Prophecy:

A Samhain Story

By Linda S. Barth

 (The timeline for this story is early Second Season between the episodes "Remember Love" and "Ashes, Ashes.")

Yet she has pledged me, when I die,

A lodge beneath her private palace

In a level clearing of the wood

Where gentians grow and gillyflowers

And sometimes we may meet.

(Robert Graves)

Children's voices rang from the highest level of Father's chamber, their high-pitched tones splintering the study’s aura of serenity and candlelight.

"Be careful, Eric!"  Ellie admonished her younger brother as she piled another book onto the already sizable stack clutched in the little boy's arms. "These books are really old and they're probably worth a lot of money. Father will be mad at us if you wreck them."

"But they're really heavy!" he protested, his arms struggling to hold onto his unwieldy burden.  "And one of them's poking me in the stomach!"

"Well, take that load downstairs and then come back for the rest of them," Ellie suggested, standing on her toes to reach for another volume tucked away on a top shelf of the book-filled loft. "And don't take all day."

Eric grumbled -- but not too loudly -- as he wobbled down the stairs and thumped the books onto Father's desk. He leaned back and looked up at his sister, as a mischievous grin brightened his face. Ellie’s attention was completely focused on her task. Now would be the perfect moment to sneak away to the kitchen chamber to sample more of the treats William was preparing for the Halloween celebration. But before he could take more than a single step in that direction, he saw his hopes disappear faster than the candy apple he'd wheedled from the cook earlier that afternoon.

"Where are you going, Eric?"  Samantha demanded from the chamber entrance. She stood with hands on hips, effectively blocking the boy's escape route. "You're supposed to be helping Ellie find the books Father's going to read at the party."

Eric pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and smiled his innocence at the older girl. "We're done, Sam," he began hopefully. "See? I just put all the books over there."

Samantha sailed into the room and headed for the desk. "All of them? Are you sure?"

His sister's voice from the upper level saved Eric the trouble of coming up with another bit of original fiction. "There's just two or three left on the list. I'll bring them down in a minute."

"We'd better check, just to make sure," Samantha replied, taking her responsibilities very seriously. "Eric, would you please run up there and get the list from Ellie?"

Sensing escape would soon be within his reach, Eric bounded toward the stairs, but stopped halfway up. "Hey, Ellie! Fly the list down and I'll catch it!"

“Wait a second.” Ellie pulled the list from the pocket of her smocked apron and with fast-moving fingers transformed it into a paper airplane. Then she leaned over the metal railing and took aim. "Okay, here it comes!"

With its crisp wings floating on a cool breeze that drifted through the lofty chamber, the little plane sailed over Eric's outstretched arms toward a giggling Samantha. Easily sidestepping Eric's mistimed leap from the staircase, Samantha caught the paper plane and held it high.

"I've got it!"  she called, triumphantly waving her prize above her head as she looked up at Ellie.  "Can you show me how to make a plane like this?"

"Sure, it's really easy," Ellie began. "All you have to do is --” Her words stopped abruptly and her eyes widened at the sight of an unexpected arrival entering the chamber behind the younger girl.

Following Ellie's gaze, Samantha pivoted just as she felt the plane being pulled from her grasp.  "Vincent!"

Raising his eyebrows, Vincent looked from one young culprit to the next and then glanced down at the folded page in his hand. The children waited in uneasy silence, and then felt a wave of relief at the sight of his smile.

"Paper airplanes. I haven't seen one of these in a long time -- not since Devin and I launched them from that loft ourselves." He chuckled softly in fond remembrance. "We hid up there one night during a Council meeting and dared each other to see who could land a plane in the middle of the table."

Samantha gasped with delight upon hearing a story of her hero's youthful escapades.  "Did you really do that, Vincent?!"

"Yeah, what happened?" Eric asked eagerly. "Did you guys get in a lot of trouble?"

Vincent reached down to straighten the boy’s glasses that had been knocked askew during his jump from the staircase. "We certainly did. Unfortunately for us, one plane hit Pascal's father right in the forehead -- point first. Devin and I were confined to our chamber for a week, except for classes, meals, and many extra hours of chores."

An amused laugh from the study entrance drew their attention. "So, have you been telling the children of your own misadventures with paper airplanes, Vincent?"

Vincent’s low-pitched laugh echoed his father's. "It's been a long time, but I haven't forgotten those days." He handed the plane to the older man. "Nor, evidently, have you."      

“How could I, when nearly every grey hair on my head is proof of the trials you boys put me through?" Father retorted. He looked at the airplane in his hand, turning it over appraisingly.  "Hmm, this one is very well-constructed. Did you make it, Eric?"

"No, I did," Ellie called from above, blushing both at the praise and at being caught in such a childish pursuit. "We were just having a little fun."

"And so you should, child," Father answered. "But only if your work is finished." Having recognized bits of his own handwriting visible on the plane's wings, he unfolded the paper and smoothed it out on the desk. "Now have you managed to locate every book on the list?"

"These are the last of them," Ellie replied as she walked down the staircase to hand two final volumes to Father. "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and The Canterville Ghost."

"Ah, the Headless Horseman and Sir Simon," Father commented with satisfaction as he stacked the books on top of the others. "They're always great favorites at our Halloween gatherings."

"How come you only read ghost stories at the Halloween party?" Eric asked. "Don't you have any books about monsters, you know, like vampires and stuff?"

"Halloween is a very important time for ghosts, Eric," Father replied. "It's said that each year between sunset on October 31st and sunrise the next day, ghosts can return to their old homes.  However, if they cannot make their way there, they must wander all night, lost and searching for refuge.”

“I feel so sorry for the ones who can’t find their way home,” Samantha said, her voice trembling at the thought.

“Well, it has also been said that some of those lost spirits may be drawn to a new dwelling place, and that if conditions are just right, they will be welcomed there,” Father reassured her.

Eric's eyes widened behind the thick lenses of his glasses.  "Do you think any ghosts will come back to the tunnels?" he asked, clearly hoping the answer would be 'yes.' “Or maybe some new ones will move in!”

"One never knows," Father replied indulgently.  "I can't say I've ever seen a ghost here myself. Although perhaps we'll find that one or two shall choose to join us at the party.”

“Maybe they’ll come to hear the stories,” Ellie suggested, playing along. “I bet they’d enjoy that.”

"Were you able to find a copy of Saki's The Open Window?" Vincent asked, glancing toward the stack of books. "I think the older children will enjoy its humor, but I hope it doesn’t provide the inspiration for any new practical jokes.”

"We wouldn’t do the things Vera does in the story!" Samantha protested, although a wide grin and the pink blush on her cheeks easily betrayed her words.  "Well, maybe I would try a trick or two on Kipper."  

She turned to Father in a studied attempt to regain her eleven-year-old dignity. "Would you like us to check the list just to make sure all the books are there?"  

"No, thank you, dear, that won't be necessary. I'll take a few minutes and do that myself. It will give me a chance to mark the passages I intend to read aloud."

"Is there anything else you'd like us to do?" Ellie asked, tightly grasping her brother's hand before he could scamper from the chamber in search of other diversions.

"Not at the moment, Ellie," Father answered approvingly. "You've made a fine job of it.  However, I'm sure I heard William mention that he needs a great deal of help in the kitchen chamber." He winked broadly at Vincent over the children's heads.

"Something to do with pumpkin muffins and chocolate lollipops, wasn't it?" Vincent added.

Eric's eyes lit up and he wriggled away from Ellie's hold to tug on Vincent’s arm. "Come on, Vincent, come with us!  I still wanna hear about the trick Samantha's gonna play on Kipper, but if we wait, the girls'll get all the good stuff in the kitchen!"

"You go on ahead, and I'll catch up with you in a few minutes," Vincent promised.

Father and Vincent exchanged a smile as they watched the children run off in the direction of William's domain. Then, his expression turning serious, Father asked his son a question that had weighed heavily on his mind for several days. "Are you sure you're not overly disappointed about staying Below this Halloween, Vincent? Even though you know I don’t approve, I hate to see you miss an opportunity to walk in the world Above, just as you’ve always wished."

For only a moment, Vincent averted his gaze, but it was enough to convey everything his words would attempt to disguise. "No, not overly disappointed. There will be a great deal to do right here, and I'm sure Catherine will enjoy sharing in our traditions."  But will it be enough, he asked himself silently. And how can it compare to all we shared Above last year?

Father frowned. "She has accepted your invitation, then? I’m somewhat surprised she would prefer our quiet little celebration to the festivities in her world.”

Vincent hesitated, choosing to ignore the implications in his father’s words. “Yes, Catherine is looking forward to the party very much. But I have not yet told her that I won’t be joining her Above after our celebration.”

“Don’t you think it’s only fair to Catherine that you let her know?” Father persisted. “She must have been looking forward to it.”

“Yes, Father, I do, and I plan to go Above as soon as it's dark.” The grim tone of Vincent’s voice made it clear that this conversation needed to end. “I'll discuss it with her then."

With a slight nod, Father let the subject drop, knowing that to pursue it further might easily lead to words neither wished to hear. "Well, then I suppose you should go and see what those children are up to. William was in an unusually cheerful mood earlier, and I'd just as soon nothing occurs to change that.”

"And if he suspects you set the children on him, he might not be so eager to make your favorite mulled apple cider for the party," Vincent suggested.

Father knew denial was useless. "Go on then!" he grumbled good-naturedly as Vincent strode toward the chamber entrance. "You're as bad as the children sometimes, you know."

Vincent paused in the entryway and looked back at his father. "I know."  

With a low chuckle, Father shook his head and settled himself on the comfortably worn cushions of his desk chair, ready to get to work. Having decided to begin with The Phantom Rickshaw, he reached for an anthology of Kipling's work and soon found himself engrossed in the story.  Except for a slight shiver he absentmindedly attributed to the chilly air in the chamber, he read uninterrupted for several minutes, lost in an otherworldly tale of long ago.

So deep was his concentration, a small, muffled thumping sound overhead almost went unnoticed; yet it was enough to draw his attention, and with a sigh, he glanced upwards. "Samantha? Ellie?  Are you up there again?" he called out. "Eric?"

For several moments, there was no answer but silence, and with a shrug he turned back to the book in his lap. Then he heard it again, a soft thud overhead and a dry rustling sound like leaves brushed by an autumn wind.

"What the devil," he muttered as he set the ghost story aside and headed for the staircase leading to the loft. But when he reached the top of the stairs, Father found the area deserted except for the hundreds of books which crowded the shelves. With a small, self-conscious laugh, he shook his head. I must be imagining things, he told himself. Probably Kipling's influence.

Yet as he turned to descend to the study, he heard the sound once more, a crisp but hushed fluttering that seemed to be coming from behind a set of shelves a few feet away. He cautiously moved forward toward the disconcerting sound, and as he peered around the corner of an old oak bookcase, he found its source. There on the tiled floor lay a book, its antique pages lifting slightly on a cool, errant breeze.  

"So that's it," Father murmured aloud, a sigh of relief in his voice, “only an old book. It must have fallen from the shelf."  Bending carefully in the crowded space, he reached for the book, holding it open as he straightened again. He turned it over to inspect its crumbling leather cover and felt a pang of disappointment to discover the worn gold script was nearly indiscernible.  Even squinting closely, he could make out only a few words of the title, Tom o'Bedlam.   

Father rested the volume on the edge of a nearby shelf, curious to read the pages where it had lain open. They were mottled by years of dampness and disuse, but one stanza of a poem was still visible, and he began to read aloud.

“With a host of furious fancies

Whereof I am commander,  

With a burning spear, and a horse of air,

To the wilderness I wander.

By a knight of ghosts and shadows

I summoned am to tourney

Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end.

Methinks it is no journey.”

As his voice ceased, a frigid haze chilled the air in his lungs, and he gasped at the intensity of it. Yet in a moment it was gone and forgotten as if it had never happened.

"Hmmm, I wonder where this one came from," he murmured aloud.  "I don’t remember seeing it before. Well, no matter. It will make a splendid addition to the party."  

Tucking the volume under his arm, Father smiled in satisfaction as he turned and made his way back downstairs, never noticing the gleam of dark, flashing eyes that watched his every move from the deepest shadows of the library loft.

********************

A biting iciness glazed the dark October night, hinting at the early snow which soon would follow. Vincent sighed as he raised a hand to knock against the glass-paneled doors on Catherine's terrace and watched as his breath appeared hazily and then vanished in the air. It was later than he'd intended for his visit, and he knew it was his reluctance to speak of their Halloween plans that had kept him Below. But there were only a few days left until that special night, and he knew he could wait no longer.

Still he hesitated, inescapable truths knifing through him, their pain etching lines in his face.  There was so little he could offer her, so many opportunities denied, so much hope lost forever.  For a moment it was more than he could bear, and with a stiff, halting movement he turned away from the light and warmth he sought and stared out into the dark night. Yet there were no answers for him in the familiar shadows, and even before he heard the terrace doors opening, he felt the song of her in his heart, drawing him back to the only place he longed to be.

"Vincent, you're here." Her voice was a soft, breathy sound, and he turned to it eagerly, wishing he might lose himself in all her gentle warmth. She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with happiness. " I almost thought you wouldn't come here tonight after all."

"I almost didn't," he answered, his voice low and tense despite his efforts to lighten it. “But I need to talk to you and what I have to say can’t wait."

Catherine shivered and pulled the belt of her robe tighter around her slender body, but she knew the chill she felt was as much from within as without. "Talk to me about what, Vincent?"

For a moment he averted his gaze and then turned back to face her, wincing slightly as he saw her tremble in the cold night air. More than anything else, he longed to take her in his arms and warm away every icy shard of fear within them both, but he knew that if he touched her now, he might never find the courage to speak the words he'd come to tell her.

"Catherine, I'm sorry," he began. "It's very late, and you're cold. I won't stay long. There's something I must tell you...but it's difficult to find the words when I know they will only disappoint you." 

She reached up and rested her hand against his cheek, gently caressing the coolness of his skin. "Sometimes the beginning is the hardest part of all," she said gently, letting her hand drift into the rough silk of his hair before coming to rest on his shoulder. "So just say it quickly and it'll be over and done with, and we can go on."

For a moment he closed his eyes, savoring the lingering warmth her hand had left upon his face, and when he looked at her again, he saw a greater warmth in the depths of her eyes. "It's about Halloween, Catherine. I know we haven't discussed it, but I'd hoped we could share part of the night Above as we did last year.”

She heard the ominous shading in his words, yet she felt her mouth curve into a soft smile.  "That was such a magical night, wasn't it?" she murmured, knowing they cherished the same sweet memories. "When the walls between the worlds grew thin..."

“And all things seemed possible." 

The hint of a smile faded from his lips, leaving a bittersweet taste in its place. "But this year the plans for our celebration Below have grown. It will be much more elaborate than before."

Despite her earlier advice, Catherine spoke quickly in an attempt to delay what seemed inevitable. "I love the children's idea of having a literary theme for the party, with everyone dressing as characters from famous stories and plays. Did you know Geoffrey has his heart set on being Frankenstein’s Monster?  And I'm really looking forward to the whole celebration, the games and Father's stories..."

The pained expression on Vincent’s face forced her to silence, unwilling to add to his unhappiness.

His voice was dark with disappointment. "And while everyone was happy to know that you'll join us, there will be no chance for me to go Above with you. Even after the party ends, it will be too late."

He waited, searching his heart for a way to ease the hurt Catherine was sure to feel. Yet much to his astonishment, he saw a warm smile light her lovely face. "Is that what you're worried about, Vincent? I don't mind -- I really don't." She shook her head in emphasis. "I'm disappointed, yes, but it's nothing compared to how I'd feel if we couldn't be together at all."

She gazed into his eyes, needing to know that his concern for her had been eased. Then, she framed her next words very carefully. “Vincent, I truly want to be with you and with your family. But I’m so sorry that you won’t be able to enjoy being Above, too, on the one night of the year when you don’t have to worry about anyone or anything else.”

Vincent sighed. “I’m sorry, too,” he admitted. “It has long been a dream of mine to walk freely and safely with you in your world, even though I know it’s impossible. Last year was like a miracle, and to give up another of those rare opportunities is difficult…”

“Then, we will have to find other opportunities,” she said softly, “and we will. I know we will.”

"But I thought after our hopes for the trip to your lake in Connecticut were -- "

She pressed soft fingertips against his lips, stilling further words of lost dreams. "We still have that hope, Vincent. Remember what you told me, that someday we'd see the lake together?"

He nodded and the sudden motion stroked his mouth across her fingers in a phantom kiss that sent ribbons of fire rippling through their bond. With a sharp intake of breath, Catherine forced herself to lower her hand. But the trembling Vincent heard in her voice was an echo of the sensations that still vibrated deliciously through his body.

"There are still so many possibilities for us," Catherine went on, her voice full of promise.  "This is just one night. There will be others. It doesn't matter where we are as long as we're together."

He reached for her then and she went into his arms, to the place where she belonged. Cradling her against his chest, Vincent buried his face in the cool, fragrant cloud of her hair, feeling his fears melt in the warmth of her hope and trust in him. There were no other words beyond the sweet sound of her name as he whispered it over and over again.

Long moments later, Catherine raised her head and leaned back in Vincent's embrace, not wishing to end the closeness they'd shared, but needing to see his face. She found him gazing down at her, the intensity in his eyes deep and unwavering, as warm and delicious sensations again flared through their bond.

She tried to speak, but only a soft, quivering sigh whispered from her parted lips. Then, she felt him tremble slightly, and with great reluctance she pulled away from his embrace. She wanted nothing more than to reach for everything he wished he could offer her, yet she knew this was not yet the time for those dreams to come true.

The huskiness in Vincent's voice revealed his awareness of every sensation they'd shared, and his words were shaded with a sigh that echoed hers. "I'll go now, Catherine. It’s very late, and you must be cold.”

"No, not yet." She shook her head, unashamed of the plea in her voice and in her eyes. "I'm fine, and I want to hear more about the Halloween party.” She shivered, belying the warmth of her words.  

"Then here, take this and it will warm you," he offered, reaching upward to unhook the clasp of his voluminous cloak.

Suddenly he froze, hands halfway to his throat, as Catherine quickly ducked under his upraised arms. She draped the heavy woolen folds of the cloak around her slender body, then wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled close to him with a throaty laugh. 

"I think this is much better, don't you?" she asked, “And much warmer."

Vincent exhaled an uneven breath as he slowly lowered his arms to pull her closer. "Yes, I think it is," he managed, trying not to lose himself entirely in the welcoming warmth that was Catherine.

Her smile grew wider as she rested her head against his chest where she could hear his heart beating with a heavy, rapid cadence that pulsed in perfect time with her own. She sighed in contentment. "Now tell me more about the plans for the party. I know we'll have a wonderful time."

Not as wonderful as this, Catherine, he replied silently, a smile curving his unique mouth.  

********************

While Vincent and Catherine's love worked its special magic Above, the threads of other mysteries were weaving a mystic spell of their own in a secret cavern deep beneath the surface of the city, a place well beyond even the farthest-reaching chambers of the tunnel community.  Visitors to this remote site were rare, but that suited the two beings who now inhabited the warren of twisting passageways and small, smoky rooms. Their work would always keep them apart from others, until the time was right to bring their gifts of prophecy to those who unknowingly awaited them.

In silence the two exchanged a small, silk-wrapped parcel, its surface sliding easily from the grasp of long, paint-stained fingers to the cupped surface of heavily lined and timeworn palms.  For just a moment, the hands formed a protective vessel around the little object, while two pairs of eyes spoke a silent incantation, as if to bless the contents they cradled so carefully.   

Their hands parted and the satisfied smiles of the conspirators brightened the dim, candlelit reaches of the ancient room as they looked down at their treasure. Within moments a pair of still supple, dark-skinned hands had freed a rectangular box from its confines in the folds of a white cloth and settled it carefully on the scarred surface of a worktable. The lid of the box slid open easily, and laughter flowed in surprisingly liquid tones from an aged throat as its owner looked with pleasure and satisfaction at the contents of the package. The sound drew an answering grin from her much younger companion, and he looked at her in eager anticipation.

"Ahh, they are perfect," she said as she turned her opaque gaze on him. "You do good work, my friend."

His smile grew wider at her praise. "It was easier than I thought it would be. In a few days a shop -- the kind that's called a New Age Center -- is opening right next to Mr. Smythe's bookstore. It was easy for me to get in there and out again without any trouble at all. And the owners probably won't notice their inventory has been reduced by this one particular item."

The old woman laughed again, her delight further pleasing the young man. Despite his friendship with an old bookseller Above, in many ways he'd been alone for what seemed to him a very long time. But now that he'd found her, he felt he'd also found a new home, a place waiting just for him where he could once again belong. He watched as she closed the box and returned it to him, tilting her head meaningfully as she captured his sparkling gaze in the milky depths of her own.

"You know what must be done now," she said. The rhythmic Haitian lilt of her voice did not mask the gravity of her words. "But go with care. The path you take may hold much danger for you."

"I'll be careful," he assured her, the ends of his shaggy dark hair bobbing beneath an ever-present baseball cap as he nodded his head. "I won't let anyone see me yet, especially not him."

The old woman's face grew grave. "It is not the son who causes the worry. It is the father. The old ways are not for him." Her lined face crinkled with a satisfied grin. "He calls me a crazy, old woman."

The young man rewrapped the box in the remnant of silk, chuckling as he stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. "Then I wonder what he'd make of me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in mock alarm. "Maybe I'll stop by his chamber for another visit.”

She tried to frown but found it was impossible. "Be on guard up there, child!" she warned one last time, knowing his nature was shaded with impulsive, extravagant colors. "You must not become distracted by this celebration on Halloween night. We have work to do.”

He nodded, letting her know he would not fail to keep the pledge they’d made.

“They need our help, these two special souls,” the woman continued. “Their journey is meant to be, but they falter. We must be their guides." She waited, giving him time to absorb the gravity of her words, before smiling at him once more. "And when you are with them, the father and the others, don't forget about your old friend down in these dark, lost chambers."

He leaned forward and kissed the softly wrinkled skin of her cheek. "I'll never forget about you," he promised. "We're in this together, aren't we? Everything will work out great -- I'll make sure of it!"

With his promise echoing in her ears like a remembered melody, the old woman turned away and reached for a worn wooden bowl of ivory-colored cowry shells, their glistening surfaces catching and giving back the chamber's misty light. She knew that when she looked up again, he would be gone, and she knew as well that he would always return.

********************

Unfazed by her customer’s sigh of frustration, the young woman shook her head and turned the computer's monitor so that Catherine could see the screen for herself. "There's no listing under your name, ma'am. See?"

Forcing herself to remain calm, Catherine repeated the question she'd already asked despite knowing its futility. "Are you sure?  I called over four weeks ago and asked to have the Cinderella costume set aside for me."

"Well, these things happen sometimes -- you know, computer glitches, that kind of thing." The salesclerk shrugged. "Sorry, but that's all I can tell you." 

Catherine counted to ten, several times, even while knowing it wouldn't help. After Vincent had left her last night, she'd drifted to sleep on dreams of dancing in his arms at the party, but now the image of herself in the fairy tale dress was fading fast.  

"Can't you just go and look in the storage room or someplace?" she insisted. "Just to make sure?"

The young woman sighed and rose to her feet. "I guess I can, but it won't be there if it's not listed in the computer." She looked pointedly at Catherine, but then turned and disappeared through a curtained doorway.

Catherine took a deep breath as she glanced over her shoulder toward the interior of the brightly lit shop. There was only one other customer in view, a tall, dark-haired man who was enthusiastically rummaging through the depleted racks of fanciful clothing. “I hope you have better luck than I’ve had,” she muttered under her breath.

She stared at the entrance to the storage room, wondering what was delaying the clerk, and then found her attention recaptured by the other customer. Even from several yards away, Catherine could hear him singing a hauntingly familiar song. ‘It’s from A Masked Ball,’ she realized as she heard him break into snatches of Italian lyrics, ‘the opera Vincent and I heard in our place below the park in July.’

Catherine smiled, her irritation and disappointment lifting with the remembrance of that lovely summer night, as the stranger continued his slightly off-key but very spirited rendition of an early scene from the opera. Calling upon the Italian language classes she'd enjoyed in college, Catherine tried to mentally translate the impromptu performance.  

Ogni cura si doni al diletto,                     May every care dissolve in delight,

E s'accorra nel magico tetto:                  Let us come together in that magic cave.

Tra la folla de' creduli ognuno                And among the superstitious throng

S'abbandoni e folleggi con me, ecc.       Let us pursue our frolics one and all.

E s'accora, ma vegli 'l sospetto              We shall come together, but may suspicion

Sui perigli che fremono intorno,              Of the lurking danger awaken

Ma protegga il mananimo petto              To protect the magnanimous soul

A chi nulla paventa per se.                      Which fears not for itself.

L'indovina ne dice di belle,                      The fortuneteller predicts all sorts of things,

E sta ben che l'interroghi anch'io;            And so I, too, shall question her,

Sentiro se m'arridon le stelle,                  To learn if the stars are in my favor

Di che sorti benefica m'e.                        And smiling pleasantly on my destiny.

Catherine couldn't help but enjoy the charming diversion and the lyrics which oddly called to mind the world Below, but she knew they wouldn’t lighten her dark mood for long.

"I don't think any stars are in my favor right now," she muttered as she swung back toward the counter and the returning clerk.  For just a moment she felt a surge of hope, but it died a quick death when she saw that the young woman's arms were empty.

"I'm sorry, but it's just not here," the clerk said, shaking her head firmly. "Someone else must have already picked it up."

The matter-of-fact tone of the woman's voice told Catherine there was no sense in arguing any further. "Well, then I’ll just have to take something else. But I’m due in court in an hour, so I haven't got time to look around. Can you just tell me what's still available in my size?"

The clerk's eyebrows rose as she looked at Catherine. "Less than two days before Halloween? There won't be much! Every costume shop in the city has been taking reservations for months!" The darkening of Catherine's expression painted a clear picture of her customer's rapidly waning patience. "But I can check the files. Maybe there's been a cancellation." She tilted her head toward Catherine. "What are you -- about a size six?"

"Yes," Catherine replied, frowning as she looked at her watch. "And could you please hurry?"

The young woman typed in a series of code words, and seconds later a very short list appeared on the monitor's screen. Shaking her head, she looked up at Catherine. "Well, just like I said, there isn't much left. We've got a pink rabbit, a witch, a Klingon, and a giant lollipop."

Catherine's eyes widened. "You aren't serious!" 

"I'm afraid so," the salesclerk answered as she started to pivot the screen in Catherine's direction. "Look for yourself."

Catherine waved a hand in abrupt dismissal of the frustrating information. "No, it's all right. I believe you." She sighed again, as a final vision of herself swaying in the beautiful silvery blue ball gown before Vincent's admiring eyes, vanished hopelessly. "Just put me down for the witch costume, I guess. It's not at all what I wanted, but it beats spending the evening as a rabbit or a giant lollipop."

"Or a Klingon!"  

The young woman's laugh was hard to resist, and despite everything, Catherine felt her mood start to improve. She would just have to make the best she could of the disappointing situation. "I'll pick up the costume tomorrow," she said firmly, as she handed the clerk a credit card. "Probably late afternoon. Please make sure it’s ready when I get here.”

“Will do,” the clerk replied.

That’s what I was told last time, Catherine reminded herself silently. “Should I ask for you?” she questioned aloud.

"Sure. My name's Melissa. But if I'm not here, one of the other clerks can help you."

“And there won't be any further problems, will there?"

"There shouldn't be,” Melissa assured her. “I'll put the costume in a garment bag myself and label it with your name. In fact, I'll do it as soon as I write up your reservation. Remember, we close at six on Fridays, so just come in before then and it's all yours."

"Whether I want it or not, right?" Catherine replied with a wry smile. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem," Melissa called out just before the shop door swung shut behind Catherine. 

********************

Vincent's heart was lighter than it had been in days, and he knew he needn't look beyond the precious memory of the previous night with Catherine to understand that welcome change. Feeling as if nothing in the world could challenge his new-found contentment, he relaxed into a large, soft-cushioned chair in Father's study as he awaited the arrival of his parent.  A message on the pipes had summoned him there several minutes earlier, but Father had yet to appear. Vincent had called to him, thinking perhaps he would be found in the library loft, but when he received no answer, he assumed his father had been delayed by some unexpected concern within their community.  

Lulled into a pleasant contemplation of things to come, Vincent was startled to alertness by a harsh sound -- half-growl, half-grumble -- venting loudly from several yards away. He began to push himself from the chair to investigate the alarming noise, only to freeze in amazement when he realized it was his father's voice.

"How you continually let the children talk you into these things is quite beyond me, Vincent, the foolish idea that the adults should dress in costumes for the party!" The thick tapestry shielding the entry to Father's sleeping chamber could not disguise the vexation in his voice. “And I'm the greater fool for agreeing when I knew I should have refused the minute I heard about it!"

With a violent flourish, the tapestry was flung aside and a glowering figure made his entrance, stalking toward his son. Coming to a halt only a few feet in front of the younger man, Jacob Wells gestured at himself with all the dignity he could still summon. "Look at me! I cannot possibly wear this -- this -- get-up to the Halloween gathering!"

Vincent bowed his head, hoping to hide the smile he felt twitching at the corners of his lips. Then, he took a deep breath as he met his father's outraged face. "You look quite regal, Father," he began. "I'm sure everyone will think -- "

"I know exactly what everyone will think,” Father interrupted, "that I look a complete fool!"

Vincent's eyes twinkled with suppressed humor as he took in the sight of his father swathed in a voluminous white sheet, its draped edges trimmed in the same gold braid that held makeshift sandals to his feet.  "Well, Father, you did promise to let the children choose your costume," Vincent began, trying his best to smother the laughter that was threatening to overcome him. “And I have to admit I was surprised when you agreed to the idea of the adults wearing costumes in the first place.”

Father glared at him. “As you well know, this was all your fault from the start. You agreed to the children’s plans, and then informed the rest of us after it was too late to do anything about it.”

Vincent nodded. “That’s true,” he admitted, his husky voice constricting as he struggled to maintain his composure. "But I don’t think I’m entirely to blame for your problem. After all, you already knew the theme the children had chosen for this year's party when you assigned Julius Caesar to the intermediate literature class. And you really can't blame them for being impressed by your reading of those scenes from the play last week. It must have inspired them to choose this costume for you."

Father's grey eyes narrowed as he listened to his son's none too subtle attempt to placate him.  "Do not patronize me, Vincent. I know exactly what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work -- not this time!" He shook his head, nearly dislodging the laurel wreath that graced his tousled hair. "The children will just have to come up with something else."

Father paced the length of the study, frowning deeply in concentration as he tried to formulate a plan that would restore his dignity yet not hurt the children’s feelings. Suddenly, he stopped in mid-stride. “I know,” he proclaimed triumphantly. “I’ll tell the children I will not be able to wear this costume because Julius Caesar was a real person, not simply a character in a play.” He sighed with relief. “And before they manage to come up with something else that’s equally inappropriate, I’ll have a little talk with them, just to go over a few guidelines.”

Vincent shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Of course, it will,” Father insisted. “Why do you disagree?”

“Because two weeks ago when Mary was assisting me with the literature class, we had the same discussion.”

Father glowered at his son. “Go on.”

“The children were asking Mary about her costume for the party, and she told them that several months ago when we read various books about the accomplishments of Renaissance women, she’d been especially inspired by Gracia Mendes Nasi. There are both legends and historical accounts written about Dona Gracia’s life, but Mary couldn’t wear a costume modeled on her because she was a real person.”

“Then that just proves my point,” Father interrupted happily. “My problem has been solved!”

Vincent shook his head again. “Not exactly. You know how much the children love Mary.” He paused while Father nodded guardedly. “They didn’t want her to be disappointed, so they immediately voted to amend their rules for the costumes. They decided that if a person could be found as a character in any book, fiction or non-fiction, then they were acceptable as the inspiration for a costume.”

Vincent paused once again, watching hope drain from Father’s face. “The new rule helped Zach, too, since he intends to dress up as Robin Hood. Of course, there’s no definitive proof that Robin Hood actually was a real person, although some researchers feel he was based on Robert Hod of Yorkshire back in the early 1200s, so –”

“Spare me the history lesson, Vincent,” Father hissed through clenched teeth. “And please be silent. Evidently I need to think of some other plan.”

Ignoring the request, Vincent suggested good-naturedly, “Maybe you should just give in and wear this costume. You have to admit, it does suit you in a way.”

Father took a strangled breath, ready to continue his argument; then, a high-pitched voice from the outer chamber entrance silenced him as nothing else could.

"Father! You look wonderful!" Samantha's enthusiasm rang through the lofty room. "The costume is just perfect!" She turned and called eagerly to Kipper and Geoffrey as they ran through the entryway and stopped just behind her at the top of the narrow metal staircase. "Look at Father! Isn't he the most perfect Julius Caesar you ever saw!"

As the boys added their enthusiastic agreement, Father managed a convincing smile in their direction, and then turned toward Vincent.  "Don't say a word," he muttered warningly.  "Not a single word. I see I'll have to go along with this -- but only so as not to disappoint the children."

Vincent nodded, a willing conspirator for everyone’s sake. "It looks like you have successfully crossed your own Rubicon,” he murmured under his breath, knowing Father would miss neither the humor nor the affection in his voice.

Father nodded in the style of a true emperor as he offered a royal Roman wave to the very impressed children. "Yes," he agreed, his implacable dignity once again firmly in place despite everything. "I suppose I have."

But as Vincent turned toward the entryway at the far end of the chamber, he heard Father's final comment on the subject.  

"Now I wonder what they have in mind for you."   

*************************

Melissa rose from her place behind the counter and walked toward the costume racks to find and set aside Catherine's witch regalia. "Oh good, there it is," she murmured as she pushed aside other garments to reach for the black satin dress and hat. Minutes later they were safely packaged in a dark blue garment bag, labeled with her customer's name.  

"I'd better take a look at what else is left," she told herself, rounding the end of a long row of racks that had been stripped of most of their stock. "That last customer won’t be the only one rushing in here at the last minute. Now, let’s –"

Her words were cut short as she walked straight into the arms of a tall, handsome stranger who'd been reaching for a vampire costume. "I'm sorry," she said breathlessly as she stepped back and looked up into his twinkling eyes. "I didn't see you."  Something in the back of her mind whispered, ‘And I didn't hear the shop door open either. I was sure I was alone.’ But the words vanished unspoken as the man smiled down at her.

"I need a costume for a Halloween party this Saturday night," he told her. "Something dramatic!  Maybe a knight in shining armor ready to rescue a damsel in distress, or a fearless buccaneer sailing the high seas!"

"Sure. Let's take a look," Melissa answered. She gave him her brightest smile, wondering if he already had a date for that party. "There isn't much left, but I'm sure we can find something perfect for you."

She pulled a pirate costume from a nearby rack and held it out to him, glancing the length of his body appraisingly. "This looks like it will fit. Would you like to try it on? There are dressing rooms in the back."

"This is great!" he exclaimed, reaching with one hand for the elaborate plumed hat that completed the outfit and pulling off his baseball cap with the other. With the pirate hat angled alarmingly over his dark, glossy hair, he made an exaggeratedly low bow before reaching for the young woman's hand and raising it to his lips. "Now you're my prisoner, fair maiden, and you must come with me to sail the seven seas!"

Rolling her eyes, she giggled and tugged on his hand, pulling him toward the dressing rooms.  "Come on, Captain Kidd. First the Halloween costume, then we'll talk about cruise wear!"

She unlocked a latticed wooden door and flipped on the light within before moving back to allow him entrance. "Just yell if you need help, okay?" She hadn't taken more than a few steps back toward the front of the shop when she turned around and called over her shoulder, "By the way, my name is Melissa."

"Thanks, Melissa," came a muffled voice from behind the dressing room door. "I'm Kristopher."

*************

Vincent contemplated Father's parting words as he walked the length of a wide, brick-lined tunnel. Sighing slightly, he shook his head as he recalled the image of his parent wrapped in a sheet with a laurel wreath atop his head. Clearly, the children somehow found such a costume completely suitable for Father. Perhaps there was cause to worry about what they might have dreamed up for him.

Vincent knew that except for the initial startlement displayed by young newcomers, most children never seemed to care about his differences. He was simply a part of their lives, a beloved combination of friend and teacher, hero and champion, brother and father. Their love enriched not only his existence but theirs as well; yet he hoped it would not blind them to the fact that there were times when the differences they so easily disregarded would make it uncomfortable for him to participate fully in their lives.

Lost in thought, Vincent veered into a narrow side tunnel and came face to face with Pascal, nearly colliding with the smaller man who had been hurrying toward that same intersection.

"Pascal! What brings you out here at this time of day?"  Vincent's sense of time, like that of all long-term tunnel dwellers, was almost unerring, and he knew that mid-afternoon typically found Pascal hard at work in the vast Central Pipe Chamber.

"Actually, I was looking for you," Pascal answered, his voice slightly winded. "I sent out a message on the pipes, and Father answered saying you'd left his chamber several minutes ago, but he wasn't sure where you were going. Didn't you hear it?"

"No, I didn't," Vincent answered, a slight frown creasing his brow. "I'm not sure why, but I didn't notice it."

Pascal's own frown deepened. "That's not like you, Vincent. It must mean something's wrong with the pipes out here. I'd better check on them.”

Together they entered the larger tunnel, and Pascal retrieved a short piece of copper tubing from a deep pocket of his tunic. A series of rapid tapping sounds filled the corridor as he tested several pipes, concentrating intently on the tone and pitch of each one. Minutes later, he seemed satisfied with the results and turned back to Vincent who'd waited patiently for the examination to end.

"Well, everything seems okay out here," Pascal announced, his worried expression lightening visibly with relief. "Maybe you just weren't listening carefully for once, Vincent."

Vincent shrugged, remembering how preoccupied he’d been with thoughts of the Halloween celebration. "That's probably it. I'm glad there's no reason for concern. But what was it you wanted to see me about?"

Immediately his friend's demeanor sobered again. "Something strange happened earlier. But I'm not sure if it's anything to worry about. Zach has been doing a great job as my chief apprentice, so this week I've been giving him the bulk of the afternoon shift supervising the messages as they come through the central pipes. I was trying to read in my chamber after lunch, but I couldn't seem to relax, so I went to the Pipe Chamber -- just to check on things, you know."     

Vincent nodded in acknowledgment of the pipe master's legendary devotion to the tunnel world's communications system.  "And what did you find?"

"At first, everything seemed to be in order. Zach was handling things well, so I figured it was only my imagination. But then just as I was about to leave, I thought I heard a very faint tapping sound coming from up in the far northeast corner of the chamber. It struck me as odd right away since we almost never use those particular pipes."

"Where do they lead to?" Vincent asked.

"To Narcissa's chambers," Pascal answered, his brow furrowing with the growing anxiety he couldn't hide. "But I'm pretty sure it wasn't Narcissa who was using them."

Vincent felt a slight chill creep along the edge of his spine. “Why is that?”

Pascal shrugged. "First of all, it just didn't sound like her. You know how everyone develops an individual style, even though we all use the same codes. The code was correct -- one of the older ones that we've adapted over the years -- but the rhythm was slightly off." His frown deepened. "It was as if the person sending the message wasn't speaking normally." He looked up at his old friend and noted the worried look on his face. "It was more like singing than talking."

"Singing?" Vincent's voice reflected his surprise. "Could you tell what the words were?"

Despite his uneasiness, Pascal smiled, feeling a small sense of relief that he would not have to deal with this mysterious occurrence alone. "Sure. That part was easy. I even wrote them down." He drew a small notebook from his pocket and flipped through it until he found the pages he sought. "And the other thing that seemed really strange is that the message was addressed to Father. You know Narcissa almost never contacts him. Here, take a look."

Vincent's eyes widened as he scanned the words Pascal had carefully printed. "You're right," he said as he raised his head to meet his friend's expectant stare. "These are the words of a song.  It's from the first act of an opera, A Masked Ball.  Catherine and I listened to it when it was performed in the park this summer."

"But what do you think it means?" Pascal asked, the hint of a nervous laugh tingeing his voice.  "Is someone in Narcissa's chamber, sending Father secret messages in songs from operas?"

Vincent’s voice was calm, but the look in his eyes betrayed his puzzlement and concern. "It's certainly unlikely, but so it would seem. I'll go and check on Narcissa and see what I can find. Will you send a message to Father to let him know where I've gone?"

"Sure, Vincent, I'll do it right away. But do you want me to come with you, just in case?"

Vincent shook his head and clasped a reassuring hand on the other man's shoulder. "Thank you, Pascal, but no, that won't be necessary. You're needed here. As strange as the whole thing is, I don’t think there’s any cause for alarm right now. I’m sure Narcissa will have some explanation for what’s happened."

Pascal nodded, recalling the mysterious alliance Vincent and the exotic old woman maintained. "Well, okay, but let me know what you find out."

"I will," Vincent promised, "and I think it would be best if no one else learns about this incident for now beyond Zach, you, and me. I don't want Father to worry unnecessarily."

"I agree. Maybe it's nothing but a joke of some kind." The forced evenness of Pascal's voice was meant to be reassuring, but Vincent felt it set his nerves further on edge.

Turning in the direction of the tunnels which would eventually bring him to Narcissa's hidden realm, Vincent left the main hub of his world behind. Several minutes later he reached the junction where he would turn off from the main passageway. A rounded opening yawned ahead of him, but as he was about to enter it, he thought he heard the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and he whirled to face his unexpected companion.

The tunnel was empty, save for a hazy mist that might have been nothing more than cool, damp currents of air swirling through the underground world. Even the pipes were completely silent, and Vincent found himself half-annoyed and half-amused at himself. "Is anyone there?" he called out, feeling a slight tremor ripple along his spine at the sound of his own voice echoing through the deserted passage. He waited, straining his ears, but heard nothing more.  

Feeling slightly foolish, he turned and stepped over the raised threshold of the adjacent tunnel, ducking his head until he cleared the low, rounded ceiling of the entryway. He lengthened his strides as he resumed the journey toward Narcissa's chambers, knowing it would take more than an hour to reach her, even using the shortcuts few knew of and even fewer would risk taking. As he walked, the words Pascal had transcribed ran through his mind, and he wondered about the hidden message they might convey and why it would be addressed to Father.

May every care dissolve in delight,

Let us come together in that magic cave.

And among the superstitious throng

Let us pursue our frolics one and all.

We shall come together, but may suspicion

Of the lurking danger awaken

To protect the magnanimous soul

Which fears not for itself.

The message seemed to refer to the upcoming Halloween celebration, but was it a prophetic warning or only an eerie attempt at humor? No matter, Vincent knew he must do all he could to discover its meaning before sharing any of it with Father. He broke into a run, his long legs setting an easy loping pace as he moved deeper into the underworld.  Sensing no other presence in that faraway place, Vincent fully believed he journeyed alone.

********************

Long afternoon shadows deepened as day blended into night in the world Above. Catherine’s responsibilities in court had ended unexpectedly early, and she was grateful for the opportunity to make a welcome escape toward home. She entered the elevator of her building, but as the doors slid shut behind her, she hesitated and on impulse pushed the button that would take her not to her eighteenth-floor apartment but to the sub-basement.

She soon stood in the misty light of the brick-edged threshold to the underground world, hoping Vincent had sensed her intent and would be on his way to meet her. She walked a few yards into the nearby tunnel, only to find the length of it deserted as far as she could see. For a few moments, she considered trying to find her way to the home chambers on her own, but then she remembered Vincent's warnings of how easy it was to become lost Below in the intricate, often altered network of passageways. Instead, she retraced her steps to reach for the small hammer that together they'd hidden near the tunnel entrance.

Catherine smiled as she tapped out a message, using the tunnel code she was slowly but surely memorizing, and in seconds her smile widened as she heard Pascal's reply. Leaning against the rough brick wall, Catherine waited for the promised escort to arrive, and let her mind play with thoughts of a life that she fully believed would someday come to be. The ways may change, she told herself, but it doesn't matter as long as they always lead to him.

Several minutes later Catherine straightened as she saw a flickering light begin to brighten the darkened tunnel ahead of her. As she watched, the increasing light revealed Jamie, carrying a flashlight in one hand and grasping the handle of a wooden wagon with the other.

"Hi, Jamie! Thanks for coming to meet me," she began, reaching to take the flashlight from the younger woman's outstretched hand. "How did you get here so quickly? It usually takes Vincent and me at least twenty minutes to get to the home chambers."

The gloom of the tunnel couldn't hide Jamie's grin. "That's probably because you two are never in any hurry to get there," she commented, her smile growing at Catherine's laughing acknowledgment of the truth in her words. "But actually, I wasn't too far from here when your message came over the pipes, so I answered and told Pascal I'd come and meet you." She paused and looked toward Catherine’s feet. “Oh, good, you’re wearing boots. Your other shoes are so pretty, but it can be dangerous wearing them in the tunnels.”

Jamie reached into a pocket of her denim jacket and withdrew a second flashlight identical to the one she'd given Catherine. "All set?" At Catherine's nod, she switched on the second light and began to lead the way deeper into the tunnel world.

"Have you seen Vincent today?" Catherine asked as they made their way along the dimly lit route.

"Not since breakfast. But I heard a message on the pipes that he was going to see Narcissa and wouldn’t be back until later tonight."

For a moment, Catherine was silent, not wanting to appear ungrateful for Jamie's company, but unable to smother her disappointment.

"Why don't you stay for supper and just wait for him?" Jamie suggested. "He shouldn't get back too late, and I know he'd be really disappointed if he missed seeing you."

Catherine felt her heart warm at the understanding reply from her friend. "Thanks, Jamie, I think I will. And maybe there's something I can do to help with the Halloween preparations in the meantime."

"Be careful who you say that to," Jamie warned with a laugh. "Or you'll find yourself knee-deep in crepe paper, paint, and who knows what else. This year's celebration is getting bigger and more elaborate all the time."

"What do you have there -- something for the party?" Catherine gestured toward the lumpy burlap bag wedged into the wagon Jamie pulled behind her.

"Pumpkins. I was on my way back from Mr. Long's shop. He had some extra ones that he wanted to donate."

"Do you want some help?" Catherine asked. "They must be heavy."

"No, they're not too bad," Jamie answered, “but thanks for asking. They're just small sugar pumpkins for the younger children. The older kids decided they wanted to have a pumpkin-carving contest, so, of course, all the little guys had to get in on it, too. It'll be too late for them to stay up tonight to work on theirs, so tomorrow morning Rebecca, Matt, and I are going to help them. They can draw the faces on the pumpkins, and we'll do all the carving for them. But they can be in charge of scooping out the seeds and pulp."

"Which they'll probably love doing," Catherine commented with a smile.

"That's for sure," Jamie agreed. "The messier it is, the better they like it!"

They continued in companionable conversation, careful not to become distracted in case there were unexpected hazards on the way. Although it did not happen often, there were occasional minor rockfalls caused by eroding supports in the walls and ceilings of some of the outlying tunnels, and the sweep of the flashlights' beams could not fully penetrate the darkness. After several minutes had passed, they reached the more heavily traversed areas of the tunnel world, where slow-burning wall torches and the occasional overhead light, whose electricity Mouse had managed to convert from sources Above, allowed them to switch off their flashlights and relax their guard.

"I'm really looking forward to the party," Catherine said. "Does everyone always dress up in costumes?"  

"It's been a tradition ever since I can remember,” Jamie answered, “although it’s usually just the kids who dress up. But this year they decided they want everyone to wear a costume, so we’re all going to do it.”

"Even Father?" Catherine asked in surprise.

"Especially Father," Jamie retorted with a laugh. "You know that this year the children convinced him there should be a theme for the party?"

"Yes, Vincent told me. Everyone's supposed to come dressed as a character from some literary work."

Jamie nodded, grinning sideways at Catherine. "Well, wait until you see Father! He agreed to let the children put together a costume for him, and you’ll never guess what they came up with.”

Catherine shook her head. "I can't imagine. What?"

"Julius Caesar!" 

"Oh, no!" Catherine giggled helplessly. "Not with a toga and everything?"

Jamie nodded, as the sound of their shared laughter echoed through the tunnel. "Definitely with a toga -- and sandals and a laurel wreath!" Gasping to catch her breath, she added, "Now, you can't laugh when you see him in it!" 

Catherine's laughter subsided enough to allow her to speak. "Well, I'll try my best. Thanks for the warning!"

"Luckily I put my own costume together before the children volunteered to help me. I'm going as Rosalind -- you know, from “As You Like It”.  We just finished reading the play in our drama group, and I really like her spirit," Jamie said. "How about you? What's your costume?"

Catherine grimaced with disgust. "A witch. I was supposed to be dressing up as Cinderella at the ball, but that fell through."

"What happened?" 

"I called a costume rental shop to reserve a beautiful gown, but they lost my reservation, and the witch outfit was the best of the few horrible choices that were left. It's just a plain, stereotypical witch's dress and hat, so I'll have to come up with some specific character I'm supposed to be."

"I'm sure the children will have some ideas for you," Jamie replied helpfully. She knew how few opportunities Catherine had to be a part of their world, and hoping to ease her friend's disappointment, she added, "And you know Vincent will think you're beautiful no matter what.  He's really happy you're coming to the party."

Catherine's smile illuminated her face. "Thanks, Jamie," she said softly. "I'm happy about that, too."

"Come on, let’s drop these pumpkins off and go see what's left of supper."

"Sounds like a good idea," Catherine agreed. "I'm starving!"

*******************

While Jamie and Catherine entered a world of light and warmth, Vincent's journey brought him to a place of shadows and secrets. He was eager to speak with Narcissa and then return to the community as soon as possible, but as he reached the short, rocky corridor leading into her workroom, he hesitated, hearing the unexpected sound of indistinct voices from deeper within the chamber. For moments he lingered uncertainly, not wishing to intrude if Narcissa was speaking with another visitor, but then a familiar melodic voice beckoned him forward.

"Come in, Vincent, come in. I have been waiting for you. Do not haunt my doorway like some poor lost soul." The old woman chuckled at her own words, and for just an instant Vincent thought he heard the faint sound of other laughter from the hazy shadows. The sensation sent another icy chill through him, but when he quickly scanned the chamber, he found only Narcissa within. It must be my imagination, he thought, unwilling to give in to fanciful ideas.

"How did you know I was on my way to see you?" he asked, his voice firm and deep.

"I saw you in the waters, child," Narcissa answered. She gestured toward the translucent surface of the liquid in a shallow bowl and flicked her fingertips across it. "Not many come to see me, but I always know when a journey has begun."

Irresistibly drawn, Vincent moved closer to the old worktable and glanced fleetingly at the water that still rippled and shimmered. There was no sign of his own reflection there, and yet he thought he caught the sensation of movement deep within the water, revealing an indistinct portrait of luminous eyes and a gleaming smile. He shook his head hard, dispelling the vision, but found it took all his willpower to resist the urge to turn and look behind himself to see if the image might have substance after all. 

"What is it, child?"  Narcissa continued, her voice grounding Vincent to some semblance of reality. She gazed up at him with eyes clouded yet far-seeing. "Why have you journeyed so far from home to this old, forgotten place?"       

Vincent gazed around the crowded room, spotting treasures and mysterious objects that had fascinated him since he was a child. Even the smoke and spice scenting the chamber was familiar to him, yet there was another fragrance drifting elusively through the air. Vincent knew he'd smelled it before, but it seemed out of place here, and he could not name it. With effort, he relaxed his face into a gentle smile, despite the sense of misgiving that lingered within. "I have a question to ask, Narcissa, one that only you can answer."      

Her broad grin relieved some of the gloominess of the room. "Then ask me, child," she said, her deep affection for Vincent giving warmth to the command. "And I will try to find an answer for you."      

"A few hours ago, Pascal heard a message for Father being sent over the pipes. The wording of it was very mysterious, and the pipes that carried it lead directly to your chambers. Was it you who sent the message, Narcissa?"      

The old woman frowned with displeasure as her eyes flickered away from Vincent's face to settle for less than a moment on some shadowy place beyond him. Yet before Vincent could react, she regained her composure, tilting her head sideways as she smiled up at him. "No, I did not send a message to the father. What would I have to say to him? You know he does not believe in my ways."      

Vincent tensed warily but kept his voice even. "Then who sent it, Narcissa?"      

The old woman shook her head, her ornate gold earrings catching flickers of errant light. "Who can say, child? Maybe you are wrong, and that message came singing along those old pipes from somewhere else." She swung her arm in a slow, graceful arc that encompassed the deepest reaches of the chamber. "See? There is no one here but you and me."      

Vincent sighed imperceptibly as his eyes followed her gesture. He realized there would be no answers here, for whatever Narcissa knew, she had chosen not to reveal to him. "Perhaps you're right," he told her. "Even Pascal has been known to make mistakes."      

Narcissa chuckled, but the sound did not warm Vincent as it had before. "Or maybe it's the old spirits playing tricks. Sometimes they wish to tell us their stories. And it is their time now, when the walls between the worlds grow thin..."      

Hearing those words from the mysterious old woman did nothing to set Vincent's mind at ease, and he suddenly felt an increased eagerness to return to the warmth of his own world. "Thank you, Narcissa. Is there anything you need, anything you wish me to bring to you?"      

She patted his arm and smiled up at him again. "No, child, but you are kind to ask me. Your heart is full of truth and goodness."      

He returned her smile, knowing she would somehow see it. "Then I'll leave you now. Take care down here."      

"Do not worry for me, Vincent," she replied as her opaque gaze followed his steps toward the chamber entrance. "I have much work to do and I am happy here in my world."      

Vincent paused and looked back at her. "I know, but remember there will always be a place for you with us if you desire it."        

Narcissa acknowledged his caring words with a nod of her head but said nothing more as she turned away from him to reach for a small glass bottle and an old wooden mortar and pestle.

With a slight shrug, Vincent moved swiftly into the connecting passage. As he did, he caught sight of a large piece of canvas stretched on a wooden frame, resting in an alcove a few feet away. It was tilted against the rocky wall so that its painted surface was hidden from sight, and for a moment he paused and reached out to turn it toward him. Then he shook his head and continued onward, the impulse discarded as he realized that at least one small mystery had been solved. The unusual odor he'd noticed earlier was linseed oil, used for cleaning oil paint from artists’ brushes. And if for some reason of her own Narcissa had chosen to take up painting, he would simply wait for her to tell him about it at some other time.

*****************

Upon reaching the upper levels, Vincent stopped to talk with Pascal as he had promised. After he’d related what little he'd learned, the two friends decided to let the matter drop until they could gather further information.        

"You know, it probably was just a Halloween prank anyway," Pascal said, although the doubt in his voice did little to convince either of them.        

"Probably," Vincent agreed. "Although I don't think Narcissa would do something like that."      

Pascal laughed softly. "Neither do I, but then again with her, you can never be sure."      

"No, I suppose not. If you hear anything more, will you let me know?"      

"Sure, Vincent." Pascal's gaze darted toward the old pipes high in a corner of the chamber. "I'll send a message to you right away. Say, did you know Catherine's Below?  She's with some of the others in Father's chamber."      

The welcome news erased all thoughts of Halloween mysteries from Vincent's mind, and for a moment his eyes took on a faraway look as he concentrated on the bond that flowed from her heart to his. "No, I didn't know," he said softly. "When did she get here?"       

"Jamie met her at the entrance to her apartment building a few hours ago. I think they've been helping the older kids get their jack-o-lanterns ready for that contest they have planned for tomorrow night, but they must be finished with that by now."      

Vincent closed his eyes as he felt the even hum of Catherine's emotions whisper within him. He knew she was happy, content to be Below, to be a part of his world, and that realization warmed him to the soul.      

"Vincent?" Pascal reached to give his friend's arm a shake. "Don't you think you ought to get going?"      

A small, self-conscious smile curved Vincent's mouth as he opened his eyes and focused on Pascal's friendly grin. "Yes, I think I should." He started down the tunnel, but after only a few paces, he turned and looked back, unable to entirely escape the eeriness of his experience in Narcissa’s realm. "You won't forget to tell me if there are any more messages from Narcissa's chambers, will you?"      

"I won't forget," Pascal reassured him, waving an arm in dismissal. "And I'll remind Zach about it, too. Now go on! You've got better things to do than worry about some dumb Halloween joke."      

Minutes later as he neared Father’s chamber, Vincent heard laughter and friendly voices, their warmth as tangible as the bright glow of candles and the featherlight touch of Catherine's presence within his heart. It was the sound of home, and he felt a tremendous sense of happiness and peace, greater than any he'd ever known, when he thought of Catherine as a true part of his home, his world, his life. For just a moment he paused at the threshold to the chamber, allowing himself to dream that someday it might be forever.      

"Vincent, there you are at last! Come and join us!" Mary's voice pulled him from his musing, but it was Catherine's face he saw first, smiling up at him from her place at the sturdy mahogany table in Father's study.       

As he descended the metal staircase, Vincent watched Mouse jump up from his chair next to Catherine. "Sit here, Vincent. Next to Catherine." Mouse smiled with satisfaction. "Saved this seat for you."      

"Thank you, Mouse," Vincent answered, as he took the chair the younger man offered. Fighting the urge to reach for Catherine's hand, he instead accepted a mug of fragrant orange spice tea from Rebecca and clasped it between both hands. His gaze swept the length of the table, appreciatively noting the relaxed, friendly faces of several members of the tunnel community, before resting on the love in Catherine's eyes.        

With difficulty, he tore his gaze away from her and again looked toward the others, some of whom were making little attempt to hide their appreciative smiles. "What have you been doing this evening?" he began.      

"Most of the time we worked on a few final preparations for the Halloween party," Catherine answered. She gestured toward a large plate in the center of the table. "And believe it or not, I even managed to help William with his baking."      

"You did very well," Mary said firmly, as William smiled and nodded in agreement. "The peanut butter cookies turned out just fine. Here, you should try one, Vincent. You haven’t had any supper." 

Vincent followed Mary’s suggestion, as Jamie spoke up. "And some of us have been helping the older kids with their jack-o-lanterns. We're going to use them for decorations at the party, but they had to get the carving done right away since the contest is going to be held tomorrow after dinner, remember?"      

Vincent shook his head. "I had forgotten about it," he admitted. "How did it go?"      

William laughed as he reached for one of the few remaining cookies. "Not too good at first.  Some of them didn't like it when they found out they were better at coming up with ideas than they were at using the carving knives."      

"For a while I thought all we'd end up with would be a few bowls of pulp and a big pile of broken pumpkin shells," Rebecca commented. "Not to mention a lot of hurt feelings."      

"Thought there might even be a fight," Mouse said, a worried frown creasing his forehead.  "That would be bad. Kids could get hurt."      

"But Father came up with a good solution to the problem," Catherine added quickly, wishing to allay Mouse's concern.      

Father cast her an appreciative smile. "Well, it was more of a compromise actually, but if I do say so myself, it did work out quite nicely."      

"It worked beautifully." Mary nodded approvingly. "Father suggested that each child be given the option of having an adult help with some of the carving. That way they still were able to do most of the work themselves, but they didn't have to give up some of their more elaborate ideas."      

Vincent smiled. "And I suppose they all took you up on the offer?"      

"All except Kipper," Rebecca answered. "You know how stubborn he can be."      

"His jack-o-lantern turned out okay anyway, even though it's a little lopsided." William chuckled as he recalled the sight. “All in all, those kids did a pretty good job.”

“Maybe some of them will volunteer to help you with the cooking from now on,” Mary offered.

“No, thank you!” William’s eyebrows rose and his eyes were wide with mock horror as he shook his head vehemently. “That’s all I’d need!”

Good-natured laughter again warmed the chamber and with it the hearts of the family gathered there. From her place in their midst, Catherine was filled with the sense that it all felt so right.  The feeling wrapped itself around her, becoming more than a dream, more than the wish she'd heard in her heart time and time again. Someday, somehow... And when she stole a sideways glance at Vincent, she knew in a heartbeat that their wishes and dreams were one and the same.      

The sound of a chair scraping against the stone floor drew everyone's attention. Standing to face the others, Father began, "It's been a long day and I still have a bit of reading to do before I turn in. First, however, I believe an important announcement must be made."  As he paused, his wry grin previewed his proclamation, revealing it to everyone but Vincent. 

William and Rebecca exchanged winks, and even Mary found it impossible to suppress a smile of amusement.            

"What announcement is that, Father?" Jamie asked with far too much innocence in her voice.      

Vincent's eyes narrowed warily. "Yes, Father, what announcement?"      

"Why, the names of those who will judge the jack-o-lantern contest tomorrow evening, of course," Father replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Earlier tonight it was agreed that there should be three judges who will award the various ribbons of merit - most frightening jack-o-lantern, most beautiful, most comical, and so on. Isn't that right?"  He paused while the others happily nodded in agreement.      

"And to whom will this honor go?" Vincent asked, already knowing the answer.      

"To the three individuals who promised to help this evening but evidently were otherwise engaged. Kanin, Olivia, and you."      

"But I --" Vincent began, rising to his feet, ready to make a case in his own defense.       

"It's been decided, Vincent," Father answered firmly, although his eyes were full of mirth. "Make certain you're available after dinner tomorrow night for the judging."      

As she gathered empty mugs onto a tray, Mary cast a sympathetic look in Vincent's direction. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I know how you hate to be in a position to make judgments like this. But you weren't here earlier, and you were just outvoted."      

For a moment Vincent again was tempted to present an argument in his defense, but he knew it would be pointless. Then a far more enticing option was offered, one he readily seized.      

"Vincent, it is getting late and I should go Above now,” Catherine said, lightly touching his hand. “Will you walk to the threshold with me?"      

Grateful for the chance to spend some precious time alone with her, Vincent smiled as she rose to her feet beside him. As he waited patiently while she said good night to the others and repeated her promise to return for the party, he heard the seemingly casual statement she'd made moments earlier echoing within his heart. She said 'I should go Above now,' he repeated silently, not 'I should go home.'        

Perhaps it meant nothing at all, he told himself, and yet he knew that it had. Each small, tender moment they shared meant everything to him -- the love in her eyes every time she looked at him, the touch of her hand even in the presence of others, the gentle promise in her words.  Each was a gift he'd never thought would be his, never until the night he found her and began to know what possibilities life might hold even for someone like him.      

Lost in thought, Vincent slowly became aware that Catherine was waiting for him at the top of the staircase which led to the main passageway. Her smile drew him forward like a light in the darkness, and moments later they were alone, the welcome and well-loved sight and sound of family and friends giving way to something even more precious.      

As they walked their usual route toward the sub-basement of Catherine's building, Vincent reached for her hand. The surge of happiness he felt shimmering within their bond was as real as the warmth of her fingers entwined with his and the subtle seduction of her smooth skin sliding across his work-roughened palm. Even with his inexperience, Vincent knew that such a small gesture would pass almost unnoticed by most couples, when for him it was a moment of sensuality to be treasured. But the thought did not shame him; instead, he realized with a glimmering of surprise, it was yet another promise of all the tenderness and passion that for now lived only in their dreams. Dreams that might someday come true if they moved toward them with caution and with care...      

"Vincent, what are you thinking about?" The reality of Catherine's voice was an enticement even greater than his alluring reverie. "You seem so far away."      

When seconds passed and he did not answer, Catherine waited, watching as he looked at her with an intensity he seldom allowed himself to reveal. For just a moment she thought she saw something deep in his eyes, a simmering image that told of the desire he worked so hard to keep harnessed and hidden.  And although his words, when at last he spoke, were enigmatic, the sound of his voice dispelled any lingering doubts.      

"Not so far away, Catherine," he murmured in the low husky tone that always sent a flickering of fire racing through her. "Maybe not far away at all."      

She felt her heart beat faster as she waited for him to go on, but when he turned his head, hiding for a moment behind the bronze-gold curtain of his hair, she knew he would say nothing more. And yet, for now, it was promise enough.      

"Jamie told me you went to see Narcissa. How is she?" Catherine asked, tightening her grasp on his hand. "Do you think she'll come to the Halloween party?"        

He looked down at their tightly clasped hands for just a moment before he turned his gaze to her face. "With Narcissa, it's hard to say," he replied, shaking his head. "But that's not why I went to see her. Pascal reported receiving a strange message meant for Father, and it came from the pipes that lead to her chambers. Yet when I asked her about it, she said she hadn't sent any messages at all." 

“That’s very odd,” Catherine agreed. “Pascal wouldn’t make a mistake like that. And what was it he found strange about the message?”  

"He said it didn't seem to make much sense, and I agree with him."  Vincent's face tightened. "Of course, it might be nothing more than a Halloween prank.  At least that's what we'll have to assume for now."      

Catherine felt a slight chill at the sound of his words. "What did the message say?"      

He glanced down at her and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It was nothing really, just some words from a song. And by coincidence, it was a song from --"      

His words were cut off by the sound of running footsteps approaching from a tunnel that branched away to their left. Instinctively, Vincent dropped Catherine’s hand and stepped in front of her, shielding her from any possibility of threat while he stared into the gloom of the narrow passageway.      

"Mouse!" The relief in Vincent's voice was palpable as the young man emerged from the darkened tunnel and slid to a halt in front of them.      

"Vincent! Catherine!”             

Having moved back to Vincent's side, Catherine felt his body relax as she leaned against him. She sighed with a combination of relief and pleasure as Vincent rested an arm around her shoulders. "Mouse, you really startled us," she said, her smile easing any sting he might feel at her words.

"Where are you coming from in such a hurry?" Vincent asked. "You aren't in any trouble, are you?"      

Mouse shook his head. "No trouble. Just in a hurry, that's all."  His tone was slightly reproachful. "Went to see Elizabeth. Need more paint for the little kids' pumpkins."      

Catherine smiled. "Are you going to help them paint jack-o-lantern faces?"      

The shaggy blond head nodded vigorously. "Someone needs help, they always call Mouse.  Even the little kids know that."      

"And I'm sure you'll be of great assistance to them," Vincent answered warmly.        

Mouse grinned with self-conscious satisfaction at his friend's comment. "Better bring these things to Mary," he answered, gesturing toward the lumpy pockets of his jacket. "Tubes of paint. Brushes. She wants everything ready for first thing in the morning."      

Before Vincent or Catherine could say another word, Mouse had swerved around them, and they shared a warm smile as they watched him disappear at top speed back toward the home chambers. Vincent let his arm slide from Catherine's shoulders, but took her hand once again as they continued toward the sub-basement threshold.  The metallic music of the pipes and the occasional hissing flicker of a wall torch were a familiar underscoring to their companionable silence.      

Then, realizing their journey was nearly over, Vincent asked, "When will you come Below for the party, Catherine?"      

"Surprisingly enough, I'm just about caught up with my work from the office, so I can come down early, maybe sometime Saturday afternoon," she answered happily, "as long as that's all right with you."      

There was no hesitation in his answer. "Yes, it's all right. I will be here to meet you."      

"Great! About three o'clock?"  She watched a small smile of pleasure curve his lips as he nodded in agreement and felt its mirror image on her own mouth. They had so little time together, and the promise of an afternoon and evening, even in the presence of a great many friends and family members, filled them with happiness.      

"I'll pick up my costume after work tomorrow," she continued, half-hoping he might suggest that she come Below then, rather than wait even one more day. Yet she was not surprised when the invitation was not forthcoming.      

"What costume will you wear?" he asked, as a beautiful remembered vision from a year earlier shimmered in his mind.      

Catherine's response was not what he expected. "Not the one I wanted," she answered with a sniff of disgust. "I'd reserved a gorgeous dress, but the costume shop lost my reservation, so I had to take what was left."      

"And what was that?"

"A witch costume," she answered, lingering disappointment shading her voice. "A plain, ordinary witch outfit, instead of Cinderella's ball gown. It will be fine, I guess, but I really wanted to wear something special, something beautiful just for you."      

"You will be beautiful no matter what you wear," he told her, his husky voice soft and almost shy.      

Any regret Catherine still had vanished as she smiled up at him. "How do you always know the perfect thing to say?" she asked, feeling her heart swell with love. "You always make me feel better no matter what, even when I'm worrying about something as silly as this."      

When his only reply was the warmth in his eyes, Catherine asked, "And what costume will you wear?”

"I don't know," he answered. "The children asked if they could put together a costume for me, but according to Samantha, it's not ready yet."      

Their steps slowed as they finally reached the sub-basement entrance to Catherine's building, and they paused at the threshold, reaching for a few last moments together.      

"But didn't they tell you what it would be?" Catherine continued, visions of a toga-clad Father rippling her voice with suppressed humor.        

Vincent's expression grew wary. "No, I told them they could surprise me, but now I'm not certain that was such a good idea."      

Guessing his thoughts had taken a similar path, Catherine grinned up at him. "You know what they came up with for Father?"      

Smiling despite his worries, Vincent nodded.  "Yes. In fact, he showed it to me earlier today. I can only hope they show more...restraint...in their plans for me."      

A sudden image flashed through Catherine's mind of Vincent standing before her, wrapped only in a soft length of cotton sheeting, bare muscular arms crossed over the sculpted width of his chest. His amber hair would lay in waves against his unclad shoulders, and in his eyes she would find a deepening hunger that could no longer wait to be satisfied. Unable and unwilling to resist, he would stride toward her, the strong rhythmic movement pressing the thin cotton fabric against his body to reveal more than an enticing hint of the virile masculine beauty he would offer her at last. Then, with only the pale golden glow of candles lighting their way, he would pull her into his arms and carry her to his bed...      

Unable to restrain the torrent of desire that swept through her, Catherine could do nothing more than give in to the sensations, even though she realized he would feel them flaring through their bond. She'd known for a very long time that he was aware of her desire for him, for she could no sooner mask it entirely than she could keep the sun from rising in the sky. But more and more often now, it filled her dreams of him at night and suffused their waking moments together, its force too vibrant to ignore, too powerful to be tamed.      

She looked up at him uncertainly, and as their eyes met, she knew there could be no doubt he'd felt everything. She searched quickly for words which might ease the throb of pain and pleasure her intense emotions had brought him, hoping that her unleashed fantasies had not destroyed the limited progress they’d made. She knew that through the bond she’d told him everything, all the fierce desire that lived within her, crying for release. But there were no words to explain the intensity of that truth, and so she remained silent, gazing up into his eyes, waiting.       

He could not speak, so enthralled was he by the woman before him, her gleaming eyes still smoldering with desire, her soft lips parted expectantly, her breathing rushed and uneven. That fantasies of him had left her so, seemed beyond belief. But this was his Catherine, his beloved, and a lifetime of doubts and despair no longer had the power to resist the voice of her heart. He struggled to find words, but they continued to elude him, so lost was he in the vision of Catherine and the sensations searing through their bond.      

At last, Catherine drew a shuddering breath and with it regained her composure. "I'm sorry, Vincent," she began, her voice low and trembling just a little. "Not for the way I feel about you, but because I never want those feelings to be a burden to you, and I'm afraid that sometimes they are."      

"Your feelings...for me...are not a burden, Catherine," he replied, surprising them both when he did not turn away from her but instead looked deep into her eyes.      

"Then what are they?" she asked, half in hope, half in fear.       

Vincent continued to gaze down at her, somehow resisting the powerful urge to pull her into his arms. When he finally spoke, the deepening rasp of his voice underscored his response. "They are a blessing, Catherine, a blessing and a gift."      

Moving beyond thought or word, they came together, holding one another for long, unmeasured moments in a circle of love and light. They felt their hearts beat together in perfect cadence as the unceasing rhythm of their bond pulsed with the promise of what would someday come to be. Then, they parted reluctantly to return to their own worlds for yet a while longer.

Vincent and Catherine had been entirely unaware that as they’d traveled through the tunnels, the abiding love they shared had beckoned to yet another heart. As surely as if they had voiced aloud words of warmth and welcome, the image of their love in all its multi-faceted hues had called to someone else. And he had followed them, unseen and unheard, his form as insubstantial and silent as a shadow. His own existence now was often filled with cold and darkness, and he found the golden light of their souls impossible to resist.  It reminded him of all that might have been, had his own life not been cut short one frozen, starless night.      

All at once he was filled with a need to do something special for them then and there, something beyond the pledge he'd made to the magical old woman in the earth's deep chambers. The plans he’d forged with her would be set in motion, but he could not wait even one day more to reach out to these two extraordinary people, to offer them some of the magic they’d unknowingly given to him. He knew all too well that life was brief and very fragile. They should not waste even one precious moment of the time they would have together.

He hesitated, his forehead creasing and his dark eyes narrowing as he searched his heart and mind for inspiration. Then in a heartbeat it came to him, and with soundless steps he went Above. He knew the costume shop would be closed for the night, but that fact would provide no difficulty for one such as he. And when he laughed in happy satisfaction, he was sure he heard in the silent sound the vibrant warmth it had once possessed.

************

Vincent had nearly reached his chamber when he realized he’d forgotten to share with Father the mysterious message that had been sent from Narcissa’s world. He paused for a few moments, wondering if relaying the ambivalent information was the wisest thing to do. It was likely to cause Father a great deal of concern, and the whole incident might well turn out to be just a Halloween prank after all. But he knew Father had a right to be informed, and he made his way to the study.

Only a few candles still burned, casting the chamber into deep shadows, yet Father was still at his desk, shuffling through some papers and checking the stack of books. “Vincent, I would have expected you to be asleep in your chamber by now. Is something troubling you?”

Vincent approached the cluttered desk. “Nothing too urgent, but there was an incident earlier that you should know about, although it’s probably nothing.”

Father frowned in concern and gestured to a nearby chair. “Tell me.”

Vincent described the unusual event, keeping his voice even and calm so as not to unduly upset the older man. Yet, as he watched Father’s expression grow worried, he knew his attempt was doomed to failure.

“And you say that Narcissa claims to know nothing at all about this?” Father’s tone indicated his suspicion that the mystical old woman had deliberately chosen to withhold the truth from them for some unimaginable reasons of her own.

“Yes, she said that she had not sent any messages over the pipes at all…and certainly not to you.”

Father snorted in exasperation. “That part I can most assuredly believe!  But Pascal wouldn’t make a mistake like that, and if Narcissa didn’t send the message, then who did?”

Vincent shook his head. “I’ve no idea, Father, none at all. Whoever sent it clearly knew about the party – it sounded something like an invitation. Perhaps one of the teenagers did it, and it’s just a Halloween joke after all.”

Father’s eyes narrowed. “I’d like to think that was true, but another part of the message sounded like a warning – something about ‘lurking danger.’ I don’t like the sound of that at all. Our world has been at peace, and the sentries have not reported any recent disturbances or intrusions, not even from the lowest reaches of the tunnels.”

Vincent’s voice grew harsh with surprise. “Do you think the message is from Paracelsus, Father?”

The older man shook his head. “No, although it would not entirely surprise me if it was. The theatricality of it would appeal to him.” His frown deepened. “We must be vigilant over the next day or two, especially at the celebration. And please tell Pascal to report any new messages to me immediately.”

Vincent rose to his feet. “I will. In fact, I’ll tell him right now, and I’ll also alert Zach. Pascal is not planning to come to the party, so he’ll be on duty in the Central Pipe Chamber all evening.”

“Then, that’s all we can do for now,” Father concluded with a sigh. “And, Vincent, I think it’s best if we keep this just among the four of us. As you said, it might well be only a foolish joke, and there’s no sense in ruining the enjoyment for everyone else.”

Feeling a touch of chagrin as he realized he’d already half-broken that same promise to Pascal, Vincent only nodded his agreement. “Good night, Father. I’ll see you in the morning.” He paused at the chamber entrance. “Sleep well.”

“And you, son,” Father replied, although both knew it was likely that peaceful rest might be elusive.

******************

"Come on, Catherine, hurry!"        

Samantha and Kipper hovered in the doorway of Vincent’s chamber while Catherine set aside her large tote bag, and Vincent hung the garment bag containing her costume on a wrought iron hook on the door of his armoire.      

Catherine smiled at the children. "Okay, I'm all set. But let me take a good look at your costumes first.”

Samantha spun in front of her, her pinafore dress and braids flaring out as she turned. “Do you know who I’m supposed to be?” she asked excitedly, quickly readjusting the straw hat that had nearly slid off her head. “I’ll give you a hint – she’s from Canada and she lived on a farm.”

“I think so,” Catherine answered, grateful for the clues. “You’re Anne Shirley, right? From Anne of Green Gables?”

“Yes, that’s it!” Samantha cried. “Anne was an orphan, just like me, and she was brave and confident and she always stood up for her friends.”

“That’s just like you, too,” Catherine added. “What a perfect choice! Have you read all the books in the series?”

“No, we only have the first one, but I’ve read that one three times.”

Vincent smiled softly, knowing the entire series of books soon would be added to the children’s library.

“How about me?” Kipper asked, striking a dignified pose. “You know who I am, right?”

Catherine grinned at him, taking in the traditional deerstalker cap, oversized magnifying glass, and clay pipe. “Elementary, my dear Kipper!”

“Good one, Catherine!” He laughed loudly. “I chose this character because I like to solve mysteries, and I can always figure out what everyone’s up to. Even when it’s people who think they’re so clever all the time.” He grinned and tilted his head toward Samantha.

“No, you can’t,” Samantha retorted. “You never figured out who told Father about the time you went up to play kickball in the park when you were supposed to be helping Cullen. I knew who it was right away, but I’ll never tell you, not ever. And you can’t make me!”

Kipper scowled at her. “You should have dressed up as Jo March – she’s a big, bossy know-it-all like you!”

Samantha clenched her fists and scowled. “You take that back!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Catherine intervened. “We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves, not getting ready to start a battle.”

The two over-excited children looked at her in embarrassment and quickly murmured their apologies. Catherine smiled down at them. “Now where are those prize-winning pumpkins you promised to show me?"      

"We moved them to the big dining chamber," Kipper answered, as they began walking through the winding tunnels, the altercation with Samantha having been set aside for now. "That way everyone at the party can see them."      

"Rebecca made special candles for them," Samantha added, her dark eyes gleaming in anticipation of the festivities to come. "They'll burn for hours and hours."      

“That sounds great!” Catherine felt herself easily becoming caught up in their enthusiasm. "Exactly when does this party start?"

"Within the hour," Vincent answered. "At four o'clock, Father will begin reading to the youngest children. It will be too late for them to stay up for the whole party, so after the stories, they'll dress in their costumes and wear them during dinner. Then there will be some simple games for them to play, but by seven, they'll be in their beds in the nursery chamber."      

"I remember when we had to do that," Kipper said. "It was fun, but this is much better!"      

"Definitely much better," Samantha agreed. "Now we can stay up as late as the grown-ups!"      

Catherine and Vincent exchanged understanding smiles as the children raced forward into the large, communal dining chamber.        

Catherine paused in the doorway, her smile growing as she took in the decorations that had transformed the plain, utilitarian space into a magical world. "This is wonderful! Where did everything come from?"      

"We’ve had some of the things for many years, and others have been found more recently or donated by Helpers," Vincent told her. "Nearly everyone helped in some way, but the decorating was mostly the work of the older children, along with Brooke, Mouse, Jamie, and Matt."      

The long trestle tables were covered in cloths of black and orange and set with plates and silverware for the evening meal.  In the center of each table, their carved faces transformed by flickering ivory candles, were the jack-o-lanterns, nestled in sprays of colorful autumn leaves. Catherine looked upwards and saw dozens of Rebecca's autumn candles, bright yellow and golden orange, arranged in the old iron chandeliers. Then her gaze traveled the length and breadth of the room as she admired the displays the children had arranged. In one corner there was a straw-stuffed scarecrow dangling precariously between two tall sheaves of cornstalks, a large, orange pumpkin at his feet, and in another corner she saw an array of tissue paper ghosts suspended from the ceiling on translucent fishing lines, fluttering in the slightest movement of air.         

At one end of the spacious chamber, an area had been set aside for a string quartet, musical offerings to be overseen by two companions -- a leering vampire the children had constructed from an old mannequin secured by Mouse on a "finding and taking" mission Above and the full-size skeleton borrowed from the hospital chamber, which now wore a battered top hat and red bowtie. Astonished and impressed, Catherine looked in the opposite direction to find a long table set against one wall, half its surface already crowded with covered plates of treats the partygoers would enjoy after dinner, along with a large black cauldron which, she guessed correctly, would contain homemade apple cider.       

She turned toward Vincent. "It really is amazing! I've been to lots of Halloween parties, but I know this one will be better than any of them."      

"Even better than last year's party?" He tilted his head and waited for her reply.      

Catherine smiled the smile that always made his heart beat faster. "That night was so special for both of us. But this one will be even more wonderful than that. I just know it will."        

Sharing the dream of possibilities he'd heard in her words, Vincent could only gaze at her until they suddenly found their attention once again demanded by the children.      

"Aren't you going to come and look at the jack-o-lanterns?" Kipper asked. "Mine won first prize for the scariest face."      

"Well, mine won first prize for most artistic," Samantha added quickly. "The judges said it showed real promise."      

"Yeah, but I promise mine's better!" Kipper retorted with a laugh, and this time Samantha chose to let him get away with it.      

Catherine felt a small hand slip into hers, and she looked down to find that Geoffrey had arrived in the chamber without their notice. “I didn’t want to scare you, Catherine,” he said quietly. You know, ‘cause of my costume.”

Catherine pretended to be shocked as she took in the sight of the miniature Frankenstein’s Monster standing before her. “I’m glad you warned me,” she told him. “If I had bumped into you in a dark tunnel, I probably would have run away screaming!”

Geoffrey couldn’t hide his delight at her reaction, even though it would have upset him terribly to have frightened one of his favorite people in the world. "Do you want to see my jack-o-lantern?" he asked shyly. "It's over here."      

She let him lead her to a nearby table and watched as he pointed to a plump, round pumpkin, its carved face dominated by a toothy, lopsided grin. "That's mine."      

"It's wonderful, Geoffrey," Catherine said warmly. "And did yours win a prize, too?"

"Yup. Mine got the prize for the friendliest face."      

Having come up behind them quietly, Vincent smiled a warning at Geoffrey and then turned to Catherine. "Does it remind you of anyone?"

Catherine leaned closer to the jack-o-lantern and scrutinized it carefully as Geoffrey and Vincent grinned at each other.      

"It does, but I can't quite tell who," she answered, straightening and turning back to them. "Will you give me a hint?"      

Vincent and Geoffrey shook their heads. "Look again, Catherine," the little boy urged as she did what he asked. "Everyone said it looks just like --"      

"William!" Catherine sputtered with laughter. "You're right -- it really does look like him!"      

"I heard that, Catherine!" William's good-natured voice boomed from the entrance leading to the kitchen where he'd watched the goings-on. "And here I was counting on you to defend my honor."      

Catherine smiled up at the burly cook as Vincent helped him carry in two large covered baskets of freshly baked rolls and breads. "That's just what I was doing, William," she joked back. "It's quite an honor to have your portrait carved by a budding artist."      

"Well, I suppose it is," he conceded with a chuckle. "And I don't see any other jack-o-lantern faces that look like anybody else around here, so I guess that makes Geoffrey and me pretty special. Right, kid?"  Having handed the second basket to Kipper, William affectionately patted Geoffrey's shoulder as the youngster grinned up at him.      

"Right, William!"      

"Now aren't you kids missing some of Father's stories?" the cook suggested. "He's already started reading."      

"Aw, those stories he reads first are for the little kids," Kipper answered. "He saves the good ones for later while they're eating their supper. I'm waiting for the scary ones!"  He made a horrible, monster-like grimace in Samantha's direction, only to find his efforts met by the girl's haughtiest stare.      

"Well, I still like them," she announced, dismissing what she obviously considered to be Kipper's lack of appreciation for literature. "And I'm going to go listen to them."      

"Me, too, Sam," Geoffrey agreed. "I still like some of them, too."      

"Oh, all right." Kipper sighed noisily. Then his eyes took on their typical gleam as a grin transformed his face. "But I'll beat you there!"      

Seconds later the dining chamber was deserted by all but the three adults who smiled at one another in shared remembrance of their younger days.      

"Is there anything I can do to help, William?" Catherine asked.      

"Nah, I don't think so, thanks. We're just about set. But you'd better take a good look at the rest of those jack-o-lanterns, because you know those kids are going to ask you about them later."      

"I suppose I should." Catherine looked invitingly at Vincent. "Want to take me on a guided tour?"      

“Of course,” he replied eagerly. Taking her arm, he began to lead her toward the other tables, as William headed back in the direction of the kitchen.        

"Say, Vincent," he called out, pausing in the doorway, “you did good work judging the contest, even though we stuck you with the job."      

"Thank you, William. It wasn't as difficult as I'd thought it would be since we made sure every child was awarded a prize. But I'm glad Kanin and Olivia were there to help make the decisions."      

"I know why you got that assignment, Vincent," Catherine said with a gentle laugh. "But what did Kanin and Olivia do to deserve it?"      

Vincent shrugged. "I'm not sure. Perhaps they were busy somewhere else and just forgot about the meeting.”      

"Yeah, seems like they’ve been busy a lot lately! Maybe Luke will be getting a baby brother or sister one of these days." William's teasing comment was accentuated by his gruff but warm laugh. "They even missed dinner a few times -- which reminds me, I'd better go check on things in the kitchen."      

As he disappeared down the passageway, Catherine glanced up at Vincent, unable to resist a sympathetic and yet amused smile when she saw the slight blush that rose along his neck. It still amazed her that despite the depths of strength and courage he possessed in so many ways, he was far more sensitive, more vulnerable than anyone she'd ever known. He was an incredibly compelling dichotomy of virility and innocence, and she knew that no other man could ever compare to him.  A wave of pure love and desire swept through her, a longing for all that he was, all that he could be for her and for himself. Yet before he could sense it fully through their bond, she somehow managed to smother the sensation, and instead forced her attention back to the Halloween celebration. 

“The children really did an amazing job with these pumpkins,” she commented. “Do you have a favorite?”    

When he didn’t reply right away, she looked up to find him gazing at her, his face relaxed and calm, but his eyes alight, and she knew that he had sensed at least a shading of her emotions through their bond. Yet she only smiled, contented for now to know that he was finally beginning to accept and share her faith that there truly were so many possibilities awaiting them.   

**************

"One more story, Father, please!"      

"Yes, Father, just one more!"      

Inordinately pleased by the spirited enthusiasm of his audience, older children and adults alike, Father nevertheless closed the last book and rose from his chair, pausing to take a theatrical bow before speaking. "No, that's all for this Halloween," he told them, shaking his head to indicate that he shared their disappointment. "You have been a wonderful and most attentive audience, but by now the youngest children will be asleep in the nursery, so it's time for the rest of us to enjoy the special dinner William has prepared, and the games and entertainment to follow. Off with you now!"

“And,” he added pointedly as everyone rose from the cushions strewn across the floor of the study, “the few adults who have not yet managed to find a moment to put on their costumes should do so immediately.”  He exchanged a wry smile with Vincent before heading off to follow his own advice.    

"The stories Father chose were perfect," Catherine commented as she and Vincent walked the short distance to Vincent’s chamber. "And he certainly has an amazing flair for the dramatic, doesn't he?"      

Vincent laughed softly. "Yes, he does. And I'm not sure who enjoys this yearly tradition more -- the audience or the performer."        

"Well, I certainly enjoyed it," Catherine answered. "In fact, when he read that selection from H.G. Wells's The Inexperienced Ghost, where Clayton actually summons forth the spirit and sees it appear before him, I almost believed I saw it, too, standing right there in Father's chamber." She shivered appreciatively. "It was wonderfully scary!”

Vincent looked at her with a quizzical half-smile. "I didn't realize you enjoy being frightened, Catherine."      

Catherine shook her head in mock exasperation.  "I don't. Well, maybe only once a year, and only if I have you to protect me from all the 'ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night'."      

"I can see Father's going to have some competition for his performance next year if he's not careful," Vincent commented dryly.      

As they arrived at the entrance to his chamber, Vincent paused. "You can change into your costume here," he said. "I've left mine in Father's chamber. When you're ready, tap out your name and mine on the pipes and I'll come back for you."      

"All right," she agreed. "I won't be long. But, Vincent, you never told me what your costume is.  What did the children choose for you?"      

He hesitated self-consciously. "I can only guess they were inspired by their study of Idylls of the King," he answered in a low, even voice. "I'm to be Lancelot."      

"The greatest knight of all," Catherine said softly. "I think they made a wonderful choice."      

The sound of her words and the image of her small, secretive smile lingered within Vincent long after she had disappeared into his chamber, and he found he had to remind himself to turn and retrace his steps toward Father's rooms.  As he walked, he wondered, perhaps for the thousandth time, how it could be that Catherine saw so much more in him than he'd ever believed of himself.  And for just a moment he let himself rejoice in knowing that through her love, she had given him hope, the hope that on some distant day he might become in reality the man who filled her dreams.            

Once inside Vincent's chamber, Catherine set her tote bag on his bed and opened it to remove the things she would need to accessorize her witch's costume -- a pair of black boots that laced almost to the knee and sheer black pantyhose embroidered with a whimsical design of silky white spider webs. She hadn't been able to resist buying them when she'd returned to the costume shop the previous afternoon, even though, she admitted ruefully, it was highly unlikely anyone else would have an opportunity to appreciate them.       

After quickly shedding her sweater, jeans, socks, and sneakers, Catherine reached for the zipper tab on the garment bag enclosing her costume and pulled it open, eager to escape the chill of the underground chamber even if it meant putting on the outfit she disdained. But when she reached for the dress, her astonished gasp broke the silence of the chamber, and for several long moments she could do nothing more than stare at the fabric clutched in her hand. Instead of black satin witch's robes, she had pulled forth a soft billowing length of white chiffon, layer upon layer of diaphanous silk that rippled through her hands.      

As if in a daze, Catherine pulled the dress over her head, feeling it settle around her slender body like a cloud. It was a perfect fit, from the low draped neckline to the softly fluted hem which just brushed the tops of her feet. She smoothed the long sleeves, admiring the crystal beading scattered along their length, and gazed down at herself, wishing there was a mirror so that she might see how she looked clad in such unexpected beauty.      

"What kind of dress is this?" she wondered aloud. "What am I supposed to be?"      

Her eyes were drawn to the garment bag which still swung slightly from the wardrobe hook, and as she reached deeper inside it, her questions were answered. At the bottom of the bag she found a pair of ballet flats, decorated with sparkling beadwork. And on a second hanger were the clues that answered her questions -- a ruffled capelet to suggest delicately made wings, the sheer fabric dusted with silvery stars that glittered softly in the candlelight, and a length of silver and white ribbons braided together to form a headband.        

Catherine's smile was one of sheer amazement. "Wings and a halo," she murmured bemusedly.  "An angel? But which one?” Then, an image flickered through her mind, one she’d never truly seen but had only imagined, and she knew at once who she was meant to be. 

From the near distance of Father's chamber, Vincent felt Catherine's shocked surprise, but when nothing more than strong waves of astonishment and then delight had rippled to him through their bond, he'd resisted the urge to go to her. He hurriedly finished dressing, fastening a heavy leather belt over a knee-length royal blue tunic and then pulling on black leather boots over snug-fitting black pants. Despite his haste, he paused for a moment, glancing down the length of his body to admire the children's creativity in putting together such a handsome costume. The tunic was embroidered with a border of gold fleur-de-lis and the belt which rested on his hips even had a scabbard to hold a theatrically elaborate sword. He wondered where they'd managed to make the costume which, while perhaps not historically accurate, still portrayed to perfection a noble, storybook knight.      

Setting aside all thoughts save those of Catherine, he hurried from Father's chamber and was outside his own in mere seconds. Then, he hesitated as he remembered she hadn't sent out the requested signal on the pipes, and he could not rush in on her unaware. The idea of Catherine standing half-dressed beside his bed, gentle candlelight gilding her skin and hair as she awaited his return, taunted him for just a moment with enticing images he could only imagine. He smothered them quickly with practiced force and, he had to admit, with more than a hint of reluctance.      

Taking a deep, calming breath he called out to her. "Catherine, are you ready? May I come in?"      

"Yes," she answered. “I’m ready.”

Her voice sounded strangely breathless, and it drew him forward instantly, feeding both the eagerness and desire he had tried to set aside. But when he halted just inside the chamber entrance, those sensations increased a hundredfold, merging with waves of wonderment and disbelief.  Catherine waited for him, framed in an aura of golden light that gleamed from the arc of amber and bronze stained glass behind his bed. Clad in the shimmer of the delicate white dress that drifted over her graceful body, she seemed to waver in the light, as much a creature of fantasy as she was an earthly woman.          

To Vincent's entranced eyes and mind, it seemed that Catherine had been transformed into a living, breathing embodiment of the angel with whom he'd ventured not so long ago into a nightmarish world of a life that should never be. That angelic image of Catherine had been the only truth to guide him home, leading him back to all the love and life and light that was truly his.

He exhaled a low raspy breath and with it the sound of her name. "Catherine…how did this happen?"      

She smiled at him and shook her head, the halo of ribbons atop her hair catching the light in a silvery gleam. "I don't know. When I went to put on my costume, I found this dress instead. They must have made a mistake at the shop. But isn't it beautiful?"      

"Yes," he whispered, as at last he moved toward her. "Beautiful. So very beautiful." He stopped only inches away, confusion and pleasure warring in his cobalt eyes. "You…you look so like the angel who led me out of that terrible nightmare. But how did you know? I never told you about that part of the dream.”      

She reached for his hands and for one heart-stopping moment she held them to the softness of her mouth, gently pressing a kiss to the sleek-furred skin before entwining her fingers with his and lowering them once again. "You did tell me," she said, her voice as soft and warm as the hands that clung to his. "You just never knew that you did."      

"I don’t understand,” he answered, a wave of turmoil and uncertainty beginning to surge within him.

Catherine smiled up at him, her face full of love and reassurance. "You didn't tell me in words," she began, her voice soft with wonderment, “but I knew. Do you remember when you woke, and I was sitting by you on your bed?"      

His eyes flickered toward the expanse of quilts and comforters just beyond them, recalling in an instant the incredible sensations he'd felt at that moment of awakening. "Yes, I remember.  When I opened my eyes, you were there, smiling at me, touching my face...and I knew I was safe…I had come home."      

She nodded, a radiant smile illuminating her face. "I'd been there for a little while, watching you sleep, waiting for you to return to me. I saw the changing expressions on your face, and I knew you were dreaming, a strange and terrible dream, and I wanted to comfort you, to soothe away your pain."      

"And you did," he broke in, picking up the thread of their story. "You brought me back from that nightmare world. And I remember telling you what I'd seen there and how an angel had journeyed with me -- but I didn’t describe the image of the angel who guided me. I didn’t say that the angel…was you."      

Catherine's eyes gleamed softly. "Maybe the words weren't spoken -- maybe we didn't need them. But with every touch, every look, Vincent, you told me what I'd meant to you in your dream."      

"What you'll always mean to me, Catherine," he whispered, his voice deepening with emotion.  "Always."      

For long moments they simply gazed into each other's eyes, sharing the voices of their hearts.  But at last the sounds of the tunnel world intruded -- footsteps passing in the corridor outside Vincent's chamber, laughing voices of excited children, a message tapped along the pipes summoning the last stragglers to the dining chamber -- and they reluctantly moved apart.      

"I suppose we should join the others," Catherine said, "before someone comes looking for us."      

"Yes, I suppose we should." He turned and started slowly toward the chamber entrance, but paused to look back at the sound of Catherine's voice.      

"Vincent, wait. Let me look at you in your costume," she said, an admiring warmth in her voice as she gazed at him where he hesitated somewhat self-consciously in the doorway. "Oh, you look wonderful -- a perfect Knight of Camelot!"      

"But Lancelot was not a perfect knight," he reminded her, his voice bittersweet. "He strove for perfection, but in the end he failed."      

Catherine shrugged, the slight movement making her gauzy capelet wings flutter enticingly.  "Perfection is boring," she murmured, her voice shimmering with decidedly unangelic ardor. "I much prefer a man with a few intriguing flaws."      

He looked at her sharply then, and beyond the dreamlike pleasure of all they'd just shared, he saw something more, a heated promise just waiting to be fulfilled if only he would reach out to take it.

"Flaws can be dangerous, Catherine," he continued in the low, raspy voice she loved to hear, “full of risks and disappointment…Perhaps they are meant to be a warning."      

She tilted her head, the smile in her eyes and on her lips seeming to touch him from across the room. "I'm not afraid, Vincent," she reminded him gently. "And some things are worth great risks. They're worth everything."

Maybe the answer to all his ceaseless questioning had always been there, waiting for him in her heartfelt words, in the love in her eyes, in the wonder of their bond. Yet even when he lay in his bed hours later, mulling over everything they’d shared this magical night, Vincent would find he could not yet quite imagine what might someday come to be. He only knew that it truly was, just as she’d promised, worth everything.

With her words floating through his heart, Vincent watched Catherine come forward to take his hand, and together they left to join the others.

***************

"This is one of the best Halloween celebrations we've ever had!" Olivia's enjoyment was clearly shared by everyone, including her husband, who was enthusiastically gliding a smiling Mary around the space that had been cleared for dancing. Kanin's black satin vampire's cape and the velvety burgundy robes of Mary's Renaissance-style gown swayed in time to the music of the cello, viola, and violins.      

"I've had a very pleasant time," Mr. Long agreed, his quiet dignity uncompromised even while costumed as an Old West sheriff from a Louis L'Amour novel. "Thank you for inviting me to share this night with you."   

"And thank you for your donation of pumpkins and apples," Father answered. "Your generosity makes a tremendous difference to our world."  

Mr. Long's face crinkled with a smile. "I am glad to do what I can, but many others help, too."           

"Yes," Rebecca agreed, holding out the star-crested wand she carried in her Halloween role as Glinda the Good Witch. "Sophie made this wand for me, even though she and Mischa couldn't come to the party. Our lives would be bleak without the generosity of Helpers like them and like you, Mr. Long."      

"Yeah, those extra pots and pans Lou gave us really came in handy." William nodded his head vigorously, but the small, brown felt hat he wore in his guise as Mr. Pickwick stayed put. "He said he got them when he closed up his mother's house last month."        

"It was very kind of him to think of us when it was a time of such sadness for his family," Vincent added. “We are truly blessed to have such wonderful friends.”      

The others nodded in agreement as they looked about the festive chamber, happy at the sight of their costumed friends enjoying the tunnel world's hospitality, grateful to be able to give something back to the people who helped their world flourish.

“May I have a word with you for a moment, Vincent?” Father asked, gesturing toward a relatively quiet alcove nearby.

“Of course.” Vincent excused himself from the group and followed his parent, anxious to hear what he needed to say.

Father quickly surveyed the area, making sure no one would overhear them. “Have you noticed anything to cause concern tonight? Anyone who seems out of place?”

“Nothing,” Vincent replied. “Everything seems just as it should be.”

Father nodded in agreement. “I spoke with all the sentries again late this afternoon, and they said much the same.”

“As did Pascal when I checked with him earlier.”

The tense expression that had hardened Father’s face relaxed a bit. “Then, perhaps that message was only a ridiculous prank, just as we suspected.”

“I think that’s all it was, Father. I have no sense of any danger, but we should remain vigilant, just in case.”

“I agree, son.” He took a last careful look at the lively crowd and nodded decisively. “Now, let’s rejoin the others and see if we can enjoy the festivities.”

“It’s great so many of the Helpers could make it,” William observed as Vincent and Father returned to the group. “Looks like everyone’s having a great time!”      

"It’s too bad Peter isn’t here, though," Father commented, shrugging his shoulders beneath the royal purple cloak he'd donned as much for warmth as for his own composure. "He always enjoys the Halloween celebration."      

"Peter always enjoys any celebration!" William chuckled. "But I guess this year he'll have to wait for Winterfest."      

"I heard Pascal report that his flight from California was delayed and he wouldn’t arrive in time," Rebecca added. "What a shame he had to miss the party!"      

"What a shame who had to miss the party?" Catherine asked as she joined the group, having just settled yet another dispute between Samantha and Kipper over whose turn it was to choose the next game. Samantha -- and Parcheesi -- had won, with Kipper, for once, accepting a loss with grace.      

"Our friend Peter," Olivia answered, waving toward her husband and Mary as they swirled past again on the dance floor. "And he had a great costume planned -- but I'd better not say what it is in case he wants to save it for next year."      

"You would have enjoyed meeting him, Catherine. He's one of my oldest friends," Father said.  "Another time perhaps."      

"I'll look forward to that," she answered, turning from Father to Mr. Long. "It was really nice to meet you tonight, Mr. Long. I've heard such nice things about you from Jamie and the others."      

"It was a pleasure to meet you, too, Miss Chandler," he answered. "And we will meet again, I am sure. But now it is getting late and I must leave."      

"Oh, surely not yet," Father insisted, taking his friend's arm and steering him toward a small table nearby. "We haven't had our game of chess yet."      

"That’s true," Mr. Long replied, easily persuaded. "I will keep my promise."      

Catherine smiled up at Vincent. "I’m having such a wonderful time tonight. Thank you for letting me be part of all this."      

"You are a part of our world, Catherine. You will always be welcome here."      

Astonished and deeply pleased by his unexpected response, which several others had overheard, Catherine found herself at a loss for words; yet she knew he'd sensed the happiness his response had given her.

"I love your costume, Catherine," Olivia commented. “It’s really beautiful!”

"Thank you. I love yours, too. Dressing up as Juliet was a wonderful idea – very romantic.” The urge to look at Vincent’s face was almost undeniable, but Catherine somehow managed to control the impulse.

“Well, I wanted Kanin to come to the party as Romeo, but once he realized he’d have to wear tights, I knew I’d never convince him.” Olivia rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

“Actually, my idea for a costume didn’t work out either. I was supposed to be Cinderella at the ball." Catherine shrugged her shoulders, yet smiled as she continued, "But somehow the plans changed. When I opened the bag from the costume shop, this is what I found. It certainly was a surprise."

“So then what character are you supposed to be? I mean, it looks like you’re an angel, but which one? I can’t think of any stories where an angel is the main character.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence as both Catherine and Vincent struggled to come up with a suitable answer for Olivia’s innocent question. Then, both breathed a sigh of relief as a rather short but very exuberant dragon-like creature wearing smudged glasses and a crooked gold crown bounded up to them.

“Eric! What a great costume!” Catherine exclaimed.

“I’m not Eric! I’m Max!” he yelled, roaring and waving his clawed hands to further prove his point.

“Max?” Catherine glanced hopefully at Vincent who only shrugged. They both turned to a grinning Olivia.

“Max from Where the Wild Things Are,” she explained, looking from one confused adult to the other. “It’s a great children’s book. The kids love it.”

“I guess we’ll have to take your word for that.” Vincent chuckled and looked down at Eric. “And you’re one of the wild things tonight?”

“I’m King of the Wild Things! Let the wild rumpus start!” Bouncing up and down with excitement, he shouted, “Come on, Vincent! Follow me!” and scampered off into the crowd.

Vincent laughed and shook his head before following “Max’s” command. “I’ll be back in a few minutes – I hope.”

“I’m sorry. Was Eric bothering you?” Ellie asked anxiously as she hurriedly approached the group. “He didn’t mean to – he’s just so excited about the party.”

“He’s fine. He’s just having fun being ‘wild’ tonight,” Catherine assured her. “I hadn’t heard of that book or his character, but I know who you’re portraying.”

“You do?” Ellie looked doubtful. “She’s my favorite character, but hardly anyone has guessed right. Maybe they haven’t read the books yet.”

“Well, I’ve always enjoyed them,” Catherine answered. “You’re Arwen, right?”

Ellie nodded, her face alight with pleasure. “I fixed my hair and tried to make a dress that looked like hers from the description in the books, but maybe I didn’t get it right.”

“You did a wonderful job with it,” Olivia reassured her. “The younger children probably don’t know about the character because the Tolkien books are much too mature for them.”

Few other words could have made Ellie happier. “Thanks, Olivia! Arwen’s story is so romantic. I just love it!” She blushed as she continued. “I only wish some of the others know who I’m supposed to be.”

“Here, maybe this will help,” Catherine offered, removing her circlet of shimmering ribbons and placing it on Ellie’s flowing hair.

The young girl gasped in surprise. “Oh, thank you, Catherine! It’s perfect! But are you sure you want me to have it?”

“Completely sure, Queen Arwen,” Catherine replied. “And now maybe you two can help me with my costume.”

“Your costume is beautiful just as it is,” Olivia answered. “Why do you need our help?”

“Because I don’t know how to explain who or what I’m supposed to be. Any suggestions?”

“That’s right,” Olivia said. “You never answered my question about that. Okay, hmmmm, let’s see.”

“I have an idea,” Ellie offered, eager to repay Catherine for her kind gift. “At first I thought you were supposed to be an angel, but now I think you look just like the Nursery Magic Fairy.”

Olivia nodded in agreement. “You’re right, Ellie! The children love The Velveteen Rabbit. I just read it to several of them at naptime yesterday.”

Catherine’s smile was soft and gentle. “That was my favorite story when I was a little girl, Ellie. My mother used to read it to me to help me fall asleep. I haven’t thought of it in years.” She reached out to hug the young girl. “Thank you so much!”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Ellie replied. “We helped each other, just like Father teaches us to do.” She smiled happily at the two older women, but then cast a concerned look toward Vincent as he returned to Catherine’s side.

“Everything’s fine with the wild things,” he told Ellie. “Don’t worry about Eric – just enjoy yourself tonight. I think the older children are planning some new games, maybe some dancing. Why don’t you join them, too, my queen?”

Grinning, Ellie curtseyed expertly and rushed off to follow Vincent’s suggestion.

The three friends turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Olivia, your husband is a wonderful dancer," Mary exclaimed as Kanin and she finally managed to make their way to the little group. "I don't know when I've had such a nice time dancing at one of our parties!"      

"Oh, you can borrow Count Dracula anytime," Olivia teased. "I don't mind!"      

Pretending to be deeply hurt, Kanin began to withdraw the arm he'd draped around his wife's shoulders, but before he could, she reached up and grabbed his hand, holding onto him firmly. "Not so fast," she warned. "I've been known to change my mind."        

"And besides, you know you can't get rid of me that easily," Kanin joked, kissing her cheek, as the others smiled affectionately at the couple.      

"Who's taking care of Luke tonight?" Catherine asked.      

"He's in the nursery chamber with the youngest children," Olivia answered. "Sarah volunteered to stay and watch over them."      

"That was very kind," Mary said warmly. "The children love her so, and they'll feel safe with her if they wake up during the night.”

"It’s good to see you enjoying the party tonight," Vincent told her. "Your work with the children is invaluable, but you need to take time for yourself, as well."      

Mary blushed as she smiled at him. "Now, Vincent, I have plenty of time for myself. Don't worry about me."      

"So, what's next on the agenda?" Kanin asked, still full of energy. "Anybody have any ideas?"      

"Remember when Alicia lived Below?" Rebecca asked. "She always read the tarot cards for us at the Halloween parties."      

"Yeah, I remember that," William said. "Didn't believe in it much, though."      

"I thought it was fun." Olivia shrugged. "Too bad she's not here tonight."      

"I can read tarot cards." Every face in the group reflected undisguised surprise as they turned to look at Mary, who couldn't help smiling at their expressions. "I learned how from a friend once.  It was a long time ago, but I think I can still do it."      

"Do you have a set of cards?" Rebecca asked eagerly.      

"I did, but they've been lost for years," Mary answered. "I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for them. I'm sorry."

“That’s okay,” William reassured her. “We can think of something else.”    

Just then Eric appeared again at Vincent's elbow and tugged on his sleeve. "Hey, Vincent, will you play a game with me?  Everybody else is too busy."      

"What did you have in mind, Eric? What kind of game?"      

"A card game. I found these over there," he gestured toward the far side of the vast chamber with one hand while clutching a small, cloth-wrapped box in the other. "Well, I didn't exactly find them. One of the Helpers gave 'em to me."      

Something prickled warningly at the base of Vincent's spine. "Which Helper?"      

"I don’t remember his name," Eric said, frowning as he tried to recall it, then brightening as a clue popped into his head. "But he's wearing a pirate costume -- with a fake sword and everything. It's really cool! And he knew I was Max. He said he loves that book."     

Vincent scanned the crowd but could see no one dressed as a pirate. "Where did you see him last, Eric?" he asked, keeping his voice even and calm. "Do you remember?"      

"Sure! He was over by that big thing of apple cider, talking to Laura. You know, with sign language and stuff."      

"That sounds like Sebastian," Rebecca suggested. "He can sign fluently, and he always comes up with a great costume."      

"That’s true,” Vincent agreed, his concern easing. "Why don't you show me the cards, Eric, and we'll see if we can figure out how to play the game."      

"Okay," the boy agreed, happily handing them over. "I knew you'd help me. I never saw this kind of card game before."      

Vincent carefully removed a small rectangular box from its wrapping of white silk. The box was unlabeled and slid open easily to reveal a colorful deck of cards.      

"Why, they're tarot cards!" Mary exclaimed. "Imagine that! We were just talking about them."       

"That's quite a coincidence," Kanin commented, glancing at Vincent whose face tightened. “Hey, maybe they just appeared because of some of that Halloween magic Father was reading about.”

Rebecca giggled. “Or maybe they’re a gift from one of the ghosts!”

Vincent quickly surveyed the happy, laughing throng, only to find again that nothing seemed out of place.      

Observing his uneasiness, Catherine touched his arm reassuringly. “That’s probably all it is, just coincidence."      

"Probably," Vincent forced himself to agree, although a trace of wariness lingered in his voice and stance. He handed the cards to Mary. "Would you like to try reading them?"      

"I'll do my best, but I'm sure I'm a bit rusty at it." Mary looked from one smiling face to the next. “Why, the last time I read the cards was probably the last time I wore this dress.”

For several moments, no one knew what to say. It was a rare event for Mary to share even a tiny detail of the life she’d led before coming to live in the tunnel community, and they were reluctant to seem as if they were prying.

“It’s a lovely dress,” Catherine offered, unaware of Mary’s usual reticence about her earlier life. “You must enjoy having a chance to wear it again.”

Mary’s eyes clouded for a moment but her soft smile didn’t waver. “It reminds me of things I’d almost forgotten.”

“Mary, I’m sorry,” Catherine said immediately. “I –”

Mary held up her hand to still Catherine’s apology. “There’s nothing at all to be sorry for, dear. Please don’t be concerned about that.”

Before another uneasy silence could descend, William spoke up. “Well, let’s get started on this tarot business,” he said, gesturing toward an empty table. “We can sit right here.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mary agreed. "Now, who'd like to go first?"             

"How about you, Catherine?" Rebecca suggested. "Have you ever had the cards read for you?" 

"Never." Catherine shook her head. "Actually, I'm kind of a skeptic when it comes to things like this, but I'm willing to give it a try."      

Having waited patiently only to discover the cards weren't a game after all, Eric decided to look elsewhere for more enticing Halloween fun. "Hey, Vincent," he called, successfully regaining his friend's attention. "You can keep the cards. I don't want them if they're not a game."      

"Thank you, Eric. Maybe you can find something more enjoyable to do with Geoffrey and Kipper," Vincent suggested. "But, of course, you can stay and have your fortune told if you want."

"Nah, I don't think so," the boy answered. "Hey, you know what I read in one of Father's books? Friendly ghosts are supposed to be able tell peoples' futures on Halloween night. Maybe like Rebecca said, a ghost brought the cards to the party!”

Vincent tried hard to keep a smile from his face. "I doubt it, but then again, you never know what might happen on Halloween." He watched Eric run off to share his latest bit of supernatural news with his friends, and then joined Mary, Catherine, and the others gathered near the table.

"Here, Catherine, you sit across from me," Mary said, settling herself and pointing to a place on the opposite bench. "Everyone else can sit or stand wherever they're comfortable."      

Vincent quickly seated himself next to Catherine, and as the others found places, Mary examined several of the cards.  "Many tarot decks are designed with a certain theme, and it's easy to see what this one is."      

"What?" Rebecca asked eagerly, leaning forward to scan the cards Mary held out to them. "Oh, I see -- it's myths!"      

"That’s right," the older woman replied.  "Here's the card with the symbol of the Sun. The illustration for it is Apollo, and the card for the Moon shows Hecate."      

"I get it," William said, pointing to another of the cards Mary had fanned out on the table. "Hercules is on the one for Strength, and Cronos is for the Hermit. That makes sense."      

Olivia reached for a handful of the cards that still rested in the box and carefully spread them out next to the others. "How about all these? It looks like they tell certain stories if you put them together."      

Mary smiled approvingly at her. "They do. Tarot cards are divided into two categories, a Major Arcana and a Minor Arcana. The ones we've been looking at are part of the Major Arcana, the cards which represent general concepts found in nearly all cultures." She pointed to cards that Kanin had just picked up. "For example, there's Justice, the card which symbolizes a need for a clear mind and inner balance, and Death, which is a card of transformations."      

Kanin held out the cards for the others to see. "Makes sense that the artist picked Athena for Justice and Hades for Death," he commented as he reached for another. "And here's Prometheus. He's on the card of The Hanged Man. What does that one mean?"      

"If that card comes up in a reading," Mary answered, "it advises the questioner to pause and consider that a sacrifice might be necessary in order to gain something of greater value."      

"But how about the others?" Olivia reminded her. "The ones with the stories, not just individual characters."      

"That’s the Minor Arcana. Those cards are divided into four suits which correspond with the four elements -- fire, water, air, and earth -- and also with specific life paths," Mary said, quickly riffling through them. "In this deck, as in most, the four suits are called Wands, Swords, Pentacles, and Cups."        

"And what life paths do they represent?" Vincent asked, becoming caught up in Mary's explanation.      

"To make the readings easier to follow, the person who designs the cards sometimes uses specific, recognizable stories to illustrate the paths," Mary continued.  "Let's see. The Wands stand for the element of Fire and tell of adventure, imagination, and glory, so in this deck, that's the myth of Jason and the Golden Fleece. The Swords are for the element Air and they symbolize strife and struggle, this time through the story of Orestes and the Furies."        

Setting the cards aside, Mary reached for those that still remained. "Here are the Pentacles, which always stand for Earth and the material world. Do you see the connection to the myth?"      

The others nodded. "I'm glad I mostly paid attention back in Father's literature classes," Olivia said. "It's the tale of Daedalus, the master craftsman."      

William prodded Kanin as he pointed to the cards in Mary's hand. "Maybe that's you, Kanin," he joked.      

"Hey, you never know," Kanin replied. "But if Mary reads the cards for me, I bet we'll find out."      

"Well, it's Catherine's turn first," Rebecca reminded them with a warm smile toward her friend.  "So, let Mary get started!"      

"Wait, there’s one more group." Vincent gestured toward the last few cards. "What story do those cards tell, Mary?"      

Before Mary could answer, Catherine spoke up, her growing interest apparent in her voice. "I recognize that one," she said, "even though I don't have the background in mythology that all of you have. It's Cupid and Psyche, right?"         

"That's right, Catherine," Mary answered. "The myth of Cupid and Psyche stands for the suit of Cups in this deck, and it's a perfect choice! The Cups are associated with the element Water and symbolize emotions, especially those connected with love."      

"Okay, now that we've got that all straightened out, let's hear Catherine's fortune," William said, along with comments of agreement from the others.      

Mary shook her head, her expression growing serious. "The tarot cards are not used for telling fortunes the way most people think of it, although that's a common misunderstanding. What they do instead is provide guidance in helping a person think through a certain problem or situation. Even though the cards have specific symbols and meanings, it's up to the individuals to interpret them for themselves, depending on what is happening in their lives."      

"You mean instead of predicting an exact future, they give a sense of direction and point out possibilities that might occur, based on your past and on your own thoughts," Vincent suggested.      

"That's exactly it," Mary confirmed, as she gathered all the cards into a stack. "They're like a mirror. They help the questioner look at things -- certain tendencies or qualities -- that are often kept in the subconscious but which influence one's actions." 

Catherine felt a tiny shiver of anticipation. “What do I do first?”

“You should think of a question to ask,” Mary said.      

"Should I think of something general or something more specific?" Catherine reached for the deck Mary handed across to her.      

"Whatever you prefer, and if it's not too personal, it would be helpful if you could tell us what your question is. That will make the reading more interesting for everyone."      

Catherine needed little time before answering. "I don't mind telling you my question.  A lot of changes have occurred in my life during the past year. Wonderful changes. And my life has taken a direction I hadn't expected, although it’s all been for the best."  She darted a quick look at Vincent. “What I'd like to know is what will happen next. How will these changes continue to develop in the coming year? Is that an appropriate question for a reading?"      

Mary nodded firmly. "That’s a very good choice for a question. Now, concentrate on it while you shuffle the cards. Keep shuffling them until you feel you’re ready, and then hand them back to me."      

A hush settled around the little group as the others watched Catherine follow Mary's instructions. Mary then turned over ten cards, arranging them in a fan-like shape in front of her.  "There are many different ways to lay out the cards," she said. "This arrangement is especially good for Catherine's question since it shows the present situations and influences and the ones that may have an effect on her future.” She pointed to the cards farthest to the left. "Let’s look at these cards first. They tell us about what’s happening now in Catherine's life, with regard to the changes she mentioned."      

Everyone leaned closer to see the cards as Mary continued. "The first one is The High Priestess from the Major Arcana. She represents a thirst for knowledge and secrets to be revealed. This deck shows her as Persephone descending into an underworld rich with possibilities and potential."      

"In other words, the realm of the unconscious," Vincent said.  "Dreams and intuition."      

"Yes, but it's more than that," Mary added. "It indicates that Catherine's present life is full of great potential, things that are unfulfilled but will become real as more changes occur."      

"And the image of Persephone," Rebecca said excitedly. "It's like Catherine coming Below, entering our world. I suppose it's only a coincidence..."      

Catherine glanced up at her friend, a smile playing across her mouth. "But it's a good beginning."      

"It certainly is," Mary said. "Now look at the second card -- the Three of Cups. It shows Psyche and Cupid, who is also called Eros, celebrating their marriage. But remember that early in their story, Psyche only knew that Cupid had saved and transformed her life. She knew little else about him, yet it was enough for their love to begin."       

"This is amazing," Olivia murmured under her breath, glancing from Catherine to Vincent and then reaching for Kanin's hand.      

"This card represents the happiness found in the growth of a relationship," Mary went on, “and it also warns of sacrifices and trials ahead. But remember that where there is love and loyalty -- a true commitment -- there will be cause for further celebration."      

As Mary pointed to the next pair of cards, Catherine stole another sideways glance at Vincent and found him seeming to study the layout with intensity. He did not look at her, but Catherine thought she felt rippling currents of emotion within their bond.       

"The next two cards represent the things Catherine wants and wishes for," Mary said.      

"Uh-oh, are you sure you want us to hear this part?" Kanin joked.       

Catherine laughed lightly as she looked up from the cards. "Not entirely -- but I think I'll take my chances."      

"The first card is the Wheel of Fortune," Mary explained, "which is the card of fate and changes.  More beginnings are waiting, your life is entering into another new phase, but you must remember that you are responsible for your own destiny through the choices you make. The circumstances of your life are still changing, but your inner self is true and stable."      

"That's nothing we didn't already know," William remarked. “And you could say that about a lot of people.”

Rebecca frowned at him in annoyance. “Remember Mary said you have to interpret the cards for yourself. They won’t mean the same thing for you as they do for Catherine.” She pointed to the next card. “What about this one?”         

"It's the Knight of Cups," Mary answered, a slight blush warming her face, knowing where everyone’s thoughts would lead as she gave the interpretation. "As I said, the Cups stand for the emotions, particularly those associated with love. The Knight of Cups is represented by Perseus who underwent great sacrifices and changes in the name of love. He followed his heart, no matter what, to reach the woman he loved."      

"That sounds just like Vincent, doesn't it?" Olivia exclaimed before she could stop herself. “Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean –"       

 "It's all right, Olivia," Vincent answered. “You were only speaking the truth.” Catherine turned to look at him, a mixture of delight and surprise lighting her face at his unexpected response to Olivia’s comment.

Having surprised himself, Vincent quickly pointed to the middle grouping of cards.  "Mary, what do the next cards indicate?"      

"These can be very significant," she replied with an understanding smile. "They tell of influences that are about to come into Catherine's life, even if she doesn’t expect them. First, we have The Magician, who is pictured here as Hermes, the messenger who moved between the heavens and earth, between gods and men, and for our purposes that means a communication between the subconscious and the conscious mind."  She looked across at Catherine. "You must know that soon you may find yourself at a crossroads, and you will need to make decisions that will change your life forever."      

Catherine nodded. "What about the other card? Does it tell what these changes might be?"      

Mary studied the card briefly and then shook her head. "No, it doesn't. It, too, talks of serious changes and exceptional choices to be made, important directions to take, but it also tells that you will have guidance in the form of an unexpected ally. Look at the picture -- it's the Seven of Cups, showing Psyche seeking help from Aphrodite."      

"But Aphrodite was Cupid's mother and she was jealous of the love between her son and Psyche, wasn't she?" Olivia said. "She didn't want to help Psyche, and Psyche didn't want to ask her for help. But then there was no one else they could turn to when Cupid was lost to them."      

"I remember that part of the story," Rebecca added. "Aphrodite knew her son truly loved Psyche, so she finally agreed to help her find him -- but she didn't make it easy!"

"Then I'm to watch for someone who will help me follow through on my decisions," Catherine said carefully, "even though I might not want to turn to that person, and he or she might not want to help me at first."      

Mary nodded. "So it would seem. Now let's go on and see what's next.” She pointed to the seventh and eighth cards. “They give clues as to what is likely to happen soon, within a month or two of this reading. We have the Chariot first, which stands for struggles and conflicts that lead to change and growth. The card shows Ares holding the reins of two horses that are pulling in opposite directions -- often reason and passion. But it's up to him to resolve the struggle and guide himself toward the right destination."      

"Then that means Catherine might have to choose between reason and passion?" Kanin asked.      

"Not necessarily. Remember that the two horses must pull the chariot together or it cannot move forward."      

"So, it would indicate the need for reason...and passion...to align themselves, to support one another, before any progress can be made," Vincent observed quietly. "But not for one to overpower the other."      

"That's it exactly!" Mary smiled at him before turning back to Catherine. "Is any of this making sense to you, dear?"      

"It certainly is," Catherine answered, her eyes widening in emphasis of her words. "Much more than I'd imagined it would."      

"Then let's go on," Mary said with satisfaction. "The other card that tells of the immediate future is the Star."      

"I recognize that one! It's the myth of Pandora's Box," Catherine exclaimed. "I loved that story when I was a little girl."      

"Then tell us what it means to you," Mary suggested.  "How does the message in this card connect to the changes occurring in your life?"      

Without hesitation, Catherine answered, "The story tells us to believe that all will be well no matter what obstacles or problems might interfere. That we should never give up hope."      

"Yes, that’s it. Your faith will be rewarded despite the trials that might be ahead of you," Mary affirmed.      

"I like the sound of that myself," William admitted, "but isn't it still kind of general?”   

"Yes," Mary answered. "but think of Catherine’s original question. She wanted to know how the changes she's already experienced will continue to develop, and that's certainly the direction this reading has taken. Of course, no one’s life stays the same, but Catherine's entire life has undergone some extreme changes recently, and it looks like they will continue for a while longer. That can't be said for all of us, at least not to the same extent as it can for Catherine."      

"Yeah, I see what you mean," William acknowledged. "But how about the last two cards? Do they tell what's going to happen in the end?"       

"Maybe, but that's up to Catherine and the decisions she makes," Mary answered. "Are you ready to hear about the possibilities that lie ahead for you in the next six to twelve months?"        

At Catherine's eager nod, Mary read the last two cards. "The ninth card is The Tower, which is the symbol for a dangerous journey. The myth here is the story of Theseus entering the labyrinth to slay the Minotaur so that he can bring peace and freedom to his homeland.”

“I don’t remember that one,” Rebecca said. “Did he have to do it all on his own?”

“I remember it,” Kanin answered. “Theseus had a talisman -- the golden thread given to him by Ariadne -- to help guide him back from the darkness so he could achieve his goal."      

"This one is confusing," Olivia commented. "It seems so specific and yet it's pretty unrealistic."      

"Yeah, I can't see Catherine having to do anything like this," Kanin agreed.      

"Remember that the stories are only symbolic," Mary pointed out. "Catherine's journey may be an inner one, where she has to confront something that causes fear. But on the other hand, there's also the possibility for a physical journey or quest of some kind with the goal of preserving what is good and true. What's important to remember is that she must disregard what is false and only hold onto the truth."      

Catherine took a deep breath. "And the last card? The Nine of Cups?"      

Mary's face brightened as she examined the final card. "This is wonderful!  After all that's gone before it, you couldn't hope for anything better!"      

"Tell us," Vincent said, the carefully even tone of his voice belying the tension he felt.      

"Well, of course, I will!"  Mary answered, giving him an indulgent smile. "It shows Psyche and Cupid reunited after all their trials and struggles. They know they will always be together because their love has been made stronger with all they've endured. Even the other gods offer their blessings. See?"  She pointed to the image of Aphrodite smiling upon the happy couple. "This is the card that tells of one’s dearest wishes coming true at last.”

Mary swept the cards back into a neat pile as she smiled across the table at Catherine. “So, it seems highly likely that you will make the right decisions and overcome all hardships, Catherine, and you'll find that a precious dream will come true for you in a year's time."      

"Oh, Catherine, I'm so glad your reading had a happy ending!"  Rebecca sighed as she smiled at her friend.        

"So am I!" Catherine replied. "Thank you, Mary. You've given me a lot to think about."  Without anyone else seeming to notice, she carefully reached for Vincent's hand beneath the table and felt her heart quiver as he clasped her hand within his, as if nothing could force him to let her go. Their bond echoed with turbulent emotions evoked by the potential for peril and promises implied in Mary's reading, but not even they could guess the extent of the journey they would continue to undertake, nor the depth of the changes that both her life and his would undergo.      

"That's what a tarot reading is supposed to do," Mary answered warmly. "But remember that in the end you make your own decisions. Now, would anyone else like a turn?"      

"I would!" Rebecca exclaimed, her quick reply bringing a look of disappointment to Kanin and Olivia's faces. "Sorry, guys, but maybe you can be next."      

"Next for what?" The commanding undercurrent of the speaker's voice was easily heard despite its casual tone. "What have you been up to?"      

"Mary has been reading the tarot cards, Father," Vincent replied as he reluctantly released Catherine's hand and rose to his feet. "It's been very...enlightening."      

The others smiled. "Why don't you have a turn, Father?" William suggested. "See if the Fates can help you solve a problem or two.”      

"I don't believe in that sort of nonsense," the older man replied. "And neither should you."       

"Oh, Father, it's really just for fun," Olivia protested. "Although the reading Mary did for Catherine was pretty incredible."      

"And Mary explained to us that the symbols on the cards are to give you a sense of direction and structure, not to realistically foretell the future," Catherine added, rising to stand beside Vincent. "But I certainly wouldn't mind if the meaning of the cards in my reading turned out to be literal."  She couldn't resist smiling up at Vincent and was pleased to see he returned her smile before looking at Father again.      

"Go on, Father, give it a try," Vincent said. "Maybe you'll get some advice on choosing a costume for next Halloween."      

"I don’t need any advice about that!" Father replied. "This was all well and good after all, but I didn't care for a few of the comments I overheard -- especially a very impertinent-sounding one from a fellow in a pirate costume who I saw talking with Laura earlier. I suspect it might have been Sebastian."      

Mary frowned worriedly. "Father, I've been meaning to talk to you about Laura. She doesn't quite seem herself."      

"I noticed that, too," Rebecca added. "In fact, I was surprised to see her here since she hasn't come Below in at least two or three months, not even for a short visit."      

"Laura must be free to find her own way in the life she has chosen," Vincent said softly. "And her life now lies as much in the world Above as it once did Below with us. We must offer her our support and understanding, but we cannot make decisions for her."      

"What Vincent said is true," Father agreed, "but I will talk with her, just to make sure she's all right."      

I wonder if Vincent meant those words for me as much as for Laura, Catherine mused. Then, as she glanced about the chamber, she realized that it had grown late and many of the partygoers had left. With a barely whispered sigh, she turned to Vincent and found him gazing down at her, his expression unreadable.        

"I had such a good time at the party," she said, "but it looks like things are winding down, and I suppose I should leave now, too."      

He inclined his head toward her. "I'll go with you to get your things, and then after you change your clothes, I'll walk to the threshold with you."      

Catherine smiled up at him. "You know, I've really enjoyed dressing up tonight, and I don't think I'm ready for it to end. So, I think I'll keep the costume on, and I can pick up the things I left in your chamber another time."      

A surge of warmth filled his voice. "As you wish, Catherine."      

He waited while she said good night to the others, and then far too soon, they found themselves about to enter the passageway that led to the sub-basement entrance of her apartment building.      

"This was a wonderful night," Catherine said, reaching for his hands and clasping them tightly. "Thank you again for letting me be part of it."      

For just a moment Vincent thought he might set free the words of his heart, but then a lifetime of self-control and denial reined in that passionate impulse. Yet nothing could completely hold back the love and desire he felt for her. "It gives me great pleasure to know you can be happy here, Catherine.”        

Her response was quick and heartfelt, filling him with love and hope. "I love the time I spend Below, and, anyway, I'm always happy when I'm with you."        

"Always?" he teased. He dropped her hands to pull her into a loose embrace.      

"Often enough," she retorted, grinning up at him before snuggling closer and resting her head against his chest.      

They held one another, knowing that their time together soon would be over, and wishing it would never have to end. Finally, Catherine stirred in his arms and leaned back to look up into his eyes.      

"Vincent, about the things Mary said, that there are decisions that lie ahead of me, choices that must be made in the near future, I think she was right, don’t you?”

He hesitated for only a moment. “Yes, I do.”

“Those choices will change my life,” she continued, “and we both know they’ll change your life as well. We’ll need to talk about them…soon.”

"We will...but not tonight."      

"No, not tonight," she agreed, gently easing herself from his embrace and taking a reluctant step backwards. "But soon, Vincent."      

He nodded once, feeling an emptiness as she moved away from him, but taking comfort in knowing that their parting would not last for long.

As they continued their reluctant walk, their steps grew slower and slower, and both silently searched for one last reason to keep the magical night from ending. As they inevitably reached the place where they would part, the silken rustle of Catherine’s dress suddenly offered inspiration.

“I forgot to ask,” he began, “did you find someone to help you choose a specific storybook angel that your costume could represent?”

“Not exactly, and I was hoping I wouldn’t be asked about it before I came up with a good idea,” she answered with a laugh.

Vincent nodded. “It was not as if you could tell them the truth about it,” he added, then blushed slightly as he immediately pictured the cherished culmination to his otherwise nightmarish dream.

Catherine grinned, easily guessing the source of his reddening face and inordinately pleased that for once he did not seem to be overly upset about it. “No, probably not,” she agreed. “Olivia did ask who I was supposed to be, but luckily Ellie came to the rescue when she said she thought I was supposed to be a fairy.”

“A fairy? Any particular one?”

“Yes, and I loved her idea,” Catherine replied. “Do you know the children’s book The Velveteen Rabbit?”

Vincent nodded. “The story about the little toy rabbit who was loved so much that his dearest wish came true and he became real.”

Catherine’s smile was sweet and sad. “Even though it seemed as if the rabbit’s life was over, he was reborn through love. And he learned that love is the most powerful and wonderful force in the world.”

“And Ellie thought you were the Nursery Magic Fairy,” Vincent said, “the one who helped transform the rabbit’s life, the one who showed him how love can make dreams come true.” He sighed softly. “Nothing could be more perfect, Catherine, because that is what you’ve done for me. Your love has made me the…man…I always wished to be. Your love has changed my life…forever.”

He drew her into his embrace and felt her response echo in his heart even as he heard the affirmation in her words. “As your love has given my life more purpose and beauty and worth than I’d ever imagined. As your love has changed my life…forever.”

They held each other, cherishing all that they had found in one another, dreaming of all that was yet to be. At last, with mingled sighs blending contentment and wonder, they forced themselves to part, their joy tinged with regret. With one last look of love and longing, Catherine walked away into the soft effusion of light that marked the threshold between their worlds.   

He watched as she paused to look at him one last time, and he felt a deep, almost uncontrollable longing to call her back, to keep her from vanishing into that haze of blue-white light filtering down from Above. It glistened around her, and again he saw Catherine as the angel of his dream when she had come to him, whispering words of remembered love, restoring his life, softly touching his face and kissing his mouth. And he knew he wanted nothing more than to know that moment, too, had been real.  

He saw Catherine tremble in the strange, misty light, lingering somewhere between one world and the next, and he wondered if he’d spoken his wish aloud. Then she raised her arms toward him and smiled with so much love that he felt it engulf him in a rush of heat and light, its passion so pure and intense that it burned him within and without. It seemed to his willingly enchanted eyes that he saw not only the woman he would always love but also the essence of all his secret wishes and dreams. And at last he believed, beyond any shadow of doubt, that Catherine would guide him ever closer to the time when each one might become real.       

Vincent shook his head dazedly, his gaze once again becoming focused on the very real Catherine who had moved closer to him, waiting at the edge of the circle of light. He wanted to go to her, and yet he found he couldn't move, so enchanted was he by the presence before him. The light transformed the starry whiteness of her dress, faintly illuminating the soft curves of her body that had so often haunted his dreams, both asleep and awake. He felt a searing heat suffuse his body in throbbing waves that were filled with far more pleasure than pain. For a few brief moments, he yielded to their seduction, and then, with a deep shuddering sigh, he forced the sensations aside.

But he could not stay away and almost before he knew it, he strode forward to stand a heartbeat from her, gazing down into her luminous eyes. His mind and heart still struggled with the ephemeral ending of that haunting dream of a life that was never meant to be. A dream where he’d been lost and alone until the angel’s words had offered him an elusive thread that led him out of the maze of darkness, just as Catherine’s love had always brought him closer to the light.

He ached to touch her, yet still he resisted, struggling first for the words he had to say. "I need to ask you something, Catherine," he began, his voice raspy with hope and longing. "And when you answer, you must tell me the truth."      

"I won't lie to you, Vincent," she promised.

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart race as he spoke. "In my dream, just before I awakened, the angel told me to always remember love. Then she moved closer and I closed my eyes, and…and the angel kissed me. But when I opened my eyes, you were there, smiling at me." He tried but found he could not continue, and he lowered his head, hoping to hide his doubt and desire from her.       

Catherine raised one hand to his face, gently urging him to look at her again, and felt her heart fill with happiness when he could not resist her. "There's something more you want to say, isn't there?" she asked softly. "Something you need to be sure of."      

His eyes deepened to the cobalt blue of a night sky. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and full of controlled heat. "There is something I need to know. That night when I dreamed the angel kissed me, it seemed so real. And, Catherine, you were the angel, so did you…was it you…” Again his voice trailed away but this time he did not turn from her.        

She smiled with a warmth that filled his heart. "You want to know if it was the angel in the dream who kissed you…or if it was really me.”

He nodded, his gaze unwavering, and a delicious shudder trembled through him as she framed his face with her hands. He waited, barely breathing as she leaned closer so that he would taste the sweet temptation of the words she breathed against his mouth.        

"I have the answer to your question,” she murmured teasingly. “But are you sure you really want to know?"      

His heated groan reverberated through her body. "Yes!"    

When her lips touched his, caressing his mouth with simmering heat, he knew the truth at last. She would always be there to lead him from the darkness, and together they would find their way into the light.

He covered her hands as they cradled his face, and tentatively deepened their kiss, unwilling to let the precious moment end. Then, all too soon, he pulled his hands away and entwined his fingers with hers. “Catherine,” he murmured. “It really was you. I was lost, but you showed me the way home. You brought me back and…your love made me real.”

“We make each other real, Vincent,” she whispered, as they melted into each other’s arms, dreaming of the day when they would never have to part. “Our love makes us real. And it will last forever.”

**********************

The candles and torches in the vast dining chamber had  been extinguished, leaving the room in darkness until dawn when the earliest risers in the tunnel community would work to clear away the last remains of the Halloween festivities and ready the room for its everyday use.  All was still and quiet as a single figure stood in the entryway, his keen eyes easily piercing the shadows. He quickly surveyed even the deepest reaches of the room, intent that nothing and no one would interfere with his mission. Satisfied, he entered the chamber with a large bundle held carefully in his arms, and within moments he had arranged its contents in the center of a long trestle table.

With a broad, satisfied smile, he stood back to admire his efforts. Even though she warned me, I don't think Narcissa will mind me doing this, he told himself. Especially if it turns out that Father's the one who finds them.

The imperceptible warmth of his laughter echoed through the chamber as he turned and strolled away, content now to return to the mysterious lair his kindly old friend had offered as a place of sanctuary for as long as he needed it to be.      

Yet as he reached the doorway, he paused, reluctant to leave his artistry to chance discovery and the assumption that this, too, was all a prank. Enticing as the notion of Father discovering the gift might be, he knew there were better choices to be made. He ran an impatient hand through his hair, nearly knocking his cap to the chamber floor, and then with a silent sigh, he retraced his steps and reclaimed his gift. He would look elsewhere, never giving up until he found the perfect place.

Moments later, he discovered he’d neared Vincent's chamber and knew he’d found the right home for his offering. Vincent would appreciate his work and his message, and he would share the gift with Catherine. Maybe they'd even become his friends someday, these two special souls, as Narcissa called them. The strength and vibrancy of the love they shared was an inspiration, the truth of its existence giving hope to even someone such as he.

The sparkle returned to his smile as he left the chamber, and he began to whistle a soundless melody to underscore his journey.       

A cool breeze flickered the candles in Vincent's chamber, sending shadows dancing across the rocky walls and ceiling, but it did not disturb the gentle golden glow of two candlelit jack-o-lanterns that faced each other where they rested in the center of the desk. Their faces were carved with exquisite skill -- one portraying a beautiful woman with large, luminous eyes and a soft, sensual smile, and the other offering an image of a fiercer beauty, a man whose extraordinary face was filled with equal measures of sensitivity and strength.

Just in front of them rested a sheet of paper torn from an artist's sketch pad, the words of a poem scrawled across its surface in a poignantly hopeful message of promise and possibility.

Floating Bridges

Oh what tremendous multitudes,

invisible and ever-changing,

come to this garden and linger forever!

Every step we take on Earth

takes us to a new world.

Every single footstep

lands on a floating bridge.

I know that there is no such thing

as a straight road.

Only a vast labyrinth

of intricate crossroads.

Our steps incessantly

create as we go,

immense spirals

of unfolding pathways.

Oh garden of fresh

possibilities!  Oh garden

of all I still am not

but could and should have been!

(Federico Garcia Lorca)

(Author’s note: I always wished there had been more episodes of our beloved series that focused on the people and life in the tunnel community, so I wrote this story in the style of an episode that might have fit into second season. Also, I love “Masques” and had hoped for a second episode that took place during Samhain. Since we didn’t get one, I decided to write my own. I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you would like to contact me, please do so at azurite412@gmail.com. I’d love to hear from you.)