I'd peddled troll bile on the black market? How would they react to my healing power or my friendship with Remy? And what would they say if they knew why I really went to the Attic that night?

We were interrupted by a cell phone ringing. "Oh crap!" Roland muttered reaching for his phone. "I forgot I was supposed to pick up Mom. She dropped her car off to get the brakes done."

We hurried to his truck and headed back to town. The mood on the return trip was a lot lighter. Roland and Peter compared werewolves and Mohiri and they wondered if I'd be stronger or faster than them if I used my demon side. I told them to keep guessing because there was no way I was unleashing that thing.

Nate made beef stew for dinner and I could smell it simmering in the slow cooker as soon as I entered the apartment. I set the table then spent an hour doing homework before he came out of his office.

"Smells great," I said as he popped some take-and-bake rolls into the oven.

He gave me a sideways look. "You seem to be in a better mood today."

I grinned. "I am and I'm starving too."

After dinner I cleaned the kitchen and finished my homework. I felt so light and happy that I sat down to draw for the first time in two weeks. I was almost done before I saw that I'd sketched Nikolas emerging from the shadows with sword drawn, his face hard and angry like an avenging angel. I stared at the face on the paper for a long moment, not sure why I drew him. He'd saved my life but he was also a reminder of everything that had gone wrong with my life lately. I closed the sketchbook and threw it on the desk. I didn't want to ruin my good mood by thinking about Nikolas or any of that negative stuff tonight.

I opened my laptop to check email before I went to bed. There was one from Roland with a funny cartoon of a werewolf at the dentist that made me laugh. I was still smiling when I logged into my regular message board.

Five minutes later my smile dissipated along with my good humor. A new thread had been started earlier today. LOOKING FOR FOY? A cold knot started to form in my stomach as I read the dozens of replies in the thread. Most of the replies were jokes and snarky comments telling the poster that they had a better chance of winning the lottery than finding FOY. Some users dismissed it as a legend with no merit. No one seemed to take it seriously.

Except me.

FOY is the little known acronym used for troll bile. It stands for 'fountain of youth'. No one mentioned New Hastings, me or Malloy but the posting gave me goose bumps. Someone was digging around.

_Don't panic_. Even if there was something to it, there was nothing to trace it back to me. In any case, there was nothing I could do about it tonight. I opened a new email and send a quick message off to Malloy. He had just as much at stake as I did if someone was nosing around. And he had a lot more contacts than I did. He'd get to the bottom of it. I hoped.

I shut the laptop and rubbed my face. How my life had gotten so damn complicated so fast?

"If it's not one thing, it's something else," I groaned, turning out the light.

# Chapter 8

Gino's was a small family-owned pizza place two blocks from school that used to be popular with the kids before they rebuilt the food court and added a cinema at the mall. Now most of its customers were young couples and small families. Papa Gino, as everyone called him, made the sauce and crust himself and this place was practically an institution in town. You couldn't pay me to give up Gino's for any of the large pizza chains.

I ate my slice of pepperoni pizza and watched the door from my booth. After five more minutes, I glanced at my watch. _Is that man ever on time?_

A minute later, the door opened and Malloy slunk in. He went to the counter and bought a slice of pizza and a beer before dropping into the seat across from me.

"Hello, kid."

"Malloy."

He took a swig of beer. "Ah, that's good after a busy day." Then he picked up his slice of pizza and bit into it.

I tapped a finger on the table. "Busy getting to bottom of certain things I hope."

He sighed and laid down his pizza. "You won't even let a man have a bite, will you?" he complained, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "For your information, I've been on this ever since I got your email. You're not the only one with something to lose here."

It was good to know he was taking this seriously. "So do we have anything to worry about?"

Malloy shook his head. "Don't think so. I got an acquaintance – a computer guy – who did some tracking or tracing or whatever he called it on that account that posted the message. He says it came from a high school in New Jersey and he thinks it's just a kid messing around."

I let out the breath I was holding. "You're sure?"

"I am. Listen, kid, I take my business very serious. Even if someone was nosing around for real, they couldn't trace it back to me. I hardly ever do business from this podunk little town for one. And I got some protections in place. That's all you need to know."

I took a sip of soda, ignoring his insult to my town. "You deal with me here."

"I make exceptions," he replied with his mousy little smile. "I can't have my top suppliers showing up at my place in the city where the competition can see them."

Is that what I was – a top supplier? I guessed it made sense considering what I'd sold him a few weeks ago. That explained why Malloy had agreed to meet me in person today. He'd said he could let me know what he found out by phone but I wasn't taking any chances. I'd wanted to see his face to make sure he was being truthful with me.

"That's good to hear," I said in a calm voice that belied the storm of emotions inside me. I had been a bundle of nerves ever since I saw that posting last night.

Malloy took another bite of pizza and washed it down with a gulp of beer. He leaned across the table toward me. "Since I'm here, I wanted to ask if you think you'll be needing my services again anytime soon. With your currency, I can get you anything you want."

I crumpled my napkin and threw it on top of my leftover pizza. "Probably not for a while. I'm kinda broke right now."

"Ah." He winked at me. "Well if you come into more money, let me know."

"You'll be the first to know." The truth was this whole thing had scared the crap out of me and made me remember that this was not a game. It was a false alarm this time, but next time we might not be so lucky. I had to tell Remy we couldn't use bile again. It was just too dangerous.

Malloy finished his pizza. "You know this place ain't so bad. I'll have to remember it next time I'm in town." He guzzled the last of his beer and stood. "See ya around, kid."

"Sara?"

I almost jumped out of my seat at Roland's voice behind me. Cringing inwardly, I turned to look at him and noticed how his eyes swept suspiciously over Malloy. The last thing I needed was for my friends to find out about my illicit dealings. That would open up a whole other can of worms that I was not ready to deal with yet.

"Hey," I said, scrambling for an explanation about why I was eating with a strange man almost old enough to be my father.

Roland stepped closer. "Is this guy bothering you?"

I laughed, hoping I didn't sound as guilty as I felt. "Roland, this is Tom Malloy. He's... Greg's uncle."

"Greg's uncle? The biker uncle?" Roland's expression was dubious with good reason. I looked like more of a biker than Malloy.

Malloy laughed and waved his hands up and down his short frame. "Only bike I can fit on is one of them scooters and that don't seem too manly, if you know what I mean." He adjusted his coat and tucked his hands in his front pockets. "Better be off. The missus is probably wondering where I am."

Roland frowned as I stood up. "I don't like the looks of him. He looks like a drug dealer or something. What did he want?"

"He didn't want anything. He just stopped to chat."

"What are you doing here by yourself anyway?"

I shrugged. "Craving some Gino's." That part was true anyway. "You too?"

Roland grinned and held up a large pizza box. "Dinner. Mom's on night shift." Judith was a nurse over at St. Anne's nursing home and her shifts rotated every two days. Not that Roland needed an excuse to eat pizza.

"Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

Walking to his truck, my eyes fell on a blond man sitting alone at a table outside the coffee shop across the street. Our eyes met briefly before he looked away and I had the strangest feeling I knew him from somewhere. Doubtful. Even from here I could tell he was hot and I would not forget someone that gorgeous...

"No way!"

"What's wrong?" Roland asked but I was already crossing the street, striding toward the blond man who watched me approach with a mild interest.

"I thought I made it clear that I didn't want anything to do with you people."

He peered up at me with the most striking bottle green eyes I'd ever seen. "Excuse me?"

"Please don't insult my intelligence," I scoffed at his innocent smile. "Chris, right?" His face barely betrayed his surprise. I'd only seen him for less than a minute that night at the Attic but I have a good memory. And who would forget a face like his?

"Where is he?" I scanned the street. "Obviously, I wasn't clear enough and we need to get a few things straight."

"Sara, who is this?" asked Roland from behind me.

"Probably one of my long lost cousins or something," I said hotly, my eyes never leaving the blond Mohiri. I saw the blonde's lip curl slightly and heard Roland's sharp intake of breath but I had bigger things to deal with than some ancient feud between werewolves and Mohiri.

"Miss Grey, there is no need to –"

"Don't 'Miss Grey' me. Is he even here or did he send you to spy on me?" I crossed my arms and glared down at him. He probably didn't deserve my ire but the person I was really mad at wasn't here to yell at. I'd just made it through one of the worst weeks of my life and things were finally starting to look up again. No way was I letting these people come back and ruin things for me.

Chris smiled at me, showing two ridiculously cute dimples and a few feet away a waitress dropped an empty cup she had cleared from a table. Blushing, she muttered an apology and hurried inside.

I scowled at him, refusing to be swayed by his charm.

"I see," he murmured, nodding slightly as if he had just solved a puzzle.

"See what?"

Ignoring my question, he pulled out a cell phone, hit a number and held the phone out to me. I hesitated for a few seconds then took the phone and put it to my ear.

"What's up, Chris?" said a familiar deep voice on the other end.

"Good question," I responded tersely.

"I told Chris you'd recognize him if he got too close." Was that amusement in his tone?

"Great. You won the bet. Buy him a beer or whatever." I glanced at Chris, saw that he looked amused now, too and I grew even more agitated. "I thought we had an understanding when you left here last week."

"And what understanding would that be?"

I gritted my teeth. "The one where you go your way and I go mine and we all live happily ever after."

"I don't recall that particular arrangement," he replied in his infuriatingly easy manner. "I believe I told you I'd be seeing you again."

I opened my mouth but words would not come out. People say 'I'll be seeing you' all the time when they say good bye. It doesn't mean anything. It certainly doesn't mean they will send their friends to stalk you.

"Sara?"

"What do you want from me, Nikolas? I told you I just want to be left alone."

There was a brief silence then a quiet sigh on the other end. "We got word of increased activity in Portland and we have reason to believe the vampire might be searching for you."

It felt like an icy breath touched the back of my neck. Eli's face flashed through my mind and my knees wobbled.

Roland stepped close to me. "What's wrong, Sara? What is he saying to you?"

I smiled weakly at Roland and put up a hand to let him know I'd fill him in when I got off the phone. "I don't know anyone in Portland so there is no way he can trace me here, right?"

"There is more than one way to track someone." Nikolas's voice hardened. "Don't worry, we will keep you safe. Chris will stay close by until we handle this situation."

Great, I was the 'situation' again. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm not a child."

"No you're not," he replied gruffly and warmth unfurled in my stomach. "But you are not a warrior either. It is our duty to protect you even if you don't want it."

I felt like stomping my feet like a two year old. Didn't I get any choice in this? My eyes fell on Chris as I spoke. "How close is he planning to stay? He's kind of conspicuous and I can't have my uncle or anyone else asking questions."

Chris peered in confusion down at his form-fitting blue jeans and black sweater as Nikolas said, "Conspicuous?"

I looked heavenward. "If you guys wanted to blend in you shouldn't have sent Dimples here. The way some of the women are staring at him, I might end up having to protect him instead."

There was a cough on the other end and Nikolas sounded like he was grinning when he said, "Ah, I'm sure Chris can take care of himself. He will be in town in case we suspect any trouble is coming that way."

"Fine," I relented unhappily. "But as soon as this is cleared up you guys have to go so I can try to have a somewhat normal life again."

I didn't wait for his response before I shoved the phone at Chris. I turned to Roland. "Let's go. I'll explain it to you on the way."

Once we were in the truck, I told him what Nikolas had said. Roland's face grew grim when I said that Nikolas was afraid Eli was trying to track me.

"He would have to be the stupidest vamp alive to come into this area," Roland stated confidently. "This is werewolf territory and vamps don't mess with us if they can avoid it, especially on our home turf. I'm surprised they are still in Portland with all the patrols we have out there now."

"So you think Nikolas is overreacting?"

"According to Maxwell, the Mohiri are very thorough and they like to take care of things themselves. They won't sit back and take our word that this area is safe."

"Well, I don't want them hanging around," I groaned in a bout of self pity. "I'm trying to move past all this."

Roland pulled the truck in behind Nate's car. "Just ignore them," he said as I opened my door. "Besides what harm can it do to let them poke around for a few days?"

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one on a leash."

"Yeah, that's no fun, believe me." He made a howling sound and we both burst out laughing. I was still wiping my eyes when I got out and walked around to his side of the truck.

"Hey, let's do something on Saturday," he said. "Let's go out and have some fun and forget about all of this."

"Okay, but no vampires this time."

"We won't even leave town." He put the truck in reverse. "I'll see what's happening on Saturday and let you know. Smile. It'll be a blast."

I climbed into Roland's truck and squeezed in between him and Peter. "So where are we headed?"

"We narrowed it down to two options and we're going to let you pick," Roland said as we drove along the waterfront. "Party at Dell Madden's house or party up at the lighthouse with Dylan's band."

"So a party or a... party." I put my finger to my lips. "How will I ever decide?"

"Well, you said you wanted to have some fun."

"Okay, then let's do the lighthouse party." I knew Dylan better than Dell Madden. And an outdoor party would be less crowded.

The lighthouse's overgrown parking lot was already half full of vehicles when we pulled in. Dell Madden had picked the wrong night for his party because it looked like everyone was coming to Dylan's shindig instead.

Parked in front of the lighthouse was a white van belonging to one of Dylan's band mates. Two large speakers had been rigged up and music was already blaring when we arrived. Someone had brought a bunch of solar lights and battery operated lanterns and strung them up around the lighthouse yard and on the beach at the lower end of the bluff, a group of boys were starting a bonfire. Everywhere I looked there were coolers of ice.

Roland reached behind his seat and pulled out a six pack. I raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled and tossed his keys to Peter. "Pete's designated driver tonight."

Peter pocketed the keys. "It's my turn," he explained glumly.

"Well, if Roland would teach me to drive, I'd get my license and I could be the designated driver next time." It wasn't like I drank often anyway.

"Great idea!" Peter hooted as he and Roland high fived each other. I just shook my head and followed them over to the small group of people standing by the van.

Dylan gave me a goofy smile that made his hazel eyes twinkle. "Sara, this is the second time I've seen you in two weeks. I'm starting to think you have a crush on me."

I gave the ginger haired boy an exaggerated sigh. "You know me, full of yearning and all that."

Everyone laughed and Dylan introduced me to the rest of his band and two of the band members' girlfriends. Everyone seemed to know Roland and Peter pretty well. The drummer, who had long wavy blond hair and surfer good looks, gave me a quiet smile as he shook my hand then offered me a beer. I shook my head and said maybe later.

"Didn't I see you at the Attic last time we played there?" Samson asked, popping open a beer for himself.

"Yes." I smiled even as my gut clenched at the mention of that night. Watching Samson do his solo was one of the last normal things I'd done before my world went to hell. Determined to put that night behind me, I said, "You guys were great. A lot better than the rap thing Dylan used to do."

"Hey, don't be a hater!" Dylan cried with mock outrage.

Samson laughed and I saw that he had a great smile. "Not into rap?"

"Sara likes the old stuff, classic rock," Roland told him. "I bet she can name every one of Carly Simon's albums."

"Who's Carly Simon?" asked the tall raven haired girl named Beth. All the boys snickered and I struggled to keep a straight face as I told Beth who Carly Simon was.

Roland put his beers except one in Dylan's cooler. "Come on. Let's go see who all is here."

A lot of the kids who knew Roland and Peter were strangers to me. Dylan's band mates had all gone to another school and most of the kids were from there. I did see some familiar faces from St. Patrick's and most of them looked surprised to see me at a party. It's not like I was a hermit. I did go out and have fun, just not as often as everyone else.

Based on the number of girls who came up to us, Roland's popularity extended beyond our high school. A couple of girls flirted blatantly with him and a few others – who had already dated him – attempted to act casual, hoping he'd notice them again. Sometimes their attempts to catch his eye seemed a bit ridiculous to me and I wanted to tell them all to stop behaving like idiots. If I ever got this stupid over a guy I hoped someone would slap some sense into me.

I did feel bad for one of the girls who gave Roland a forced smile when he said hello to her. Cassidy Downs was the last girl Roland dated just before school started and she still had a 'what did I do wrong' look that made me want to sock my best friend. The tall brunette tossed her hair and tried to look unaffected when Roland flirted playfully with other girls but I could see the hurt in her eyes. Cassidy and I were not friends but I hated to see someone hurting, which is why I finally pulled Roland aside.

"Stop being a douche," I scolded him when we were out of earshot of everyone.

He looked genuinely surprised. "I'm being a douche?"

I shook my head and groaned. "Roland, I know you think girls are okay if you only date them once or twice but not all girls are the same. Can't you see that Cassidy still has a thing for you?"

"She does?" He looked over my shoulder at the group of girls we had just left. "But we only saw each other twice and that was weeks ago."

"I guess you made a bigger impression on her than you thought."

"What am I supposed to do? I can't help how she feels."

I had to stop myself from shaking him. Boys could be so dense sometimes. "I know that and I'm not saying you have to stay away from other girls. Just try not hook up right in front of her face."

After that, Roland kept a polite distance between him and Cassidy. He continued to flirt with other girls but to his credit, he toned it down a bit. An hour later, I saw Cassidy laughing with one of her friends and I was glad I'd decided to say something to Roland.

By ten o'clock the crowd had almost doubled and I recognized a lot more of the faces. At some point, I separated from Roland and Peter and made my way down to the beach where a dozen or so people sat around the fire drinking. I found a flat rock to sit on and enjoyed the warmth of the fire on my face and the sound of the waves in the darkness.

The sensation of being watched made me glance around at the other faces to see who was looking at me. One boy I didn't know smiled at me but I knew that wasn't what I'd felt. My eyes travelled along the top of bluff. It was more like...

Son of a bitch. My gaze landed on Jessie Clark and Marie White practically hanging on the tall blond man watching me. If this was Chris's idea of staying in the background, I'd hate to see what the alternative was like.

By the time I made it up the low embankment, Chris had detached himself from the two girls and met me at the top. The girls' crestfallen expressions changed to open glares when they saw who the object of their attention had left them for. Jessie and Marie were two of Faith's cronies so I could have cared less what they thought.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed at Chris. "What happened to keeping your distance?"

Unfazed by my anger, Chris checked to make sure no one was close enough to hear us. "There have been some developments. We are bringing more people into Portland to investigate and we thought it would be best to keep a closer eye on things on this end."

A small chill ran down my back. "What kind of developments?"

"Nothing I can elaborate on at the moment."

"Well since it obviously has to do with me, you'd better give me more than that," I whisper-yelled at him. Did they really expect me to accept their vague explanations just like that?

Chris gave me a patient smile and I had the feeling that between him and Nikolas, he was the more temperate of the two. That was probably why I was dealing with him now instead of Nikolas. I think he knew it too.

"All I can say right now is that we believe the vampire who attacked you may be stepping up his attempts to find you." He scanned the partiers as if assessing them for threats. "It might be advisable for you to go home and stay there for the next few days."

I blinked at him. "Are you serious? I'm in the middle of werewolf territory with two of my _werewolf_ friends. We haven't heard or seen anything out of place – except you – in two weeks. I think I'm safe enough here." No need to tell him that ever since I spoke to Nikolas on Tuesday, I'd taken to carrying the knife he gave me everywhere. It was tucked inside the inner pocket of my jacket right now.

"Nikolas said –"

"That's another thing. Since when does he get to call the shots here? So I'm an orphan. That doesn't give him the right to run my life." I spun away from him. "And if I want to party then I will party."

I stomped away, looking for Roland and Peter. Seeing neither of them, I headed for the crowd standing around by the van. Samson intercepted me as soon as I got close.

"I thought you'd run off. You ready for that beer now?"

"Definitely."

"Alright." He flipped open the nearest cooler and pulled out two beers. He opened one and passed it to me and I took a long swallow. I didn't care what kind it was. It was cold and wet, it tasted like rebellion and I was thirsty.

Samson grinned at me. "Slow down there, chugger."

I let out a loud burp and slapped a hand over my mouth. "Oops, sorry."

He laughed good-naturedly. "That's what happens when you drink the first one too fast."

A laugh bubbled out of me. "I'm not exactly much of a drinker."

"That is funny coming from one of Roland's friends."

"He thinks so too," I said as we moved away from the cooler to grab a couple of plastic chairs at the edge of the crowd. I noticed a few girls watching us and their expressions told me they were not happy to see the drummer with me. _What is with girls and good looking guys?_ A girl couldn't even talk to a guy without every other female baring their claws. Nate had no idea what he was talking about when he said he wanted me to be like normal girls.

Samson leaned toward me so I could hear him over the din. "I don't know any girls who are into the older music. What stuff do you like?"

"I don't know. Most of it, I guess. Not the real heavy stuff. I like Janis Joplin, the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Foreigner. Stuff like that."

"What, no Backstreet Boys or N Sync?"

I made a face. "Did you really just ask me that?"

We both laughed. Samson had the rocker look nailed, the hot drummer with groupies and all, but he was a lot more down to earth than I had expected. We talked a lot about music and the different bands he'd been in. He told me Delilah's Crush was the first band he'd started on his own and he had great hopes for them. I was surprised when he told me he was also doing a couple of business classes at USM. He said you had to have a backup plan.

"So you haven't said much about yourself," Samson said when he returned from getting us another beer.

"Not a lot to say really," I replied, accepting the cold beer from him. I took a long drink. "I'm a senior at a Catholic school so you know there's not much to say about that. I live with my uncle and unlike you I have no idea what I want to do in college, even though my school counselor keeps telling me I have to start applying soon."

He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Catholic school girl, huh?"

"Ha, don't believe the hype," I quipped, earning a laugh from him. I laughed with him, aware that I hadn't been this relaxed in a long time and never with a boy who wasn't Roland, Peter or Greg. I always figured that if you talked to boys too long, they'd make something out of it. I wasn't the best at reading male signals but Samson seemed to be genuinely interested in only talking. Maybe he was tired of girls clamoring for his attention all the time and just wanted some normal conversation.

Our laughter drew the curious stares of the people nearby. I caught Dylan's eye and he winked at me. I couldn't tell if he was playing along with his earlier comment about me crushing on him or if he was insinuating there was something going on between me and his drummer.

I turned my attention back to Samson and I found him watching me with a soft, almost wistful expression. As soon as our eyes met, he turned on his good-natured grin again, but it was too late. Oh-oh, there it was. I groaned inwardly. _Men need to come with a user manual_. One that said, 'Don't push this button.'

My first impulse was to start looking for a way to politely slip away from him. But then I thought, _Why?_ I liked Samson and he seemed like a great guy, we laughed a lot and he hadn't tried anything inappropriate. He hadn't even pushed me to drink more like a lot of guys would. And it wasn't like I had anything to be afraid of. I was here with Roland and Peter _and_ a Mohiri bodyguard.

Samson must have seen the conflict in my eyes because he stood and said, "Come on, we can't sit over here by ourselves all night. People will call us wallflowers."

"Ha. Can't have that. It would totally ruin your image."

"Damn straight." He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. The world spun for a second and I suddenly remembered why I didn't drink. Only two beers and I was tipsy.

Samson reached out to steady me. "Whoa. Lightweight."

My scowl only got a laugh from him. "You know what the best cure is for that?" he asked and I shook my head. He tugged me toward a group of people dancing on the other side of the van. I tried to pull back because I wasn't much of a dancer, but he wasn't having any of it. I soon discovered that he wasn't much better than me but that didn't stop him. Soon I was dancing with everyone else and really enjoying it. We danced two fast ones before it switched to a slower song. Samson stood back and gave me a questioning look. I shrugged. What the heck?

He was a lot taller than me so my head came only to his shoulder. It felt awkward at first, dancing so close to him but he suddenly began dipping me and acting all goofy. I was flushed and laughing by the time the song ended. Could I really be enjoying myself at a party... with a boy? What had come over me?

A sudden annoying niggling sensation in my head told me a Mohiri was near and my lips thinned as I scanned the area looking for Chris. What was his problem now? Was dancing with a boy some kind of security risk? When I found him I was going to let him know how creepy it was to have someone watching me all the time.

My watcher stood in front of the lighthouse, arms folded and a shuttered expression on his face. When I faced him, he moved slightly and I saw the set of his jaw and the stormy stare that I was starting to think he reserved just for me.

Lucky girl.

# Chapter 9

I pulled away from Samson and started walking in the opposite direction.

"Are you alright?" Samson asked behind me and I slowed to let him catch up. It wasn't his fault I was being stalked by two overbearing demon warriors. The absurdity of that thought almost made me burst out laughing. I just smiled instead.

"I'm fine, just a little thirsty."

"You want another beer?" he asked, stopping by a large cooler.

"Water if you have one. Or a soft drink is fine."

He looked in the cooler. "None here. I think we have some in the van. Be right back."

I knew Nikolas was behind me and I turned to confront him before he spoke. "What are you doing here?"

Nikolas's brooding eyes studied my flushed face for a moment before they moved to the van and back. "Obviously protecting you from yourself. Are you drunk?"

My spine stiffened. "No, I'm not drunk. And even if I was it would be none of your business."

His expression did not flicker. "You are my business. Whether you like it or not, you are one of us and we protect our own."

Indignation flared in me. "First of all, I am nobody's _business_ and I don't belong to you or your people or anyone else. This bossy act might work on little kids but it won't work on me, and if I want to party with my friends or drink or do _anything_ else, I will."

I had no idea what made me go off on a tirade like that. I swear something about Nikolas pushed all my buttons. Maybe I resented him for being the one to turn my life upside down. Or maybe he reminded me how weak I really was out there in the world. Maybe it was me and not him at all.

I began to whirl away from him and stumbled, and his hand shot out to steady me. "You _are_ drunk."

I was wrong. It was _all_ him.

"Everything okay here?" Samson asked.

I tried to make my expression neutral when I faced him. "Peachy. My... cousin was worried that I might be drinking too much. He's a lot older than me and way too uptight."

Nikolas's eyebrows shot up and Samson did not look convinced. "Cousin, huh?"

"Distant cousins, practically unrelated." Was that a challenge I heard in Nikolas's voice? God, all I needed was to end up in the middle of some stupid testosterone match.

Samson glanced from me to Nikolas. "Listen if there is something going on between you two, I –"

My laugh came out as more of a snort. "Yeah, not in this lifetime." I looked at Samson, ignoring Nikolas altogether. "I think I'll go see what Roland is up to. Maybe I'll see you again later."

I don't think I've stomped off like that since I was five. Nikolas made me feel like throwing a tantrum; how could one person be so damn aggravating? But then a couple hundred years is plenty of time to learn how to piss people off.

I spotted Roland with Dylan and a few other guys but I found that I had no desire for company so I headed to the beach and grabbed a seat near the fire. Someone had brought a guitar and he was playing a Lifehouse tune while everyone else talked amongst themselves. I watched the fire, content to sit quietly and listen as the guitarist finished his song and started another one.

Why did he have to show up and spoil everything? I was enjoying myself, really enjoying myself for the first time in weeks before he came along, acting arrogant and superior and reminding me how messed up my life was. All I wanted was to put the last few weeks behind me, and for a short while with Samson I had been able to do that. If Nikolas and Chris had to follow me, couldn't they do it a little more subtly? It wasn't like either of them could go unnoticed in this crowd, or any crowd for that matter, and I wasn't blind to the attention I received from people when I was with either of them. I liked to stay in the background and I hated being stared at, I hated all of this.

I heard footsteps behind me but I didn't have to look up to know it wasn't one of my self-appointed protectors. The girls coming down the embankment scrambled and squealed like they were tumbling down a mountain.

"I don't get it. What is the deal with her?" whined Jessie Clark. "Did you see Samson practically drooling over her? Samson – who won't even look at a girl if she's not in college!"

"I know!" Marie cut in. "I tried to talk to that dark haired hottie but he was watching her like frigging hawk. I thought he and Samson were going to fight over her."

My ears burned and I was relieved no one could see the flush creeping up my cheeks. I had no doubt they were talking about me.

"I don't think she even wears makeup," Jessie declared as if wearing no eyeliner was a capitol offense. I was wearing mascara and lip gloss, didn't that count?

Faith snickered. "Well what do you expect? She only hangs out with guys. Maybe they are getting something we don't know about."

"You think she's like that?" Marie asked eagerly.

"Who knows with her," Faith replied. "But if you ask me...?"

I didn't get to hear the rest of her comment because they walked past me without even realizing I was there. My hands clenched in my lap and I was glad no one had noticed me overhearing the exchange between the three girls.

All the fun had left the party for me and I felt like crawling under a bush where no one could bother me until it was time to leave. I stood and picked my way a dozen feet down the beach where I could be alone but still keep the fire in sight. The night was cooling off and it was chilly away from the fire. I pulled my jacket closer around me and drew my knees up against my chest. Close to the water, the waves drowned out the voices and music and made me feel like I was completely alone here.

I picked up a stone and flung it out into the water. _This is their fault._ I couldn't even pretend to act like a normal teenager without the two of them messing it up.

I felt the brush against my mind and I had to stop myself from crying out in frustration. Was it too much to ask for five minutes to myself?

"Please go away," I said without looking up. "I promise I won't have any fun or fall into the ocean in my drunken state if you'll leave me alone."

He sat down beside me and I ignored the warm arm touching mine. Silence stretched between us. I didn't want to fight again so I kept quiet and waited for him to speak.

"I've heard that some orphans take the transition to the Mohiri life well and others struggle to adapt. Eventually they all come to love our way of life."

I stared at the black water. "Maybe that's because their life before wasn't that great. It's got to suck being a little kid with a demon wrecking havoc in your head. But I'm not like them."

"No you're not."

"Why?"

It took him a minute to reply. "You are very strong, I don't mean physically. Like I told you before, you have amazing control over your Mori; it's almost effortless."

"You don't seem to have any trouble with yours," I said.

Nikolas chuckled. "I've had many years to learn this much control and it's still not as good as yours."

"Oh." I pondered that for a bit. "But you do control it right? You're not going to go all Linda Blair on me, are you? Because I've had all the craziness I can handle for one year."

His laugh was rich and warm and in spite of my dark mood, I felt a smile tugging at my own mouth. How was he able to infuriate me one minute and make me smile in the next one?

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," he said lightly.

I sighed and looked at him but he was silhouetted against the fire so I couldn't see his face. "How long is this going to go on? I just want to go back to some semblance of a normal life."

"Sara –"

"I know what you're going to say. How normal can it be when I'm immortal and everyone else is not? Why can't I have it for now at least until I have to leave?"

It was his turn to sigh. "That might have been possible before the vampire found you. You don't know what they are like; once they decide they want something it's like a predator scenting their prey. And you are the one that got away."

I shivered at the image of being hunted like a deer. "The werewolves don't think the vampires will enter their territory."

"I hope they are right and I wish I could tell you that this will all go away but I won't lie to you. I believe you are in danger here and I won't leave you unprotected as long as that danger exists."

And we were back to square one. I threw another stone at the water and got to my feet. "Just do me a favor and don't act like every person you see is out to get me. It is possible that some boys might actually like me."

" _Ya znayu_ ," he muttered softly as I walked past him.

I slowed my steps. "Did you say something?"

"I said I'm sure they do."

"Too bad the party got rained out," Roland lamented, leaning back and stretching out his legs as far as he could. "It was just getting good."

"At least you two got to have a few," Peter groused as he focused on the wet road ahead.

Roland poked me with his elbow. "That's right! Did I actually see you drinking?"

"I've had beer before. I'm not a saint or anything."

On either side of me I heard snickering and Roland leaned toward me. "According to Samson you're an angel. What did you say to that guy? He was like a lovesick puppy all night."

My face grew hot and I shouldered Roland away. "I didn't say anything to him. I mean we talked about music and whatever but that's all."

"Must have been some 'whatever'," Peter teased.

"Why? He didn't think I was coming on to him did he?" I liked Samson, and I found him easier to talk to than most guys, but I hadn't intended to lead him on. I admit there might even have been some interest on my part, but flirting had been the last thing on my mind tonight.

Roland chuckled. "No, and that's probably what snared him. Samson's used to chicks throwing themselves at him. He said he's never met a girl who was 'so real'. His words."

"Oh God." I covered my face with my hands.

"Hey look at the bright side. We'll get in free to all their shows now."

I elbowed Roland hard in the ribs. "Shut up!" I half shouted, half laughed at him.

"And just think if he gets famous you'll already have your own bodyguards," Peter gibed and my mood dampened at the mention of my Mohiri shadows. I wondered where they had gotten to. Chris had disappeared after Nikolas showed up and I hadn't seen Nikolas much after our talk on the beach. But I knew he was there in the background even if he did give me space. There was no sign of a vehicle behind us so hopefully he had finally realized I was safe here.

"Where are we going anyway?" I asked, noticing for the first time that we were not headed to my place.

"Welllll," Roland answered slowly. "Since Dylan's bash was cut short, we thought we'd check out Dell's party. It's not that late and –"

The truck began to shudder violently and the tail started to slide sideways on the wet pavement. Peter cursed and gripped the wheel as he reduced speed and eased over to the shoulder of the road.

"What was that?" I exclaimed breathlessly.

"Feels like a tire blew out." Roland jumped out into the rain and ran around the back of the truck then climbed inside again. "Yep, rear tire is shredded." He groaned and waved at the rain hitting the hood like pellets. "Someone does not want us to party tonight."

"Do you have a spare?" I asked him and he nodded. "Maybe you should wait till the rain lets up a bit. You'll get drenched by the time you change the tire."

We waited ten minutes for the rain to lessen before Roland reached for the door. "Looks like it's not going to stop. Come on, Pete."

They tossed their cell phones on the dashboard then hopped out of the truck. I slid over to follow Roland but he put up a hand to stop me. "No need for us all to get wet."

Several minutes later he opened the passenger door again frowning. "We found the spare but no lug wrench."

"You're kidding," I said as they climbed in, water dripping off them.

"We're on Fell Road, less than half a mile from the turnoff," Peter told me. "It'll take me no time to run to my house and grab my mom's car."

I looked at the dark road which was obscured by a curtain of rain. "It's cold and you'll get soaked through. Can't we call someone?"

He shook his head. "Dad and Uncle Brendan and Mom are in Portland and Aunt Judith is working." He opened the door. "Don't worry. I'm already soaked so getting a little wetter won't make a difference."

"Be careful," I called after him and he gave me a thumbs up before he set off up the road toward home. Within minutes the darkness had swallowed him up.

Roland reached over and flicked on the hazard lights just in case anyone happened along. I leaned back and we sat quietly listening to the rain drumming on the hood and roof.

Roland roused me from my doze. "It's been half an hour. Pete should have called or been back by now." He picked up his cell phone and hit a number and Peter's phone vibrated on the dashboard. Roland swore.

"Maybe he got held up. Let's give him a few more minutes." Two weeks ago I might have been worried but that was before I discovered what Peter was. I doubted there was anything out here that could harm a werewolf.

Five more minutes passed before Roland open his door and bellowed Peter's name several times. We both got out of the truck and stood in the rain, which had lessened to a heavy drizzle. "Peter?" I called as loud as I could.

"Wait, did you hear that?" Roland said in a hushed voice. He held up a hand. "I think I hear something."

I listened hard but all I heard was water dripping from the trees. Roland's werewolf hearing was a lot better than mine so I waited for him to say something.

"There, down that way," he said, pointing the way Peter had gone. "Pete?" he called running up the road with me close on his heels. The cold rain flattened my hair against my head and drenched my light coat but all I could think of was finding Peter. Then I heard it – faint but unmistakable; Peter's voice calling from somewhere up ahead. "Help."

"Roland, I hear him," I cried. "Peter, where are you?" I shouted.

"Help!" Peter called again, closer this time, somewhere in the woods to the right of the road. What the hell was he doing out there? I plunged into the trees, too wet now to care about the cold droplets showering me from the branches overhead.

Beneath the tree canopy it was almost pitch black so I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and opened it to give me a little light. It wasn't much but it allowed me to see a foot or so ahead of me.

"Peter, where are you?" I called again and when he answered it sounded like he was no more than a dozen yards ahead of me.

"Sara, wait!" Roland shouted frantically from behind me. 'That's not – fuck!" he swore as he tripped and crashed through the trees. "Sara, stop!"

But I was almost there. Plunging forward, I broke through the trees into a wide clearing. I strained my eyes until I could barely make out the dark shape crumpled on the ground. "Peter!" I cried, starting toward him.

A strong hand grabbed my wrist and jerked me backwards. "What the hell, Roland!" I cried angrily. "What are you doing? Peter is hurt."

"That's not Pete," he whispered urgently as he started pulling me back the way we had come. It took me a full five seconds to realize what he had said and to recognize the fear in his voice.

"Of – of course it's him," I stammered, trying to pull away from Roland. "I heard him."

"I did too," he said hoarsely. "But it's not –"

I heard movement behind me and I looked over my shoulder to see the figure unfurling from the ground. It rose up on four legs, large and dark and in no way resembling a teenage boy. I couldn't make out the creature's features but I thought I saw two glowing eyes – predator's eyes – and coarse fur covering its body. My breath caught. Nothing prepared me for the horror that lanced through me when the creature opened its mouth. "Help me. Please help me," it said in Peter's voice, followed by a spine-chilling cackle that set my hair on end.

"What is...?" The words died on my lips as the woods at the other end of the clearing moved and a second shape emerged. I stood on frozen legs and watched in fascinated terror as the second creature faced us for several seconds, then said, "Peter, where are you?" in an eerily perfect imitation of my voice.

In the next instant, I found myself over Roland's shoulder, fending off the branches that slapped at me as he tore through the woods. "What was that?" I wanted to shout, but the only sound I could make was an occasional "Oof" as I banged against his hard shoulder. Peter, oh God, Peter! That thing knew his voice.

I could almost taste the fear rolling off Roland as he pounded toward the road in long strides. It filled my nostrils and buzzed through my head like a live wire as a new terrifying thought struck me. What the hell frightens a werewolf?

Behind us a high pitched giggle pierced the air, followed by a second. From off to one side came an answering giggle and farther away, a fourth one, moving closer. Four of them!

Moving in.

Hunting us.

We reached the edge of the trees and Roland practically threw me out onto the road. "Run, Sara! Get to the truck." he yelled at me as I stumbled from my landing.

"What about you?"

"I'm going to shift. I need you to get to the truck."

Branches snapped close by like a gunshot and spurred me into a run. I heard fabric ripping and an awful stretching, crushing sound then a savage howl that almost stopped my heart. It's just Roland, I told myself as I skidded on the wet road toward the headlights that shone like a beacon a few hundred yards away.

The growling became a roar as two large bodies slammed together viciously, rolling over and over snarling and barking in the underbrush. _Roland!_ I agonized, powerless to do anything but run. He was outnumbered four to one and I had no idea what was out there or how strong the creatures were. _Please be okay_ , I begged as I swiped wildly at the tangle of wet hair obscuring my vision.

There was a thump behind me, followed by a loud scraping sound. I dared a glance over my shoulder and nearly tripped at the sight of the dark shape on the road, its claws clicking against the pavement as it slunk toward me like a lion zeroing in on its prey. I screamed and my pursuer let out a laugh so human-like that my stomach dropped like a lead weight.

The headlights blinded me when I sped inside their range. The truck's dome light was on and the driver door still hung open just as Roland had left it when he took off after Peter. I was so close now – less than twenty feet.

Fifteen feet. The monster snarled in outrage and increased its speed.

Ten feet. I could hear the creature's teeth gnashing as it closed the distance between us.

Five feet. I skidded past the headlights, grasped for the door, missed.

Spinning around, I got my first good look at the monster bearing down on me. I saw a large head with rounded ears and a wide grinning mouth, a thick, maned neck, a sloping back and powerful legs with clawed feet. It reminded me of a hyena, but it was as big as a buffalo.

I scrambled for the door and threw myself into the truck. My arm hooked on the seat belt and I lost precious seconds untangling it before I could grab for the door. Through the windshield I saw the hyena-thing leap at the truck a split second before I hooked the door handle and slammed the door shut. The creature bellowed in rage as it went flying past the door.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the truck shook violently and something landed on the hood in an ear-splitting screech of claws on metal. The hood buckled beneath the weight and I saw jagged scars in the metal where the creature's six inch claws had found purchase. _That could have been me_ , I realized, fighting the terror that threatened to suffocate me. _Stop it_. I had to keep my head if I was going to get out of this alive.

The hyena-thing turned and looked at me through the rain-splattered windshield like someone studying an insect under glass. Leaning forward, its face touched the windshield and its hot breath fogged the glass, its black eyes never leaving my face. The mouth opened and I gasped at the double rows of jagged teeth in a powerful jaw strong enough to shred flesh and bone. _If that thing gets in here I'm dead._

I looked around frantically and my eyes fell on the keys dangling uselessly in the ignition. A hysterical giggle bubbled from me when I thought of all the times I could have asked Roland to teach me to drive and I had to wait until tonight to do it. Even with a busted tire I have could have driven it as far as the Knolls for help.

_Call 911_ , said the logical part of my brain. I scrambled to find my cell phone then remembered in dismay that it was somewhere out there in the woods. "Give me a goddamn break!"

Then I spotted Peter's phone lying on the dashboard. I leaned forward but froze when the hyena-thing's eyes hungrily followed my movement as if it might break through the glass at the slightest provocation. Drool dripped from one enormous fang and splattered the windshield. _Don't move, don't move_ , I chanted.

My gut twisted painfully. Roland and Peter were out there, fighting for their lives and I was inches from a phone to call for help. They could be hurt or dying while I sat here like a coward. I couldn't live with that. The thought of losing either of them broke through my paralysis and I reached for the phone.

The hyena-thing saw my intention and it grinned at me again, its eyes sizing me up with eerie intelligence. Then it looked up at the roof of the truck... and jumped.

# Chapter 10

The creature hit the roof and I watched in horror as four claws punched through the metal then began to move with deadly intent, opening the top like a pocket knife opening a can. My brain froze, refused to function and it felt like I was watching it all happen in slow motion. The creature moved slowly, deliberately, like it was sure of its kill. In seconds it would be able to reach in and...

_Move!_ Some part of me screamed. I flattened my body against the seat and searched for something to use as a weapon to fight off the thing about to come through the roof. I wasn't going to die without a fight.

Something dug into my right side where it was pressed against the back of the seat. _The knife_. I shifted and reached inside my coat, feeling my fingers close around the leather sheath. A sob escaped me as I pulled the knife free and held it tightly, preparing to face the monster above. The polished sliver blade gleamed wickedly and I almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. I'd told Nikolas I was not a warrior and I was probably going to die with a warrior's weapon in my hand.

Metal screeched as the hole in the roof grew larger. A monstrous paw reached through the opening, razor sharp claws aiming right at my chest like a cat batting at a mouse.

For a split second fear seemed to short circuit my brain. Then I felt something shifting, moving in me and gathering strength. A wail issued from me as I slashed at the paw, the sharp blade slicing through fur and tissue with sickening ease. Revulsion filled me as hot blood splattered my face and hands and I gagged as a coppery smell filled my nose.

The hyena-thing let out a human-like bellow of pain and withdrew its injured paw. There was no time to celebrate because the other paw came crashing through the hole. More blood sprayed me as I hacked at the limb, desperate to keep those claws from reaching me. Another agonizing scream split the air and the paw retreated, a wisp of smoke curling behind it.

_The silver burns them._

Strength surged through me and I coiled defensively against the seat, waiting for another assault. Through the hole in the roof I saw the hyena-thing crouching, moaning and glaring at me with pure hatred as it contemplated its next move. "Not so sure of yourself now, are you?" I yelled, meeting the black stare. The eyes narrowed as if it could understand me. I immediately wished I'd kept my mouth shut as the creature advanced again.

Something hit the passenger door with the force of a battering ram. The force of the blow tossed me in the air and my head struck the steering wheel on the way back down. It wasn't enough to knock me out but I lost my grip on the knife. The impact also knocked the creature off balance and it scrambled for purchase. I flipped onto my stomach and reached frantically for the knife, which had become lodged behind the brake pedal.

"Aarrgh!" The scream was ripped from my throat as fire burned across my back, agonizing pain that stole my breath and made my sight go dark for a few precious seconds.

I couldn't think past the pain and it was like some deeper instinct took over, making me swing around and sink my blade deep into the paw that dripped with my blood. The creature roared and lunged again and this time I felt unbearable pain shoot through my left arm. My right hand shook as I sliced at my attacker, making it pull back again. Weariness washed over me and I realized blood loss must be robbing me of my strength. Soon I would not be able to wield the knife at all and it would be over.

Movement drew my attention to a second hyena creature looming outside the passenger door. Long cracks webbed through the door window and my pain-dulled mind knew one more blow would shatter it. Both creatures let out victorious whoops.

A second later, something large collided with the creature outside the door. Above me another dark blurred shape flew over the truck taking my attacker with it. Sounds of fighting filled the air: ripping, gnashing, howling, screams of pain. Struggling to sit, I clenched the knife to my breast and stared through the rain at the two enormous werewolves locked in bloody battle with the hyena creatures.

_They're alive!_ My heart swelled with hope and then fear for my friends who were fighting for their lives out there. The werewolves and the hyena creatures clung to each other, slashing and biting with claws and powerful jaws. Over and over they rolled across the road until it was impossible for me to tell one from the other.

The sound of bone snapping was followed by a sickening gurgling noise and I knew a life had just ended. I almost collapsed in relief when one of the werewolves detached itself from its opponent and joined the other against the second hyena creature. It was two against one now.

Into the headlight beams stepped two more hyena things. I cried out as the creatures bore down on my friends who were completely unaware of the new threat.

Pale gold hair flashed in front of the truck as a new shape appeared out of nowhere to land between the truck and the creatures. Armed with a long thin sword, Chris advanced on the hyena things. There was a glint of metal as his weapon moved, blurring through the air to cut into the shoulder of the nearest creature. Pulling the sword free he slashed at the second creature, the blade opening the hyena thing's neck in a nauseating spray of blood. The creature dropped and he turned back to finish off the other one.

"No," I sobbed as another two creatures ran out of the woods. "Behind you!" I cried weakly and the Mohiri flung his body aside just in time to avoid the surprise attack. He recovered and he and one of the creatures began to circle each other.

My warning had gained the attention of one of the new creatures and it turned toward the truck, wearing the same laughing grin as its brethern. I steadied myself and gripped the knife tightly and prayed that I had enough strength left to fight it off. The pain in my back and left arm and loss of blood had weakened me and I tried to draw on the same strength that had filled me a few minutes ago.

It wasn't enough. My eyes were already growing heavy and the sounds of fighting seemed farther and farther away. _Am I dying?_ I wondered numbly as I watched the creature draw near.

The rumbling noise came out of nowhere, vibrating through the air seconds before a single headlight appeared around the bend ahead of us. Like a missile, the motorcycle roared down the wet road, sending up a spray of water in every direction. It slammed into the creature advancing on the truck with a grisly crunch of metal and bone. The rider leapt from the bike a second before impact, landing on his feet with sword drawn. He moved swiftly toward the fallen creature. With deadly force he brought his sword down, beheading the creature with a single powerful blow. Withdrawing his sword, he strode into the mass of flailing bodies and quickly dispatched a second creature. The werewolves immediately moved in and finished off the last one.

I saw him say something to the werewolves before they ran off into the trees. I wanted to yell at them to come back but my voice no longer worked and I sagged against the seat as tears coursed through the splatters of the creature's blood on my face.

The crumpled driver's door creaked and groaned as someone ripped it from its hinges. "Easy man, you'll frighten her," a male voice said as if from a long way off.

A warm hand lifted my chin and my dazed eyes met raging grey ones. For a moment, I forgot the burning pain coursing through me and all I could feel was the hypnotic pull of those eyes.

Nikolas's fingers snapped in front of my face and I realized he was speaking to me. I came out of my stupor to hear him say, "Sara, can you hear me?"

"Yes," I replied hoarsely, my throat raw from screaming.

His hand left my face and enclosed my hand that still gripped the knife. "You are safe now, _moy malen'kiy voin_. Let the knife go," he said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

I opened my hand and let him take the bloody weapon that had saved my life. I knew with unwavering certainty that if he had not given it to me, I'd be dead right now.

Nikolas tossed the knife on the floor of the truck and took my hands in his. He looked at me then at the roof and his jaw clenched when he saw the shredded metal. "You fought them off? By yourself?"

"J-just one."

His harsh chuckle seemed to fill the truck. "Just one? _Khristu!_ " He shook his head at the blood splattered cab. "We need to get you out of this thing. Do you think you can stand?"

I nodded, wanting nothing more than to get away from the place where I'd almost died. I started to slide out of the seat, but cried out when searing pain shot through my back and arm.

"What is it? Did it hurt you?" There was concern and something else in his voice, something dark and violent.

I nodded and closed my eyes against the pain. "G-guess I'm not much of a fighter after all."

His hand left mine. "Stay here," he ordered tersely and disappeared into the rain. I heard movement and voices raised in argument, but I couldn't make out the words. A few minutes later, Chris appeared in the opening where the driver's door had been. In his hand was a small metal cylinder and he unscrewed the top and scooped out something that looked like green putty. Holding the stuff to my lips, he said, "Eat this. It will help with the pain."

"Nikolas?" I murmured.

"He's still here. Now take this like a good little girl."

I obeyed, letting him place the putty in my mouth. Immediately I tried to spit it out as a dry, bitter taste flooded every corner of my mouth.

"No you don't," he said, forcing my mouth closed with his hand. "I know it tastes awful but trust me, you'll thank me in a little while."

Glaring at him, I had no choice but to chew and swallow the stuff, certain that I would never get the horrid taste out of my mouth. Within minutes, blessed numbness began to spread across the throbbing muscles of my back and arm. I let out a soft sigh as the pain retreated and I was able to think clearly again.

"Better?" Chris asked and I nodded. "Good. Now let's get you out of this death trap so we can check out your injuries." He reached around me with both arms and effortlessly lifted me out of the cab of the truck. My legs wobbled when he set me on my feet and I clung to his arm until I could stand on my own. The light rain was a cooling balm against my heated skin and I lifted my face to let the water wash away tears and the creature's blood.

Chris examined the scratches on my upper arm through the tear in my sleeve. "These don't look too bad. Their claws and teeth have venom in them and it makes the cuts feel worse than they actually are. The gunna paste I gave you will prevent infection and will speed up the healing process." He moved around me and reached for the opening of my coat. "I'm going to look at your back."

I was too happy to be alive and not hurting anymore to be embarrassed by a strange man looking under my clothes. I let him slide the thin coat off my shoulders then felt him gently prodding the scratches on my back. The foul stuff he'd made me eat must have been pretty powerful because I didn't feel any pain when he touched my wounds.

"These are a little deeper but nothing life-threatening," he announced a little louder as if he was saying it to someone else. I looked up and saw Nikolas standing rigidly by his crumpled bike with his arms crossed, watching us. He didn't seem like the type to stay on the sidelines.

Chris saw where I was looking and must have read the question on my face. "I have a better bedside manner than my friend," he explained with a wry smile.

"He looks angry. Is he mad at me?"

"No. He is upset that we were too late to stop you from getting hurt. He's worked himself into a bit of a rage and he just needs a minute to calm down."

"A rage?"

"Yes it happens when..." He stopped and glanced back at Nikolas. "It's a Mori thing. You'll learn about that stuff soon."

"Oh." It struck me then how quiet it was. Shouldn't Roland and Peter be back by now? "Where are my friends?"

"They are making sure there are no more crocotta hiding nearby." He looked around and let out a whistle. "Six of them. That is an unusually large pack. Someone is very serious about finding you."

I shivered. "Finding me?"

"The crocotta are trackers. Someone sent them after you, probably with orders to retrieve you."

"They... almost killed me."

Chris helped me back into my coat. "The thrill of the hunt got the better of them. Good thing they are not as good at killing as they are at tracking."

My teeth started to chatter as his words sank in. Nikolas's earlier words came back to me. _"We believe the vampire is searching for you....There is more than one way to track someone."_

"I think I'm going to be sick," I moaned and ran to the other side of the road where I began to retch miserably. After a minute I straightened shakily and wiped my mouth with my wet sleeve. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering violently as I looked away from the two Mohiri, not wanting to see them witness my humiliation.

Cloth rustled and a leather jacket slid over my shoulders.

"I'll get blood all over it," I protested weakly.

Strong hands turned me as Nikolas wrapped the jacket around me. It was way too big for me but it was soft and warm and smelled comfortingly of aged leather, soap, and a warm spicy scent.

"I think it can stand a little blood," he said gruffly, letting go of me.

"I... thank you."

"Are you still in pain?"

"I'm much better, thanks." Between the warm coat and that foul stuff Chris had made me take, I felt a hundred times better than I had ten minutes ago.

I looked around, seeing the carnage for the first time. Six hyena things – crocotta, Chris had called them – lay dead upon the road. Even in death the creatures were terrifying. I had never seen or heard of anything like them.

Ten feet from the truck lay Nikolas's black motorcycle on its side and looking like he would not be riding it out of here tonight. My gaze fell on Roland's truck and I sucked in a sharp breath. The hood was buckled and scarred by long deep scratches and the mangled door lay on the ground. Metal stood up in jagged edges from the roof making it look like someone had taken a machete to it. It was almost inconceivable I had come out of _that_ with nothing more than a few nasty scratches.

"Only someone with warrior blood could have survived that," Nikolas said as if he'd heard my thoughts.

"I'm not a warrior."

"So you keep telling me." He walked away before I could think of a reply. I watched him go to his motorcycle and lift it upright. When he started it up, I thought he was leaving but he turned it off and put down the stand.

"Sara!" Roland yelled, running toward us and looking a lot better than I felt. He had scratches on his face and one of his sleeves looked torn and bloody, but otherwise he looked alright considering he had been engaged in mortal combat. I held up my hands to stop him from grabbing me in a hug and concern flooded his face. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes, but I'll live." I tried to sound flippant and failed miserably.

He ran a hand through his wet hair and let out a ragged breath. "I nearly lost it when I saw it attacking you." He stared at the closest corpse. "I studied crocotta but I never thought I'd ever see them around here. Fuck! They were strong." He looked at me then cast a sad glance at what was left of his truck. "You were incredible, fighting it off like that."

"I wouldn't have lasted much longer without you guys," I told him. "Where is Peter, by the way? There is no way I'm going out there looking for him again."

Roland laughed. "He went to find his clothes. There was no one home when he got there so he grabbed a lug wrench and headed back. He was coming up the road when he saw us getting attacked."

I didn't want to think of what would have happened if Peter, Nikolas and Chris hadn't shown up when they did. "How did you know?" I asked Nikolas.

"One of our men called to tell me a crocotta had been seen in the Portland area," Nikolas said. "I knew that they could track you even if the vampires could not."

"But how did you know where we were?"

"I put a tracker on your friend's truck at the pizza place a few days ago," Chris replied smugly. At my look of disbelief he said, "You didn't think I was going run around town all week looking for you, did you?"

Peter showed up then and his appearance distracted Roland from whatever angry remark he'd been about to make. "I think we got them all. No worries about one of them reporting back to whoever sent them." He stared at the mutilated truck. "Damn! What the hell happened to the truck?"

Nikolas dug through one of the compartments on his bike. "You three are like a disaster magnet." He stopped searching and came over to reach into his coat pocket and pull out a cell phone. "I'm going to call for a pickup," he said to Chris.

Somehow I didn't think he meant a pickup truck. "A pickup for what?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Not what, who. Look around. It's not safe here for you."

I moved closer to Roland. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Be reasonable, Sara. You need to be with people who can protect you."

Roland put an arm around me. "We can protect her."

"I can see that," Nikolas retorted. "Why is it that both times she's been attacked is when you've been 'protecting' her?"

"Listen I –"

"Are you implying something?" Roland shot back.

"Look around you."

"No one could have expected a large pack of crocotta to show up like that. And you couldn't have held off that many alone either."

"No, but if she was with her own people she wouldn't have to worry about that."

"I'm not –"

"Her people? We're her friends. We care for her more than a bunch of strangers."

"They wouldn't be strangers for long. And she can train to protect herself."

"Stop it," I yelled, finally getting their attention. "Stop talking about me like I'm not even here. I'm not leaving New Hastings, so drop it." Every part of me was tired and I desperately wanted to sit down. But there was nowhere to sit except for the truck and I really didn't want to go near it right now. I was eager to put as much distance as possible between me and this place.

"Sara, I think you should come home with us tonight," Roland suggested.

"But you guys got them all."

"Yes, but you're covered in blood and your clothes are all ripped up. You don't want Nate to see you like this."

I looked down at my wet, bloody jeans. My coat was hidden by Nikolas's but I knew it had been shredded by the crocotta. First vampires and now a bunch of mutant hyenas. At this rate I wouldn't have any clothes left.

"You're right," I told him. "Nate can't see this."

Peter went to the truck and found his phone which had miraculously survived the carnage. He hit a number and said, "Dad, you won't believe what just happened here." He walked away with the phone to his ear.

Nikolas looked displeased but resigned with my refusal to leave. "Is there anyone around here who can clean this up before the locals see it?" he asked Roland. "If not, we'll bring in someone."

"Yeah, I'll call someone." Roland produced his own phone and made a call. A few minutes later he hung up. "My cousin Francis will be here in a few minutes with a crew to take care of this. We'll take Sara to my house."

"Chris and I will come with you to make sure there is no more trouble," Nikolas said.

"There is no need for that," Roland said. "She will be safe in the Knolls."

There was a hard edge to Nikolas's jaw that I was beginning to recognize. "Forgive me if I have my doubts. We will accompany you."

I looked at Chris. Nikolas had ridden up on his bike but Chris had arrived on foot. "How did you get here so fast?" I asked him.

"My bike is half a mile down the road. When I heard the crocottas' hunting calls I decided to come in on foot to surprise them." He slanted a wry look at Nikolas. "I had no idea some people would come roaring in and making enough noise to wake the dead."

I leaned against Roland for strength and gave Chris a tired smile. "Thank you."

Chris inclined his head. "And I thought small town life was boring."

Minutes later headlights glowed around the bend up ahead and a silver Hyundai appeared followed by a large Ford pickup. Roland's cousin, Francis jumped out of the car and stared in awe at the scene before him. Older than Roland by four years, Francis had the same dark hair but a slightly leaner build than his younger cousin. Watching his face, I couldn't tell if it was the six crocotta bodies, the mangled truck or the presence of two Mohiri warriors that stunned him the most. "Fuck," was all he could say over and over as he walked over to the nearest crocotta corpse and took in the sheer size of the creature.

Someone whistled behind him and I saw two guys I didn't know in their mid twenties. "You guys did this?" one of them asked Roland and Peter as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

"Yes, with help," Peter said and I could hear a little swagger in his voice. Hell, he'd earned the right to brag after what he'd done tonight.

I saw Francis and the two other guys turn hostile stares on Nikolas and Chris. "What are they doing here?" one of the guys bit out.

"They helped us fight the crocotta," Peter replied and I could tell that he was torn between gratitude to the Mohiri and the dislike that had been ingrained in him his whole life.

"If you guys don't mind," Nikolas cut in coldly. "Sara is hurt."

"You're hurt?" Francis asked as if seeing me there for the first time. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No hospital," I stated firmly.

"Maybe you should go get checked out," Roland suggested.

"She will be okay," Chris said. "I gave her something to help with the pain and to speed healing." At Roland's look of doubt, he said. "Trust me. It is a very powerful medicine. The Mohiri have used it in battle for centuries. With her own accelerated healing, her injuries will go away in a few days."

"Her accelerated healing?" Francis asked and Roland and I both answered at once. "It's a long story."

"Take my car," Francis said handing his keys to Roland. "I'll stay here with the boys to take care of this. We'll need to call in a few more hands to get rid of all these."

"Come on." Roland helped me into the front seat of the car. Peter jumped in the back. I laid my head back against the head rest with a huge sigh, happy just to be off my feet and out of the rain. Roland handed me his cell phone to call Nate since I'd lost my own phone in the woods. His voice mail picked up and I left a message that I was going to stay at Roland's tonight and I'd see him tomorrow. Nate would most likely be delighted that I was spending more time with Roland and Peter again.

The drive to Roland's house took less than five minutes. Roland went around turning on lights and I sank onto the couch, careful not to hurt my back. But whatever Chris gave me had worked its magic and I could feel no pain. I closed my eyes and wrapped Nikolas's jacket tighter around me, then I kicked off my shoes and curled up against the cushions. Roland's old couch had never felt so comfortable.

I heard the front door open. In the kitchen, Roland and Peter talked in hushed voices with someone else but I was too tired to care. Someone laid a quilt over me and I mumbled a thank you without opening my eyes.

I dozed restlessly and awoke in the middle of the night to a darkened room. Fearful, I tried to sit up but my body was too tired and stiff to respond. I heard a faint rustle and looked across the room to see the outline of someone standing by the window.

"Nikolas?"

"Go back to sleep."

I lay back and closed my eyes again until I heard him shift position. Suddenly, I was afraid he might go and leave me alone in the dark. "Don't go," I said in a small voice, too desperate to care how plaintive I sounded.

His tone was gentler when he answered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Relief and a profound feeling of peace filled me. Heaviness stole over me again and I fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

# Chapter 11

The smell of coffee and bacon woke me the next morning. At first I was disoriented when I saw where I was, but the events of the night before soon came crashing back. I pushed back the quilt and got gingerly to my feet, aching all over but surprisingly well rested considering the night I'd had.

I looked down at the large leather jacket I wore. It smelled like Nikolas and warmth suffused me when I remembered him wrapping me in it. The scent also conjured a hazy memory of him here in the room with me last night. Was that real or had I dreamed it?

"Oh, you're up." Judith walked into the living room and gave me an appraising look. "Well you don't look too bad considering. How do you feel?"

I winced. "Like I was attacked by a pack of giant mutant hyenas."

She laughed softly. "I'm glad you can joke about it. What a goings-on. I'm just relieved you three are okay, though I hear you got the worst of it."

"Yeah, lucky me."

"Here, let me have a look." She came over and reached for Nikolas's jacket, sliding it off me and laying it across the back of the couch. Then she helped me out of my own ravaged coat and inspected my arm.

"I can hardly believe it. These scratches look at least a few weeks old." She straightened and smiled at me. "Roland told us about your mother. I guess you inherited the Mohiri ability to heal."

Her remarks were so casual, I had to know. "It doesn't bother you – what I am?"

"Of course not. Just because we don't associate with the Mohiri doesn't mean we think they are bad people. Some of the younger hotheads like to hold on to the old grudges but they'll grow out of it. In any case, your parentage doesn't change who you are, just like finding out what we are didn't change how you feel about us."

"Never." I reached for my coat when an object on the coffee table caught my attention. It was the knife Nikolas had given me – or one just like it. I picked it up and ran my hands over the finely made sheath before I drew the knife and marveled over the small blade that had helped to save my life. In the light of day, it was hard to believe all that had happened last night.

Judith stepped back when I flashed the silver blade. "Oh, I'm so sorry." I rushed to sheathe the knife. "I forgot that you guys can't touch silver."

She waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. It burns but we heal fast."

I tucked the knife into the pocket of the leather jacket. "I thought silver was deadly to werewolves."

"Only if the silver gets inside and we can't get it out, which is where the whole silver bullet legend came from. It poisons us and we can't heal as long as it's there." She smiled. "Luckily, you don't see many pure silver bullets."

"There's still so much I don't know."

"I think you're doing pretty good." She waved a hand at my clothes. "Now let's get you cleaned up. I can't believe Roland let you sleep on that couch and in your wet clothes."

I grimaced at my badly wrinkled jeans and shirt. I didn't want to imagine what my hair must look like. I'd been so worn out last night that I didn't even realize I was wearing wet clothes when I laid down.

"My clothes are a bit big for you but they'll do while I wash yours. I left some things on my bed for you. Breakfast will be ready by the time you're done."

I was suddenly ravenously hungry so I showered and changed as fast as I could. When I entered the kitchen, Judith was putting scrambled eggs, bacon and toast on a plate. I sat at the table and she laid the plate in front of me with a glass of orange juice. She disappeared for a minute and I heard the washer start up. Then she came back and sat across from me with a mug of coffee. I dug in and polished off half my breakfast before I realized she was watching me with an amused expression.

"I forgot how good your appetite is. When you kids were younger I used to make extra whenever you stayed for dinner. You and Roland were quite the pair."

I smiled at her sheepishly. "Where is he by the way?"

"He and Peter went with Max to show him where you were attacked. We're all shocked that something like this could happen so close to us."

'Shocked' was a polite way to say it. Werewolves are very territorial and other predators rarely cross their boundaries. Even having the Mohiri here last night had raised a few hackles despite the fact that Nikolas and Chris had helped to fend off our attackers. A pack of crocotta hunting in werewolf territory was probably unheard of.

"Did you guys find anything in Portland?"

Judith's smiled faded a little and it looked like she was trying to decide how much to tell me. "We found no vampires but there were signs that they were there for a week, maybe longer."

"By signs you mean the missing girls?" I suppressed a shudder. I was the same age as those girls, exactly Eli's type.

"You know about them?"

I nodded. "It's not hard to guess what happened to them."

Judith ran a finger along the rim of her mug. "You are handling all of this amazingly well."

"I'm coping." If you didn't count the nightmares. Strange that I didn't remember having one last night. I would have expected to wake up screaming about giant hyenas.

"I'm not sure many girls your age could cope as well."

"Well to be fair, it's not like I didn't already know this world existed. I just never realized how sheltered I was here." I made a face. "And most girls don't have their own bodyguards following them around."

She watched me pensively over the top of her mug. "And how do you feel about your new relations?"

I had to think about it before I answered. How did I feel? I was still coming to terms with the things I'd learned about myself. All my life I'd known that the dark thing in my head was bad and had to be repressed but the idea that it was a demon still repulsed me. I had to keep telling myself that it did not change who I was. I didn't know why that was so hard for me. When I looked at Nikolas and Chris I saw men, not demons. Good men if I was honest. If I wasn't so annoyed with them for following me everywhere and if Nikolas would stop being so damn high-handed, I might actually like them. It didn't help that Nikolas's suspicions last night had been right on the mark and I would have been toast if he hadn't showed up to save my life... again. Was it possible to resent someone and feel grateful to them at the same time?

"Honestly, I have no idea what to think of them. If Nikolas had his way, I'd be having Thanksgiving with them... if they even celebrate Thanksgiving. They just seem so focused on hunting, like that is all they do. I don't think I could live like that."

Judith nodded in understanding. The werewolves were hunters too but I'd spent enough time with them to know that they lived a normal life otherwise. Their families were close and they had regular jobs like anyone else; a far cry from the warrior lifestyle of the Mohiri.

"Judith, why do you think the vampires came to Portland in the first place with it being so close to you guys? Why would they risk it?"

"Our best guess is they were searching for someone or something. Not you," she added quickly. "I think you were just unlucky enough get their attention."

I pushed my eggs around with my fork. "Do you think... is it possible that my dad's murder had anything to do with my mother being a Mohiri? I mean vampires hate the Mohiri, right? Maybe one of them came looking for her and found my dad instead."

Judith's hand went to her throat and her expression told me I'd hit on something. "If you know anything you have to tell me," I begged her.

"Sara, you need to leave this to Maxwell. I can see how you would want answers about your father's death, but he wouldn't want you getting hurt over this."

"I just want to know what you found. Please. I have a right to know."

She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee then sat across from me again. "We've been in touch with some of our contacts around the country since Roland told us about your mother. The Mohiri are too closed off to tell us anything about her, but our network is very large and we did find some details. Not a whole lot but it's only been a few days."

"We know that your mother spent a lot of time in California, Texas, and New Mexico after she left you and your father. Then a week before your father was killed, we believe she was in Portland for a very short time. We have no idea why she went back or if she even saw your father while she was there."

Judith didn't say what both of us were thinking. It was too much of a coincidence that Madeline went back to Portland the same week that vampires showed up and killed her husband of all people. Madeline had led them to us – maybe not intentionally – but it was her fault they found us. First she abandoned us and then she led those monsters right to our door.

"Is she still alive?" I asked, almost spitting out the words.

Judith hesitated then said, "Yes. We believe she is somewhere in South America now."

"My dad was murdered and I might as well have been killed too for all she cared," I said with so much bitterness that I didn't recognize my own voice. "How could he have loved someone like her?"

"I'm sure she must have had some good qualities. And as for your father, people will overlook a lot when they are in love."

"What kind of person does something like that?" I said almost to myself. "Are all the Mohiri that unfeeling?"

Judith set down her cup. "I don't know much about the Mohiri so I can't speak for them but don't judge them all by the actions of one. I will tell you that the man who gave you his coat and stood guard over you all night can't be all that bad. Maybe he's not as friendly or easygoing as the people you are used to, but he's certainly not unfeeling either."

So I hadn't dreamed it. Her revelation confused me even more. Nikolas was like two different people in one body: the cold, hard warrior and the kind protector. It was hard to know which one would appear when he showed up.

"He feels responsible for me since he was the one who found me. I don't think he even likes me because I don't fall in line like a good little orphan."

"I see."

I got up and carried my dishes to the sink. "The Mohiri have this thing about orphans," I explained as I rinsed my plate. "They find their orphans and raise them and train them to be warriors. Only I'm not like most orphans because I'm older. I can't be persuaded to join the Mohiri like little kids can and now Nikolas feels like he has to watch over me until he can get me off his hands. I don't think he knows what to do with me."

Judith chuckled softly and came to rinse her cup. "I think you may be right about that." She nudged me away from the sink. "I'll clean up here. Go throw your clothes in the dryer."

I spent the rest of the morning helping Judith with housework, although she wouldn't let me do anything too heavy because I was still recovering from the attack. There was something comforting about doing mundane chores after such a crazy night. Laundry and vacuuming have a way of grounding you when your life seems like it's about to spin out of control.

By the time Roland showed up for lunch, the house was spic and span and I was learning how to make a chicken rice casserole, which Judith guaranteed that Nate would love. It was the kind of thing I should have learned from my own mother, if she'd cared enough to stick around. I hoped Judith saw how much it meant to me because as usual I couldn't find the words to say it out loud.

After lunch, Roland borrowed his mother's car to make good on a promise he'd made to me. We drove down to the small Presbyterian Church in the Knolls and he spent two hours teaching me to drive. Judith's car was a stick and it took me most of the lesson to get the hang of the gear stick and all the pedals. By the end of the lesson, I'd managed to drive once around the parking lot without stalling or popping the clutch.

"Can't I learn on an automatic?" I whined after the car jerked forward for the hundredth time.

"Not if you want to learn anytime soon. Looks like the truck will be out of commission for a while – a long while."

I quit complaining after that. He had worked and saved for two years to buy that old thing and now it was ruined because of me. When I tried to apologize he dismissed it. Apparently, he and Peter were some kind of local heroes after last night since few werewolves get the chance to tangle with a crocotta, especially a pack of them. I wasn't sure if that honor was worth losing his wheels but Roland seemed to think so.

At three o'clock I decided I'd hidden out at Roland's long enough. Judith put my casserole in a carrier and I rolled up Nikolas's jacket and stuck it in a plastic bag with my ruined coat so Nate would not see them. Roland drove me home in his mother's car and I couldn't help but wonder more than once where Nikolas and Chris were today, if they were following us right now. After last night, I was torn about them hanging around. I definitely felt safer knowing they were nearby, but I couldn't spend my life being followed and watched all the time. There were things in my life, secrets that I couldn't share, and they would be hard to conceal if I was forever under surveillance. Hopefully, the vampires would give up soon and the Mohiri could leave and let things go back to normal. Judith told me that Maxwell had beefed up patrols in New Hastings today. The crocotta had struck too close to home and the werewolves were worried about their own families. With the increased werewolf presence and the Mohiri warriors, New Hastings was probably safer right now than it had ever been.

Nate was at his computer when I got home. I stopped in front of his office door and held up the carrier. "Judith taught me how to make a casserole," I gushed like a kid who'd just learned to tie her shoe laces. "Chicken and rice."

"Really?" He eyed the carrier with anticipation. He didn't say it but I could tell he was happy – not because of Judith's cooking, but because I was spending a lot more time with Roland and Peter. For once I agreed with him. Despite all the bad things that had happened in the last few weeks, I was happier than I'd felt in a long time.

Dinner was nice. Nate had two helpings of casserole and we were both more relaxed than we'd been in a while. That didn't stop him from noticing that something was off with me. "Are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale."

"Just tired. We stayed up late last night and I helped Judith around the house today."

"Cooking _and_ housework?"

"Hey, I do housework," I protested even though we both knew how much I disliked it. I'd rather gut fish down on the wharf than clean the bathroom.

Nate smiled like I'd said something funny and I scowled at him.

"Why don't you ask Judith if you can stay with them while I'm at the conference next week?" He said. "That way you won't have to be here alone? Imagine what you could learn to cook in five days."

Nate had started going to an annual writer's conference in Boston two years ago, once he finally realized I was old enough to get along without him for a few days. Five whole days of total freedom. I loved Roland and Judith, but no way was I giving that up.

"Are you kidding? I'm going to order from Gino's every day and dust off the Buffy DVDs."

He grimaced. "Pizza and vampire slayers. What more could you want?"

"Hey, you should be glad I'll just be lounging around in pajamas," I said with a sly grin. "Although I could call up the cute drummer I met at the party last night and see if he wants to hang out."

His eyes widened in dismay. "A drummer?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. He's also taking college classes in case the band thing doesn't work out."

The look on Nate's face was priceless. "College? How old is this boy?"

"Um, twenty, I think." I had no idea how old Samson was but I was having too much fun to stop. "So really he is more of a man than a boy when you think about it."

Nate's expression of horror was so funny I couldn't hold back my laughter any longer. "Breathe, Nate, I'm just messing with you. I mean, I did meet a very nice guy but nothing happened. Of course, that might not be the case if I was a _normal_ girl who was going out and dating and all."

He glowered at me. "How long have you been waiting to use that one?"

"A loooong time." My heart felt light as I wrapped up the leftover casserole and put it in the fridge. I couldn't remember the last time Nate and I had bantered this way. "When are you leaving?"

"Not till next Tuesday morning and I'll be back on Sunday. You have my cell number and I'll leave the hotel information on the fridge before I go." He sipped the strong black tea he liked to have after dinner. "That way you can get hold of me anytime."

"I'll be fine," I assured him. "Oh by the way, I need to get a new cell phone. I lost mine last night. It's probably water logged now after all the rain."

"How did you lose your phone?"

"Dropped it somewhere in the woods out in the Knolls," I replied vaguely.

He looked at me over his cup. "Do I want to know what you were doing in the woods in the middle of a storm?" He shook his head. "Never mind, forget I asked. I'll get you one tomorrow. I don't want you here alone without a cell phone."

Nate went back to his book and I cleaned the dishes before I headed to my own computer. Judith had found information about Madeline so easily that I was hopeful I could learn more about her movement on my own. But I soon realized that Judith's network knew a lot more than anything I could find online.

I was in the second hour of my fruitless search when I got the email from NightWatcher. It showed up in the email box I'd set up for message board correspondence to keep my real identity safe. I stared at the unopened message for a good five minutes before I clicked on it. It was the first time I'd heard from him since we made the arrangement to meet at the Attic and I wondered what he wanted and why he waited this long to finally contact me. For a second, I contemplated deleting it but my curiosity won out. I wanted to know why he hadn't shown up that night. More than that, I wanted to know if he really knew anything about my father's murder.

_I'm sorry I didn't go to meet you at the Attic. I did intend to go in but when I got there it didn't feel safe. I heard later that someone was attacked by a vampire that night. Portland is not a safe place these days. I left town that night and I've been keeping a low profile ever since._

* * *

_If you still want to talk, I want to meet you. Just not in Portland. Let's pick a place away from there where the vampires aren't likely to go. I'd prefer to meet during the day if we can. I think that would be safer for both of us._

I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen. I had expected to never hear from NightWatcher again and his email stirred the same need that had sent me to the Attic in the first place. No matter what had happened, I still had to find out why my dad was killed. The sane part of me protested that I didn't know this guy from Adam and for all I knew, he could be luring me into some kind of trap. But a bigger part of me argued that I was never going to find the answers I sought, sitting in my bedroom searching Google.

I sent a quick email back telling him I might have trouble getting away and asked him if he could share what he knew online. His reply was almost immediate.

_The things I know could mean my death if the wrong person learned of them. I need to meet you in person to be certain I can trust you. You will understand once we meet._

_Hmmm, cryptic._ I was more determined than ever to meet him now but slipping away to meet him was going to be damn near impossible with my self-appointed bodyguards following me around, especially after the crocotta attack. There had to be a way to do this.

_I still want to meet you. I just need to figure out some things. I'll think of a place we can meet that will work for both of us. Let me see what I can work out and I'll get back to you._

I clicked Send and let out a long breath, wondering if I had done the right thing or made a huge mistake. The way things were going for me lately, I never knew what to expect when I set foot outside my door. But I couldn't let that keep me hiding out at home and afraid to ever take chances again. I loved my freedom. If fear stole that from me, what kind of life did I have?

Bad things could happen whether you left your house or not – a painful truth I learned with my father's death. And it wasn't just me I had to think of now, but Nate as well. What if the crocotta had followed my trail back here instead of finding me on the road last night? Nate would have been helpless against such creatures.

Remy would know how to keep Nate safe. I needed to go see him as soon as possible because the least I could do was try to protect Nate.

My injured back and arm ached as I undressed for bed. The scratches were healing at an incredible rate and Chris said they would be completely gone in a few days. I'd have to make sure I wore long sleeves until they faded because there was no way I could explain away those scars.

I turned off the light and pulled back my comforter, but instead of getting into bed I was drawn to the window. Parting the curtains, I looked down at the dark waterfront and wondered if Nikolas or Chris was out there right now, standing guard over my place. Roland told me that Nikolas had refused to leave the house even after Maxwell and the others arrived, though some of the younger wolves were very unhappy to have a couple of Mohiri hanging around. I had to say one thing about him; he was pretty serious about this whole protection thing. I just wished I knew how long it was going to last. Didn't he have warrior business to take care of?

A movement in the shadows caught my eye and I realized someone actually was out there, standing just outside the glow of the nearest streetlight. As if they heard my thoughts, the shadows moved again and a tall figure stepped into the light. I couldn't see Nikolas's face but I knew it was him. A feeling like contentment settled in my chest and I stepped back from the window. _It's nothing_. _I just feel better knowing he's there... for Nate's sake._

For the second night in a row, the nightmares stayed away.

Slipping away to see Remy or anyone else turned out to be a lot harder than I had anticipated with my two Mohiri bodyguards stepping up their watch after the attack. It wasn't like I could just jump on my bike and ride down to see my troll friend, and if I admitted it to myself, I wasn't too keen on going out into the woods alone right now. But it was as frustrating as hell to have someone watching my comings and goings around the clock.

It wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that I finally saw an opportunity to steal away. I got home from school to find a note from Nate saying he was at one of his environmental meetings. Peering out the window, I saw that Chris was on duty, sitting casually on a bench as if he didn't have a care in the world. Didn't he get bored just sitting there? I thought warrior business was supposed to be a lot more exciting.

As I watched him, two girls approached him and sat on either side of him, engaging him in conversation. At that moment, I could have kissed Jessie and Marie. I felt no pity for Chris because he seemed more than capable of holding his own against two teenage girls and this was the perfect diversion to keep him occupied long enough for me to make my escape. In minutes, I was pushing my bike through the back door and between two buildings to Market Street.

Remy was standing just off the road waiting for me when I arrived. It was uncanny how he always knew when I was coming to see him. I'd asked him about it more than once and he only smiled and said it was a troll thing.

Today he was not smiling. He spent a full five minutes going off about the crocotta attack and how I'd almost been killed. I should have known he'd know all about it. There was no way something that big had happened close to troll territory without them being aware. "This what happens when you go to city. Bad things come from city," he ranted as we walked to the cliff.

"I know, I know. But I can't go back and change that now. I guess you probably know about my new bodyguards too huh?"

He nodded seriously. "Warriors are strong. They protect you."

I told him about Nikolas coming to see me last week and his news that I was Mohiri. Remy didn't blink an eye as I shared my news. "Did you know what I was all this time?" The possibility that he had known sent a pang of hurt through me.

"No," he answered sincerely. "I knew you not normal human, but even trolls not know everything."

"You knew I wasn't normal?"

He smiled wickedly. "Everyone know that."

"Funny guy!" I retorted, hitting him in the shoulder.

We sat in the cave for an hour while I told him about Nikolas and how he wanted me to go live with the Mohiri. "I don't want to leave here. And I don't want to live forever. Everyone I know will get old and die and I'll still look like this."

"I live long time."

My eyes widened. "That's right!" There was nothing I could do to change my immortality but for the first time, the long years stretching before me didn't seem quite as bleak.

"Do you think we will still be friends in a hundred years, Remy?" Just the thought of the two of us still being here after a century and looking like we did today was too much to imagine.

"We always be friends," he stated with conviction.

My joy dimmed when another thought hit me. "I'll have to go away for a long while because if I stay here people will know I'm not aging. I won't be able to come back until they are all gone." I gave him a hopeful smile. "You could come with me if you want. I could find us a place out in the country somewhere, maybe up in the mountains."

He shook his head sadly. "Have to stay with family."

"Oh." I sighed heavily. Remy was adventurous for a troll but he still had the deep sense of faith and family ingrained in all of his people. He was a steadfast friend but his first loyalty would always be to his family. I understood it and respected it even if the thought of leaving him for years saddened me.

I shook off my gloom; I would worry about leaving my friends behind when the time came to do it. Right now, I had more important things to take care of.

"Remy, I need to protect Nate in case a vampire or some other monster finds out where we live, maybe some spells to watch over him. You have warding spells, right?"

"I have strong ward for home but it not help when uncle not at home. Troll magic not good for humans. But there some good spells you can use."

"I need something really strong. Nate's all the family I have."

He stared at the floor of the cave for a minute before he said, "Ptellon blood. It most powerful protection but it only last one moon. Then you use again."

I made a face. "Blood! You want me to give Nate blood?"

His raspy laughter filled the cave. "Not real blood. Ptellon is special flower from mountain in the Asia land. It have red nectar like blood."

"Oh okay. I just didn't want a repeat of the baktu – which was pretty gross by the way." I rubbed my arms against the chill coming off the ocean. "How do I use it and what does it do?"

"Put it in drink or food. It make bad smell to demons and Peoples and they not go near him."

"Won't he smell it?"

"No smell for humans and animals."

I gave him a wide smile. "That is brilliant! I'll see if Malloy can get it. How much will it cost?"

"It very strong. Maybe many human dollars."

Money meant little to Remy so when he said many dollars I knew he meant way more than I could come up with. I chewed my lip as I tried to figure out how to get the Ptellon blood.

"Bile worth many human dollars," he offered and I shook my head vigorously.

"We can't use your bile again or someone will find us." It was scary just thinking of the bile we had stashed in this cave; enough for someone to kill for."

Remy paced the cave a few more times then zipped to the mouth of the cave. "Wait here," he called before he disappeared up the side of the cliff.

"Where do you think I am going to go?" I shouted after him. There was no answer.

I sat near the opening with my back against the smooth wall. The wind moaned through the cave, reminding me how lonely this place was without Remy. I peered down at the ocean churning around the rocks like a great frothing mouth full of sharp teeth. I loved the sea, the wide openness of it, the smells and sounds. It always seemed to call to me when I was near it. One of the old fishermen told me once that he had had saltwater in his veins and he would never be happy anywhere but on the ocean. At times like this I knew exactly what he meant.

Remy reappeared after a few minutes, bearing a small sack of what looked like sticks. I looked at him in confusion before he laid the sack on the floor of the cave and flashed a wide grin at me as he held out his hand. On his palm lay a dozen or more large sparkling diamonds and one small ruby. He pointed to the ruby. "That buy Ptellon blood."

I peered at the ruby which didn't look like it was more than half a carat. I didn't know much about gems but I knew rubies weren't worth a whole lot.

"A ruby? Is it like magic or something?" I asked him tentatively, trying not to hurt his feelings.

He shook his head like I should know better. "It not ruby. It diamond."

A red diamond? "Oh. Are they expensive?" It looked like a ruby to me. But then what did I know?

"This enough to buy you plenty Ptellon blood for uncle."

"That little thing? Seriously?" It didn't look like much but if Remy said it was valuable I believed him. "Listen, if this is worth so much, are you sure you want to give it to me? Won't you get in trouble?"

He showed his teeth when he grinned. "Clan have many pretty baubles. You take all diamonds. Save others for when you need them."

I knew the trolls had great wealth but it occurred to me that their riches were way beyond my comprehension. "It's like Smaug's treasure," I said, tucking the diamonds in the snug front pocket of my jeans. It wasn't the first time Remy had given me precious stones to use as currency and I wasn't as dazzled by them as I used to be.

"Smaug?"

It took me several minutes to explain the Hobbit and the dragon sleeping on a mountain of treasure. Remy shook his head when I finished. "Dragons not care about baubles. They only like to eat."

"Good to know," I muttered, hoping I never had the opportunity to witness that for myself. I pointed to the sack on the floor. "So what's with the sticks?"

"This for warding house." He explained what all the items in the sack were and how to use them to create a ward. It took me a good thirty minutes to memorize the phrases he gave me to recite during the spell and I figured I'd better do the ward as soon as I got home before I forgot something.

When it was time to go, Remy insisted on accompanying me back to town. He stuck to the woods as I rode my bike and every now and then I caught a flash of him in the trees. If he'd wanted to he could have stayed invisible the whole time, but he let me see him so I'd know he was there.

The motorcycle came up behind me as I passed the city limit sign. I did not turn around and the Ducati purred behind me like a big hungry cat all the way downtown. I considered making a run for the door when I got home but apparently Nikolas had anticipated that. When we hit the waterfront he went on ahead and by the time I reached home he was standing by the corner of the building with his arms crossed and wearing a scowl that made me want to turn around and ride the other way. His moods changed so fast it was hard to keep up with them. The angry man waiting for me now did not resemble the person who had given me his coat and watched over me while I slept two nights ago.

"Did you not learn anything the other night?" he demanded, taking a step toward me. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

Swallowing dryly, I got off my bike and walked it toward him. "Of course not." There was no way I could tell him that I'd been quite safe with a troll who could handle any threat to me.

"No?" His eyes darkened. "Do you want to tell me where you had to sneak off to that was so important?"

"No," I replied, ignoring the command in his voice.

His jaw clenched and I knew he was furious but I wasn't going to cower to him. I did not have to explain my every move to him.

"There is nothing but woods for miles south of town. What were you doing out there?"

Instead of answering his question, I asked, "How did you find me anyway? Did you put one of those trackers on my bike too?"

"No, but maybe I should."

"No, you should not!" I sputtered. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not but right now I would not put it past him. "I'm not helpless, you know and I don't need you guys following me around twenty-four seven. I took care of myself pretty well before you came along."

Nikolas cocked his head and one corner of his mouth lifted arrogantly. "Yes, I can see how well you do on your own," he drawled in an infuriatingly condescending tone. "I'm amazed you lived this long."

It hurt that he thought so little of me but I refused to let him know that. More than that, it angered me that I should care about his opinion of me at all. "I'm sorry I'm such a _trial_ to you but no one is asking you to stick around here. You can go back to doing your warrior thing, hunting vampires or whatever you do and forget all about me."

I moved past him but he did that blurring thing again and I found my way blocked by a wide chest. A hand grabbed my handlebar when I tried to go around him and it felt like my bike was cemented to the ground. He leaned down and spoke with deadly softness into my ear. "If I was a vampire, you'd be dead – or worse."

My breath hitched and for several seconds I was back in the alley, pressed against the brick wall, unable to move. Shaking off the memory, I glared up at him, hating him for reminding me how weak and helpless I'd felt with Eli. Our eyes met inches apart and the Mori in me shifted restlessly, sending a ripple of some foreign emotion through me. I tore my gaze from his, angry that he had the power to affect even a little part of me.

"Does it even matter?"

"What?"

"You said that day on the wharf that you can't save every orphan. What difference does one more make?"

Nikolas stiffened and I realized I'd probably just insulted his warrior ego or something. I was tired of this overbearing, he-man routine and it felt good to know that he wasn't as invincible as he let on.

"Do you mind letting go of my bike?" I asked when he did not respond to my question. "Nate will be home soon and it's my turn to make dinner." And I needed to get away from him because he made me feel angry and safe and afraid at the same time and I didn't know why.

Instead of loosening his grip, he growled, " _Khristu!_ Do you not understand the danger you are in? I know you want to believe you are safe here surrounded by your werewolf friends, but someone went to great lengths sending that pack of crocotta to find you. If it is that vampire, he won't give up."

His words made the back of my neck prickle and I remembered the hunger in Eli's eyes when he had been forced to release me.

Nikolas saw me waver. "If you are honest with yourself, you'll admit I am right." He let go of the handlebar and laid a warm hand over one of mine. "I can protect you if you will let me."

I tried to ignore the small tremble that went through me. How was it possible to dislike someone and feel fluttery inside at the same time? His nearness suddenly made it hard to think straight. Pulling my hand away, I stammered "I really need to go inside now."

This time he did not try to stop me. He stepped aside and I pushed my bike past him. I hurried around to the back door and stood the bike against the wall while I searched for my keys. I did not realize he had followed me until he spoke.

"You can run away from me but you can't run from the truth. The werewolves can't protect you forever and eventually, you'll have to leave New Hastings. What will you do then?"

My hand stilled on the door knob. "When that happens it'll be my problem, not yours," I replied without looking at him. I opened the door and pushed my bike inside. "I don't want you following me around anymore."

"And I don't want you to keep putting yourself in danger. Seems like neither of us will get what we want."

I didn't reply, I just let the heavy door close behind me.

# Chapter 12

I pulled the cloth sack Remy had given me from my backpack and dumped the contents on the storeroom floor. Looking over the two small bundles of ash and elder twigs, the paper packet, the stone bowl and something that looked like a crude artist's brush, it was hard to believe that these simple items could ward off something like a vampire. But I trusted Remy and the trolls' magic. If he said this was the best way to protect Nate then I believed him.

I arranged the twigs in a crisscross pattern in the bowl exactly as Remy had instructed then sprinkled the contents of the packet over the twigs. _"Il vekk'it zuhh ymen,"_ I whispered in a poor imitation of Remy's guttural troll tongue. It was close enough because the twigs burst into flame just as Remy had said they would. The small fire burned quickly, the flames going from white to blue to green before collapsing in a pile of ashes that smelled of burnt sage and basil and charred wood.

Picking up the bowl and brush, I stood and went to the back door. I laid the bowl on the floor and dipped the brush in the ashes then traced the outline of my left hand in the center of the door, softly reciting the words, _"Atal'al il, atal'ak_." Loosely translated, it means 'protect me, protect mine'. I stood back and waited. Seconds later the ash outline of my hand sank into the steel and vanished. There! As long as I called this building home, nothing or no one with harmful intent could come through this door.

Now I just needed to do the same with every door and window in the whole building.

The confrontation with Nikolas bothered me more than I wanted to admit. I hated how weak and vulnerable I felt when he had grabbed my bike and I couldn't stand being followed and watched out of some misplaced sense of obligation. It didn't help that the stupid demon in me always knew when he was around, stirring restlessly every time his presence brushed against my mind. If this was how Mori demons connected, it must be absolute sensory overload living among Nikolas's people. How did the Mohiri live with it?

By the end of the week, I was ready to scream every time I spotted Nikolas or Chris. They were everywhere I went: outside the school, the grocery store, the library, the waterfront. They did not approach me and I pretended to ignore them, but their constant presence meant I was no longer free to come and go as I pleased. I wracked my brain for days to come up with a way to meet with NightWatcher but so far it looked impossible. The Mohiri were going to protect me into insanity.

I started hiding out at home when I wasn't at school because it was the only place I could avoid them, or more specifically, another run in with Nikolas. The only problem with my self-imposed confinement was the fact that I was going stir crazy after a few days. The last time I hid at home it was because I was dealing with the trauma of the vampire attack and the discovery that I was not quite as mortal as I'd believed – valid reasons in anyone's book. This time it was pure cowardice and I hated myself for it.

The only high point in my week was when Malloy sent me a message saying that he knew a guy who dealt mainly in exotic plants and he was working on getting the Ptellon blood for me as soon as possible. When I'd told Malloy how I would pay he got almost as excited as he did about the troll bile. I immediately did an online search and discovered that red diamonds are one of the rarest gemstones in the world. I wished I'd known that before I took it from Remy and offered it up as payment. It could draw too much attention to me when I was trying to keep a low profile. I pushed my worries aside. I had to protect Nate first then deal with the rest if anything came of it. Besides it was unlikely that someone would make a connection between troll bile and diamonds, no matter how rare they were.

When my cell phone rang on Saturday afternoon, I assumed at first that it was Roland because he always called me on Saturdays and he was one of the few people who had my number. The number on the screen was unfamiliar and I answered the call gingerly. "Hello?"

"Sara, hi. It's Samson Long. We met at the party last weekend."

"Um, hi," I replied, trying to hide my shock. _How on earth did he get my number?_

"I hope you don't mind, I got your number from Roland. He said it was cool."

_Note to self: kill best friend_. "No, it's fine."

Samson cleared his throat. "I know it's kind of short notice, but would you like to do something tonight?"

"Do something?" I repeated dumbly.

"Yes, like a movie or dinner... or whatever you like to do."

"I –" I stammered, not sure how to respond. Samson Long was asking me out on a date. Heat flooded my face. A boy was calling to ask me out for the first time in my life and all I could do was stand there like an idiot.

"Or we could just go for coffee now if you want to do that," he offered quickly.

"Okay," I heard myself saying. I liked Samson and I'd enjoyed talking to him at the party before Nikolas had shown up to ruin my mood. "Coffee sounds nice."

I heard the smile in his voice. "Great. How about I pick you up in half an hour?"

"Okay," I said again. I gave him my address and hung up in a daze. Shaking myself out of it, I went to change and do something with my hair. With a few minutes to spare, I sent Roland a text: **UR so dead.**

I expected Samson to be in the white van from the party, but he showed up in a yellow Jeep Wrangler that suited him somehow. He smiled broadly when I got in and said he was glad I said yes. I ducked my head so he couldn't see the heat in my face and occupied myself with buckling my seat belt. I was around boys all the time but this was my first time alone with one who was not shy about letting me know he liked me.

As we drove away, I looked out my window and saw Chris sitting in his normal spot. He pulled out a cell phone and spoke to someone and I had no doubt he was talking to Nikolas, probably passing me off like a baton in a relay race. I turned away, determined to have a good time today and not let them ruin this for me.

Samson said he was taking me to his favorite coffee place and on the way we talked about the party and how it was too bad it had gotten rained out. "Next time, we'll have to hold it inside so rain doesn't drive everyone away," he said with quiet meaning.

The coffee shop was called The Hub. I had seen it in passing plenty of times but today was my first time inside. It was more of a hangout for the college crowd and I could see the appeal in the cozy ambience created by a large fireplace and comfortable couches. Samson bought us two mochas and we weaved through the couches to a pair of big chairs near one of the windows. It was obvious how often he came here by the number people who waved or said hello to him as we passed. It took me a few minutes to realize why it seemed so different than the places I normally went to. If I walked into one of those other places with Samson, all the kids there would have watched us and started whispering right away. Here, people looked up and went back to whatever they were doing. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the two of us and I found it a refreshing change.

"I have a confession to make," he announced after we had settled into the comfy chairs. "I asked around about you this week."

"Oh." I took a sip of coffee to hide the flush creeping up my neck again. "What did you find out?"

His laugh was nice and easy and I noticed that his eyes were a beautiful leaf green. "Not much. Everyone knows who you are but no one seems to really _know_ you except Roland and he said I'd have to ask you. You are a woman of mystery."

It was my turn to laugh. "Maybe they had nothing to say because there is nothing _to_ say."

"I don't believe that. I think there is a lot more to you than you show people." He took a drink from his cup. "You said you live with your uncle. How did that happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

I had never talked to anyone except Roland and Peter about my dad and how I came to live with Nate. It felt strange telling another person now. I gave him a very abbreviated version of the story. "My dad died when I was eight. It was just the two of us and his younger brother took guardianship of me. Nate's a writer so it made it easy for him to stay home and take care of me."

"You and your father were very close, weren't you? I can hear it in your voice."

I nodded, expecting the tears to come but to my surprise they stayed away. "My mother left when I was two and my dad raised me alone." In my mind I saw my dad's face and for a moment I was with him again. "He was... the kindest, funniest person I ever knew. And smart. He loved books and music and he found pleasure in the simplest things: like having pancakes for dinner or listening to a thunderstorm. He always said you could learn a lot about a person by the things they valued. I didn't know what he meant then. I do now."

Samson smiled wistfully. "I think I would have liked your father. I grew up with both parents but we aren't what you'd call close. My father owns an engineering company and they work oversees a lot. My mother is a math teacher."

"Wow, an engineer and a teacher. I bet you weren't allowed to get less than an A in school."

He toyed with the plastic lid on his cup. "You could say that."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a younger brother in junior high and an older sister who lives in New York."

I swirled my coffee slowly. "Must be nice to have siblings. Roland's the closest I have to a brother."

"I gathered that you two were pretty close. When I talked to him he dropped a not too subtle hint that he takes your welfare and happiness to heart. I take it as a good sign that he gave me your number at all."

I couldn't suppress my grin. "He's been like that since we were little kids. I used to have to beat him up to get him to stop treating me like I was breakable." In hindsight, I must have looked so fragile to my werewolf friends back then.

Samson's eyes sparkled. "I bet you were a real tomboy."

"Totally. I could climb trees with the best of them."

"You said you liked to draw too. What do you draw?"

"Whatever comes to mind? It's just a hobby, not something I show people."

"Will you draw something for me?" he asked earnestly.

I shook my head. "I'm really not that good and I have nothing to draw on anyway."

He was already standing. "One minute." He went to the counter and came back with a plain notepad and a wooden pencil which he laid on the small table beside me. "No pressure. Draw anything you want."

I thought about it for a minute before I picked up the pencil and pad and began to draw. As I worked, Samson went to get us two more mochas and we kept up a steady stream of conversation about school, hobbies, friends and his band. He lived in Portland and I asked him how he met up with Dylan and his friends here in New Hastings. He told me he grew up in New Hastings and he still knew a lot of people here. A mutual friend knew Samson and Dylan both wanted to start a band and got them together.

I finished my drawing and signed it with a flourish before turning the pad so he would see what I'd drawn. His eyes widened as he studied the sketch I'd drawn from memory of him playing his drums at the Attic. Without my good pencils it wasn't my best work but I thought I'd captured him pretty well.

"This is incredible! How can you say you aren't any good?"

I flushed with pleasure from his praise. "Thanks. Maybe I should keep this one. One day when you're a famous rock star I can sell it on eBay for a lot of money."

"You should keep it." His eyes darkened to a moss green and his voice warmed. "So you don't forget about me."

The meaning in his gaze was unmistakable and I looked down at my hands nervously. I was in foreign waters and I had no idea what to say or do next. I'd faced vampires and a pack of crocotta, but put me in front of a cute boy and I had no idea what to do.

Samson laughed softly. "You have no idea how adorable you look right now."

I turned my heated face away from him to look out the window. "That's not exactly the look I was going for –"

The words stuck in my throat when I felt the all-too familiar fluttering in my mind. It wasn't like I hadn't known one of them would be following us, but for a little while I'd put it out of my mind and I was just a normal girl out having coffee with a nice boy.

I scanned the street looking for my tail. There was no sign of them but my senses told me that either Nikolas or Chris was here. Seriously, what did they think was going to happen to me in a coffee shop in the middle of the day? Caffeine overdose? Hot coffee burn?

Well they were nowhere in sight unless... I turned my searching gaze on the room behind me. _They wouldn't._ _Please tell me they did not follow me in here._ The thought of being chaperoned by Nikolas or Chris as I fumbled through my date was beyond mortifying. Chris, I could almost stand. He was more amiable than judgmental. Nikolas was another story with his moody temperament and his overbearing attitude. If it had to be one of them, please let it be Chris.

My stomach dropped when I found him sitting alone at the far side of the shop, his eyes so dark they were almost black as they glowered at my date. His gaze shifted and I met it defiantly, lifting my chin to let him know how I felt about this invasion of my personal space. His eyes softened and he arched an eyebrow at me.

"That's the guy from the party," Samson said, reminding me that I was ignoring him. I cast another black look at Nikolas and looked at Samson who stared at Nikolas with narrowed eyes. "Is he following you?"

I let out a sigh and made a note to thank Nikolas once again for complicating my life. "I told you my mother left when I was very young. Nikolas is from her side of the family and he found me recently." _Truth_. "My mother's family wants me to come and live with them and get to know them and Nikolas has appointed himself as a kind of chaperone." _Also true._

"A chaperone? He's what – twenty?"

I lifted my shoulders then picked up my mocha. It had cooled off but I needed the fortification. "Try to ignore him. I do."

Samson glanced over at Nikolas again. "He doesn't look at you like a relative. If anything he looks jealous."

I sputtered and coughed as coffee went down the wrong pipe. "Trust me," I wheezed when I could speak. "You don't know Nikolas. I'm a family obligation to him, nothing more."

"Seeing his expression right now, I find that hard to believe," Samson replied. Before I could refute it, he smiled and said, "But if you can ignore him, I can too."

"Good." Samson was handling Nikolas's presence a lot better than most guys would in the same situation.

We stayed at the Hub for another thirty minutes and then Samson drove me home. When he put the Jeep in park, neither of us spoke for a long moment and I was suddenly nervous he was going to try to kiss me. Was that normal after a coffee date? How would I know if he did want to kiss? Did I want him to try? For the first time in my life I regretted not having girlfriends I could talk to about this stuff.

He looked over at me. "I had a great time today."

"Me too."

There was another moment of silence before he laughed and ran his hand through his blond hair. "Sorry, I'm not usually like this. I don't know what it is about you, but I feel like an eighth grader on his first date."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" I asked and he laughed again.

"Bad for a guy who's trying to look cool and ask a girl out again."

"Oh," I breathed, blushing to the roots of my hair. I looked away from him, across the waterfront, to see Chris walking toward his favorite bench again. My smile fell away as I was hit with an unpleasant realization. As much as I enjoyed Samson's company, I couldn't date him, I couldn't date anyone. My life was so messed up right now; how could I start a relationship with anyone knowing I would eventually have to leave them? I was immortal; I could never have a life with a human. Hell maybe that was why Madeline had taken off and deserted my dad. I could never do that to someone I cared about, and I had a feeling Samson was someone I could come to care about a lot.

"I really like you Samson, but I'm not ready to date anyone right now. I have some stuff going on in my life and I need to figure it out before I do anything else."

"Your mother's family?" he asked without pushing.

"That's part of it." I made myself look at him. "I'm sorry."

He smiled sweetly but he couldn't quite hide the disappointment in his voice. "So it's a 'not right now' instead of a 'not ever' thing."

"Kind of." I hated lying to him, hated my life fervently in that moment. I got out of the Jeep and walked around to his side. "I did have a nice time."

"Same here," he replied. I started to turn away and he said, "Oh wait, don't forget this." He held up the sketch I'd done of him. "So you don't forget me."

I smiled sadly at the sketch as I took it from him. "I won't."

Nate was in the kitchen making muffins when I got home. "Out with Roland?" he asked as I hung up my coat in the hall closet.

"No, I had a coffee date."

There was a loud clatter as the muffin pan bounced off the tile floor. "A date? With a boy?" Nate gaped at me as I retrieved the pan for him.

"No, with Father Glenn." I wasn't sure whether to be insulted or amused by his look of disbelief. "Of course it was with a boy. I do know some you know."

"So was it someone from school?" He tried to sound nonchalant but I could tell he was very curious.

"No, he's a friend of Roland's." That's all I was going to say since nothing would come of it anyway. "I'm going upstairs to work on an English paper. You need any help here?"

"No, go on," Nate replied absently and I wondered if he was finally realizing what it meant to have a teenage girl under his roof.

Roland texted me as I was pulling my books out of my backpack but I didn't want to talk to anyone. Part of me reveled in the afterglow of my first date and the rest of me mourned the fact that it was likely my last date with Samson – or anyone else. I'd never thought much about dating and relationships until the possibility of having them was gone. I wasn't the type of person who could casually date someone while knowing there was absolutely no chance of more between us. I guess deep down I'd always believed that someday I'd meet the 'one' and we'd live happily ever after. Ever after held a whole new meaning for me now and it wasn't a happy one.

I reached across the desk and picked up my sketch pad to tuck Samson's drawing inside. I flipped open the pad to the picture I'd done of Nikolas the night we met. Laying both sketches side-by-side, I realized I'd drawn the two of them as I'd seen them on the very same night. Samson was laidback and smiling in his picture, enjoying himself as he played to the crowd. Nikolas was fierce, almost predatory as he brandished the sword. They were as different as two men could be: one golden and warm and the other dark and furious. One wanted to be part of my life and the other wanted to run my life. One was sweet and easy to be with and the other caused a maelstrom of conflicting emotions to twist my stomach in knots.

I slammed the sketchbook shut and threw it on the desk. "Ugh! Why do guys have to be so complicated?"

Oscar rubbed against my legs and I bent down to pick him up. "I wasn't talking about you," I crooned, stroking his fur. He purred and butted his head against my chin then curled up in my lap and went to sleep without a care in the world. It was the first time I was ever jealous of a cat.

I spent Sunday morning working on my English paper and trying to keep Oscar away from the attic and his growing unhealthy fascination with imps. "Trust me, you don't want to mess with those little monsters," I warned as I chased him away from the crack beneath the attic door for what seemed like the hundredth time.

By some stroke of luck he finally managed to corner one in the bathroom and the angry chattering tore me from my work. I shooed Oscar away from the bathroom and looked at the tiny demon. Six inches tall, pasty white and bald, the little fiend stood on the toilet tank with one hand on his hip and the other waving a fist at the cat. I felt something brush against my leg and knew Oscar had not heeded my warning to stay away. The imp began to jump up and down, emitting little furious shrieks at the sight of the cat, his loincloth fluttering around him.

"Oh stop it," I scolded him. "The last thing I need to see is your nasty little demon parts."

The imp halted immediately and looked down at the bit of cloth covering him. They liked to pretend they could not understand humans but I'd suspected all along they were faking. "Got you!" I said with a smirk before I bent down to pick up Oscar and carry him over to the bed. "You stay there if you don't want to get bitten. I don't think imp bites will go over too well with the vet."

At noon my phone rang and I scrambled to answer it, ready for a distraction. "Hey, Roland."

"Finally. I thought you were ignoring me. I texted you like four times yesterday."

I sat on the bed and fell back until I was staring at the ceiling. "I _was_ ignoring you."

He gave a nervous laugh. "I take it Samson called? Before you say anything, he's a great guy and I thought you two hit it off last weekend."

I let out a loud sigh. "I do like him. But you know I can't get... involved with anyone now, especially with my life as crazy as it is right now." I didn't mention the whole immortal thing. Roland and I hadn't talked about the fact that we wouldn't age together. I'd already tried to imagine him at forty when I still looked like a teenager but the thought had freaked me out so I'd shoved it away where I didn't have to deal with it.

"I just thought you could use some fun in your life. Now that Greg's gone you can expect more guys to ask you out."

_Wait. What?_ "What are you talking about?"

He laughed and I could picture him shaking his head. "Sara, Greg let every guy in school know that he'd take it personally if anyone hurt you or broke your heart. They were all too scared of him to go near you after that."

"You'd better be kidding me." My face burned. I couldn't believe Greg had done something like that. Actually, yes I could, which is why I was mortified.

"Greg was a bad ass but he had a soft spot for you. Probably because you were the only one in school besides his friends who wasn't afraid of him."

"Because I knew there were a lot scarier things out there." I groaned into my hand. "God I can't believe he did that." Wait till I sent him another email. He was going to hear it from me.

Roland's tone grew serious. "Listen, I actually called because Pete and I want to talk to you about something. You want to go get something to eat."

"Can you give me a hint?"

"No."

"Cryptic. Okay see you in a bit."

They picked me up twenty minutes later in Peter's mother's car and after a quick discussion we headed for the mall. A lot of the stores were closed on Sundays but the food court was open and the boys loved the burgers and milkshakes from Benny's. We got our food and grabbed a table away from everyone else. I let them take a few bites before I asked them what they wanted to talk about that couldn't be said over the phone.

They shared a look and Peter said, "I overheard Dad and Uncle Brendan talking last night – about you and your parents."

My hand stopped halfway to my mouth. "What?"

"Dad said they lost Madeline's – your mom's – trail and they were trying to piece together what happened to your father. He said Aunt Judith told him you thought it might have something to do with your mom being Mohiri." Peter took a deep breath. "He said Aunt Judith was afraid you were too involved in this and might do something careless. What did he mean by that?"

"I..."

Roland's eyebrows drew together as he laid down his burger. "You talked to my mom about this but you can't talk to us?"

"It's not like that. I only talked to your mom because she told me they were going back and tracing Madeline's movements from the time she left us." I twisted my paper napkin until it tore. "I think vampires followed Madeline to my dad. I don't know why she was in Portland when he died or why they went after him, I just know it's all related."

"You've been trying to find the truth yourself?" Roland said in an accusing tone.

I nodded, not meeting their stares. They weren't going to like what I said next and I didn't want to see their faces when they heard it. "I wanted to look for years but I didn't really start until I heard about the missing girls in Portland. A guy I know online who knows a lot about this stuff said he thought it was vampires. He said he heard there were vampire sightings in Portland when my dad was killed."

"What guy? Who is he?" Roland demanded. "Please tell me you aren't talking to some kook online."

I glared at him defensively. "He's not a kook and he does know a lot. I only know his screen name just like he only knows mine. And before you say anything, we've been talking for three years and he's never tried to meet me or anything. He tracks vampire activity and reports it online. These guys are very serious about this stuff."

"Guys? There's more than one?" Peter asked.

I took a sip of my drink before answering. "Yeah, there is a whole online community. And I... um... I met a new one online last month. He says he knows something. We were supposed to meet in person but something happened and he was scared away."

Roland's face grew red. "You were going to meet a total stranger alone... in person? Are you out of your mind?"

"I wasn't alone," I said slowly. "You guys were there."

"Wha –?" Peter started.

"No fucking way!" Roland swore a little too loud, drawing the disapproving stares of some people across the food court. "The Attic? You were going to meet him at the Attic – the same night a vampire just _happened_ to attack you? You don't think that was a bit too coincidental?"

Peter paled and his freckles stood out even more. "Holy Shit, Sara."

"It wasn't a setup," I argued, knowing that it looked suspiciously like one. "He told me later that he didn't show because he got wind of some vampires there. He is seriously scared of them. He won't try to meet again unless it's broad daylight and somewhere public."

I probably shouldn't have said that last part. Roland's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he made a sound deep in his chest. "You are not going to meet this guy."

"If he can tell me what happened to my dad then I _will_ meet him," I responded stubbornly. I hated arguing with my friends but I would not back down from this now that I was so close.

"You have to let Dad take care of this," Peter pleaded. "Please."

I looked from Peter to Roland. "What would you do if you were in my shoes? What if it had been one of your parents? You can't tell me you wouldn't do everything to get to the bottom of it."

"Yes but –"

"No buts, Peter. You wouldn't sit back and let someone else handle it and neither can I."

Roland shredded the top of his hamburger bun without even realizing he was doing it. "So you only went to the Attic with us to meet someone."

The betrayal in his voice made me want to say no, but I couldn't lie to him anymore, not about this. "I asked him to meet me there after you asked me to go."

Roland let out a breath and I could tell he was hurt and thinking that I only went with them to meet someone else. "I'm sorry," I said softly.

The silence at the table hung over us like a shroud and I felt a small tear appear in the trust we'd always had between us. My deceit hurt them and now they were wondering what else I'd lied about.

"I swear it was the only time I ever did anything like that."

"Why didn't you tell us or ask us for help?" Roland demanded. "Don't you trust us?"

"Why didn't you tell me what you were?" I countered.

He shifted on his chair. "That's different. We thought you were human. We were protecting you."

"I thought you were human too. I didn't want to drag you into this." It wasn't enough to ease their hurt feelings but it was the truth.

We sat there quietly for several long minutes, each of us toying with our food and waiting for someone to say something to break the uncomfortable silence. I didn't know what to say to fix things between us.

The quiet was shattered by a small group of girls who clamored around a table nearby. Glancing their way, I saw Faith, Jessie, and Marie along with two other girls from school. The five of them chattered and giggled loudly, making enough noise to draw annoyed stares from the other customers.

It didn't take Faith long to spot us and her smile fell away as she glared at me. The other girls followed her stare and their laughter died as they looked at me with narrowed eyes. Their lame attempt at intimidation was so comical I almost burst out laughing. If they had seen half the things I'd seen in the last month alone, they'd be at home cowering under their beds. Sometimes I wondered if I should be doing that myself. I returned their stares until one by one, the girls turned away to whisper amongst each other.

"We should go." My appetite was long gone.

We picked up our trays and carried them to the nearest trash can. I pointed at the restroom. "I'll meet you over by the entrance."

"Okay," Peter said. Roland only nodded.

The restroom was empty and I washed my hands then leaned against the counter with my back to the mirror. I'd never hurt my friends before, had never seen them look at me with doubt. I swallowed the lump that started to form in my throat. _What did you think would happen when they found out you lied to them?_

I had to find a way to fix this. Maybe it was time to come clean to them about all my secrets. Now that I knew they weren't human, there was no reason to hide anything from them anymore. Remy had warned me in the beginning that the wrong people would try to use my power for their own needs so I had to keep it hidden. But my friends would never hurt me that way. I knew their secret, they should know mine. In fact, I wanted them to know. I needed to think of the best way to tell them, to show them. Not today but very soon.

I felt lighter when I emerged from the restroom. I saw Roland and Peter waiting for me by the large glass doors and a smile crept across my face as I imagined their expressions when I revealed my power to them. What would they say when they heard about Remy or when I told them about the visit from Aine? After I told them everything, my friends would never doubt my trust in them again.

My happy thoughts were cut short by the shock of icy liquid splashing across my shoulder and down my left arm. I gasped at the orange stain spreading over my light blue jacket before I looked up at Faith's smug face and the empty smoothie cup in her hand.

"Oh I'm so sorry!" Faith exclaimed without a hint of sincerity. "You ran right into me. You really should watch where you're going, you know."

The monster in my head came roaring to life, crying out for swift retaliation. I clenched my teeth so hard it hurt and it was only extreme willpower that kept me from slugging that smirk right off her face. Images of Scott's bloody face still haunted me and I would not let the demon use me like that again. As much as I detested Faith, she was human and I had to be careful not to hurt her.

Faith glanced at the mall cop near the entrance watching us and her lips twitched in glee, assuming he was the reason for my lack of action. Behind her, the other girls twittered and enjoyed the show.

I brushed past her to get some napkins from the closest concession. The blond boy behind the counter gave me a sympathetic smile and shoved a stack of paper napkins toward me. I grabbed a handful and started mopping up the slushy liquid running down my arm.

"What? No witty comeback this time?" Faith's voice dripped acid behind me.

I took some more napkins to wipe smoothie off my jeans. "I have nothing to say to you, Faith."

"Figures. You are such a loser." She held up the empty smoothie cup. "Think I'll get another. That first one went down so good."

I let my eyes fall to her waist. "You might want to lay off those for a while. That stuff is full of empty calories."

Faith's mouth fell open like a fish gasping for air. The boy behind the counter made a snorting sound and she shot him a scorching look. She whirled angrily, her long blond hair whipping my face as she stalked off.

"What the heck is her problem?" The boy asked.

"Don't mind her. She's still pissed about her boyfriend."

He leaned on the counter, his eyes sparkling. "You went out with her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, not likely." I crumpled the pile of wet napkins and handed them to him to throw away. "I broke his nose."

I looked down at my stained, wet clothes and grimaced. There wasn't much I could do about it until I got home. I joined Roland and Peter who had witnessed everything and were holding back grins. "Not a word," I warned them as we walked through the automatic doors.

It came as no surprise to find Nikolas leaning against his motorcycle across from the mall entrance. At least this time he had stayed outside. We walked right by him on the way to the car and his eyebrows rose when he saw the orange stain down one side of me. I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch and I knew right then and there that I was going to haul off and deck him if he started laughing.

"What? You think vampires are messy?" I scoffed as I passed him. "Try tangling with the homecoming queen."

# Chapter 13

Nate left for his conference on Tuesday morning and Malloy contacted me later that day to let me know his guy had come through with the Ptellon blood. The timing sucked but I figured Nate should be safe in Boston and if anything bad came, it would come here. Not a comforting thought but better than the alternative. I could slip the blood to him when he got back.

My immediate problem was how to meet up with Malloy to make the exchange without one of the Mohiri tailing me and interrupting us. I didn't think Malloy would appreciate Nikolas or Chris crashing his business and I could only imagine what Nikolas would say about my extracurricular activities.

The Mohiri were not my only obstacle. Since I'd confessed about trying to meet NightWatcher, Roland and Peter had been watching me more closely too. They sat with me at lunch, followed me to the school library – the last place Roland liked to hang out – and offered to give me rides home from school. If they were still upset over my admission, they did not show it. I appreciated their concern but right now they were seriously cramping my style. How the hell was I going to outsmart two werewolves and two Mohiri warriors at the same time?

Jed's was out of the question because I was still spooked by the unknown person asking about troll bile. I did not want to take the chance that someone would see me there with Malloy again and connect the dots. The fact that Malloy didn't argue when I rejected that location told me I wasn't the only one thinking about it. After much back and forth, we settled on a place and I started planning how to sneak away to complete the deal.

When the final bell rang on Wednesday, I stuffed my backpack into my locker. Instead of heading for the exit where I knew my friends were waiting for me again, I surreptitiously made my way to the faculty entrance near the teacher's lounge. There was no one around to see me when I opened the door and slipped outside to the back parking lot the school shared with the church next door. Hidden from the street and conveniently located next to the cemetery, this spot was perfect for my getaway. I sprinted across the half empty lot, past the church and hopped over the waist-high iron fence surrounding the cemetery. Ducking down, I swiftly navigated between the headstones and exited by the small gate on the far side. It was so easy I almost laughed out loud. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it until now.

I knew it would not take long for my watchers to figure out that I'd given them the slip, so I set out at a fast walk, trying not to run and draw attention to myself. I skirted the waterfront, giving home a width berth, and took a slightly longer route to my destination. Last night, Malloy and I had agreed to do our business on a boat belonging to an acquaintance of his. The boat, called the Mary's Hope, was docked in a slip at the Bayside Marina and Malloy said it was highly unlikely that anyone would connect it to either of us. I had a feeling it was just one of many places where Malloy handled his business.

As I approached the marina, I couldn't help but feel rather pleased with myself. I'd managed to evade my growing posse of protectors and in a short while I'd have the means to keep Nate safe if more monsters came to call. It was the least I could do for attracting them to us in the first place.

"Going for a spin on your sailboat, are you?"

I whirled to face Roland. "How...?"

He jogged toward me on silent feet, his expression serious. "You didn't really think you could give us the slip did you?" He stopped in front of me. "I knew you were up to something as soon as I saw you this morning."

I looked behind him, expecting to see Peter and one of the Mohiri appear any second.

"It's just me. Pete and I split up; he took the front door and I got the back. The blond fellow is probably just realizing you are no longer at school."

_Poor Chris_. He didn't seem like a bad sort and he was going to develop a complex if he kept losing me.

"You're going to meet that guy, aren't you?" Roland said in an accusing tone.

For a second I thought he knew about Malloy but then it hit me that he was talking about NightWatcher. "No. This has nothing to do with that. I swear."

He gave me look that said he didn't believe me. The loss of trust sent a small stab of hurt through me but I had only myself to blame.

"So what is so important that you had to sneak away like this?"

"It's just something I have to take care of and I'm tired of having someone watching my every move, okay?"

"Maybe I can help you," he pushed.

I sighed loudly. I planned to tell him everything – just not yet. "Roland, there are some things I keep to myself, just like I don't know what werewolves do half the time."

His mouth formed a stubborn line. "Werewolves can protect themselves if they go off alone. And none of us are being hunted by an obsessed vampire." He crossed his arms. "Go ahead and do what you have to but I'm coming with you."

_Damn it._ I _had_ to meet with Malloy and I was pretty certain it would be a hell of a lot harder to get away after my stunt today. Too much was riding on this to turn back now.

"You can come with me but you have to do what I tell you to." His eyes narrowed and I said, "I'll explain if you promise to do what I say."

"I promise to do it _if_ I don't think you are in any danger."

I chewed the inside of my lip as I wondered how much to tell him without actually saying who I was going to see. Rule number one in this business was to never reveal your contacts and Malloy held that rule close to his vest. He might never do business with me again if he thought he could not trust my discretion. Troll bile and diamonds meant nothing to him if he got killed acquiring them.

"I'm going to buy something to keep Nate safe in case something tries to hurt him because of me."

Roland's eyes widened and I could tell that whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. "Keep him safe? How?"

"Have you ever heard of the Ptellon flower?" He shook his head so I explained where it came from and how it could be used to repel vampires and other like creatures. "I warded our building but that won't help Nate when he's away from home. The Ptellon nectar is all I need now."

He looked at me like I'd sprouted a third eye. "You warded the whole building by yourself? How do you know how to do that? And how do you know all this protection stuff."

There was so much I wanted to tell him but this was neither the time nor the place. "There are some things about me you don't know and I promise I'll tell you soon – just not now. All I can say is that I have this friend Remy who taught me and he really knows more about this stuff than anyone I know. I have a guy who can get things and I'm going to get the Ptellon from him."

"Have I met this Remy guy before?" he asked as we began walking toward the marina entrance.

"Not likely. He doesn't, um, hang out with werewolves."

"And what about the guy we are going to meet?"

I stopped walking. "You're not going to meet him. When we get there, I'll go in and you'll wait outside." Roland opened his mouth to argue and I held up a hand. "This guy won't deal with me any other way. And we'll be on a boat tied to the dock with you right outside. I'll be fine."

He made a grumbling sound. "I don't like this."

"You're going to have to trust me on this. I know what I'm doing." I looked down at my watch. "I have to meet him in five minutes. Come on."

We entered the marina parking lot and passed between the office and the clubhouse to the main pier. Beyond the pier, a wooden dock extended into the water in a large L-shape and along the dock were four narrow docks with six slips on each side. Most of the slips had a boat secured to them. Anchored at the end of the main dock was the biggest yacht I'd ever seen. Most of the boats in the marina were cabin cruisers, sail boats, and powerboats and occasionally we got some small yachts in the summer. Nothing as big as that yacht though.

I caught Roland gaping at the boat and I laughed. "Yeah, in your dreams."

There was a lot of activity on the pier as marina workers rushed around with ropes and tarps. I stopped one as he hurried by and asked him what was going on.

"Storm coming," he said as if I should already know that. He lifted a coil of heavy rope to his shoulder. "We have to secure the boats so they don't get banged around too much."

I looked at the partly overcast sky and the calm water of the bay. "Really?"

"Yep. If you guys had any plans to go out, you'll have to cancel them. Harbormaster sent out a weather warning."

"Okay thanks," I said as he started to hurry away.

"Hey," Roland called after him. "Who owns the monster yacht out there?"

The man shrugged. "Some oil guy from what I heard. Putting in out of the weather." He hoisted his rope again. "Gotta go."

I grabbed Roland's arm. "We'd better hurry up. They'll shut this place down soon if it's a bad storm."

The Mary's Hope was a forty foot cabin cruiser moored at slip twenty-eight and there was no sign of activity aboard when we reached it. I hoped Malloy was already here because he might not show if he arrived and saw Roland.

More dock hands passed us and I saw them head for the massive yacht where a tall olive-skinned man with black hair and a hawkish appearance directed them to their tasks. I wondered if he was the same oil guy Nate's group was trying to keep from drilling in the area. The thought made me glare at the man before I turned back to the business at hand.

"Okay, I'm going in." I hopped onto the deck. "I should only be a few minutes if he's here."

Roland nodded and I hurried down the two steps to the cabin that housed a small table, a tiny kitchenette, a bathroom and a small sleeping area. Tinted windows obscured the interior from the outside.

Malloy sat at the table waiting for me.

"Look at you on time for once," I quipped making him scowl. I sat across from him even though I was in a hurry. Malloy liked to keep up the appearance of a formal sales transaction. His quirks didn't bother me as long as he came through for me.

"Payment first as usual," he said, watching me closely as if I was about to pull off a David Blaine act. I reached into the front pocket of my jeans and rooted around until my finger hooked the diamond.

"I don't know what the big deal is with these but whatever." I held out my hand with the red gemstone lying on my palm and Malloy twitched with anticipation. My other hand stretched toward him. "Your turn."

He didn't take his eyes off the diamond as he produced a tiny black vial and handed it to me. As soon as I had it in my possession, I extended my open hand to him and he picked up the red diamond almost reverently. I stuffed the precious vial in my front jeans pocket as he examined the gem.

"Perfect," he gushed, holding the stone up to the light. "I almost didn't believe it when you said you had one. But I figured someone who could get their hands on troll bile could get almost anything." He stuck the diamond in his jeans pocket like I had and gave me a satisfied smile. "Listen I know there's no way a kid your age can get this stuff on your own. Whoever you work for is bloody brilliant to have a nice normal looking girl like you running their goods for them. You let them know that I'm their man for whatever they need from now on."

"As long as you keep coming through for them, they'll keep doing business with you." If he wanted to believe there was a boss man in the background, I had no problem with that. In fact, I liked the idea.

"Good to hear. I'm sure we –"

Malloy jumped to his feet as a thump sounded above us followed by footsteps and a body running down the steps. Roland burst into the cabin. "We gotta get out of here! Someone's coming and they look like trouble."

"Who the hell are you?" Malloy demanded, his eyes darting around for other intruders.

"This is my... lookout," I replied, saying the first that that came to mind. "You didn't think my boss would send me to these meetings alone, did you?"

"Hey, I know you?" Roland said to Malloy and I saw a disaster in the making.

I got between them and faced Roland. "Forget him. Who's coming?"

Alarm flashed in his eyes and he grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the steps. "I don't know but they look like they mean business. Probably some of his friends."

"Not that way!" Malloy hissed at us. I turned to see him halfway up a ladder propped against a window open to the bow of the boat. Leave it to him to have an escape route in case things went south.

Roland lifted me and practically threw me up the ladder. Malloy had already disappeared through the window, and by the time I scrambled out onto the bow he had jumped to the next boat and vanished from sight. For a small guy he was pretty damn fast on his feet. I turned to see Roland coming through the window behind me just as footsteps pounded on the dock. Peering around the wheel house I saw three large muscled men who looked like they should be guarding some foreign diplomat. The one in the lead was well over six feet with short spiked blond hair. Behind him were two darker complexioned men with short black hair. The looks of determination on their faces as they approached the boat scared the crap out of me. What the hell had Malloy gotten me into?

"What are you doing?" Roland whispered hoarsely as soon as he was out. "We need to get to the other boat like he did."

The men were a boat length away. "It's too late. They'll see us." I looked around and quickly saw that there was only one avenue of escape. Roland wasn't going to like it.

"Come on." I grabbed the rail at the end of the boat and lowered myself over the side, gasping as freezing water lapped at my legs.

Roland's eyes widened and he latched onto my hand before I could let go of the rail. "You're going in the water?"

"Yes," I whispered urgently. "Now get your ass down here before they find us!"

He let me go and I let my body sink up to my neck in the frigid sea water. The cold punched the air from my lungs and I took in a mouthful of water before I got my balance. The tide was out but the water was still over my head and I had to thread my feet to keep from going under.

Roland hoisted himself over the rail. "Oh man, I knew I should have switched places with Pete," he moaned as he joined me with a small splash. "Fuck this is cold!"

"Shhh," I whispered. The men were at the Mary's Hope and the boat rocked as they climbed aboard. We were tucked out of sight beneath the front of the boat but it wouldn't take them long to figure out where we'd gone. Voices and footsteps came toward the bow. If we didn't move in the next thirty seconds, we'd be caught.

_"Follow me,"_ I mouthed through chattering teeth. Roland nodded miserably and I quickly but quietly moved toward the dock. The pilings were slimy and I lost my grip on them several times before I managed to pull my body between them. Roland did not hesitate this time and he was right behind me when I turned to look back for him. I put my finger to my lips and pulled us into the deeper shadows beneath the dock.

"They can't have gone far," said a deep voice in halting English. He sounded German.

"He will not be pleased if they get away, Gerhard." The voice was clipped and cold with a Middle Eastern accent. "I told you to grab the little man as soon as he arrived."

I knew it – they were after Malloy. I gritted my teeth. If we got out of this alive, he was going to hear it from me.

"Split up and check every boat," ordered the Middle Eastern man. "And have Cesar watch the entrance."

"Why don't we have the witch find them for us?" the German man named Gerhard asked.

His companion's laugh was colder than the water lapping at my chin. "He's already doing his thing. They better pray we find them before he does."

Roland and I stared at each other with frightened eyes and he mouthed, _"Witch?"_ I shrugged. What kind of mess was Malloy in? Whatever it was, we were not going to stick around to find out. I had enough to deal with without adding witches and a bunch of thugs to the mix.

I waited until I heard the men move to search the surrounding boats then I pointed to the long tunnel of darkness beneath the dock that led to the cement pier. Roland nodded and followed me as I moved through the water with agonizing slowness. My hands grabbed at the cross beams under the dock to pull myself along but my fingers were too cold to hang on. If we didn't get out of this water soon, the men pounding on the dock above us would not be our biggest problem.

Roland stayed so close behind me I could feel his reassuring bulk every step of the way. It seemed to take hours to travel a few yards even though I knew it was only minutes. We did not speak but I feared my thumping heart or chattering teeth would give us away any second. Every now and then footsteps moved over our heads and we froze in place, expecting a shout and a muscled arm to reach underneath the dock for us. Then they moved on and we started breathing again.

When my feet hit bottom, I knew we were making progress finally. It was hard walking through the water but a lot easier than trying to keep afloat. Soon I felt rocks under my feet and I saw the slope of rocks that marked the end of the dock. Once we reached it, the tricky part began because there would be no more dock to hide beneath and the only way to shore was across the pier or circling it. We might be able to keep low enough to avoid detection, especially if the men were still busy with the boats. We'd just have to deal with that when we got there.

Roland put a hand on my shoulder as I started to climb the rocks. "Wait. Do you hear that?"

I turned my head to listen and my ears picked up scraping sounds ahead followed by a series of squeaks. "Rats. They live under the pier."

He shuddered. "Rats!"

"You live in the country and you are strong enough rip a vampire apart. How can you be afraid of rats?"

He drew himself up taller. "I didn't say I was afraid. I just hate the little bastards."

I hid my smile. "Just ignore them. They're more afraid of you than you are of them."

"I'm not afraid –" His eyes bugged and he looked like he was gasping for air. "Uh Sara..."

I followed his horrified stare to the rocks above me where a squirming mass of fur and teeth suddenly streamed from beneath the pier. Hundreds of brown and grey bodies formed a moving barrier between us and the pier while hundreds of pairs of black button eyes watched us with eerie intelligence.

"Jesus Christ!" Roland muttered close to my ear. "This is not normal, is it?"

"No."

"Maybe they can feel the storm coming. Would that freak them out?"

I shook my head, not taking my eyes off the pack of rats. I shifted my position slightly and a couple of rats bared their sharp incisors at me. I've been around plenty of rodents and healed more than one rat over the years and I had never seen this kind of behavior. Most animals were at ease around me, and never threatening toward me. What if they were sick? My power was strong enough to heal some of them but not hundreds.

I opened myself and let a trickle of power flow from me, directing it to the closest rodent. The big brown rat's nose twitched when it sensed the warm energy permeating the cold air around its body and then it reacted to my power in a way no animal had ever done – it recoiled. I swallowed my gasp of surprise. Animals loved my power. It calmed them and made them feel safe and unafraid. Something was very off with this rat.

A little mental push was all it took to send a stronger stream of power at the squirming rodent. It was almost enough to put him to sleep but I had to get past his fear and figure out what was wrong with him. I could barely believe my eyes as the brown body twisted and jerked and tried to scramble over the other rats to get away from me. _What the hell...?_

The pack shifted, tossing the fleeing rat around until it lost its footing and tumbled down the mass of bodies to the rocks. Its feet scrambled for purchase on the slimy rocks before it slipped and flew straight at me and Roland.

Roland made a "Gak" sound as my hands shot out instinctively to catch the rat before it hit the water. My fingers closed around the long furry body just as I remembered that the rat had hissed at me a minute ago and would likely sink its not so small teeth into my flesh any second. I let power pour from my hands and into the animal's body. My power is always stronger with direct contact and if there was something wrong with this rat, I would know soon what it was.

"What are you doing?" Roland asked in a horrified whisper, his hand clenching my shoulder in a death grip.

I couldn't answer. My tongue was silenced by the shock of my power colliding with another presence inside the rat's mind. It was intelligent and strong and it felt like I touched the outside of an angry hornets nest when my energy made contact. I had never encountered anything like it and it frightened and amazed me at the same time. I felt the rat's heart race and sensed its terror as it cowered from the thing invading its body. If this same alien presence had infected the whole pack it was no wonder they were so hostile. What could do something like this, and why?

Roland shook me from behind. "Are you fucking insane? Drop that thing before it gives you rabies or something."

"Be quiet or those men will hear us," I warned him hoarsely, securing my hold on the rodent so it could not try to bite me. "There's something wrong with these rats. Stay still so you don't frighten them."

"Frighten _them_?"

I shrugged out of his hold. "Shhh."

"Listen, I know you have this weird way with animals but these are not cats or dogs, Sara. These are rats – huge crazy rats that look like they are about to eat us. And in case you've forgotten, we already have enough to deal with."

"Just give me a minute, will you?" Roland didn't know what I knew. As soon as I felt the sinister consciousness in the rat's mind, I knew it was not going to let us pass. I also knew I could not leave these poor tortured animals without trying to help them.

I let power pool in my hands as if I was going to do a healing. My energy worked on sickness and injuries but I had no idea how to use it against another power. Except for that one time that I had pushed back on Nikolas when he entered my mind, I'd never used my power offensively and I had no idea if I could do it again. Time to find out.

My palms grew hot and the rat began to squirm. "Easy there," I crooned, caressing its back with my thumbs as I let the power flow into him. The instant I came up against the unnatural presence, it shifted and pulsed like a cold slimy maggot and the rat began to squeak and twist frantically. Bile rose in my throat at the feel of the foul thing burrowed in the animal's mind and my power flexed unconsciously, pushing at it, surrounding it like it was an infection to be burned from the body. The invader pushed back and I turned up the heat until I felt the thing shrink away, twisting in pain. I latched on and sent a blast of white hot energy into it and I felt the explosion of power in my own mind like a scream. The rat stopped struggling as a healing current swept away the last traces of the sickness and replaced it with a warm sense of safety and wellbeing.

"What the hell...? What did you do?"

"I..." I struggled for the words to explain what I had done. I'd already decided to tell Roland and Peter about my power but I thought I'd have more time to think of a way to show them. But this – I wasn't sure what I'd just done. How could I explain it to him?

"Look." He pointed ahead and I looked up to see rats disappearing between the narrow slats beneath the pier. I reached out to lay the rat on one of the rocks and he scampered after his pack without a backward glance.

I resumed my climb over the rocks. "Let's get out of here," I whispered. There was no guarantee that what had infected the pack would not return and we had to make our escape while we could. I sensed that Roland was brimming with questions but he followed me quietly, as eager to get away from there as I was.

We made it over the rocks without further incident and came to the end of the dock and our only cover. We listened for our pursuers and I heard them still searching the boats. The whole encounter with the rats had only lasted a few minutes although it had felt longer and I'd half expected to find the men right on top of us. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. One man still watched the entrance but there was more than one way out of the marina if you didn't mind getting dirty. And we were already wet and filthy.

Roland followed me as I let myself slide back into the water, clinging to the slats and ropes along the side of the pier. My body hung flush against the pier as I moved sideways, pulling myself along as fast as I dared with my head just above the water. The sun had disappeared while we were under the dock and a steady wind tossed the water, camouflaging the ripples caused by our progress. _Guess that storm is on its way._

My feet touched bottom again and I trudged the last few yards to shore where I sank wearily on the narrow strip of rocky beach beneath the clubhouse's deck. Using my power on the rats had not drained me as much as I would have expected and I just needed a few seconds to catch my breath. At least I wasn't freezing anymore; that was one good side effect of my power. I hoped Roland was okay. I knew werewolves could withstand extreme temperatures but I didn't know if that applied to their human form.

Roland risked a peek round the building and pulled back quickly, shaking his head. He held up a finger and pointed to tell me he'd seen one man standing by the clubhouse door. The parking lot was less than twenty feet away but there was no way to get to it without being seen.

I saw the worry on his face and gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile as I examined our situation. The only way out from our current location was if we followed the beach for about fifty yards then cut across the parking lot of the nearby seafood restaurant. There was a good chance of being seen by the men on the docks and I wasn't sure if it would give us enough headway to lose them if they gave pursuit. It was getting darker by the minute because of the approaching storm so our best option was to wait until the light faded enough to obscure us and hope the men searching the marina did not think to look down here for us.

I whispered my plan to Roland and he nodded grimly and settled down beside me to wait. Above the rising wind and the lapping waves, we heard the sounds of activity from the marina as the workers hurried to finish their preparation for the storm. I couldn't hear our pursuers but I knew they were still there. I didn't know what beef they had with Malloy, but with his business it could be anything and I didn't want me or Roland dragged into it. The men had not mentioned either of us by name so hopefully they had no idea who we were or how to find us.

Thirty minutes later we stood shivering while Roland checked the parking lot again. His mouth formed a thin line as he faced me again. These guys did not give up easily.

We could not afford to wait around here any longer. It was dark enough to risk the beach escape route so I motioned for Roland to follow me since I knew the area better. Picking our way along the rocks in the near dark was hard going but we were too glad to be getting out of there to care. Thankfully, both of us had worn dark clothes today and we managed to blend in well with the beach. Before long, we reached the restaurant and scurried like mice across the parking lot to the street where we set out for my place at a run.

When the lights from the waterfront came into view, we slowed and caught our breath. The wind had really picked up and I felt cold raindrops against my face. We were already soaked from head to toe so rain was the least of our worries. Still, I couldn't wait to get home, peel off my stinking wet clothes and sink into a tub of hot water. Normally I'm a shower person, but I make exceptions for special occasions and this certainly qualified as one.

"I'm sorry I got you involved in that – whatever it was," I said when it felt safe enough to talk. "I swear nothing like that has ever happened before."

"It's not your fault. I insisted on going remember? And I'm glad you weren't alone, though you handled it all better than I did." He grew quiet for a minute. "What happened with those rats? You did something to them. Is it some Mohiri thing?" he probed. "I don't know what you did but I know you made those rats back off."

We had just spent a harrowing hour jumping off a boat, hiding under a dock in freezing salt water and running from a group of men who wanted God only knew what, and the one thing Roland zeroed in on was something I was not ready to talk about.

"I did do something. There are things I need to tell you about me and I promise I will soon... just not right now. Can you wait a few days?"

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"I just need a few days and then I swear I'll tell you and Peter everything. Besides, we've had enough excitement today, don't you think?"

"Alright," he conceded reluctantly. "But we are going to have a serious talk very soon. You have to stop keeping stuff to yourself like you did about your dad. You know you can tell me anything."

"I know."

"And no more running off like this. It's just too dangerous."

I didn't reply at first and his tone grew more serious. "Sara?"

"I promise I'll be more careful."

He made a sound like he did not believe me. Then he surprised me by chuckling. "And as for having enough excitement today, I think you forgot one thing."

I shot him a sideways glance. "What?"

Roland smirked as he looked straight ahead. "Him."

# Chapter 14

I felt the Mohiri presence brush against my mind a second before I looked down the street to see Nikolas stalking toward us, his expression darker than the sky. Sucking up my courage, I braced myself for a lecture as we walked toward him. Whatever his honorable intentions, this was still my life. Eventually he would have to get that through his head – I hoped.

Whatever Nikolas planned to say was forgotten when he got close enough to take in our wet clothes and salty fishy odor. "What the hell happened this time?"

"We –"

"Nothing," I said before Roland could answer.

Nikolas muttered something in another language that sounded like swearing. He shook his head then looked at Roland. "I'll take her from here."

"I don't think so," I sputtered and filled with dread at his look of determination.

Roland stepped forward. "I'm not sure that's such a good –"

"Sara and I need to talk – just talk," Nikolas told him, ignoring my protest. "And judging by the look on your face, I think you agree with me."

I turned in disbelief to my friend. "Roland?"

Roland's eyes were troubled when they met mine. "You won't listen to me. Maybe it will be good for someone else to..."

"Traitor," I accused, walking past them both. I couldn't believe it; my best friend was siding with Nikolas – a werewolf siding with a Mohiri. If I wasn't so upset I would have laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"Sara, wait..."

I ignored Roland's plea. The rain began in earnest and the wind picked up as if the storm was tethered to my mood. I was drenched all over again by the time I reached my building.

Peter was there in his mother's car waiting for us. "What happened?" he called.

"I'm sure Roland will tell you all about it," I replied sourly, heading straight for the stairs.

I contemplated locking the door behind me as I flicked on the light in the hallway but I had a feeling that a deadbolt would be no deterrence to Nikolas in his present mood. For a moment, I held onto the faint hope that the troll ward would keep him out but that hope was dashed when the door opened as I was kicking off my ruined Vans. I dropped my coat to the floor with a loud plop and moved to the stairs without bothering to look at him. "Make yourself at home," I said in a voice that was anything but welcome.

Upstairs the storm was louder as the wind groaned around the eaves and rain battered the windows. I cracked a window and whistled for Harper who sometimes liked to ride out bad weather inside. There was no sign of the crow and I soon had to close the window to keep the rain out.

I heard shuffling and turned as Daisy hopped over the top of the stairs. Storms did not bother her but she always turned to me for company when Nate was gone. I rubbed her head and she trailed after me when I went to the bathroom to start water running in the tub. Nikolas's talk would have to wait until after I had that nice hot bath I'd promised myself. If he wanted to chat he'd just have to cool his heels downstairs until I was ready.

I wriggled out of my wet jeans and reached into the front pocket for the vial of Ptellon blood, cupping it in my hand reverently. Everything that went down at the marina was worth it to secure Nate's safety. We might not be as close as either of us would have wanted, but I'd do almost anything to protect him from the danger I had brought into our lives. I opened the bottom drawer in my bathroom vanity and stuck the vial in the very back to keep it safe until Nate got home. I only had to slip three drops of the blood red liquid into his food or drink every month and the vial held enough to last for at least a year. Between the wards and the Ptellon, Nate should be safe from almost anything supernatural at least. The Ptellon blood did not repel humans but it wasn't humans I was worried about.

A happy moan escaped me when I sank into the hot water. I laid my head against the bath pillow and closed my eyes as the steaming soapy water soaked the grit and stench from my pores. My mind raced from what had happened at the marina. The men chasing us had been frightening but it was the encounter with the rats that really shook me. I'd never felt anything like that thing in the rat's mind and I shivered in spite of the hot water. How was I able to push it out of the rat and then have the strength to affect a whole pack of rats at once? Was my power getting stronger? Nikolas had said that the Mohiri powers grew as they reached maturity. Maybe that's what was happening to me. There was so much about my power that was still a mystery to me and I wished I had someone to explain it all to me.

I made myself relax and pushed the confusing thoughts aside. The constant drum of rain on the roof lulled me into a pleasant doze and I stayed there until the water began to cool. I let the water out and stood to wash my hair under the shower. Despite the last few hours and the unwelcome guest downstairs, I felt considerably lighter when I wrapped a large towel around me and walked into my bedroom.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" I shrieked at Nikolas who sat on my couch with my traitorous cat curled up beside him. My sketch pad lay open on his lap as he studied one of the drawings. My drawings were like my journal and there was something disturbingly intimate about him sitting in my private space looking at them. "Get out of my room and keep your hands off my things."

He ignored my outburst, his gaze dark and unfathomable as he looked at me. "You took so long I thought you had tried to run off again."

I pulled the towel tighter around me and tried to ignore the heat infusing my face. "Well, as you can see I am still here. Now do you mind leaving my room so I can get dressed?"

An infuriating smile played around the corners of his mouth and the room suddenly felt too warm. "Of course." He laid the sketchbook on the couch and stood. "Your drawings are quite good. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I don't show them to anyone. They're _private_ ," I said pointedly to remind him again that he was violating my personal space. Inside I felt a small flare of pleasure at the praise but I would never let him know that.

He looked entirely unapologetic for the intrusion as he walked unhurriedly to the stairs. "I'll see you downstairs shortly."

Fuming, I went to the couch to close the sketchbook and stopped just short of reaching for it when I saw Nikolas's face looking up at me. I felt the familiar stab of fear I experienced every time I remembered that night in Portland. I don't write down my feelings in a journal, I draw them and for some reason this image was the one that stood out most in my memory from that night. Maybe because it was the moment I knew I was not alone. It made me feel open and vulnerable having someone else look at it, especially Nikolas.

I took my time getting dressed and I planned to take overly long to dry my hair to avoid facing him as long as possible. The storm had other ideas, however, and the power went out just as I picked up my hair dryer. "Great!" I muttered, groping for a flashlight. I grabbed a towel to dry my hair as best I could and then, unable to delay any longer, made my way downstairs with Daisy close at my heels.

I found Nikolas in the kitchen making sandwiches by candlelight with his sleeves pulled up and his leather jacket thrown over the back of a chair. The casual, domestic picture was such a contrast to the image of the warrior I was used to, that I stopped short and Daisy ran into the back of my legs.

"What are you doing?"

"Dinner. I would have ordered in but it looks like power is out all over town. So sandwiches it is." He slid a plate across the counter toward me. "Hope you like roast beef."

"Um thanks... I do." I mumbled, trying to figure out what he was up to. One minute he was furious and the next he was making me dinner. If he thought he could throw me off guard by being nice to me all of a sudden – he was right. I had no idea how to respond to this new side of him. To hide my discomfort I grabbed a bag of potato chips from the pantry and a bottle of dill pickles from the fridge, laying them both on the table with two glasses of soda.

Nikolas carried our sandwiches to the table and placed the pillar candle in the center. I chewed my bottom lip and tucked my damp hair nervously behind my ear when it struck me what a cozy picture we made, eating by candlelight while a storm howled outside. I peeked at Nikolas who seemed quite at ease, piling chips on his plate as if we ate together like this everyday. His hair was still damp from the rain and his features were relaxed, almost like he was enjoying himself. He looked up and his eyes were like liquid smoke in the candlelight when they met mine. My stomach did a little leap and I immediately found my own sandwich fascinating.

The sandwich was just how I liked mine: roast beef, cheese, and horseradish sauce on rye. I almost asked him how he knew what my favorite was but I refrained. I wasn't sure I wanted to know how much he knew about me.

We ate in silence for a minute before he asked the question I knew was coming. "You want to tell me where you disappeared to today and why you came back smelling like you went for a swim in the bay?"

I stopped nibbling a chip to say, "It was personal business I had to take care of... and I did go for a swim in the bay. Satisfied?"

"Not even close."

There was another silence as I picked up my sandwich and bit into it, refusing to expand upon my story. I felt Nikolas's gaze but I pretended to ignore him. It was going to take a lot more than a candlelight dinner to make me spill.

It took me a few minutes to realize the scolding I was expecting was not coming and I glanced at Nikolas to find him enjoying his meal. Where was the man who had practically shot daggers at me out on the waterfront less than hour ago?

"Aren't you going to yell at me or something?"

He shrugged without looking up from his sandwich. "Will it make you tell me what you were doing today?"

"No."

"Then why don't we just have a pleasant meal instead?"

I scowled at him, not sure what to make of his answer. Was he trying to trick me into telling him the truth? He shows up looking like he's about to bring the wrath of God down on me and then he makes me dinner and wants to exchange pleasantries. Did I just step into a Twilight Zone episode?

His next words surprised me even more. "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago. She was stubborn to a fault too."

"If you say it was Madeline, I'm going to throw my pickle at you." There was no way I was anything like the woman who gave birth to me. She was my biological mother but that was where the connection ended.

Nikolas smiled and his eyes had an almost faraway look. "Not Madeline, no. Her name was Elena and she was actually Madeline's aunt though she died before Madeline was born."

"Was she your girlfriend or something?" I asked, surprised by the fondness in his voice. Before tonight, I'd thought of Nikolas only as a warrior, all business and no time for a personal life. But I guess he had to have some kind of life outside of hunting vampires. My Mori stirred and an alien feeling twisted my gut. Was that jealousy? I gave a mental shake to let the demon know that we didn't give a fig about Nikolas's romantic involvements.

"No, Elena was like a sister to me. She was beautiful, but willful and very spoiled."

"Are you calling me spoiled?" Typical male. A strong man is just fine but let a woman show some free will and she is spoiled.

He laughed and took a drink from his glass without answering. I glared at him and his grin grew. "Okay, maybe not spoiled but definitely obstinate."

"Pot, meet kettle." I picked up my own glass. "What happened to her?"

His expression darkened. "She ignored the rules that were there to protect her and went off by herself alone. She was killed by vampires."

I sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, I'm sorry." That might explain his overprotective ways toward me. His friend died at the hands of a vampire and here I was being pursued by one.

"It was a long time ago."

"So is any of Madeline's family left?" I asked in an effort to change the topic.

It was the first time I'd expressed any interest in possible Mohiri relations and Nikolas smiled in response. "She still has some living relatives; her sire for one."

"Sire? That sounds so... impersonal." I thought of my dad, the way he would catch me up in a big hug and read to me before bed. I could not imagine thinking of him as my sire.

Nikolas laid his napkin across his plate and leaned back in his chair. "It is just a title. Mohiri families are as close as human families, maybe more so since we do not grow old and die naturally."

"So you and your parents all look the same age? Don't you find that weird?"

He shook his head. "We don't think of age the same way mortals do. Humans see it as a way to mark one's passage through life. Physically, we don't age once we reach maturity."

He might find it normal but I found it hard to imagine being the same age as my grandparents. Ugh. "So my grand... Madeline's father is still alive. Does he know about me?" It was a bit of a shock to learn I had a living grandparent I'd never met. My dad's mother died when I was ten and I never really knew her that well.

"Yes and he is looking forward to meeting you." My hesitation must have shown on my face because Nikolas caught my gaze and held it. "He will wait until you are ready to meet him."

"A patient Mohiri; who would have thought it." I got up and carried our plates to the sink to hide my suddenly conflicted feelings. I had no intention of going to the Mohiri any time soon, but the knowledge that I had a grandfather – even if he was Madeline's father – out there who wanted to see me caused emotions I did not want to think about.

"A Mohiri has all the patience in the world when something is worth waiting for," he replied and I got the feeling we were no longer talking about my grandfather.

I started running hot water over the plates. "I guess it helps that you guys are immortal, huh?"

"So are you," he said close to my ear and I almost dropped the plate in my hand.

"Don't do that!" I choked and he laughed softly. He took the plate from me and began to dry it with a dish towel. _Does he have to stand so close?_ I griped as I rinsed the other plate and handed it to him. Something in his manner told me he was doing it just to irk me and he was enjoying himself immensely. I found myself wishing the old Nikolas was here. I knew what to expect from him; this new Nikolas was too confusing by far.

Wind rattled the kitchen window and I rubbed my arms, wishing I'd thought to bring down a sweater or hoodie. Without the power there was no heat and this close to the bay, the air was getting cold fast. I reached for the flashlight to go upstairs and get something heavy to wear.

"The temperature is going to drop a lot tonight. Does that fireplace in the living room work?"

"Yes, it's gas."

He walked past me to the dark living room. "Go put on something warm and I'll start the fire."

I spoke to his back. "So what, we're going to sit by the fire and roast marshmallows now?"

"You have anything better to do?" he called back without turning around.

I had no answer for that so I went upstairs and dug out one of my dad's old sweaters. It was my favorite because I could still remember him in it, though sadly it had lost his scent a long time ago. I pulled on a pair of fuzzy moccasin slippers Judith gave me last Christmas and sat on my bed thinking of the irony of the situation. Nate had left me alone here knowing there was no way I'd have a boy over, and his first night away there was a guy here making dinner for me. My uncle would probably have heart palpitations if he walked in the door right now. Just one look at Nikolas and he'd never believe this whole thing was innocent. I couldn't help smiling at the hilarity of it all as I made my way downstairs again.

"Where did you find marshmallows?" I asked in surprise when I saw the open bag on the coffee table. I'd been joking about roasting them, but now it looked like the best idea ever.

Nikolas looked up from his seat on the floor as he threaded one on a long metal skewer and held it over the fire. "Top shelf in the pantry. Want one?"

"Yes!" I sat in the chair closest to the fireplace and sighed as the heat surrounded me. Daisy came into the room and stretched out in front of my chair.

"Here." He handed me the skewer. I blew on the blackened marshmallow as he started another one for himself. For a few minutes there was no sound but the hissing of the fire and the storm battering the building. I found myself strangely at ease. After my close call at the marina, I was surprised I wasn't jumping at the slightest noise. But this was actually nice.

"Have you always done this – hunting vampires? Do all Mohiri become warriors?"

He sat with his back to the couch and his long legs stretched out across the rug. "Most do though we have some scholars and artisans. Being a warrior is in our blood, what we are born to do. I have never wanted to do anything else."

I absorbed that for a minute. "What is it like growing up there? Do you live in houses or in some kind of military base? Do you go to school or start training when you're little?" Since I'd first learned about the Mohiri, I imagined them living like soldiers, sleeping in barracks and training to fight every day. It all seemed so cold and militant and it did not reconcile with the way he spoke about family.

He smiled and skewered another marshmallow. "We live in fortified compounds all over the world. The larger compounds look like private campuses and the smaller ones are basically well fortified estates. It is not safe for a Mohiri family to live outside a compound because they would be vulnerable to vampire attack. Families live together and the living quarters are large and comfortable. Children attend school until they are sixteen and physical training begins when they reach puberty." He leaned forward and the fire played across his handsome face. "It is a good life. There is a deep sense of belonging among the Mohiri and everyone who comes to live among us is happier than they were living among humans."

I stared at the flames. His meaning was clear and I did not want to break our moment of peace by replaying the old argument. Maybe the Mohiri were not as cold and impersonal as I'd thought but I could not imagine being any happier there. My dad would still be gone and I wouldn't even have Nate or Roland and Peter.

The ringing of the kitchen phone cut through the silence and I jumped up to answer it. It was Nate, calling from his hotel in Boston, his voice full of worry.

"Hey, I hear you guys are getting hit by a hard nor'easter. Everything okay there?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Nate. You know how I love a good storm."

His relief was audible. "Well if the power goes, there are extra flashlights and a battery operated lantern in the hall closet."

"Don't worry, I have it all under control. How is the conference?"

He told me about his day and that he'd be at his hotel for the rest of the night if I needed to call him. I laughed and told him he sounded like Judith when she got all over Roland about something. That was enough to get him to say good night with a promise to call and check on me tomorrow.

As soon as I hung up from Nate, the phone rang again. "Geeze, what now?" This time it was Roland.

"Well you answered the phone so I assume you're not bound and gagged," he quipped after I answered.

"No thanks to you."

"Ah, don't be mad. I was kind of freaked out after what happened and I thought maybe someone else should talk to you."

"I don't want to talk about that now." I was still a little hurt by his defection and I was in no mood to assuage his guilt tonight.

"Mom said the power's out all over town. Are you alright there? Because I can come and get you if you want."

I let out a sigh. It was impossible to stay mad at Roland when he was sweet like this. "I'm fine. We have the fireplace going and lots of candles."

" _We?_ Is he there with you? Now?"

"Yes."

Roland's voice raised a notch. "I thought he kept guard outside or whatever. I'm not sure he should be in there with you with Nate gone."

"You should have thought of that before you left." I couldn't resist the dig. "Did you think we would talk outside in the middle of a storm?"

"I... um..." he stammered.

"I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow." I did not want to continue this conversation with Nikolas within earshot.

"Oh, okay," Roland said reluctantly. "See you tomorrow."

I hung up and went back to the living room to reclaim my seat by the fire. "Everyone's checking up on me."

"The werewolf cares for you."

I glared at him. "He's my best friend and he has a name you know."

His shoulders lifted indifferently. "We don't make a habit of being on a first name basis with weres and I'm sure you know they feel the same about us. It's just how it is."

"Well, I am Mohiri and I have loads of werewolf friends so you'll just have to get over it." His mouth curved as if I'd said something funny and I snapped, "What?"

"That's the first time you've admitted what you are."

My hand smoothed the fabric on the arm of my chair. "It doesn't change anything." I had accepted my heritage weeks ago because denying it did not make it go away. That didn't mean I was happy about it.

"It's a start." He put his arms behind his head and gave me a devastating smile that I bet had bewitched more than one female. I felt the urge to throw a cushion at the smug bastard but the challenge I saw creep into his eyes stayed my hand.

"What else would you like to know about the Mohiri?" he asked when I stayed silent. I didn't want to satisfy him by showing any more interest in his people, but there were more than a few things I was curious about since I could find absolutely nothing about the Mohiri online.

"Who is in charge of everything? Do you have a president or a king or something?"

"Not exactly," he said with a laugh. "We have the Council of Seven who make up the ruling body and the most important decisions come from them." He went on to explain that the seven seats represented the seven continents and the members convened once a month, always in a different location. I asked how they were chosen to be on the council and he told me that if someone left the council or died, the remaining members selected someone to fill the empty chair, not something that happened often. The last new member had been appointed to the Seven three hundred years ago.

"Do you want to join the council someday?"

He scowled and shook his head. "Never. I have no time for bureaucracy and not enough patience to endure the long meetings. I am a warrior and that is all I aspire to be."

I tilted my head sideways. "Didn't you just say you guys have lots of patience?"

"When something is worth waiting for," he qualified. "I care very little for political matters."

His statement did not come as a surprise. I could not picture Nikolas adhering well to rules or attempting diplomacy to please anyone. "Something tells me that sentiment doesn't make you popular with the folks in charge."

His eyes gleamed. "They are good at their job and they know that I am good at mine. We differ in opinion sometimes but we all work to the same end."

"What do they think about you hanging around some town no one's ever heard of, wasting time with an orphan instead of out doing your warrior business?" I could not see how one orphan's safety was more important than all the evils out there that needed to be dealt with.

"You think you are a waste of our time?" His voice, though low, had taken on an edge I recognized.

"I didn't say I am a waste of time. But there must be other orphans who need rescuing more than I do. And since I won't change my mind about leaving, it doesn't make sense to stick around."

"There is an immediate threat here. We were tracking vampire activity in the area before we found you; it was what brought us to Portland that night." His tone did not soften and I knew my comment had really bugged him. I didn't bother trying to figure it out because I doubted I would ever understand Nikolas.

That reminded me of something else I had wondered about. "Where are you from? You have this faint accent I can't place and sometimes I think you are speaking another language."

"I was born in Saint Petersburg and I lived there for the first sixteen years of my life until my family moved to England and then America." One corner of his mouth lifted. "My accent is usually noticeable now only when I am aggravated."

I wanted to say that wasn't true, that I had picked up on it since the first time he spoke to me but instead I moved to another subject. "And what's Chris's story? Is he your partner?"

"I normally work alone but we sometimes work as a team. Christian and I have known each other for many years."

"Christian." I repeated the name. "It suits him better than Chris."

"I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that," Nikolas said dryly.

"Well I aim to please," I replied just as tartly, relieved we were moving back onto familiar ground. Arrogant, sarcastic Nikolas I could handle.

He actually snorted. I had to suppress a smile because we both knew I'd done everything to thwart his plans since we met. I still had no intention of letting him dictate my life but it seemed like we had reached a truce of sorts tonight.

"Listen, I know you'd rather be off hunting monsters even if you guys feel like you need to be here. And I know you think I'm a pain sometimes but –"

"Sometimes?"

"What I'm _trying_ to say," I continued, ignoring his interruption, "is that even though you are way too bossy and you can be an arrogant ass sometimes, I guess you're not all bad."

His eyebrows rose. "I think that's the most backhanded compliment I've ever gotten. And I will say that you are without a doubt the biggest pain in the butt I've ever met."

I couldn't hold back my smirk. "The biggest pain, really?"

He grinned back. "Yes, but I do like a challenge." The gleam in his eyes unnerved me and I knew he would not give up easily. I was loath to shatter our fragile truce but backing down from my own position was not an option.

"I don't want to fight with you anymore." The words were out before I knew what I was going to say. I don't know who was more surprised by my statement. At that moment a gale of wind made the walls creak and the fire dance as if the elements themselves were in agreement.

"I'm glad to hear that."

"I haven't changed my mind or anything," I rushed to add before he mistook my olive branch for surrender. "I just don't want us to be at each other's throats all the time."

"You want to be friends?" His voice held a note of amusement.

I made a face. "Let's not get carried away. How about we agree to disagree and take it from there?"

"A truce then?"

"Yes – or a cease-fire." I had my doubts either would hold up long between the two of us.

He studied me for a few seconds before he leaned forward with a hand extended. "Okay. A cease-fire it is."

I tentatively reached out my own hand and he grasped it in his larger one. His grip was warm and strong and a tingle ran up my arm at the contact. When he made no move to let go I yanked my hand away and buried it beneath my thigh. If he noticed my quick withdrawal, he made no mention of it.

A yawn rose inside me and I wondered why I was sleepy before I remembered my freezing dunk in the ocean and the power I used on the rats. I almost cringed when I remembered the foulness that had infected those poor animals.

"You look tired." Nikolas stood and I had to crane my neck as he towered over me. "Go to bed. I'll let myself out."

The windows rattled again and I thought of him standing out there in the storm all night just to watch over me. "You can stay in here tonight – if you want to."

His eyes reflected his surprise at the unexpected offer and I suddenly felt self conscious. It wasn't like I invited guys over as house guests every other day. Hoping my blush wasn't visible in the dim light, I said, "You're already here and it makes no sense for you to be out in that weather when you could have the couch. I'll get you some blankets."

I almost tripped over myself to get to the linen closet where Nate kept the spare quilts. When I returned with a quilt and a pillow, Nikolas was standing where I'd left him, his face hidden in shadow. He took the quilt and pillow from me with a quiet "thank you."

"Um, okay, good night." I didn't wait for his reply before I turned to the doorway. I heard the creak of the couch when he sat on it.

"Sara?" His voice was deep and warm and my heart sped up a little as I stopped in the hallway to look over my shoulder.

"Yes?"

"You are still the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met."

I grinned all the way to bed.

# Chapter 15

I awoke the next morning to the heavy silence that follows a big storm. Snuggling under my covers with Oscar sprawled across my pillow and Daisy on my feet, I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. That is until I remembered everything from the night before and the unexpected house guest who spent the night on the couch. I slipped out of bed, pulled on a hoodie and my moccasin slippers and padded quietly downstairs. In the living room I found the quilt folded up neatly on the couch and no sign of Nikolas. I was not surprised that he had already left. Knowing him, he'd probably had his coffee and dispatched a couple of monsters before the sun came up.

I poured some Cheerios and mulled over the strange turn our relationship had taken last night. I still found it hard to believe that the easy going man who had laughed and roasted marshmallows was the same mercurial person I'd known up till now. I had come downstairs last night expecting a roaring fight with one Nikolas and ended up spending an almost pleasant and somewhat confusing evening with his alter ego. And then I'd offered him a truce... and invited him to stay. I groaned over my spoon. What the hell had come over me last night?

The power was back so that meant school was open. I ran upstairs to get ready then booted up the laptop to check email. _Funny_ , I thought as I waited for the login screen. Any other night I would have missed my internet but I didn't even notice it was gone last night.

The email from NightWatcher took me by surprise. I hadn't talked to him in a week and a half – since the night after the crocotta attack. His message was short. He was leaving Maine for his own safety and if I still wanted to meet him, I had until Saturday. He said he was sorry but things were getting too scary for him to stick around. He felt like we had to meet before he took off. I cursed the timing because it was going to be damn near impossible to get away to see him now, but I replied that I would get back to him that night with an answer.

I worried about it all the way to school and I finally decided by the time I reached the school yard, that the only way to make it happen was to include Roland and Peter. They were waiting for me on the step with expectant expressions but I brushed them off and told them to meet me in the library for study period. They had said they wanted to help and now I was going to find out if they were good to their word.

When third period came around I hurried to the library to get a table as far from the front desk as possible. My mind was completely preoccupied with replaying everything that happened yesterday and last night as I followed my usual path through the stacks. That explained why I did not see the boy crossing in front of me before I plowed into him and knocked us both sideways.

"Sorry," I breathed as I grabbed a shelf to keep myself from falling on my butt.

"Don't worry about –"

I spun and faced the boy as recognition hit us at the same time. I hadn't seen much of Scott in the last few weeks and I noticed that his face had healed completely from our fight. That did little to alleviate the guilt I still carried for what I'd done to him, especially after learning what lived inside me and how much worse I could have hurt him if I had not restrained myself.

We stared at each other for several seconds and I waited for one of his typical scathing comments. What I did not expect was the sad, wounded look that suddenly flashed across his face. In a blink it was gone, replaced by the haughty expression I knew well. He pushed past me to walk the other way as if nothing had happened.

I continued to my table and laid my backpack thoughtfully on it as I mused over Scott's strange reaction. I didn't think it had anything to do with the fight; if anything, he still resented me for that. There was no love lost between us, for sure. Chances were I'd just caught him in an off moment that had nothing to do with me at all.

But I could not help but compare the hurt I'd glimpsed on his face to his expression that day in the school yard when I yelled at him and told him I didn't want to be his friend. I'd been too full of childish anger over the injured crow to see that I'd hurt Scott too. It made me wonder as I pulled out my biology book if Scott and I would still be friends if I hadn't caught him hurting Harper. Would either of us be the people we were now if our friendship had survived?

I shook my head to clear my mind. It was useless wondering about it after so many years and I had bigger things to worry about right now.

"Talking to yourself now? That's not a good sign." Roland sat next to me with a searching look.

Peter took the chair across from me and leaned forward to whisper, "Roland told me what happened. That was some crazy shit!" His eyes glowed with excitement. "I can't believe you know people like that Malloy fellow."

"Yeah, Greg's uncle my ass," Roland added with some indignation over the lie I'd told him when he had run into me and Malloy at Gino's.

I took a breath. "Listen, I'm sorry about that, I really am. But men like Malloy don't like a lot of people knowing their business. After yesterday, I think you can see why."

Roland's mouth tightened. "No freaking kidding."

"So what happened last night?" Peter asked. "How pissed was the Mohiri when he found out what you were up to?"

I gave him a disbelieving look. "Are you nuts? There's no way I'm telling him about that." I had very little doubt that last night would have gone a lot differently if Nikolas had discovered the truth.

Mrs. Cope the librarian walked by giving us a stern look and we all quieted until she had gone.

Roland was the first to speak. "Didn't he ask where you went?"

"Yes, but I wasn't stupid enough to tell him."

"I bet he was mad." Peter said.

I shook my head. "He was...weird. He kind of let it go and told me about the Mohiri." How could I explain the change in Nikolas last night when I did not understand it myself? "You won't believe this. I have a grandfather who wants to meet me and he doesn't look much older than me. How messed up is that?"

"Are you going to meet him?" Roland's eyes were worried and I wondered if he was afraid I would be drawn to the Mohiri now that I knew I had family there.

"I don't know. Someday," I said honestly. "It's a bit much to take in but it doesn't change how I feel about going to live with them."

Peter let his breath out noisily. "Geeze, I thought our lives were complicated. I don't know how you can look so calm with all the craziness in your life."

Seeing the opening I had been waiting for, I pursed my lips and motioned for them to come closer. "There _is_ one thing I need to do," I whispered. "Someone else I need to meet."

"No!" Roland hissed as loud as he dared. "It's too dangerous, Sara."

"Shhh. Listen to me before you go off," I said quietly. "I only have two more days to see this guy before he's gone for good and I may never get another chance to find out what he knows about my dad. He wants to meet in the daytime and he said I can pick the place as long as it's public. And he didn't say I could not have a friend close by."

"But –"

"No buts, Roland. You guys said you wanted me to stop hiding stuff from you and to ask you for help and that's what I'm doing. I'm doing this with or without your help but I'd rather it was with you."

"You really think you'll be able to ditch your bodyguards after your last stunt?" Roland asked in a tone that held zero confidence.

"You really think the three of us can't outsmart a couple of Mohiri – on our home turf?" I watched them straighten their shoulders at my well placed dig. Two things I had learned about my werewolf friends: they did not like being compared to the Mohiri and they really took the whole 'this is our territory' thing to heart.

"What's the plan?" Roland asked with a new gleam in his eyes.

"I'm not sure yet. I was hoping you guys could help me come up with one."

We put our heads together – literally – and began tossing around ideas. Each one we came up with was quickly discarded because I'd given Nikolas and Chris the slip one too many times for them to fall for another of my ruses. Whatever we went with had to be a little more intricate, something that required strategy and planning. Only problem was I had run out of ideas and my friends were not doing much better.

Our brainstorm session was interrupted when Dylan walked up to our table. I hadn't talked to him since the party and I felt self-conscious around him now after the thing with Samson. Did guys talk about that stuff the way girls did? I almost squirmed on my seat praying the answer to that question was a resounding no.

Dylan gave me his trademark lopsided smile and I immediately relaxed. Either Samson hadn't said anything or Dylan was playing the gentleman. He sat on the corner of our table. "Just who I was looking for. I wanted to give you a personal invite to the party of the semester."

Roland grinned. "Oh yeah? Anything like the July Fourth bash? Man it took me two days to recover from that one."

"A two-day hangover? How appealing," I commented drolly, wondering how much you had to drink to be hung over that long.

"Better. The folks are going to Miami tomorrow so I've got the place to myself all weekend. They said no parties in the house but the boat house is not off limits. Some of the guys are coming around noon on Saturday to jam and we figured why not make a day of it. Spend the day on the lake and fire up the grill for dinner. Then party all night." He furrowed his brow. "Oh, and it's invitation only. The parental units will disown me if the whole school district shows up like last time."

I'd never been to Dylan's house on Clear Lake but Roland and Peter had raved about the boathouse and boats and jet skis on more than one occasion. I could tell by my friends' expressions that this promised to be one of those 'I was there when it happened' parties they lived for.

Roland gave Dylan a high five. "Hell, yeah!"

Dylan looked at me. "That invitation includes you too, Sara."

"Thanks. I... might have something else going on this Saturday but I'll try to make it if my thing doesn't take too long." I had to meet NightWatcher somehow, but even if I pulled that off I'd feel uncomfortable spending the day at the same party as Samson. I really did like him and I would have dated him if I'd met him before my life had been turned upside down. He'd made his attraction to me more than clear. What if he got the wrong signal if I showed up at his party? Maybe most girls would not be bothered by it but I wasn't other girls.

Roland and Peter looked like I had just told them they were extending the school week to Saturday. "Oh, yeah," Roland said glumly. "We promised to give Sara a lift somewhere so we might miss out on the afternoon. But we'll definitely make it for the after party."

Dylan nodded good-naturedly. "No problem. I hope you all can make it. Some of the guys in the band won't be there so I need my best drinking buds there." He spoke to Roland and Peter but his eyes were on me, making sure I got the message that a certain blond drummer would not be in attendance.

I smiled at him. If I didn't have to worry about an awkward encounter with Samson then I wouldn't mind spending a day at the lake. Clear Lake was huge. I imagined taking a boat out and anchoring somewhere in the middle where I didn't have to deal with boys or the growing list of other things I didn't want to think about. And best of all – no Mohiri. Nikolas and Chris might be good but I was pretty sure they couldn't walk on water.

My smile grew as an idea started to form. "Hey, Dylan, do you have wetsuits for those jet skis?"

"I haven't seen you at Dylan's parties before."

I looked at the striking brunette standing a few feet from me on the dock. Her heart shaped face was tilted to one side and her blue eyes watched me with a mixture of curiosity and jealousy. Bethany Chase was gorgeous, popular and rich and I couldn't think of a single reason for her to be jealous of me.

"Roland made it sound like too much fun to pass up."

She moved closer. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I replied absently, toying with the zipper of my borrowed wetsuit while I watched Roland and Peter whipping across the lake toward us on jet skis. I couldn't wait for my turn.

"Is that blond guy up by the boathouse a friend of yours?"

I didn't need to turn around to know she was talking about Chris who'd arrived an hour ago. How he'd finagled his way into Dylan's private, invite-only party was beyond me since everyone else here appeared to know each other. I'd spent a good five minutes asking him to leave but he only smiled and said to ignore him. Ignore him? He stuck out like a steak on a vegetarian buffet for Christ's sake.

"Chris is like a cousin to me." Hell, for all I knew he could be one of my cousins.

She giggled. "I thought he might be your boyfriend after I saw you with him. He keeps looking over here at you."

I glanced over my shoulder at the Mohiri and an evil plan began to brew. "Nope, Chris is a free man." I gave her a meaningful look. "And I'm pretty sure he's not looking at me."

"Oh!" Bethany's face lit up like the sun coming from behind a cloud and she turned her head to watch Chris hungrily. _Sorry, Chris_ , I thought, hiding my smile of satisfaction. _But all's fair in love and war, right?_

"Maybe I'll go say hi to him."

"Good idea."

The jet skis pulled up beside the dock and Peter grinned up at me. "You ready to lose to me too?"

"Ha! In your dreams buddy!" I hitched a thumb at Roland. "My turn."

Roland grinned as he nudged his jet ski along side the dock and climbed off, but his face grew serious as I switched places with him. "Be careful and call me if there is any trouble," he whispered.

"We'll be back before you know it." I sat on the seat and murmured, "I'm more worried about you having to deal with the fallout on this end."

"I can handle them."

"I know. That's why you're staying instead of Peter." Well, that and the fact that Nikolas and Chris were more suspicious of Roland after our little escapade. I was pretty sure that my cease-fire with Nikolas was going to come to a fiery end after this. But it wasn't like I had promised never to run off again. In fact, I assumed that was just a foregone conclusion by now.

I pushed away from the dock and followed Peter a short ways onto the lake. We lined up side by side and waited for Roland to play his part.

"Okay, guys, to the other side and back," Roland shouted at us. "Kick his ass, Sara," he added for good measure.

We shot forward like we were in a real race. Opening our throttles, we sailed across the wide expanse of water with water spraying up around us. I still remembered my icy dip in the harbor, making me doubly glad for the sun and the layer of neoprene protecting my body from the cold lake water.

According to my research, the lake was a mile across at this point and fourteen miles from Dylan's to the opposite side of the lake if you followed the shoreline. I hoped that was enough distance to allow us to get away before Chris realized what we were up to. The Mohiri were super fast so I had come up with a plan to outsmart them since I couldn't outrun them.

I slowed my jet ski as I neared the far shore and eased into a small shady cove with an old dock. Nudging the jet ski against the dock, I clipped it to one of the posts and leapt off, knowing that Peter was right behind me. Our feet pounded the boards as we ran up the short dock to the shed at the edge of the property and found Peter's backpack right where he had stashed it last night. _So far, so good_ , I thought as we peeled off our wetsuits and dressed in the clothes Peter pulled out of the backpack.

We had picked this particular spot for several reasons. First, it was a summer cottage, and like many of the houses on this side of the lake, it was closed up now for the fall. Second, it was strategically located directly across from Dylan's. And third, it wasn't far from the home of an old friend of mine – more like one of Greg's old buddies but I knew him well enough. I hadn't seen Phil since Greg went away but Greg told me before he left that if I ever needed anything to call Phil. It turned out Phil was more than happy to help me out today.

"I feel like Ethan Hunt," Peter said with a silly grin as we rolled up our wetsuits and hid them with the backpack.

"Who?"

"From Mission Impossible. We're like spies on a covert mission."

I rolled my eyes at him. "I hope not. Doesn't he get shot at a lot?"

Less than five minutes after the reaching the dock, we ran across the yard and emerged on the street. I wondered if Chris had figured out that something was up yet and decided I didn't want to wait around to find out.

"This way," I said, setting off down the road with Peter beside me.

"Are you sure this guy is okay?" he asked cautiously. "He's not like that guy Malloy, is he?"

I let out a laugh. "Phil is a teddy bear. I told you he's one of Greg's friends."

"Yeah, because those guys were all angels," Peter said with a snort.

It took us five minutes to reach Phil's little white bungalow. A few years older than Greg, Phil worked at a dockyard in Portland and lived alone in the house inherited from his grandmother.

He threw open the door as soon as I rang the bell. "Little Grey!" boomed the hefty redhead before he grabbed me in a beefy hug. He smelled of sweat and beer and his arms were covered in tattoos. "You've grown up since last time I saw you."

I grinned as I stepped back. "It's only been four months."

"Really? Seems longer than that," he said, leading us inside. "Not the same here since the boys went away. I remember when you were younger and you used to have the biggest crush on Greg." He let out a whoop. "Ha! I bet the tables will be turned next time he comes home and gets a load of the beauty you grew into. Not that I'm surprised, mind you."

I couldn't help the blush that crept up my cheeks when I thought of the crush I had on Greg in grade eight. "Ugh, don't remind me about that."

Phil laughed again. "I gotta say I was surprised to hear from you last night but I'm glad you called me. I promised Greg I'd check in on you and to be honest, I've done a piss poor job of that. So you two need a ride somewhere?"

"Phil, this is my friend Peter. And yes, we need to get to the rest stop up by exit 75. You know where that is?"

They shook hands and Phil frowned. "You guys are not running away, are you?"

"No, we're meeting someone there. It's kind of hard to explain, but I promise we're not running away." I pulled out my cell phone which I'd snuck inside my wetsuit and looked at the time. If Chris was looking for us, it probably wouldn't take them long to start searching this area. "And we need to go now if that's possible."

"Okay, no problem." He grabbed a set of keys off the kitchen counter. "Let's go."

Phil drove a black Pontiac Trans-Am just like the one Burt Reynolds drove in Smoky and the Bandit, except Phil's was rusted in places and in desperate need of a paint job. But it ran well, which was all we needed. We left the lake area and headed toward the nearest on ramp to the interstate. Once we were safely away I sent Roland a smiley face text to let him know things were going as planned. He replied with a 'thumbs down' to let me know Chris was onto us. I bit the inside of my cheek. That meant Nikolas knew and they were both looking for us right now. I hoped I had enough time before they managed to track us down.

"This is a strange place to meet a friend," Phil said, pulling up to the rest stop diner.

I laid my hand on the door handle. "He's passing through doesn't have time to go into town."

"Alright then. You call me when you're done and I'll come get you."

"I will thanks." I got out then lifted the seat forward for Peter to climb out. We waited for Phil to pull away before we turned to look at each other. I glanced at my watch and saw that I had ten minutes before I was supposed to meet NightWatcher. I told Peter we should split up now.

Peter's eyes were anxious. "You sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

"I promised to meet him alone. It's busy place in the middle of the day so I'm sure it's safe." He did not look convinced so I squeezed his hand. "There's not a cloud in the sky so you know we won't run into anyone with UV allergies. Besides, you'll be right outside. I'll try to get a table by the window so you can see me."

He nodded reluctantly and I turned and went into the diner. The waitress told me to grab any table I wanted so I took a booth near the window in the back where Peter could see me and I could see anyone entering the diner. After a few minutes, the waitress brought me a menu and I ordered a milkshake then settled back to wait. My phone rang and Roland's name came up. **Hope u get back here before he finds u**. I did not need to reply to ask who _he_ was.

I was sipping my milkshake when the door opened and in walked the last person I'd expect to run into here. I shook my head in annoyance. Lots of locals stopped here driving to and from Portland but what were the chances of seeing Scott Foley here today of all days?

Scott spotted me around the same time I saw him. He stared at me in surprise and I think he started to come over but changed his mind. I let out a small sigh of relief when I saw him pay for a milkshake and leave. It was one thing having Peter outside. I didn't think NightWatcher would approach me if I was arguing with Scott when he showed up. I'd worked too hard to set up this meeting to have someone screw it up now.

At two o'clock on the dot, the door opened and a young Japanese man with short spiked hair came in. He stopped and looked around until his eyes landed on me, then he walked purposefully toward my booth.

"You're a lot younger than I expected," he said in a low voice as he slid onto the vinyl seat across from me.

I didn't bother to hide my surprise. "How did you know it was me?"

He smiled, showing off perfect white teeth. "Aside from the fact that you're obviously not a trucker and you had your boyfriend wait outside for you? Let's just say I have a way of knowing things about people just by looking at them."

I looked more closely at his face and spotted a faint gold ring inside his brown irises. "You're an Emote!" I breathed and he nodded. Emotes are people who can read auras – and not like those fake psychics you see at a carnival. Their perception is so good that an experienced Emote can tell what you're feeling, if you are lying or if you are hiding something just by seeing your aura. A vampire couldn't get within twenty feet of an Emote without being detected, which explained why NightWatcher hadn't entered the Attic that night. It also explained why he'd insisted we meet in person. He wanted to read me.

I knew something else about Emotes. They can tell small lies but big deceptions are very difficult for them which meant I could probably trust what this man had to say.

"What does my aura tell you about me?"

His dark brown eyes studied me. "I can see that you mean me no harm and you desperately hope I have the answers you've been looking for. I also see that you are you are running from someone – but you are not afraid of them. Curious."

"Impressive." I'd met one other Emote a few years ago and she could only tell if someone was lying. Being able to read beyond that takes a lot of skill. "I guess we should introduce ourselves. I'm Sara, but you know me as PixieGirl."

"David, aka NightWatcher." He gave me as small smile as he extended a slender hand. "I have to tell you that I was very curious about you as soon as I heard you were asking questions about Daniel Grey. It's been a long time since I heard that name. Before I say anything else, I want to know why someone as young as you is interested in a man who has been dead for ten years."

I met his gaze without blinking. "Daniel Grey was my father."

David's eyes widened and his mouth made an O shape. "So you're Madeline's daughter."

"Yes," I said bitterly. "You knew her?"

"My father knew her." He quieted because the waitress came over to take his order. He ordered a coffee and waited until she walked away before he spoke again. "Ten years ago Madeline Croix called my father to tell him she was in a lot of trouble and needed his help. I was fourteen and I remember he was not happy to hear from her. I could see his fear though he tried to hide it from me. A few days later, Madeline came to our house. They talked for about an hour and he gave her a leather pouch that he'd apparently been keeping for her. It was full of cash and some papers. She said she had to disappear."

"Did she say why?"

He glanced around nervously and his voice dropped so low that I had to lean forward to hear him. "Madeline told my father that she had discovered the identity of a Master."

Goose flesh spread across my arms and an unpleasant tingle ran down my spine. Everything I knew about vampire masters I'd learned from Remy and that was just enough to scare the bejesus out of me. Masters are old and powerful with powers far beyond any normal vampire. You can't just stake a master, beheading is the only way to kill one. The most frightening thing about them is not their physical strength but their mental prowess. Only a Master can command other vampires and they literally create a small army of vampires to serve them and make them nearly invincible. Because of that, Masters used to live as openly as other vampires but fear of them drove hunters to start killing them off one by one a few hundred years ago. The Masters who survived went into hiding and now it is rare to even hear of one. A Master's identity is their most closely guarded secret.

The waitress returned with David's coffee. As soon as she left he said, "I see you know what that means. If Madeline somehow found out the identity or location of a Master, he would stop at nothing to find her, especially considering what she is."

"You know what she is?"

He nodded gravely. "I wasn't supposed to hear any of this but I knew something big was going down because my father did not scare easily. I hid upstairs while Madeline was there. Before she left, she said she was going to see Daniel – your father – to warn him. I saw in her aura that Daniel had no idea what she was."

I felt a stab of pain in my chest at the mention of my dad. "What happened next?"

"After Madeline left, my father panicked and sent me to my grandparents' house for a week. I never saw Madeline again and two days later your father was killed."

My throat tightened and I swallowed dryly. "What about your father?" I asked hoarsely. "Did you ever ask him about what you overheard?"

Pain darkened his eyes. "My father was murdered on the same day as yours."

A heavy silence fell over the table as we shared each other's sorrow and pain. All these years I'd carried my grief alone because I knew no one could understand what I had been through. Now I sat across from someone who had suffered as much as I had.

"We used to own a laundromat. One of the employees found him and it was... pretty bad. They wouldn't let me see him and my grandparents had him cremated." He took a shaky breath. "My mom died when I was little so I lived with my grandparents after my father died. I never told anyone about Madeline. I was afraid _they_ would find out and come after me too."

I found my voice at last. "I'm sorry. I know how hard it must have been for you."

"You do know, don't you?" he said sadly. "What about you? You were so young when it happened. Where did you end up?"

"An uncle took me in." I was still reluctant to give up my personal information but it was no use lying to an Emote as good as David.

"I bet that was rough. My grandparents are good people but it was hard after..."

I nodded. "I was pretty messed up after my dad died and it took me a long time to learn to deal with it. I don't think it would have mattered where I went because nothing could have changed what I went through."

"True." David sipped his coffee and made a face. "I see you didn't pick this place for the coffee."

"The milkshakes are good." I toyed with my cup lid. "Thanks for telling me all this. I see why you were so spooked at the Attic. You have even more reason than I do to be scared of vampires."

"I doubt that." He added more sugar to his cup and stirred it thoughtfully. "I heard the police found you with the... with your father's body. Is that true?"

"I found him."

"Jesus," he rasped.

I made sure no one was close enough to hear us. "I've always known what killed my dad but I never understood why they went after him. I guess I know why now."

David nodded and stared out the window for a minute before his eyes returned to me. "Are you like Madeline?"

"I'm nothing like her."

He held up his hands. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant, are you Mohiri? I heard my father call her that. I tried to find out what I could about them but they are very secretive. All I've been able to learn is they are some kind of warrior race and very deadly."

"I know about them," I admitted. "But I am no warrior, trust me." He nodded in acceptance and I remembered that my aura would tell him if I lied.

"Madeline left us when I was two so I wouldn't even know her if she walked up to me." A vague memory surfaced of a beautiful blond woman in a worn picture in my dad's wallet.

"You don't look like her. I never would have guessed you were her daughter. Her hair was so blond it almost looked white and she was tall with blue eyes."

"That's something, I guess," I muttered.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Back then I was terrified that they'd realize my father had a kid and track me down. I used to wonder what happened to Daniel Grey's daughter and I hoped they didn't come back for you."

"What would vampires want with a kid?" A shiver ran through me at the thought of facing something like Eli when I was eight.

"They're monsters," was his reply. I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill.

"You have nothing to worry about now though. No one who saw you would ever think you're related to Madeline. If they ever did come back, they'd look for someone blond and –"

He stared at me so hard that I grew alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

"How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Seventeen, why?"

"The missing girls in Portland – they were all your age."

"I know. It was in the news."

"They were all blond."

The meaning in his words hit me and I recoiled as if I'd been slapped. "No. You're wrong." The idea that four innocent girls were hurt or killed because of me was too much to bear. "There has to be hundreds of blond teenage girls in Portland. Do you honestly think vampires are going to randomly pick girls on the chance they'd find Madeline's daughter? And why now after all this time?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't think those missing girls were random either. As soon as the third girl disappeared, I started looking for a connection between them."

"Look for a connection how?"

"I'm really good with computers."

For some reason, that did not surprise me. "What did you find?"

"Nothing at first. Not until the last two girls went missing. I had a bunch of searches running, cross-referencing school records, social websites and some other not-so-public records when I came up with something all four girls had in common. They were all adopted."

"What?"

He nodded slowly. "What are the odds of vampires taking four blond, adopted girls of the same age in Portland? It's no coincidence."

"My God." I felt the color drain from my face.

"I don't know how you stayed under their radar but keep doing it. My guess is that they want to use Madeline's daughter as bait to draw her out."

"I don't understand. Vampires must have a lot of resources. It should have taken them no time to track down my uncle and find me."

David shook his head. "I can find anyone if there is a paper trail and I couldn't find you. It looked like you went into the foster care system and then just disappeared. Someone obviously went through a lot of trouble to hide you. I didn't even know there was an uncle until you mentioned him."

Someone hid me – and Nate? They must be really good to hide the fact that my dad had a brother. But who would do that and why? The werewolves had a large network but Maxwell had said he only suspected vampires had killed my father. Surely if he or someone he knew had covered my trail, he would have told me after everything that had happened in the last month. And it wasn't the Mohiri because they didn't even know I existed before a month ago.

"Whoever did it was very thorough and you owe them a big thank you if you ever find them because they probably saved your life. Just keep your head down and don't do anything to draw the vampires' attention to you and you should be okay."

I gulped soundlessly. _Too late._

"From what I've heard, the vampires are keeping a very low profile in Portland now. That scares me even more. I'm a freelance programmer and I can do that from anywhere. I'm leaving for a while, heading south to stay with some friends." He gave me a small smile. "That's why I agreed to come here today. Something told me I had to meet you before I left."

"David, you don't know what this meant to me, to learn anything about what happened to my dad. I still have questions but I feel like I'm closer to understanding it all now." The aching hole in my heart felt a tiny bit smaller after meeting the one person who shared my painful history. I'd never find real closure as long as my dad's murderer was alive and free to kill again. But I always knew this was as close as I would get. It had to be enough.

David pulled out his wallet and laid some bills on the table. "Listen, I have to go. Keep your head down, kid, until this mess blows over. You know where to reach me online if you want to talk." He fixed me with a hard stare. "I understand how badly you want answers because I've spent years trying to find my own, but it's not worth risking your life. Be careful who you talk to online and especially who you meet." He smiled. "I know that is weird advice from a guy you met online. But the next one might not be as nice as me."

I stayed in the booth and watched David walk out to a white Ford Focus and drive away. When I had planned this meeting, I never really knew what to expect or what I hoped to get out of it. Meeting David, learning how he had suffered because of his father's association with Madeline, made me despise my mother even more. My dad, David's dad and those girls: how many more people would be hurt because of her?

One thing was clear, this was way bigger than me and David and our fathers' murders. If Madeline was still out there and she knew the identity of a Master, the Mohiri needed to know about it. With their resources, they could track her down and find out what she knew and if anyone had the firepower to go up against a Master, it was Nikolas's people.

I glanced at my watch. It was two-thirty, which meant we'd been gone from Dylan's for over an hour. I grimaced as I slid out of the booth. Maybe my news about the Master would deflect some of Nikolas anger. Not likely but a girl could hope.

I left the diner and joined Peter who stood by the phone booth. He wore a relieved smile as I approached him. "Well, how'd it go?" he asked impatiently.

"He knew a lot more than I expected. His father and Madeline knew each other."

"Seriously? Tell me what he said."

I rubbed at the beginning of a headache. "Can we talk about this later with Roland? I just want to call Phil and go back to Dylan's before Nikolas finds us."

His face fell but he did not push it. "Okay. You call Phil and I'm going to run in and get a milkshake. I'll be back in a few minutes."

I pointed to the picnic tables partially hidden by a semi on the other side of the parking lot. "I'll be over there." The tables had a good view of the interstate so we could see Phil's car when he arrived. I sat on the hard wooden seat and pulled out my phone.

"Date ran off and left you did he?" a male voice jeered from behind me before I could make my call.

_Am I being punished for some horrible crime in a former life_? I groaned inwardly, turning on the seat to face Scott. "Go away, Scott. I'm so not in the mood."

"Free country. If you don't like me here you can always leave."

I started to make a retort then decided it wasn't worth it. Fighting with Scott seemed so petty after the things I learned today. "Suit yourself," I muttered, turning my back to him again.

His footsteps moved away and I couldn't help but think I needed to try this tactic the next time I wanted to get rid of unwanted company. I had just finished congratulating myself when he walked in front of me to sit on the next picnic table.

"Are you broke down here or something?" he asked, scanning the vehicles in the parking lot. His voice held curiosity instead of scorn and I wondered why he even bothered to ask.

"Why? You offering a lift?"

It was meant as a joke and I was surprised when it seemed to take him off guard. He looked off to the side and back at me. "I... no."

"So what do you want?"

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" he asked defensively.

I waved a hand at him. "Oh, I don't know. You're hanging around a highway rest stop on a Saturday talking to me of all people. You couldn't find anyone else to fight with?"

His brow furrowed in a scowl but whatever he said to me went unheard. My full attention was drawn to a man standing beside a black Escalade on the other side of the rest stop. His profile seemed familiar and I strained to make out his face. At this distance, I could only tell he had dark hair and a dark olive complexion but something made me think I knew him from somewhere.

The man shifted position and I saw thick eyebrows, a square and an unsmiling mouth. A jolt of recognition went through me and I ducked my head. He was one of the men from the marina.

_He didn't get a good look at me that night,_ I thought frantically, trying to slow my racing heart. I had to calm down and act normal. The man was alone and he had no idea who I was. It was nothing more than a coincidence that he was here now. Still I really wished Peter would hurry up. Ignoring Scott's puzzled look, I raised my head enough to peek at the man again. My breath caught.

The man looked right at me and smiled.

# Chapter 16

My gut clenched. This was very, very bad.

I scrambled away from the picnic table and stood like a cornered rabbit with my heart thumping in my chest before my mind began to quickly evaluate my options. The Escalade was on the far side of the parking lot. The diner was blocked from view by the semi but I knew it was closer than the SUV. Even if the man was fast, I could make it to the diner and Peter and hope the man did not want to risk a public commotion.

The man must have realized it too because he started walking briskly toward us. Any hope that he did not recognize me drained away.

Scott stood. "What's wrong?"

Movement to my right brought me up short. A dark figure stepped into view around the rear of the semi. Tall and thin, he was dressed in a black robe covered in strange symbols that shimmered in the sun like white gold. A black hood covered his head and hid his face from me but I could feel something, some kind of power emanating from him. He halted and reached up to push back the hood and my mouth opened in a silent gasp. The man – if he was a man – was as black as ebony with a small black goatee and a bald head. His face and head were covered in a strange pattern of red and white markings that appeared to be gouged into his skin. But it was the eyes that sent fear racing along my spine. Two white orbs glowed in the black face and when they turned on me I felt like a deer staring into two headlights coming out of the dark.

"What the fuck is that?"

Scott's bewildered voice pulled me from my own paralysis. "Run!" I yelled and whirled away to bolt in the only direction available, towards the interstate.

Hands grabbed my arms roughly from behind and I cried out. I twisted and kicked at the person restraining me but he held me in an iron grip. "It is no use to struggle," he said in a clipped Middle Eastern voice. "You are coming with me."

"Help!" I screamed as I was spun toward the SUV. I saw Scott on the ground looking dazed and I realized my attacker must have hit him. "Scott," I yelled at him. "Please help me!"

"What the hell?" he moaned, teetering to his feet. "Someone hit me."

The man began pulling me backward, effortlessly dragging me away from the picnic tables. "Do something!" I shouted at Scott.

At first I thought he was going to stand there and watch me get hauled away. It took him a minute to comprehend what was happening and he started toward us. "Hey, what do you think you're doing? L-Let her go..."

He stammered to a stop and his expression went blank. I watched in confusion while he stood swaying in a trancelike state. My eyes went to the tattooed man and found him watching Scott with a small smile on his face.

"Leave him alone! He's got nothing to do with this."

"Come with me and your boyfriend will be okay," the man holding me barked.

"No!" I struggled and screamed Peter's name.

Dragged backwards, I stumbled and almost felt. The man jerked me up and I used the momentum to bring my head up and slam him hard under the chin. I heard his jaw crack at the same time pain shot through my skull. He staggered and his grip loosened enough for me to tear free. I spun to face him and kicked out, landing a hard blow to the side of his knee. Off balance, he fell to the ground swearing. I could tell he would not be down for long.

I heard running feet as Peter tore around the front of the semi and took in the scene before him. "Sara!" he bellowed and tossed his milkshake aside, racing toward me. He reached me just as my attacker gained his footing again.

"Watch out!" I yelled to Peter.

Peter turned as a hard fist flew at his face. Moving faster than I'd ever seen him go, he leaned to one side and brought his own fist up, slamming it into the man's stomach. The man parried with a shot aimed at Peter's chest but he only managed a hit to the shoulder. Peter recovered fast and delivered a second punch to his opponent's gut. I had never seen Peter fight and the force and speed of his blows surprised me. It also answered my question about whether or not werewolves are strong in their human form. It was clear that my friend was more than a match for the larger, more muscled man.

I was so engrossed in the fight it took me several seconds to register the gentle pressure on my mind, touching, prodding like fingers testing a piece of fruit. My mental walls flew up and I sensed a flare of surprise from the one trying to invade my head. In the next moment, it surged forward with a force that left me gasping. Horrified recognition filled me as the thing buzzed inside my head like a live wire. My walls faltered at the shock of encountering the same awful presence that had infected the rat at the marina, and my hesitation was all the alien force needed to shove its way around my defenses.

I screamed and grabbed my head as the thing invaded me. It reached into the recesses of my mind and wherever it touched it left a path of filth like the slime trail of a slug. In the back of my mind I felt the Mori recoil as my whole being shuddered at the violation, the slow rape of my mind.

_"Sleeeep,"_ a chilling voice hissed in my head. _"All is welll."_

"No..." I protested weakly. A cool numbing fog began to steal over me until I no longer felt the ugliness in my head, or much else.

" _You will sleeeep now."_

"Can't..." I mumbled as my eyes grew heavy.

My walls fell. I was vaguely aware of something cold and slimy burrowing inside me like a parasite. The Mori shrieked in agony. Choking, dying, the Mori was dying. I'd always hated the dark thing that had been a part of me my whole life. I should be happy now that the beast would be no more. Instead sadness bloomed in my chest and tears of grief welled in my eyes.

Coldness reached down, inching toward the center of my being. It came up against my last defense, the gate that held back the wellspring of my power. " _Let meee innn_ ," it commanded as icy fingers pulled at the barrier in vain. I did as it asked and I felt its triumph as it punched through and touched the essence of me.

Someone began to scream.

I was on fire. No, I was the fire. Roaring, raging, I was an angry volcano spewing molten rock up from deep within the earth. The lava scorched everything in its path with a cleansing fire that burned away the coldness and filth and bore down on the ugly thing pulsing in my mind. I felt a flash of terror that was not my own and then the pressure in my head was gone.

My eyes opened to see the witch – I knew what he was now – stagger and fall to his knees. His eyes no longer glowed white and his face had paled to a dark grey. "What... are you?" he choked, his black eyes full of shock and fear.

Instead of answering him, I stood and turned my attention to Peter who still fought my assailant. They traded blows like it was a heavyweight match and I wondered how either of them was still standing. Across the parking lot, several men stood near their cars watching the fight but no one moved to break it up. Anger rose in me. What was wrong with these people? They were going to just stand there while teenagers were attacked in broad daylight?

Peter appeared to be gaining ground and I watched breathlessly as he forced the older man backward with each blow. I glanced behind me nervously at the witch, expecting him to recover and try that mind magic on me again. But he was still on his knees with both hands on the ground like he was about to pass out. _Good, serves you right._

"Argh!"

I whirled back to the fight at Peter's cry of pain to find him clutching his belly and blood running between his fingers. The dark haired man advanced on him again, brandishing a bloody knife and wearing a sneer that left no doubt about his deadly intentions.

A howl of rage escaped me as I threw myself at the man's back, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his throat in a stranglehold that might have broken the neck of a smaller person. My would-be kidnapper dropped his weapon and clawed at my arms as I clung to him, squeezing his windpipe with strength I did not know I had and screaming like a banshee. The fear, the pain, the endless attacks for the last month had finally made me snap and I poured all my pent up anger and fear into choking the life from the man who was trying to kill my friend.

We tumbled to the ground as the man's legs went out from underneath him and the impact jolted me from my murderous rage. Beneath me the man was no longer moving but I felt his chest rise and fall so I knew he was still alive. I loosened my choke hold and looked around for Peter, emitting a squeak when I found him lying on the ground a few feet away.

"Peter?" I disentangled my arms and legs from the prone man and crawled across the grass to my friend. Peter's normally pale face was so white that even his freckles looked washed out. His eyes opened when I leaned over him and I saw they were glazed with pain.

"Oh, Peter!" Gut wounds are always the worst and I had no idea if his accelerated werewolf healing worked in human form. I pressed my hand over his stomach to staunch the flow of blood.

He tried to smile and failed miserably. "A knife is nothing compared to a crocotta claw."

I fumbled for my cell phone with my free hand. "I'll call nine-one-one. Don't worry; you'll be okay."

"More are coming."

The deep African voice drew my eyes from Peter to the witch who was sitting back on his heels watching me.

"What?"

"Tarek." He pointed to the unconscious man behind me. "He called for backup as soon as we found you. They will be here very soon."

His meaning was clear. If I waited for the police or an ambulance, Tarek's reinforcements would get to us first. "Why are you telling me this?"

The witch shrugged. I had no reason to trust the person who had just tried to violate my mind, but then he could have kept his mouth shut and let me be ambushed.

"How did you find us? Were you following me?"

He let out a deep laugh. "You are not such easy prey. I merely sensed your mind as we passed by. But the others know you are here now."

I looked at Peter. "We can't stay here. We have to go."

He grimaced. "I know."

"Can you stand?" My hands slipped behind his shoulders and helped him into a sitting position. Between the both of us, we managed to get him to his feet.

"Come on." I wrapped an arm around him and together we walked slowly toward the diner. I wanted to urge him to go faster but his haggard breaths told me how much pain he was in. I felt him weakening with every step.

As we neared the diner, it looked less and less like the refuge I thought it would be. These men had no qualms about attacking me in the middle of the afternoon alongside a busy interstate. People like that would think nothing of barging inside the restaurant and taking us. I looked around frantically. We couldn't stay here and we couldn't call Phil and wait for him to show up. We needed to get out of here now.

At that moment I saw Scott shuffling like a zombie toward his shiny red Mustang parked in front of the diner. Jesus, I had forgotten about him.

"Scott," I called to him as we hurried after him as fast as Peter could move. We caught up to Scott as he stopped beside the driver door swaying slightly, and one look at his slack-jawed face told me he was in no shape to drive out of here. The way Peter hung heavily on me, I knew he was about to pass out. "Damn it! Why does this shit keep happening?"

I leaned Peter against the car and searched Scott's pockets until I found his keys. Gently nudging Scott aside I unlocked the driver door and levered the seat forward so I could get Peter into the back. He stretched out across the seat with a moan then promptly went out cold. My breath caught painfully in my chest and I scrambled to check his breathing and pulse to make sure he was still alive. "I'm so sorry, Peter," I whispered hoarsely. "I'll get us out of this, I promise."

I got out and propelled Scott around to the passenger side and into the seat, fear causing me to slam the door with more force than was necessary. Then I ran back to the driver side and climbed in. Only then did it hit me what I was about to do and I stared around me in confusion. The Mustang was so different from Judith's car and I'd only had one lesson so far. How was I ever going to figure this out?

_Okay, first things first._ I reached down until my fingers found the seat adjuster mechanism and moved the seat forward until my feet could touch the pedals. _Gas on the right, brake in the middle, and clutch thingy on the left. No problem._

I pressed down on the brake. Grabbing the gear stick, I jiggled it into neutral and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. Don't panic. Think about what Roland told you.

I lost precious seconds recalling my lesson before I remembered. The clutch! I pressed the pedal to the floor and tried the key again. The Mustang rumbled to life.

Scott made a moaning sound and but there was no time to check on him. The one time I needed him and he was completely out of it. _Figures_. I looked around me again. Scott loved his Mustang. I wondered how he'd feel if he knew who was about to drive his precious car.

Movement in the side mirror caught my eye and I saw Tarek stirring on the ground. I must have really done the job on him because he was having trouble lifting himself to his hands and knees. He scanned the parking lot and his eyes zeroed in on the Mustang. Even from here I felt the rage radiating off him. He was not happy to be taken down by a pair of teenagers and his expression told me payback was coming if he caught up with us.

I took a deep breath and moved the stick into what I hoped was Reverse. _God, don't let me kill us all_ , I prayed as I took my foot from the brake and pressed gently on the gas while letting up on the clutch.

The car shuddered to a stop.

"No, no, no, please don't do this to me." I pressed the clutch and brake again, put the car in neutral and started it again. This time after I put it in reverse, I eased up on the clutch more slowly as I pressed the gas. The car shot backwards a few feet before my right foot found the brake again and brought it to a screeching stop. My heart pounded. Damn this was a lot harder than people made it look!

I gripped the wheel and pressed the gas gingerly as I let off the clutch. The car rolled backwards until I tapped the brake. Now to turn this thing around.

Something banged on the back of the car and I jerked my head around to find Tarek leaning over the trunk. The tendons stood out on his neck and his eyes burned into me through the rear window. _Christ! How did he get to us so fast?_ I gulped and reached frantically for the gear shift.

I got it into first gear but my feet got all tangled up trying to find the right pedals. I turned the wheel as I released the clutch and pressed the gas and the car moved forward in short jerky movements. I was too afraid to look to see where Tarak was so I kept my eyes straight ahead.

The car narrowly missed hitting two parked pickups but the Escalade wasn't so lucky. I winced as metal grinded against metal but I didn't dare stop. A few scratches on the Mustang's paint job were the least of our worries and I could care less about the SUV.

I straightened out the wheel and the car lurched forward. Shouting reached my ears and I glanced furtively over my shoulder at the furious man limping after us. _Just keep going. Don't let him catch you._

The exit loomed before me and I hit the brake suddenly, making Scott fall forward. My arm shot out just in time to keep him from hitting the dashboard. _I can't do this. I'm going to get us all killed._ I glanced back at Peter to make sure he was okay. He was still laid out across the seat, totally oblivious to what was going on around him.

Scott mumbled incoherently and I prayed the witch had not screwed up his mind. Another injury he could lay at my door. At this rate Scott would be lucky to get through senior year intact.

I stole a look in the side mirror and sucked in a sharp breath when I spotted Tarek going for the Escalade. I gritted my teeth and pulled out into the merge lane. The car shook every time a vehicle sped past and my heart pounded in my ears but there was no going back now. Risking a glance in the rearview mirror, I spotted a black SUV pulling out of the truck stop and my foot stomped on the gas, making the car shoot forward. I saw a gap in traffic and swung out sharply into the next lane, just barely correcting the Mustang before it careened into the middle lane. I hit the gas again and the engine started to whine. Terrified to take my eyes off the road, I fumbled with the pedals and gear stick until the car stopped sounding like it was about to strain something.

My heart felt ready to burst through my ribs and I swallowed dryly, suddenly very thirsty. I gripped the wheel and focused on my bigger problem. We couldn't stay on the highway. I could barely keep the Mustang in my lane; there was no way I could outrun them. Our only hope was to take the next exit and try to lose them in town.

The closest exit was four miles away and those were the four longest miles of my life. Every second I expected the Escalade to catch us and run us right off the road. I checked my mirror whenever I dared take my eyes off the road but there was no sign of the SUV. But I knew it was behind us somewhere. I wasn't foolish enough to think a man like that would give up easily.

I hit the off ramp going a little too fast and almost stalled the car at the bottom, which did nothing to help my confidence. The road I merged onto did not look familiar at all and I let out a nervous groan. I had no idea where I was and I had no business being behind the wheel of a car. Not to mention Scott was blubbering like an idiot next to me, I had no clue where my attackers were and Peter was probably bleeding to death behind me.

_Don't think about that!_

I got off the road as soon as I could, taking a series of turns until I was hopelessly lost. A few times I thought I spied a black SUV on a parallel road so I just kept driving, afraid to stop for even a minute. My phone rang several times but my hands clenched the steering wheel too tightly to answer it. It was probably Roland, wondering why we weren't back already.

Despair of ever finding my way home was settling over me when a large building I recognized came into view. My heart quickened. I had never been so happy to see the mall. Following this street I would reach the high school in ten minutes. I couldn't go home. There was a strong possibility those men knew where I lived. They might not be able to get past my wards but I couldn't take that chance with Peter and Scott incapacitated as they were.

"Thank you, God!" I sobbed when I spotted the steeple of St. Patrick's church. I pulled into the church parking lot and drove around to the back. My hands shook as I turned off the car and immediately turned to check on Peter, afraid of what I'd find. "Peter?"

"Hmmm," he murmured without moving.

"How are you doing?" I probed anxiously.

"Better than I expected. You know, your driving really sucks."

I laughed and cried at the same time. Falling back into my seat, I pulled out my phone. My strength almost failed me when I heard Roland's voice. "Roland... we need your help."

"What happened? Where are you guys?" he demanded with a desperate edge to his voice.

"We're behind St. Patrick's. Just hurry. Peter's hurt."

There was a short pause. "Sit tight, I'm on the way."

I laid my head back against the headrest but my body was too tense to relax. Scott moved, turning his face toward me and his eyes tried to focus on my face. "Why do you hate me?" His voice was small and vulnerable like a little boy's and I was too shocked to respond. It took me a long moment to remember that his mind was messed up and he probably had no idea who he was talking to. "I wish you didn't hate me," he mumbled sadly.

"I don't hate you, Scott." It was the truth. I didn't like him, but I did not hate him either.

"I'm glad." His head lolled to the other side and he pointed at the empty parking lot. "What a funny looking camel," he said before his eyes closed again. _Definitely messed up_. I bit my lip. Scott and I might not get along but I didn't want to see him hurt.

I was still puzzled by Scott's strange behavior earlier and why he had hung around the rest stop in the first place. It was almost like he had been waiting for me to come out of the diner. But that couldn't be right. The last person Scott Foley would willingly spend time with was me.

A few minutes later, Judith's car raced into view. I sagged in relief. "It's Roland," I told Peter who lifted a hand in acknowledgement then let it fall back to his side.

Roland ran over and tried to open the driver door. I hit the unlock button and he yanked the door open. He stared open-mouthed at Scott before his eyes moved to me sitting behind the wheel and then to Peter on the back seat. "What the hell happened to you guys?"

I let out a shaky laugh. "It's a long story. Can you look at Peter first? He's been stabbed."

Roland helped me out of the car because my arms and legs felt a little like wet noodles. Then he pushed the seat forward and leaned in to look at Peter. He withdrew and gave me an encouraging nod and spoke low so Scott could not hear him. "He's okay. It takes us a bit longer to heal when we're not in wolf form. As soon as we get him somewhere private, he can shift and heal that in a few minutes."

"Oh, thank God!" I sat on the driver's seat again and rested my forehead against the wheel. At least I hadn't gotten one of my best friends killed. I wasn't a total screw-up.

"We heard the police were called for a commotion out on the highway an hour ago. They said a crazy girl choked a guy at the rest stop and tore out of there in a red Mustang, banging up cars and being chased by a black SUV. I guess I don't need to ask if you know anything about that."

"I only hit one car, and that man deserved to be choked for stabbing Peter."

Before he could reply, a motorcycle roared around the corner of the church.

"You called him," I said accusingly.

"I didn't have to. He's been all over my ass since you disappeared from Dylan's. He probably put one of those damn trackers on the car before I took off to look for you."

The motorcycle stopped a few feet from us. Nikolas leapt off and strode straight for the Mustang. His hand closed around my arm and he unceremoniously hauled me from the car. "Do you have a death wish?" he shouted.

"Hey!" I protested but my mouth clamped shut at the thunderous look on his face. He pulled me closer until I could feel the heat radiating from him. Oh crap, was he in one of those rages Chris had mentioned?

I struggled futilely. "Let me go."

"Forget it. You're coming with me since it's obvious you can't be trusted to take care of yourself."

"Now wait a minute," Roland protested, coming around the car as I tried to pull away from Nikolas.

If Nikolas had hackles I swear they would have been raised at that moment. "I'll do whatever is necessary to protect her, even if it's from herself."

My own outrage boiled over. "The hell you will! You don't own me."

Surprisingly it was Peter who stepped in – figuratively from the back seat – to play referee. "Hey, this is not helping anyone. Before you all go off half cocked, why don't you let us tell you what happened?"

Nikolas nodded stiffly and released my arm but did not move away from me. Ignoring his towering form, I explained to Roland how I had met with David as planned and I was about to call Phil to pick us up when the man named Tarek showed up. I heard Nikolas's sharp intake of breath beside me but I refused to look at him. When I got to the part about arrival of the witch, I saw comprehension dawn in Roland's eyes and I knew his thoughts mirrored mine. Why were the men from the marina after me? I had been in such a panic to get away from the rest stop that I didn't think to ask the witch that question.

Nikolas cut in. "You're sure about him, what he looked like?"

"I don't think I'll ever forget that face after what he did," I said, unable to keep the quiver out of my voice. Thinking about the way he had touched my mind made me feel violated all over again.

"What did he do?" Nikolas's voice took on a dangerous note I'd never heard before. I paused, afraid to tell him what happened next.

"Sara, did he hurt you?"

"No, not really. He tried to do something to my mind. It felt like something... awful got inside my head and took control of me. I couldn't move or say anything." I shuddered at the memory. "It was the most horrible feeling, like I'd never be clean again."

Roland blanched. "Fuck! How did you get away?"

"I don't know. One second there was a creepy voice in my head telling me to go to sleep and the next thing I knew the tattooed guy was screaming." I wrapped my arms around myself and stared past them at the hulking shape of the high school next door, allowing my mind to dwell on what I had refused to think about since the witch's attack. My mind probed at the silent part of me where the demon was, like a tongue touching the gap where a tooth used to be. "I think... I think my Mori is dead. I felt it dying," I said hoarsely, filled an inexplicable sadness. Evil or not, its voice had lived inside my head my whole life and it felt like a part of me had been extinguished.

A warm hand touched my back sending a small flare of heat through me. "It's been hurt, but it's still alive," Nikolas said in a gentler voice.

"How do you know?" I asked without looking at him.

"Trust me. I would know if it was gone." My breath caught at the rough edge in his voice and I wondered if his demon felt pain or anguish if another Mori died.

"What kind of witch can hurt a demon like that?" Roland asked, awed.

"A Hale witch." Nikolas spat out the words as if they were poison. "A desert witch from Africa. They get their power from the spirit world."

"Like a shaman or witch doctor?" I asked. I thought shamans were all about healing and helping people.

"Hale witches only deal in dark magic and their power is much greater than a shaman's. A Hale witch can cripple a person with a single thought and their compulsion is even stronger than a vampire's, almost unbreakable." Nikolas paused and I looked up to meet his searching gaze. "Not even the Mohiri are immune to their power. I've seen warriors brought to madness after a single encounter with a Hale witch."

I had no answer for the question in his eyes.

"Hale witches abhor demons and they do not work with vampires," Nikolas informed us. "And they usually stick close to their tribal region of the desert. It would take something big to get one of them to come all the way to America." He fixed me with a hard stare. "You are not telling us everything. Who else is after you?"

"No one," I declared and saw the doubt on both of their faces. "I swear, I have no idea why they attacked me." It was true. As far as I knew, they were after Malloy, not me.

"What happened after you got away from the witch?" Roland asked.

I told them how Peter fought Tarek and then the man had pulled a knife on him and slashed him. "I kinda lost it when I saw him cut Peter. I just jumped him and squeezed his throat until he went down. Then we took off."

Roland pointed at Scott who still sat quietly in the car. "Where does he come into this?"

"He was there at the rest stop when those guys showed up. He got blasted by the witch when he tried to stop Tarak from taking me."

Nikolas's anger was still evident when he spoke again. "What were you thinking going off to meet a total stranger in the first place with everything else that is going on?"

"I had to go," I said defensively. "You don't know how long I've waited to find answers about my dad. I've been trying to meet with David for weeks."

"How do you know he didn't lead those men right to you?" he demanded.

I remembered the anguish and the real pain in David's eyes and I knew his story was real and his motives had been good. "He's an Emote and I believe he was telling the truth. He knew things... things about Madeline." I felt Nikolas stiffen beside me. "Ten years ago Madeline went to see David's father to tell him she was in trouble. They were friends or something and David's father gave her a lot of money to leave the country. She said vampires were after her and before she left she had to warn –" My voice broke and it was a moment before I could continue. "She had to warn my dad. A few days later my dad was killed."

"Jesus, Sara," Roland breathed.

"David wanted to meet with me because he lost someone too. The vampires killed his father the same day they killed mine. David's afraid the vampires will come after him because of what he knows. He was hiding upstairs while Madeline was there and he heard something he wasn't supposed to. He thinks it's why his father was killed."

"Did he tell you what it was?" Nikolas asked tightly.

"Madeline told David's father that she knew the identity of a Master."

Before I could blink, I found myself beside the Ducati with a helmet shoved down over my head. "Stop," I sputtered, pushing the helmet away. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you out of here," Nikolas ground out. "I can't protect you from a Master by myself. The only place you'll be safe now is at a Mohiri stronghold."

"That happened ten years ago. There is no Master after me."

He barked a laugh and tightened his hold on my arm. "To you ten years is a long time but to a vampire who has lived hundreds of years it is nothing. And what of this witch and the man who grabbed you? Either way someone is looking for you and we need to get you out of this town."

I shoved against him but he was like a marble pillar. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I'm not asking."

"So, that's it? You're going to force me to go against my will?" I cried in helpless anger. "You're no different than them."

"Sara, maybe he's right," Roland cut in. "I don't want you to go but I don't want you to get hurt either." He spoke to Nikolas. "But maybe we should talk to Uncle Max first to see what he thinks."

I blasted them both with an icy stare. "I see. So everyone gets a say about my life but me?"

Nikolas grabbed my shoulders and forced me to face him. "If you stay here, you or someone you care about is going to end up hurt or killed," he said mercilessly. "Someone is trying very hard to get to you and they obviously won't think twice about going through your friends to do it." I thought about Peter's stab wound and winced. "Next time it could be worse. They could go after your uncle. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not!" I would not let anyone hurt Nate. If I had to leave New Hastings to draw the people pursuing me away from him, I would, but it would be on my own terms. My mind immediately began to formulate a plan. Remy would hide me somewhere in troll territory where no one, especially vampires, would dare to look for me. I just needed to find a way to get to him.

Nate would be home tomorrow. I had to talk to him, try to explain things to him before I up and disappeared. He was not going to understand and he would struggle with the things I was going to tell him, but he deserved to know the truth. After everything he'd done for me, I owed him that much at least. I felt a pang of regret that we had never been as close as my dad would have wanted. I always thought there would be time to fix it somehow.

"Talk to Maxwell all you want," I conceded. "But I am not going _anywhere_ until Nate gets home tomorrow. And if you make me go, I'll run away the first chance I get."

"Fine. You will stay with me and Chris until then," Nikolas stated firmly.

"I don't think so." There was no way I'd be able to contact Remy from some Mohiri safe house or wherever they were holding up. "I'm going home and you are free to follow me if you want."

Nikolas shook his head. "That location is not secure."

It was my turn to laugh. "Trust me. The devil himself couldn't get into that building."

"Um, guys, can we just figure out where we are going?" Peter called from the car. "Bleeding here."

Nikolas raised an eyebrow at me as he pulled out his phone and called Chris to tell him to meet us at my apartment. I turned toward Judith's car and saw the Mustang. "What are we going to do about Scott? We can't leave him here like this."

"Don't worry about him," Nikolas said, following close behind me. "Once we get you safely to your fortress of an apartment, we will take care of your friend."

"Those guys are looking for a red Mustang. We can't take a chance of them finding Scott before you come back. Besides I think he needs a doctor."

Nikolas went to the Mustang and looked at Scott, peering into his eyes and checking his vitals. He pulled out some of the same nasty green stuff Chris had given me after the crocotta attack and forced Scott to eat some.

"I think he'll be okay in a few hours," he told us. "If he'd been permanently damaged, he'd be catatonic. I gave him something to speed healing. By tomorrow he won't remember any of it and he'll feel like he has a bad hangover."

_And banged up his car,_ I thought guiltily looking at the dented right fender and smashed headlight.

"How will he get home?" I had to make sure Scott was okay before I left. I was leaving no casualties from this mess.

Nikolas called Chris again then held out the phone. "Chris is on his way here. If one of you can tell him where your friend lives, Chris will drive him home."

Roland took the phone and gave the other Mohiri directions. I walked to the Honda to wait for him without a backward glance at Nikolas. I didn't need to look behind us to know he was right on our tail for the short drive to my place.

Roland parked in Nate's spot and the two of us helped Peter up the stairs and into the apartment. I refused Nikolas's offer of help and he followed us with a stony expression, bolting the door behind us. Instead of putting Peter on the couch, we carried him up to my room where he would have enough space and privacy to shift and heal. I wanted to stay with him until Roland reminded me that Peter would have to disrobe to change. That sent me down the stairs pretty fast.

I found Nikolas going around the apartment checking the windows and doors as if a vampire was going to burst through them any minute.

"I told you, this place is safe. I warded it myself." I grabbed the orange juice from the fridge. "Anyone thirsty?"

Nikolas stood by Nate's office doorway. " _You_ warded it?"

"Don't look so shocked." I poured juice into a tall glass and took a long gulp. "I told you before, I'm not helpless. And I got away from those guys, didn't I?"

Roland came into the kitchen and I handed him the juice carton. "I'd believe her if I was you," he said to Nikolas. "Sara knows things and if she says we're safe here then we –"

"Argh!" he yelped a second before the carton hit the kitchen floor and orange juice sprayed up my legs. He jumped in front of me and pushed me back against the refrigerator. I heard Nikolas shout something and fear rose in my throat.

"Sara, stay behind me," Roland shouted as I struggled to push his weight away so I could see what was happening. Had something gotten past the ward? No. It was just not possible.

"Keep her there," Nikolas barked. "I'll take care of it. Damn it I knew this place wasn't safe."

"Take care of what?" I cried, afraid for my friends. With a mighty shove I squeezed out from behind Roland to face the new threat.

It stood in the hallway outside the kitchen, teeth bared menacingly and glaring between Nikolas and Roland, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. A more frightening snarl I had never seen.

Nikolas reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long gleaming blade.

"No!" I screamed and ran to throw myself in front of the creature that could rip everyone in the room to shreds.

# Chapter 17

"Sara, are you insane? Do you know what that is?" Roland yelled, running toward me.

"He's my friend!" I shouted at them. I threw up my hands to let Roland and Nikolas know I was okay. "His name is Remy."

Roland skidded to a stop and stared at me in stunned silence. His eyes moved warily from me to Remy and back again as if he could not believe his eyes. " _That_ is Remy?"

"Yes, now back off, both of you." I turned to Remy and took his hand in mine. "Are you okay?" Something really bad must have happened to make him come here and reveal himself to other people. I'd never seen him look this distraught.

"Is _he_ okay?" Roland asked in disbelief. "I nearly had a heart attack and she's worried about a troll. A goddamn troll!"

"Roland, shut up," I said more harshly than I'd ever spoken to him. "Remy, what's wrong? Please tell me."

Remy's large eyes finally met mine and I saw something I'd never expected to see in a troll's eyes: fear.

"Minka gone. Creah and Sinah too."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

He gripped my hand painfully but I didn't cry out. "Humans take them," he said, bringing one of my worst fears to life. Ever since we'd sold that troll bile I'd worried that someone might track it back to my friends. The thought sweet of little Minka in the hands of someone like that made my blood run cold.

"We'll find them," I promised him fiercely. "We'll get them back."

Nikolas spoke for the first time. "Does your uncle have any alcohol here?"

I shot him a puzzled look. "How will that help us?"

"It won't. I need a drink."

"I'll help you look," Roland added weakly.

"You guys are not helping the situation," I told them irritably. "Remy's little cousins are in a lot of danger and we have to find them."

Nikolas leaned against a wall, looking at a loss for the first time since I met him. "We have enough problems to deal with without going out looking for missing trolls. Have you forgotten your own considerable troubles?"

"But this is my fault," I said. "I have to help them."

"Is our fault," Remy corrected me. "Sara warn me it dangerous but I not believe it. I need medicine for boggie."

"What on earth is he talking about?" Roland asked me.

I bit my lip as I gathered my courage. "Remy has this boggie friend who was sick and they needed a special medicine that you can't get here. It only comes from Africa and it's very hard to find – and really expensive. I found someone to get it for us but we needed it as soon as possible so Remy gave me something to trade for it... something very hard to find."

Nikolas straightened and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Please tell me you are joking."

I shook my head slowly and he let out a string of Russian curses that made my ears burn even though I could not understand them.

"What? What am I missing?" Roland asked, looking between us.

_"Iisus Khristos!"_ Nikolas began pacing in the hallway. "You used troll bile to buy the medicine? What the hell were you thinking?"

Roland shot me a horrified look. "Oh, Sara, you didn't?"

"I was careful," I protested. "I went through a guy I used a few times before for other things and he's always careful. He said he went through a middle man with an overseas buyer and there was no way to trace it back to me. He is really careful about this stuff. But a few weeks later I found out that someone was posting on some of the message boards, asking about troll bile, and I got worried." I rubbed my eyes miserably. "I never believed they would find us, let alone be brave enough to do something like this."

"Not brave, incredibly stupid," Nikolas said wearily. He looked at Remy. "How long do we have?"

"Elders meet now. I come find Sara to see if we find little ones before."

"Before what?" Roland asked just as it dawned on me what Nikolas and Remy were talking about. I gasped as the full seriousness of the situation hit me.

"A rampage," I whispered. "The elders are going to rampage."

"That does not sound good," Roland said weakly.

There was no humor in Nikolas's laugh. "There is a reason why no one – not even vampires – tangles with trolls. If you mess with one troll, you get the whole clan and if you harm one of their young, you die. And if a young troll goes missing, the clan rises up to find them – or who took them. Trolls are even better trackers than crocotta and once they are worked up into a rage, they will kill anyone who has come into contact with their missing children. And during a rampage trolls do not distinguish between the innocent and the guilty."

Roland blanched.

The doorbell rang making me and Roland jump. Nikolas opened the door to admit Chris whose good-natured smile did not falter even when he saw our grim faces. Then he saw Remy. I don't think I had ever seen someone's eyes go that round before. Roland shoved a glass of Nate's whiskey into Chris's hand while Nikolas brought him up to speed on all he had missed.

The kitchen was getting crowded so we moved into the living room. I took the chair by the fireplace and Remy sat on the ottoman beside me. Roland and Chris sat on either end of the sofa. Nikolas stood by the window looking like a sentry.

"Your little orphan is just full of surprises," Chris quipped to Nikolas. "Never a dull moment."

I bristled at Chris's words. "I'm nobody's little orphan."

Chris ignored my denial. "So, what's the plan?"

There was no question in my mind about what had to be done. "We've got to find them." No one said anything so I said, "They're only babies. God knows what those people will do to them."

Roland pointed at Remy. "Can't he track them?"

Remy shook his head unhappily. "Only elders know tracking. If I close I find them."

I pulled out my phone. "I'm calling Malloy. If anyone has heard about this, it's him."

"Who is Malloy?" Nikolas asked suspiciously.

"Buyer," Roland offered as I dialed the number. Nikolas shot him a questioning look and Roland grimaced, no doubt remembering his last encounter with Malloy. "Don't ask."

Malloy picked up right away and I cut right to the chase about the missing trolls. "If you've heard anything at all, tell me now. If we don't find them, their parents are going to come looking and you really don't want that, especially after what I sold you."

"You got to be crazy to mess with them trolls," he uttered in a frightened voice. "Don't I always tell you that?" There was a short pause and then he said, "Give me half an hour and if there is anything to find out I'll know it."

I hung up. "He's checking into it."

I saw that Nikolas had pulled out his own phone and was speaking in a low voice to someone. He hung up and looked at Chris. "I called in Erik's team. It has to be a big player to risk the trolls' wrath. I guess we know who sent the witch too. It had to be someone with a lot of power and influence to get one of them."

His words sank in and the pieces began to slam into place like bullets sliding into a gun chamber. A big player who was able to employ a desert witch who lived in a tribal region of Africa. The man on the yacht. Tarek with his a Middle Eastern accent. Malloy's wealthy overseas buyer.

_Oh God, what have I done?_

The weight of my actions threatened to suffocate me. I'd been so caught up in all the drama in my life the last few weeks that I did not see this new threat until it was right on top of us. I'd thought I was helping Remy by getting the Baktu but all I'd done was put his family in danger. If the trolls went on a rampage, a lot of people were going to die and that would all be on my head. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry, Remy."

He laid his slender hand over mine on the arm of the chair. "It my fault too."

I leaned toward him and gave him a quick hug. "I promise we'll get them back."

We pulled apart and I saw three pairs of eyes watching us with open curiosity. It occurred to me how strange it must look – a teenage girl with a troll friend – but I was in no mood to offer explanations. There would be time for that after Remy's little cousins were safe.

"Am I delirious or do I really see a troll over there?" Peter stood in the doorway, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Except for the mussed hair and bloody t-shirt, I never would have said he'd been stabbed an hour ago.

Roland gave him the condensed version of the story. Peter listened open-mouthed, his eyes never leaving me and Remy and when Roland finished, Peter sat on the floor with his back against the archway, not saying a word.

Malloy called me back ten minutes later. "Now you did not hear this from me, understand?" he said as soon as I picked up. "I got nothing about those trolls specifically but supposedly there are some very rare goods being shipped out of Portland tomorrow morning on a private jet. More security than anyone's seen around here. Word is that it's living cargo."

My pulse quickened. "That's it. It has to be. Do you know where the shipment is now?"

The others watched me expectantly when I hung up. I related what Malloy had told me and jumped to my feet. "Come on, we have to go before it's too late."

"Chris and I will go," Nikolas said. "I think we can handle whatever kind of security they have in place."

"I'm coming too. I got them into this nightmare and I'll get them out."

Nikolas crossed his arms. "Forget it. It's not going to happen."

I matched his stance. "Stop telling me what to do. I'm going whether you like it or not." The trolls were my friends and my responsibility. How dare he try to stop me from helping them?

A tic started at the corner of his jaw and he took a step toward me. "Like hell. I'll tie your little ass to that chair over there if I have to."

"You can kiss my –"

Chris jumped between us, facing Nikolas. "I don't think this little debate is getting us anywhere." He turned sideways and his eyebrow rose when he looked at me. "As entertaining as it promises to be."

"There is no debate. She stays here," Nikolas stated unwaveringly.

It was time for another tactic. "Alright Mr. I Know Better Than Everyone Else, what will you do when you find them? I bet they didn't teach you in warrior school how to handle a bunch of frightened troll kids."

"Your troll friend will come with us."

"And who will stay here with me while you guys are on your rescue mission?"

"The werewolves should be able to keep you safe here for a few hours," he replied as if that settled everything.

"Really? And what happens if that witch finds us again? Wouldn't I be safer with a bunch of warriors, two werewolves _and_ a troll?"

"Sara come. I keep her safe," Remy vowed firmly and I saw Roland shiver at my troll friend's fierce face. No one in the room could argue that there was a better bodyguard in the world.

Nikolas glowered at me for a good ten seconds. "You do not leave his side." His tone brooked no argument and for once I conceded without a fight.

I grabbed my coat from the hall closet and felt the comforting shape of the Mohiri knife in the inside pocket. I really hoped I did not have to use the knife tonight, but lady luck appeared to have deserted me lately and I'd hate to be caught out without a weapon.

Peter called shotgun and I glared at him when I was forced to share the back seat with Nikolas. Remy refused to go anywhere near the car and said he would follow us on foot.

I looked around for Chris and Nikolas said, "Chris will follow us."

A tense silence fell over the car as we headed for the interstate. I looked out my window, intending to ignore Nikolas the whole way to Portland. So much for the olive branch I'd offered him the night of the storm. The whole damn tree was going up in smoke now.

Peter lasted a whole ten minutes before he turned in his seat to fix me with a 'don't you think you have something to tell us' look.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Really? That's all you have to say about the _troll_ who was just sitting in your living room?"

I felt Nikolas's eyes on me and I saw Roland darting glances at me in the rearview mirror. "I met Remy not long after I moved here to live with Nate, before I met you guys. I used to go exploring down by the old lumber mill and one day he saw me and just decided to show himself to me. He was only a year older than me and pretty adventurous for a troll." What I did not tell them was that Remy had spied on me healing a squirrel with a broken leg and he was so curious that he'd watched me for a few weeks before he finally decided to introduce himself.

"Weren't you scared?" Roland asked. "I would have wet my pants if a troll walked up to me in the woods when I was that age."

Peter snickered. "You still would."

A smile broke over my face as I remembered that day. "I was scared at first. Even back then Remy looked pretty fierce. But he knew some broken English so we were able to talk and I found out he was as nervous as me. It was a... pretty hard time for me. I'd just lost my dad and moved to a strange place and I was lonely. Remy was my first friend here." My chest tightened. It was the first time I'd ever talked to anyone about those dark days when I first came to New Hastings.

"But trolls don't like anyone, especially humans," Peter protested. "They kill anyone who gets near their young. Weren't you afraid of the adult trolls?"

I laughed. "I didn't know any better at first and Remy didn't tell me. He was a lot of fun to be with. I taught him English and he taught me all about the real world. He was the one who told me that vampires really did exist and most likely killed my dad. By the time he took me to meet his family, I didn't know I was supposed to be afraid of them. They weren't happy but they didn't threaten me either. Maybe it's because I was a little kid or maybe they knew all along I wasn't human – I don't know. Anyway, I don't see them very often. Usually, it's just me and Remy."

"Okay, you are officially the most badass girl I've ever met," Peter declared. "To think we were worried you'd be afraid of us when you found out what we are."

After that Roland and Peter peppered me with questions until I threw up my hands and said no more. Nikolas remained silent throughout the entire conversation but I felt his gaze on me the whole time. It took a lot of effort not to sneak a glance at him to see what he was thinking. He was probably finally asking himself what the hell he had gotten himself into.

I hadn't been to Portland since that night at the Attic and I thought it would bother me, but I was too worried about Remy's cousins to feel anything but worry for them. My hands clenched painfully in my lap while Roland drove around looking for the address Malloy had given me, and there were fingernail impressions in my palms by the time we found the gated estate. We drove by once to check it out then parked the car in a new development a street away to avoid detection.

Remy ran up to me as soon as I climbed out of the car. "Little ones close!"

"I thought you couldn't track them," Roland said.

"Not unless they close," Remy explained. He touched his chest. "Feel them here."

A spark of hope lit in my chest. "Malloy was right."

Chris joined us a few minutes later after he did a bit more surveillance. He described what he'd seen to Nikolas. "The place is heavily guarded but nothing we haven't dealt with before. I'd say a dozen or so armed men on the perimeter with more inside the house."

Nikolas turned to us, his eyes on me as he spoke. "Chris and I will go in and neutralize their defenses. Once it is safe and we have located the young trolls, we will come back for you."

"You expect us to stay here?" Roland asked, waving around at the empty lot. The look on his face told me he had been looking forward to getting in on the action. But now that I knew we were close to Minka and the others, I was happy to let Nikolas and Chris handle the threat. I'd never admit it to Nikolas but I was still shaken from the attack earlier, and the thought of facing more dangerous men scared me more than a little. And werewolves or not, I wanted my friends here with me out of harm's way. I had seen Nikolas fight vampires and crocotta so I was confident he could handle a bunch of armed security.

"You can shift and be okay unless those men are packing silver ammo, but what about Sara?" Nikolas said to Roland. "Are you willing to put her in that kind of danger?"

Roland started to say something then shook his head. "No."

Satisfied, Nikolas said, "There will be several layers of security. Whoever orchestrated this will not take chances with so valuable an asset and will expect trouble. If you hear gunshots or other commotion, stay here out of sight with your heads down. We can handle this. Is everyone clear on that?"

"Yes," I said for all of us. Nikolas nodded and he and Chris began to arm themselves with weapons from the bag on Chris's motorcycle. When they were ready, Nikolas looked like the warrior who had walked out of the shadows in the alley. The churning in my gut eased a little because I knew that if anyone could make this right, it was him. _I trust him_. The acknowledgement took me by surprise because trusting people did not come easy for me. But then I thought about all the things he had done to earn my trust even though I had fought him at every turn and how time and time again he jumped into dangerous situations just like this because of me.

"Be careful," I told them but I was looking at Nikolas when I said it. He smiled confidently like he was heading off to a rugby match instead of going to into battle.

Chris smirked at me as he turned to leave. "Careful, Sara, or people might think you care."

Left alone, the four of us were subdued as we waited for Nikolas and Chris to return. Roland and Peter paced the lot, stopping often to listen for sounds of fighting. I sat on a stack of plywood with Remy, clutching his hand.

"What will happen after we get Minka and the others back? Will the Elders still be angry?"

Remy hung his head. "I tell them about bile and they very angry. I think they will say we no longer friends."

"No!" Remy was one of my dearest friends. He was going to be there when everyone else I knew grew old and died. I couldn't lose him, I couldn't.

"Maybe not forever but for long time," he said sadly. "Elders not forget easy."

I swallowed back my tears. I had messed up so many things but I never imagined destroying my friendships. What else would I ruin before all of this was over?

"Where are they?" Peter fretted after ten minutes. "Shouldn't we have heard something by now?"

"I don't know." Roland's voice was uncertain. "We'll give them a few more minutes and –"

Remy shot to his feet, nearly knocking me over, his eyes wide and luminous in the darkness. "Little ones very frightened! Something bad happen."

Roland and Peter came running over to us. "What is it?" Roland asked.

"Remy said something's wrong with his cousins." I refused to think what that could mean. "We have to go in."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "What about the Mohiri? Shouldn't we wait for them?"

"There's no time. The trolls need us." I strained to make out their faces. "Remy and I are going."

"Okay, hold on for a minute," Roland said. "It'll be better if we shift first."

He and Peter disappeared behind the structure and two large dark shapes returned in their place. I'd forgotten how ferocious they looked in wolf form and my breath caught when they walked up to flank me. Standing on their hind legs they towered over me, making me feel very small and insignificant next to their powerful bodies.

"Don't crowd me," I chided, shoving at them until they gave me a bit more breathing room.

We left the lot, moving stealthily through the quiet neighborhood until we were within sight of the gated entrance to the estate. I studied the locked ten foot tall gate and wondered how on earth we were going to get past it.

Roland tugged at my arm, leading me away from the gate and into the woods around the estate. I pulled out my knife and followed him with Remy at my side and Peter taking up the rear. The woods and grass were wet from an earlier rain but I was too worried about not making any noise to care about the dampness seeping into my jeans and sneakers.

Halfway around the estate, we found a small gardener's gate hanging slightly ajar and I knew this was where Nikolas and Chris had gone in. That became even more evident when we slipped inside and saw two men unconscious on the ground. I assumed they were unconscious; I wasn't about to check. I didn't believe in senseless killing, but I had no sympathy for people who would steal or hurt children.

We crouched behind a shed and surveyed the broad expanse of lawn dotted with large trees and carefully tended flower gardens. There was no sign of movement between us and the well lit house so we set off across the grounds, running from one tree to the next for cover. Adrenaline coursed through me and my heart pounded so loud that I thought anyone within ten feet of me would hear it.

Remy stopped abruptly and let out a low growl that set my hair on end and in front of us, Roland made a similar sound. Remy pushed me up against a tree with a finger to his lips and took up a protective stance in front of me as my two werewolf friends dashed off into the darkness. The night was suddenly filled with snarls and the sounds of violent fighting. My palms scraped against the rough bark of the tree as I imagined horrible things happening to my friends.

Remy's head swung toward our left and he made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. Before I could speak, he disappeared in a blur, leaving me alone and trembling beside the tree. Somewhere in the darkness I heard hissing and more sounds of combat and my heart felt like it was about to explode from my chest.

"Thump, thump goes the little rabbit's heart," drawled a cold inhuman voice.

I let out a muffled scream when the vampire appeared in front of me. Tall with ebony skin and short spiky dreadlocks, his white fangs almost glowed when he smiled at me. "Hello, little rabbit."

Before I could react, a breath of wind heralded the appearance of a second vampire with upswept blond hair and a hungry leer.

Vampires here, working with humans? Impossible.

Brandishing the knife, I shrank against the tree. "Stay back!"

The black vampire's soft laugh was like ice water on my skin. "Such a big weapon for a little girl."

"Haism did not tell us snacks would be provided," said his companion, drifting closer.

The first one advanced. "Just remember, I saw her fir –"

There was a blur of grey followed by a horrible gurgling sound and I felt warmth spray across my face and into my eyes. Something hit my legs as the black vampire slumped to the ground. I stared in shock at the corpse and then at the severed head near my feet and felt my gorge rise.

My eyes met the blond vampire's stare as his own shock turned to fear then rage. In my mind, a voice I'd thought dead, whispered, _Move now._ Fear blocked out all but the Mori's instincts and I felt my body shift sideways with a speed that left me dizzy. The air beside me swirled as the vampire rushed at the spot when I had stood a split second ago.

_Wield the blade_ , the demon said calmly and I raised the knife just as the vampire came at me again. We both gasped in surprise as the blade sank into his chest. It missed his heart but the silver burned and he shrieked in agony as smoke poured from the hole in his chest. His clawed hand reached for me. Desperately, I pulled the knife out and drew back to plunge it in again.

The vampire suddenly fell away from me, his snarling mouth going slack as he flailed against the pair of slender grey hands around his throat. My eyes found Remy's and he nodded with grim intent. Moving forward, I grabbed the knife in both hands and shoved it into the unprotected area above the vampire's heart.

There was no death scream, no bursting into flames. The vampire gasped and shuddered then folded to the ground like an empty suit. I stared at the knife in my hands, christened with the blood of my first vampire kill and felt a surge of exhilaration unlike anything I'd ever felt before. The Mori gave a sated sigh.

"Come," Remy urged taking my hand and pulling me away from the two dead vampires.

"What about Roland and Peter?" I whispered hoarsely, trying to look behind me for them.

"Wolves strong. Little ones need us."

I let him lead me toward the house, using my sleeve to wipe most of the vampire blood from my face. My friends were vampire hunters, trained for this; I had to trust they could take care of themselves. And I was as safe with Remy as with anyone else at this point. I still could not believe humans and vampires were working together in this. What could the humans have promised them in exchange for their help and risking a war with the trolls?

Remy did not speak and I followed him with something akin to awe. In all the time I'd known him, he had been the gentle friend who used his knowledge to help other creatures. I knew trolls were deadly fighters but I could never imagine him that way until now. He was my age and he'd taken out that vampire without blinking. I shuddered to imagine what an adult troll could do. It made it even more urgent to find his cousins and return them to the clan before the elders came looking for them.

We stopped at the pool area where there was no more cover. The pool deck was bathed in light and I saw that a glass door at the back of the house was open. I wondered if Nikolas and Chris had gone in this way. Or were they still out here on the grounds fighting vampires? Or m _aybe they didn't make it_. I shook off that horrible notion as soon as it popped into my head. I refused to believe that vampires would get the better of the two warriors, especially Nikolas.

No one tried to intercept us as we ran around the pool and I saw why when we came across three unconscious men. Through the door I saw two more crumpled shapes which turned out to be more dead vampires. Jesus the place was crawling with blood suckers! I shivered, never so happy to have Remy close by. A knife protruded from the chest of one of the vampires and I smiled in grim relief when I recognized the handle. Nikolas's calling card no doubt. At least I knew they made it this far.

We passed through the door and emerged in a large entrance with marble tiles and the highest ceilings I'd ever seen hung with a row of glittering chandeliers. An elegant staircase curved up to a second floor landing where a large window overlooked the grounds. Past the staircase there was a hallway with several doors.

"Where to?" I asked Remy, relying on his unfailing senses to lead us to his cousins.

"There." He pointed down the hallway. "That way."

The house was as quiet as a tomb as we moved swiftly down the hall and the silence scared me more than anything else. As heavily guarded as this place was, there should be some noise, some sign of the inhabitants. Where was everyone? Where were Nikolas and Chris?

We reached the first closed door and pushed it open to find an empty library. The next door opened to reveal a game room with a massive pool table. _Third time's the charm,_ I thought as I cracked open the third door. A cool breeze touched my face. The cellar.

"Down there," Remy whispered behind me. It was all the confirmation I needed and I started down the stairs with him close behind me. At the bottom, we found ourselves in a rectangular room with stone walls and floor and an arched doorway on either end. I listened for guards but more silence greeted us. _This is too easy,_ I thought nervously. If Remy's cousins were down here, this cellar should be crawling with security.

I turned to the doorway on my right but stopped when I heard clicking sounds from the other direction. I shot Remy a fearful look as the clicking grew louder and faster, mixed with strange snuffling noises. The first thought that came to my mind was crocotta and I froze at the terror those images created.

Remy yanked me toward him as two massive black bodies burst snarling into the room. My troll friend bared his own teeth and let out a growl that brought the beasts skidding to a stop. I had never seen dogs like this. Their bodies were muscled and stocky and I might have thought they were Rottweilers if they weren't the size of small horses with frightening red eyes. Their snouts were longer and wider than a normal dog's and I could see long top and bottom fangs protruding from their snapping jaws. Their coats were coarse and black and I couldn't help but think they were beautiful in a monstrous kind of way. I would have appreciated them more if they weren't looking at me like I was on the menu.

"What are they?" I whispered to Remy as the huge dogs paced back and forth looking for an opening to get past the equally menacing creature in their way.

"Fell beasts," he replied calmly, his eyes never leaving them. One of the dogs tilted its head eerily as if it understood Remy's words.

"What?" I croaked. "You mean hellhounds!" Vampires and now hellhounds? Who on earth were we dealing with here?

I looked at the bloody knife in my hands and wondered if silver even worked on hellhounds. __ I took a deep breath. I had never harmed an animal in my life but the pair of hellhounds looked ready to rip us to shreds. They stood between us and the trolls and I'd fight them if I had to.

"No," Remy said softly, laying his hand over mine that held the knife as if he'd read my mind. "You talk to them."

"Are you crazy?" I asked out of one side of my mouth, afraid to take my eyes off the beasts. "These are hellhounds Remy. You know – beasts from _hell_."

A small shrug was his only reply.

Great. I was in the bowels of a mansion crawling with vampires and God only knows what else. I had no idea if my friends were okay and I was facing down two of hell's own. And all Remy could say was "talk to them"?

"Okay, but if we get eaten, don't blame me."

I eased down to a cross-legged position on the cold floor with my back against the wall and my knife on the floor beside me. The hounds watched me intently but neither of them made a move for me. I was pretty sure that had more to do with their uncertainly about Remy than anything else.

"I guess you guys are wondering what I'm doing huh?" I said in my calmest tone, not looking either of them directly in the eye. Words don't mean anything to animals; it's your voice and your movements they respond to. I really hoped that applied to hellhounds.

The closest hound lowered his head and let out a long low growl.

"Alright, so you're a little pissed that we invaded your turf. I get that. But is all this snarling and foaming at the mouth really necessary?"

Both dogs bared their glistening fangs. This was going about as well as I'd expected.

Reaching inside, I unlocked my power, letting its golden warmth flow through me. I opened my wall and let a stream of energy seep into the air around me.

One of the hounds stopped growling to sniff the air then took a step back, his hackles up. I let more power escape. The second hound made a small whining sound then resumed growling.

"I've never met a hellhound before," I continued softly as a gentle flow of power moved outward from me in waves. "I gotta say you've got the scary image down but I don't think you're as bad as everyone says. And if you gave me a chance you'd see that I'm actually a nice person." _And I don't taste good at all._

The growling petered out as one dog then the other lay on the floor, whining and still watching me warily.

"I always wanted a dog, a big one like a Great Dane or German Shepherd. I never imagined one as big as you though." I let myself imagine one of these beasts living in our apartment and laughed softly. "I'd like to see Nate's face if I brought home something like you."

One of the great black bodies shuffled forward a few inches. I looked down at my lap, pretending to ignore them. I focused my power and it filled my voice. "I wish you understood that we only want to find our little friends and take them home. I know you're just doing what you were taught to do but you don't have to hurt anyone anymore."

Nails scraped on stone as the closest hound moved. I held my breath as a heavy black head laid itself in my lap. Biting my lip, I raised a tentative hand and touched the creature's wide forehead. The hair was thick but softer than I'd imagined and I pushed my fingers through it, amazed by the texture. "What a beautiful beast you are," I said as my fear gave way to wonder.

The hound let out a shuddering sigh as my hands rubbed its powerful jaw and thick neck. Whimpering nearby made me look up at the second dog that had ventured closer but hadn't decided whether or not to trust me yet.

"It's okay," I crooned to him. "I know exactly how you feel. I have trouble trusting people too."

The second hound inched forward until his nose rested on my ankle. I continued to pet the huge head on my lap while directing more calming power at his brother.

"A most interesting picture," said a heavily accented voice I'd hoped to never hear again. "A tamer of trolls and the devil's beasts. So many gifts you have, young one. Such a curiosity. It is no wonder so many seek to possess you."

The Hale witch stood in the doorway to the room we were headed for before the hounds arrived. The white around his dark pupils stood out in sharp contrast to his dark skin and his white tattoos seemed to shift in the dimly lit cellar. He looked well recovered from our last encounter, but he did not instill the same fear in me this time.

"Are you as curious as you were a few hours ago?" I challenged and I saw in his eyes the remembered pain of our earlier show down. The head in my lap lifted at the edge in my voice and I scratched it soothingly. Remy stood silently beside me.

The witch's lips twisted in a small smile. "Curious, yes. Foolhardy, no. I see now that there is much more to you than I was given to understand."

"Pretty words, but forgive me if I don't believe you," I scoffed. I was suddenly grateful for the two hulking beasts between me and him.

He stepped into the room and the hound at my feet growled. "See? Who am I to provoke one who commands the devil's own?"

"I don't command anything." I ran a hand through the thick fur of the dog's neck and he gave a rumbling sigh. "They've never known kindness before. I just showed them how it feels." I realized I had stopped using my power the moment the witch arrived. The hellhounds were under no one's influence but their own.

The Hale witch stared at me with open fascination. "Compassion and kindness are powers unto themselves if wielded correctly. Look at these beasts – they will serve no other master now. Yusri al-Hawwash will not be happy to lose two valuable servants along with his cargo."

Remy made a threatening sound at hearing his little cousins referred to as cargo. I reached over to pat his leg and Remy laid a hand on my shoulder.

Our interaction didn't go unnoticed by the witch. "And did you show the troll kindness as well to gain its allegiance?"

"No. _His_ kindness gained mine."

Muffled thuds upstairs and faraway sounds of shouting made us all look at the ceiling. It was the first sounds of other people since Remy and I had entered the house and it reminded me that we had no time to dawdle down here. I had no idea if it was the Mohiri or my werewolf friends fighting up there or what could come down those stairs at any moment.

I gently pushed the heavy head off my lap and got to my feet with my knife in hand. The hounds stayed on the floor looking up at me expectantly.

"We know the trolls are down here and we're going to get them now," I said.

The witch put up his tattooed hands. "I will not stop you. I came here to fulfill a debt and it has been repaid. My part in this is done."

"I heard that your people never work with vampires, that you hate demons. Why are you helping them?"

He scowled. "I do not work with demons. I had to honor my debt. But as I said, my debt has been paid."

"So you won't try to stop us?"

"Were you alone, I might try," he answered honestly. "You are a mystery to me. Your power runs deep and mostly untouched, and yet you have no desire to explore it. I would like to see how deep it really is but I think that will have to wait for another day."

To prove it, he stepped aside and waved us toward the room behind him. I took Remy's hand and we backed along the wall to the doorway. The dogs watched us and I put out my hand and said "Stay." I had no idea if they could understand the command but they did not move.

At the doorway, I said, "You said others want to possess me. What did you mean by that?"

He laughed and the sound echoed chillingly off the cellar walls. "That I cannot say. I am still bound by an oath of silence. But I will tell you what I know that they do not, what my far sight shows me. Those who hunt you will ultimately give you the power to become the thing they fear the most."

I scowled at his cryptic words. "That tells me nothing."

"Then I have not broken my oath."

"Well, maybe you can answer another question for me." He raised his eyebrows and I asked a question that had been niggling at me for a few days. "You set those rats on us at the marina so you had to know where we were. Why didn't you tell your friends we were under the dock?"

His white teeth showed when he smiled. "You intrigued me when you pushed me out of the rodent's mind. I had never met someone who could best me and I wanted to take you on myself, to see if you were as worthy an opponent as you seemed to be. It felt... disrespectful to let you be taken by brute force after such a display."

His answer surprised me but this was neither the time nor the place to ponder it. Maybe when all of this was over, I would speculate about why I was able to challenge the witch's power when Nikolas said that even a seasoned Mohiri warrior was no match for a Hale witch. Right now though, my little troll friends needed me.

Remy went under the arch and I followed him, colliding with his back when he stopped abruptly. I peered around him and gasped.

We were in a wine cellar with empty wooden racks covering the walls and a small shaded light in the center of the ceiling. In the middle of the room on a raised glass platform sat a glass cage that measured about three feet by four feet. The glass bars appeared to ripple as currents of red light moved through them like electricity. The hairs rose up on my arms as if the air in the room was charged and I felt the power in the cage from where I stood.

Inside the cage, three tiny bodies huddled together as far from the sides of the cage as possible and their frightened whimpers tore at my heart.

"Minka?" I called and the little trolls lifted their heads to stare at us. One of them moved too far and I heard a painful screech as red sparks flew from one side of the cage. Fresh sobbing filled the room.

Outrage swelled in me. What kind of monster did this to children? I rushed forward until the blazing power running through the cage would let me go no farther. "We're here," I called, backing away from the cage. "We'll get you out of there."

I turned to Remy to see him staring at the cage in fear. "Remy, come on. We have to get them out."

"Yusri al-Hawwash spared no expense on this endeavor," said the Hale witch and I spun to face him. "Trolls do not have many weaknesses and the sheik knew he would need a way to control his bounty." He swept a hand toward the cage. "Demon fire. A legion of trolls could descend upon this place and not one of them could touch this cage. Only a demon can touch it."

It hit me then why the house had been so quiet, the cellar unguarded except for the hell hounds and the witch. The people behind this knew the cage was all the security they needed. It also explained why they were working with vampires. Protected by their demon side, vampires could freely handle the cage and move it when it was time for transport. It was brilliant really, sick but brilliant.

From somewhere in the house above us I heard what sounded like gun fire before a blood-curdling howl rent the air. My heart leapt into my throat. My friends were up there fighting for their lives, I had to do something and fast. I searched the room for something I could use even as my heart told me there was nothing here to help me. What I needed was a demon. I let out a desperate laugh. Where were all the vampires when I actually needed one?

"Sara." Remy's voice was filled with despair. "Help them... please."

"I don't know what to do," I cried. I'd barely gotten within two feet of the cage before the demon fire had driven me back. I was as helpless as Remy.

Remy's tortured eyes met mine and he placed a hand over my chest "Demon in here."

I shook my head and backed away from him. "No! I can't do that. I-I don't even know how." All my life I'd struggled to control that side of me. Before I ever knew what it was, I knew it was dark and ugly; something to be kept locked away. The thought of releasing my hold on it now terrified me. What if I couldn't restrain it again? What it if took over and I went insane like those other orphans Nikolas had told me about? What if I hurt one of my friends?

"Sara!" cried a small plaintive voice from the cage.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. The trolls were in danger because of me. If I didn't save them, I could never live with myself. "I'm coming, Minka."

I heard noise on the stairs and growling in the other room and I knew our time was running out. God only knew what was going to come through that door.

_Come on_ , I told the Mori hovering in the shadows of my mind. _I need you_. I had no idea how to do this so I just dropped the wall that held back the demon. At the same time, I closed off the well of power at the center of my being. The demon was afraid of my power and it would not emerge unless I promised it safe passage.

The demon shifted and stretched and inched forward hesitantly as if it could not believe the barrier around it was gone. Like a moth emerging from its cocoon it pulsed and spread its wings joyfully. My body shuddered as a new consciousness invaded my mind, rapidly spreading until my head felt like it would explode from the pressure inside.

I cried out and fell to my knees, holding my head in my hands. "Stop!" I screamed as the demon moved through me, filling me, boiling beneath my skin. I tried to push it back but it was too late. I could no longer tell where I ended and the Mori began. It was strong, so much stronger than I ever realized. It was consuming me and I was powerless to stop it.

My legs moved and I found myself on my feet, walking toward the cage. Dimly I waited for the blast of scorching heat. It never came and I knew the demon owned this body now. I watched as hands that looked like mine grasped the glass bars and ripped them apart like they were toothpicks. Through a haze, I saw the smallest troll throw her arms around the neck of the demon that looked like me, felt it lower her impassively to the stone floor and turn away as the two remaining trolls jumped from their glass prison.

"Sara?"

The voice came from a long way off. The demon whirled to face the man filling the doorway and my shrinking consciousness gasped at the powerful primal connection that stretched between the two of them like an elastic band pulled too taut. The band began to shrink, drawing the man and demon toward each other.

"What happened to her?" the man demanded of the troll as he strode towards us. The troll said something but I did not hear it. The man stopped in front of us and took the demon's face in his hands with gentle firmness. "Look at me," he commanded. The demon sighed at his touch and we looked into the man's stormy gaze. I felt a tug at my dwindling consciousness but no name came forth.

"Sara, it's time to come back now. Your friends need you. Roland needs you."

Those names meant nothing to us. The demon blinked and stood with its arms at its side. I took one last look at those demanding grey eyes and began to slip away into the endless cavern of the demon's mind. I sensed rather than felt the slap against the demon's cheek and its head snapping back as the man shook the demon.

"Goddamnit! You will not do this, do you hear me?" The words were faint but the furious tone stirred a glimmer of recognition. I felt the demon twist violently as it struggled to break free of the arms that encircled it like bands of steel. I heard its roar of frustration when a voice began to speak incessantly into its ear. The words reached me like echoes in a vast room and there was nowhere I could turn to avoid them.

"You were right, Sara, you are not weak. In fact you are one of the strongest, most infuriating people I have ever met. You fight monsters, you befriend trolls and beasts, and you face horrors that would break a lesser person. And you walk headfirst into danger to protect the ones you care about. You are loyal, stubborn, and foolhardy and, though you don't believe it, you are a warrior."

The demon stopped moving and I floated closer to the man's voice. A name floated just out of reach and I knew it belonged to the man whispering in our ear. Nikolas.

"Few Mohiri could have done what you did tonight, giving up yourself to save those trolls," Nikolas said with quiet conviction. "You did what you had to do and now you have to come back to us. To Roland."

The name conjured an image of a smiling face with warm blue eyes. "Roland?" I was not sure if it was me or the demon who spoke.

"That's right. Your friend, Roland. He needs you now."

Memories burst across my mind as my life, my friends, Nate – it all came rushing back. Roland needed me? I struggled against the demon but it was too strong. The Mori settled back, enjoying its new freedom and the feel of the strong young body it possessed.

Desperation filled me. I reached for the power I had closed off when I released the demon. The Mori knew what I was going to do and it fought me, trying to force me into the same place where it had been contained all these years. But I was gaining strength, enough to nudge open the gate. The Mori was strong but it was no match for the tide of power that swept upward, pushing it back and forcing it back into its previous state of sullen watchfulness. _No fair_ , it whined as the barrier shot back up.

Sounds filled my ears: people talking and shouting, someone crying. My eyes focused and I found myself looking at Nikolas's worried face. For a moment, I was disoriented until it all came back to me slowly. Then I remembered Nikolas's words and the world slammed back into focus.

"What happened to Roland?"

# Chapter 18

"Where is he?" I cried as I raced through the main foyer of the house, skirting around fallen bodies of men and vampires without sparing them a glance. I burst through the front doors to find two men I did not know standing guard on the steps, their warrior garb identifying them as Mohiri. They stared at me curiously and one of them who looked Indian said, "Who?"

"My friend, Roland. Nikolas said he was shot."

"Oh, the werewolf," his Korean companion replied dismissively. "He took a round of silver to the chest. His pack came and took him away a little while ago. Didn't look good."

His words, spoken with such indifference, were like a knife in my heart. "No!" I darted past them down the steps to the driveway. My breath came in short gasps and it felt like my chest was in a vise. I couldn't lose Roland. I turned back toward the house as Nikolas came through the door. "I have to go to him. Please. He needs me."

He came down the steps, sympathy written on his face. "Roland is with his people. If anyone can help him they can." He stopped in front of me. "The men had silver ammo, most likely to protect themselves from the vampires they were working with."

I shook my head and backed away. "No, no, you don't understand. I can help him."

Nikolas put his hands on my shoulders. "He took a direct hit in the chest, Sara. The pack will do what they can for him but this type of injury is almost always fatal to werewolves. I'm sorry."

"No! I won't let that happen!" I pulled away from him and swiped at the tears running unchecked down my cheeks. I raised my eyes to his. I would beg him if I had to, I would do anything to reach Roland. "I know I've been nothing but trouble to you and you have no reason to do this for me but I have no one else. Please help me, Nikolas."

Nikolas turned away and I closed my eyes as my heart broke.

"Erik, I need your bike."

My eyes flew open as the Korean man who had so casually written Roland off as dead tossed a set of keys. Nikolas caught them and led me to two black motorcycles, handing me a helmet before he started one of the bikes. I jumped on behind him and we took off. He slowed down at the gate and I saw a tangle of bodies lying on the cobbled driveway. So much death. I closed my eyes and pressed my helmet against Nikolas's back to block out the sight. I would not let my best friend become another casualty of this bloodshed. _Please, God... let us get there in time._

Nikolas did not try to talk to me as we sped back to New Hastings. I wrapped my arms around his body and clung to him as I tortured myself with images of Roland dying before I reached him. My visor was wet with tears by the time we hit the Knolls.

Brendan's farm had always been the hub of activity for the family so I knew that's where we would find Roland. The house was lit up and the driveway packed with vehicles when we got there. What if we were too late?

Nikolas drove the motorcycle along the edge of the driveway, taking me right to the front door where a dozen or so people milled around the step. Roland's cousin Francis was there along with the two men who had shown up after the crocotta attack. I leapt off the bike and tossed the helmet aside as I ran up to them.

"Haven't you done enough?" Francis demanded angrily, blocking my way to the door. "You are not welcome here."

I had no defense because he was right. This was my fault. But Roland was my best friend and I would be damned if I'd let anyone keep me from him, especially now.

"I have to see him." I started to push my way through but one of the other men held me back with one hand. I twisted, trying to break his grip. "Let me go!"

"Take your hand off her," said a voice so frigid that the air around us seemed to drop several degrees. Nikolas walked up behind me and the man's hand fell from my arm but he did not move out of my way. The tension on the porch was palpable as the werewolves faced the Mohiri warrior.

The door opened and Brendan appeared holding a tobacco pipe. "What's going on here?" he growled and everyone on the porch fell silent.

"Brendan." I used the distraction to slip between Francis and the man who had stopped me. "Please, I need to see Roland!"

He laid a large hand gently on my shoulder and shook his head. "I know how much you care about him but you can't go in there right now. It's not safe."

"Not safe?"

"The silver went in too deep. It's too close to his heart and we can't get to it. He's half mad with the pain and he doesn't know anyone right now. He'd tear you apart."

At that moment, an agonized howl split the air and I gasped at the pain I heard in it.

"He can't heal," Brendan explained gruffly. He coughed and his eyes glistened. "A couple of hours at the most."

"No!" I pushed past him and he did not try to stop me. "Roland is not going to die!"

The house was full of people, most of whom I recognized from my time spent out in the Knolls with Roland and Peter. Some looked at me in confusion as I barreled past them and others sent me openly hostile stares. I ignored them all and shoved my way through them until I saw Judith step out of a room at the end of the hall. She carried herself with strength but her face was lined with grief.

I went to her, expecting her to throw me out of the house. Not that I wouldn't deserve it. But I was willing to risk her rejection if there was the smallest chance I could help Roland.

"Sara, you shouldn't be here," she said in a choked voice. "Roland wouldn't want you to see him like this."

"I have to see him, Judith. I can help him."

"Oh, honey." She pulled me into a tight hug and I let her, sensing that she needed it. "I know it's hard to accept but there's nothing we can do for him now."

"But I can. I really can. Just let me try," I begged.

"This is no place for you, Sara," Maxwell said from behind me and I could hear censure mingled with sorrow in his voice. "There is nothing you can do in there but cause yourself more grief. You should leave."

I spun to face him. "No, goddamnit!" My voice rose above the din and people started to turn our way. It was the first time I'd ever raised my voice to Maxwell, but right now I didn't care if he was the damn alpha of a werewolf pack. "I'm not going anywhere until I see Roland!"

I grabbed Judith's hand and stared into her reddened eyes, willing her to believe me. "We can't give up on him without doing everything we can. I can help him."

"Sara –"

From inside the room a werewolf let out a long painful cry. I laid my hand on the door and felt the agonizing waves of pain on the other side. "Please," I begged Judith.

Judith looked at Maxwell then nodded at me. I reached for the doorknob.

"What's going on?" someone asked behind us. "What is she doing?"

I opened the door. "Whatever it takes."

I walked into the room and let out a strangled cry when I saw the creature foaming at the mouth and thrashing wildly in the corner. The room had been hastily stripped of its bed and there was only a mattress on the floor. Thick chains ran from loops embedded in the floor to manacles on the werewolf's wrists and ankles. I shuddered to think that they had a room already set up to deal with something like this.

The wolf's fur was matted in places and still wet with blood and there was blood on the walls, mattress and floor. It was impossible to believe that this savage creature was my best friend.

"Roland?" I called softly and the wolf began to snarl and strain at the chains. Someone yanked me out of the room and I turned to see Nikolas.

I held up my hand. "It's alright. I just tamed two hellhounds, remember?"

Whispers started in the crowd behind us. Nikolas reluctantly let me go and I went into the room again. I sat on the floor like I had in the cellar earlier tonight and opened myself to let the warm energy fill the room. I forced myself to relax then I began to talk to him in the same soothing tone I'd used on the hellhounds. I had doubted myself when I first tried to tame the dogs but now I knew what I could do. A crazed werewolf could not be much different than a pair of monstrous hellhounds.

"Roland, do you know who I am?"

The werewolf bared his impressive fangs and answered me with a low threatening growl.

"I see. Well that won't do at all. I know you are in a lot of pain and we are going to deal with that soon, but first I think we need to have a talk. Or I'll talk and you can listen. How does that sound?"

Another growl filled the room.

"I know I said that Remy was my first friend here, but you were always my best friend. The best times of my life have been with you and Peter. Remember when we used to have slumber parties and Brendan let us camp out in the hayloft that one time? We told ghost stories until we were all too scared to sleep and we ended up sneaking back into the house after everyone else went to bed. Or the time you nipped some of Brendan's whiskey and we got drunk for the first time. I never touched that stuff again."

I talked for half an hour, reliving the happiest memories I had of him and reminding him of the things we hadn't done yet, the plans we'd made. My power filled the small room and slowly the wolf eased its thrashing and stared at me with tortured eyes. I stopped talking and noticed the silence in the room. It took me a few seconds to realize that the whole house was quiet, everyone was listening to me.

"Roland?"

The wolf let out a short mournful whine, his yellow eyes never leaving mine.

"You were pretty shocked to learn about Remy, weren't you? But he's not my only secret. Remember the other day after the marina when I said there were things I had to tell you about me? Do you want to know what it is – what I can do?"

He blinked and made a small whimpering sound.

I got to my knees and began to inch slowly toward him until Nikolas grabbed my arm to hold me back. "What are you doing? That's an injured werewolf. He'll rip you apart."

"No, he won't," I said without taking my eyes off the wolf. "You always ask me to trust you. Now it's time for you to trust me."

He held on for a long moment before he slowly released me. I continued toward Roland, stopping at the edge of the mattress to let a stronger wave of power flow over him. "I know it hurts a lot but I'm going to make the pain go away now. You know I would never hurt you, don't you?"

The werewolf eyed me warily as I reached out one hand. It felt like the entire house held its breath as my hand touched a hairy paw. As soon as I made contact I sent the power pooled in my hand pouring into him. The effect was slower than I was used to but none of my other patients had been a four hundred pound werewolf.

"There you are," I said when the yellow eyes finally softened in recognition. "You had me worried there."

The wolf opened his jaws and made an inhuman sound like he was trying to talk to me before he sagged against the mattress and let out a shuddering sigh. My heart broke at seeing my friend in so much pain.

"Shhh," I whispered to him, laying my other hand on his chest so my power could search for his injuries. It did not take long to find the source of his pain, a silver pellet embedded in one of the muscles around his heart. I needed to remove it if he was going to live. I had never used my power to remove a foreign object but I imagined it wasn't that different from forcing an infection from the body. I hoped that was the case because Roland's life depended on it.

I laid both hands over his heart and focused my healing on the piece of silver, trying to shrink it like I would an infection. I felt it twitch but it refused to be moved from the muscle.

The wolf looked up at me with trusting eyes and I gave him a reassuring smile. "I think this is going to require a bit more contact."

I lowered my body to the mattress amid gasps from the people crowding the doorway, and wrapped my arms around the huge furry body. He did not resist when I pulled him to me and released a torrent of energy into him, directing it to the piece of silver that was slowly killing him. I held on tight as the heat built up in my chest where it touched him and my hands began to glow like pieces of iron in a forge. The werewolf twitched violently when the fire surrounded the silver pellet, slowly melting it and incinerating it into oblivion. The healing fire receded enough to fix the damaged tissue and smother the deadly fever that had started to spread through his body. When I could feel no more injury or sickness, I pulled the power back inside me.

My arms loosened their hold and I sagged against the wolf, more drained than I had ever been after a healing. "Now you know my secret," I mumbled happily.

After several minutes, I felt the body next to me begin to shrink and lose hair. From somewhere close by I heard shouts and Brendan's booming voice say, "Holy Mary, Mother of God!"

Arms lifted me and held me against a warm hard chest. "I think she's just exhausted," Nikolas said, his voice a mixture of worry and reverence. "Hopefully, all she needs is some sleep."

So I slept.

A shaft of sunlight across my face woke me up. I raised a hand over my eyes and stared at the vaguely familiar lace curtains and striped wallpaper for a minute before I shifted to look around the room. My eyes fell on the shape of someone sitting on a chair in the corner.

"How are you feeling?"

I rubbed my blurry eyes, feeling like the one time I had a hangover. "I've been better. Where am I?"

"At the farm. You weren't in any shape to go anywhere last night."

The farm? Last night came flooding back to me. "Roland!"

"He's fine. He's down the hall." The chair scraped and Nikolas sat beside the bed blocking the sunlight. His expression was hard to read. I couldn't tell if he was going to take my hand or yell at me.

"Is this normal after you do that?" he asked quietly. "Passing out?"

"After a healing? It doesn't usually knock me out like that, but I've never healed a werewolf before." I stifled a yawn. "Usually I'm okay if I rest for an hour or so."

"You do this a lot?"

I gave him a tired smile. "More times than I can remember. I've been doing it since I was six."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "That day on the wharf, you asked me if Mohiri had other powers. You wanted to know if we could heal others."

"Yes."

He ran a hand through his hair and I noticed he was wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. "I don't know of any Mohiri who can do what you did last night. Is that what you did with those two monsters in that cellar?"

I nodded. "I've used it before to calm animals but I had no idea it would actually work on hellhounds." I thought about the two hounds with a touch of awe. "What happened to them? You didn't –?"

"They tried to follow you so Chris and Erik had them restrained. They'll be transported to one of our facilities until we figure out what to do with them." He smiled for the first time since I woke up. "We couldn't have a pair of hellhounds running amok around Portland."

"What kind of facility? I don't want them hurt." I could only imagine the tortures those hounds had suffered already in their lives.

"No one will harm them." Nikolas shook his head and let out a short laugh. "They are yours now. Once a fell beast imprints on a new master they are incredibly loyal. They will only answer to you."

"That's what the witch said." He raised an eyebrow and I told him the Hale witch was in the cellar but didn't try to stop me.

He rubbed his hand over his jaw and I saw that he needed a shave. I felt the craziest urge to reach out and touch his face but I stopped myself just in time. That healing must have really messed me up.

"A lot happened in that cellar last night. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." I turned my face away so he couldn't see the horror and revulsion in my eyes. I'd let that _thing_ take over my body. All my life I'd kept the demon subdued in a corner of my mind, never knowing what it was or understanding its real strength – until last night. I suppressed a shudder at the memory of how quickly the demon had grown, filling my skin and occupying my mind until I almost forgot I still existed. It was locked behind its walls again but I would never forget how close it had come to imprisoning me instead. I would never let it have that kind of power over me again.

"Every Mohiri struggles with their Mori at some point in their lives. For most it happens when they are younger and lack the training to manage the demon impulses. You have such control over your Mori that it must have been very frightening to let your guards down the way you did. But don't let your fear make you forget why you did it. You saved those trolls."

I pressed my lips together tightly and fought the tears that burned behind my eyelids. After Nikolas had wrestled me from the demon, the first thing I saw was Remy kneeling in a corner with his three little cousins in his arms. The gratitude in his eyes and the happy cries of the little ones should have made it all feel worthwhile. I was happy Minka and the others were home safe again and we had prevented a bloody troll rampage, but coming so close to losing myself to the demon had changed something in me. I would still give my life to protect the people I loved but I did not think I could ever give up my mind that way again... for anyone.

"You are stronger than the demon," Nikolas said as if he could see into my head and read my fears. "I knew that when I met you. But hearing how you fought off the Hale witch and then last night, watching you with the werewolf, I realize you have power I can't comprehend. You saved more than one life last night. People here are calling you a hero."

I shifted and stared at the ceiling, remembering how Roland had looked when I walked into that room. "Some hero," I choked out. "Roland wouldn't have needed healing if I hadn't gotten him almost killed in the first place."

"What happened last night wasn't your fault, Sara. We found out who was behind all this. His name is Yusri al-Hawwash and he is a billionaire oil sheik who found out two years ago he has Alzheimer's. He's been searching everywhere for a cure and he was looking for trolls long before you sold that bile. He's a desperate man with unlimited resources."

"But he would have looked somewhere else if I had been more careful."

"That still does not make you responsible for his actions." He moved closer. "Look at me."

I turned my head to meet his insistent gaze. "Yes, you have made mistakes but you are not to blame for the greed and deeds of another. Your fault lies in taking too much on yourself. You have to learn to trust people and stop trying to take on the world alone."

I sighed heavily. "My life was a lot less complicated a month ago. Maybe now things will start to settle down again."

It was Nikolas's turn to sigh. "I wish that were true but after what I saw last night; I think you might be in more danger than we first thought."

I sat up with my back against the pillows. "What do you mean? We haven't seen any sign of vampires except those working for the sheik – which I totally don't get by the way. And the sheik's witch only tried to grab me to get to the trolls."

"Think about it, Sara. The young trolls were taken around the same time you were attacked at the rest stop, which means the sheik didn't need you to find the trolls. So why did they come after you when they had what they wanted?"

The implication of his words hit me just as he spoke again. "You want to know why vampires would risk helping humans kidnap trolls? What if the vampires wanted something and they made an agreement with the sheik – a trade of some kind? You for the trolls."

"No, the two vamps I ran into tried to kill me, not capture me." I realized I'd said the wrong thing when his nostrils flared. "Remy and I took care of them," I added quickly.

"You killed a vampire?" There was disbelief in his voice.

"With Remy's help. He's scary good."

Nikolas looked like he was about to say something but changed his mind. "Even if you are right about the vampires, there is one thing you are overlooking. You have an incredible ability. If word of it gets out, the sheik will be coming after you and he won't be the only one."

"It won't do him any good. I can't heal humans," I said, earning a dubious look. "My uncle is in a wheelchair. If I could heal humans, don't you think he'd be the first one I'd heal?"

"But no one else would know that," he pointed out. "Last night was just a taste of what could happen. They will keep coming and people will get hurt. And don't forget, we still have a Master to worry about. He could come after you just to use you against Madeline."

My stomach tightened. "Don't hold back. I'm not quite paralyzed with fear yet."

"You need to hear these things, Sara."

"You're trying to scare me, to get me to go with you," I accused him.

His eyes held mine. "Yes, I am. But that doesn't make them any less true."

My heart sank because he was right. This was no longer about my freedom or what I wanted. If I stayed in New Hastings, I would put everyone I cared about in real danger. I might not be able to heal the next one who got hurt. What if they came after Nate? I could never forgive myself. I didn't want to go to the Mohiri. But for now, it looked like my only option.

I looked away so he could not see the tears threatening again. "I – I need to tell Nate, to explain it to him. It's going to be hard for him to understand all this." I had no idea how I was going to even start telling Nate about everything. But I couldn't just take off.

"We have some things to wrap up in Portland that will take a few days and it should give you the time you need with your uncle. I know this is hard for you but you are doing the right thing." He got up and carried the chair back to the corner then opened the door. "I swear to you that I will keep you safe."

He closed the door quietly behind him and I slid down to bury my face in the blankets. Part of me wanted to cry out my misery and another part wanted to scream about the unfairness of it all. I didn't want to give up everything and everyone I knew and slink away into hiding. I wanted things to go back to the way they were.

Pushing back the blankets, I stood and looked around for my sneakers. I slipped them on and ran my fingers through my tangled hair, wondering where I'd lost my scrunchie last night. I twisted my hair into a loose knot until I could find a hair tie then opened the door. I needed to see Roland before I did anything else.

I knocked on the other three doors upstairs but Roland wasn't in any of them. Voices carried up the stairs and I thought I heard his laugh. If he was well enough to be up, that was a good sign. I set my shoulders and descended the stairs.

The house had cleared out considerably since last night. In the living room I found Brendan, Judith, Roland, Peter, and Francis. It wasn't hard to figure out they were waiting for me. When I appeared, all talking stopped and everyone looked at me. Francis's glare told me he hadn't forgiven me for getting Roland hurt, no matter what I had done after. The others' expressions were a little harder to read and I stopped nervously in the doorway, not sure what to say to them.

"Good morning, Sara. How are you feeling?" Judith asked.

"Good... thanks."

She jumped up and swept me into a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered thickly into my ear. Sniffling, she let me go and hurried into the kitchen. I stood there feeling even more self-conscious.

Roland patted the spot next to him. "Are you alright?"

"I think I'm supposed to ask you that." I studied his face to see for myself that he was okay. He looked a little paler than usual but other than that no signs of illness.

His smile was tired but his blue eyes twinkled. " _That_ was the secret you were going to tell us? You don't like to do anything small do you?"

Brendan cleared his throat. "What you did last night was... incredible. We've never met anyone with your ability so you can imagine we're all very curious. Can you tell us about it? Have you always been able to do that?"

"I found out I could heal animals when I was six." I told them how I started out healing animals and learned later I could heal nonhumans. I tried to describe how it felt when I used the power but it was like them trying to tell me how it felt to shift. I explained that it always made me tired and how much depended on the extent of the healing. They had a lot of questions and I tried to answer them all.

"So you've done a lot of these healings?" Brendan asked.

"More than I can count."

Roland sat up straighter and stared at me with new understanding. "That time Uncle Brendan's mare hurt her leg and everyone thought they'd have to put her down. No one could believe it when the vet said the leg was sound. That was you, wasn't it?"

I nodded. I would never forget that day three years ago when we showed up at the farm to find it in an uproar because one of the horses had lamed itself. I'd run straight for the barn and waited until everyone left before I fixed the fractured bone. Roland had found me asleep by the barn door and teased me about it all night.

"There were other times too, now that I think of it," Brendan said almost to himself. "My old Lab that got shot out in the woods and that sickly litter of kittens the cat abandoned. I never could understand how any of those animals survived. Now that I remember it, you were here every time."

"How did you manage to keep this from us all this time?" Roland wanted to know. "How is that no one ever figured out what you could do?"

I lifted my shoulders. "I had to work to hide it. You don't know how hard it was. Remember when I started volunteering at the animal shelter and you guys couldn't understand why I quit after a few weeks when I loved it so much? Whenever they brought in a sick dog or cat I had to heal it. I couldn't help myself. But then someone noticed all the animals suddenly improving. I had to leave to protect my secret. It's bothered me ever since because there were so many animals I could have helped."

Peter had been quiet since I came downstairs and I could tell he was still pretty shaken up by last night. He looked at me with a kind of reverence that made me uncomfortable. "So the biggest thing you've ever healed is a horse?"

"Yes, but that was nothing compared to a werewolf."

He grinned. "Well, you turned out to be a good one to have around in a fight. We're lucky you were here last night."

"Lucky?" Francis snorted angrily. "If she wasn't messing with trolls and dragging you guys into her mess, Roland wouldn't have been hurt in the first place."

"Francis..." Brendan began.

"I'm part of this pack and I get to say my piece." Francis looked ready to jump out of his seat at any second. I thought about the animosity that had always existed between us and knew this just added to his reasons to dislike me. The hard part was that he was right. Roland and Peter had both been hurt yesterday because of me. What if Peter hadn't been able to heal himself? What if Roland had died on the spot or I hadn't gotten to him in time?

"Last night proved what I've been saying for years: we need to stick with our own kind and leave everyone else to their own business. Now we have crocotta coming onto our land, something they have never done before. We have Mohiri hanging around like they own the place and we've been dragged into a fight with vampires and goddamn witch doctors over trolls who would rather tear your heart out than look at you. And it's all because of her." He pointed at me and I met his contemptuous stare quietly. "You all have always been soft on her because she's the poor little orphan girl. But she's not so little anymore and she's not even human. She's one of them for Christ's sake so she should be with them. Since when do we welcome Mohiri into our homes?"

"Francis, that's enough!" Judith admonished sharply from the doorway.

"He's right," I said loudly and everyone stared at me. "Everything he said is true – except about the trolls. Remy's always been a good friend to me. I should have known better about the bile, and I should have said no when he asked me to use it. Just because he's a troll doesn't mean he understands people or how dangerous they can be." I took in a shaky breath. "I understand if you hate me, but none of this is his fault."

Roland laid his hand over mine after I finished my impassioned speech. "Sara, no one here hates you. Don't mind Francis. You know how he is."

Francis sneered at him. "Of course you stand up for her, Roland. You've had a thing for her since you met her."

_What?_ I turned to Roland and a flush crept up his neck. "Maybe back when we were younger... but not for a long time." He gave me a sideways look. "Oh, come on. All the boys liked you when you started school with us. Pete did too."

The look on Peter's face told me he wanted to pound Roland for pulling him into this. "Yeah, but after a while we decided that we didn't want to fight about it."

I made a choked sound. Judith coughed and disappeared into the kitchen again and I was sure I heard muffled laughter from the other room. I sank further into the couch, wishing it would swallow me up.

"See, that's what I mean. You guys were always biased when it came to her. I'm not saying Sara is a bad person. But she's not good for the pack. " Francis leaned forward in his chair. "And I'm not the only one who thinks that."

"It is not your place to say that," Brendan said sternly and I thought I heard a growl beneath the words. "Max and I discussed this last night and we will decide what is good for this pack, not you or anyone else."

"Fine," Francis said sullenly. He stood and stomped to the door. "But if Maxwell agrees with you, why isn't he here right now?" He slammed the door hard behind him.

No one spoke for a long cruel moment during which terrible doubts assailed me. Was it true? Did Maxwell share Francis's sentiment? Maxwell could be a hard person sometimes – almost the opposite of his brother and sister – and his gruffness often made me feel like a little kid waiting for a scolding. I understood him a little better since learning he was the leader of a werewolf pack but it didn't make me any less worried about his displeasure. If he was as angry as Francis implied, would he order Roland and Peter to stay away from me? As alpha his commands had to be obeyed no matter what my friends wanted. My heart squeezed painfully at the thought of losing them after everything we'd been through. My dad was gone, I'd lost Remy, and in a few days I had to leave Nate and my friends and everything I knew. I didn't think I could survive another loss.

Brendan let out a long deep sigh and my fear grew at the grim set of his jaw as he looked at me. Brendan was the kind-hearted one, the peacemaker and they'd decided that he should be the one to tell me I was no longer welcome here. I braced myself for the blow and saying goodbye to the people who had been like a family to me.

"Max and I are not pleased with what's been going on here lately, especially how reckless and foolish you youngsters have been. Last night, you never should have gone off like that without alerting the pack to what was going on. Because of that, we almost lost a pack member and that is inexcusable." Beside me Roland tensed and hung his head as Brendan continued. "You two are young men now and should know by now to not go off alone, which means something is obviously missing in your training. That will be remedied soon enough, I promise you."

He turned his attention back to me and I shrank away from the disapproval in his eyes. "We made some allowances for you considering your past and everything going on in your life lately. It's a lot to deal with for someone your age. But you've shown a lack of good judgment and a reckless disregard for your safety that we never would have expected from you."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say past the lump in my throat.

"For all your mistakes you are a good person, Sara, and no one doubts your loyalty and courage. What you did here last night was nothing short of miraculous. You saved one of ours and the pack does not forget something like that. So where does that leave us?"

"I... don't know."

Brendan's expression did not falter. "Max thinks you three need to be separated because you encourage each other's bad behavior."

"What?" Peter cried and Roland shouted, "No!" I didn't say anything because I was not surprised. The ache in my chest grew and cold settled in my stomach.

Brendan held up a hand. "We talked it over and we decided that breaking up your friendship would be cruel _but_ there will be some new rules if you want to keep it. To start: for the next three months, the only place you will see each other is at school. Every spare minute you boys have will go to extra training and trust me you'll be too tired to get into trouble. There will be no more adventures like last night. You three pull something like that again and that's it. Understood?"

All I could do was nod. I was so relieved that Maxwell hadn't ordered me to stay away from the pack that I was afraid I'd start to cry if I spoke. Roland shifted like he was about to argue and I squeezed his hand hard to stop him. This was the harshest I'd ever seen Brendan, which said a lot about how serious he was and I didn't want to push the matter.

Brendan was not finished. "There is one other thing. Sara, you need to tell your uncle what is going on in your life. We aren't going to try to force you to do it but it's not fair to him for you to be running around putting your life and maybe his in danger and keeping him in the dark about it. He deserves better than that. You've been on your own for far too long without supervision. I'm not saying that Nate is a bad parent, just that he is not informed enough to guide you properly and set restrictions when needed."

"I'm going to tell him today when he gets home."

"Good." Brendan slapped his hands against his knees and stood. "The three of you have to work to earn back the trust you lost, starting now. Maxwell is coming over soon to talk to you boys and I promise it will not be pleasant. The Mohiri is outside waiting to give Sara a ride home."

Roland tightened his grip on my hand. "Already? Can't she stay a little while longer?"

"No, I need to go," I said, already dreading the task ahead of me. "I should get home before Nate does."

Peter made a feeble attempt at a smile. "It's only three months, right?"

His words brought on a pang of anguish. I had to tell them I was leaving and it hit me just how hard it was going to be to say goodbye to them. We'd stay in touch somehow but it would never be the same as what we had here. It hurt to think of not finishing our senior year together, not sitting together at graduation or looking at colleges together.

"I... made a decision," I said, unable to look at them. "I'm going to stay with the Mohiri for a while."

"What!" Roland cried in disbelief.

"Nikolas doesn't think it's over with the vampires, and I-I think he might be right." I told them about the sheik and Nikolas's theory that vampires were working with the humans to try to get to me. And that the sheik might come after me if he thought I could heal his disease. "No one is safe as long as I'm here."

"We can take care of ourselves," Peter argued.

"You can but what about Nate? He'd be defenseless if they came after him to get to me. Nikolas said I'll be safe with the Mohiri, especially if there is a Master in the picture." I looked at each of them, my eyes pleading with them to understand. "I don't want to go, but I don't think there's any other way to keep Nate safe."

"What about the trolls?" Roland asked hopefully. "They're your friends, right? Won't they help if you ask them?"

I shook my head. "Remy says the elders know about us selling the bile and they will forbid him from seeing me. If we're lucky it won't be a forever thing but I don't think I can count on any help there." I hadn't even begun to process the pain of losing Remy's friendship. I pushed it to the back of my mind because if I had to deal with one more loss right now I would break.

"Damn! Even trolls get grounded," Peter said with a whistle.

We fell quiet for a few minutes until Roland finally said, "So, you're going to tell Nate everything and then leave. I don't think he is going to handle this well."

I groaned. "He's not going to take it well either way. And you know him – he won't believe anything without proof."

"I could come over and shift for him," Peter offered and I let out a humorless laugh.

"Yes and give him a heart attack. I think seeing a werewolf up close and personal will be too much for him even if it is you."

"Hmm, you're probably right."

"I'll figure something out. Maybe I can show him an imp. Our place is full of them."

"Probably not a good idea to tell him he has a demon infestation," Roland pointed out dryly. "Especially with you leaving."

This was going to be even harder than I'd thought. There was not going to be an easy way to break any of this to Nate but I needed to show him something or he'd never believe me. "I need a way to show him proof without scaring the hell out of him."

"Okay, so no close encounters," Roland thought out loud. "Maybe a picture of something... or a video."

"You mean like a video of an imp?" Unless you got close enough to see their very sharp teeth, they looked pretty harmless. "How will he know it's not a fake? It has to be something he can't refute."

Peter's face lit up. "I have an idea. Give me your phone."

# Chapter 19

"Please say something."

Nate stared blankly at his hands clasped in front of him on the kitchen table. He had been sitting like that for the last five minutes.

My chest tightened. All day I had tried to prepare myself to talk to him while dreading his reaction. My worst fears had come to pass. He wouldn't even look at me.

His face lifted and his troubled eyes met mine. "What do you want me to say? When you said you had to tell me something, I was worried you'd been suspended or something. Instead, you tell me this crazy story. If I didn't know you better, I'd ask if you were on something."

"I know it's a lot to take in."

He let out a strangled laugh. "Just a bit."

I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand but I was afraid of his reaction. Anxiety and fear twisted my gut in knots. Nate was the only family I had; I couldn't bear it if he pulled away from me now.

There had been no easy way to come clean to him so I'd just dived in head first, fumbling my way through the story that grew more fantastic by the minute. How do you tell someone you love that nothing in their world is as it seems and that they are surrounded by a whole other world of magic and people and creatures that should not exist?

Nate had listened quietly while I told him I'd always believed there was more to my dad's death than the authorities had said. His eyes had grown wide when I explained how I had learned I could heal animals when I was little. When I'd begun describing how I met Remy and discovered that every mythical creature I'd ever heard of was real, his face had become a mask of disbelief.

Then the real hard part came. Using as little detail as possible, I told him about Eli, Nikolas, and the werewolves and what had been happening for the past month. His tight-lipped expression made my heart ache as I revealed what I'd learned about Madeline and the truth about my dad's murder. I stopped there because I couldn't go any further without hearing him say something, anything.

Nate let out a deep breath. "I'd think this was all a big prank if not for... You'd never make up stories about your father."

"No, I wouldn't."

"I-I don't know what to think. You have to understand that all this would be hard for anyone to believe."

I nodded, grateful that he was still here talking to me. That was something at least.

He leaned back heavily and his wheelchair creaked. "You're not telling me everything," he said, studying my face.

I swallowed. "I didn't want to lay too much on you at once."

"You wanted to see how I'd react?"

"Yes."

He rubbed his brow and fixed me with the look of a person waiting to hear something they know will not make them happy. "Tell me."

I told him about meeting David and everything that happened at the rest stop. He made a sound when I recounted our close escape but I kept talking, afraid that if I stopped I wouldn't be able to continue. I told him about Remy and the missing trolls, our trip to Portland, and the rescue. I glossed over the worst of it because I didn't think he could handle hearing the gory details, especially what I'd done to get the trolls out of the cage. It was asking enough of him to accept what I'd told him already. I finished by telling him about Roland being hurt and how I'd healed him.

He was quiet and still for a long moment and I feared I'd told him too much, that he was in shock. Finally, he ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Jesus! I... Jesus..."

"Are you alright?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to think. I-I need some time to process this."

I let out a deflated sigh. It wasn't like I had expected him to be okay with everything right away, but I'd hoped... well I don't know what I'd hoped for. It killed me to see how much I was hurting him. If I had been honest with him all along, he would not be looking at me right now like I was a stranger.

"I have something for you." I pushed my phone across the table to him. "Peter thought it might help you."

He stared at the phone without reaching for it. I stood and left the kitchen, almost running upstairs to my room. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened when he played the video Peter had made for him then I sat on my bed and waited for him to call me back down to talk about it.

When darkness fell, I climbed into bed and stared numbly at the ceiling until I could no longer keep my eyes open. I didn't even bother to undress.

I didn't get up for school the next day and Nate did not call for me to get up. It was ten o'clock when I finally dragged myself downstairs, bleary-eyed and feeling like my heart was encased in lead. In all the years I'd lived with Nate, we'd had our share of arguments but he had never let us start a new day without trying to sort things out.

His silence told me just how much I'd hurt him this time – not because of what I'd revealed to him – but because I'd been lying to him for years. Last night lying in bed it hit me just how much pain my confession had brought him. All this time, I'd carried the knowledge that there was more to my dad's death and all I could think about was how I needed to know the truth for me, for my own closure. Not once had I ever considered Nate's loss or grief or that he deserved to know the truth about his brother. I had to make things right. There was no way I could leave with things so messed up between us.

I walked into the kitchen but my stomach was tied in too many knots to even think about eating. Disappointment swept over me when I looked out the window and saw that Nate's car was gone. I was hoping we could talk this morning but it looked like he needed more time to sort through things first.

To while away the hours until he returned, I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. Around eleven the school called and I let the machine pick up. I paused wiping down the refrigerator when it hit me that I was actually dropping out of school – and in my senior year. I should be thinking about college applications, prom, and graduation: normal things. But nothing in my life would ever be normal again.

My cell phone rang a little while later. It was Nikolas letting me know he and Chris were still in Portland with some of the other Mohiri, cleaning up after Saturday night and hunting down any vampires that got away. The werewolves, he told me, had offered to beef up their patrols in town today to watch over me and Nate until Nikolas got back. He said he would be back in New Hastings tonight so we could leave tomorrow morning. I listened and said "yes" and "no" where I was supposed to. I figured I should wait until he got here to explain that I could not leave town tomorrow, not until I made things right between me and Nate.

At two o'clock, restlessness drove me outside. I sat on the top of the stairs listening to the familiar sounds of the waterfront while I waited for Nate to return. But soon a cold damp fog crept in off the bay and sent me back into the warmth of the apartment. Gazing out through the living room window at the grey-shrouded waterfront, I felt more alone than I had ever felt before. All I wanted was for Nate to come home so I could ask him to please forgive me and tell me I hadn't destroyed our relationship, that there was still a chance for us to be a family.

Half an hour later when I couldn't take another minute of waiting, I heard a sound at the front door. I raced from the living room to greet Nate and to beg him to please talk to me. Halfway to the door I stopped short, my stocking feet skidding on the hardwood floor when I realized I hadn't heard his car drive up or his wheelchair on the ramp.

The doorknob jiggled and my heart began to hammer against my ribs. Did I lock the door?

The answer was a soft click. The door creaked open a fraction of an inch and I stood frozen as whoever or whatever was on the other side prepared to come in.

I jumped as a low keening suddenly came from the door and it took me a few panicked seconds to realize that the sound came from the door itself and not from whoever was on the other side. The noise grew, rapidly rising in pitch and volume until I had to clap my hands over my ears to block out the piercing sound. Around the door the frame glowed red, throwing off sparks like the embers in a fireplace. In the center of the door the shape of an ashy hand appeared.

Screeching and the nauseating stench of scorched flesh filled the air as someone or something thrashed violently on the other side of the door. Seconds later the door slammed shut followed by the sound of someone stumbling down the stairs.

Freed from my paralysis, I scrambled to pull the deadbolt then ran to the kitchen window. But all I could see was the swirling fog that obscured anything more than a few feet from the building. My whole body shook and I gripped the counter with numb fingers. Something was out there, something that meant me harm and if it wasn't for the troll warding, they would be in here now. The chill creeping along my spine told me it was still out there, hiding in the mist and waiting to try again.

I didn't have to wait long. A minute later I heard a high-pitched whine downstairs followed by an inhuman howl of pain. I almost knocked over a chair as I bolted from the kitchen like a frightened rabbit. Whatever was out there was determined to get inside. The troll magic was very powerful and it would protect me as long as I stayed inside but it could do nothing to stop the fear knotting my stomach.

_You're safe. Don't panic_. Nikolas would be here in a few hours. Nothing would hurt me or Nate once he was here.

Nate! What if he came home while that person _or thing_ was outside? He wouldn't have a chance.

I tore around the living room searching for my cell phone. My hands shook while I found the number Nikolas had put in my phone yesterday and listened to it ringing on the other end.

He knew something was wrong before I spoke. "Sara, what is it?"

"Something outside," I wheezed before I regained my voice. "They're trying to get in. The ward is holding but Nate's not here. If he comes home and...."

My voice broke and I heard him swear then shout harshly at someone. "We're coming. Stay right where you are and do not hang up. I'm going to stay on the phone until we get there. Do you hear me?"

"Maybe I should call Maxwell," I told him, thinking the Knolls were a lot closer than Portland.

"No, stay on the phone with me," Nikolas ordered. "Chris is calling them now."

I heard a muffled sound then an engine starting. Nikolas's voice sounded a little hollow when he spoke again and I realized he was using an earpiece inside his helmet. "I'm on the way."

"Okay," I said hoarsely, sinking down to sit against the wall farthest from the living room window. I pulled my knees toward me and laid my forehead against them as I prayed silently. _Please, please let him get here before Nate does._

The phone in the kitchen rang and I jerked upright. "What was that?" Nikolas asked.

"The house phone. Maybe it's Nate," I said hopefully, scrambling to my feet. I rushed into the kitchen and snatched up the cordless phone with my free hand. _Please let it be him._

"Sara Grey?" asked a thickly accented male voice.

"Yes?"

"I have your uncle."

My legs started to fold and I leaned heavily against the cupboard as the cell phone in my other hand clattered loudly to the counter. I could hear Nikolas shouting but my whole body was riveted to the phone in my hand.

"I will make a trade – him for you," the man continued in a businesslike manner. "If you care about him you will do this because I have no qualms about ending his life if I don't get what I want."

"I'll do it," I cried, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. "How do I know I can trust you to let him go?"

He laughed coldly. "You do not, but he _will_ die if you do not come to me. I will give you ten minutes. After that his life is forfeit."

"No! I'll come."

"Good girl. Go outside now. Someone is waiting to bring you to me."

The click on the other end was like a cell door slamming shut. I was trapped. If I didn't go, Nate would die. If I tried to stall until help got here, Nate would die. If I went, Nate might still die.

_No. That is not going to happen_ , I swore as I laid the phone on the counter. Because I would die before I let anyone hurt him.

"Goddamnit, Sara, answer me!" yelled a furious Nikolas.

My hand was oddly steady when I put the cell phone to my ear again. "I'm sorry Nikolas, I have to go," I told him flatly, guessing that he had heard enough of my conversation to know what I was going to do.

"Do not leave that apartment," he said in a tone that few people would disobey. "I'll be there in thirty minutes. Whatever it is, we can take care of it."

"It'll be too late." I was already running upstairs to change. "They have Nate and they are going to kill him if I'm not there in ten minutes. I've made a lot of mistakes but I will not let Nate die because of them."

"Sara, think about this. They are not going to just let your uncle go once they have you. If you do this you could die."

"He'll die for sure if I don't go. I'm not going to hide here and do nothing while he's killed. I couldn't live with that." I picked up my coat and knife and went back to the kitchen. "You were right, all I do is put the people I love in danger. It has to stop now."

He started to say something but I hung up. I pulled on my coat and tucked the knife in the inside pocket. My cell phone rang and I knew it was Nikolas without looking at the number. I turned off the phone and stuck it in my back pocket before I let myself out and locked the door behind me.

I wasn't sure what to expect when I stepped outside but it wasn't the eerie quiet that greeted me. There was no sign of whatever had tried to get past my wards except for a few black drops on the landing that looked like burnt blood. I turned away from it, shuddering violently.

The fog was still thick but already starting to lift, allowing me to see a black Escalade with a dented bumper in front of our building. At the bottom of the stairs I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart before I approached the SUV. As I drew near, the door opened and the muscled blond man from the marina got out. He did not speak as he opened the rear door for me. I noticed bloody bandages on his hands and I held back a smug grin. _Is that your blood on my doorstep? I hope it hurts like hell._

I slid into the cool interior and he returned to the passenger seat up front. I felt someone watching me and I looked up to see a pair of angry dark eyes in the rearview mirror. The driver turned his head toward me and I sucked in a sharp breath when I recognized the man who had attacked me yesterday at the rest stop. Tarek's face bore the bruises from his fight with Peter and his eyes told me he was itching for payback. Instead of speaking to me, he muttered something in Arabic to his companion and they both laughed. I wrapped my arms tightly around me and stared blindly out the window. Part of me wanted to take one last look around, to drink in the picture of the place I had called home for most of my life, but a bigger part did not want to accept that this was the last time I might ever see it. I was willing to trade my life for Nate's but that did not mean I was giving up yet. I'd survived too much these last weeks to go down without a fight now.

It took us less than five minutes to reach our destination and I was surprised to find us outside an empty three storey building with a 'For Rent' sign in the window only two streets away from mine. The Escalade parked on the busy street and the blond man turned to me before he opened his door.

"Do not make a scene if you value your uncle's life," he said in halting English.

I nodded and we got out. He led the way into the building where I had to strain to see through the dimness. Before my eyes could adjust, he took my arm. "Haism is waiting for you," he said leading me toward a lit doorway at the back of the building.

"Nate!" I cried as soon as I saw him in his wheelchair beside a large metal desk. I broke away from the blond man and ran to kneel in front of Nate. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm okay." He held me away from him and gave me a searching look. "Sara, what is going on? How do you know Mr. Bakr?" he asked in a lowered voice.

"Mr. Bakr?"

"Haism Bakr," said a familiar voice with a crisp, Middle Eastern accent. I straightened and faced the hawk-nosed man I'd seen on the monstrous yacht at the marina. He was sitting behind the desk with his hands clasped in front of him and a scowl on his face. His dark eyes glittered with rancor as they swept over me. "My employer is very displeased with you, Miss Grey."

"You work for that sheik." I could not keep the disgust out of my voice.

His scowl deepened. "You have robbed him of something he went through great trouble to obtain," he growled.

My hackles rose. "That _something_ was little children."

"Those creatures are not children," Haism spat. "The sheik is a powerful and important man. What are the lives of those things compared to his?"

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Nate exclaimed. He turned to Haism. "What does my niece have to do with you and your employer and why are you holding us here like this?"

"Remember what I told you about the man who took the trolls? Haism works for him." My mouth twisted in disgust. "You used that whole oil exploration thing as a cover to snoop around here, didn't you?"

Haism shrugged. "It made our presence here more believable. I do whatever is necessary for my employer."

I bit my lip to keep from saying what I thought of his employer. I wasn't going to help Nate by antagonizing this man. "I came as you asked. Please let my uncle go now."

Nate jerked forward in his chair. "What are you taking about?"

Haism's smile did not reach his eyes. "Do you really think you are in a position to negotiate, little girl? You have caused me nothing but headache and because of you I have to go back to my employer empty-handed." He stood and came toward me. "In my country, a female is beaten for interfering in the business of men."

I heard Nate's sharp intake of breath as his hand gripped mine. Drawing strength from his touch I replied, "In my country, a man who does not keep his word has no honor."

Haism scowled darkly but stopped his advance on me. "I serve my employer. That is where my honor lies, so do not talk –."

A cell phone rang and he pulled his from the front pocket of his pants. Something like fear flashed across his face when he looked at the screen. His eyes met mine as he put the phone to his ear.

"It's done."

The caller said something to which Haism replied, "Not so fast. My employer made a contract with you but I am not so foolish as to trust you. I will tell you where to pick her up after my people and I are safely away."

My heart plummeted to my stomach. Her? He meant me. I thought he was taking me to his employer because they'd learned I could heal but he was going to hand me off to someone else.

Haism let out a short laugh. "You have waited this long, vampire, a few more hours will not matter. I will call you and tell you where you can find her."

He hung up and tapped his chin with the phone. "For one so young you have drawn a lot of attention from some powerful... people. I do not know what you have done to bring this upon yourself but what is done is done."

I barely heard his taunt because of the fear gripping me. Black spots floated before my eyes and I gripped Nate's hand so hard he grunted in pain. After everything I'd been through, all the escapes and being watched around the clock, I was going to end up in Eli's clutches after all.

Nate pulled me closer to him. "What kind of people are you?" he demanded fearfully. "She is just a child."

Haism looked like he was going to answer but then he turned away. He said something in Arabic to the two men flanking the door and they nodded then took up positions just outside the door. Then he began to walk out of the room without a backward glance.

_He's going to let them have Nate too._ The realization almost sent me to my knees. _No, I won't let that happen._

The idea came to me out of sheer desperation and I clutched it like a lifeline. "I want to make another trade," I called after Haism.

"You have nothing of value to me," he replied dismissively without looking back.

"How about the sheik's life?"

Haism stopped mid-stride and spun to look at me with narrowed eyes. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. How much is your beloved sheik's life worth to you?"

He stared at me and I said, "I know he has Alzheimer's. It must be terrifying for such a powerful man to know he's going to slowly lose his memory, his mind before he dies."

He strode back to me, stopping inches away, his face contorted in fury. "Do not speak of him!"

I laughed coldly. "Or what – you'll kill me? Get in line. But that won't save your employer."

He studied me, trying to see if I was lying or trying to stall him. I stared back confidently and he blinked first. "What do you have?" He could not disguise the hope in his voice and I hid my triumph.

"Not more trolls if that's what you think," I said, reading the question in his eyes. "But I have the next best thing."

He stared at me blankly until realization finally dawned. "You have troll bile."

"Three whole ounces. Enough to keep your evil boss alive and kicking for many, many years."

There was no mistaking the hunger on his face at the prospect of redeeming himself in the eyes of his beloved sheik. "Where is it?" he hissed.

"Yeah, not so fast," I scoffed, determined to make this work. "First we make a deal."

"Name it," he replied way too easily. Like I was going to trust him a second time.

"First, you let Nate go. One of your goons takes him home and once he is safely inside he calls me to let me know he's there." There was no way Haism's men could get past my wards; their mauled hands were proof of that. The only way to assure Nate's safety was to get him inside our building.

Nate pulled me closer to him, his eyes wide with fear. "Sara, I'm not leaving you here alone with these people."

I squeezed his hand. "I'll be fine. Once I know you're safe I'll take them to the bile and they'll let me go. That's all they want." It was probably the last lie I would ever tell him so I might as well make it count.

"How do I know I can trust you to do this once I deliver your uncle safely home?" Haism asked.

"You don't," I replied and his mouth tightened as his earlier words came back to him. "But can you afford not to?"

He glared at me, his eyes inky pools of hate. Haism was a man used to getting what he wanted and he wanted what I had. He was also a very proud man and I could see it rankled him a lot to not have the upper hand. However, it did not take long for his need to please his employer to overpower his pride. "We have a deal." He called to the blond man. "Gerhard, you will return Mr. Grey to his home. When it is done, I will tell you where to meet us. Tarek, you will come with me."

He looked at me again. "If you think to stall here until your friends find us you are mistaken. We will take a ride until your uncle calls. Then you will take us to the bile."

Nate clung to my hand. "No. I'm not letting you do this, Sara."

I kneeled in front of his chair again and took both his hands in mine. "I know what I'm doing and I'll be okay." I had no illusions about Haism willingly letting me go once I delivered him to the bile but this was the only way. I had a better chance of escaping Haism on my own if I didn't have to worry about Nate's safety.

A tap on my shoulder made me look up into Gerhard's unsmiling face. I stood and gave Nate a quick hug before the big blond man started to push the wheelchair out of the room. I fell in behind them with Haism and Tarak behind us. Nate didn't say much until we reached the exit where he tried again to talk me out of it. Nothing I said to him convinced him I would be alright and his face was drawn and fearful when Gerhard lifted him into the Escalade. My chest ached at the thought that this might be the last time I ever saw him and I wanted to run to him and hug him one last time. But Haism kept a firm hold on my arm and I could only smile reassuringly at Nate as they drove away.

Haism led me to a white Cadillac sedan and told me to get into the back seat. He climbed in beside me and Tarak got behind the wheel. He said a few words in Arabic to Tarak who started the car and began driving with no apparent destination in mind. Haism did not try to talk to me and I was happy not to talk to him.

I thought about Nate and the vial of Ptellon blood still hidden in my room. If only I had given it to him yesterday none of this might have happened. _It wouldn't have helped_ , I told myself _._ Ptellon did not work against humans. I'd thought to protect Nate from monsters but I forgot they came in human form too.

It felt like an eternity passed before Haism's phone rang and I held my breath as he answered it then handed it to me. I saw my home number and exhaled deeply.

"Nate?"

"I'm fine. I'm home and that man is gone."

"Good." My throat closed up in relief and I could barely manage that one syllable.

Nate's voice shook. "Sara, he tried to come inside and he couldn't. Why?"

I shot Haism a glare. I'd suspected Gerhard had been ordered to deal with Nate once I thought he was safe. Getting what he wanted wasn't enough for a man like Haism. He needed to control everything. Not this time.

"I'll explain it when I get home," I replied, proud of myself for keeping the tears at bay.

I hung up and practically threw the phone at Haism. _I won't cry._ I would not let this man see me break down.

"My part of the deal is done," said Haism, his eyes glittering with anticipation. "Now you will do your part."

Nodding, I gave Tarak directions and he immediately turned the car and headed south of town. It usually took me twenty minutes by bike to get to where we were going. It took five in the car. We turned off on the narrow dirt road that led to the abandoned mine and branches whipped at the car as we passed. Soon we reached the spot where I usually hid my bike and I told him to stop. "We have to walk from here."

Haism stared around suspiciously then fixed me with a hard look. "We are in the middle of nowhere. I pray for your sake you are not trying to deceive me."

"You think I'd hide troll bile at my house, or maybe in my school locker?"

He did not respond to that. We stayed in the back of the car until Tarak got out and came around to my side. They were obviously not taking any chances with me making a run for it.

"Check her," Haism said harshly and I gasped as Tarak pulled me from the car and started to pat me down. My mouth went dry when his hands felt the weapon concealed inside my coat. He yanked open my coat and pulled out the silver knife to show Haism.

Stars exploded before my eyes and pain shot through the left side of my face as a fist came out of nowhere. My ears rang and I staggered backwards and would have fallen if Tarak had not caught me. Blood dribbled down my lips from my nose and I dabbed it away with my sleeve.

" _Sharmoota!_ " Haism shouted, his spittle spraying my face. "You think you can trick me?" He reached for me again and I flinched, waiting for the next strike. Instead he pulled a plastic cable tie from his pocket. He wrenched my arms painfully and tied my hands behind my back. When that was done he bent down and pulled off my sneakers and threw them into the woods.

"There. Try to run away now," he jeered. He took the knife from Tarak and flung it after the sneakers then barked an order at the black-haired man. Tarak nodded and took up a lookout position near the car.

Haism grabbed my arm and pushed me hard so I stumbled and almost fell again. Jerking me upright, he shoved me forward again. "Which way? And do not try anything. I will think nothing of breaking your neck and leaving you here for the animals to feed on."

I nodded in the direction we needed to go. "That way."

Walking over uneven terrain with your hands tied behind your back is difficult. Doing it with no shoes is excruciating. Within five minutes my socks were bloody from the rocks and sharp sticks jabbing me mercilessly. The left side of my face had gone numb and my eye had swollen and half closed up making it harder to see where I was going. Haism yanked me forward viciously every time I faltered and I pressed my lips together to keep from crying out. I would not give him the satisfaction.

"I am curious," he said as he waited for me to step over a fallen tree. "These trolls are savage creatures, even vampires fear them. You must be quite valuable to the vampires for them to willingly risk themselves to capture the young trolls."

"Is that a question or a statement?"

He scowled at me. "How is it that a human girl is able to befriend such beasts? How did you get your hands on the bile and live to speak of it?"

"You would never understand." In truth, there were very few people who could comprehend my relationship with Remy. I certainly wasn't about to explain it to the person who would terrorize children and who was about to hand me over to a vampire.

"Then perhaps you will tell me why that vampire wants you so badly. He is most determined to have you."

Just the mention of Eli made me stumble and bile rise in my throat. "He tried to kill me and I got away. I guess he doesn't like it when that happens."

Haism barked a laugh. "All of that for a meal? I think not. He has worked too hard to possess you to end it that quick."

My stomach churned. How could he talk about my death so casually? He had to know what Eli would do to me. Terror rose up, threatening to suffocate me and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. The sharp pain sliced through the dizzying fear so I could think a little clearer.

I knew from the beginning that Haism had no intention of letting me go after I gave him what he wanted. His sheik had a deal with Eli and Haism was going to deliver me as promised. His tone told me he actually enjoyed the idea of the horrors that awaited me. Even with a demon inside me, I was more human than the monster walking next to me.

The woods were somber and quiet except for the occasional bird call. Walking like a prisoner to my execution, it was hard to believe I'd spent so many happy hours in this place. There would be no Remy now to scold me or little Minka sneaking up to ambush me in a fit of giggles. The trolls could be watching me right now and none of them would come to my rescue. It didn't matter that I had saved the little ones last night; to the elders I had only been righting the wrong I had done to them. I might have stopped a rampage, but I wasn't even close to earning their forgiveness. I was truly alone now. No one was coming to save me this time.

It was time to help myself. I took stock of my situation. I was shoeless, weaponless, and bound; there was no way I was running away from Haism like this. But we were headed for the cliffs and I knew them better than almost anyone. And Haism would have to untie me to retrieve the bile. There had to be a way to escape him at the cliffs – because there was no way I'd let him turn me over to Eli. I swallowed hard as I made my decision. If I could not escape my captor there was another way out and one leap was all it would take. One leap, a few seconds of fear and then nothing. I would die on my own terms before I let Eli touch me.

As soon as I made my resolve, a sense of calm acceptance settled over me. It was soon followed by sadness over the things I might never see or do and regrets for the unfinished things I was leaving behind. My biggest regret was Nate and all the time I'd lost that I could have spent building a relationship with him. He didn't deserve what I'd put him through, and if I didn't come back he would have to carry that with him for the rest of his life. My only comfort was that I'd been able to save him at least. I had made so many mistakes and people I cared deeply about had been hurt because of me. Saving the trolls and Roland's life might have redeemed me if I hadn't put them in danger in the first place. Scott too. He was a jerk but I'd never wanted him to get hurt. He was just one more victim I'd left in my wake.

A phone rang. Haism pulled out his cell phone and rushed to answer it. He spoke in Arabic and something in his submissive tone and posture told me it was the sheik. Haism appeared to explain something to him then his voice took on an apologetic, almost groveling tone. It was clear the sheik was not happy. I could hear his voice as he shouted at Haism and I watched my captor's face grow pale and slack from the verbal lashing.

Haism slanted a look at me as if he realized for the first time that I was witnessing his castigation. His mouth twisted and he pushed me roughly to the ground. I cried out as I landed in a heap with my arms twisted painfully beneath me. With great effort I scuttled backwards until I was half sitting with my back against a tree. The rough bark cut into my hands and a low branch snagged my hair making tears spring to my eyes. I was a mass of scrapes, cuts, and bruises and I hadn't even been turned over to my real tormentor yet.

"Stay," Haism commanded sharply like he was talking to a dog. His frigid gaze swept over me before he walked a small distance away, now pleading with the man on the other end of the line.

To distract myself from my discomfort, I thought about Nate, Remy, Roland, and Peter and tried to remember a happy time with each of them. It surprised me to find myself thinking about Nikolas too, though in a way it made sense to think of him now. For the last month, almost everywhere I went he was there, jumping in to save me, stalking me, protecting me, scolding me. I remembered his teasing laughter that night at my place and the look in his eyes whenever he was furious at me. We were like two magnets constantly pushing at each other and as much as he aggravated me, I had grown used to having him around.

I could almost hear him saying "I told you so" at the mess I'd landed in this time, and I could only imagine how angry he was at this moment because I didn't listen to him – once again. Was he at my place now, trying to figure out where I was? He was pretty serious about this protection thing. How long would he search before he admitted I was lost this time?

A pang of sorrow stabbed me at the thought of Nikolas giving up on me and moving on with his life after everything we'd been through. My Mori stirred and gave a mournful sigh. _I know,_ I consoled the demon. _He kind of grows on you._

Consumed by my sorrow, I barely noticed the fleeting movement against my hand. It came again and I held my breath as something warm touched my skin for a second. A mouse maybe. Animals were not afraid of me; it wasn't unusual for one to come up to me.

Another touch came but this time it was not warm. This time something cold caressed the back of my hand. I sucked air in sharply as I heard a snip.

The cable binding my hands fell away.

Not daring to move, I shot a glance at Haism to see if he noticed anything. But he was still talking agitatedly into his phone and barely looking my way. Slowly I turned my head to look over my shoulder.

Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't a pair of owlish eyes in a small brown face partly hidden by a mass of untamed yellow hair. I almost fell over at the sight of the surly little creature I'd healed weeks ago. "Nog?" I whispered.

The goblin did not speak as he bent down to press something in my hand. I recognized the shape of a knife, my knife. My heart swelled with the knowledge that I wasn't alone out here after all. I raised my eyes to his again. He stared at me solemnly and I wanted to say something, to thank him.

I blinked and he disappeared.

The knife was still there and I wrapped my fingers possessively around the handle that fit my palm like it was made for me. _Made for a warrior._

I looked at Haism who had his back to me now, speaking fervently in low tones – as if I could understand a word of it either way. He was distracted, gesturing with his free hand and pacing.

I might never get another chance. I flexed my aching arms and got soundlessly to my feet.

Then I ran.

# Chapter 20

I did not make it far before shouts rang out behind me, followed by the sounds of Haism crashing through the woods after me. I didn't look back to see where he was or if he was gaining on me. I ran as fast as my abused and bloody feet would go. Haism was strong and fast and even with the knife, I would be no match for him if he caught me.

He might hold the advantage physically, but I knew these woods better than anyone. We weren't that far from the cliffs and if I could reach them, I could shimmy down to my cave. It took a lot of nerve and agility to climb that cliff face and I doubted that even Haism or his men could do it without a rope. I still had my cell phone because Tarek had stopped searching me after he found the knife so I could call Nikolas and hole up in the cave until he came. I had a plan, now I just had to execute it.

A stream loomed ahead and I scrambled across a dead tree I always used as a bridge. Seconds later I heard my pursuer hit the stream running, followed by a splash and a string of curses. I kept going.

I smelled the salt air a minute before the woods thinned and I saw the break in trees ahead. So close. I put on an extra burst of speed and Haism fell farther behind. Suddenly the trees were behind me and I was hobbling across a small grassy meadow. The rumble of waves told me how close I was and I stuck the knife inside my coat to free my hands for the climb of my life.

My feet touched bare rock and I veered to the left making for the lone stunted pine tree above the cave. Over the wind and the roar of the surf I heard Haism shout something unintelligible at me but he was too far away to matter now. I reached the tree and peered down at the rocks below. The ocean's show of power here never failed to take my breath away but I'd always had Remy to carry me down and keep me safe. I didn't anticipate the climb but I would rather face a hundred cliffs than the fate waiting for me.

There was no time to steel myself, to work up the courage. Haism was coming, I had to go now. Taking a deep breath, I turned to start the climb.

"Hello, little flower."

"No!"

Dark blue eyes straight from my nightmares gleamed as they locked with mine. Full lips curved in pleasure, sending my stomach plummeting. The last time I saw that mouth it was fanged and snarling at me as the monster behind it vowed to have me.

_No, no, no, no, no_ , my mind screamed. I took an involuntary step backwards, lost my footing.

Eli's hand shot out as I teetered on the edge. He pulled me against him and ran a finger down my face. I shuddered and he smiled like we were reunited lovers. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall this time. I've waited too long to feel you in my arms again to lose you now." His finger lingered on my bruised cheek. "I am not happy about this however. I shall have to talk to Haism about the terms of our contract."

"Eli," said a male voice and I looked past him. My blood froze when I saw at least a dozen other vampires gathered nearby. The speaker, a black vampire who could have passed for one of my classmates, tilted his head toward the man standing frozen at the edge of the woods.

Even from here I could see the terror creep across Haism's face as he stared at the scene before him. On the phone with Eli he had been cocky because he knew he would not meet the vampire face-to-face. Now he faced a dozen of them, alone and armed with nothing but a cell phone. I think we both realized at the same time that my life wasn't the only one forfeit here today. I should have felt pity for him. I might have if he hadn't threatened Nate and planned to turn us both over to Eli.

"Haism, we meet after all," Eli called, turning us both to face my ex-captor. Eli's arms were like steel bands around my waist, holding me back against him. Revulsion, fear, and a dozen other emotions warred inside me and it was all I could do to not scream or pass out.

"Yes... a change of plans, I see," Haism stammered. "But you have what you came for, just as promised." I saw him take a step backward. Did he really think he could flee?

Eli reached up to lift my hair away from my face. "Not exactly as promised. She is damaged. I cannot imagine what would have happened to her if we had not followed you."

Haism's jaw fell. He took another step toward the woods.

"My deal with your employer was that I deliver the trolls and you deliver the girl, whole and untouched. I believe this renders our contract null and void." Sadistic amusement laced Eli's honeyed voice. "Juan, Rose, please conclude our business with Mr. Bakr."

"Noooooo!" Haism got that one word out before the black vampire and a blond female appeared beside him. I tore my horrified eyes away but I could not block out the screams. They seemed to go on forever before ending in a sickening gurgle that turned my legs to jelly and made my stomach revolt.

Eli lowered his head until his mouth was against my ear. "Calm yourself, my sweet. You belong to me and no one else will touch you."

The promise in his softly spoken words turned my blood to ice. It would not be long before I would wish I had died along with Haism. There was only one way out of this for me now. Either way I was going to die. I had to make sure it was on my terms because the alternative was unthinkable.

"Why?" I asked hoarsely. "Why me?"

Eli sighed. "You don't even know how lovely you are, do you? Such a mix of fire and innocence, I saw it that night before we even met and I knew I had to have you. Imagine my delight when I discovered what you are and then to find out that you were what brought me to Portland in the first place."

I thought of David's theory about the missing girls and I had to know. Swallowing my fear, I said, "You took those girls in Portland because you were looking for me. Why did you pick them?"

"They were chosen because they were the right age and they all had certain _characteristics_ in common. It did not take me long to discern that none of them was the one I sought."

Something in me shriveled and died. Those girls were dead because of me and their families would never know what happened to them. "All of this to catch Madeline Croix?"

Eli laughed softly, his chest rumbling against my back. "Ah, Madeline. There was a beauty. I almost had her once, but she has evaded me all these years. My Master has not been happy about that." His arms squeezed me lightly. "But you are the greater prize I think."

"Are-are you going to take me to your master?" I didn't know what prospect frightened me more: being at the mercy of Eli or his master.

"Eli, we should go," said one of the other vampires. "This town is swarming with wolves and hunters. And the sky will start to clear soon."

"We leave when I am ready," Eli barked. He spun me to face him and I placed my hands against his chest as a small barrier between us. "You are mine. My Master promised you to me if I found you."

I stared at his chest to avoid the hunger in his eyes as I pressed him for answers. "Why is Madeline so important to your Master? I don't even know my mother. If you think I can help you find her, you're mistaken."

"The _why_ is between my Master and Madeline. And our search for Madeline revealed a few things about her life that were of great interest to my Master."

"I don't understand. What is so special about her being a Mohiri except for the fact that you all hate each other?"

He laughed. "You are right. There is nothing special about her but her daughter is an entirely different story. Do you know it wasn't until a few months ago that we learned Madeline had a daughter? That little tidbit she and your dearly departed father kept hidden from us. By the time we learned of your existence you were nowhere to be found. It was like you had disappeared into thin air."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "My father?"

He lifted my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "Oh yes, I was well acquainted with Daniel Grey – well, as acquainted as you can be with anyone on the last day of their life."

The world faded around us. I couldn't feel the wind or hear the ocean or see the vampires surrounding me. In that moment, there was only me and Eli.

"You... you killed him."

His cruel beautiful eyes gleamed as he watched my face closely. "I was following Madeline and her trail led me to him. He said he didn't know where she was. Of course, I had to make sure he was telling the truth." He sighed as if he was reliving a happy memory. "I believe he was."

I couldn't breathe as the image of my dad's mutilated body swam before my eyes. For ten years I'd carried that gruesome memory while trying to accept that I would never find his killer. Yet, here he stood. All the nightmares, the grief and the loneliness I had suffered were because of the monster smiling at me right now.

"He actually held out longer than most –"

Heat blossomed in my chest. My body trembled as electricity danced through me and rippled across my skin like heat waves off pavement. Static crackled and my scalp tingled as some of my hair lifted into the air.

Eli's eyes widened and he dropped his hands from my shoulders as if he had been shocked. I sensed the others moving closer, forming a half circle around us.

The strange electricity surging through me fizzled like a used match. I reached for it but it was gone before I could grasp it and figure out how to use it to destroy Eli. Impotent rage flooded me.

Eli laughed once he recovered from his surprise. "A charming little display but hardly enough to hurt me. You have no idea what that is, do you? What you are?"

"Does it matter?" I asked, glad for the fury that swallowed some of my fear.

"Not to me," he replied, smiling. "I think we have dallied here long enough. We'll have plenty of time later to get to know each other."

My heart thudded painfully as his words sank in. This was it. If he took me away from here I was dead – or I'd soon wish I was. I felt the wind at my back. The edge of the cliff was less than two feet away; one jump and this would all be over. It was the only way out for me now. If there really was a God then this wasn't the end and I'd be with my dad again. If there wasn't a God – well I'd never know. But nothingness was better than the fate awaiting me with Eli.

Watching my face, Eli suddenly grabbed one of my wrists, his eyes flashing. "You would not be thinking about robbing me of our time together, would you my sweet?"

My heart sank. "No I was just –"

Something brushed against my mind.

A vampire gasped. Another let out a small cry. Eli's eyes widened – with fear.

My breath caught. I whirled around and there he was, standing like a vengeful angel between us and the woods. His leather jacket was gone and in its place was his warrior harness. His hands gripped the hilts of two long slender swords.

Our eyes met and the look in his took my breath away. I'd seen Nikolas angry plenty of times but that was nothing to the unbridled fury I saw in him now. I knew Nikolas the man, but it was the demon warrior who stood before me now and the demon was raging.

"He is only one," Eli growled after his initial shock had passed. "Risa, Heath, Lorne – take care of this."

"No!" I cried but the three vampires reached Nikolas before the word even left my lips. My stomach clenched and a sour taste flooded my mouth as I watched the vampires circle their quarry like lions surrounding a gazelle. _He's a warrior. This is what he does_. I tried to find comfort in those thoughts but it was three against one. Nikolas was as fast as them but how could he fight all of them at once? He'd always been so strong, so invincible that the idea of him falling now was unthinkable.

_He can't die._ I was too afraid for him to try to think about why the possibility of him losing sucked all the warmth from my body.

The red headed male in front of Nikolas darted towards him. Nikolas brought his swords up but the vampire whirled away out of reach at the last second. The feint distracted Nikolas and I choked back a cry as the blond male on his left struck with the speed of a snake, his clawed hand aiming for Nikolas's throat.

A terrible shriek split the air. The air turned crimson around them and the blond vampire drew back, staring at the stump where his hand used to be. Metal flashed again. The vampire gaped in horror at Nikolas for an endless second – before his head toppled off his neck and rolled a few feet away from him.

The female behind Nikolas let out an enraged wail and launched herself at him, her long black hair flying out wildly behind her. At the same time, the other male attacked from the front, going for Nikolas's chest. Moving almost too fast to see, Nikolas leapt into the air and flipped backwards over the female's back, landing deftly behind her. She shrieked in rage and barely missed colliding with her brethren, but she was not fast enough to avoid his claws. Long bloody gashes marred her pale pretty face by the time she stopped her forward rush and spun back to the fight.

Thrown off guard by his contact with the female, the red haired vampire was unable to stop his own advance in time. The sound of steel against muscle and bone sickened me even as I rejoiced in the sight of the blade slicing through the vampire's chest. Nikolas withdrew and slashed again. The vampire went down, his stomach spilling out onto the grass.

My stomach roiled from the violence and gore but I couldn't look away from Nikolas who fought with the swift grace of a dancer, his movements controlled and effortless. The savage beauty in his face stole my breath as he pulled his blade from the vampire on the ground and pivoted to meet the female's second attack. Half demon or no, at that moment he was the most glorious thing I had ever seen.

The female, raging with grief over the loss of what had obviously been her mate, came at Nikolas head on. It took him only seconds to bring both blades up and then down in crisscross strokes across her torso. She stumbled and he drove a sword straight through her heart. In a single motion, he turned and slashed out to behead the red haired male on the ground. He straightened and faced us again, looking like he was barely winded and not surrounded by bloody vampire parts.

Silence fell over everyone. Even the wind seemed to stall in anticipation of what would happen next. Eli's confident smile faded and there was no mistaking the fear in his voice when he spoke. "All of you!" he ordered sharply. "Finish him."

None of the other vampires looked eager to follow that order but they all turned to face Nikolas, preparing to rush him all at once.

Eli moved closer to me. "Coward!" I yelled at him for standing back out of harm's way while his friends did the dirty work.

A few seconds later, my attention was drawn away from Eli by movement in the trees. I watched open-mouthed as Chris stepped into the open followed by two, four – five massive werewolves. After everything that had happened with Roland, the pack had come. My heart swelled till it hurt.

As one the vampires backed up a step.

"Let her go and we will let you live... for today." Nikolas's commanding voice rang across the short distance between us and sent tendrils of warmth through my frozen limbs. He was here, he'd asked me to trust him and swore to keep me safe and he had come for me. No matter what happened now, I knew my trust had not been misplaced and I felt a small flare of happiness in spite of my dire situation.

Eli pulled me back against his chest, his claws at my throat and memories of that night in the alley rose up like bile, threatening to choke me.

"I think not." He took a step toward the cliff edge, pulling me with him. "We both know I could rip her throat out and jump before you reached us."

Nikolas's expression did not change. "But then nothing would prevent me from hunting you down, and this time I will not stop."

Eli's voice was steady, belying the tremble I felt go though him. "I think sweet little Sara is important to you and you won't do anything to jeopardize her life."

Nikolas's eyes blazed.

"Nothing to say?" Emboldened by Nikolas's silence, Eli let out an ugly laugh and his other hand touched my cheek, the claws skimming lightly over my skin. "Will you still have nothing to say when I taste her?"

This time there was no mistaking the rage seething beneath Nikolas's calm exterior. I remembered how I had felt when I'd let the demon possess my body, the heady power and violence that had boiled through my veins, and I knew Nikolas was close to unleashing his own demon.

Eli saw it too. "Stay back, Mohiri," he ordered, a note of desperation creeping into in his voice. "You _might_ kill me but not before I end her."

"Let her go and you'll have a chance of getting out of this alive. Is she worth your life – all your lives?"

"Do it, Eli!" the black vampire named Juan whispered fervently, never taking his eyes off Nikolas. "Give him the bitch." The other vampires murmured in agreement.

"She is mine and I will not give her up," Eli hissed back. "You heard the Master. Kill her or take her but the girl is not to be left behind."

Eli's declaration was like a bucket of icy water thrown in my face. No matter what Nikolas did Eli would not let me live. My jaw clenched painfully. At least it would be quick and I'd die knowing my friends had come for me.

"Kill me then." My words startled the vampires and I was proud of how calm I sounded despite the storm of emotions inside me. "All I ever wanted was to find the one who killed my father and here you are. Knowing that my friends will rip you to shreds – all of you – after I'm dead is enough for me." My voice grew stronger as I spoke, powered by my conviction that Nikolas and the werewolves would do exactly that.

A wave of panic rippled through the vampires surrounding us. My life was the only thing between them and certain death, and my willingness to die had just drastically decreased their chances of survival. Some of them looked poised to flee. They weren't stupid. The Mohiri and the wolves wanted me and my friends would follow whoever had me.

"Stand firm!" Eli growled. "You would dare disobey the Master's orders?"

Apparently, the Master's wrath was even more terrifying than dying because the vampires moved to take up defensive positions around me and Eli. With the cliff at our backs and the line of vampires between us and his enemy, Eli's confidence lifted.

"Such a pretty speech," He rasped into my ear. "But you see I'm not ready for either of us to die yet." His lips touched my earlobe and I suppressed a shudder. "I have such plans for us, sweet Sara. Before this night is out, I will own you body and soul."

"I'll die before I let you have me."

His voice hitched as he fed on my terror and his own anticipation. "Fight me all you want, it only makes you more desirable."

I tried to block out the images his words conjured. "You're a monster."

Eli chuckled. "I've had many, many women and all of them begged me for it... well up until I made them scream of course. Your daddy screamed too at the end, and so will you."

Pain shot through my chest. "I'll kill you!" I choked, struggling against him, making him laugh again.

I grunted as something sharp dug into my hip. _The knife._ An absurd urge to laugh flooded me as I remembered how I had tried to refuse the weapon when Nikolas gave it to me and how many times it had helped to save my life since that day. Through it all, the knife always seemed to find its way back to me as if it was daring me to deny my heritage.

My right hand snaked inside my coat and touched the handle. At the same time, my eyes sought Nikolas's and I drew strength from his unwavering gaze. No matter how this ended, I was not leaving this place with Eli. It was obvious that one of us was going to die here, and if it had to be me, I would go like the warrior Nikolas believed me to be. I owed him that much.

"Father and daughter and someday I'll have the mother too," Eli gloated, oblivious to the resolve burning in my eyes. He pulled me against him again and if it weren't for my newfound strength, I would have buckled under the vicious promise in his dark eyes. "Maybe I'll keep you until I find dear Madeline. I've never had a mother and daughter at one time."

"You sick bastard!" My fingers closed around the handle of the knife and slowly slid it free. "I'm going to enjoy watching you die, Eli." My whole life I had fought to save the lives of others but today I would gladly try to take one, even if it meant my own death.

He smiled but there was no humor in it. "You're brave enough to say that now, but soon you will beg to die. I will use you and drink from you over and over until I have had my fill. And when there is nothing left, I will send you to be with your dear father."

A lifetime of grief, loneliness and fear powered the thrust that sent the knife into Eli's chest, up between his ribs and into his demon heart. My eyes met his as they flew wide in disbelief while his hands clawed at the hilt protruding from his body. I watched impassively as realization dawned on his face, as his dark soulless eyes stared at the last person he would ever hurt. Inside me, the Mori reveled in the kill, but all I could think of in that moment was my dad. Killing his murderer did not ease the pain of losing him or bring me any joy, yet it felt right that I was the one to do it. I couldn't save him but I could give him this.

Eli crumpled to the ground and all hell broke loose.

Nikolas sped toward us followed by Chris and they were met by six of the vampires. Swords and bodies flew so fast I could not follow the fight. Behind them the wolves began to race towards the rest of us on the cliff. Around me, the remaining three vampires quailed when they spotted the approaching threat and they turned to jump into the ocean.

It took me a moment to realize I was free. I ran toward the wolves only to be snatched off my feet and thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "For the Master," growled the vampire who'd grabbed me.

I screamed and struggled to break free as I was carried back toward the cliff. Behind me the wolves roared and over the din I heard Nikolas yell my name.

We went down in a tumbling heap and I rolled away to see a silver coated arrow sticking out of the vampire's chest just before he toppled over the edge of the cliff. Scrambling to my feet, I spotted Chris fitting another arrow into his bow.

"Sara, run!" shouted Nikolas as he ran his sword through one of the vampires he was battling. I needed no more encouragement and I started forward.

I didn't feel the pain at first, just a cold numbness in the center of my chest. When the throbbing pain came, I looked down in confusion at the patch of red blossoming across the front of my shirt. By the time my dulled mind recognized the hilt of my knife sticking from my chest, scalding pain began to shoot through me.

"No!" someone bellowed above the roaring in my ears. I tried to move toward the voice, but my feet would not obey me and I tripped backwards instead. My hands flailed as my feet tried to find purchase, but there was nothing but air as I toppled over the edge of the cliff.

_I'm dying._ The thought hit me at the same moment I collided with the little tree clinging precariously to the face of the cliff. My hands grabbed the thin branches, barely feeling the needles that tore at them as I clung to the tree with my rapidly fading strength.

Dangling over the boiling surf, I could barely hear the shouts and roars from the battle raging above me. I tried to call out to them, to let them know I was here, but when I opened my mouth, warm frothy blood was all that came out, running down my chin to drip into the sea.

Strange. I always thought I'd feel scared when death came for me – not this peace that slowly spread through my body. There was sadness too: for Nate who would be alone now, for never seeing Roland's playful smirk again, and for Nikolas whose handsome face swam before my eyes, his eyes sad instead of their usual stormy grey. He had tried so hard to save me and I knew he would blame himself. I wished I could tell him that it was not his fault. More than that, I wished I could let him know that somehow through all of this, he had become an important part of my life.

My hands opened.

The last time I'd fallen, Nikolas had caught me in his arms, though I had no memory of it. This time it was the ocean that wrapped me in her cold embrace. I sighed as the pain vanished and the world went dark and the waves closed over my head.

# Chapter 21

_"Look Daddy! I can go all the way around without falling now."_

_"That's great honey!" Daddy watched as I skated in a wide circle around him. I made my way over to him on wobbly legs and he caught me just before I fell. "Whoa, slow down there Gretzky."_

_"I'm cold. Can we go get hot chocolate now?" I asked him hopefully and he grinned down at me._

_"Of course! When have we ever not gotten our hot chocolate?"_

_We sat on the bench and Daddy blew on my drink for me. "There you go honey." I took a long sip and he smiled at me. "Be careful, or you'll burn your tongue."_

_But the chocolate did not burn me and I drained the cup. I held the empty cup out to him. "Can I have some more?"_

_"More? Don't you want to skate again?"_

_I shook my head, shivering in spite of my warm coat and mittens. "Please, Daddy, I'm so cold."_

* * *

"How does she fare?"

"She is alive and she is a fighter. That is all I can say."

"She looks so human, so fragile."

"Aye but she is stronger than she looks." A cool touch to the forehead. "Rest now and get well, little one."

* * *

_"I don't feel so good."_

_Daddy's hand felt cool against my face. "Hmmm, you are a bit warm. Where does it hurt?"_

_I coughed and winced. "My throat hurts and it hurts here," I rasped, touching my chest._

_He tucked the blankets around me and left my room, returning with a glass of water and some pills. I took the pills obediently and greedily drank the glass of water. "More," I gasped. I was thirsty, so thirsty._

* * *

"Why does her body resist the healing?"

"It is the demon blood, it is poisoning her."

"But the demon is part of her. How can it harm her?"

"No, it is the other demon's blood that was on the weapon. Her body must choose to accept it or reject it."

"What will it do to her if it does not kill her?"

"I cannot say. She is not like any other we have healed."

"Can we do something to help her?"

A sigh. "It is up to her now."

* * *

_"Am I dead?"_

_"What an odd thing to ask, honey." The corners of my dad's warm green eyes crinkled when he smiled. He patted the sofa beside him and I curled up happily in the crook of his arm. "I can't believe it. My little girl is all grown up."_

_My brow furrowed. "I don't understand. Where have you been all this time?"_

_He sighed and gave my shoulders a squeeze. "I never left. I've been with you every day."_

_"But I couldn't find you. I was alone and scared and you were gone."_

_"You were never alone, Sara. You had Nate, and your friends. You still do."_

_Tears burned my eyes. "I messed up so bad, Daddy. I lied to everyone and I hurt Nate and my friends. They probably all hate me now. Everything I do hurts someone. Even Nikolas. He tried to help me and I let him down too. It's no wonder I died."_

_"No one hates you, honey, and you're not dead."_

_I shook my head. "You died and the only way I can be talking to you is if I died too."_

_He kissed the top of my head. "My sweet girl, you can talk to me anytime you want to."_

_I closed my eyes and laid my head against his shoulder. "I miss you, Dad."_

* * *

Soft tinkling sounds like glass wind chimes pulled me up from the warm cocoon of darkness wrapped around me. My eyes felt heavy as if I'd slept for a long time and when I opened them, it took them a minute to focus. When I could finally see my surroundings, I knew I must still be dreaming.

I lay in the middle of a large canopy bed, covered by white sheets made of soft linen and a comforter of the lightest down. The walls of the room were entirely covered in sweet smelling flowering vines and the domed ceiling was made of stained glass depicting the night sky. There was no window and no door that I could see and when I leaned over to look at the floor I saw what looked like hard pressed earth. On a glass-topped table beside the bed, a small oil lamp flickered softly.

I fell back onto the soft pillows. _I am so not in Kansas anymore._

The vines parted and a pretty red-haired girl appeared. She wore a pale green shift with a fine silver gauze overlay and her delicate face had an almost ethereal quality to it. At first glance I guessed her to be around ten years old, but as she approached the bed I saw that she was closer to my age, maybe a little older.

"Welcome back, little sister," she said in a soft musical voice that was oddly familiar.

"Where am I?" My throat was dry and my voice raspy.

She moved her hand and out of nowhere she seemed to pull a glass of what looked like water. Pressing the glass into my hands she said, "Drink."

I took the glass and put it to my lips, too parched to question what it was or how it had appeared from thin air. When I took my first drink I discovered the clearest, most refreshing water I had ever tasted. With my second drink, flavors exploded across my tongue like the smell of grass and flowers and rain and sunshine. It reminded me of standing in a meadow after a spring shower. I drank it all then looked forlornly at the glass, wishing for more. Like magic, the glass filled again and I drank that down too before my thirst was quenched.

"Am I sick?"

She smiled sweetly and her emerald green eyes sparkled. "You were very ill. I am delighted to see you have recovered."

I studied her face. I'd never seen her before, that much I knew. So why did I feel like we'd met before? "Do I know you?"

Her laugh was airy, musical and something stirred at the edge of my memory. "We have met once but I have been watching you for many years now."

"Who are you?"

The air around her began to shimmer and a small breeze tossed the leaves covering the walls. Before my eyes the girl faded and morphed into a small spinning column of air. "I told you we would meet again," said a whispery voice I would know anywhere.

My hand flew to my mouth. "Aine?"

The air shifted and the smiling girl stood before me again. "It is good to see you again, Sara."

"I don't understand. Why are you here and why have you been watching me?"

She laid her pale slender hand over mine where it lay on the comforter. "We always watch over our own."

Their own? I shook my head, thinking I knew exactly how Alice had felt down in the rabbit hole. "I'm not a sylph. I'm Mohiri."

"You are correct. You are not of the air and you did inherit your mother's demon side." Aine nimbly hopped up to sit cross-legged on the bed beside me. "But you inherited something from your father as well. I know you have always wanted to know where you got your power to heal. That comes from your great, great, great, great grandmother."

"Are you saying that my dad wasn't human?" I refused to believe that. Nate was very human and my dad had been too.

"Oh, he was human. Your ancestor's gifts can pass only to females of her line." Aine's eyes danced. "Do you know you are her first female descendant? As you can imagine, we were very excited when you were born."

I struggled to keep up with her. "What are you saying?"

"Forgive me. In my eagerness I have confused you. Let me explain." She took one of my hands in her smaller one and I felt a peaceful calm flow into me. My power surged in response and a soft gasp escaped me when I sensed energy coming from Aine that was so similar to my own. It was like finding a piece of myself that I did not know was missing.

"Your great, great, great, great grandmother was named Sahine and she was of the water and one of my dearest sisters. One day Sahine fell in love with a human male and she chose to leave this life for a mortal one. It happens sometimes." Aine smiled wistfully. "We were sad when she left us but she was so happy for the rest of her days. I was glad for her."

I rubbed my eyes and felt my forehead to see if I was feverish. But my face was cool to the touch. _Maybe I'm drugged._ What else could explain the things I was hearing?

"So I'm like a mermaid or something? Because if you tell me I'm going to start growing a tail, I am going to freaking lose it." I moved my feet under the covers to make sure they were still there.

Aine gave another tinkling laugh. "You are undine. And I don't think our cousins would appreciate your sentiment."

"Undine?" I tried to remember what I knew about undines. Water elementals, always female with beautiful singing voices. Obviously not all of their talents were passed on. All elementals could heal, which explained my power. Undines were supposedly born without souls and marrying a human was one way to get a soul. I felt a moment of fear. I was already half demon. Did this mean I had no soul either?

Aine's brow furrowed. "I thought you would be happy but you look troubled."

"Do I... do I have a soul?"

"Only those born in the water are full undine and have no soul. You were not born to the water are so you are not full undine."

I had a soul – that was something at least. But what did this make me? God, a month ago I was just another human, or so I thought. Now I was what – one third human?

An ache started behind my eyes. This was too much to process. One minute I'm falling off a cliff and the next I'm in a strange room with a sylph telling me I'm part elemental. If this was someone's idea of the afterlife, it was pretty messed up.

Aine slid off the bed. "I am sorry. You are weak from your illness and I am upsetting you." She touched my forehead with her cool palm. "Go to sleep. I will be here when you wake up."

My eyes immediately began to droop and I fought to keep them open. "Wait, I have more questions and you didn't tell me where I am."

"You are in Seelie. Your injuries were grave and this was the only place that could heal you."

_Seelie!_ I thought before sleep claimed me.

When I woke again, I felt well rested and surprisingly serene considering everything Aine had told me. True to her word, the sylph reappeared as soon as I opened my eyes. She brought me a pale yellow dress similar to her green one and I marveled at the fine fabric as I slipped it over my head. Barefoot, I followed her through an archway behind the vines to a courtyard overlooking a glassy lake. We sat at a small glass table set with food and drink that made my stomach growl and I reached for a pastry, wondering how long it had been since I last ate.

My hand stopped halfway to the plate when I remembered where I was. Rule number one in Faerie: don't eat or drink.

"You are not mortal, little sister. The food is safe for you."

That was all I needed to hear. My appetite had always been good but I'd never tasted food like this: pastries that melted on my tongue, fruit so sweet I licked the juice from my fingers and cold frothy milk flavored with mint. It was like pure bliss and I sampled it all – twice – before I finally leaned back in my chair sated.

After my meal, Aine took me for a stroll around the lake. Everything here was incredibly lush and vibrant, from the thick green grass to the sky so blue it almost hurt my eyes to look at it. The air was the sweetest I had ever smelled and brightly colored birds sang to us from the trees. A few times I spotted tiny faces peering out from the underbrush and heard what sounded like giggles. When I asked Aine about them, she smiled and said the sprites were curious about their new cousin but they were too shy to come forward. I shook my head in wonder. The more I saw of this place the more unreal it seemed and the harder it was for me to believe that part of me belonged to this world. I still was not entirely sure that I wasn't dreaming.

We reached the far side of the lake and I looked back expecting to see a building, but all I saw was the small courtyard nestled among the trees. I didn't need Aine to explain that it was Faerie magic at work.

We made our way back to the courtyard and walked through the hanging vines into a sunny room with comfortable couches and a low table set with a pitcher of juice and two glasses. Aine poured me a glass of juice and I took a sip, savoring sweetness the likes of which could never be found in the human world. I leaned back on the soft cushions with a contented sigh. There was something about this place, a sense of tranquility that seemed to soak into every pore and lifted every worry and fear from my mind. For the first time since my world had shattered ten years ago, I felt no fear and no loneliness, just a deep sense of belonging.

I wasn't sure how long we sat there talking. Aine told me how a pair of selkies had rescued me from the ocean and called for her when they recognized me as one of their cousins. I told her I vaguely remembered hearing voices while I was unconscious and she said the faeries had tended me because nothing but their magic could have saved me. I had been stabbed with the same knife I used to kill Eli. To a Mohiri, vampire blood is just blood but to a Fae, demon blood can be lethal. Aine said the faeries believed it was my own demon side that allowed me to finally absorb Eli's blood harmlessly into my body.

I asked many questions and she answered them all. She told me about undines and how rare it was to find a female descendent of an undine/human mating. Because undines are female, only their female descendents inherit any of their powers. I _was_ relieved to learn I would not get the sudden urge to take up residence in the nearest pond.

"Was it my undine power that let me control my Mori all these years without training?"

"Yes. Demons fear earth magic not only because of its strength but because of its purity. For that reason demonkind have hated us since time began. But you may be the first of your kind, half-Fae half-demon, and your power is not like any other. It seems almost impossible for you to exist but here you are. You are still so young, only time will tell us what that means for you. You are something of a curiosity, even to us."

"Why would you or any Faerie help me? Aren't you afraid of my demon blood?"

Aine smiled and her red curls bobbed when she shook her head. "Your Fae blood is stronger than your demon blood or you never would have been able to hold back the demon in you. You are more one of us than them."

I didn't like talking about my demon half so I asked her to tell me more about undines and she was happy to comply. She told me that all elementals have certain abilities in common and some unique to their element. Elementals live forever unless they choose to give up their immortality, they have the gift of healing and can draw on the magic in the earth itself. They are the only beings in existence that demons truly fear. Undines can also manipulate water and create or control storms. Being only half undine, there was no way to know exactly what elemental abilities I had inherited until they manifested – if they did at all. She did say that if my healing power was any indication, there could be others and she would help guide me when the time came.

In addition to their elemental powers and angelic singing voice, undines – pure undines, not half-breeds like me – possess an unearthly beauty that has a dramatic effect on humans. Females feel threatened and an instant dislike for undines whereas males can be driven almost insane with desire. Such intense emotions affect males in one of two ways: they either become completely enamored and protective or they are driven to darker impulses that result in violence.

At my look of dismay she assured me that only a full blooded undine could affect males to that extent and my mixed heritage diminished the attraction considerably. That made me feel only slightly better. It did explain though why I had no female friends. It also made me analyze every relationship I had ever had with males and what I found did not make me happy. Both Roland and Peter had confessed to having crushes on me at one point and they'd let me know that _all_ the boys at school liked me that way when I first moved there. Scott was one of those boys and his feelings toward me had definitely turned dark after I rejected his friendship. Then there was Greg who for some reason chose to befriend me and who, according to Roland, had threatened every boy in school, effectively keeping them away from me. And I could not forget Francis who despised me for no other reason than my existence. Was it actually my undine nature that made him feel such animosity for me?

And finally there was Eli who had been so obsessed with me after one brief conversation that he had died trying to claim me. I shivered even though I knew he was dead and could never threaten me again. I asked Aine if vampires could be affected and she nodded delicately.

"Vampires were once human so they are susceptible as well but they can feel no love, only a dark desire to possess and inflict pain, not that they could act upon those desires with an undine."

Great where did that leave me? "Can a vampire tell I'm half undine? Eli said something about me having no idea what I was."

"If he tasted your skin or your blood – yes. A vampire would not face a full elemental but you are very young and weak compared to one of us." Her smile faded. "Even though they fear us, our blood is like a drug to most demons, causing heightened infatuation."

"What?" I almost jumped out of my chair. "You're telling me my blood is a frigging aphrodisiac to demons?" Could this get any worse?

"In a manner of speaking," she answered bluntly.

"What about other half demons people like the Mohiri? Please don't tell me I'm going to have to fight them off too?" I thought about Nikolas and how overly protective he was for a guy who was just doing his job. I hated to think that it might be nothing more than my Faerie DNA driving him.

"No, the Mohiri were created to be the perfect warriors and are immune to most forms of compulsion and weakness."

"Good," I breathed, settling back onto the couch.

Thinking about Nikolas made me remember how I'd felt when he fought all those vampires and demanded my release. I remembered his rage and him shouting my name when I fell. After this, he'd probably try to lock me in my room forever and I wouldn't be surprised if Nate helped him. My lips curved into a small smile. They could try.

_Oh God Nate has no idea where I am!_ I couldn't believe I had spent the entire day hanging out here with no thought about what my uncle must be going through.

I jumped to my feet. "Aine, I need to go home."

"This is your home now, if you want it to be," she replied. "Don't you like it here?"

"I love it. But my real home is with my uncle back in the human world. He's all alone and he needs me."

Her happy smile faded a little. "But there is so much evil in that place. Why would you want to return to that?"

"The world isn't evil even if there are bad things in it. I have friends and family there and I couldn't imagine leaving them. Plus, out there I can help animals and the People. No one needs my help here."

She studied me as if still trying to understand why I would prefer that world over this perfect one. Her smile was sad when she finally nodded. "For you to wish to leave here this much means you really do not belong here yet. No one who truly belonged to Faerie could ever call another place home." She stood and held out her hand. "Come, I will take you to your human home."

I hugged her happily then took her hand. In seconds the air around us began to shimmer and grow warm and the room started to fade. There was a terrifying moment of blackness where I could feel and hear and see nothing and it felt like I was alone in a void between the worlds. But before panic could set in, the light returned and I found myself standing at my front door and looking down at Nate's car.

Aine let go of my hand and wrapped me in a gentle hug. "Goodbye for now, little sister. It made me happy to get to know you. You will always have a home with us if you ever choose to return."

Tears welled in my eyes as I hugged her back. I'd never been so happy to see my front door, but I'd only just discovered my new family and it felt like I'd lose that part of me when Aine left. "I'm glad I got to know you too. Thank you for everything you did for me."

She pulled back and her expression grew serious. "Sara, do not forget what I told you about demons and our kind. I fear there are many who will not be happy to learn of your existence. I have done what I could over the years to keep you safe, hiding you from those who sought you. Go to your Mohiri family because you will not be safe on your own. I will find you and visit you no matter where you go."

Her words made me remember what David had said about how someone had wiped out all documents and trails that would lead to me and Nate, making it impossible to find me. All this time, Aine had been watching out for me and I had no idea.

"Stay safe, little sister."

"I will. Thank you Aine, for everything."

Aine's only reply was a small smile before she quickly faded from sight. I found myself alone, barefoot, and shivering in a thin dress meant for the perfect warm, sunny days in Faerie. It was colder here than I remembered but, despite my discomfort, I took a long moment to look around at the place I never thought I'd see again when I drove away from here a few days ago. I was home.

# Chapter 22

I dabbed at my eyes and reached for the door knob, barely able to control my excitement. I couldn't wait to see Nate again. Between my revelations, his kidnapping and then me going missing, the last few days had to have been pretty awful for him. I had miraculously been given a second chance and I was going to use that to make things right with him. Starting now.

I tried the door but it was locked of course and my keys were probably at the bottom of the ocean. _So much for a grand entrance_. Wearing a sheepish smile, I rang the doorbell.

It took a minute for Nate to reach the door. I heard the deadbolt move and my stomach fluttered nervously as the door opened.

"You're early. I wasn't expecting you until –"

Nate's mouth fell open and his hand flew to his chest as he stared up at me like I was an apparition. It occurred to me that dressed as I was, barefoot in this flimsy dress, I probably looked like one.

"Sara?" he whispered hoarsely.

The words I had planned to say could not get past the lump in my throat and I threw myself at him, almost knocking him out of his chair. His body was stiff and I wasn't sure if it was because he was shocked to see me or because I was actually hugging him. But then his arms went around me and he held me so tightly I thought my ribs would crack.

After the longest hug of my life, he held me away from him so he could look at me and I saw that his face was haggard. Wonder shone in his eyes. "Jesus – it's really you!"

I nodded and gave him a teary smile.

His hands dropped to his lap. "I-I can't believe it."

"Nate, I'm so sorry," I blurted before he could say anything else. "For the lies and keeping everything from you – and for what happened to you." I knelt in front of his chair and searched his face for some sign he might be willing to forgive me. "I know I screwed up but I promise no more secrets. And I have so much to tell you."

"Sara, where the hell have you been?" he demanded and the anguish in his voice spoke of the hell I'd put him through.

God, how did I tell him exactly where I'd been? I tried to start slowly. "I was hurt and someone took me home with them to help me get better. I know you've probably been worried sick the last few days and I swear I would have let you know where I was, but I was pretty out of it."

"The last few days?" Nate echoed incredulously. "You've been gone three damn weeks."

"What?" I said dumbly.

"We thought you were dead. They searched the water for days and they couldn't find your..." His voice broke and I saw the pain and grief he had suffered. "We–we had a memorial service last week."

It was a good thing I was already on my knees because my legs wouldn't have been able to support me at that moment. Three weeks – how was that possible? Was I unconscious that whole time or was it true that time moved differently in Faerie?

And all that time Nate thought I was dead.

"Oh God, Nate, I didn't know, I swear." My eyes pleaded with him to believe me. "I've made a horrible mess of everything, but I would never hurt you that way."

He closed his eyes and let out a long shaky breath. "I'm afraid that I'll open my eyes and find out you're not really here."

I took both his hands in mine. "I'm here, Nate."

His eyes brimmed with tears when he opened them again. "Jesus, I need a drink. And then you are going to tell me everything."

I got up to shut the door and followed him into the kitchen. It was strange how everything seemed so familiar yet so different at the same time. The kitchen looked exactly as it had the last time I stood in it. I glanced at the phone and remembered pleading with Haism to not hurt Nate. So much had happened since that call but it was not our home that had changed, it was me. I was not the same person who walked out of here that day. That girl had spent her life afraid and haunted by her past, unable to move past it and pushing everyone away, afraid of being hurt again. The girl who had returned in her place was no longer chained to the pain in her past. She was uncertain about her future but she was also braver, stronger and she would never let anything come between her and those she loved again.

Nate reached into a bottom cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker. He laid the bottle in his lap then grabbed two small glasses from the rack on the counter and rolled to the table. "Sit," he ordered, pouring scotch into both glasses.

I took the chair across from him and he slid one of the glasses toward me. "You're giving me a drink?"

He shrugged and took a long drink from his glass then refilled it. I'd never seen him consume more than one drink at a time.

Never one to drink much myself, I picked up my glass and took a cautious sip. I sputtered as the liquor burned my tongue and seared a trail down my throat. It hit my stomach and a warm, pleasant feeling spread through me. I took another sip for courage then laid the glass on the table.

"How much do you know about what happened that day?"

Nate set his own glass down and I saw the bleakness on his face again as he remembered. "I know that man, Haism, took you down to the cliffs to turn you over to the vampires and they killed him. Then your Mohiri friends and the werewolves showed up and there was a fight. They told me you killed a vampire. Then one of the other vampires threw a knife at you and you fell off the cliff. Nikolas went into the water after you but you were nowhere to be found."

It was surreal to hear Nate talking so easily about vampires, werewolves and Mohiri. The last time I saw him he was still in shock from the things I'd revealed to him. It looked like I wasn't the only one who had changed.

"You met Nikolas?"

"He showed up here minutes after that man brought me home. I told him what I knew and he took off looking for you. He's come by a few times since you... disappeared. He was sure you were still alive and he refused to go to the service. I asked how he knew but he would not say. I'll say one thing, he doesn't give up easily." Nate gave me a questioning look. "Were you and he...?"

I choked as scotch went down the wrong way. "No. That's just how he is. He's pretty intense."

Nate did not look convinced but he didn't push it. "So what happened? Where were you?"

I told him everything that went down from the moment we parted on the street in front of the empty building. I had intended to spare him some of the harsher details but I found myself pouring it all out to him as if I'd opened a dam that couldn't be closed. When I got to the part about my dad, I choked but I forced myself to keep talking. Nate's eyes reflected my own horror when he heard how Eli had revealed that he had killed my dad and meant to take me as well.

"I killed him." The fierceness in my voice startled Nate. He didn't speak but his hand crept across the table to cover one of mine. I went on to tell him about falling into the water and dreaming of my dad then waking up in the room with Aine. His face registered his shock when I explained what Aine was and exactly where I'd been. Then I told him what Aine had revealed to me about my dad's – and Nate's – side of the family and what I had inherited from our undine ancestor. Aine had told me to be careful but she didn't say I couldn't tell anyone what I was. Not that I would have kept it from Nate. I was done hiding things from him.

Nate was on his third glass of scotch by the time I got to Aine bringing me home. I swirled the liquid in my own glass while I waited for him to speak.

He inhaled deeply. "I honestly don't know what to say."

"But you believe me?"

"Yes."

My body sagged in relief. "You're taking all of this a lot better than last time."

He set down his empty glass. "Well a lot has happened since then and I've had some time to come to grips with it all." He eyed the glass in front of me. "Are you going to drink that?"

I slid the glass across the table to him. "Are you trying to get drunk?"

He gave me a lopsided smile. "No, but this is a special occasion. It's not every day your niece comes back from the dead."

"I guess not." I watched the emotions play across his face: relief, joy, awe as color filled his pale cheeks again.

"This is going to be quite the shock for everyone," he mused out loud. "You've been gone so long and we obviously can't tell people you've spent the last three weeks in Faerie land."

"We can't tell anyone. I mean we have to tell Roland and Peter and the rest of the pack. And the Mohiri too, though I have no idea how to contact them since I lost my phone. But we can't tell anyone else. Eli's master is looking for Madeline's daughter and if he finds out I'm still alive he'll come after us again. I'm sure the Mohiri are looking for him and if anyone can find him they can. We can't let anyone know I'm back until they take care of him."

Nate frowned unhappily but he nodded. Neither of us wanted to risk another attack. I hated putting him in this spot but what other choice did I have?

I stared nervously at the phone. "I need to let Roland and Peter know I'm back but I have no idea what to say to them."

"Do you want me to call them?" I nodded and he wheeled to the counter and picked up the phone. "I'll be in the living room. This is going to be one hell of a call."

Sitting alone in the kitchen, I listened to the murmurs from the other room and tried to imagine Roland's reaction, the look on his face at that moment. I'd freak out if I thought he was dead and then he showed up out of the blue. Even for supes, coming back from the dead was a big deal.

I laid my head down on my arms and wondered what the heck I was going to do now. I'd missed almost a month of school – though it wasn't like I could go back while pretending to be dead. A teenager who falls off a cliff and supposedly drowns and then shows up alive and well weeks later would draw a lot of media attention. I couldn't stay cooped up in the apartment either because I'd go insane in a few days. There weren't a lot of options available. I could leave New Hastings and find some small out of the way place where no one would think to look for me but a teenager on her own would raise eyebrows. Or I could try to contact the Mohiri. Before I'd disappeared, I'd already agreed to go stay with them for a while. I wondered where Nikolas was now. _Probably off rescuing some other unfortunate orphan,_ I thought with a sad smile. Although after the trouble I put him through I wouldn't be surprised if he'd washed his hands of that occupation for good. What would he say when he found out I was back? Would he come for me or send someone else to deal with me this time?

I raised my head when I heard Nate by the kitchen door. "How did he take –?"

My eyes fell on the man standing frozen before me, his dark gaze burning into mine. "Nikolas," I breathed, stunned by his sudden appearance. How had he known?

My breath caught at the play of emotions across his face: despair, anger, joy and something deeper that wrenched my heart and was gone before I could name it. His body was rigid as he filled the small doorway, looking like he couldn't decide whether to yell at me or hug me. It shook me a little to discover how happy I was to see him. Ever since I woke up in Faerie, I had felt sort of adrift between the two worlds. Seeing him was like finding an anchor to hold me in this one.

"Where were you?" he asked harshly and in those three words I heard pent up frustration, relief and a strong dose of anger.

"Don't look at me like that." I wrapped my arms around me, thinking that at least some things hadn't changed. "It's not like I stabbed myself and jumped off the damn cliff!"

His eyes widened at my outburst and to my mortification, my own filled up with tears. Before I could move, he was in front of me, and I sniffed as he knelt and lifted my chin so I was forced to look at him. The tenderness and regret in his eyes were my undoing. I began to cry in earnest and I was unable to protest when he pulled me against his chest and held me while my body shook and my tears soaked his shirt. I wanted to tell him he could let me go, that I was okay, but I found myself reluctant to leave the warm comfort of his arms even after the tears subsided.

" _Pozhaluysta, prosti menya._ I promised to keep you safe and I didn't," he said thickly against my hair. "I'm sorry."

"No." I made myself pull away from him. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, Eli would have..."

He flinched. "Don't think about that." He stared at me like he still could not believe I was there. "We've been searching that area ever since you disappeared. Where were you?"

"Seelie."

"Come again."

"Turns out I have friends there." I gave a watery smile at his puzzled expression. "It's kind of complicated."

Nikolas ran a hand through his dark hair. "Why does that not surprise me?" He pulled out the chair behind him and sat in front of me, almost close enough for our knees to touch. Warmth spread through my belly and I tried to shake it off. My emotions were pretty high right now and the last thing I needed was to add to them.

Crossing his arms, he watched me expectantly. "Well, let's have it. I'm dying to know how a Mori demon ends up in a world where no demon would dare to tread."

"Well, it all started the day I met a sylph... actually no, it started before that with my great, great, great, great grandmother."

He quirked an eyebrow impatiently and I scowled at him. "Look, I told you it was complicated."

His sigh was barely audible. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

The apology was so surprising, so out of character for Nikolas that I forgot what I was talking about and it took me a moment to remember. I told him everything I'd told Nate about Aine and what I had learned about my undine ancestor. To give him credit, his face betrayed no reaction as I revealed my unique heritage. I ended by repeating Aine's warning to be careful because there were some who would not be happy about my existence.

"You didn't tell me that part," admonished Nate who had come in halfway through my story. "Does this mean you're in more danger?"

"No," Nikolas told him decisively. "Because we will keep her safe this time."

Nate visibly relaxed. "So she's safe here?"

Nikolas faced Nate. "I have not lied to you since we met and I won't start now. Until we track down Eli's master, Sara is not safe anywhere except with the Mohiri." Nate started to speak and Nicolas said, "I know you don't know much about us but Sara has family among the Mohiri and they would never harm her. And you would be welcome there as well."

"Really?" I asked. If Nate could come with me, going to live with the Mohiri might not be so bad.

Nate shook his head. "Thank you, that is very generous, but I can't just pick up and leave. I have a new book coming out and a book tour to plan. And truthfully, I don't think I would be comfortable living among people who all look like twenty year olds."

My heart sank. "But you could be in danger if the vampires come back."

"Everyone – including the vampires – thinks you are dead," Nate pointed out. "If they were coming back, they would have done it by now."

"He's right," Nikolas said. "As long as we get you out of here before anyone discovers the truth, Nate should be safe."

I looked at Nate. "But I just got back. I don't want to leave you."

Nate gave me a reassuring smile. "I don't want you to go but I would feel better knowing you are safe. And it's not like we can't talk on the phone whenever you want. I'll even come for Christmas if the Mohiri celebrate it."

"We do, and Thanksgiving too," Nikolas informed us. He shook his head at my look of surprise. "We are not as different as you think we are."

I stared at my clenched hands but they held no answers for me. After everything we'd been through, I didn't want to leave Nate, but if I stayed here I risked putting his life in danger again. He had already been kidnapped and almost killed by someone trying to get to me. My decision had to be about his safety as much as it was about mine and the weight of it rested heavily on my shoulders.

I'd gotten what I wanted: the truth behind my dad's murder and the vampire who had killed him was dead. But looking back at all the terrible things that had happened directly or indirectly because of my selfish crusade made my skin prickle with self loathing. I pushed my chair back and stood, avoiding their eyes. Neither of them spoke as I went to the sink and stared out the window at the bay. I loved this view as much as I loved our apartment. I always knew one day I'd have to leave here to go to college but that seemed so far away. Now my chest ached at the thought of leaving it all behind, of the prospect of never seeing it again. But I would do anything to never again put Nate through the hell he had suffered.

My hands gripped the edge of the countertop as I made the only choice I could.

"I can't believe you're really leaving."

I set my bag down next to the suitcases and boxes cluttering the hallway near the front door. Forcing a smile, I turned to face Roland who had barely left my side since he and Peter burst into the apartment yesterday, fifteen minutes after Nate's call. My ribs still ached from their crushing hugs, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.

We had spent the first hour of our reunion crowded together on the couch while I retold the story of that day on the cliff and my incredible journey after I fell from the cliff. Then I listened while they told me how the events of that day had unfolded for them. As soon as Maxwell had hung up from his call with Nikolas, he had organized the pack to scour the town for my scent. It was actually Francis who had picked up my trail and found Tarek's body – or what the vampires had left of it – near the car. Francis, Maxwell, Brendan, Roland, and Peter had followed the trail to the cliff where they found Nikolas in a standoff with Eli and his coven. When I fell, the wolves and Chris took down the remaining vampires and made sure none escaped, while Nikolas dove straight off the cliff after me. When I heard that, I looked at Nikolas who stood, staring out the living room window like he was watching for danger. As if he felt my eyes on him, he'd turned his head and met my gaze briefly before turning back to the window.

Everyone grew somber when Nate, Roland, and Peter told me about my memorial service and how many people had crowded the small church beside the school. The entire pack had come along with most of the school, and it was eerie and surreal hearing about the eulogies given by some of my classmates who I hadn't even taken the time to get to know as well as I should have. Roland told me that Greg drove up from Philly for the service, and he had never seen my tough friend looking so heartbroken.

Nikolas took one look at my face and said it was too dangerous to let anyone else know I was alive. I told him I would not let Greg think I was dead and that was that. In the end we made a compromise. I would not contact Greg until I was safely ensconced at the Mohiri stronghold.

That turned the conversation to me leaving and Roland and Peter's joy over my return from the dead dimmed when I told them where I was going. Well not where exactly, since I still didn't know where the Mohiri lived, but that I was going to live with Nikolas's people for a while. My friends spent another hour trying to talk me out of leaving, insisting that the werewolves would protect me and Nate. But the memory of Roland almost dying and the fear on Nate's face when Haism took us scared me too much to take a chance of it happening again.

"I want to go," I lied. "Nikolas says they can train me and teach me to defend myself." At least that was one thing I could look forward to. It would be nice to not have to depend on someone else for protection.

"But how long will you be gone? And how will we know if you're doing okay?" Peter asked.

I laughed as I walked back up to my room to grab my laptop bag and backpack. "Guys, I'm not moving to the Antarctic." At least I hoped not. "They have phones and computers. We'll talk so much you'll be sick of me."

"That's not the same," Roland protested, following me. "We were all supposed to go to prom together, remember."

"I know." I looked around my bedroom at the bare walls and found it suddenly hard to swallow. Once I'd made up my mind to leave, I had started packing before I could change my mind. Roland and Peter had insisted on staying overnight and between the three of us, my room had been stripped bare of everything that made it mine. Now all my belongings were crammed into boxes or suitcases or sitting in piles waiting to be packed and sent on to me later.

The old couch looked lonely without the books that usually littered it. Now Oscar and Daisy lay on it watching me with sad eyes as if they knew I was leaving. It hurt to think of leaving them behind, but I had no idea where I was going. It wouldn't be fair to them to uproot them. I knew Daisy was content here with Nate, but Oscar would miss me. Hopefully, once I was settled in my new home I could send for him.

I'd gone up to the roof a few times to call to Harper but there was no sign of the crow and I hated to leave without saying goodbye to him. He wouldn't understand what had happened or why I'd left him. I'd left a window open up here all night and this morning in the hope that he might show. I wished I could wait until he came back, but it might be days before he put in another appearance. I was gone so long he might have given up on me and never return.

Even the imps were quiet and strangely absent and I found myself missing their shuffling and chattering behind the attic wall. I couldn't believe I was going to miss those thieving little fiends.

There was one big part of my life that I could not give a proper goodbye to and every time I thought about it my heart ached. I knew Remy was forbidden to see me but leaving without seeing him one last time left a little hole inside me. I wanted to go to the cliff in the hopes that he might come out or even to leave him a message in the cave in case he ever went back there, but Nikolas said it was too dangerous and everyone else agreed with him. Roland paled at just the mention of it. The only one not uncomfortable going back to the place where I had almost died was me.

"It's time."

The three of us turned to Nikolas who stood at the top of the stairs. He had insisted on staying here as well so our normally roomy apartment felt pretty crowded last night. Roland and Peter were not happy about it but Nikolas had left us alone for the most part, letting us have our last night together. I'd barely seen him today because he'd spent most of it outside on his phone – most likely making arrangements for the pickup. I didn't expect him back so soon and my heart began to race. _I can't do this!_

Nikolas must have seen my panic. "I'll bring your bags out. Take all the time you need."

I nodded stiffly. As soon as he left, I turned to Roland and he wrapped me in another suffocating embrace, probably trying to make up for all the years I had refused to be hugged. I was still trying to catch my breath from that when Peter pulled me in for his hug. None of us spoke because we were too afraid of the tears that would follow. _This is not good-bye_ , I reminded myself as I pulled away from them and turned toward the stairs.

There was one thing left to do and I dreaded it more than anything else. I put on a brave face and went downstairs to Nate's office where he sat behind his computer pretending to work. The silence from his keyboard betrayed him and when he looked up I saw that his eyes were a little red. We had spent a couple of hours together earlier this morning and I thought it would be enough to say our goodbyes but looking at him now, I knew it would never be enough for either of us.

"It's almost time to go."

He sighed. "I know." He wheeled around the desk and before he even brought the chair to a stop I wrapped my arms around his neck. "I love you, Nate."

"I love you too." He held me while I cried and then while I composed myself enough to pull away. Then he took my hands in his. "Nothing we say is going to make this easier for either of us. I just want you to know how proud I am of you and how proud your father would be if he was here. You've been through things that would break a grown man and I know that wherever you go, you'll be okay. If I didn't believe that, I couldn't let you go."

I cleared my throat. "And you will take the Ptellon nectar like I told you, three drops every month." Nate had not reacted well when I called the vial of dark red liquid _Ptellon blood_ and it took some convincing to make him believe it really was just nectar.

"I won't forget."

"I'll call you as soon as I get there. And you promise to come for Christmas."

"Nothing could keep me away."

"I'm gonna hold you to that." I refused to say goodbye so I said, "I'll see you soon."

Roland and Peter walked me down to the black SUV parked beside Nate's car. Behind the SUV was a white van loaded with my possessions. Two Mohiri I recognized from Portland stood beside the van talking to Nikolas and I saw Chris leaning against the driver's door of the SUV.

I turned to give my friends one last hug when I heard a loud caw and the rustle of wings overhead. "What the hell...?" Chris uttered and the four Mohiri instantly went on alert as a large black bird zoomed toward me. I saw a flash of silver in Nikolas's hand and knew he had a weapon ready to handle the new threat.

"Stop!" I ordered loudly as I extended my arm to Harper who landed easily and cocked his head at me like he was waiting for me to explain myself. I brought him close to my chest and stroked his head.

"Um, Sara?" Roland called from a safe distance. "Why are you cuddling a crow? Are you some kind of bird whisperer too?"

With everything that was going on, it felt good to smile. "You remember the crow I saved from Scott and his friends back in third grade? This is him." I held the crow away from me. "Harper, these are my friends."

The crow blinked and regarded Roland and Peter with intelligent black eyes that made the boys shift nervously. "He looks like he's thinking about pecking my eyeballs out," Peter muttered, taking another step back.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's just curious because I've never introduced him to people before."

Someone cleared their throat behind me and I turned to Nikolas and Chris who watched me with cool appraisal. If they had been surprised by Harper, they certainly hid it well.

"What do you plan to do with that thing?" Chris asked in a tone that said he was not happy about the idea of sharing a car with a crow.

"Harper just came to say goodbye." As soon as the words were out, a lump formed in my throat. "Excuse me," I managed to say before I walked a dozen yards away to make my farewell to my old friend.

"I have to go away for a while," I explained as he stared at me intently. "You be careful and don't go too far into the woods where the hunters will get you. And watch the cars on the road. I know you and your friends act like road kill is an all you can eat buffet, but don't be stupid about it, alright?"

He shifted restlessly and I stroked the back of his head, knowing this could be the last time I ever saw him. My future was so uncertain and there were lots of dangers to a wild bird, even one as smart as Harper.

Never one to stay still for long, Harper lifted his wings preparing to take off. "I'll miss you," I said to him before he left my hand and circled me twice before flying away. I watched him until he disappeared from sight, then I walked resolutely back to the waiting vehicles.

Ignoring all the stares, I hugged Roland and Peter and told them I'd call as soon as I got wherever I was going. Then I got into the back of the SUV. The windows were tinted and I felt invisible to the rest of the world and more alone than I had ever been. I shivered and pulled my small coat tighter around me.

The front doors opened and Nikolas and Chris climbed in. "Okay, that was one for the books," Chris declared as he started the car. His eyes twinkled when they met mine in the rearview mirror. "All set?"

"As much as I ever will be."

Nikolas turned in his seat to look at me. "Are you alright?"

Was I? I was heading off to God knows where to live with strangers. My future was uncertain, a vampire Master wanted me dead, and I was leaving everyone I knew. But the way Nikolas looked at me reminded me of that night in the alley when he silently assured me that I was not alone. There was something between us I couldn't define, but I'd felt it when I thought I was dying and the moment I saw him standing in the kitchen doorway yesterday. It was more than a truce; it was like we were connected somehow after everything we'd been through together. Whatever it was and whatever was waiting for me, I knew I could trust him to be there with me like he had been through all of this. Maybe we could even be friends. Stranger things had happened.

I gave him a small smile. "No, but I will be."

**~** The End **~**

_Refuge,_ Book 2 of the Relentless series, is available at your favorite retailer.

Learn more at the author's website, or go here to sign up for her mailing list.

# HIDDEN BLADE

### Soul Eater #1

**_" They call me devil, liar, thief. In whispers, they call me Soul Eater. They're right. I'm all those things—and more."_**

Kicked out of the underworld and cursed to walk this earth for all eternity, Ace Dante finds solace in helping others avoid the wrath of the gods.

But when warrior-bitch, Queen of Cats, and Ace's ex-wife, Bastet, hires him to stop whoever is slaughtering her blessed women, Ace is caught between two of the most powerful deities to have ever existed: Isis and Osiris.

The once-revered gods aren't dead.

They're back.

And Ace is in their way.

Welcome to a New York where the ancient gods roam.

# Chapter One

_Gods. They're a pain in my ass,_ I thought as my cell phone chirped in my pocket, alerting the four college kids inside the apartment that I was crouched on their balcony, watching them summon gods knew what from the underworld. It had to be a god calling me—too many millennia had given them the worst sense of timing.

The kids spotted me through the glass and bolted, falling over their array of ritual paraphernalia. If they scattered out of the apartment, it'd make scaring the shit out of them a whole lot harder.

I kicked the balcony door in, whipped my sawed-off shotgun free of its holster, and fired at their exit, peppering the door with lead. The kids yanked up short and whirled.

"Oh shit—oh shit—oh shit, we didn't know, man!" Hands up, they wailed in one long tirade. "We weren't doin' anythin'. Don't shoot us."

On and on their whining went, and on and on my cell tinkled, vibrating against my leg. Ignoring it all, I came to a stop at the edge of the elaborate summoning circle. A candle had toppled over, spilling wax across a papyrus scroll. The little flame licked at the scroll's upturned edge but didn't catch. Switching the shotgun to my left hand, I crouched, righted the candle, and flicked the papyrus around. I scanned the hieroglyphs scrawled from edge to edge. The penmanship was superb, more art than writing. Swirls and pen strokes danced beautifully, almost as though they were alive. Whoever had written this knew how to craft the ancient words in powerful and mostly forgotten ways. A sorcerer. A sinking sense of dread darkened my already somber mood.

"It's him," one of the kids hissed. "I told you... I told you he was following us. You didn't fuckin' listen, Jase."

"Shut up. Just shut up!" Jase snarled back, and then to me, he sniveled, "We were just messin' around."

Puffing out a sigh, I pinched the papyrus by its edges. The spellwork it contained was authentic. Kids these days. They had no fear and no clue. The spell nipped at my fingertips, trying to escape its bonds. I dangled it over the naked candle flame. A ripple of fire raced up the paper; fire liked volatile spells, especially those sanctioned by the underworld.

"He's gonna kill us," Jase whispered.

I snapped my gaze up. I could do worse than kill them. It had been a while since I'd indulged, but I could make an exception for spoiled, rich kids with too much time on their hands, especially since that one—Jase—and I already had a chat some weeks ago when I'd found him buying canopic jars.

He gulped loudly and made a brave attempt at staring back at me before dropping his eyes. Few could look me in the eye for long.

Finally, my cell stopped its incessant ringing and the quiet settled. Too quiet. New York didn't do quiet. I should have been hearing the endless whine of sirens or the bark of car horns. _I'm too late._

I straightened. "What happened to kids screwing around with Ouija boards? This here"—I flicked a hand at the well-crafted summoning circle—"this will get you killed."

"It's just some ancient Egyptian stuff."

My lips twitched dangerously close to a smile. Holstering the shotgun inside my coat, I reached behind my shoulder and curled my fingers around Alysdair's grip. The sword slid free from its leather scabbard with a satisfying gasp. There was something to be said for a two-handed sword, particularly the kind etched with spellwork exactly like that found on the scroll I'd just burned. Alysdair sang with magic. These kids wouldn't hear or feel it, but it wasn't meant for them. Strictly speaking, it wasn't meant for this world either—a little like me.

"Shit, man! You can't fuckin' do this!" They all started up again, bleating like penned sheep, all but one. The quiet one hadn't said a word since I'd kicked in the door and was doing a fantastic job of trying real hard to keep me from noticing him.

"C'mon, you're the Nameless One, right? The coat, the sword?" Jase spluttered, hope gushing through his words. "You're s'posed to be good."

I wasn't sure what surprised me more: the fact he'd heard of the Nameless One, or that these dumbass kids thought I was good.

"The Nameless One is an urban legend."

Pointing the sword tip at the floor, I scanned the apartment. The door was ten paces away; the balcony was closer. Two possible exits and I was in the middle, positioned exactly where I wanted to be.

"Besides," I drawled, "if he was real, you really wouldn't want him saving you."

Any hope of saving these kids had fled long before I arrived. The spellwork, the papyrus—heavy magic came at a high price. My job now was to contain the fallout.

My cell buzzed. "Poison" by Alice Cooper started playing from my pocket.

Quiet Guy kicked the glass coffee table, sending jagged pieces of glass raining over me. I flung up an arm too late to stop the shards from biting into my cheek. It only took a second, but the distraction lasted long enough for the summoned demon residing in Quiet Guy to snatch up a blade of glass and plunge it into his pal's neck. Things got messy real fast after that.

A hail of screams erupted. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the kid dropped. The demon inside Quiet Guy let out a triumphant howl, and the two remaining kids did the only sensible thing: they bolted out the door.

I lunged at the demon, Alysdair aglow, but being free, probably for the first time in its long life, the demon wasn't about to let the sight of Alysdair frighten it. Scuttling back—its movements broken and twitchy inside its human host—the demon clawed its way up the wall and onto the ceiling. Its human mouth split impossibly wide, and a long, whip-like black tongue lashed out.

It expected me to fall back. Those tongues were barbed. Any sane person would have run out the door with the kids, but I snatched the tongue out of the air, flicked it around my wrist, and yanked. I wasn't _any_ sane person. Technically, I wasn't a person.

The demon heaved back, jerking me forward.

Wrestling with a demon's tongue wasn't how I'd expected this evening to go.

"Give up now—" I started, but the tongue knotted back on itself, reeling me closer. "And I'll let you live."

My boots slipped. Tighter and tighter the tongue coiled up my forearm, bicep, and shoulder, until the demon had me dangling, my boot toes scuffing the floor.

The demon chuckled, the sound of it like metal grinding against metal—an abhorrent, not-of-this-world sound that set my teeth on edge.

"Lost your bite... Namelesssss One..." it hissed around its tongue, outside my mind as well as burrowing the words deep inside my thoughts.

"I know a girl like you." I tightened my dangling grip on Alysdair. "All tongue."

The demon had begun distorting its victim's body. The face was swollen and flushed purple, as though Quiet Guy had been run through a trash compactor. The eyes, so fragile, had been one of the first things to go. They had turned to mush and were dribbling from their sockets. Crimson flames danced inside the dark, hollow sockets, seemingly deeper than a human skull could account for, as if reaching right into the soul. The eyes really were the windows to the soul, and Quiet Guy's was no longer home. Soon, there would be little left of the kid. Once that happened, the demon would become virtually unstoppable and the no-bullshit New Yorkers would have more to worry about than the alligators in the sewers, like the type of problem that ate small children and used their bones to pave the way for more of its ilk.

"Don't get me wrong," I pushed the words through my teeth, "there's a lot the right girl can do with her tongue, but my friend's is as sharp as a dagger and cuts like one too."

"Join me... Soul Eater...you were powerful once...could be again..."

I pretended to think about it while locking eyes with those glowing red coals. The deeper I looked, the deeper the creature's needs and desires clawed into my mind. There was no light in this one, only poisonous, devouring darkness.

"I don't do demon."

I heaved the sword around and thrust it upright, sinking it deep into the demon's gut. The demon screamed the way only otherworldly creatures could, as though the sword had cleaved its soul in two. I drove Alysdair right up to its damn hilt. A familiar spell pushed from my lips, which would have been the perfect end to this little dance had the demon's tongue not unraveled and dropped me like a stone. I fell, dragging Alysdair down with me, and landed in a crouch.

The demon scuttled along the ceiling, down the wall, and out the door, leaving a trail of bubbling blood behind it.

I spat a curse and dashed after it, my ringtone still belting out Alice Cooper and how his girl's lips were venomous poison.

# Chapter Two

Body number two lay sprawled in the stairwell, neck broken. I stepped over the corpse and jogged up the stairs, following the splatters of blood toward the roof. The demon would eventually kill the third kid too; they always killed their summoners—the people who potentially had power over them.

Shoving through a door, the stairwell spat me out into a biting winter wind. Snow swirled and patted against my face, softening the sounds of New York's usual din of traffic.

Alysdair in hand, hieroglyphs glowing pale green along her blade, I stepped into a few inches of snow cover and bounced my gaze around the rooftop's clutter. Storage boxes, an elevator motor enclosure, some other jagged shapes silhouetted against the glistening skyline, but no obvious demons. Beyond the roof, a high-rise loomed, its windows aglow. With the gunshot and the bodies, someone would call the cops and soon. I had to get this done fast, before the demon sprouted wings.

"I've reconsidered," I called out, following the trail of blood. My boots crunched in the snow, so there was no use in trying to move quietly. "You and me, I can make that work."

The grinding laughter returned, but the wind gathered it up and tossed it around the rooftop. "You are weak..."

"Says the demon with a hole in its gut," I muttered. "You're going to die here, you must know that."

The demon could shift its shape and escape. Given enough time, it could hole up somewhere and lick its wounds. I couldn't let that happen. A demon loose in a city like New York would be a public relations nightmare. Naturally, it would be my fault. Most screwups were, if you asked the gods.

"You are not free to make a deal, Nameless One."

"How's that?" I inched up against the elevator enclosure and eyed the trail of blood leading out of sight around the corner.

"Your soul is owned by another." The words tumbled through the air, but their source was close. "I tasted _him_ on you."

I winced. That truth cut too close to the bone for comfort. If word got out I was Ozzy's bitch, nobody would hire me. Shit, nobody would come within ten feet of me. If the demon didn't have to die before, it did now.

Enough talk. Talking with demons—and listening to them—was a surefire way of getting your mind devoured. This one had spent long enough probing my thoughts to pick up on my fears. They were good at that—planting seeds that would later grow into toxic doubts until you fancied yourself a long walk off a short balcony. I hadn't dealt with a demon of this caliber in a while; clearly, I was rusty.

"Slippery things, souls." I lifted Alysdair and wrapped both hands around her handle, letting the sword pull on my magical reserves. "They're surprisingly easy to lose and damned difficult to get back."

I lunged around the corner and got a face full of contorted demon chest. Alysdair plunged through cleanly, slicing deeper than the metal alone would have allowed for, and sank into that fetid thing inside—its soul. A flicker snagged at my resolve—a twitch from my past, of how good it would be to drink its soul down. It _had_ been a long time, but this was Alysdair's moment to shine, not mine. A soul that black, I didn't need the weight.

The demon let out its ear-piercing screech. Its claws raked at my sword arm to cut off the source of its agony, but its red-eyed glow was fading as Alysdair fed. The sword sang in my grip until the deed was done, and the demon collapsed into a pile of loose skin and putrid flesh.

The after buzz tapped at the part of my mind that went to deeper, darker things every time Alysdair got her kick and I didn't—the _what-ifs_ and _just-a-little-bits._ With a growl, I staggered back, grateful the snow was swirling faster now and covering up the grisly evidence.

"Poison" blared again from my pocket.

"For Sekhmet's sake!" I wiped Alysdair clean on my duster coat and drove her home inside her sheathe, snug between my shoulder blades. Then I snatched the cell from my pocket. "Shu, by the gods, this had better be good or I will come back there and shove your little statue of Ra up your—"

"Ace."

Gods be damned, I'd worked with Shukra long enough to recognize that arctic tone in her voice. "That's my name, peaches. Don't wear it out."

Sirens wailed nearby—too nearby. I strode to the edge of the roof and didn't need to look far to see the blue and white lights bathing the walls of the opposite building. It was too late to clean up the mess.

"There's a goddess in your office. I suggest you don't make her wait."

The line went dead.

A goddess in my office? That didn't narrow it down. There were more goddesses topside than you could shake a crook and flail at. Time to make a quick exit and leave the cops with more questions than they had any hope of answering. I tucked my cell away. I broke into a jog, the rooftop's edge approaching fast. I picked up speed, wondered too late if the gap between the buildings might be wider than I'd guesstimated, and leaped into the dark.

Ignoring gods didn't make them go away. I'd tried. But that didn't mean I couldn't eek out some pleasure by making the bitch wait. I _was_ on my way to my office, but I just happened to drop by Toni's bar and order a few shots first. Antonio was more than eager to oblige, and I figured I owed it to Toni to prop the bar up like I did most nights after a job, especially when the job flirted with the kind of illicit desires that had gotten me thrown out of the underworld— or _Duat,_ to give the place it's proper name.

Toni drifted over, saluting me with the bottle of whatever he'd been serving me—something syrupy and potent. I placed my hand over the glass and shook my head. The idea was to arrive late, not drunk, although the thought of seeing the look on Shu's face did appeal to me. She wasn't immune to angry gods quite like I was. A minor god had once gotten the wrong idea about Shu and me and figured he could get to me by hurting her. I didn't answer the ransom, and as soon as Shu got free, she ripped his insides out via his throat. Happy days.

"Ace, right?" a sweet voice asked, wrenching me out of my thoughts. "Hi, I'm Rosie. I work right across the street."

I looked at her and then at Antonio, who shrugged and left to tend to the rest of his flock, and finally at the door like I might be able to see the place she'd mentioned through it. "The accountants?"

"Yeah." She beamed, tucked her short blond hair behind her ear and leaned against the bar. "I...er... I've seen you around a few times, and..."

She was talking, and I probably should have been listening, but my mind was still going over that tick, that little hook that had dug itself in right when the demon had died, that little voice that said the demon's soul should have been mine. That voice was almost as old as I was. I thought I'd kicked it to the curb long ago.

Rosie's smooth hand touched my arm, startling me back into the bar. She smiled like she was waiting for me to say something. I had no idea what. She was looking for company, but if she knew what I was she'd run, screaming.

I tossed a few dollars on the bar and slipped off my stool. "I gotta get to work."

Sinking my hands into my jacket pockets, my fingers brushed a familiar gold band. I slipped the ring over my ring finger, pushed through the door, and ducked my head against the flurries of snow.

I'd made the goddess wait long enough.

# Chapter Three

Opening the door to the rented office space Shukra and I shared, I almost kicked a streak of black fur as it darted around my ankles and disappeared down the stairwell.

"Shu! Keep the damn door closed!" I slammed the door to drive my point home. "I hate cats."

A headache was trying to hammer its way out of my skull through my eyeballs, my cheek was throbbing—probably from the tiny bits of glass I couldn't pick out—and I was still sore over the new claw marks in my coat. The cherry on top of my fantastic night would be the goddess waiting behind my closed office door.

"Ace," Shu said as she strode down the hall, hips swaying hypnotically like a cobra in a pantsuit.

I'd once condemned her to Hell. Her soul was the blackest I'd ever seen. She should have been devoured, and yet here she was, a blight on my life, striding toward me like she owned the goddamn place. _Half_ owned it. My hatred for her burned as fiercely as it had on the day I'd weighed the light in her soul and found it lacking, and it was only matched by the vicious hatred she felt for me. We had that in common, at least.

"You're not gonna like it," she said, pulling up outside my office door. Her lips cut blood-red lines through her golden complexion. She still carried the darker skin tone of the east, even after all this time. She wore her oil-black hair up in a ponytail so tight it pulled her cheekbones up with it. I hadn't been lying about the woman with a tongue like a knife—or exaggerating. She had the kind of sultry good looks that lured men and women close so she could tear their hearts out and eat them while her victims died watching. Disgust and hatred had saved me that fate.

"When have I ever liked anything you've said?" I told her and reached for the office door.

"This one—"

"I've got this." I opened the door and my guts fell through the floor. My bravado, the thumping pain in my head, and the sickening sense that the world wasn't done screwing with me all came to a screeching halt. Never had a second dragged on for so long an eternity.

Goddess Bastet—Queen of Cats, Warrior Bitch, and my ex-wife—was sitting in my chair. She'd propped her boots, buckled up to the knee, on my desk and was plucking at her elaborately painted nails with my decorative letter opener. In her hands, that letter opener was a deadly weapon.

"Get out of my chair," I growled.

"Technically, the chair is half mine." She spoke slowly, leisurely, taking her time because she had immeasurable amounts of it.

"Take the chair and get out." I even stepped aside and held the door open for her like a gentleman.

Shu stood down the hallway, glaring daggers. "She's a client."

My headache was back and thumping down my neck. I should have stayed at Antonio's.

"Conflict of interest," I blurted, scrambling for any excuse to be done with this day, my ex-wife, and Shu's eternally pissed-off expression.

"You were always interested in conflict before." This came from the smooth lips of my ex-wife. She could sit there as calm and relaxed as she liked, but like any cat, she could go from tame to rabid if I glanced at her the wrong way.

Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose and counted to three—that was as far as I got before my chair creaked, drawing my eye back to Bast as she rose gracefully to her feet. She was tall and lean and had a powerful gait, like the top cat cruising her territory. That's what had first caught my eye; after a few hundred years, I'd been looking for a challenge and found it in her.

She wore some kind of belted waistcoat with an array of buckles and long fingerless gloves that ended at the elbow. Short black hair clung close to her cheeks, giving her a wild, foreboding flair, as though she'd sooner stab you as say hello. And yet her mouth was smooth, her lips soft, and her words like silk, and her touch...

I told myself I was looking for weapons when I roamed my gaze up her thighs and over her hips. I knew every inch of her and how she used it all.

"Shu," I cleared my throat, "give us a minute."

Shu was already halfway down the hall when she called back, "Anything gets broken, it comes out of your paycheck."

I closed the door and pressed my back against it. Bast had taken up a spot leaning against my desk. She'd set the letter opener down beside her, still within reach. I didn't actually think she'd go to all the trouble of hiring me only to stab me, but jilted women did crazy things. Jilted goddesses were damn right psychotic.

She blinked bottle-green, cat-like eyes and clasped her hands loosely in front of her.

"Do I talk first," I asked, "or should we wait for the tension to kill me?"

"Someone is killing my blessed. I want you to find out who."

"Someone is killing cats?"

"No." Her eyes narrowed. "Were you even paying attention when we were married?"

All gods had obsessions, little quirks to get them through millennia of endless boredom. Her _thing_ was cats. I'd once woken in her bed surrounded by hundreds of felines—or maybe it had been thirty. Thirty cats sure felt like a hundred when they were watching you sleep. She _was_ a cat—a big-ass jungle cat with claws like _janbiya_ daggers who liked to pretend she was a person, or maybe it was the other way around. The lines had blurred. A lot had blurred in twenty years. I couldn't be expected to remember everything a goddess chose to bless.

What the hell else could be blessed by Bastet? Warriors, swords, ninjas? "I have no idea."

"Pregnant women."

"Right. That. Of course. Pregnant women."

Her mouth curled at one side, tucking into her cheek. "You haven't changed."

I _had_ , just not recently. "Shu will look into it."

"No."

"Bast."

She lifted her head at my tone and fixed those penetrating green eyes on mine. I hesitated, my argument stalling. If I spent too long looking into her eyes, I'd see into her soul. I'd been down that road before. I no more wanted to see the truth than she wanted me to see it. Breaking the visual connection before the magic could take hold, I sauntered around my desk and dropped into my chair.

"My schedule is packed. I really don't have the time."

"I saw. You must be keeping Antonio busy."

She had been rooting through my desk. I made a mental note to yell at Shu later, not that she could have stopped a goddess from helping herself to my office, but I could still lay into my business partner. It would make me feel better.

"Bast, you and me...we've been there." I rummaged around my top drawer, trying to look busy. She might get the point and leave. "Let's not get tangled up again. Shu is better suited to—"

"Shukra is a condemned soul tied to you because Osiris has a twisted sense of humor." Bast planted her hands on my desktop and leaned in, driving her glare down on me. "I will not entrust the lives of my blessed to a foul being who should have been devoured centuries ago."

I couldn't argue with her words, or with the venom in them, but working with Bast on something like this? I already knew where it was headed. We'd end up fighting, which was never a pretty sight, the guilt would pile on, and there might even be some sex in there somewhere—angry sex, the toxic kind.

"You're wearing our wedding band?"

I looked at my hand, surprised to find the incriminating evidence right there on my finger. "I...er..."

Damn, she was scrutinizing me again with those cat eyes.

"You left me, remember?" Bast said.

I remembered precisely how her knee had found my balls.

"You want the ring back?" I gave the ring a twist, but it wasn't budging.

"No, I want your help." She straightened and seemed to grow three inches. When she spoke, her voice carried a compulsion—a decent one too and heavy enough to scratch at my mind. "Women in Queens are dying. Women blessed by me, in my territory. My chosen. This is personal, and I don't trust anyone else to do what needs to be done."

Trust. We'd trusted each other once. Funny how that worked. Gods didn't trust easily, and especially not other gods.

Her compulsion slid right off. She probably wasn't aware she'd cast it, seeing as trying to compel me to do anything was a waste of magic. The fact she had made that mistake told me how much this meant to her. She wouldn't have returned unless this was important. Her last words to me had been along the lines of, _"If I see you again in a thousand years, it'll be too soon."_

Twenty years was a blink to her. Maybe if I took the job and we stayed out of each other's way, I could get this done. Business was slow. The gods and their minions were unusually quiet. I needed the cash, needed this job, just not the baggage that came with it.

"You have to help, Ace." The softness in her voice did me in, and I was about to agree, when she added, "For our daughter."

"What?"

"I didn't tell you because—"

"Wait."

She waited. I opened my mouth, stalled, and closed my mouth.

"What?" I could hear my heart pounding right alongside the throbbing in my head. Daughter? "Back up a second."

"She's nineteen—and pregnant."

A crazy little laugh slipped free. No. No way. Not in a thousand years would I believe this shit. "Really? You're running with that cliché? I was going to say yes, but now...now...tell the sucker he has a kid and he'll do anything?" I grinned, the laughter working its way to the surface again. "No thanks."

"I'm not lying."

I clamped my jaw so hard my teeth ached. A daughter. It was a lie. It had to be.

"You know what? I'll let the lies slide. If what you're saying is true and women in Queens are dying, I'll look into it. Email me all the information you have." I was done with her and this conversation. I just wanted her out of my office so I could raid the vodka in my bottom drawer. "But don't lie to me, Bast. Okay? Not you. _Don't."_

I weighted the last word with my own compulsion, enough so she'd feel it and know I wasn't screwing around.

She pulled a photo from her pocket and slammed it down on my desk like it was a smoking gun. "She has your eyes."

Then she stormed out, slamming the door behind her with all the dramatic flare that goddesses possessed.

Twisting off the cap of the vodka bottle, I didn't bother with a glass and gulped down a few generous mouthfuls. And then I wished I hadn't as it burned my throat and threatened to come back up again.

The picture was sitting near the far edge of my desk, within reach, if I wanted to believe. I glared at it, my heart trying to hammer itself into something colder and harder. After twenty years, she'd decided to come back into my life, sit in my chair, and tell me I had a daughter. There should have been a law against women like her. Goddesses didn't abide by laws, only those of their own making, and even then they were more like guidelines.

I launched out of my seat, reached across the desk, snatched up the picture, and dumped it in the trash. There, that was dealt with. No picture. No guilt.

Bast and me, we'd had fun, until the lies started—my lies. Until I'd made the mistake of reading her soul.

My door rattled and flung open.

"I'm not in the mood," I groaned.

Shukra leaned against the doorframe and examined her nails. She'd stay that way until I acknowledged her. Hours, if necessary, just to win.

"Fine. What?"

"You're popular today. Ozzy called."

"He called?" First Bast, now Osiris? "On a phone?"

"No, via a séance." She rolled her eyes. "He wants to see you."

The vodka in my gut churned. "Now?"

She hesitated, a wicked smile crawling onto her lips. "Tomorrow morning. Ten a.m. sharp, Acehole."

And with that, she left, but her tinkling laughter sailed all the way up the hallway.

I side-eyed the vodka bottle. "Just you an' me."

I scooped it up and lifted it to my lips.

# Chapter Four

"You look like my dog."

I squinted one eye at Nick "Cujo" Jones. He didn't have a dog.

"After it died," he added with a snort and then wheeled his wheelchair down his hall.

I followed, my head stuffed with cotton and my gut as fragile as a sacrificial virgin.

"I didn't think you folks got hangovers?" Cujo said from farther down the hall, inside his kitchen.

I wasn't hungover—hangovers were for lightweights. What I was feeling was more like halfway dead. Any further and I'd be back in the underworld.

"Takes some doing." My voice sounded as dry and broken as my insides.

Cujo's ground-floor apartment smelled of incense and marijuana. The incense was for deterring unwanted spirits, and the marijuana, that was for medicinal purposes—probably. I walked by dusty, decades-old framed photos of younger Cujo all buttoned up in his NYPD uniform, his cap tucked under his arm, and his smile fresh and bright. He'd been on the job for a few years before he had the misfortune of wandering into the crossfire between two bickering gods. He'd lived, but he would never walk again. After seeing enough of the impossible, he'd decided to start digging into the supernatural while he recovered, and a year later, he came to me, cash in his pocket and hungry for revenge. I'd declined, telling him he was better off forgetting it, but he hadn't forgotten. He'd tried to hire me countless times since, and somewhere along the line, I'd started asking him for favors. Fifteen years on, he had yet to cash in his favors, but he would.

"Must have been a rough job?" Cujo asked in that gruff, no-bullshit tone of his. He'd filled out since his recruit photos. His dark hair was peppered with gray, and the years had weathered his face, drawing deep lines around his eyes and mouth. Age ate at some people, whittling them away, but not Cujo. The years had honed him into a hard-ass.

"Demons and dead bodies I can deal with. It's the ex-wife who did me in."

"Ah." He whirled his chair next to the kitchen table and leaned back. "What you got for me?"

I handed over the picture Bast had left with me, the one I'd dumped in the trash and then fished out again before passing out at my desk. "Nineteen. Pregnant. Lives in Queens."

Cujo took the picture, ran his critical gaze over it, and scratched at his whiskered chin. When he looked up, he clearly had a question on his lips.

"Don't say it," I suggested.

He shrugged. "Uh-huh. It's probably the light."

"No, really. Don't."

He tilted the photo side-on. "Maybe it's the camera angle or a lens flare caught in her eyes, made them glow a little?"

To keep my mind busy and my thoughts off the girl's uncanny likeness, I searched Cujo's cupboard, found a glass, and filled it from the faucet. All the while, Cujo's gaze rode my back like a devil on my shoulder.

"I need to know if she is nineteen and if she's showing any signs of—"

"Magic, hoodoo, spooky shit?" Cujo had a knack for reducing the terrifying into a joke. He took it all, the truth about the gods and their many beasts, in his stride.

"Just do some digging. See what you can find out about her."

"Right-oh," he said with too much enthusiasm.

I gulped down the water, waited to see if it would reappear anytime soon, and then turned to face Cujo's crafted expression of innocence. "Keep this quiet. If anyone discovers—"

"That you couldn't keep it in your pants?"

"Bastard." A grin broke out across my lips.

Cujo arched an eyebrow. "Are there any more little Aces running around out there you want me to look for while I'm at it?"

"Gods, I hope not. One is enough."

"Nobody ever teach you about protection in the underworld?"

I spluttered a laugh. Where I came from, traditional laws of nature did not apply. "It's more complicated than that."

He leaned back in his chair, wrestling his smile under control. "It's been a while, but I seem to remember the whole process was pretty straightforward."

"My ex-wife is a cat in her spare time. Insert Tab A into Slot B doesn't cut it when you're screwing gods."

He let loose his chuckle. "I should have known. Nothing is ever simple around you." He looked again at the picture. "Pretty. Must be her mother's influence."

"Ha, ha."

"What god did she annoy to get lumped with you as her dad?"

"Possible dad," I corrected and cringed. "What, you don't think I'm parent material?"

"Oh, sure." He crossed his arms over his chest, but that glint in his eye told me he wasn't done. "It's not like I'm constantly keeping your ugly mug off police records. Then there's the weird shit that follows you. Put it this way: I wouldn't want Chantal within five square miles of you."

There was no chance of that. Chantal, Cujo's teenage daughter, looked at me like she'd seen my soul, knew exactly what I was made of, and was distinctly unimpressed. Most people had attuned survival instincts that kept them out of my path. But Chantal wasn't most people, and confrontation was her middle name. The first time we'd met, she'd asked me if I used my looks to manipulate and warned me that if I tried any of that shit with her, she'd set Cujo on me. I couldn't blame her. As far as she knew, I was in my late twenties, early thirties and an inexplicable "family friend." The type of "friend" her father wouldn't talk about. She didn't trust my vagueness. Never had. Never would. At least her instincts were accurate there. Outside of the Egyptian pantheon, Chantal was right up there on my "avoid at all costs" list.

Cujo had a point. I wasn't father material. "I'm hoping the girl has nothing to do with me."

He shot me a look, something like, _"_ Keep telling yourself that," and said, "I'll run the girl through the NYPD systems and let you know what I find. That's what got you wasted, huh?"

"That"—my insides twisted—"and Osiris's summons."

Cujo's smile died a slow death and his cheeks lost some of their ruddy color. It took a lot to pale Cujo. "Shit." He shook his head. "Man, it's been a few years since the last time?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I wish I could do more for yah."

"I appreciate the thought."

There was nothing Cujo, or anyone, could do. When the god of the underworld whipped up a curse, he didn't leave loopholes or wiggle room. I'd spent a few hundred years searching for one. Now I just lived with it, like I had to live with Shukra's putrid soul bound to mine.

"There's some whiskey under the sink," Cujo offered. "If you want some Dutch courage."

"Thanks, but my insides won't survive. Might take you up on a drink once I'm done with him though."

Facing Osiris drunk would only make a bad situation worse. I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut and would probably end up with another curse strangling my already battered soul.

Cujo's smile turned sympathetic. "At least he can't kill you, right?"

Somehow, I smiled, and not for the first time, I secretly wished Osiris had.

# Chapter Five

I parked my Ducati next to Ozzy's black Tesla, kicked the bike over on its stand, and fantasized about bringing Alysdair along for the ride. I didn't know if the sword could devour a god's soul, but I'd give it another shot. I'd tried before and failed spectacularly. It wasn't Osiris who'd taken umbrage at my assassination attempt. He'd found my efforts highly entertaining. Isis, on the other hand...

I shivered, swung my leg over the bike, palmed my keys, and gouged a deep line along the side of the Tesla, clipping every panel, and then I flicked my collar up and approached the mansion's entrance. After being around for as long as I had, I realized life was about taking the little pleasures as and when I could find them, because tomorrow, someone could rip them all away.

Gravel and snow crunched under my boots and the harsh New York wind bit at my bruised face as I stopped at the door. I pressed the bell and heard the chime echo inside. Any hope that Ozzy might have forgotten about his summons quickly died when his hired muscle opened the door. The guards frisked me, like always. I couldn't imagine anyone would be stupid enough to smuggle in a weapon (apart from me, that one time).

"Ozzy out back?" I asked Bob, the guard. Bob wasn't his real name, just the one I'd given him. Bob never smiled. I wouldn't have much to smile about if I were in Osiris's service either.

"You'll find the mayor waiting for you same place as always," Bob replied.

Believe it or not, there wasn't a whole load of difference between New York and what most people called Hell. Swap the people out for demons, the politicians for gods, throw in the cutthroat family drama, amp up the mood lighting, and turn the Hudson into a river of souls, and welcome to home sweet home. Osiris was mayor here and a god back home. If he had it his way, he'd be a god here too. He probably believed he already was.

Osiris's house was a museum, all dressed up for show. I'd never seen anyone out front, in the residence, and doubted Osiris and his wife did more than walk through the pretense of being average New Yorkers.

I sauntered through the cathedral-like foyer, down a red-carpeted hall, and into the study. I'd once admired the ancient books and array of Egyptian artifacts locked inside the glass cabinets, but now I barely spared them a glance. This wasn't a social call. If I made the god wait any longer, I'd start to feel the hold he had over me; that was probably part of the reason my hangover was hanging around like the mistress at a wake.

The theatrics of opening the secret bookcase door had long ago lost its novelty and only served to remind me of the egotistical showman I was about to drop to my knees for.

The sight greeting me at the foot of the hidden staircase was, unfortunately, a typical one: women and men in various states of undress. Robed servers tended to their every need while they gorged themselves on the banquet of food, wine, and sex. The warm, wet air smelled like jasmine, cinnamon, indulgence, and sweat.

Overdressed in my coat, I garnered a few long, lingering glances as I picked my way through the revelers, keeping my eyes front and center. I didn't want to know who they were—probably local officials and celebrities. Many of them likely had no choice but to be here. Osiris could be undeniably persuasive.

I took a wrong turn, easily done when every doorway was draped in gossamer curtains, and stumbled in on lurid sights I hadn't seen before and didn't wish to see again. By the time I found the right section, my heart was thudding fast and heavy and my breaths were coming on a little too hard.

Heat rolled out of the back chamber, the likes of which I hadn't known since the weighing chambers. I wiped my hands on my pants, gulped down what would probably be my last free breaths, and pushed through the drapes. It took a long, drawn out three seconds to read the mood in the room, three seconds in which my stride stuttered and instantly told two of the worlds' most powerful deities exactly what I didn't want them to know: that I'd prefer to be anywhere else but here with them.

Isis was lounging in an elaborate golden chair, jewels glittering in her raven-black hair. The fabric of her skintight dress was as thin and colorful as butterfly wings—for all the parts of her it covered up. Her golden skin shone, damp from exertion, as did her eyes, which were fixed across the room on her husband (and brother) seated at the end of a large bed. A woman was currently on her knees, worshipping his cock with her mouth.

The pair knew I was there, despite neither of them having acknowledged me. I gritted my teeth and waited, eyes fixed on the traditional relief of Osiris tucked inside an alcove along the back wall. I couldn't do much about the noise, except be grateful I hadn't eaten.

"Nameless One..." Osiris drawled. "Come here."

My heart turned to stone. The compulsion wrapped around my flesh and bones and buried inside the parts of me deeply rooted in this realm. Forward I went, one foot in front of the other, until I stood beside the god, unable to turn my gaze away from the woman's bobbing head and rhythmic hand. I could close my eyes—and did, briefly—but that only made it worse.

If he asked me to suck him, I'd bite it off.

I waited, willing the time forward so I could get back to my little office and my paranormal clients with their mundane enquires that paid the bills and kept my mind from straying. I even considered being nice to Shu—anything to get me out of this waking nightmare.

"This is taking too long," Isis said, the ice in her voice cutting.

"It's called sharing, Light of my Life. You had your—" Osiris's breath caught, and he held it. The girl's wet lips worked faster. The god leaned back, bracing his arms on the bed behind him, and breathed, "Right there."

I shut my eyes and tried to recall the last time I'd ordered stationary. The office had to be due for another batch of pens. I'd get one of those handmade, leather-bound planners too, with all the fancy address cards and pockets.

Osiris grunted, deep and low, and then let out a strangled groan that rolled on and on until I wished I had brought Alysdair along so I could fall on the sword and put an end to my misery.

"No, no..." Osiris crooned. "You don't swallow the nectar. Spit, dear."

She did. I heard everything—smelled it too. Bile burned the back of my throat.

It had been a year, maybe two, since Osiris had summoned me. In that time, I'd deliberately forgotten how much I despised him. There was a time I'd screamed at him, raged, thrown my fists, and gotten myself strung up for my efforts. Now I endured.

I opened my eyes to see Isis sashaying toward us. Nature didn't make women like her. Infinite power rippled through the air she carved through. She wore her beauty like armor and walked like time and decay couldn't touch her. Slim and lithe, she didn't look as though she had the strength to topple empires, but she could and she had—many times.

She planted something smooth, thin, and cool in my hand. I blinked down, recognized it as a dagger, and wondered if I could plunge it between Osiris's ribs before either of them could stop me.

"Don't move." The compulsion ran steel rods through my spine, locking me down.

The god stood, naked but for a plain cotton robe. He had a supremely proud face, a strong jaw, and fierce, long-lashed dark eyes. Without a word, he inspired the best in men—honor and loyalty—and a ferocious adoration from women, the type that could turn a mother against her child.

I had a blade in my hand and stood a few inches from his sun-baked chest, and he knew I wanted nothing more than to ram the blade into his heart and twist it in deep.

He appraised my scruffy coat and damp hair. His eyes moved to my face, where he probably hoped to find ammunition to use against me, but I'd learned long ago to keep my intentions far from my expression. He saw only boredom, compliance, and obedience. A snarl pulled at my lip. I swallowed, holding the rage deep inside.

He yanked the girl to her feet. Her pink tongue darted out, licking at a dribble of semen.

"Kill her," Osiris said.

Panic wrapped around my heart. I fought to pull back my body, to somehow get a grip on its flesh, but all I could do was watch from inside my own skin as I lifted the dagger. _No, no!_

Osiris's warm hand curled around my neck. "Stop."

Relief lifted the terror. Through it all, I'd struggled to keep my face an expressionless mask.

He jerked me forward, so close that his finely kohl-lined eyes were all I could see. "I'm just screwing with you."

Gold rimmed his wide, black pupils and bled through the darker hazel color in his irises. He held me under his command, trapping me in my body, and burrowed his gaze deep into mine, knowing the longer he and I locked stares, the likelier it was I'd see into his soul. I closed my eyes, cutting off the magic before it could take root. His soul was not something I had any wish to witness.

Osiris shoved me back, rocking me onto my back foot, and took the dagger from my hand. "Sit, have a drink, relax."

I would do all those things because I didn't have a choice. Stumbling to the table, I fell into a chair and poured myself wine from a crystal jug. I despised how my hand shook, sloshing wine over the tabletop. I would get through this, just like I had every other time.

"How's business?" the god asked, draping himself into the chair next to mine, sprawling like a lion in the sun. He set the dagger down between us. So close, so tempting.

"Could be better." I tasted the wine, found it sweet and sickly, but swallowed it anyway. It slipped all the way down and churned in my empty gut. "Could be worse."

Isis and the girl—whoever she was—were getting intimate in my peripheral vision. This was par for the course when it came to Osiris. As well as holding the title of God of the Underworld, he also happened to be the God of Fertility, and he was liberal with his blessings.

He poured himself some wine and cradled the glass stem between his long fingers while leaning back in his chair and looking me over. A smile teased the edges of his mouth. He was probably thinking of all the ways he could pull my strings.

"I don't hear much about you. Just the occasional whisper here and there..."

"We—Shu and I—we prefer it that way. Our clients appreciate discretion." And most of them didn't want news of their mistakes getting back to Osiris.

"Ah, Shukra... How is she?"

_Still tied to my soul, you twisted fuck._

"Fine." I swallowed more wine, my throat constricting. I couldn't stop drinking, not until he released the compulsion. If I vomited it back up, he'd only make me drink more. I willed the wine to stay down. "Why did you summon me?"

Osiris drew in a deep breath through his nose. He crossed his legs and sent his gaze around the room. "News from the underworld."

Which could only mean one thing. "Amy?"

"Your mother wishes to take her slumber." He flicked his long fingers as though tossing the comment away, like it was meaningless. He'd just told me that my mother was ready to slumber, which basically translated to: she'd tired of life and wanted to die.

I hovered my glass near my lips, the shock enough to stall Osiris's compulsion. Ammit was a constant, like the sky or the earth. It had never crossed my mind that she'd step down. "When?"

"Well, these things take time, but time is a currency we gods have a surplus of." He bounced his bare foot. "She wishes to see you."

Which was easier said than done, since I was cursed to walk this earth by the very god I was currently drinking with. I finally took the sip of wine, hiding my expression behind the glass. Something wasn't right. Osiris wouldn't go back on his curse and agree to let me visit the underworld to pay my respects. That was a kindness the god didn't have in him. Equally as suspicious, if it was that important, he could compel me to go home. Why give me the choice at all?

"She was a good mother to you," he said.

There wasn't a question there, so I didn't reply. Ammit wasn't my mother by blood, but she had taken me in and treated me like her own. They say that about the river beasts—vicious, but doting on their own kind. She was the ferocious Devourer of Souls, the final destination, and no god wanted to risk their paradise in the afterlife by crossing her—something I'd learned the hard way.

"I've always wondered why she took you in," Osiris said with a whimsical tone that had the fine hairs on the back of my neck rising. "A nameless nothing, like you. She likes to keep her secrets, your mother."

_No more or less than any other god,_ I thought.

Osiris was looking at me, waiting for a reaction. He knew I couldn't do anything without his permission, and so we played this ancient game. His control. My obedience. "You must miss the old world as much as I do?"

I uselessly fought the compulsion, reluctant to give him anything he could use against me, but the answer came. "I do."

"I imagine it's the power you miss most..."

Not a question. I kept my jaw locked.

"Is it? Tell me the truth."

"Yes." _Bastard_. This game, the strings he pulled and how he watched it all—every twitch, every glance, and every time I ground my teeth—was wearing me down. He poked and prodded me like an animal he'd caught in a trap, one he could torture for all eternity.

My gaze had strayed to the dagger and stayed fixed there, revealing my thoughts as plain as day. Of course, he'd noticed too and smiled when I forced myself to look him in the eye.

"If you wish to return, I'll sanction your passage."

_Why?_ Why would he help me return home? What was in it for him? This wasn't right. I had to think this through and find his angle before I agreed to anything.

"You do wish to return?" he asked casually.

"Yes, and I'll consider it."

"What is there to consider?" His laughter, short, sharp, and dark, left me with no doubt that he was deliberately jerking my chain.

"I need to consider why you're giving me the choice," I growled, teeth gritted. My fingers itched to close around his neck and choke the life out of him. Such mundane actions couldn't kill gods and certainly not gods as powerful as Osiris. Still, it would feel good.

We locked gazes—a challenge—until I looked away, too afraid to see the truth inside those eyes.

He threw back his wine glass and downed its contents. "Isis, darling," he beckoned.

I watched the goddess in the corner of my eye. She drew the young woman from the bed and led her over. The girl had the wide-eyed, half-high look of someone godstruck. Get too close to a higher deity, like Isis, for too long, and their allure became intoxicating. After spending time with the pair, her mind was probably lost in a pleasurable numbness. I doubted she even remembered her name.

"Are you finished, my sweetness?" Osiris smiled up at his wife.

Isis leaned down, rode her hand up his neck, and kissed him deeply.

"Yes," she whispered against her husband's lips.

They looked into each other's eyes and power thrummed in the air between them—the power of an eternity spent together and of the two most feared deities the worlds had ever seen.

"Good," Osiris said, and with his gaze firmly fixed on Isis, he added, "Nameless One, kill the girl."

# Chapter Six

The water in the sink had turned pink. I dug under my nails to get every minuscule piece of dried blood out, but no matter how hard I scrubbed, there was always more. Steam bellowed, fogging up the mirror. At least I couldn't see my face, my eyes, my soul.

A few raps on the door rattled my scattered thoughts.

My gut heaved. I'd already emptied its contents behind Osiris's garage, but my stomach didn't seem to care. It carried on heaving, trying to eject the guilt.

I pulled the plug, twisted on the faucet, swirled water, rinsed off the pink splatters, and splashed my face. My fingers trembled, like the rest of me.

"Ace, open up or I'll kick it in."

I couldn't deal with Shu, not in the state I was in. I should have gone home, but the office was closer, and I hadn't expected her to notice my arrival. She usually went out of her way to avoid me.

"Whatever personal crisis you're having," she shouted through the closed door, "I don't give a shit. I'm gonna count to three. One, two—"

I wrenched the door open. "What?!"

She recoiled, just a fraction, and then her eyes darkened and her brow cut a jagged scowl. "You fucked up."

I laughed because it was all I had left. "You'll have to narrow it down."

Barging past her, I retreated to my office and dropped into my chair. I'd planned to check my emails, but I couldn't remember why. I had no problem recalling how blood looked in a crystal glass though. How it clung to the sides, thick and dark, almost black.

Shu wisely loitered in my doorway. If she came any closer, I'd likely hurl my letter opener at her.

"That job," she said. "The kids who summoned something nasty in midtown? Someone had a hobby telescope pointed at the rooftop."

A little static shock of magic fizzled through my fingers. The girl's soul had been light and made of brilliance—innocent but for a few dark smudges. Had I weighed her, I'd have found her worthy. She would have rested for all eternity in the afterlife, where she belonged. But I hadn't weighed her. She'd never gotten that chance.

"Ace!" Shu barked. "Did you hear me?"

She'd tasted sweet. I could feel the light in her still, feel it dancing at my fingertips, plucking on pleasure. My body buzzed with life, magic, power. It had been so long...so long... I'd held out. I'd resisted.

"You're wanted for questioning in connection with the murders of those three kids."

"Three?" I asked. There had been four.

"A fourth—Jason Montgomery—is missing," she said, as if reading my thoughts.

My mind sharpened, focus narrowing. "Does the PD have my name?"

"No, just a description. It's blown up on the internet: the guy with the coat and sword. They're talking about you like you're some kind of vigilante bent on protecting the city from the rising dead."

They wouldn't say that if they knew I'd spent the morning washing off the blood of an innocent girl.

"You need to lay low. No more jobs. No more sword. Ditch the coat and wear a hat or something."

She _was_ worried. Not for me, but for her own hide.

"I'll find the kid," I said. "He can tell the cops his pal went nuts and killed them all and then did himself in on the roof. He's terrified. He'll tell the cops what I tell him to tell them."

One of Shu's dark eyebrows crawled higher. "And the vigilante?"

"Urban legend. It was snowing. Whatever footage that's circulating, it'll be virtually indecipherable."

She considered it, but that scowl of hers wasn't getting any softer. "Let the cops find the kid."

I could let it go. It wasn't like I didn't already have enough on my mind, but I hated loose ends—like snakes, they tended to come back around and bite me in the ass—and Jason Montgomery was one hell of a loose end. At the very least, I needed to have a chat with him.

"Fine." Shu sighed, seeing the determination on my face and likely sensing now was not the time to argue. "Don't get caught. It's bad enough I have to spend every day working with you. I'd rather not be stuck in a prison cell with your righteous ass for the next fifty years."

"Feeling's mutual."

_Find the kid._ I turned my mind to that and forcibly denied that morning's events, pushing them way back where all the darkness of my past hid.

My cell chimed. I read Cujo's name and waved Shu away. "Hey, Cujo—"

"Funny thing. There's a video online of a guy in a long coat with a badass broadsword. You wouldn't know anything about that?"

"Sounds like a freak." I grinned, grateful I could call Cujo a friend—one of few. "What kind of idiot carries a sword around New York?"

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Anyway, that's not why I'm calling. I looked into that bundle of joy of yours. Nineteen years old. She goes by the name _Chuck_."

"What kind of name is that?"

Cujo paused. "Do you want me to answer that? Apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I earned my nickname, same as you."

"I got my name because a crackhead bit me and I lost it. Tell me again how you got the name _Ace_?"

"Cheating at cards," I lied. He knew it was a lie too, which was why he kept asking. _Ace_ didn't always have good connotations. Go back far enough, a few centuries, and it was another word for bad luck, or a curse. "Tell me about Chuck."

"No parents. She was abandoned at a firehouse as a six-month-old. In and out of foster homes since she was nine. A stint on the streets. She has herself a rap sheet for drug possession and theft, which was how I was able to trace her so fast."

As he talked, that niggling, little voice of truth chipped away at my denials. Cujo was right, the apple never fell far, and Chuck's background sounded all too familiar. "Cut to the chase, Cujo."

"Difficult to know if she's showing any unusual talents, but her name appears in the files of a few unresolved homicide cases. The victims were street douches. No witnesses. No charges. She was brought in but clammed up every time. Can't say homicide would have wasted much manpower there, but your girl could have been caught up in something that went sideways, and if she does have _talents_ , that might be how some nasty folks got themselves dead. From what I hear, little godlings often make mistakes that end with people dying."

Ancient gods made mistakes too. I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched the bridge of my nose. A lot of things were my fault, but not this, not her. The girl's upbringing was all on Bast. I hadn't known about her. I didn't get the chance to help.

"Ace?"

"Uh-huh, still here."

"Short of a DNA test, I can't tell you much more."

"Do you know where she is?"

"There's a shelter in Queens. I'll email you the address. The shelter offers support for pregnant women in crisis."

"Okay, thanks, Cujo. Hey, the missing kid, Jason Montgomery. Let me know if you get any leads."

"Funny," he mock-whispered. "The sword guy, they say he can walk through Hell unburned."

I laughed. "It's not the fire that burns, my friend. It's the gods you gotta watch out for. Thanks for this, and I owe you one."

"I'm keeping tabs. You owe me at least fifty. But sure, why not? Gotta get my kicks somewhere. Stay safe, Ace."

# Chapter Seven

The snow in the street had turned to slush and refrozen in piles along the sidewalks outside the _Goddess of the Rising Sun Women's Shelter._ The name alone was a neon sign to anyone paying attention. Bast had many names, all the gods did, and this shelter was one of hers.

More people were filing through the doors than I'd expected. Inside, the staff served hot food and offered somewhere warm and dry for the cold and hungry to rest. I made my way through the line, quickly coming to the conclusion that blending in with roughly forty pregnant women wouldn't be easy.

"Can I help you?" A matronly woman stepped into my path. She was thin as a rake, gnarled like a tree, and had fierce eyes. She looked frail, but she'd bring out the claws if I threatened her or hers in any way.

"I'm looking for someone. A girl. Her name's—"

"Are you with the police?" She looked me over, suspicion in her words.

"No, I—"

"Then I can't tell you anything. As you can imagine, we get a lot of men through these doors looking for their wives, daughters, friends. Our women are often here to get away from such men."

"I just—"

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave."

"It's okay, Roseanne." Bast settled a hand on the woman's narrow shoulder. "I know him." She nodded at me. "I'll make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

According to Cujo's recent information, I was already in trouble.

Bast led me to a quiet corner at the back of the hall, and before I could ask any of the questions bubbling in my head, she produced a list from her biker jacket pocket and handed it over. "There are many more women at risk. I've narrowed down the names to those who are pregnant and currently living in Manhattan."

I scanned the names. "I'm not here for them."

"Our daughter has my protection."

"That hasn't worked out too well for those who've already died."

She set her jaw and narrowed her finely lined dark eyes. "I can't be everywhere at once. The women on that list need _your_ help."

Turning my back to Bast, I scanned the hall but couldn't see any girl I'd recognize as Chuck. I just wanted to see her. If I saw her, I'd know if she was my blood. Wasn't that how it worked with children? You just knew, as if there was a connection starting from the DNA out. "Where is she?"

"You believe me now?"

"I'm withholding judgment."

Her hand settled on my shoulder, and her fingers applied enough pressure to tempt me to face her. The last time she'd touched me—two decades ago—it had been with a slap across my face and a knee to my balls. I _had_ deserved it, which was probably why it still hurt.

Her big, dark eyes looked apologetic. Bast never looked sorry. She was made of steel and reverence and had once been worshipped as the Great Protector. She didn't give an inch in anything, but these deaths had gotten to her. They undermined her strength like nothing else could. And looking into her eyes, I knew why. She'd once lost a legion of her most feared and revered warriors—four thousand women all under her protection. Trained by her, loved by her, and all slaughtered because of her allegiance during the last great sundering, when the old world had fallen and the gods lost their combined power.

"I didn't tell you," Bast said with a sigh, "because she's better off without us."

She was right, and it should have been that simple, but an irrational anger whipped through me, sweeping all reason aside. "It wasn't your choice to make alone."

The venom behind my words surprised me, and by Bast's widening eyes, her too. She hadn't expected me to care and neither had I.

"You were never supposed to know," she explained, saying it softly as though that might lessen the impact. "That's how it should have stayed."

I stepped in closer and lowered my voice. "Do you know the life she's had? She's been alone, on the streets, unwanted."

Bast bowed her head, sending her gaze through the floor. Her shoulders dropped, and I watched the fight fade from the eyes of the strongest woman I'd ever known.

"But it's a life." She leaned a shoulder against the wall, dislodging flakes of paint. "Nobody knows, Ace. If Osiris knew... What kind of life would she have had as a pawn among our kind?"

It didn't take much effort to recall how Osiris had flexed his godly muscles with me. If he discovered I had a daughter, he'd have a whole new array of horrific ways to torture me, the girl, and Bast.

"She had a choice," Bast said, her voice regaining some of its steel. "Every day she has choices, and they're hers to make." She looked over the murmuring crowd. "Choice was the only gift I could give her."

Her words snagged at my heart, where a terrible weight clung. There was a soul-deep longing in my ex-wife's eyes. She'd given up her daughter, not because she didn't want her, but to keep her safe.

I followed Bast's far-eyed gaze through the crowd and over the heads of strangers until I found the girl at the end of the far table. She was hunched over her bowl of soup as though expecting someone to snatch it away from her. She had Bast's straight black hair, but Chuck's was messy, like she had cut it herself. Defined cheekbones gave her a fierce beauty, with lips that seemed too perfect to snarl. Her eyes though—even from across the hall I could see how her eyes entranced. Long, dark lashes around soul-seer eyes speckled with gold. She held the weight of the world in her eyes. To think she might have my power, the ability to see the worth of someone's soul and the terrible knowledge that came with it. Nineteen years old. Nineteen years was nothing. A blink. But her soul would already be old.

"She looks like her mom." My voice came out flat and disinterested and didn't reflect the turmoil raging inside.

"Not the eyes."

_She's beautiful,_ I thought, but was her soul like her mother's or mine?

Bast had done the right thing. Chuck could never know about us or the rest of _everything_. My ex-wife had kept the truth from me, as we would now keep it from Chuck. She'd hate us for it. She'd rage that it wasn't our choice to make, that she deserved to know, and she'd be right. My first lesson in parenting: you can't win.

I looked down at the list of pregnant women Bast wanted me to protect. One name had a line scored through it.

"Her body was found last night," Bast explained.

"All right." I folded up the note and tucked it into my pocket. "But you and me need to talk. Not here. We—"

A hail of shouts erupted from across the hall. Bast launched into the crowd, her black-clad figure disappearing among the crush of fleeing people. I pushed forward, stepped up onto the nearest table, and saw Chuck dash out the door, followed by what looked like a large, pointed-eared Doberman. Hopefully that's what all these witnesses would think—a dog attack. I knew otherwise. The jackals were search-and-destroy demons from my old neighborhood.

Behind the demon, a large liquid streak of black—vaguely resembling a big cat—followed. Bastet.

I jumped from tabletop to tabletop and skidded outside in time to see three figures carving their way down the sidewalk. Chuck veered left, out of sight around a corner. The demon and Bast followed, seconds behind. Demons in broad daylight and I didn't have my sword. Just great.

I caught up with Bast—in her black-panther form—at the bottom of an extended fire escape ladder. Too bad big cats couldn't climb ladders. She circled, massive black paws padding in the filthy snow, and snuffled her nose against the slush, picking up the scent trail.

"I'm going up," I told her. "Stay out of sight."

She gave her glossy, black coat an all-over shake and planted her rump on the sidewalk, in full view of anyone who happened to turn down the street. There was no mistaking a black panther for a house cat.

"You sit there like that and animal control will be all over you."

She yawned, showing me perfect rows of man-eating teeth inside her skull-crushing jaw, and then rumbled some sort of "bring it" growl.

"Fine, get yourself noticed. I'll come see you when you're in the city zoo." I started up the ladder, followed by her low, bubbling growl.

Chuck was either smart or lucky. Climbing the fire escape had deterred the jackal, but it wouldn't stop it. They were excellent trackers. The beast was likely already finding another way into the building.

I climbed up a few flights and spotted drapes flapping from an open window.

"Chuck?" I hissed, sticking my head inside. Something large and black loomed to my right. I shot out a hand and caught the pan before it could crack my skull open.

Chuck's eyes flashed, and then she was off, dashing around a couch and heading for the door.

"Hey, wait. The dem—the dog—"

The door flung open and a hundred pounds of jackal demon slammed into Chuck, sending her sprawling. I lunged forward in time to see Chuck kick the jackal backward, across the wooden floor, and scrabble to her feet. That had taken some strength, the inhuman kind.

Inserting myself between jackal and girl, I brandished the pan and growled, "Think twice."

The jackal sank its claws into the timber floor and sprang. I swung and belted the pan across its muzzle with enough force to kill a man. It tumbled and whimpered but was on its feet in seconds, hollow eyes aflame and aimed at me.

Alysdair would have come in handy right about then. I could, of course, unleash the renewed magic bubbling in my veins, but that would require a lot of explaining. As things stood, a few lies about an escaped exotic wolf from the city zoo would explain most of the events so far. If I spouted spells, Chuck would ask questions I wasn't ready to answer.

The jackal's lips rippled over vicious teeth. It lowered its head and planted one forepaw forward and then the other.

I focused my gaze. "You clearly don't know who you're messing with."

Its pointed ears flattened against its head.

Chuck ran for the door and the jackal hunched to launch after her.

I saw my chance, kicked the door closed, and flung out my left hand. " _Hurzd!" Hold!_

The demon's approached stalled. It whipped its head up and recognition sparked in its rippling eyes. Down went its haunches and its head, until its belly touched the floor. Shame softened its so-sorry eyes, as if I'd come home to find my couch and slippers all chewed up.

"It's too late for that."

I tossed the pan aside, curled the fingers of my outstretched hand closed, and whispered old words. They tumbled from my lips—no pauses, no respite—and as they built, power trembled through my body, rekindling old urges. Without Alysdair, I was out of options. This was the only way.

The jackal started whimpering again. It had been years since I'd spoken the spell. Today I'd wielded the magic twice, and the day wasn't over yet.

_'Tra k-dae amcru-kak sra ksork, kosec amcru-kak esk kassrakamsk, omd kae kuir amcru-kak aeuirk." The sky encloses the stars, magic encloses its settlements, and my soul encloses yours._

The ancient words sounded harsh and guttural, the language forgotten by all but the oldest of us.

My eyes locked with the jackal's and pinned it, leaving it quivering in its own piss. The words lost their form but not their meaning. I dug deeper into the beast's eyes, the spell spiraling between us, and deeper into the writhing darkness that made up its soul. Its spirit fought, black talons slicing, and distantly it screamed its death wail, but the soul was mine.

"By the grace of Amun-Ra." The words trembled. Magic surged. "By the power invested in me, by the sire Osiris, by the light, the dark, I have weighed your soul. You are encumbered. The Devourer accepts your eternal spirit as recompense."

The words hooked in, and there was no escape. I wrenched the fetid black soul free of its earthly grip. The darkness barreled into me, over me, spilling through my physical body, and flowed deeper until the hunger in me rose and enclosed it all, embracing the dark.

The jackal collapsed.

I dropped and rocked on my knees, head buzzing, my thoughts strewn about, impossible to reorder. The demon's final soul scream echoed into nothingness.

_"Daquir."_ _Devour_.

The word of power had barely pushed off my lips before the jackal's earthly body burst into a puff of ash and embers. Gone for eternity. Not of this life or the next. The ultimate punishment.

Bast—in human form—kicked the door in, saw me on my knees, and sniffed at the air. She'd smell the ash and know exactly what had happened here.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Will be," I ground out, still swimming through the fog in my head. "Go find her. If there's one jackal, there'll be others."

She hesitated, and a smile touched my lips. I didn't know she cared.

"Go."

"You didn't have to do this," she said.

"I did." I reached for the back of the couch and hauled myself onto unsteady legs. "Go, Bast. Call me when she's safe."

I watched her go and let out a sigh that sounded too much like a lover's gasp. Alone, with the remnants of the spell and the fragments of a broken soul dancing through me, I lifted my gaze and smiled.

# Chapter Eight

I'd added Bast's cell to my contacts and attributed the most fitting song to her ringtone I could find. So when The Cure's "The Love Cats" trilled from my cell, I knew exactly who was calling. She told me she'd found Chuck and was taking her out for a bite to eat, hoping to get more information out of her.

I met the pair of them at one of those fancy bars that couldn't decide if it was a restaurant or a watering hole. Nineteen-forties chandeliers hung from high ceilings, black and white prints adorned the walls, and servers darted between tables with sliders on slates. I figured it was Bast's favorite haunt and ordered the only thing on the menu I could afford—a black coffee—and dumped a ton of sugar in it.

Chuck looked at me through narrowed, darting eyes, suspicion radiating off her. I'd seen that look in wild cats, the ones that scratched the hand trying to help them. She was too pale, and up close, I wondered if her sharp features had more to do with malnourishment than godly genes.

"You're the guy from the apartment," she said by way of hello.

"You're welcome."

"Chuck, this is Ace. He's a friend," Bast replied, giving me a furtive look that probably meant something, but I had no idea what.

"You going to eat that?" Chuck asked Bast, nodding at the goddess's scraps.

I'd arrived late, and the two of them had almost finished their meals. Without a word, Bast switched plates with Chuck, who quickly began vacuuming up the remains.

"What was that thing?" Chuck asked me around a mouthful of burger bun.

I flicked a questioning gaze at Bast.

"Wild dog," she replied on my behalf. "It escaped from the zoo."

Chuck snorted. "Uh-huh, and I'm the pope's daughter."

She gulped half her lemonade in one go and looked right at me again, her gaze trawling over my face but avoiding my eyes. _Clever girl._

Done with her visual interrogation, she slumped back in her seat and raked her ringed fingers through her short hair.

"Did you kill it?" she asked me.

Killed it, devoured it—same thing. "It's gone."

Chuck nodded appreciatively. "I've been running from those things for weeks, so why don't you two cut the Good Samaritan act and tell me what's really going on?"

"Bast?" I asked, handing the baton over before she could do the same to me.

Chuck twisted in her seat to look Bast over. The goddess had toned down her allure and hidden her cat-like eyes behind a small human illusion, but that didn't detract from her unusually striking appearance or her casual, but lethal elegance.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," Bast replied. "They may seem strange."

"Strange? Like a wild dog chasing me down the street? And that wasn't the only thing after me. I saw a cat. A big one. I swear it. I only caught a glimpse when I climbed the ladder, but it was real."

Silence descended over our table. I played with my spoon.

"I'm not nuts," Chuck added. "I know what I saw."

"You're pregnant—" Bast began.

"So? Everyone at that shelter is." She crossed her arms and glared at the goddess, daring an ageless Egyptian deity to judge her.

I hid my smile by tasting my sweet coffee.

"Who's the father?" Bast asked calmly.

Chuck shrugged. Her gaze flicked back to me and then down at her empty plate. She wouldn't answer anything, and I couldn't blame her. She didn't know us. She'd survived on the streets by her wits alone, and that meant not trusting anyone. I knew what that felt like. It was difficult to let people in after guarding yourself against them for what felt like forever. That was one of the reasons I'd only had the one friend in the last few decades.

"We're here to help," I said.

"Great. Got any cash? That'll help."

"What are you going to spend it on?" I asked.

"Louis Vuitton handbags and getting my nails done like Goth lady here. What do you think I'm going to spend it on?"

"Drugs?"

She clamped her mouth shut and folded her arms across her chest. "I don't do that no more. I'm clean."

"I know what addiction is," I said, avoiding Bast's pertinent look. "Tough to beat on your own."

"Well, I don't got nobody, so just give me the money and you can go back to your cozy little life knowing you did your good deed for the day."

"The dogs will come again," Bast butted in, sounding like a portent of doom. Goddesses and their drama.

Chuck bounced her teenage glare between us. "You won't tell me what's really going on here, so what's left to talk about?"

Bast shared another beseeching look with me but our wordless conversations clearly weren't helping.

"Chuck," Bast said, her voice tipping toward authoritative. "There may be other women like you. Women in trouble."

"More escaped dingoes, huh?"

I almost corrected her, but now both women were looking at me with varying degrees of contempt. Bast needed my help explaining, which, so far, I'd failed at, and Chuck knew it was all BS.

"I'm not telling you anything until you tell me the truth. You two talk it out. I'm going to the rest room." Chuck shuffled from the booth and strode to the back of the bar with the long-legged, powerful stride of a caged tiger. Chuck had more of her mother in her than looks alone. That was an uncomfortable thought. She clearly didn't know about shape-shifting, but she would learn fast if she developed that curious gift from her mother.

I grinned. "She's got sass."

Bast rolled her eyes at me. "It's all posturing. She's scared." She tapped her painted nails on the tabletop. "I need to find out where she's been, who she's been talking to, and who her friends are. There must be something."

"Good luck with that."

"You could help."

"She won't talk to us."

"We could tell her—"

"No," I cut her off. "You were right. The less contact we have with her, the more chance she has at having normal a life. If you mention gods, she'll think you're nuts, but she won't forget it. Then she'll start digging and connect the dots, and the picture she'll draw will come back to bite her. Happens every time. People can't help but poke at the unknown, and then it pokes back and gets them killed." _Or crippled for life,_ I finished mentally, thinking of Cujo and the many others whose paths I'd crossed over the years.

"And if she has the magic?" Bast whispered. "What then? We're just going to let her flounder like an unclaimed godling?"

I winced and glared at my black coffee. Looking at Chuck was too much like looking in a mirror, but she could still escape her fate.

"She'll make a mistake," Bast said. "Osiris will notice. He'll kill her."

"If she's lucky," I mumbled.

Bast's dark brows shot up and I regretted the words. Sure enough, Bast read the weight in them. She knew about my curse, but not all of it. Not the details. _Seth ek em sra dasoerk. The devil is in the details._

Bast rested an arm on the table, leaning in and making damn sure I had to look at her. "You didn't have to devour that demon."

"Yes, I did."

"When was the last time _you_ devoured? Not the sword, _you_?"

"This morning, actually." And I was still coming down from that one.

She recoiled the way I had known she would and lifted her lip in a disgusted snarl. "If Osiris learns—"

"Osiris—" I stopped myself, aware I'd raised my voice along with my heart rate. "Bast, back off. I'm dealing with it."

"'Dealing with it'?" She snorted a judgmental laugh. "I was right. You haven't changed at all."

I wanted to lay into her, to tell her how Osiris knew I was devouring souls because he was the one who'd broken my abstinence, but what good would it do? She wouldn't believe me, and even if she did, there was nothing she could do. But she'd try and get herself tangled up in my mess. It would be easier for everyone if we all continued to believe what we wanted to. _Liar. Thief._

"Let's address the Sphinx in the room, shall we?" I said.

She side-eyed me.

"The jackals. Few gods have dominion over them."

"Ammit traditionally controls them," she confirmed.

"Can you think of any reason why she'd want to attack your blessed?"

"None. I've never crossed Ammit." She shivered. "No sane god would."

A sane god? Somehow I kept from laughing. "If it isn't her, she'll know more. Osiris told me my mother wants to take her slumber. He said he'd sanction my return to the underworld."

Bast considered my words in silence. The sounds of people talking and laughing continued on around us, wrapping us in normalcy. I often forgot I wasn't part of their world, not even after all the years I'd walked among them. I would never belong, even though I'd done my damnedest to fit in once I'd stopped pining for home.

"You're going back?" Bast asked.

"I have to." I'd have been lying if I said the thought of going home didn't fill me with dread, as well as a deep, illicit thrill.

"How long has it been?" The compassion on her face and the regret in her eyes almost broke me down and had me telling her everything.

I remembered the white feather settling, the scales tipping, my heart falling, and the sounds of my own spell, spoken by Osiris, wrapping around me, through me, and binding my soul. The accusing eyes, the howls and screams from those I'd condemned—I remembered it all like it was yesterday. "Five hundred years, give or take a few."

Bast reached across the table and closed her warm, smooth hand around mine. Gooseflesh lifted the fine hairs on my arms and up my neck. I'd have liked to pull her in, close my arms around her, and hide. It had always worked before.

"You'll be okay."

My lips twitched in a mockery of a smile that didn't last. I pulled my hand from hers. "I always am."

I told Bast to look out for Chuck, which I didn't need to say but seemed like a decent enough goodbye, and left her alone at the table. Her gaze rode my back until I left the bar, but guilt clung to me, weighing me down with every step.

# Chapter Nine

Heat beat at me when I stepped from the mansion into the greenhouse—a vast indoor tropical garden easily the size of the main house. Exotic butterflies flitted around, fans gently circulated the air, and occasionally the _drip-drip_ of water tapped on large leaves.

I yanked off my coat and undid a few shirt buttons. The heat wasn't my only problem; I'd devoured two souls in less than twenty-four hours. One dark and heavy, the other light and clean. Loosely translated, the immense magical high was twisting into a crippling comedown. And here I was about to have a voluntary talk with Osiris. I'd have preferred to wait a few days until the aftereffects had stabilized, but a few days could have meant the slaughter of more of Bast's women. I had enough darkness in my putrid soul without adding that.

"Nameless One..." Isis's slippery voice curled through the jungle foliage and brought me to an abrupt stop on the winding path.

"By Isis, all that has been, that is, or shall be; no mortal man hath ever unveiled." The proper greeting fell off my tongue as flat and empty as the countless times I'd said it before and would again.

She emerged from behind the large leaves of a tropical fern, trailing her fingers along its edges and lifting her traditionally kohl-accented eyes to mine in a way that had a small skitter of nerves shortening my breath.

"There are no mortal men here. Would you like to unveil me?"

There's no right way to answer a goddess—ever. Whatever I said next would be the wrong thing. If I said yes, she'd have me flailed for lusting after her divine body. If I declined, she'd be offended and would probably make me spend the next six months telling her how I did, in fact, lust after every inch of her. And that was if she was feeling generous.

Fucking gods.

"I'm here for Osiris."

"Mm..." She pulled the leaf with her and then let it fall away as she approached. "I didn't know you preferred the male form?"

Well, that was one way of escaping her word trap. But as she came forward, her slip of a gown parted up her thigh, revealing a trail of studded gems, and by Sekhmet, I made the mistake of imagining how I might follow that trail with my fingers and mouth. I clamped my teeth together and steered my thoughts away from dangerous territory, only to have them land on her lips and how she might taste beneath my tongue.

Those soft lips lifted at a corner.

"No, it is not men you prefer," she said, stopping too close to me. Her fingertips touched my thigh and then her nails raked higher. "No need for words, Nameless One." She found what she was looking for and pressed in, eliciting a sharp inhale from me. "I have my answer right here."

"Stop." I hadn't meant to add the compulsion—it was pointless, of course—and all it did was widen the pupils of her eyes, as though she got off on my pathetic effort to control an eternal being like her.

"We could fuck right here, against this tree. I'd bend for you." With her alarmingly hot hand still resting on my arousal, she used her free hand to pluck at my shirt buttons. "You despise my husband. Wouldn't this be a fine way to hurt him?"

Oh, it would. She was painting a very fine image, one that I struggled to sweep from my thoughts, which had currently funneled right to where her hand was resting. Screwing Isis appealed to the part of me that had never truly left the underworld, the being I'd been before, a creature of power and want, worthy of fear and worship. That part of me had no trouble imagining how the Goddess of Light would taste, or how she'd feel bent over with my hands on her hips as I pounded into her. But it wouldn't last. She'd tell Osiris a patchwork of lies, and as perilous and exhilarating as screwing the goddess Isis would be, it wouldn't be worth the centuries of fallout her husband would rain down on me.

"I know what you're thinking," she whispered. Her breath fluttered across my lips. "But what else could he possibly do to you that he hasn't already done?"

I caught her hand, the one cupping my cock. " _Stop_."

This time I pushed more weight behind the word. I'd devoured two souls in a few hours. Surplus magic was something I had in swathes.

Her beautiful eyes widened in alarm. I released her hand and watched her briefly war with the compulsion. It lasted a grand total of two seconds before it broke.

With a gasp, she stepped back. "How dare you!"

"You seem to have forgotten where I came from, Your Highness. I'm glad I could help you with that unfortunate mistake."

Color flushed her cheeks and fury flashed as hard and fast as lightning in her eyes. I didn't think for one second I'd escaped her wrath, but to see her taste some of her own poison brightened my day immeasurably.

If my soul wasn't already cursed, my actions would have earned one. I smiled and meant it. "Please inform your husband I'm here."

She left, striding down the path and out of sight. I waited until I was sure she was gone before slumping against the tree and gulping down several shuddering breaths. One god down, one to go.

Needing to set my mind on something other than my neglected cock, I roamed the garden, walking the winding paths beneath heavy palm fronds and around deep-throated exotic flowers.

Outside, snow patted lightly at the glass. With its heat and damp, earthy richness, I understood why the couple might like the gardens. The greenhouse smelled like the old world after the rains, when the Nile would flood, bringing much needed sustenance to the riverbanks. The people would revel in the sudden flourish of color and life, in celebrations of rebirth and festivals of plenty, giving thanks to the all-powerful gods for their generosity. Those had been joyous days and nights, but all that had changed when the gods grew bored and turned inward, allowing the worst of them to rise. Seth. The rains had stopped. The floods had failed. Crops had wilted under the relentless sun. And while the gods warred and bickered, Seth had cast his shadow over the land, the people had faded into dust, and the desert sand had devoured what had once been the greatest civilization on Earth.

I would often walk the riverbanks, running my hands through the miles and miles of wheat. I'd watched the children with baskets around their necks, singing as they scattered seeds. Occasionally, I'd join them and their families, never revealing who I was and keeping my power wrapped close. Though I had never belonged among them, I didn't care, not then. I'd spend evenings admiring the sailboats, listening to the slosh of oars, and watching, admiring, and living a normal life through the wonder of normal people.

But those memories were distant, like dreams, stories, myths. Today, those long-dead people and their fevered worship meant nothing. The gods were gone, relegated to religious texts and the occasional website selling fake protection spells. Now the gods, once so feared and revered, were confined to academia or the awe-filled eyes of tourists filing through barren tombs and crumbled temples.

The man who I had been _before_ , he was dust and dreams. Perhaps he always had been.

I pulled up suddenly as Osiris jogged down the greenhouse steps, dressed in a tux and holding a cell phone to his ear. The image clashed so acutely with my memories that I forgot about the curse and my blind hatred of him and saw him how he had once been: the greatest of gods, worshiped and admired by his people as well as his pantheon. Armies had marched in his name. He was the god of all things. Life and death had played out inside his hands—decay and rebirth.

"I know... I'll be there. I don't care when the cameras are rolling. I will be there when I am ready. They'll wait."

Where had it all gone so wrong?

He hung up the call and frowned at my presence. "What by Sekhmet did you say to my wife?"

"Only that which she asked of me," I answered, avoiding the truth as best as I could, given his ability to extract answers out of me.

That didn't appease him. I hadn't really expected it to. "She's in a foul mood and I have a gala I'm due to attend with her at my side. You have no idea what it's like."

I could imagine being married to Isis was a lot like sleeping in a bed of snakes: exhilarating, until it wasn't.

"I'd like to visit my mother," I said, veering the conversation away from Isis.

His smile was all perfect teeth. "Ah, yes, of course. I thought you might." He half turned but hesitated, and then slowly, purposefully, he slid his gaze back to me. "There are some conditions."

My heart sank.

"You should join us at the gala. We can talk more there."

I forced what I hoped looked like a smile on my lips and not a sneer. "I'm not dressed for fine dining."

"I'll soon change that." He turned, clicked his fingers, and said, "Come."

I plodded after him, trailing behind the god like a slave on an invisible chain that I'd keenly felt for five interminably long centuries.

If the underworld was my home, a charity gala was my idea of hell. Smiling faces, fake laughs, chinking glasses, and every word a weapon wielded for social ambition. I did my best to smile back and muster through painful small talk while the space between my shoulder blades itched for Alysdair's weight. I recognized a few faces from the orgy beneath Osiris's house. Thankfully those faces didn't recognize me all scrubbed up in a tux.

"Poison" blared from my cell phone, and probably for the first time in my life, I was grateful for Shu. Excusing myself from yet another conversation regarding politics, I stepped behind the table of canapés and hid away in a corner.

"Shu, kill me now," I growled.

"Where are you?"

"In hell."

She paused. "You're not, are you?"

I sighed, tucked a hand in my pocket, and slumped against the wall. "They don't have cell reception in the Hall of Judgment."

She grumbled a curse. "Did you get anywhere with the Montgomery kid?"

"Cujo will let me know if he gets any leads."

"Okay..."

"Why?"

"I think we might have a bigger problem than a scared kid."

The way the last few days had been going, I couldn't have been less surprised. "Are you going to keep it to yourself or share with the class?"

"Did you get a look at the spell they were casting?"

"Yeah, as accurate and deadly as they come."

"Did you keep it?" She didn't bother to hide the intrigue in her voice. Once a sorceress, always a sorceress.

"No, I didn't keep it. I burned it so you couldn't get your claws on it." It hadn't even crossed my mind to burn it to keep it from Shu, but I liked the idea, and her resulting hiss. I chuckled. "It was too potent. The kids didn't need to know the language. The fact it was there, inside their circle, was enough to bring the demon through."

"Demons."

"What?"

"I saw an interview with the Montgomery mother. Her son looked sick before he vanished. The press is trying to blame it on drugs. You know what they're like. They love a good socialite drug drama."

A second demon? It was possible. The demon—or demons—had possessed their hosts before I arrived. I could have missed one, especially if it had buried itself so deep its host hadn't been aware of it. "Damn it."

"It's been over twenty-four hours. It would have turned him by now. Get your ass on this with a bit more urgency."

"I can't. I'm having canapés with Osiris." I deliberately omitted the part where women were dying and I needed to get to the underworld to find out why, just to get a rise out of Shu.

"For fuck's sake."

It worked.

A compulsion speared into me, yanking my head up, and there was Osiris, eyes fixed on me from across the room.

"Wherever the demon is, it's laying low," I said. "I gotta go. I'll get on it when I get back from Amy's. You deal with it."

"What? Amy's. Why—"

"I gotta go."

"You bastard. You better come back."

"I will."

"It's my ass on the line too—"

I hung up the cell, already moving at a brisk pace through the throng of people toward the smiling mayor. I _would_ be back. I had to come back. Bast, the dying women, Chuck, and now the loose demon—they were loose ends, all of them. I couldn't leave them hanging.

"Ace, sit," Osiris ordered.

I pulled out the chair beside him and sat like a good puppet.

"Who was on the call?" he asked.

"Shukra."

One of Osiris's dark eyebrows jerked higher. "You two getting along?"

"Does a viper get along with a scorpion?"

"Which are you?"

I frowned, wishing I'd kept quiet. "Scorpion, obviously. Can we get to the conditions you mentioned?"

His laugh grated like nails on a chalk board. "So eager to get away. Why don't you enjoy the company and the wine?"

I'd have preferred to spend the evening with a demon, and considering what had happened the last time I'd shared a glass of red with Osiris, I really didn't want to relive those memories or the experience.

"The conditions?" I asked, doing my best to look innocent to anyone who happened to be glancing at the mayor. He drew the eyes of many. Me sitting next to him was already damaging what reputation I had in my small world of clients.

"Yes..." He breathed in deeply through his nose and leaned a little closer while his gaze roamed the sea of happy, sparkly rich people. "I'm convinced my wife is having an affair."

My memory flashed to the image of his wife's hand on my cock. _Guilty, guilty, guilty,_ my heart thudded. I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat. "Oh?"

An older gentleman arrived and rained compliments down on the mayor. How delightful it was to have such a proactive young mayor running the city. He'd had his doubts, in the beginning, but Ozzy had turned the city around.

I squirmed as Osiris smiled, accepted the compliments with grace, and shook the gentleman's hand.

While they talked, I wondered what Osiris considered an affair. They'd both been screwing the unfortunate girl when I'd seen them together yesterday. Where did the god draw the line? More to the point, what the hell would he ask of me? I couldn't investigate Isis. She'd tie me up in knots. I knew my limitations. Getting between Isis and Osiris was tantamount to suicide.

The gushing praise faded and the gentleman went away, ruddy cheeked and happy. Osiris chuckled and tasted his wine. "So easily pleased."

"Isis," I said, determined not to spend the night dancing to Osiris's tune.

His smile faded. He spied his wife weaving through the crowd like a snake through the grass. Her green evening gown flowed over her body like emerald liquid. She'd pinned her hair up, twisted it into knots, and planted jewels inside the design. Whichever way she turned, people stopped her, their eyes alight with adoration. She _was_ stunning and made a man forget his thoughts, his vows, his honor. She could have anyone.

She turned her head, sensing Osiris's gaze on her, and shared a private smile with her husband. She ignored me, thankfully.

" _She's fucking Thoth_ ," Osiris said, his voice cutting deep into my thoughts. He hadn't spoken aloud, and even now he smiled back at his wife.

I spluttered. "The lawyer?"

"How many Thoths do you know?" Osiris drawled.

Thoth was perfectly suited to a life of litigation and numbers. I'd never seen him wearing anything other than a charcoal gray suit, and I'd only seen him crack a smile once. He was as rigid and unyielding as stone. The thought of him and Isis together? That just didn't seem likely. Maybe he was an animal in the bedroom. We all had our hidden talents.

"She's been...distant," Osiris confided, watching the crowd swallow Isis. "We've had our challenges."

I could imagine. Seven thousand years as husband and wife would take its toll. Then there was the fact that they were also brother and sister. Relationships didn't get more complicated than that.

"Isis is"—he swallowed—"insatiable, and I too may have been distracted as of late." Osiris shifted in his chair and poured the dregs from a bottle of champagne into his glass. "She's been meeting with him in secret."

He lifted the glass and continued watching the crowd, avoiding looking directly at me.

"Do you have proof of the affair?"

"That's what I need you for."

_Great, someone shoot me now_. Marital grievances were bad enough without adding all-powerful deities to the drama. To make matters worse, Thoth was Amun-Ra's son. As gods went, Thoth could rip me a new one in a blink. I'd stayed below the radar of most godly goings-on, but getting between Osiris, Isis, and Thoth? There wasn't any way I was coming out of that fire unburned.

"What sort of proof?" I asked, thoughts churning.

"All of it. If Thoth is touching my wife, I want every detail, every word, so I can make him eat his treachery."

Treachery wouldn't be the only thing Osiris would force Thoth to eat. If he could confine Thoth to the underworld, Osiris would have significant power over him. A clash between titans like that would ripple through the entire pantheon, and such an upheaval hadn't happened since the end of the old world. A civilization had fallen then. There was no telling what might fall this time—and I'd be right in the middle of it.

I needed a drink. I waved a server over and took a glass of wine. Osiris hadn't compelled me to work for him. He could, so why wasn't he?

"There's more, isn't there?" I asked.

Osiris blinked and looked at me as though he were surprised. "Of course. Once you have proof, you will kill Thoth."

I choked on my wine, spilling much of it over my fingers and onto my lap. _He's insane._

I laughed, flicked the wine from my fingers, and dabbed at my pants with a napkin. He had to be joking. I couldn't kill Thoth. If I were capable of killing gods, I'd have killed Osiris long ago.

Osiris wasn't smiling and an icy shiver trickled down my back. He'd told me to kill Thoth. His words should have compelled me, but I didn't feel any different. I didn't feel the urge to pick up Alysdair and go god hunting.

Had his compulsion failed? "You'd have a better chance at killing Thoth than me. I'm just a mercenary without a name."

"I cannot strike a direct blow at Thoth. Such an act would start a political collapse. I have no wish to destabilize everything I've worked so hard to construct. This realm and our place in it, it is all about to change. I cannot risk millennia of planning because my wife is screwing another."

I absorbed that information and carefully packed it away for later consideration. "I can't kill a god, Osiris."

_Godkiller_ was not a title I'd survive.

Osiris pursed his lips. His long fingers teased the rim of his glass. "I cannot compel you to do this. Thoth's power rivals mine and no compulsion would stand the weight of a task such as this one. But I will lift a condition of your curse. You'll be free to return home whenever you wish. Your mother can rest well in the afterlife knowing she has seen you. I am aware of some pertinent confessions she'd like to share with you before her slumber."

Kill Thoth and this realm would no longer be a prison.

Clearly Osiris believed I was capable, even if I didn't. That information alone was worth keeping close to my chest. In order to get back to the underworld, help Bast, her women, and Chuck, and see my mother again before she passed on, I had to agree to kill a god. If I succeeded, and that was a monumental _if_ , I'd reduce the curse strangling my soul, but I'd also have the knowledge that Osiris had ordered me to kill a god—knowledge I could use against Osiris. Knowledge powerful enough to keep my daughter safe should any god come looking?

This was a dangerous proposition, one I wasn't entirely sure I could survive.

"I agree," I said and then gulped down the last of my wine in one shot. "Lift the realm lock now."

Osiris's dark eyes flashed with warning, and something else, something like mischief. I already regretted my decision, but I couldn't see any other way out of this. He'd never allow me to say no.

"It will be done."

Osiris stood. Several people glanced our way over their wine glasses. They couldn't help themselves. The entire room was probably halfway in love with him. Given a few more hours, he could have them all enthralled and probably lining up to join him below his house.

"Come," he said, paying his rapt audience no mind.

Isis's intense glare was the last thing I saw in the crowd before I followed her husband out of the room.

# Chapter Ten

Osiris uttered the spellword, _hurzd,_ blocking the men's restroom door from any unwanted intruders, and wasted no time starting the curse reversal. He rinsed his hands, and while his fingers dripped water, he placed both palms on my cheeks. "Close your eyes."

I did, with relief.

_"Bruud uk kema, kur sros vrecr aeui roqa baam birdam,"_ His __ eternal power flexed in the room, swelling outward, and then snapped back with a pressurized pop. _"Koae muv reka."_

I didn't feel any different when it was done. As was the way with magic, you generally didn't notice it until it was too late. "How do I know it'll work?"

Osiris simply smiled, dug into his tuxedo's pocket, and handed over two battered bronze coins. "Give the ferryman my regards."

He turned to leave.

I closed my hand around the warm coins. "When I do this..."

He paused at the door, his back to me. We both knew I wasn't talking about the trip back home, but the deal I'd struck. _Godkiller._

"I'll have your protection from the pantheon?"

His shoulders straightened into a solid line. "You already do."

The door clicked closed behind him, leaving me standing alone beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights. My reflection frowned back at me, concern and doubt etched into my face. "Yeah, I know. What else was I supposed to do?"

_No time like the present._ Filling one of the sinks to the brim, I shrugged off my borrowed jacket, rolled up the shirtsleeves, and plunged both hands into the water.

_"Ovam kur ka, kur I ok uk sra oer, sra aorsr, sra resrs, omd sra dord. Ovam omd varcuka ka srruisr." Open for me, for I am of the air, the earth, the light, and the dark. Open and welcome me through._

The lights flickered, and that was the only sign I'd get. Opening a door to the underworld wasn't all that dramatic. No flaming doorways or blinding light. Old magic knew how to hide.

My amber-glittered eyes glowed a little too brightly in the mirror. I reached out my fingers and dabbed at the glass. Ripples shivered across the surface.

Five hundred years was a long time to walk this earth. A long time in which much could have changed back home. I hadn't left on the best of terms.

I gripped the sink's edge and peered into my reflection. I had changed. I hadn't had much choice in that, but I was ready to go home. Wasn't I?

Draining the water, I climbed onto the counter and pushed through the mirror.

For the longest moment, the crossing between realms felt like being submerged in warm water. The weight pushed in, not just against my skin and clothes, but into my mind. For a few seconds, it felt like I was drowning. There was no right way up, no sky, no ground, no sound, and no taste—until I opened my eyes and took my first breath. And there it was, the plaza. I hesitated, grounding myself.

Massive pillars held aloft a vast portico over the entrance to the Hall of Judgment, and all around pointed temples stretched into the distant, never-ending glare. The air smelled sweet, like honey, and the breeze was soft, warm, familiar, and welcoming.

_Duat. Home sweet home._ It had been too long.

Power buzzed beneath my skin, coming alive in my realm, and lent me a radiance I didn't deserve. I'd spent so long in the dark that this world and its brilliance scorched.

Figures drifted in my peripheral vision, the Hall spirits. They'd remain little more than dust motes in sunlight until they wanted to show themselves. I felt their curiosity pushing at me. If they sensed weakness, they wouldn't be nearly as benevolent. I strode on, sweeping through their numbers in my mortal clothing: black pants and black shirt, so black against the light. Fitting, perhaps.

I climbed the Hall's steps. Cracks had split some, and others had crumbled. I didn't remember them being so neglected. Pausing at the top, I noticed other faults in the buildings around me. Corners were whittled away and capping stones were dislodged, while some had crumbled into ruins. Yes, much had changed.

Whispers floated on the breeze. _Liar. Thief. Soul Eater,_ those whispers said. They were right, and the truth of it pushed down, weighting my steps and my heart even more.

The doors creaked open, and a towering burial-wrapped statue of Osiris met me. Easily five stories high, there were smaller buildings in New York. The statue was meant as a statement. Even in his absence, Osiris ruled. The crook and flail crossed against his chest were larger than my entire apartment. Feeling reduced, as was the point, I walked around the monolith and through an equally tall, narrow corridor. Hieroglyphs covered the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I reached a hand out and ran my fingertips over the colorful displays.

" _Rarru_." _Hello_. The word sailed into vacant spaces, seeking the familiar.

_Raku_ , I heard echo back. _Home_.

On the hallway stretched, and on I walked, passing by the depictions of epic battles, wars, victories, and defeats, all chiseled into the walls and painted in a riot of color. These halls were a celebration of life and death and how one was irrevocably tied to the other.

I couldn't slow. If I slowed, I'd linger. If I lingered, I'd get comfortable.

_I can't stay._ This had once been my home, but now...now it was something else, somewhere I no longer belonged.

I dragged my feet but kept moving and emerged inside the flooded crossing chamber, where a small wooden sailboat bobbed against its mooring. The hooded ferryman held out his cotton-wrapped fingers.

"Osiris sends his regards," I said, dropping one coin into his palm.

I assumed the ferryman was male, though as far as I knew, nobody had ever seen his true face. There was no face beneath the hood, and no body beneath the robe—just the spirit knotted among its burial wrappings.

He made what sounded like a distinct chuckle and beckoned me aboard. The boat rocked under my weight but settled, and we pushed silently into the fog.

"It is good...you are here." His whispers were as insubstantial as the mist we drifted through.

I peered over the edge of the boat and saw hollow-eyed faces flicker in and out of focus beneath the water's surface. These waters were sacrosanct. I'd once—as a boy—swam with the souls. It was a secret only the ferryman knew and one that would likely add to my hefty rap sheet of sins should Osiris ever discover it.

"Many years have passed," the ferryman said.

I wet my lips, tasting the mist and the whispers. " _Seka kreak_." _Time flies_.

I'd left in disgrace, but in the underworld, only my mother knew the real reason I couldn't return. The spirits of the underworld and the demon gods would assume, of course, that I'd been afraid to return. That might have been true for the first few centuries—and might still be true, if my trembling fingers were to be believed.

Another chuckle. "Your mother, weary she is."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and ran my fingers through my mist-soaked hair. "I'm sorry for that."

"The Great Devourer speaks of regret."

And so she should. It was one thing to banish your son, and another to hand him over to Osiris. I knew punishment, and that sentence did not fit my crimes.

Dragging a hand down my face to clear the memories, I peered over the ferryman's shoulder into the fog. Massive columns rose out of the nothingness, reaching like mountaintops through the clouds. Like Osiris's statue, the Temple of Light towered higher and farther than anything manmade. Even the gods were reduced to ants inside its walls. A wary warmth spread throughout my chest. Whatever happened, whatever I'd done, whatever I was about to do for Osiris, I was glad my path had brought me home.

The ferry gently nudged the steps. I thanked the ferryman, sparing his hooded face a smile, and jogged up the steps. The heavy doors swung open, and the warmth in my chest turned to ice.

The receiving chamber statues were toppled and shattered. Cracks sundered the marble floor. Who could do this? Who would _dare_? I drifted forward and winced at the sound of glass and stone crunching under my shoes.

"Amy?" My voice echoed into the quiet. The quiet was always thick here, like a living, breathing thing, but now I felt nothing in the silence—no life, just a hollow emptiness.

I strode on, paces lengthening, icy rage spreading in my veins. Every fallen column, every shattered dais—it would have taken an army to do this, or a god.

Where was Amy? She never would have let this stand.

I was running when I rounded a corner and slipped in a pool of blood. Bright red splashes had fanned up the marble walls and left dripping streams. Their source, the body of a young boy, ripped open from groin to gullet. It was so unexpected, so out of place, that for a few moments, I did nothing, just stared at the boy's glassy, unfocused eyes. I hadn't known him, but the same family had served these halls for as long as I could recall. I knew his blood, now painting the floor.

I knelt down and touched the boy's neck. No pulse—I hadn't expected one—but his skin was warm. Whoever had done this could still be here, carving through my home, violating the sanctity of the temple.

Magic broiled, seeping from the air and the ground. It gathered around me like a cloud of darkness. _My_ home. _My_ magic. Rage burned bitter and sharp at the back of my throat. Old words fell from my lips, and here, in the halls, they quickly stirred the power residing in my soul.

This attack would not go unpunished.

"The Soul Eater has returned." I stepped over the body, pulled the darkness around me, and headed deeper inside my home. "And I'm hungry."

# Chapter Eleven

I heard them before seeing them—a storm of snarls, yips, and growls.

_I'll devour them all._

The door to my mother's chambers flung open—untouched—in front of me. Jackals—countless numbers of them—tore muscle and flesh from my mother's bones. They bickered and snarled over her carcass, like she was meat.

The ice inside me shattered. A vicious, barbed spell built up in a blinding surge and exploded outward. With no focus, no anchor point, it whirled around the room, sweeping through the demons it touched, sinking its claws deep into their souls, and ripping them into shreds from the spirit outward. The spell swelled, and I fed, taking them all in, their poisonous darkness filling me up.

I fell hard to my knees as the screams poured in, on and on, threatening to sever my soul. Heavier and heavier, they pushed down. So many and so much darkness. I _could_ contain them. I had to. None would escape.

I doubled over and heard the sound of my own ragged cry until it twisted into a monstrous roar. And then it was over. Silence flooded the room, only interrupted by my tattered gasps.

The quiet was too thick, too heavy.

I smelled hot blood and ash, tasted the souls on my lips, and felt them burn deep inside.

Ammit was gone. If her soul had been here, I'd probably devoured it. I might never know, and it was too late to find out.

" _Daquir_ ," I muttered, releasing the spellword, and watched the dancing embers eat up the remains of the demons and the only god who'd ever cared enough to guide me. She'd been my protector in a world filled with monsters, and she had been the biggest, most terrifying monster of all. Someone had gotten to her, someone she hadn't seen coming.

Hours could have passed, or minutes, or no time at all. I knew I should move, that time would continue with or without me, but if I moved, I might break. That many souls... I'd taken them all. They strained and heaved and wrestled, but they were mine. Delight and ecstasy raced through my veins, lighting them on fire. I could do anything in that moment—raze buildings, move mountains, devour the sky—and I wanted to take it all and make it mine. I could. I dug my fingers into the marble floor. Cracks snapped outward, sounding like the gunfire from the mortal realm. New York. I had to go back. Chuck, Bast, even Shukra needed me.

_Godkiller._

I pushed my body into motion, watching the shadows shudder in the corner of my eye. A broken laughter bubbled up my throat. I swallowed it down—for now.

With every step, flakes of ash stirred. Slowly, my thoughts pulled away from the stretching power and organized themselves around the present. The chamber was in chaos. Furniture was scattered and broken. Ammit had fought, but not as strongly as she could have. The jackals had come for her while she was weak and waiting to take her slumber.

I wandered through the room, absently righting furniture or kicking aside broken statue fragments.

"Soul Eater?" A serving boy stumbled inside the room. On seeing me, he froze.

"Inform Anubis that Ammit has been killed," I said, voice cutting.

The boy hesitated. He couldn't miss the ash, and being of Ammit's house, he'd know what I'd done. He'd feel the pulsing magic broiling around me and taste it on his tongue.

"S-sire?" he stammered.

Anubis wouldn't react well to the news. The boy was afraid, with good reason.

I picked up a small box from where it had fallen near her bed. Hieroglyphs of my mother's name ran along its edges, coupled with a symbol I didn't recognize—that of an animal with the body of a jackal and the head of a snake. Gems glittered at its corners. The artwork was precise, and old, before my time. The box was important. I knew every item of Ammit's, every hiding place, every sacred token, but not this.

I gave the lid a twist. It didn't move. I tried again, failing to crack the seal.

"Sire, I—"

I launched the box across the room. It bounced off the wall and skidded across the floor in front of the trembling kid.

"Go or by the damned I'll sunder your soul where you stand!" A compulsion whipped out with the words.

The boy's whole body jerked upright, out of his control, and then he was gone, sandals slapping on the hallway until the silence devoured that noise too.

I stared at the empty doorway and listened to the dark things inside me scream.

Whispers crept into the chamber. _Liar. Thief,_ they hissed. Then I heard laughter, twisted and malicious. Madness. The laughter was mine.

Too many souls.

Too much darkness.

Too heavy.

I couldn't stay here in that room. If I did, I'd never leave. Already part of me wanted to stay and take up the mantle again. It was mine, wasn't it? I'd judge them all and find them damned.

_Liar. Thief,_ the whispers proclaimed. __ They'd be silenced once I devoured them all.

The laughter cracked and fell away.

I placed one foot in front of the other. That was how all journeys started, no matter their destination. One step and then another. Simple, really. One step. Two. Three. Faster.

No, I couldn't stay. A world away, people needed me. But more than that, if I stayed, I'd fall, and this time, there would be nothing left of my soul worth saving.

I picked up the little box and left. I paid the ferryman with Osiris's final coin. He didn't speak, and neither did I.

The oars stroked through the river of souls, swift and silent.

By the time I returned to New York, another day had passed.

My apartment greeted me with its typical New York somber ambiance. Scaffolding had clad the building for weeks. Boards and poles blocked the light. Considering some of my more sensitive activities, I had kept the blinds closed. I stepped into the cold and the dark, not bothering with the lights.

"Poison" started playing from my cell the second I got in. I switched it off, found the vodka bottle and a glass, and slumped in the chair by the bed.

I'd witnessed horrors, I'd been on the receiving end, and I'd been the perpetrator. It took a lot to break me down. The last few days had ground all the fight right out of me—that and the slippery wave of souls rippling under my skin.

The sounds of traffic lulled my already numbed mind. The alcohol did the rest.

Maybe I should have stayed in the underworld. Anubis was difficult to speak with, but he might have known something. As it was, all I'd done was arrive too late to stop my mother's slaughter and run.

I swallowed a deep gulp of vodka.

I'd made a deal to kill Thoth, for nothing.

"Great job, Ace." I lifted the glass in salute. "This is why we don't work for gods." I took a drink, letting it burn all the way down to the heat inside my soul.

Give me stupid rich kids any day. They were so much easier to frighten.

I should have been trying to think around what was going on, but really, I couldn't think at all. Too many black souls whirled inside. I'd swallowed down a storm. I could probably threaten Osiris with all the juice I'd absorbed. I'd fail though. I always did.

A few knocks at my door punctured my thoughts. I waited, in the dark, in the quiet. Shu wouldn't knock. She would have kicked the door in. Whoever it was would go away.

"I know you're back."

Bast. I smiled a bitter, hollow smile, and rolled the cool glass against my cheek. She wouldn't leave. Gods didn't know when to quit.

"Come on in."

She clicked the door closed behind her and strode over, stopping a few feet away to cross her arms and frown at me. "Why are you wearing a suit? I thought it was all robes and jewelry back home?"

"There was a party. Didn't yah hear?" I slurred.

Her frown darkened. She snatched my bottle away. "This isn't like you."

"Clearly this is exactly like me. Who else would I be like? Give that back."

She looked at the bottle and then at me. "Your eyes are dark."

"Yes, they are, so give me the vodka back and leave me stewing in the souls of the damned."

"How many?"

"I lost count."

"Why?"

I finished off the vodka in my glass and leaned my forehead against it. "Ammit is dead. I got there too late. I...lashed out."

Between one long blink and the next, Bast disappeared, but I heard her rattling around my kitchen. When she returned, she poured me a fresh glass, filled hers, and then sat on the bed. Her knee brushed against mine. I expected her to flinch away, but she didn't. She had to feel the darkness I'd gorged on. How could she stand to look at me, to touch me?

"Anubis will be furious," she said, tasting her vodka and scowling into her glass.

"That's nothing new." I slumped lower in my chair and closed my eyes. "I'm tired."

She knew I didn't mean physically tired, but soul tired. It was a whole other exhaustion, an all-consuming tiredness that ate me up from the spirit out.

"You're too young to be tired. You're grieving."

"Grieving?" The insane laughter was back, but this time I confined it to my thoughts. "She kicked me out, Bast. She gave me—my life, my soul, all of me—to Osiris to do with as he saw fit. She knew exactly what she was doing." Maybe she'd hated me all along—the liar, the soul thief. "There was no love lost between Ammit and I."

She stayed quiet, probably because she knew the truth: I'd deserved it.

"Don't do this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything. It's everyone else screwing with me."

"You're not the same. I was wrong."

She hadn't seen the smile on my face when I'd consumed the soul of the demon that had attacked Chuck. She hadn't heard me laugh after I'd gorged myself on jackals. And she didn't know how I'd drunk the blood of an innocent with Osiris and Isis looking on. I hadn't changed. If anything, I was worse for pretending I could change. Osiris knew that and probably always had.

She settled her hand on my arm, drawing my eye. "I'm sorry about Ammit, I am, but I need you, and not like this."

What did she expect from me? I couldn't save people. That wasn't me. I condemned them.

She looked at me with hope, and that was even more crippling than if her dark eyes had accused me. I didn't deserve her hope.

She moved her hand away, but I caught it and turned it over, marveling at how smooth her touch was. She briefly looked into my eyes, despite knowing what resided there.

"Don't go." I hated how I sounded. I'd been the one to leave her, but I couldn't be alone. I didn't want to be tired and alone, listening to the whispers condemn and the souls accuse.

"Ace..."

Lifting her hand, I lightly kissed the backs of her fingers. She would turn me away, and so she should. A muscle fluttered in her cheek, her teeth gritting. We were thinking the same thing, how this was a terrible idea.

I set my glass down on the side table and pushed from my chair. Slipping a hand into her hair, I kissed her before she could tell me to stop. A gentle taste—something to keep me from the dark. When she opened up to me, I welcomed her and deepened the kiss, caught by a raw and sudden urgency to lose myself in the feel of her.

Her fingers made quick work of my shirt buttons. Her bold hands pulled me closer. Her nails scraped my back, and then it all became a rush of hungry touches and breathless pleas. I'd missed her, more than I'd ever let on to anyone, including myself. I'd let her go and pushed her away because I'd seen her soul, and it was light. So light and so good. I hadn't expected that.

Light and dark. The dark in me would have destroyed the light in her.

But after all that had happened, I needed her with me. It was selfish, and I knew that too. I needed a little light before the dark swallowed me down for good.

I really hadn't changed at all.

# Chapter Twelve

I came around slowly, aware of a curious weight settled across my chest. For a few blissful moments, all I knew was the sweet, wild scent of meadows and an exotic musk—Bast's scent. She smelled like far-off places, like forgotten memories, and my steady heartbeat quickened with keen and foolish hope. I could pretend, just for a few moments, that I deserved to be content. Then the sounds of New York filtered into my apartment and reality chased away my hiding place, reminding me I was the monster in this dream and that I didn't belong.

Bast ran a fingernail around my nipple and then sent those sharp nails lower. A scatter of delicious shivers stirred me fully awake. She hooked one leg possessively around mine and pulled herself over me. Her body was fluid in motion, muscles lean but firm—coiled strength—and her golden skin gleamed with the same luster as her alter ego's black coat. She prowled lower, trapping my thighs between hers. Where her warm skin brushed mine, shivers sparked. I'd lost myself in her smooth skin and maddening curves last night and wanted to again.

I reached for her face, hoping to draw her up into a kiss, but she batted my hand away and growled low in her throat. She tilted her head up, mischief glowing in her green cat eyes. She grinned, displaying sharp, pointed canines, and ran the tip of her tongue over her lip.

Last night was a blur. What had started as a questioning kiss had turned into ferocious need. The many scratches and bites throbbing on my shoulders and other parts were evidence of Bast's enthusiasm. We'd each taken what we needed from the other and hadn't been gentle about it. But now, with the look in her eyes and the feel of her tongue in its slow, deliberate exploration—there was more to this than quenching desires.

She pulled up, planted her hands on either side of my head, and locked her gaze inches from mine, pinning me beneath her. If I touched her, she'd slap my hand away again. That gaze was an order.

_Prey,_ it said. _Don't move. You're mine._

My quick breaths betrayed my building anticipation. In five hundred years, no woman had trapped me quite like she did. I loved that about her, loved how fearless and dominant she was, but her dominance wasn't stolen by force. She had earned her alpha status.

I spread my hand against her hip, needing to touch her. Her responding growl reverberated low and deadly, thrumming through me and sweetening my desire, while also pooling heat way down below. I could have ignored the warning, ridden my hands up her back, pulled her down, and taken her, but that wasn't the game she wanted to play.

Leaning into my shoulder, she braced herself on an elbow and shifted her free hand lower, swirling her fingers across my bare skin.

My thoughts had funneled down to one thing.

_Lower_ , I silently begged and may even have said it out loud. Lower her hand went, gliding, swirling.

"Look at me," she purred.

I turned my head and locked gazes with her. Her green eyes shone, and inside, her brilliance stirred.

I blinked and tried to turn my face away, breaking contact, but her hand caught my jaw and pulled me back.

"Look at me," she said again, this time teasing a thread of compulsion through the words.

I felt the push and opened my mouth to warn her, but she planted a finger on my lips, sealing away the protest.

She was playing a dangerous game, one I couldn't resist. I flicked my eyes up and her glare captured mine while her hand closed around my cock. I arched into her grip. I'd never been very good at self-control. She laughed, a deep, salacious chuckle, and collecting the wetness, she moved her hand in a way that made me forget all the warnings I needed to tell her.

Our gazes entwined, my soul tugging at hers, sinking threads of darkness into her light. Her soul embraced it, welcoming me—the innocent always did—but no soul could withstand mine. As I sank into her, and her hand worked its rhythm, and the pleasure beat at my barriers, chilling stabs of fear plunged in. I wanted to go deeper and wallow in her brilliance, like maybe I could cleanse myself of the darkness if I drowned myself in her light. It felt like coming home, like I would always be safe, always be welcome, until the darkness in me rose up like a storm on the horizon. Pleasure wrenched the shreds of resistance away. Her eyes drew me in and led me on, and I stalked her soul. I could take her, make her mine, and swallow her down. Heated need beat in time with her hand, and the darkness surged, hungry and all-consuming.

With a cry, I tore my gaze away and squeezed my eyes closed, maybe I'd even told her to stop, but her lips were on mine, her tongue pushing in. Her hands were suddenly on my face, and she lowered herself onto me, capturing all of me.

"It's okay," she whispered against my mouth, hips rocking, her body driving me toward the edge. "It was always okay."

I still had hold of her light and pulled it tighter, higher, harder. Snapping my eyes open, I pulled her down, twisted, flipping her onto her back, and thrust deep. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and for a few blinding moments, I froze. She arched, her lips parted, breaths coming fast and ragged, and I was sure I'd never seen any woman more beautiful than her. Body and soul, I could have both. A cruel, dark voice urged me to drink her down while she writhed and screamed her pleasure. I could devour her soul and fuck her until there was nothing left to take.

Horror thrust brittle ice through my veins. I whipped my head to the side, shattering the deep hold I had on her. Her soul slipped out of my reach like cool sand through my fingers.

"Bast, by Sekhmet, I can't..."

She quivered beneath me, sank her claws into my shoulders, and then raked them down my back. Pain chased away the fear, and when she growled my name, I lost myself in her until she came with a shattering cry.

A wide, gratified smile tugged at her lips. She pulled me down, darted her tongue into my mouth, and nipped my lip. I responded, but the kiss was hollow.

"You can't," I whispered, words failing. "We can't..."

I pushed out of her arms and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, showing her my back. She had no idea how close I'd come to yanking all of the brilliance out of her.

"You can't tempt me like that." Tremors rolled through me and my heart pounded, heavy and loud. Magic buzzed beneath my skin. It had been close—too close. Hunger plucked at the threads of pleasure, wanting more. Even now I wanted to turn and feed.

"You're stronger than you think."

"You don't know me." She thought she did. That was the problem.

Her hand ran up my back and over my shoulder. "I know you well enough. You'd never hurt me."

She was wrong—so wrong. If she could see what I saw and knew the kind of darkness I was made of, she wouldn't be here. She certainly wouldn't have let me touch her. If she knew how close she'd come to being mine...

"You liked it," she purred, close to my ear. Her hair tickled my shoulder and my neck, and her soft lips followed.

Oh, I liked it. I liked it a lot. I liked the feel of all that goodness, all that light, and how I could crush it and devour it until there was nothing left. The fact she'd held my gaze, challenged me, and ridden my pleasure at the same time, I had no idea how I'd resisted, and that terrified me.

"You need to leave."

She pulled back and a cool draft trickled down my back in her absence. The bed rocked, and I listened to her snatch up her clothes.

A slither of sunlight had pierced the gloom. My gaze strayed to the dust motes drifting through the daylight's glare, and then my thoughts fell to the spirits of the underworld, my home, and the death I'd found there. The sunlight fizzled away, my imagination turning the dust to ash.

When I twisted to look at Bast, she was tugging on her waistcoat. She kept her eyes down and focused on the buckles. Her fingers trembled. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I hadn't meant for things to get so out of control, that she should never have come to me for help, and that this was a mistake—again.

Instead, I asked, "Why did you decide to have the child?"

Her head jerked up. "Because"—she flipped her short hair out of her eyes—"I wanted to show you that you're capable of more than darkness."

Her words struck me like a punch to the gut. I slumped forward and shuddered. She didn't know how bad it had gotten in the underworld. She didn't know the hundreds of innocents I'd devoured. She didn't know the high I craved when every soul went down.

And the girl, our daughter—the girl with no home and no hope. I prayed to whatever god would listen to me that she wasn't like me.

_Capable of more than darkness._ Emotion, sweeping and heady, caught a hold of me and I was glad Bast couldn't see my face. Why did her words hurt like this, like someone had punched into my chest and torn out my heart?

_More than darkness._ I wished it were true, and that was where the ache came from. I wanted her—the woman with the soul filled with hope and light—to be right, but she was so very wrong.

"You should look to Osiris for answers," Bast was saying.

I dragged my hand down my face and blinked my sight back into focus, back into the room and my life. When I turned again, my smile was back, plastered on my face like a mask.

"If I look to that bastard for anything, it'll be for a place to stab Alysdair in deep." I heard my voice going through the motions and saying the same things, but the hurt her words had caused rippled on.

Bast collected her coat and shrugged it over her shoulders. "Besides him and Anubis, there's nobody left who can control the jackals. Anubis hasn't been interested in any of us for as long as I can remember. But Osiris? There's something about him... Like he's buying time."

Osiris's words came back to me—how he'd been planning for millennia and how time was something a god had a surplus of. Yes, it would be better to focus on Osiris and the murders and not on the fact that I'd almost killed a good woman because it _felt good_ to fuck and devour at the same time. If she knew the truth, she'd know I wasn't fit to be a father, and she wouldn't hold out the foolish hope that I could change.

I fell back on the bed and propped my head up on my hand. "This—you and me—can't happen again."

Her lips turned down. She managed to mask the pain in her eyes, but only after I'd seen the glimmer. "Don't worry. There's no chance of that."

Apologies were back on my lips, but I swallowed it. This was for her own good, and telling her _sorry_ would have been for mine.

"I need to go," she said but didn't move. Her gaze glided over me. All the desire was gone, and regret hooded her eyes. "You could stop feeling sorry for yourself and help me."

"Why would Osiris attack your blessed?" I asked, turning the topic away from me while neglecting to mention I'd made a deal to kill a god so I could return to the home I'd been cast out of for her blessed.

She sighed. "I don't know. I haven't spoken to Osiris in decades."

Interlocking my hands behind my head, I stared at the protection spellwork coating my ceiling, and traced the swirling lines and intricate hieroglyphs. The pattern helped clear my head and focus.

Bast noticed where my gaze was pinned. "Protection spells? You're paranoid."

"Ever have someone try to slit your throat in your sleep?"

Her brow shot up. "No."

Of course she wouldn't have. Everyone loved her. Which begged the question: Who would target her blessed women?

"There's a connection between the women," she said. "Something we're not seeing. I'll go over their activity for the last few months and see if I can find anywhere they converged."

A pounding on the door rattled my windows.

"Ace!" Shu barked from the landing.

Bast's lips twitched. She flicked her hair out of her collar and strode toward the door.

"Don't open—"

Shu entered my apartment like a whirlwind in a fur coat. She barely spared Bast a glance and didn't blink at me sprawled naked on the bed. "You have no idea the shit I've had to deal with in the last twenty-four hours, and here you are, fucking your ex?"

I didn't move. She wasn't pissed off that I was screwing Bast. She hadn't known whether I was back from the underworld or if I'd ever come back. Her anger buried what I knew had been real, heartfelt fear. Had I not come back, she would have had no choice but to return to the underworld, and the souls wouldn't be as welcoming to her as they had been with me.

"Bye, Ace." Bast sauntered out the door without a backward glance, leaving me to face Shu.

Five and a half feet of fierce ex-demon was fuming at the foot of my bed. "You turned off your cell."

I padded naked to the shower. My bare ass wouldn't deter her—very little did. Sure enough, she followed. I shut the shower door closed on her glower. "The kid?"

"Yes, the kid. He's not a kid anymore. If you had your cell on you'd know Cujo has a lead. You need to get down there and deal with it. He's been fielding reports to keep the cops from getting killed."

I'd never tell her, but she was exactly what I'd needed: a reason to throw on my coat, pick up Alysdair, and go to work—a distraction. She kept my dark thoughts at bay. Ironic, considering who—what she was.

"Okay." I switched on the water and buried my face in the hot jets. Thoroughly soaked, I asked, "Shu, do you know any illusion spells?"

"What for?" she snapped loud enough for me to hear over the hissing water.

"Insurance."

A guttural sound filled the bathroom, the growl sounding more demon than human. "You need a lot of power to pull off one of those."

I could just make out her outline, rigid and stubborn, through the fogged glass. I waited, knowing she couldn't resist the promise of a challenging spell.

"I can craft one, but I can't activate it," she said. "Not in this useless body. But you could, in your current state."

"That's what I thought." I ran my hands through my hair, washing off the smells of sex, ash, and the underworld.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

_That the darkness in my soul will never wash off,_ I thought.

Trinity Church, on Broadway, had once been the focal point for the Lower Manhattan community and a beacon of hope for arriving ships. I remembered its destruction—twice. First by fire and then after a devastating snowstorm had weakened its walls beyond repair. New York's high-rises had sprouted around its third incarnation, reducing the impressive church, with its piercing spire and gothic embellishments, to a toy among monoliths erected in honor of the modern world. Like the old gods, the church stood proud and defiant, but lost in the shadows of the new world.

By the time I bumped the Ducati onto the curb, the weak winter sun was setting, but clung on to neighboring Wall Street and pseudo-darkness had descended on the church grounds. I left the bike on the sidewalk, risking a ticket. It was a whole lot easier chasing down a demon using 205-horsepower than by foot.

Alysdair was snug against my spine. The coat hid her profile, but not the handle and hilt. I usually confined the sword to nighttime use, but after the events of the last few days, having Alysdair within reach gave me options I sorely needed.

Collar up, I ducked through the high construction fencing and out of sight of passersby.

The church was in the throes of a substantial renovation project. The demon had likely sensed something of the old powers in the church grounds. Construction workers had reported strange noises and a sighting of what they'd described as a rabid homeless man to the cops. Cujo had fielded the reports and passed them on to me.

I'd been inside a handful of times in the past, most recently during 9/11. The inside of the church was a resplendent sight when properly illuminated. But today, with the aid of a few work lights, all that loomed out of the gloom were rows of sheet-covered pews.

I hesitated at the main aisle, motionless, and listening. New York buzzed and snarled outside. I listened deeper, to the quiet inside the church and how it soaked up the noise. And there, at the back of the church in the darkest part, deep breathing rumbled.

"Remember me?" I asked, not needing to raise my voice for the quiet to carry it. "You're a long way from home."

"So...are...you."

From the grainy growls behind those words, I was betting there wasn't anything left of Jason Montgomery.

Alysdair whispered free of her sheath. Her weight and balance felt good and right in my hands. No more consuming souls. This demon was going out by Alysdair's grace, not mine.

"There's only one way this goes down."

"Soul Eater. Liar...thief." Its hisses sailed down the aisle and sounded exactly like the whispers back home.

"I'm all those things," I replied with a knowing smirk. "And more."

_And you should be afraid._

Alysdair's pale green glow washed over the pews a few steps ahead, lighting the way.

A large shape shifted in the darkness behind the altar. Roughly the size of a man, it could have been mistaken for someone hiding under blankets, but those leathery sheets weren't blankets.

A quick spot check for exits confirmed the only way out was behind me. When it sprang, and it would, I'd be faster. Gripping Alysdair in my right hand, I raised the sword in a reverse grip, and fixed the mound in my sights. A few more steps and I could skewer it to the wall, ending this before it began.

Then the words started. Spellwords, from a demon? Ballsy.

"Oh no you don't." I lunged.

The demon flung its massive bat-like wings open, knocking Alysdair clean out of my hands, and punched me in the chest. I flew back, slammed into a pew, and fell forward. Damn, those wings had reach. With an ear-splitting screech and a blast of air, the demon beat its wings and rose above the altar in ungainly, inexperienced jerks. Its twisted gargoyle face rippled with rage. Hollow eye sockets glowed red. Jason Montgomery was long gone.

I spared a quick glance for Alysdair but couldn't find her. So much for abstaining from soul eating. That promise had lasted a pathetic few hours. Spitting a curse, I pushed to my feet.

The demon screamed triumphantly and swiveled its glowing eyes onto me.

I smiled. "Hungry? I know I am."

"POLICE! Get your hands up!"

I snarled as all my plans shattered. Life had been so much easier when people ran away from demons. Now, too many of them rushed in. I lifted my hands so the cops could see I wasn't a threat—at least not to them.

Flashlight beams flicked over the pews, down the aisles, up the wall, and landed on the demon hovering in the air and whipping up a dust storm.

"DON'T MOVE!" More shouts. Boots scuffing. Gear rattling. They'd get themselves killed within seconds. Opening fire on the demon wouldn't stop it, but it would give it a target. Those talons would slice through the cops and their Kevlar like they were made of paper.

I thrust out my left hand. " _Hurzd."_

Power throbbed through me, heady and intoxicating. The demon's flaming eyes widened, its wings locked up, and the thing tumbled out of the air, thumped onto the altar, and slid off.

"Sorry, peaches, no time for foreplay."

"DON'T MOVE!"

I sprang forward and clasped my hands on either side of the demon's hideously deformed face. The spell tumbled forth, words binding together and digging deep, and into the slippery darkness I went. Even as boots thudded up the aisle and the cops shouted at me to step away from the _thing_ , the spell latched on and yanked.

Power—dark and delicious—buzzed. The laughter returned, and I was right at home. Arms hooked around mine and tugged me off the demon. I felt it distantly and heard the cops barking orders as though they were in another room. I was thrown facedown and someone dug a knee into my back, wrenched my arms behind me, and slapped on the cuffs.

"... used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."

Laughing probably didn't help, but there it was, bubbling from my lips.

" _Daquir_ ," I whispered.

Sprites of fire danced over the demon's carcass, startling the cops who aimed their weapons at the rapidly vanishing remains, for all the good it would do them. Activity buzzed. Radios crackled. And in seconds, the demon was gone, turned to ash.

The cops muttered among themselves, no longer sure what they'd witnessed, and looked at me like I might sprout wings. They had no idea I was the real stuff of nightmares. In a few hours, they'd convince themselves it couldn't possibly be a demon they'd seen. It was a trick of the light. Fearful minds concoct imaginary foes.

After they bundled me into the back of a squad car, I dropped my head back and closed my eyes. "I get a phone call, right?"

"Back at the precinct," my police escort said from the cruiser's front seat and then asked, "What was that back there?"

"What was what?"

"The thing. I saw it."

"I didn't see anything." My smile was back, broader than ever.

# Chapter Thirteen

I got my phone call and my own holding cell. I was under arrest for a slew of minor offences. They had yet to connect me with the three dead kids from the midtown high-rise, and if my phone call paid off, they wouldn't get a chance. But if they found Alysdair, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to place me on the roof where the kids had been butchered.

If my call didn't pay off, it might be time to leave the city. The thought of leaving New York wasn't pleasant. After a few decades, the city, its endless activity, its hard outlook, and its no-bullshit people were a part of me. I'd made a home here, settled here longer than anywhere else. But perhaps it was time. Stay in one place too long and the roots rot, so the old world saying goes.

It had been so much easier to slide under the radar when people weren't armed with cell phones and cameras. Now everything was filmed, recorded, and ferreted away into datacenters. It _was_ more difficult than ever to hide—unless you happened to be like Osiris and relished hiding in plain sight.

A uniformed cop collected me from my cell and escorted me to an interrogation room.

The door clicked closed behind me, leaving me standing under the cool scrutiny of the straight-faced, charcoal-suited Thoth.

He appraised me from his sitting position at the table and said in a tone so flat and sharp it could have cut diamonds, "No cell can hold you."

I shrugged, finding myself restless under his gaze. He didn't exude power the same way Osiris did. Thoth's lurked deep. "I have to live this life. I'd prefer not to live it on the run."

He opened his briefcase, removed a slip of paper, and slid it across the table toward me. "The evidence is circumstantial. They have nothing to hold you. You'll be released. Sign here."

Hands still cuffed, I eyed the mirrored wall. Attorney-client conversations were confidential, but it wasn't the cops I was concerned about. Gods had many ways of eavesdropping on the unsuspecting.

After signing Thoth's form—as confident as I could be that the God of Law wasn't about to screw me over—I pushed the paper back across the table.

He gathered the document and neatly inserted it into the proper place inside his briefcase. Then he nudged one of his pens back in line, making it parallel with its neighbor. Gods forbid anything was out of place. He'd have a fit if he saw my filing system.

"You can't afford me, Mister Dante," Thoth said, still cold, still flat. He had about as much spark in him as a reanimated corpse.

"No, I can't afford you, but like I said, I have information to trade." What I was about to do, if it went wrong, could start a feud that would have far-reaching consequences. Or Thoth might try and kill me where I stood, because that would certainly be one fine way out of this mess.

Thoth leaned both elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. With his back straight, his shoulders rigid, and the dash of a goatee narrowing his already thin face, he reminded me of a blade, the kind of blade forged to look plain but that could slice through anything in its path. No doubt about it, my next words would either free me or condemn me.

He waited, probably wondering if he could trust a word I said. _Liar. Thief,_ he'd be thinking.

"Osiris suspects you're screwing his wife," I said. The ground didn't tremble. Thunder didn't crack. Maybe I'd get away with this.

Thoth blinked twice and lifted his chin. "That's unfortunate and quite incorrect."

"Of course." I couldn't tell from his blank expression whether he was lying. I couldn't read a damn thing on his face. I'd just told him the most powerful god, outside of the elusive Amun-Ra, believed he was screwing his wife, and Thoth had barely flinched. He really was hardcore. "But you are meeting with her?"

He blinked quickly again and abruptly stood. "That I cannot confirm or deny."

_You just did,_ I thought.

Thoth straightened his cuffs and sleeves so they perfectly lined up.

"Let me be clear, Mister Dante." He looked up, and something dangerous peered out from behind his slate-gray eyes. "Isis's love for her husband is enduring and eternal. It is the one constant in our ever-changing lives, much like the air we breathe or the ground we walk upon. There is no god, no force in this realm, the underworld, or the afterlife, that can sever their bond."

"Besides themselves?"

He briefly bowed his head, conceding. Either he didn't know Osiris like I did, or he didn't care that the god had his crosshairs lined up on his back. And I was the unfortunate one who'd have to pull the trigger. But I had room to maneuver. I'd agreed to kill Thoth; I hadn't agreed not to warn him first.

"Armies have marched off the back of love," I said. "Thousands of people die every day for it."

"Love is indeed a potent motivator."

Thoth and Isis weren't screwing, I knew that much, but they were meeting in secret, and that alone would be enough to put a wedge between Osiris and his wife.

"Whatever is going on between you and Isis, unless you tell Osiris the truth, it will get you killed." Killing a god was no idle threat, and I'd just laid it out bare.

Thoth's faultless expression gained a few fracture lines around the mouth. It was probably the closest he came to grimacing. "I cannot."

"His suspicions will consume him." _And the rest of us,_ I added silently.

Thoth's bloodless lips pulled into a reed-thin smile. _By the gods, he does smile!_ And it was a horrible thing to witness. "I appreciate the concern, but it's not necessary."

"Oh, I'm not concerned for you."

Thoth stood, picked up his case, and came around the table. Easily a foot taller than me, he peered down his narrow nose, meeting my eyes for as long as he dared before shifting the briefcase to his left hand and straightening his tie. "We are each confined to our word."

"Indeed we are."

He knew I'd be coming for him and that I'd told him more than enough to protect himself—and hopefully me—when the time came.

"I'm sure we'll meet again soon, Mister Dante."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

Without delay, he marched out of the interrogation room. The cop entered moments later. She unlocked my cuffs and spared me a smile. "That's one efficient attorney you have there, Mister Dante. You're free to collect your personal belongings and go."

I rubbed my sore wrists and wondered if I'd earned myself a friend in Thoth, or an enemy.

Shukra was waiting outside the precinct, her face like thunder. A pair of sunglasses hid her eyes and protected them from the glare coming off the fresh snow dump. The rest of her, wrapped in a fur-lined coat, stood rod straight and immobile, warning me she was about to grill me.

"What part of _don't get caught_ did you not understand?"

I flicked my coat collar up and flashed her a smile. "Like a red rag to a bull."

"I hate you."

"I noticed."

"How did you get off?"

"Thoth."

She balked at that, probably wondering where I'd gotten the cash to hire one of the best attorneys in the city. Her questions were incoming and would hit once she worked through the details in that steel-trap mind of hers.

Plucking my cell from the police-issued plastic bag, I switched it on and waited for it to boot up. My breath misted the air. Steam rolled off the street and the cold gnawed on my face and fingers. Squinting into the too-bright winter sun, I spotted a red Ducati parked outside the precinct's parking lot.

Shu shook her head. "Wasn't me, but I did pick up Alysdair from the church. It tried to eat me. You're welcome."

I headed for my bike and resisted the sudden and alarming urge to thank Shu. Her touching the sword was no minor thing. The blade had likely burned her and tried to draw her soul into itself. Her going within three feet of the blade was an unexpected act of kindness from a demon that supposedly wanted to scoop out my insides with a spoon. She'd want compensation.

The Ducati's keys were waiting in the ignition. Thoth _was_ thorough. It would be a shame when I had to kill him.

"Was the Montgomery problem dealt with?" Shu asked, stamping her feet and puffing into her hands.

"Yeah." My cell chimed a message alert. "But I've collected a few more since then."

I didn't have to tell Shu anything, but we'd learned over the years that secrets didn't last long and usually caused more trouble than they were worth. Besides, she knew my soul. There was no greater secret than that. Bizarrely, I knew I could trust her. Besides Osiris and Cujo, she was the only other being who knew the exact details of my curse—because it was also hers. In five centuries, she'd never told another soul.

My cell vibrated. I glanced at the screen. _VOICE MESSAGE: BAST._

"We need to talk," I told Shu and lifted the cell to my ear.

_"Ace, two more of my blessed are dead. I'm on my way to a suspected third. Call me back."_

The message ended, and another began, this one from a few hours ago. _"Chuck is missing. I think I've found their connection. Meet me at the corner of two-thirtieth and Edgewood. The others are dead, Ace. All of them."_ The message ended, cutting to silence.

"Damnit." I dialed Bast's number, but the call rang out. "Shu, are you armed?"

"Always."

I swung my leg over the bike and rocked it upright. "Follow me. Keep up."

Almost three hours had passed since that call, and Bast hadn't called back. Whichever way I looked at it, my ex-wife's silence was a bad omen.

The Ducati roared to life beneath me. I rolled the bike onto the road, spotted Shu climbing into her beat-up two-seater sports car, and opened the bike's throttle. The tires gripped with a screech, launching me through blurry New York streets. Shu wouldn't keep up, but she'd find me. She always did.

Chuck was missing. Bast's women were dead. My mother had been slaughtered in her own chamber. The jackals suggested the events were linked. It was unlikely that Ammit had been pregnant like the other victims. Perhaps she'd known something, and the killer—with enough clout to turn the Devourer's jackals against her—had wanted her silenced. As much as the thought sickened me, I had to talk with Osiris.

I turned the bike onto Edgewood and rolled to a halt. EMTs, cop cars, and a growing crowd blocked the residential street. Was Bast here? I tried her cell again. Nothing.

The crowd strained against a stretch of police tape. I carved my way through them to the front. The stark winter sun highlighted bright splashes of blood in the snow. Bulky body bags gave the rest of the scene its finality. Someone or something had ripped through a squat, single-story building and torn through anyone who had gotten in its way.

Radio chatter drew my eye to an animal control van. Bast?

Among the slushy mess of blood and snow near the front steps, I spotted large paw prints. Bast wouldn't have done this, but she'd been here.

"Ace." Shu drew me away from the frontline, thumbs tapping on her phone. "This address is listed as a modeling agency, but there are some indications online that that wasn't all they did."

"Like what?" I scanned the crowd, the cops, and the dozens of vehicles, but Bast wasn't here. She could have picked up the killer's scent and started tracking them while I played catch-up. Why hadn't she called me?

"Escorts."

I spotted an ambulance with its rear doors hanging open and started toward it. "Escorts as in professional friends or escorts with benefits?"

"The benefits kind," Shu replied.

Escorts—the connection Bast had mentioned. The dead women had been on the payroll?

An EMT loitered near the back of the ambulance with her head down, busy filling out paperwork.

"Shu, go over there, be dramatic, and make it good. I need a few minutes alone with the witness in the back of that ambulance."

Her sunglasses couldn't hide the way her eyes lit up at the promise of mayhem.

"Don't hurt anyone," I quickly added before she could summon a biblical plague.

"Happy to help." She tucked her phone away, removed her sunglasses, and sauntered toward the EMT.

I took up a hapless bystander position at the front of the ambulance, checked that the driver was busy in the cab, and waited for Shu's signal. Sure enough, she let out a cry and dramatically fell into the crowd, causing enough of a ruckus for the EMT to rush in.

I climbed into the back of the ambulance, spooking the guy wrapped tightly in a space blanket. He shrank away.

"Hey, just a few questions—not gonna hurt you."

"Who are you?" He had the wide, glassy-eyed look of someone in shock, and he blinked at me like I might be a figment of his imagination.

"Someone who can help." Shu's commotion continued outside, but I didn't have long before the EMT returned. No time for small talk. "Did you see who did this?"

He shook his head. "No, man, I was out back. We heard the shouts, and then the screams started...I heard Jimmy sayin'..." He trailed off, the memories dragging him under. He'd be reliving them for a while.

He swallowed and looked down at his hands cradled in his lap. "He was begging, yah know? You're supposed to stay in your room. They told us on that terrorist training course, yah know, after nine-eleven. If anything happens, like this... I mean, not like this. Nobody expects someone to come in and start...cutting."

"Just one person?"

He nodded. "I think so. The door was shut, but I heard..."

"Did anyone say anything that could help? Any names? Anything at all?"

"Jimmy..." He winced. "He said the girl wasn't here."

"What girl?"

"I could hear Jim clearly, but..." When he looked at me, there were questions in his expression, and confusion clouded his eyes. "I should remember, shouldn't I? Something? Anything? The cops asked. They looked at me like... I dunno. I should—I can't..."

"What girl?" I pressed, keeping my voice calm while my heart raced.

"I don't know, man." His fingers were trembling so he curled them into fists. "Jimmy said she was in the old warehouse apartments down by pier fifteen and then...and then he didn't say anything else. I found him." His shoulders shook. "His throat was..."

I had a lead. It was something. "Thank you."

"Shock, right? Why I can't remember? It's shock. I mean, the cops said it was. It makes you forget. Makes you see things?" He giggled in a wholly unhealthy way. "Because, man, when I saw that panther, I thought I'd lost my shit for good."

I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring way. "You've been very helpful."

He smiled back and puffed out a small laugh. "I wish there was more I could tell yah."

I turned to jump down from the ambulance but paused. "Did the panther happen to say anything?"

He frowned, and his eyes cleared. "Cats don't talk, dude."

"Of course." It had been worth a shot.

I jumped down from the ambulance and strolled back to my bike, keeping my head down and collar up. I knew the address he'd mentioned, pier fifteen. The converted ironwork factory had once housed low-income families. Now it was marked for demolition to make way for a new waterside "village." Pier fifteen was the regular site of muggings, shootings, and all the other wonderful crimes that seeped into areas that had been cut out of New York and left to rot.

Shu was waiting beside my bike, shades back on, and lips pressed into a grim line.

"The witness was suffering from memory lapses," I said. "His pupils were dilated and he was exhibiting slight delirium. Symptoms of shock."

"Godstruck," she replied, echoing my thoughts exactly. "You think this is _Osiris's_ doing?" She hissed out his name like the taste of it burned her tongue.

"I think it's a possibility and one we need to consider before we go any further. The attack here, it was different. I saw paw prints large enough to be Bast's, but no sign of the jackals. The jackals are search and destroy. This was...this was someone who's run out of patience."

"I'll get Alysdair." Shu marched away and disappeared around the street corner.

She wouldn't like what I was about to tell her. If this was Osiris's doing, she couldn't get involved, and there was nothing Shu hated more (besides me) than being sidelined.

I started the bike, rode around to where she'd parked her car, and pulled up beside her. She was leaning against the hood. I cut the engine.

"We can't stop him," she said, her sunglasses hiding her eyes.

I planted my feet on either side of the bike and straightened. " _We_ can't."

Her cheek twitched. "I'm not sitting this out."

She wanted to bloody her daggers with Osiris's insides as much as I did. "There's no point in him making us both dance. If he gets us together, he'll screw with us, like always."

We shared the same memories of past _performances_ , courtesy of Osiris. I'd turned to Vodka after the last time. Shu had other means __ of forgetting, but what they were she hadn't shared with me.

The growl that sounded in her throat was a sound not belonging to this world. Something of the Shukra from old lurked in that threat. "There's nothing left to hurt us with."

She was so sure of that. I wasn't. "Keep your cell on and go to my apartment. As long as we're apart, Osiris can't screw our souls down even harder than he already has."

"I'd like to see him try." That was a lie driven by fear. She wouldn't and neither would I. Being shackled to the soul of your worst enemy was just one of the many painful and inventive methods Osiris used as torture. He'd had a few millennia to think up new and exciting ways of doing far worse. "I'll claw out his eyes and feed them to his bitch wife."

She may have once been powerful enough to do it too. Before the curse, before Osiris had dragged her into my punishment.

"If this is Osiris, I'll deal with it," I said. "We can't be together around him. It has to stay that way."

"Fine, but next time, I go alone and stick my daggers in him."

If only it were that simple. "I tried that, remember?"

She looked away, sending her gaze down the street. She was the first to find me after Isis had finished punishing me for my assassination attempt on her husband. In every image and statue, Osiris was depicted as holding a flail for a reason.

"I don't like this," she said, her words no less angry because of their calm undertone. "I don't like not knowing. I don't like being put on the bench. I don't like you." She reached in through the open car window, retrieved Alysdair from inside, and with a snarl, threw the sword at me.

I snatched it out of the air before the weighty sword could smack me in the face.

Her top lip rippled. "And I don't like that damn sword."

"Noted." I pushed Alysdair home inside its sheath. Shrugging the substantial weight into place against my back, I felt lighter for having the sword where it belonged.

"Don't get dead," Shu grunted and climbed into her car.

I started the bike and launched away from Shu. She wouldn't follow. In everything else, I had no sway over her. She'd fight, argue, and go against my wishes every step of the way, but when it came to Osiris, she heeded me.

# Chapter Fourteen

The quiet was back, as thick as soup, as heavy as the night that had fallen, and entirely unnatural. I rocked my bike onto its stand and peered through the fence at the converted apartment block. Across the ink-black river behind me, New York buzzed. A helicopter beat the air somewhere, horns blared, and sirens wailed. But ahead, silence devoured the sound as greedily as I devoured souls.

My darkness-adjusted eyes picked out a few glowing windows in the abandoned building. Up on the fifth floor, where scaffolding hugged the façade, someone was home.

I trudged across a churned-up wasteland of mud and grass and up the nearest stairwell. The apartments had been gutted months ago, most now open to the elements. Any signs of their former owners were long gone or buried under weeds.

Orange lantern light illuminated the first den and a few nervous eyes peered out of the gloom. My heart constricted when I thought of Chuck living like this, huddled in the dark alone. I moved on, purposely making my steps heavy and my presence known.

A few dens in, I found the first body. Fresh blood had crept from the corpse and shone like oil in the dark. Careful to keep one eye on the shadows surrounding me, I crouched down and pushed the body over: male, late forties, and his throat had been cut. His arms and hands were cut up too—defensive wounds.

The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. Something was watching me. Not a god—but someone with magic at their disposal.

Hands out, showing I was unarmed, I straightened and slowly turned.

The girl stood with her back to a window. Milky moonlight washed in from between the broken pane, casting her in silhouette. Her features were difficult to make out, but her eyes weren't. They captured every tiny sliver of light and sparked alive. I felt it then, the tug, the trap I could fall into. My soul hungered for hers, and hers hungry for mine.

She looked away at the same time I did.

"There are more bodies down the hall," Chuck said.

Bast had said Chuck was frightened, but if Chuck was afraid now, she hid all signs of it. She stood in the moonlight as rigid and cool as stone.

"I want to help you," I said.

"Help me?" Her teeth flashed in what could have been a smile or a sneer. "No one can help me."

"Who did this?"

I heard her swallow. "They came for me, the dogs, and then...someone did this, but I can't... I can't remember. I hid...and then here _you_ are."

I deserved her mistrust. I wouldn't trust me either. "You don't have any reason to believe anything I say, but I'm the best chance you have at staying alive."

"You and that woman. You know what's going on, don't you?" With her chilling tone and her still body, I couldn't tell if she was angry, about to run, or too terrified to move. "You know everything?" she asked.

Bast would bring a whole world of pain down on me if she found out I'd told Chuck anything without her. I could lie, but something told me Chuck wouldn't fall for any more bullshit.

"Tell me the truth, and I'll go with you."

The truth? That Egyptian gods were real, most of them walked among normal people, and she was potentially one of them? The chances of that conversation going well were slim.

"I will, I'll tell you everything, but not here." I moved forward, just a step.

She backed up toward the window, hands spread and ready to lash out. Light fell across her face, washing all color from her skin. The glimmer in her eyes brightened. She looked too young to be here and to have death stalking her.

"I won't hurt you," I said.

"It's not you. It's me. What if...what if I did that?" Her last words came out in a whisper, and I understood what she was really afraid of. Not the jackals, not the unknown chasing her down, and not me. She was afraid of herself.

"You didn't kill him."

"I might h-have." She took another step back. "I... I do things. I _see_ things."

"I know." I held out my hand, reaching for her. "Please, come with me."

She looked at my hand, at my face, and then finally at my eyes. If she looked deep enough, she'd see what I was truly made of, or maybe she'd see the fear—a fear just like hers.

Her face betrayed her emotions and thoughts so openly. First I saw confusion, and then I watched as she recognized that maybe she was looking into a distorted mirror and seeing more than just a man. Her eyes widened. Maybe she knew me. Maybe she'd always known me.

A jackal shot out of the darkness and slammed into her chest, throwing her off her feet and into the windowpane. Glass shattered. Chuck cried out. I grabbed for her ankle, but I was a second too late. Chuck and the jackal tumbled out the window.

I vaulted over the sill, expecting to fall several stories fast, but I abruptly landed on the scaffolding. Boards swayed under my feet. I grabbed the top rail to steady myself, but it snapped under my grip and fell into the darkness below. A few seconds later, the pole clanged against the ground. The wind howled and moaned, rocking the platform.

"Ace!"

Chuck was running down the boards, the jackal snapping at her heels. I bolted after them. Something vital twanged inside the framework, and the scaffold frame shuddered. Chuck slipped and went down. She reached to grab a hold of a rail. The sounds of boards cracking ricocheted into the night, and the board beneath her gave way.

She jumped—pale arms out—the jackal disappeared, and then something like a sledgehammer hit me in the shoulder. My breath whipped out of me, my hip hit a rail, and the weight of the thing almost shoved me over.

Teeth clamped into my upper arm and pain burst up my shoulder. Then the top rail I'd been pinned against snapped.

Air.

Weightlessness.

My heart lodged in my throat.

And then an abrupt tug yanked on my side, halting my fall. Ripping snarls rumbled around me—snarls from the jackal clamped on my arm and from where my coat had snagged on a rusted pole.

"Ace! Help!" The wind tossed Chuck's screams at me.

If she could shout, she was fine, unlike me, dangling over what was a fast fall to a painful impact.

The jackal growled and gurgled around the muscles in my shoulder, its teeth sinking deeper with every tug. Pain and anger bloomed, smothering any cohesive thought.

I reached around my front and clamped my hand around the jackal's muzzle. It snarled a warning. I dug my fingers into its mouth, sinking them around its sharp teeth, and heaved its jaw open. More snarls. The beast bucked, kicking its back legs against mine, apparently intent on making us both plummet several floors. It would tear my arm off at any second. Prying its jaws wasn't working. The jackal's eyes glowed, and deep inside, it was laughing.

My coat seams ripped, dropping me an inch. "Screw this."

"Ace!"

"Busy!" I curled my hand into a fist and punched the jackal in the jaw, once, twice, and then something cracked—its teeth or my knuckles. Again, I punched, giving it all I had and finally its grip released me. This time, when I got my hand around its muzzle, I yanked its jaw wide and kicked the jackal into the dark. A few seconds later, it landed with a heavy _thwump_ below.

The scaffolding shuddered, and somewhere inside the structure, something else twanged. _This is a bad place to be._

Hooking my good right arm around the lower guardrail, I heaved myself onto the boards in time to see the dark warehouse windows spewing packs of jackals onto the scaffolding, one after another, more and more. Some split my way, and others ran for Chuck.

"Sekhmet's ass." My left arm was damn near useless, and somewhere distantly, between the throbbing and the agony, my body was telling to go lay down.

_Leave the girl_ , my doubts said. If she survived this, she'd be hunted to the ends of the earth. What was the point?

Chuck had crawled onto a lone scaffolding tower. The structure swayed away from the wall, tugged by the wind. The jackals dashed right for her, and they'd clear the gap. The weight of one would be enough to topple the whole tower, and Chuck had five incoming.

_None of this is her fault,_ I growled at that doubting voice inside my head.

"The window," I yelled, but the wind tore my shout away.

The window was her only escape, but she only had eyes for the jackals.

The first wave of jackals bore down on me, eyes ablaze, paws beating the boards, and claws scraping. I braced myself, brought my right shoulder down, and dug in when the first jackal hit hard. Using its own momentum, I shoved it upward and threw it over my back, hoping the damn thing would fall off the scaffold.

As I rose, I clamped my hand around Alysdair and swung the sword free, bringing it down in an arc and cutting through the flank of another jackal just as the demon sprang for the kill. They kept coming, and I kept slicing and slashing, Alysdair seeking flesh. The blade sang, aglow and hungry.

Chuck's scream pierced the howling wind. I lifted my head in time to see the scaffold lean out too far. She scrabbled to the higher side, balancing her weight against the fall, and then the first jackal leaped. It landed half dangling off the side. She kicked it in the jaw again and again, but the added weight was already pushing the scaffolding over.

She couldn't die. Not here and not like this. She'd survived on her own against everything out to get her. This wasn't how it ended for her. She deserved more.

I flung out my numb left hand, clenched my teeth against the agony burning up my shoulder, and spat the word, _"Hurzd!"_

Magic snapped out of me and hooked into the tower. The scaffold snagged in the air, mid-fall. A power ricochet slammed into me, snapping the magic taut, threatening to break my hold.

Chuck kicked at the jackal again, but the other demons were almost on her. She didn't see the next one coming until it skidded across the boards in front of her.

"The window!" I yelled.

Magic throbbed, and with every beat, it fed off my soul, and the blinding pain started gnawing on my strength.

_Hold, damn it. Hold just a little longer._ The tower jolted, but I had it. _A few more seconds._

"The window, Chuck! I can't hold it."

I don't know if she heard me. I couldn't look, couldn't think of anything but holding the frame frozen in the air. The magic pulsed harder, over and over, draining me with every wave.

A jackal slammed into my back, throwing me off my feet. My cheek hit the wall, then the boards, and the world ripped and shattered. The spell snapped and lashed back, slicing soul deep. A cry shot from my throat, and in its wake, I heard the chiming clangs of Chuck's tower collapsing.

_Capable of more than darkness,_ Bast's words mocked.

A jackal landed on my back. I got my hands under me and pushed up, but hot pain flared brightly in my shoulder, almost robbing me of the dregs of the strength I had left. Alysdair strummed in my hand. I gripped the sword tighter, listening to her sing.

The jackal's low growl trembled through my back. Its hot, stinking breath pushed against my neck. Drool slid down my cheek.

A high-pitched whistle sounded, and the jackal's weight lifted.

"Hey!" Chuck called.

The weight vanished.

I twisted and saw Chuck at the other end of the platform, crouched low. Her golden eyes shone in the darkness, undeniable and hungry. The jackal started toward her, but didn't sprint like it had before. It managed a nervous trot and then sank onto its belly. Chuck stood, and with a stride too confident, she closed the distance between them. Those golden eyes glowed. Shit, she had the demon enthralled.

She stopped and looked the beast in its eyes.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, I finally realized what she was doing. "Don't," I growled. "Don't!"

Her eyes brightened. She drew back her lips in a smile I'd seen too many times in the mirror.

I got my feet under me, dragged Alysdair at my side, and staggered. I might be too late, like I'd been too late for everything, but I wouldn't let her damage her soul over this pathetic demon.

I plunged Alysdair into the beast's side, owning its death. _"Tra k-dae amcru-kak sra ksork, kosec amcru-kak esk kassrakamsk, omd kae kuir amcru-kak aeuirk."_

Chuck gasped and fell back, her connection with the demon severed. Her glittering, envy-filled eyes fell to Alysdair, the steel aglow.

When the soul was gone, I said, _"Daquir."_

The carcass fizzled to ash and embers. The others, sensing a Soul Eater among them, had vanished.

Chuck lifted her chin. Her bottom lip trembled and her skinny shoulders shook, but a new fierceness burned in her Soul Eater's eyes.

I had a lot of explaining to do.

# Chapter Fifteen

Chuck stepped into my dark apartment and stopped dead. Yellow eyes shone in the gloom.

I flicked on the lights. "Hey, Shu."

My business partner was sitting poised in the chair by my desk, giving her a direct line of sight to the door. She still wore her sophisticated pantsuit, but her demeanor was of a coiled snake about to strike, until she saw Chuck and the flicker of rage fizzled to curiosity.

"Bit young for your tastes, Acehole?"

The throbbing pain in my shoulder and the battering my body had taken had drained the fight right out of me. "Chuck, meet Shukra. Shu, meet Chuck."

Chuck stood rigid and was probably considering running. She'd likely sensed something was off about Shu, but given she had no idea what the hell was going on, she couldn't know Shu had once been a demon.

Shu pushed out of the chair and blatantly dragged her gaze over Chuck from head to toe and back again. "There's something familiar about you."

"Leave it," I warned, pushing the smallest hint of a compulsion into the words so she'd know to back off.

Her dark eyes caught mine. She didn't ask, but she did circle around Chuck in a way normal people didn't do unless they were psychopaths.

Chuck narrowed her eyes on the woman eyeing her up. "I thought I had issues."

I peeled my coat off my mangled shoulder. The fabric tugged on scabs of dried blood, reopening the wounds. Dumping the coat on the bed, I asked Chuck, "You hurt?"

"No," Chuck replied, and then added softly, "Don't think so."

Besides a few scrapes and bruises, she'd survived the warehouse relatively unscathed. I, on the other hand, hadn't. My coat was torn, my shoulder was on fire, and the magic backlash still raked at my insides, turning them to mush. All I wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep it off, but the night wasn't over yet, and those jackals would keep on coming.

I flicked my gaze up at the protection spellwork on the ceiling.

"Added some improvements," Shu said.

She had. I could see the new hieroglyphs and how they complemented those already in place. It was fine work, worthy of a display in a museum, but I'd expect nothing less from a demon sorceress.

"I also cleaned out your vodka and finished the Chinese takeout in the fridge."

That takeout had been a week old, but I'd seen her eat beating hearts. She could handle it.

"Did Bast drop by?"

"No. Just me, left behind, all alone." She jerked her chin at my arm. "Looks like you could have done with an extra pair of hands."

"We lived."

Chuck watched Shu with hooded eyes, the girl's young mind trying to wrap itself around what she was really seeing. Her skin was probably crawling off her bones.

"Are you two like...together?" she asked.

Shu barked a laugh. "You couldn't drown me in souls to touch his—"

"Bye, Shu," I butted in.

Shu snarled, and the temperature dropped a degree. She eyed me like she might argue. She'd grill me in the morning. Who was the girl, where had I been, what was really going on? It could all wait until the light of day.

Chuck continued to stand in the middle of the room after Shu had gone, eyeing my furniture like it might come alive and attack her. She'd seen some things back at the warehouse—impossible things. That had to make her take a fresh look at the people and things around her. She'd need time, weeks or months. Some people never adjusted to the truth.

"You can relax," I said. "This is probably the safest place in the city for you right now."

I eased Alysdair's custom sheath off, over my head and down my good arm. The sight of the sword tempted Chuck a few steps closer. With the blade sheathed, she couldn't see the glowing spellwork, but she couldn't have missed it back at the apartments. If she listened, she'd hear its low-frequency hum.

She reached out a pale hand. "What is it?"

"Enchanted sword. It eats souls." There was little point in beating around the bush when we'd already set the bush on fire.

A grin broke out across her lips. "That is so badass."

"Badass, yes, and also extremely dangerous. It doesn't discriminate. Good, bad, young, old—it'll eat everything."

"Where'd you get it?"

"My mother gave it to me."

Chuck worried her top lip between her teeth. "I never knew my mother."

I decided to leave that conversation well alone and busied myself with retrieving the first aid kit from the bathroom. Spreading the antiseptic wash and bandages across my desk, I pulled off my shirt and set to work cleaning my shoulder, keeping Chuck in the corner of my eye the whole time. She touched Alysdair but quickly pulled her hand back. She'd feel it, the slow pull, like the sword could suck the life right out of her bones.

She dropped her gaze to my coat and ran her fingers over the many ragged holes. "The sword and the long coat...some people who were kind to me back at the warehouse, they talked about a guy who scares off the undead. I thought they were nuts. Is that you?"

"Hard to tell. I've never met another guy with a sword who makes a living killing demons in New York, but hey, it's a big city."

"Is that what those dogs were? Undead demons?"

Where to start? I really wasn't in the mood for the big reveal, but when I looked at her face and saw her raw, needy expression, I couldn't keep the truth from her. She'd probably known she wasn't _normal_ her entire life. If I didn't tell her, she'd go looking for answers and get killed.

"They're not undead," I said. "Demons are—" I pressed a dressing against my shoulder and hissed as the antiseptic burned its way into the bite. "The underworld, where they come from, it's brimming with souls. Some are lost, some like it there, and most are just passing through on their way to the Hall Of Judgment. But occasionally, a few stick around. They listen and they learn. They attach themselves to..." _Gods_ just sounded too far out there, but what the hell? She was already looking at me like she might call the cops the second I turned my back. "Some devote their services to a few of the underworld gods. The influence of the gods, especially the darker demon gods, turns the souls into creatures like the jackals. Demons."

"That's how your sword was able to _eat_ them?"

I nodded. "Then some idiot gets it into his head that ancient Egyptian spells look like fun, something to impress the girls with, and before you know it, you've got two demons possessing human bodies, contorting their DNA, turning them into creatures that shouldn't exist, and unleashing chaos in midtown. I tidy up the mess and try to avoid getting arrested, or shot, or bitten. I'm not always successful."

Her eyes couldn't get any wider. "Did that happen?"

"Yesterday—or the day before. I'm losing track."

"This is all real?"

"As real as the child you're carrying."

Her hand settled low over her stomach. "What does any of this have to do with me?"

" _That_ is a very good question." I dug out a fresh shirt from my dresser and worked it on without igniting my shoulder all over again. With rest, I'd heal in a few days. Until then, I'd make sure to play the sick card with Shu—make her buy me some slippers.

Chuck ran her trembling fingers through her short hair. Chewing on her lip, she lifted her gaze to me. "I'm not normal, am I?"

"Not in the least." Leaning against the desk, I watched her process all the questions she had and whether she really wanted to ask them. "Being normal is all well and good until the demons are out to get you. You survived because you're not normal. You did well out there."

She looked again at my sword, its presence a constant reminder of how shit was as far from normal as it could get.

"Why don't you take a shower," I suggested. "Think over what you've seen and what I've told you. I don't have much in the way of food, but I'll whip something up. Once you're rested and fed, we'll talk some more."

I gave her some space to adjust, busying myself by microwaving two batches of flavored noodles. I tried Bast's cell a few more times, but each time it rang until her voicemail picked up. There was a chance she was deliberately ignoring my calls, especially after I'd brushed her off. Goddesses held grudges longer than empires reigned. But Bast would have set aside me acting like an asshole to know Chuck was safe. Something had happened to her between the modeling agency and the warehouse—something that was stopping her from getting in touch.

I returned to the lounge with two bowls of noodles. Alysdair thrummed, tempting me to pick her up and head back onto the street to hunt Bast down. But the goddess could look after herself. Chuck couldn't—not yet and not with demons on her tail.

I tucked the sword safely away in its slot wedged between the desk and the wall. When I turned back, Chuck emerged from the bathroom, hair knotted in a towel, wearing one of my shirts. She looked tiny, and pale, and vulnerable, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do with her.

I shoved the bowl of noodles under her nose. "Get that in you."

She dropped onto my bed and dug in.

I retreated to my desk and ignored the spreading, heavy tiredness. I needed to rest, needed to see Osiris, and needed to find Bast, but above all that, I needed to keep the girl safe. I hadn't expected to feel anything for her. Why would I? We were strangers. And yet there was something in me that had started to grow since Bast's return. I knew what it was. I'd experienced it before: _hope_. Hope that this girl might escape everything I'd been through and that maybe I really was capable of more than darkness. If I could save her, that meant something. Didn't it? I wasn't expecting that one good deed could wipe away five centuries of sins, but maybe it was a start.

After inhaling half her bowl of noodles, Chuck asked, "Why're you helping me?"

_Because saving you is easier than saving myself._ I hooked a shallow smile onto my lips, hoping it looked real enough. "Like I said, I get paid to help."

She accepted that and twirled her noodles on her fork. "Who's paying you?"

"Bast. The woman from the shelter."

More noodles went in. She chewed and then asked around a mouthful, "I've seen her in there a few times. She stands out."

"Yes, she does. Like a goth at a white wedding." I kicked back at my desk and worked on devouring my noodles.

"What's her deal?" Chuck dug into her bowl.

"She's one of the good ones." A little knot twisted tighter inside. Guilt and I were old friends. "There aren't many good gods."

Chuck's head whipped up. "She's a god?"

"Goddess Bastet—"

Her mouth fell open. "Goddess of Cats?" She saw my smile and said, "My foster mom taught middle-grade. She had a cool kid's book about Egyptian gods. The cat..." She blinked. "Oh. The big cat I saw...holy shit, that was her?!"

"That was her." I gave Chuck time to absorb that revelation and watched her look around the room as though seeing it for the first time. "She's also the goddess of pregnant women and the protector of those in need. Some women she takes under her paw, like you."

"This is insane." Chuck laughed, shook her head, and continued stabbing at her noodles. "I mean, shit. I... I knew she was different. Yah know, you can feel it. I can feel it. Same as you...wait...what the hell are you, then? Are you an animal too? The eyes? You have—"

I waved her questions away, finished my mouthful, and said, "I'm not important. Don't even have a name. But you and your unborn child, you are important. Important enough to want dead." Setting the bowl aside, I brushed my hands together and leaned forward. "Chuck, I need you to answer me one question."

She wet her lips and blinked wide, innocent eyes.

"Who is the child's father?"

Her eyes clouded over. She looked into her bowl at the mass of noodles for answers and clearly didn't find any because her little shoulders shrugged. "This is gonna sound crazy—and stupid. I mean, I think I was high...but I..." She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of the borrowed shirt. "I don't know." A nervous smile darted across her lips. "Maybe I was high, or maybe I was roofied, but I'm careful. I look out for that shit. I don't remember anything. Maybe it was Immaculate Conception?" She laughed a nervous, tinkling laugh that held no humor.

There was another word for Immaculate Conception: Godstruck. She _had_ been drugged, but not by any conventional means.

"You worked at the modeling agency?"

Her frown deepened. "Once, but they fired me when they found out where I live."

"Do you remember that one time you worked for them? Do you remember where you went and who you were with?"

She set her bowl down on the bedside table and pulled the towel from her hair, ruffling her tangled locks. "Sure, it was just some guy. He hired me to hang around with him and look pretty on his arm. It was just a few hours. I smiled and kept my mouth shut. I figured he was lonely or something. Pretty dumb, but some people pay for weird shit."

"Describe him."

"Tall. Nice looking, really. He had pretty eyes. Dark hair, tanned skin, like he came from somewhere exotic. " She frowned and scratched her head. "I dunno, just a guy. Nothing special."

I was certain magic had eaten away at her memories. She remembered only what the magic had deliberately left her with. "Do you remember anything else? What was he wearing? Did he have any assistants or mention any events?"

She shrugged. "Nothing." Her frown cut deeper. "Wait, there is something..."

My heart seized, already anticipating where this was going. "Go on."

"He drove one of those fancy electric cars. Not the ugly ones, but those sleek, fast-looking things."

"Color?"

"Black. Definitely black."

A black Tesla. Osiris. Fuck. All the fucks. Osiris was the father of Chuck's child, and he wanted my daughter and her unborn child dead. I'd suspected it, but the car, the car was key. Osiris. The one god nobody could touch. If he found Chuck with me, he would probably compel me to kill her, and I'd do it too. I slumped back in the chair and rubbed my forehead.

"You know who he is..." Chuck said, her voice small. "Was he someone important?"

I couldn't hide her in the underworld. He'd find her. There wasn't anywhere he wouldn't find her. Goddamn gods. He was tidying up his mess, probably before Isis found out he'd been screwing escorts and planting seeds.

"Ace?" Her small voice trembled.

"He's..." I wet my lips, met her frightened gaze, and tried again. "You don't remember anything because he's a god. If you spend any extended time in the presence of a god and they aren't reining in their magic, you'll end up godstruck. You won't remember anything afterward. It's how they get away with...everything."

She swallowed hard. "He raped me?"

Osiris wouldn't see it as rape. His perspective from up on his godly pedestal had been warped by millennia of worship. He'd probably consider it a gift that he'd chosen a lowly mortal like Chuck. "Yes."

A dangerous glimmer sparked in her eyes. "That fucker. I'll kill him."

"And I'd be right alongside you, except I've tried."

There was another way. I could bargain for her life. Trade something of worth. Osiris never could resist a good deal. Or I could trick him. Trick a god who'd lived seven millennia and seen it all? It'd be easier to bargain, but what did I have left to bargain with? He already had my soul.

"My baby is a god's baby?" Chuck pressed her hand to her belly. Her face had lost all the color she'd regained.

"It's a loose end, an unknown, and that's something all gods hate." I leaned forward, resting my chin on my steepled fingers. My gaze wandered to the protection spellwork above the bed. "There may be another way..."

# Chapter Sixteen

"Nameless One...kill the girl."

Osiris's mansion. Their bedchamber. The vast bed. I clawed at the memory—the dream—trying to tear it into pieces, but I couldn't stop it.

The blade cut through the young woman's throat like her skin was made of nothing but mist. I could hear myself screaming to stop, but the words never left my silent lips.

"I want to see you eat her soul." Isis's whispers poured into my ear. Her hand slid up my arm and over my shoulder until her fingertips fluttered across the back of my neck. My pulse raced so fast I could feel it beating on my tongue.

"Devour her soul." Osiris's compulsion tore through me, driving me to my knees. I caught the dying woman's face in my hands. Her brilliance shone, the light inside her welcoming and embracing me, like all good souls did. She looked at me, her eyes dulled by magic, and I fell into her as the two gods watched. The second I latched onto her soul, the consuming high gushed in. The deeper it flowed, the harder I pulled, so hungry for the light, until I had all of her embraced. And then, in that breathless, mindless moment, I wrapped the darkness around her and made her mine.

The liquid, intoxicating sound of Osiris's deep, rich laugh caressed my mind.

Isis's lips burned on mine. I thrust my tongue in, starved of her. She laughed and was gone, leaving me swaying on my knees, my soul burning, and the high riding me hard.

"Mm... our monster," the goddess mused.

The room shifted, or I did, and settled again. Osiris was gone, and the dead girl's body had vanished. Isis was lounging at the table, naked but for a gossamer gown. Blood clung to the edges of the crystal glass in her hand.

"Are you ever sated?" she asked.

I ran my gaze up her smooth legs, over her thighs and the curve of her waist, to where the wispy material clung to her breasts. I imagined my mouth there, my tongue running over her hard nipples. She'd arch under me, responding to my touch. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind a warning fluttered but soon died. Isis came alive under me—so smooth and so forbidden. I ran my hand lower. She parted her thighs, giving me permission. I kissed her lips, tasting honey and sweetness, and pushed my fingers between her legs as I drove my tongue in against hers. Breathless, I was mad for more.

A gasp—hers or mine—and I snapped open my eyes. My apartment, draped in shadows.

I darted my gaze around and straightened in the chair. The bed sheets outlined Chuck, asleep in my bed. Everything else was right where it should be. Nothing had changed. Nothing had happened. But my heart was racing, pounding its way out of my chest and pulsing hot blood through my veins. Adrenalin buzzed like an electrical current, as did magic too. Lust had me painfully aroused.

"Just a dream." I didn't like the way my voice trembled. Didn't like it at all.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I tried to sweep the dregs of the dream away, but they clung on like the whispers of the damned. Around and around the images spun, conjuring the taste and the feel of the goddess under me.

I staggered to the kitchen, flicked on the light, and blinked back into harsh reality. Coffee. Lots of coffee. Vodka too. Both would chase the dream from my head.

I searched the cupboards and found the empty vodka bottle. "Damn you, Shu."

A whisper of a warning tickled my neck and I spun around, lifting a hand to block—

Isis plunged a dagger into my gut and punched it right up to the hilt, delivering a shock of cold.

She caught my shoulder and pulled me into the blade, yanking me close. All I could see were the fine kohl lines outlining her brilliant eyes. Power pulled tight between us, mine and hers, but hers rose up like a mountain, filling the room, the apartment, the building, and folding in around me, making me small inside her embrace. She could crush me under the weight of it. The smallest of smiles in her eyes told me so. I was nothing to her, nothing but sand and dust.

She twisted the blade. Fire surged up my insides or ripped them out; I couldn't think around the pain to tell the difference. Her lips were on mine, her tongue sweeping in.

Withdrawing, she whispered, "Bad monster,"

I breathed her words down, feeling them harden like ice around my heart.

"The girl is mine."

"Don't..." I rasped.

"Mm," she purred, "aren't you sweet."

She pulled the blade out and stepped back. Weakness rushed in. If it weren't for the counter holding me up, I would have fallen.

"Nameless One...you should know by now not to interfere."

I held her gaze and felt her slippery soul moving inside her. "Let her go."

I couldn't help the compulsion; it came like a reflex, adding weight and intent to my words, but it washed right off her.

"Oh, that would be nice, wouldn't it?" She tapped the blade against her chin, leaving a smudge of blood—my blood—on her flawless skin. "But no. She's the last girl."

She turned and glided barefooted into the lounge.

I thrust out my left hand. _"San!" Stop!_

Isis laughed. The power in that laugh whirled around me, squeezing me tight, until it was all I could do to stay standing. On and on her laughter wove.

Chuck. I had to get to Chuck, whatever it took. Blood spilled between my fingers, slick and slippery. I fell forward, against the doorframe, smearing bloody handprints on the wall.

"Isis, please."

"Oh beg, please do. It's been so long." All around her the air glittered as if she were a being of light, of good. It was a trap, that light.

"Ace?" Chuck mumbled in a sleep-addled voice.

The ice around my heart shattered. Isis snapped her head around and fixed her sights on the girl sitting up in my bed.

"Run!"

I lunged forward, throwing everything I had into getting between Isis and my daughter. Isis merely swept her hand to the side, and invisible hooks punched through my chest, snapping me sideways. A moment of weightlessness took hold and then glass shattered around me. New York's din blared too loudly in my ears. A shock of cold hit me, and then my back slammed into the scaffolding guardrail. Without that, I'd have fallen fifteen floors.

"Ace!" Chuck yelled.

She didn't stand a chance.

"Wait. Isis. Stop." I dragged strength from somewhere inside and struggled to my feet. "Anything. I'll do anything. Don't hurt her."

Half stumbling, half falling, I scrambled back through the broken window and dropped to my feet. _Capable of more than darkness._ I could do this. I would do this—to save the girl.

"Ask anything of me."

Isis cocked her head. Her eternal eyes shone like jewels. "I did."

This wasn't about me turning her down. It couldn't be. "Something...there must be something. You wanna fuck? Fine, we'll do it now. Keep me for however long you want. I don't care." I held out my blood-covered hand. "Please. Just let her go."

Isis tapped the dagger against her thigh, leaving spots of red on her flowing gown. "Such a tempting offer, but really, this isn't about you. It's none of your concern, Nameless One. I kill the girl. All ends well. It's very simple. Look away if her death pains you so."

She took a step toward the bed, and Chuck scurried away, clutching the sheets against her like they might offer some protection. Her young, wide eyes swam with tears. She was brave, she was strong, but against Isis, that strength crumbled.

"Why? She's just a scared girl."

"The girl carries my husband's son," Isis snapped. "She must die."

"C'mon! This is Osiris. He fucks anything with a heartbeat."

"He is not supposed to impregnate them!"

"So the women had to die because Osiris lost his load?!"

Isis pointed the dagger tip at me and lined up her sights down the blade. "You do not stand in judgment over us!"

_Yes, focus on me. Get mad at me._ I stepped back, nudging up against my desk. City sounds buzzed behind me, and the cold air chilled me to the bone, or perhaps that was the blood loss hollowing the life out of my body. "Isis, you are the Queen of all Things. This girl is nothing."

"I don't _want_ to kill her," the goddess waved a hand, shooing my argument away. "I have to. It is written."

"What is?"

"Thoth told me the son will sunder the king, my beloved. I do this for love, Nameless One. I wouldn't expect a monster like you to understand."

By the gods, a prophecy? Of course it was a prophecy. Nothing else would move Isis to act like this. "You don't need to believe the nonsense written by zealots. Thoth could be screwing with you—"

"Thoth doesn't lie."

That we were aware of. "My queen, you're more powerful than some thousand-year-old prophecy. The mutterings of mad priests are beneath you."

My heart pounded, squeezing my every breath. Blood was running through my fingers and down my waist, cool and wet—as cold as the chill spreading through my body. My life, draining away like the seconds I had left.

Isis's smile crawled across her lips. "Why take the risk?"

She moved in a blur of magic and mist.

I wrenched Alysdair free from its hiding place, raised the sword, and launched forward.

Isis sank her fingers into Chuck's hair, pulling her upright. Chuck screamed. Her wide eyes sought me out, pleading with me to keep her safe. I'd told her I would, but she would never be safe from the gods.

Isis pressed her blade against my daughter's pale throat. A bright droplet of blood welled. But I was there, Alysdair slicing through the air, so close. In a blink, it would be done. The sword sang. The blade flared, hungry for the god's neck and Isis's soul—

"Stop!" Osiris's command slammed into my body, yanking me up short. I dropped, but his wife didn't hesitate. She pulled the dagger across my daughter's throat, parting flesh, spilling blood.

The blade cut as cleanly as it had the last time I'd used it against another innocent's throat not so long ago. So quietly, it opened Chuck's throat, pouring forth streams of dark blood down her chest and silencing her scream.

I strained against Osiris's hold, the sword still buzzing, the power still lusting for Isis's death. Harder and harder I pushed, until my thoughts swam in the madness and my body turned to fire, but the compulsion held. With every second, every silent, reaching gasp, my daughter's chance of living her life died right before my eyes.

# Chapter Seventeen

Someone was screaming—a woman. The shriek sliced through the pain, piercing my soul. The power within broiled, and from it, a curse spilled from my lips. I'd curse them both and make them burn. With all the power of the underworld, with everything I controlled, I'd bury their souls.

_"Bae sra sudk, omd orr sros rok reqad. Bae sra kuir uk sruka I roqa cumkikad. Bae sra resrs, sra dord, Ikek, I cumdakm—"_

_"Seramca!"_ _Silence_ , Osiris boomed.

His glare pierced me as sharply as Isis's blade. The compulsion, and his power, thrust deep. I slumped over my knees. Silenced, perhaps until I died, which, given the amount of blood I'd lost, could be very soon. The terrible thudding sounded like a death knell and pounded throughout my body. With every beat, the numbness crept deeper into my bones.

"Husband!" Isis gushed. "It is done. You are safe."

Osiris's power shifted around him, flexing, pushing, and settling, but I wouldn't look. I couldn't.

"What is this?" he asked, mildly intrigued.

"She was the last girl. My gift to you, my beloved. Thoth warned me you'd been sowing seeds in fertile ground. From one such seed a boy would spring who would have ended your reign. Thoth never lies. I know you are busy with politics—with those stuffy men and their silly world—so I acted on your behalf. It is done."

I heard a sob and lifted my head. What was left of my heart broke as I watched Bast frantically trying to cover the gaping wound in our daughter's throat. It occurred to me, somewhere distantly, where my thoughts had gathered to be alone, that Bast had gone to Osiris. She'd told the god everything, hoping to stop him, but Osiris hadn't done this. We'd been wrong.

"Isis, my light..." Osiris crooned. "My love. Once again, you save me. Every day you save me."

"Wa roqa orvoaek baam susasrar. Wa verr orvoaek ba susasrar." she replied. _We have always been together. We will always be together._

Bast roared. The sound shuddered through the floor and beat the air. Something wild, ageless, and primal had joined us in the room. She whirled on the couple, her fingers stretching into claws.

Isis flicked a hand. From the queen's fingertips a blast struck Bast mid-leap, tossing her against the wall.

Isis laughed. "Bad kitty."

I heard Osiris rain apologies down on Isis and the two gods declare their love like it was a glorious thing and not the twisted obsession that had killed a dozen innocent women. I might have fought, might have argued, but crippled with pain, chilled and suddenly so empty, I was done. I hit the floor, falling onto my side, and rolled my gaze toward the protection spellwork on the ceiling. I traced the design the way I always had. I _was_ tired. It was time.

"As entertaining as your death would be, I'm not finished with you." Osiris's warm hand settled on my abdomen. The other hand he placed over my eyes. Flesh spasmed, squeezing pain out of every cell. I'd have screamed if I'd still had my voice. He spoke old words, ancient words, words I didn't understand, and then, too quickly or not soon enough, he let go.

The god towered over me. His eyes narrowed and a displeased frown marred his timeless face. He looked at me as though puzzled, or perhaps surprised.

I blinked, and he was gone—Isis too. The combined weight of their presence bled away until all I could hear and feel was the cool wind, which brought with it New York's cacophony.

Bast's hands fluttered around my chest and came away glistening with blood. "Ace...oh, by Sekhmet. What were you thinking?" Her hands clasped my face, and she searched my eyes. A tear fell from her eye and tapped me on the cheek. "You stupid fool."

"Chuck..." I croaked. At least I had my voice back.

Bast shook her head and more tears fell. "I was too late. I'm sorry. I thought... I thought Osiris would stop if I could bargain with him. I didn't know it was Isis. _He_ didn't know. I tracked her scent here, to you...she could have killed you."

I reached for Bast's face and brushed a thumb against her cheek, mixing my blood with her tears. "Chuck..."

Her hand caught mine. She clutched it close against her chest. "She's gone. I'm sorry, so sorry. I wish I'd never told you."

She buried her head in my shoulder, sobs racking her body.

Turning my head toward the bed, I fixed my sharpening gaze on the pair of gold-flecked eyes peering out at me from under the bed.

"Chuck..." I croaked. "Come out. It's safe."

Chuck slithered forward on her belly, crawling out from under the bed. She still wore my shirt, which was now covered in a few years' worth of dust. She coughed.

Bast lifted her head. She blinked at the girl, who was very much alive. Her face went from despair to rage in a split second, and the next thing I felt was a slap burning my cheek.

Bast scrabbled off me, onto her feet, and backed up. "What? How—I...?"

Chuck shrugged in that noncommittal way of hers. "Ace said it would work."

I'd admit that smiling probably made matters worse.

Bast's green eyes flared all cat like. "You bastard!"

She moved in for what would have been a decent kick had I not shifted sideways. Osiris's healing had chased away death, but I still had some healing to do. Healing that a kick to the gut wouldn't help.

"Hey! The dead girl was fake, but nearly dying wasn't!"

"I hate you!" Bast snarled, rumbling the walls again.

"I get that...a lot." Clearly nobody was going to help me up, so I hooked my fingers onto the bed and dragged myself onto my knees. The body was still there, in all its gory detail.

"I don't..." Bast mumbled. "I can't...she was dead. She's dead. She's there. How?"

I sat my ass on the bed and focused on breathing. That had been close—too close. I'd been ready and willing too. I'd have died to keep Chuck safe, a girl who deserved to live more than I did.

"Shukra switched my protection spellwork for an illusionary spell," I explained. "The body isn't real. None of it is real."

Bast marched to my bed and looked at me. "You brilliant bastard." She rounded the bed and touched the illusion of the dead body. "It feels real. I can smell the blood."

"It's a good spell." It had to be to fool Isis, although it had been designed to fool Osiris. "I can't dispel it while I'm drained. Would you do the honors?"

Bast hesitated, sweeping her eyes over the carnage, and then undid the spell with a few ancient words. The body and the blood shimmered and dissolved, leaving no trace. Above, the spellwork glowed and burned itself out.

Bast swore some more, throwing in some colorful, ancient curses for my benefit.

I looked at Chuck. She'd been hiding under the bed the whole time, listening to it all and seeing Isis toss me through a window. I'd told her to stay hidden—no matter what. It had been important that the gods sensed her inside the room. She'd hidden well.

She caught me watching her and smiled. "Is your life always this interesting?"

"Only on Tuesdays. What day is it?"

She laughed, and Bast cursed my name until she ran out of breath.

We'd survived the wrath of the gods, but it wouldn't last. Chuck had to run, far and fast, and she might never be able to stop. If either of them discovered she was alive, there wasn't anywhere she could hide.

I fell back on the bed and closed my eyes, exhausted, wrung out, and running on empty. "Wake me up for the next disaster."

# Chapter Eighteen

Chuck was wrapped up in a fur coat I'd stolen from Shu's office. Shu wouldn't miss it. She had hundreds. Color touched Chuck's cheeks where the cold wind bit, but her smile was warm.

She threw her arms around Bast, and they exchanged a few words. I hung back and settled for watching people file into waiting buses. They all had places to be, and Chuck would find hers.

Bast had given Chuck enough cash to get her started somewhere far, far away from New York. She was a good kid. She'd survived a brush with the gods. Few lived to tell those tales. I had faith she'd do just fine.

"Hey." She stood in front of me, her pale little hands stuffed in her coat pockets. "Thank you."

I smiled back. "Not necessary."

She pulled her hand from her pocket and held it out. I closed mine around hers, yanked her into my arms, and hugged her. Bast saw and looked away, but not before I caught her smiling.

"You're gonna do just fine," I said into Chuck's hair, squeezing her a little too tightly, absorbing what I could of the moment before it passed. If everything went as planned, I'd never see her again. That was how it had to be, but it hurt in ways I couldn't describe and didn't want to think about.

"Sure I am." She pulled back and adjusted her backpack. "I wish I could stay. There's so much I want to know."

"Bast will follow once she's certain it's safe. There's a lot you _need_ to know."

She hesitated, looked at Bast, and then back at me. "We're the same."

I'd been afraid she'd ask, but there wasn't a question there. She knew the answer. What I wanted to tell her, the things she needed to know about who and what she was—that was a conversation for another time and place.

"Try and control it. Don't let it control you." It was the best piece of advice I had, and advice I'd failed at.

She grinned and shot a finger-gun at me. "Stay awesome."

"Is there any other way?"

Bast and I watched her climb onto the bus and take a seat near the back. She wiped the condensation off her window and waved at us as the bus pulled out of the depot. Bast waved back while I did my best to smile as doubts poured in. She'd be fine, I knew that, but I would have liked to have time to get to know her and help her.

"She'll be all right," Bast said, sounding very much like the voice in my head.

"Yeah, she will."

"Are we doing the right thing?"

"Hell if I know." Judging by Bast's frown, that had been the wrong thing to say. "C'mon."

We started walking back toward the parking lot. Bast's gaze was as far away as my thoughts.

"If she'd stayed," I said, jogging down a few steps to where my bike was parked, "Isis would have found her. If her child is prophesied, she's a weapon, one any god will try to wield. It's better she stays away from us."

Bast sighed, but then she nodded and mustered up a smile. "I wonder if maybe I'd gone to Osiris earlier, he might have stopped Isis."

Stop Isis? I wasn't sure anyone could stop her, even Osiris. "Or he would have helped her."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No."

And that was playing on my mind. It had only been a day, but the god wouldn't forgive me for raising Alysdair against his wife and then attempting to lay a curse on them both. He'd make me pay for that. But I'd had to make the act look good enough to convince them the girl's death mattered, and to end it. Against the odds, it had worked. They didn't know she was alive, and they didn't know Chuck was my daughter. I planned to keep it that way indefinitely.

"I need you to do something for me." I leaned against my bike and fixed all of my attention on Bast.

She eyed me suspiciously.

Outside of Cujo and Shu, nobody knew what I was about to tell her. She'd hate that I'd lied, but lying was what I was good at. It wouldn't surprise her.

"Osiris did more than curse me to walk this realm and tie Shu to me. The curse...he can compel me to do anything he wants."

She tensed and tried to hide the shock from her face, but I saw the twitch in her lips as the snarl tried to break through.

"I have no resistance against him."

She blinked and her chest rose and fell quicker than before.

"Any word, any deed he orders me to do, I will."

"Since when?" Her two words were both sharp with anger.

I wanted to look away, to bow my head and fix my eyes on the floor, but I didn't. "It's always been that way. I don't like to broadcast it, for obvious reasons."

"There's a way out, surely?"

"No, I've looked. I can't get around it. Shu is the best sorceress there is and she can't unravel it. The things he's had me do... Bast, I..."

"You don't need to explain."

She held herself still as if she were tempering her rage. Her throat moved as she swallowed. She looked at me, and I wasn't sure I could stand to see the sadness softening her eyes. I didn't want her pity. It was why I'd never told her.

"I need you to wipe Chuck from my memories." There, I'd said it.

She frowned, and I knew she'd say no.

"If you won't, I'll get Shu to do it, but there's no knowing what she'll wipe from my head. I trust you to do it right."

"There must be another way?"

"There isn't. If Osiris asks me anything about that girl, I'll tell him. I've done worse. Much worse."

She closed her eyes. A muscle ticked in her cheek. "If I do this, you'll forget I was here."

"I know." _Was that so bad?_ I wondered.

"I can't. I..." She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. "It's wrong."

"And how wrong do you think it'll feel when Osiris learns Chuck is not only alive, but that she's our daughter and her _prophesied_ _son_ is still out there? You have to do this, for her. You've kept her safe for twenty years. This is just another part of that."

"You won't know you have a daughter..."

"I didn't know before, and it didn't kill me." But it hurt now, like a vise had hold of my heart and was slowly crushing it. To lose her again after only just finding her...it wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. I'd be alone again. But life was like that, and I couldn't say I didn't deserve it. "You have to do this."

"Yes." The sadness was back, pulling her lips down at the corners. "I'm sorry."

I tried to smile but didn't quite manage it. "We do it tonight. Before then, take me out to dinner at that fancy restaurant you took Chuck."

_One last night._ That vise around my heart squeezed tighter.

Her smile, small and fragile, was for my benefit. "I'd like that."

# Chapter Nineteen

I wore Osiris's borrowed suit. It was the only suit in a closet consisting of dark clothing only suitable for walking across rooftops at night. I'd considered shredding it and lighting it on fire, but Osiris wouldn't give a shit and I'd be down a perfectly good suit.

Bast had toned down her scary-goth look and wore a full-length, plum-colored gown. I'd told her she looked good enough to eat and then winced and tried to backpedal with disastrous results. She'd found my attempts hilarious.

We ate expensive food and talked about my business and Shu's early antics as a human-bound demon—anything but the gods. We even talked about what might have been, with Chuck, with a life away from the pantheon. It was fantasy, of course, but seeing as tomorrow I wouldn't recall any of the conversation, it couldn't hurt.

I should have known the gods wouldn't let me have one night of peace.

I didn't feel him approach. He had deliberately folded his power around him, tucking it in tight, allowing him to slip unnoticed through the real world until he'd eased into the empty space beside Bast.

"Do not move," Osiris said to me, freezing me in my seat.

Bast snatched up a table knife, but Osiris snagged her wrist and wrenched it, cracking bones. Bast let out a sharp cry and dropped the knife. And all I could do was sit and watch. Nobody around us batted an eyelid. Osiris must have cast a minor spell to shield us.

Osiris—the bastard—smiled, clearly delighted. "Isn't this pleasant."

"Why are you here?" Bast snarled, cradling her wrist. She'd be thinking of all the ways she could repay him for the broken bones.

"Don't," I warned her, already sounding as though I'd given up. Whatever was about to happen, the best thing we could do was play along and weather through it, and if Osiris was in a forgiving mood, it would end, eventually.

Osiris had kept his right hand hidden out of sight under the table, thinking he could hide what he'd brought along, but I could sense Alysdair's background hum. There was no good reason for him to go to the trouble of collecting Alysdair from my apartment and bring it here.

"You've had your fun, Osiris," Bast growled.

"No, what I had was a minor god tell me my wife was murdering women, and the Nameless One—of all the creatures—raise his sword against my beloved." His glare cut to me. "You attempted to kill Isis. That is treason."

"I..."

"Don't lie to me."

I shut my mouth.

"Isis has many colorful ways in which she'd like to punish you, but the task is mine."

I ground my teeth together. Clearly he'd brought the sword to use against me. There was a sort of ironic justice in that, which was typical of Osiris. He wouldn't kill me though. I wasn't that lucky.

He returned his attention to Bast. "Has he told you of his affliction?"

She glared at him but wisely stayed quiet.

"He has? Good. So you know the Nameless One is under my control. I wondered, at first"—he reached for Bast's half-finished glass of wine, leaned back, and took a sip—"what it might be like to have Ammit's student. Let's be honest, shall we? He's not known for following orders. He _was_ the model godling...until his little addiction was discovered. So shocking it was that the underworld kicked him out." Osiris chuckled. "They don't shock easily in the underworld."

Oh yes, he liked the sound of his own laughter and voice.

"A stallion, this one. One made of scorching desert sand, like the _šarq—_ a creature of myth that could not be caught or tempered. He was quite the presence in the Hall, a fierce beast to be sure, but one who could—and should—be controlled." He paused, probably sensing how I was straining against his mental shackles.

I tried to lift my hand off the tabletop, pushing every measure of strength I had into that one tiny goal. Just a twitch, that was all I wanted—something to tell me I could work around his compulsion. My hand didn't move.

"Make no mistake, Bastet. The Nameless One wasn't given a name for a reason. The most dangerous of our kind inhabit my domain, and to give one such as him a title would be...well, he'd likely unseat the Great Devourer—"

"Ammit is dead," I sneered. "Killed by the jackals as your _beloved wife_ commanded."

Osiris blinked, and his smile tightened. "Ah, yes. Unfortunate. Still, slumber or death? It's all the same."

It wasn't, and to hear the god of rebirth speak so flippantly of life and death sickened me. "If you were ruling in the underworld, you could have stopped it, but instead you were here, playing the mayor, and your wife wielded your weapons. Isis makes a fool of you."

He worked his jaw and dropped his gaze. I fully expected him to silence me once again. When he looked up, he still wore the perfect act of an indifferent god, but his smile had lost its luster. "Do you have proof?"

"I witnessed the jackals tear Ammit apart."

"Did you see Isis command the jackals to kill your mother? The truth now. No lies."

I knew where this was going and growled, "No."

"Did anyone else besides you witness Ammit's death?"

"No."

His smile was back in true form. "The testament of the Nameless One, the infamous liar, is no testimony at all." Osiris sighed and placed the wine glass down on the table. "Her sudden demise certainly explains why you're wanted for your mother's murder."

My heart skipped a beat and my mouth went dry. "I didn't—"

"Where is her soul? In the great river, I presume?"

Fear lashed through me. I wasn't sure where Ammit's soul was. I hadn't stopped to properly weigh and judge all the souls I'd consumed in her chambers. Her soul could have found its way to the river, but there was an equal chance I'd devoured it.

Who was I kidding? I'd taken it along with every other living thing in her chamber. I'd taken it all.

Bast was looking at me with suspicion glittering in her eyes.

"I didn't kill Ammit," I said, pushing the words between my teeth.

"She gave you to me," Osiris countered. "A transaction you've searched for a way to be free of for centuries. I'd consider that quite the motive."

My thoughts raced in circles. Anubis believed I'd killed my mother? The implications were huge. I had to speak with him, but would he listen? As Osiris had pointed out, I wasn't exactly the underworld's poster boy for obedience.

"It was Isis. She had control over your jackals. She sent them after Bast's women. Your wife did this, Osiris. You know it."

He didn't deny it. He probably knew exactly what had happened and maybe had even shared a glass of an innocent's blood while Isis regaled him with all the details. But like the bastard he was, he'd prefer to see me suffer than let his wife stand accused before Anubis.

"Why would she kill your mother?" Osiris asked.

"Probably because..." I bit off my sentence, finishing it in my head instead: _... your wife had her hand on my cock and I turned her down._

Killing Ammit seemed extreme, even for Isis, but she was as screwed up as a bag of snakes and gods with damaged egos did crazy things, like stop the Nile from flooding, destroying a civilization in the process, or kill other gods and point the finger at me. If I told Osiris why, he'd probably stab me with Alysdair. I wanted to get through this conversation with all my body parts intact.

"Don't keep it to yourself, now," Osiris pushed.

"Ask your wife."

Bast's suspicion grew, shock and betrayal on her face. I wanted to tell her the truth, and I would, later. I had to withstand the guilt she was piling on. I chewed on my lip and glared at my hand, attempting to will it into motion. Just a tiny flicker—a little hope that his compulsion had weakened. Anything.

"I could compel you to answer."

"Yes, you could." I gave up and glowered at the god. "You won't like my reply."

Rubbing his fingers together, he considered it. Maybe he already suspected the answer.

"Was it your idea?" I asked. "To allow my safe passage home to see Ammit? Or did Isis whisper it in your ear?"

He didn't reply.

Isis had set me up.

"What's done is done," Bast said, the voice of reason. "Osiris, if we have offended you, I am truly sorry. Had Isis come to me, perhaps we could have stopped this bloodshed, but there is no use debating what might have been. What can I do to make this right?"

He turned his most charming smile on Bastet. "You, my dear Bastet, can do nothing. He, on the other hand, must pay a debt. Treason is a damning offense, is it not, Nameless One?"

Technically, no, but he didn't want to hear how a soul's weight was measured on good and bad deeds, not on whether the person happened to piss off the God of the Underworld. I'd consider that a damn good deed.

"Just get it over with," I growled.

Whatever degrading act he'd force me to do, I'd forget it anyway. Bast would take the memory away and I'd be blissfully unaware this conversation had ever happened or that the punishment had taken place—unless I was dead. But there wasn't any risk of that. He'd brought me back from death a day ago. Whatever he wanted from me, it wouldn't be fatal. I'd survive. Always had and always would. Like he'd said, he wasn't finished with me.

He heaved Alysdair onto the table, rattling the plates and toppling Bast's wine glass. The wine splashed far and dribbled off the edge of the table. I looked around to see if we'd caused a stir, but people continued chatting and eating their overpriced food.

"They can't see us," Osiris explained, and then added, "Pick up the sword."

My hand moved like it had a mind of its own. I had to stand to get a good grip, and my fingers curled around the handle. The familiar warmth spread over my hand and up my arm. I'd had the sword for so long that she was practically an extension of me—of my will—and an escape.

Osiris looked up at me from his relaxed position. "I want you to know, this was the lesser punishment."

_Here it comes._ I swallowed, sword in hand. "The bitch pulls your strings even now?"

Osiris's dark eyes flared gold. "Kill Bastet."

I knew I couldn't stop it. I knew, after centuries, that nothing could weaken Osiris's hold on me. I knew, as I thrust the sword through my ex-wife's chest, that it wasn't me doing this, but knowing didn't change the reality that those were my hands on the sword and it didn't change the feel of how the blade shuddered when it sank between her ribs, into her heart.

She gripped the blade, and I remembered how she'd reached across this same table not so long ago and told me I'd be okay. She'd told me I was capable of more than darkness. Even now, her eyes said sorry, like she knew what this would do to my soul. Something inside me broke and crumbled away. Alysdair sang, drinking down the lightest soul I'd ever known, and I hated the sword, hated what it could do, and hated that Bast had to suffer for all eternity because I'd screwed up.

I held her gaze as the light inside her faded and her eyes dulled. I wouldn't look away. Not this time. I owed her that much.

Osiris picked up my glass and drank down the wine. "With that done, I have politics to juggle." He stood and flashed me a smile. "Enjoy the rest of your meal."

" _Daquir_ ," I whispered.

Ashes and ambers ate away at Bast's body until there was nothing left of her. I sat down and enjoyed what remained of my cold meal.

# Chapter Twenty

Shukra found me sitting on my office floor, leaning back against the wall, surrounded by scattered papers and splintered remains of my desk and all its contents. I'd taken Alysdair to everything before thrusting the sword into the wall, where it had stubbornly stuck.

Magic whipped around me, dark and deadly. I didn't hide it. Didn't care.

It hurt, everywhere and nowhere. I wanted to tear out my heart and make the horrible, consuming emptiness go away or fill it with drink, or death, or something—anything. _Just make it stop._ I'd tried drowning the ache in vodka. Broken bits of the vodka bottle glistened on the floor around me.

_Godkiller._

I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, and curled my hand into a fist. Grief swelled inside like an incoming tide. I couldn't escape it. Through every barrier I erected, and every time I tried to sidestep it, the weight plowed inside, filling me up and hollowing me out all at once.

Shu was watching me, considering her words. I hadn't looked up, but I knew she was there, careful to skirt the fringes of my power.

"What do you need?" she asked after minutes or hours.

It was a good question. I needed the curse gone. I needed to kill Osiris and make Isis watch. I needed to be better—to be someone who saved people and didn't kill them. I needed to be the man Bast had believed—had _hoped_ I could be.

"I need you to wipe my memories."

Shu stalled again, treading on ice. "Which ones?"

Through the fog and the pain, I lifted my head and found Shu's face set in a grim mask. "Anything relating to Chuck and...and Bast. She didn't walk into my office. She didn't hire me. She was never here."

She blinked slowly and evaluated the destruction I'd wrought. "That will be difficult."

"Not for you," I drawled.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"No." I yanked off my wedding band, pulled my knees up to my chest, and rested my arms there. Light flowed over the ring, turning it to liquid gold in my hand. "Take this. Put it somewhere safe. Somewhere I won't find it. But..." My throat tried to close off the next words, so I cleared it. "But don't throw it away."

She didn't move. Her eyes darted to the sword sticking out of the wall and back to me, sitting on the floor. Her eyes, her stance, it all said no, but fear stopped her from denying me. It said a lot when the most proficient sorceress the underworld had ever produced was afraid of me.

With a reluctant sigh, she ventured closer. "I'm going to regret this."

I wouldn't. I couldn't regret what I didn't remember.

The snow was melting fast, trickling into gutters and gurgling down the drains, as I pushed through the stained-glass door into the store Curiosities. The heat hit me first, like it always did when I stepped off New York's winter streets into Maf's store. Evocative smells of cinnamon and thyme tickled my memory. Old scents from an old world.

An electronic bell buzzed, its modern sound at odds with the rows of shelves stacked to the ceiling with artifacts, tourist junk, and witchcraft paraphernalia. Glass skulls sat next to dozens of papyri, their potency hidden among the trinkets.

The ancient and infallible Mafdet—Slayer of Serpents—was tucked behind the counter. Her ample bosom rested on the countertop, threatening to spill out of her flower-print top. She threaded a string of colorful beads through her fingers, drawing my eye to the valley between her generous assets. It had once been widely known that no god or beast could outrun her. Her fortunes had changed since then, but she'd adapted—adapt or slumber. There was no other way for the ancient ones.

"Back so soon, Ace?" she asked. Her voice was cracked with age, or so it would seem to those who believed she was the kind, but slightly unhinged old lady who ran a store full of superstitious nonsense. "Business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"Ah." She picked up a pair of wire-framed glasses and planted them on her nose. "You get more handsome every time I see you. Almost as dashing as the Lord of Silence."

My lips twitched. The Lord of Silence was yet another name for Osiris—Lord of Death didn't have the same poetic ring to it. "Flattery might work for Shukra, but not for me, Maf."

She _tsked_. "So serious for one so young."

I stopped at the counter. We weren't alone in the store—a tourist couple was browsing the aisle—so I couldn't very well press Alysdair against Maf's neck and terrify the answers out of her, but that might change the moment those window shoppers left. Maf knew it too, hence the beads of sweat glistening on her brow.

"The kid I spoke to in here a few weeks ago, I warned him off, remember?"

She pursed her lips. "Something happen to him?"

"Now why would you ask that? Unless you sold him those canopic jars after I advised you to send them back to wherever you got them from."

"We all gotta eat." She winced at that and blinked quickly, remembering to whom she was talking. "It's not my fault the people with money are idiots. What did he do?"

"Summoned two demons."

She spluttered. "Not with those jars he didn't. They were inactive. Made sure of it myself. No magic in them."

"Are you sure about that?" I leaned against the counter. Her red-rimmed, watery blue eyes flicked to where Alysdair was peeking over my shoulder.

"I was assured."

"So you didn't check yourself?"

"Look at this place. It's full of hungry, needful little trinkets. They all chitter and tease. No, I didn't check myself. I just put them on the shelves, like everything in here." She puffed and huffed, apparently offended.

"Did you sell him anything else? Anything like a potent summoning spell?"

"N-no," she stammered. "No, I wouldn't. Never. Ace, we have an agreement. I help you, and you don't shut me down. I wouldn't risk that by touching anything with power. I wouldn't."

The browsing couple brushed by me, eyeing Alysdair.

"Cosplay," I muttered.

They smiled, chuckled nervously, and moved on to admire a simplistic painting of Isis's profile.

Maf wiped a hand across her forehead. Dark patches had spread under her arms and the fingers caressing her beads trembled. "I swear by Isis—"

"Swear by someone worth something."

She recoiled as though me bad-mouthing Isis would somehow cause my curse to rub off on her. I grinned back at her.

"I swear it. By Amun-Ra, I swear it."

_Damn_. I was hoping she'd sold the kid the papyrus spell so I could follow a paper trail to the source. My only lead had just gone cold.

"I believe you." Nobody swore on Amun-Ra's name and lied.

Her shoulders drooped, her relief almost tangible.

"But if anyone tries to sell you anything potent, I want to know about it—immediately. Not in a few days. You pick up your phone and you call me there and then."

She nodded frantically. "Of course."

"Good. Now tell me what this is?" I planted Ammit's box on the countertop and watched Maf's eyes widen and her plump lips form an _O_.

"May I?" she asked, reaching for it.

I gestured for her to go right ahead and watched her plant the box in her palm like it was made of glass.

"My, my. Such power."

I didn't reply and certainly didn't tell her I couldn't feel any power coming from that box. Someone had warded it against me personally, and that was information enough.

"Can you open it?"

She gave it a twist, but the lid didn't budge. "There may be a way, but it's sealed by expert hands. It will take time. Why don't you ask Shukra?"

"No, this is..." I wasn't sure why I didn't want Shu to know about the box. It seemed important that nobody know, and Maf was almost nobody. She could keep secrets. "This is private."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Tell me about Shukra's most recent visit."

Maf tucked the box away behind the counter and relayed Shu's visit to me, like she did every month. Shu didn't know Maf reported to me, and Shu also didn't know I was keeping a close eye on her magical practices. She thought she was slipping her on-the-side spells by me. So far, she'd sold a few spells here and there for a few hundred bucks. Love potions, prosperity spells, and the occasional minor curse—little things. But she'd get greedy. Greed was a sin we both shared in.

When Maf finished, she added, "She bought those ingredients in the last few days."

The ingredients, including a goat's heart, were potentially dangerous in Shu's hands, but a mundane household ornament could also be turned into a wicked charm in her hands. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling I was missing something, something vital. It would come to me.

"Looks like she's preparing a blocking spell," Maf supplied carefully, watching my reaction.

"Yes, it does." A blocking spell boxed up thoughts, dreams, and memories and tucked them far away inside the subject's mind. It was a difficult spell to master. I couldn't cast it, but Shu could. "Thank you, Maf."

When I reached the door, she called out, "Rumor has it there's a price on your head."

I'd heard the same rumor.

_Godkiller,_ those same whispers said.

Anubis believed I'd killed Amy. He wouldn't come after me himself, but he'd send others until someone or something caught me with my back turned.

"There always is, Maf." I shoved through the door into the shock of winter air and said again, to myself, "There always is."

Shu was participating in a loud and colorful conversation on the phone in her office when I returned. Someone was getting an earful, and for once, it wasn't me. Whoever it was should be grateful. Shu's silence was far more dangerous.

I opened my office door and froze.

There, sitting on my desk like it had every right to park its rump on my day planner, was an all-black house cat. Not an alley cat. This one was well fed and groomed.

The tip of its tail twitched across its front paws.

"Shukra?" I called out, keeping my gaze leveled on the cat. "Shu!"

"What?" she snapped back.

"There's a cat on my desk."

"I didn't put it there."

"A _real_ cat." The cat blinked its green eyes at me.

"What do you want me to do, call animal control? The NSA?" She slammed her door closed.

"I hate cats," I grumbled at the feline and stalked closer. It didn't have a collar, but someone somewhere was missing a pet. Its tail twitched again, and it looked back at me, daring me to shoo it off my desk. The second I did, it would probably turn into a spitting ball of claws and fangs.

"Cat, that's my desk."

It lifted a paw and started grating its pink tongue across its pad.

"Leave, cat, or I'll—" I reached for Alysdair. The cat's eyes flickered with knowledge, like the little feline was urging me to brandish the blade.

With a small laugh, I dropped my hand. "Fine. I'm going out. You better not be here when I get back."

But it was there when I got back, curled asleep in my chair. I would normally kick it out, but as I went to scoop up the creature, I hesitated. It wasn't so bad. Asleep, it was harmless.

"Yah know, the death sentence for killing cats was abolished long ago. I can make it so you meet your little four-legged friends in the afterlife sooner rather than later."

It didn't stir. Clearly this cat didn't have a shred of self-preservation.

I shoved the sleeping cat and chair aside and parked the guest chair behind my desk. The cat didn't wake, and now it owned my chair.

"I hope you like vodka," I told it while checking my planner.

Shu had stuck a note on today's date: _Mr. Cooper called. There's a talking alligator eating his thousand-dollar koi. Be there – 2:00 p.m._

A job—exactly what I needed. "No rest for the wicked."

Continues...

* * *

The series continues in **_Witches' Bane, click here to buy now!_** or turn the page for an excerpt.

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**_Turn the page for a look at Book 2, Witches' Bane..._**

# Excerpt - Soul Eater #2 - Witches' Bane

The Metropolitan Museum of Art had rolled out the red carpet for New York's mayor, otherwise known in exclusive circles as Osiris, God of the Underworld and God of Fertility, Rebirth, the Circle of Life, and everything in between. The museum's curators obviously didn't know he was a psychotic bastard—nobody here did. So charming, he'd singled-handedly reduced New York's crime rate by twenty percent and heroically helped birth babies in taxicabs. Ask anyone, and they'd say the sun shone out of his eternal ass. Now he was kind enough to loan the museum a priceless tablet from his extensive collection of Egyptian artifacts.

I would've preferred to slit my wrists than tag along with him, but after he'd been so kind as to invite me to this shindig, I couldn't refuse. Literally.

I stole a flute of champagne from a side table, wishing I had the hefty weight of my sword, Alysdair, in my hands instead, and lurked at the edges of the Seckler Wing. The _Temple of Dendur_ —the original, shipped here from Egypt as a gift to the US from the Egyptian government—was backlit with dramatic, slowly undulating lights that cast a burnt-orange glow over the sandstones, the crowd, and the decorative pool—an artistic rendering of the river Nile. The entire exhibition was a theatrical delight that made Osiris smile from ear to ear.

I gulped down the contents of the glass, hoping it might settle my nagging restlessness and the need to palm my sword and devour the souls of everyone in this room. It didn't. Clearly, I'd need something stronger than champagne to get me through this.

I tugged at my suit jacket and pulled the shirt collar away from my neck. Where the expensive fabric chafed, my skin wanted to curl in on itself. It wasn't technically my suit. Osiris had lent it to me, apparently on a permanent basis.

Osiris hadn't bothered me in decades, but in the last three months, the god had kept me on speed dial for every charity function or political event he could think of. I was an odd choice for his plus one, considering I'd like nothing better than to watch him die a slow painful death. He knew it too. With a few thousand years of life tucked under his belt, Osiris had an acquired sense of humor.

My wanderings had carried me to the dais between the temple's "gate" and the main eight-meter-high temple building with its two impressive columns. A bone-deep thrum rippled beneath the chattering crowd. Magic. Even this far from home, through distance and time, the little temple clung to its power. It paled in comparison to its former glory. The resonance had once shone like a star but today it was nothing more than dying embers. Still, I felt its evocative touch wrap around me. Comfortable and warm. Familiar. Like meeting an old friend.

A waiter drifted by and I swapped my empty glass for a fresh one. Folding my free hand around the rail, I breathed in, momentarily forgetting everything "New York." In those few seconds, I could smell the sunbaked grasses, feel the warm spiced breeze on my face and taste it on my lips, and hear the voices of market-goers bartering for goods.

"Ironic, don't you think?"

Osiris's voice snapped me back into the present, where I was surrounded by fake smiles, too many people, and a suit that itched. A hollow sadness lingered. I hadn't thought of the homeland in months, and before that, not in decades. I was different now; the world was different. No use dwelling in the past. That road led all the way to insanity.

Osiris leaned against the railing, arms crossed and his face lifted toward the columns. In the sunset reds of the lighting, his dark skin took on the typical reddish, vermillion glow found in many of the statues that depicted him in all his godly finery. All that was missing were the crook and flail.

"They place our temples in temples of their own," he continued.

"It's a museum, not a temple," I grumbled. Petulance was my middle name.

His thin lips twitched, and he turned those dark eyes on me. Although he held his substantial power in check, his presence tugged on the glances of every man and woman here. Instincts warned them they were in the midst of some _thing_ dangerous, but human instincts arced back to the days when they hunted on the plains with spears, and Osiris was exactly the kind of warrior they would've wanted by their side. Flash forward to the twenty-first century and everyone wanted a piece of him, but if asked, none could say why.

"They come," he said. "They yield their coin as offerings and walk among these relics, their whispers filled with awe."

There was little point in arguing with him. You can't win an argument with a god. And perhaps he was right. It was ironic.

"Dedicated to you and Isis," I said, nodding at the temple.

"Was it? I hadn't noticed."

Liar. He'd known. From where I stood, I could see his name carved in hieroglyphs in a dozen places. This temple, the museum, tickled his ego. That was what the secret smiling was about.

"Why give the museum the tablet?"

The tablet in question sat on its podium next to the various other exhibits against the far wall of the hall, away from the throngs of people. I'd seen it before in Osiris's private collection. The hieroglyphs had survived the trials of time mostly intact and depicted scenes of death and rebirth, Osiris's specialties. Tablets were often imbued with the magic of their owners, much like the temple resonating around us.

"Why not? I have dozens. It seemed like a nice gesture."

_Nice_. The way he'd said it, with a single eyebrow rising by little more than a millimeter and the corner of his lips curving in the same way, suggested there was nothing nice about the gesture. I'd never met a genuinely nice god. Bastet probably came closest, when she wasn't hunting down her targets and sinking her claws into their backs. _Nice_ was a word that should never be uttered alongside the name of any god.

I had no idea what this god had planned for these people—it could be nothing—but I did know, without any doubt, that the mayor of New York was an eternal being with too much time on his hands. The gods hadn't stirred up trouble in thousands of years. It was overdue, like waiting for the San Andreas Fault to let go. When the gods did break, I didn't plan to be anywhere near the epicenter, which would be difficult if Osiris continued to drag me around like a dog on a leash.

"No Isis this evening?" I asked, wondering how much conversation was required before I could call it a night.

"No."

No explanation. No change in his expression.

I smiled into my champagne flute. Osiris I could handle—mostly. Isis was a whole other bag of snakes. Angry, poisonous snakes with fangs at both ends. Unlike her husband, she'd stayed out of my way, and I'd done everything I could to stay out of hers. Besides her occasional knowing glances, she hardly seemed to notice me. But I didn't like the knowledge behind those glances or how they peeled back another layer of me. I hadn't forgotten how she'd cornered me in her tropical garden, making it damn hard on me to resist her. How could I forget when my dreams were filled with what might have happened next?

Osiris had lifted his face to the temple again, and when a well-dressed middle-aged couple introduced themselves to him, I excused myself, downed the drink, left the glass on a side table, and started to filter back into the crowd.

Dislocated movement caught my eye. Beyond the pool, where the other exhibits were lit, four men moved separately from the crowd, their strides stiff with purpose. They were dressed like realtors out for a late-night drink after a busy day at the office.

I'd taken half a step toward them when the lights shut off, plunging the room into darkness. A few bleats from the crowd peppered the quiet. No panic, not yet.

Osiris's power rippled, casting an invisible and uncomfortable static surge across the room. My instincts kicked in, ready for an attack. Nobody here was crazy enough to go toe to toe with Osiris. Only a few gods would consider it, and most of them were slumbering the centuries away. But no such qualms existed when it came to attacking me.

A glass shattered against the floor to my left. Someone yelped. Panic nipped at the tension. Something was _wrong_ here. A slow, sly, magical intrusion crept its way through the dark, but its source eluded me; it was like trying to identify one wrong note in a complicated melody.

Flashlight beams swept over the heads of the crowd and bounced off the dappled ceiling, scattering shadows in all directions.

"Everyone, please stay calm," an authoritative voice announced. "It's just a temporary glitch. We'll have the lights—"

The lights blinked back on, brighter than before, blasting away the party mood and illuminating a floor that _moved_. The crowd noticed the countless snakes writhing between their high heels and polished dress shoes and erupted into a screaming, heaving mass.

A few black-and-gold snakes slithered onto the dais. King cobras. And they weren't illusions. I dropped into a crouch, caught the gaze of one, and muttered the spellword " _San_ " _—Stop—_ while pushing a deep compulsion behind it to make sure the spell carried through every serpent. They stopped, frozen solid, alive and unharmed but now as dangerous as rubber toys. Snakes were easy enough to compel, which begged the question: why send them? A prank?

A smile teased at the corner of my mouth. Shukra would've loved the turn this party had taken. Osiris, on the other hand, did not. I straightened and wiped the smile off my face at the sight of him glowering down from the dais.

"Retrieve my tablet," Osiris hissed. A crack sparked up the wine glass in his hand.

My gaze shot to the tablet's empty podium, and right on cue, the alarms sounded.

_Damnit_. My freewill honed into a point of single-minded focus I couldn't control. I vaulted over a nearby railing, landed hard, and shoved through the panicked crowd into the hallway. The four men I'd spotted could have split up, but I was gambling on the fact they hadn't—and wouldn't. I'd seen that determined, glassy-eyed look before, in men compelled to act. I probably wore the same look, given that I didn't have a choice in my current actions. Osiris's order has hijacked my body. It was all I cared about, all I could hear, all I could see.

_Retrieve my tablet._

I burst through the museum doors and out into the New York night. Traffic streamed along Fifth Avenue. Cabs were lined up at the foot of the many steps, but climbing into a silver Chevrolet sedan were my guys.

Ace's adventures continue in Witches' Bane - out now!

# Also by Pippa DaCosta

**Soul Eater**

Hidden Blade (#1)

Witches' Bane (#2)

See No Evil (#3)

Scorpion Trap #(4)

**The Veil**

Wings of Hope ~ The Veil Series Prequel Novella

Beyond The Veil (#1)

Devil May Care (#2)

Darkest Before Dawn (#3)

Drowning In The Dark (#4)

Ties That Bind (#5)

Get your free e-copy of 'Wings Of Hope' by signing up to Pippa's mailing list, here.

**Chaos Rises**

Chaos Rises (#1)

Chaos Unleashed (#2)

**Science-Fiction**

Girl From Above #1: Betrayal

Girl From Above #2: Escape

Girl From Above #3: Trapped

Girl From Above #4: Trust

**New Adult Urban Fantasy**

City Of Fae, London Fae #1

City of Shadows, London Fae #2

# About the Author

Born in Tonbridge, Kent in 1979, Pippa's family moved to the South West of England where she grew up among the dramatic moorland and sweeping coastlands of Devon & Cornwall. With a family history brimming with intrigue, complete with Gypsy angst on one side and Jewish survivors on the other, she draws from a patchwork of ancestry and uses it as the inspiration for her writing. Happily married and the mother of two little girls, she resides on the Devon & Cornwall border.

Sign up to her mailing list at www.pippadacosta.com

www.pippadacosta.com

pippadacosta@btinternet.com

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