There are two versions of "The Mirror": this is the first. It isa Classic story that was written during the second season, when Ifirst dreamed up the character Victoire. A second version came to beafter the third season, when I began wondering what would happen ifit were Diana who met Victoire first. While the settings, the time,and even Vincent's moods are different in each story, the fundamentalinteractions between Vincent & Victoire are similar - at somepoints, identical. And for them, the outcome is the same, no matterwhat else goes on around them. "Kindred Spirits" is rated PG.

THE MIRROR - KINDRED SPIRITS

By C. B. McWhorter

Across the world, in a circus tent outside Marseilles, a crowdsits in delighted distraction, "oo-ing" and "ah-ing" over the featsin the single ring. This is a typical European circus: one ring, asmall audience, a small band, and impeccable acrobatics. A typicalFrench crowd jams the wobbly bleachers: all ages, entire families,young couples on dates, bunches of young men, all enjoying the showwith typical French verve. In the ring, the acrobats are finishingup their performance. They are dressed in tawny red and gold andblack Spandex, covered with sequins, glitter in their hair and ontheir faces. One woman, four men, she all red and gold, they stripedlike tigers. As they execute one wild flight after another, theyshriek and whoop with excitement, and their enthusiasm goads theaudience to even greater heights. There is jungle music, tom tomsand wild pipes, and occasionally, a lion's roar. This isn't theusual acrobatic show. These artists have designed somethingdifferent, very fast, bewildering in the way each stunt gives way toanother.

And then they stop, a man at each corner of the ring, the girlbalanced on the trapeze in the center. The drums beat louder andlouder for several heartbeats, until the girl gives a thrillingshriek, and all the acrobats snap into action: the men at eachcorner fly diagonally, somersaulting, to change places. They look asif they will collide in the center, all four of them, but worse, justas they have launched themselves towards the center, the girl hasdropped from her perch, spinning in a triple twist on her way to thenet beneath her. She threads the center of the paths of the men asthey fly past her, straight as an arrow, and bounces gracefully backup from the net as the men light on their corners. The audiencecries out in fear, and then in admiration, as these madmen barelyavoid disaster mid-air.

In the shadows of the tunnel that leads into the ring, an oldman leans against the wall, smoking nervously. He hasn't taken abreath from the moment the drums began their crescendo, and now thatthe stunt is done - and, oh!, how it was done! - he gasps for air,not so much with delight as relief.

The men drop from their ladders into the net, and bounce off tojoin their queen on the sawdust of the ring, bowing to thunderousapplause. They are all handsome and well made, but all eyes are onher, with her graceful movements, and her glowing red mane. Theringmaster bellows into the microphone: " Mesdames et Messieurs,Leonie and her Flying Tigers!" But the man cannot be heard over theapplause, and the performers seem to like it that way. After all,they're sure that the people know who they are.

As the elephants, trick horses and clowns take the ring for thefinal promenade, the acrobats dash down the tunnel. Leonie runslightly up to the old man.

"Well?" The costume mistress hurries up to her with a goldensatin cape, which she begins to attach to her shoulders.

"Eh, bien ", the old man smiles. "The routine is nearlyperfect. Next week, you show America how to fly!"

The men are also getting into capes, and others are bringinghorses into the tunnel. As a horse is brought up to her, she tellshim, "I'm getting more and more excited about this tour."

"You want to play in the Florida sun? What is wrong with ourRiviera?"

She laughs down at him from the horse. "Florida! Phaugh! It's New York I want to see again."

"Are you ready for New York?"

She becomes grave for just a moment. "Yes, at last." Shewheels her horse to lead her men out of the tunnel, and calls back athim: "I'll make you proud!"

He watches her ride out into the parade around the ring, andrelishes the screams of the audience as the Flying Lion and HerAmazing Acrobats wave and bow. "I am always proud," he says tohimself. "Never more than now."

As he wanders back towards the costume tent, he leaves behindthe poster on the wall, the first poster for the Flying Tigers nineyears ago. It has her likeness on it, very well done: the flaminghair, the blue eyes, and the face that sparks so much controversy. Does she really look like this? The beautiful cat-like face mocksthe viewer: this is fantasy, she says. Watch the flying, dream, andwonder.

*****

Catherine sits with her feet up on her desk, reading the paper,drinking coffee. It is a rare morning, one with some free moments,and she is shamelessly taking advantage. She sets down her mug, andturns a page, and stops short. She drops her feet to the floor, andspreads the paper on the desk. Staring out at her is Vincent, infemale form: the wild mane, the piercing gaze, the long nose andcurving mouth. Why would someone choose this make-up for a gimmick,of all things? Finally, she studies the ad: "Leonie and the FlyingTigers! Four shows only! The famous French troupe!" The liongoddess is surrounded by tiger-faced men, all drawn with impossiblyhandsome bodies. Well, Europeans have dramatic tastes, certainly. In America, a similar group would probably dress up as aliens.

As she muses over this ad, Joe wanders up to her desk. "Whatare you doing?" He looks over her shoulder.

She starts a little as he leans on the desk. "Oh, hi!...I'mlooking for something to do this week-end."

"I don't know, Radcliffe. Are tumblers your thing?"

"I love the circus! Clowns and elephants and the daring youngman on the flying trapeze..."

"Yeah, well, this looks more like the daring young babe. Wonder what she really looks like. You know, show biz hasn't beenthe same since Cats. Hey. Get to work."

He leaves, and Catherine goes back to staring at the ad.

The cavern backstage is dark, chilly, and noisy. Stageequipment and acrobatic props are scattered about the floor, andpeople bustle about, many of them shouting to each other in French. Hollow booms come from the direction of the stage as parts of thescaffolding are rearranged. Catherine carefully wanders through themess. She clutches a backstage pass, which she was able to getrather easily from the theater manager, an old friend of her collegeroom-mate's. She stops a young man.

"Excuse me? Where can I find Mr. Bishop?"

The man points out into the stage area. "Glenn!" he hollers. "Company!"

The theater manager sees her and waves, then holds up a finger:wait. Catherine backs up against a wall, and allows turmoil to reignaround her. She's having serious second thoughts about this. She'dcome this far on impulse. Now what was she supposed to say? Glenncomes over to her.

"Ready to meet the stars?"

She nods uncertainly. He gallantly offers his arm, and leadsher towards the dressing rooms. There is a small crowd of peoplestanding in the corridor, which gives Catherine some relief. Shewon't feel so foolish in a crowd.

*****

Inside the dressing room, the old man from the circus isshuffling papers. "What do you want to do tomorrow?" he calls, inFrench. Leonie comes out of the bathroom, where she has been combingher hair. She is dressed in gabardine trousers, a man-tailored silkshirt, and short boots.

"The Met", she says, stuffing a cosmetics bag into a leatherduffel.

"L'Opera? The museum? Or baseball?"

She laughs. "Silly. The opera is not in town. And thebaseball team didn't make it to the playoffs." A knock at the doorinterrupts her. Glenn Bishop pokes in his head.

"Mlle. Dedeaux? Are you ready to meet some fans?"

"Of course. Where are the boys?" Her English is oddlyaccented, a little French, a little Anglicized.

"They're on the way out, I assume."

"Allons". The door closes, and opens again to admit about adozen people, adults and children. Among them is an older couple,she comfortably plump, with salt-and-pepper hair, he of medium heightand stocky in build. He has a shock of white hair that makes himlook a little like Albert Einstein - if Einstein combed his hair. They look at Leonie with impish delight, and she cries out when shesees them, greeting them in German, and kissing both cheeks. Theychatter back, with obvious affection, and then turn to the older man. The children stare at the golden woman, a few mothers whispersternly in their offspring's' ears. Next the Lioness drops to herknees in front of the smallest girl.

"What a pretty little girl you are! Do you like gymnastics?" Star-struck, the little girl can only nod. "I started tumbling whenI was about your age."

"All the gymnasts and acrobats on TV are her idols," thechild's mother says.

"As they should be", says the acrobat. "And what is yourname?"

"Lacey", the child finally says.

"I like that name. And who are you, dear boy?" At whichpoint, the theater manager starts wholesale introductions.

"Oh, Mlle. Dedeaux, this is Mayor Giuliani of New York, andMrs. Giuliani...And Scott and Laura Finch and their children..."

The Frenchwoman greets everyone warmly and in turn, casting outFrench charm like fairy dust. She flirts charmingly with the Mayor,coos over his wife, and presents real affection for the children. "My real name is Victoire", she says.

"Are you for real?" one brazen boy demands.

"Are you?" she returns with a wicked grin.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

The Flying Lions come into the room, and more introductions aremade. The young men also make much over the children. Catherine hasbeen staying in the back of the group, stunned for reasons no oneelse can fathom. She knows, as other visitors cannot, that the womanshe sees is not cosmetically or surgically altered. She knows thecurve of the nose, the shape of the forehead well. Fortunately,Victoire Dedeaux has been too preoccupied with the others to noticeher last visitor's confusion. Shortly after Catherine is able tostop staring, Victoire turns to her. "Hello."

Glenn steps in: "This is Catherine Chandler. She serves thecity as one of our District Attorneys."

"Oh, Cathy!" exclaims the Mayor as Victoire & Catherineshake hands. "I didn't see you. How are you?"

Almost grateful for the diversion, Catherine greets the Mayorand his wife. The rest of the visit passes with small talk, and alot of attention focused on the children by Victoire. She is in somany ways Vincent's opposite: vivacious, almost flamboyant, chatty,and oh-so-French. And yet so many of his mannerisms show up when shetalks, and moves, and especially when she stops to listen to someone. She becomes still, the way Vincent does, focusing totally on theother person, with such gentleness and strength that she captivatesin ways that her outgoing charm never could. Catherine also watchesthe older man with her, whom Victoire introduces as her uncleJean-Luc Dedeaux, the owner of the Cirque de Joie, which Victoirecalls "our parent company", an unusual term to use about a circus,Catherine thinks. Jean-Luc sits on the sofa, watching his niece withundisguised pride. She's seen that look on Father's face, when hewas looking at Vincent, and Vincent wasn't watching him. She caughtthat look on her own father's face, sometimes. The thought gives hera moment of pain, and even envy.

Soon enough, the crowd takes their leave. She's exchanged twowords with the lion goddess, and observed her for half an hour. Shehas so much to tell Vincent: she is convinced that, whatever theexplanation may be, he is not alone. Here is someone else just likehim. They shake hands good-bye, and Catherine is startled to seethat the claws of Victoire's long fingers are painted bright red. Well, why not? she thinks, and leaves the room. She thanks Glenn forhis kindness, and turns to find the door to the street, her mindworking furiously - how can she show this amazing woman to Vincent? -when the Mayor calls her name. They stand by the backstage door forsome time, talking about an upcoming embezzlement case dear to hisheart, before she can go to her car.

*****

Back in the dressing room, Victoire rummages in the littlecloset for her coat. "That wasn't too long", she says. "I'mstarved. Where shall we eat?"

"Oh, for me, it's enough to go back to the hotel," says heruncle. "I'm tired, and I think I have heartburn. This American foodhas never agreed with me."

She gives him a closer look. "Lu-Lu, you don't look well atall."

"I told you, I'm tired."

Unconvinced, she watches him in the mirror as she packs herduffel bag. "What's wrong with you?"

"I tell you, I'm fine."

"No, you're not." She goes to the door, looks out into thehall. "Etienne! Paul! Venez!"

"Oh, Vicki, don't bother them..." But he is looking worse eachmoment, pale and clammy, and he rubs at his chest fretfully. Etienne& Paul appear at the door.

"Mon Dieu, what is it?" says one. Victoire picks up the phone,and dials 911.

*****

As Catherine finally gets to her car, she sees an ambulancepull into the alley by the stage door. Curious, she gets back out,and follows the EMT's into the theater. She sees Glenn standinganxiously outside Victoire's dressing room door. She touches hisarm.

"What's going on?"

"You're still here? The old man is ill, it seems."

Catherine pushes into the room in time to see the EMT's strapJean-Luc onto the gurney. He mumbles through the oxygen mask as oneof the men tries to start an IV on his left arm. Another is one hisradio, reeling off a list of vital signs and physical findings. BothEMT's are barely succeeding is ignoring Victoire as she hoversnearby. She gets to her knees next to Jean-Luc when he tries to pullhis arm away from the paramedic, and scolds him in French. Then sheturns to the man with the radio.

"I am his niece. I want to come with him."

"I'm sorry ma'am, there isn't room in the ambulance. But we'retaking him to City General; you can follow us." He starts to putaway his radio. "You'll want to take off that make-up first."

Helpless, a little tremulous, she watches them wheel him out. Catherine approaches her. "Victoire?" The lioness regards her witha little shock. "Let me take you to the hospital." Victoire staresat her a moment.

"All right. Thank you." She turns to her men, again incommand. "I'll call you at the hotel."

As the women leave the room, Etienne catches Catherine by thearm. "Don't leave her," he says, almost fiercely. She gives him areassuring shake of the head.

*****

The emergency room has just begun its Saturday night business,so that there are people in the waiting room, but not yet a crowd. Victoire & Catherine come in the door and stop at the securityguard's desk. He doesn't look up as Catherine asks him: "A man wasjust brought in by ambulance: Jean-Luc Dedeaux?"

He glances up at her, doesn't notice Victoire, and dials aphone. "Yeah, you got a De-do back there?" He nods to Catherine. "OK, yeah." And he hangs up the phone. "Either one of you speakFrench? They say he doesn't understand them. Oh, Jesus..."

Catherine glances over her shoulder at Victoire. She wears ablack denim coat, generously cut, with a dramatic hood that eitherhides or frames her face, depending on the angle of view. From theguard's point of view, he has the full treat of Victoire's alienface, and her remarkable eyes. She returns his gaze as impassivelyas any girl accustomed to having her beauty admired by a man. "I amhis niece", she says, "and I speak French."

"Uh, hang on," he says. "Why don't you have a seat inside?" He reaches again for the phone as they turn away. Catherine wondersif they might try to keep Victoire out. If she's likely to cause acommotion, it would happen in the waiting room as well as anywhereelse. She watches Victoire pace to a chair, and try to sit. Butshe's too anxious, and she rises, and paces back & forth. Howmany times has Catherine seen Vincent do this? The denim coatbillows about her as she walks. While the effect is reminiscent, thecut of the coat, and the movement of its wearer, are thoroughlyfeminine. Catherine glances covertly at the other people in theroom. To her surprise, no one really seems to notice the unusualwoman pacing before them. One little boy watches her, fascinated,until his mother pokes him & hisses at him not to stare. Themother casts a curious glance Victoire's way, and then turnsresolutely away. Presently, Victoire sits next to Catherine.

"Would it sound hysterical if I said that I've had a badfeeling all day?" she says. Catherine shakes her head no. "Todayhas been very strange," Victoire goes on. "Sometimes I thinksomething awful is coming. Then I think something wonderful iswaiting to shock me." She gives a very Gallic shrug. "It occurs tome that I should make a phone call."

She goes to the phones on the wall, and after some fumbling inher purse, she finds a book and dials a number. She speaks in Germanfor a while, and presently returns to Catherine. "A friend of myuncle's is a physician here in New York."

"Is he coming in?"

"It's late, and I asked him not to, but he will make some phonecalls. I suppose here it is like everywhere: who you know..."

"Always."

"Is there someone here for Jean-Luc Dedeaux?" someone calls,pronouncing the name so badly that Catherine winces. A young man ina white coat stands at the door to the treatment area.

Victoire stands. "I am Victoire Dedeaux."

"Oh," he says, a little weakly. He stares at Victoire as shewalks up to him. Catherine follows her, and the poor young man looksfrom one woman to the other. "He..he may be having a heart attack,"he says. "It's a little early to tell. I, um, think he's asking foryou." He clearly has doubts about letting Victoire into the back,and he doesn't know what to do.

Catherine watches with admiration as Victoire quietly assumescontrol of the situation. "He very likely is asking for me, " shesays. "I also have the insurance cards for the person who handlessuch things, if you will have them come back. Where is my uncle?" And she sweeps past him with aplomb. The man points to the right.

"Room three," he says, and lets her go.

*****

Two hours later, Jean-Luc is installed in an ICU bed, lookingsomewhat better, and quite grouchy. His nurse bustles about theroom. She doesn't appear to be the least bit impressed by Victoire,and she's made it clear that she and Catherine have ten minutes tovisit, no more. She has secured the phone numbers of Victoire'shotel, her beeper, and her satellite cell phone, and reassures herthat she will keep her informed of everything that happens.

Victoire kisses her uncle good-bye. "Don't you dare worry. I'll take care of everything. You know I can."

He chuckles. "Little One, you've taken care of everything foryears. Don't think I don't know that you only let me think I runeverything. No, it's me I'm worried about."

"Me, too. But you know, I think it will be OK."

He searches her face, and seems to relax. "Well, if you sayso. I love you, Little One. A demain."

As they walk down the hallway towards the elevator, Victoirecasts an appraising glance at Catherine. "You're awfully quiet."

"I went through this not long ago, with my father. Only thatstory didn't end so well. I think I know how scared you are."

Victoire turns to look at Catherine with an expression of greatcompassion, and her resemblance to Vincent is so striking thatCatherine nearly catches her breath. "I'm so sorry," Victoire says.

"He died in that room back there," Catherine points. To hersurprise, Victoire puts her arm around her shoulders, again,reminding Catherine so much of Vincent that for a moment, she doesn'tknow what to say. And then she smiles at her. "I'm OK," she says. "And Jean-Luc will be, too."

"I know. But he won't like this." Somehow, that's funny.

*****

"OK," says Catherine. "I don't know about you, but I'mhungry."

"Yes!"

"And tired."

"Yes."

"I have an idea. My apartment isn't far, and there's a Chinesetake-out place around the corner. Right by the back door, actually. What if we went there, and ate it at my place with our feet up."

"I should really get back to the hotel."

"At this hour, the room service kitchen is closed."

"Oh, why not? It isn't as if I'll sleep."

This plan settled upon, Catherine starts her car, and heads forhome. She tries not to think that her motives are ulterior. Thatshe knows that Vincent could well be waiting on her terrace, and thatshe wants to see him, and that, yes, she wants him to see Victoire. The scenario of his meeting Victoire doesn't form in her mind - shecan't admit to herself that he'd want to reveal himself. But shewants him to see her, to know about her, and she wants to know moreabout her as well. But she won't allow these thoughts to come to thesurface; it makes her feel a little too conniving to admit anythingexcept that she wants to see Vincent soon.

"You didn't really tell him the truth, did you?" she asks.

"My uncle? You mean, when I told him he'd be OK?"

Catherine nods. "He's counting on your second sight."

"Which is why I had to tell him that... Wait, what do you knowabout my second sight?"

Caught. Why did she assume this? Just because Vincent doesthis doesn't mean that Victoire does. And yet, she does. "I sort ofassumed that was what that exchange was about," she says. Shepretends not to notice that Victoire is watching her rather hard.

*****

Presently, as promised, she pulls into her garage. Catherinewonders if Vincent has come to the garage to wait for her -sometimes, when there's a chill on the terrace, he comes down to thegarage to meet her when she drives in.

They get out, and go to the trunk to get Victoire's bag. Theyhave not noticed a man lurking behind a pillar, until they hear asmall shuffle behind them. Catherine is the first to turn, and seethe knife. "Stop!" she cries.

The man was in no way prepared for what happens next. Thewoman in black spins around, and seeing him, snarls horribly, andlunges at him. He screams, drops his knife, and runs, Victoire hardon his heels. She grabs his arm and flips him so that he lands hardon his shoulder. Terrified by her roar, he scrambles to his feet andruns hell-bent-for-leather up the ramp. He never notices that shefollows him just a few steps.

Vincent has indeed been waiting in the garage, more than alittle worried. He still chafes under the loss of his sense of her. He hates not knowing. Stranger still to see her drive in withsomeone in her car. He is about to withdraw when he sees the manapproach them. Just as Victoire lunges at the man, he begins to runtowards them. If the would-be attacker is amazed at what he sees,Vincent is dumbfounded. So much so that he stops in the middle ofthe garage, exposed to view. Catherine sees him and gestures at himto go, a movement he barely notices. The woman stands with her backto him, watching the mugger run away, her hands on her hips, headback, hair blowing everywhere, coat swirling around her. She islaughing.

As she turns back to Catherine, she says: "I hope I didn'talarm you."

"Not at all. I'm used to it," Catherine says absently. Vincent still stands, staring at Victoire, and Catherine can't thinkwhat to do about this.

Victoire is about to question Catherine about her being 'usedto it', when she sees the direction of her gaze, and follows it. Forseveral long moments, there is only the sound of distant traffic. Noone is even breathing. Shocked, the twins stare at each other, asalike as two people of a species could be, one very masculine, theother irresistibly feminine. Finally, they begin to approach eachother, very cautiously. They stand nearly eye to eye, two pacesapart, and still they are barely breathing.

Catherine watches, breathless as well, and suddenly filled witha very feminine sense of danger. If she could ever have hopelesscompetition, this is it, and she has brought her to him.

"Mais," Victoire breathes. "Je reve."

"I, too," he answers.

All three turn in alarm when running footsteps approach downthe ramp.

"Vincent!" Catherine hisses. "Go!"

"Come!" he says, and taking Victoire's hand, leads her aroundthe corner.

"What!" she exclaims. "Why?" But she runs with himanyway.

The garage watchman reaches the bottom of the ramp in time tosee Catherine lifting a bag out of the trunk of her car. "Ms.Chandler! Are you all right? This guy came running out like a crazyman, babbling about monsters. He says there's a woman down here indanger..."

"That might be me. He was weird, wasn't he? I think hisoriginal intent was to hold me up, but then he got goofy. How'd heget in here, anyway?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Chandler, he got right by me somehow. Let metake that for you."

"No, thank you, I'm all right." It seems like forever beforehe'll leave, and in the end, he does carry the bag to the elevator,and waits till she gets on it, never dreaming it's the last thing shewants to do.

*****

Vincent has pulled Victoire into the tiny passage that leads tothe underground tunnel under Catherine's laundry room. They standstaring at each other again.

"Vincent?" she whispers. "Is that it?"

"Yes. And you?"

"Victoire." Spellbound, she reaches up to touch his face. Hecatches sight of her hand, snatches it into his own, staring at theirhands together. Her face opens up into surprise. "Vincent, you donot think.. You cannot doubt! What else could it be?" She pullsopen the collar of her shirt. "Look! It is real. I'm real!"

"You know my thoughts."

She frowns. "You do not know mine."

"Until a few months ago, I would have. But somethinghappened..."

"Something awful."

"Yes."

She strokes his face. "I will feel for both of us."

"All these years."

"All my life, I thought I was alone."

"And then sometimes, I thought it wasn't supposed to be thatway."

"We've been here all along."

They embrace, finally. She has tears in her eyes. When sheraises her head to look at him, they kiss, passionately.

*****

Catherine has ridden the elevator all the way to her floor, andback down, feeling a little foolish. She heads through the laundryroom.

*****

The twins have separated, guiltily on Vincent's part. And yet,he cannot let her go; their arms still intertwine.

"You love her so much," she says, a simple statement of fact.

"Yes."

She smiles a little wryly. "I cannot believe in one moment Ihave found and lost you."

He shakes his head. "Never lost."

Somewhere inside her, at the crossroads she'd met when he cameinto her mind, she makes a choice. For a few wild minutes, she'dsavored the possibilities of making him hers, knowing that, right orwrong, she could at least try. Now she makes a different choice,resolutely, and without regret. Even without his gift, he watchesher choose, and the admiration he gains binds him to her more tightlythan any other decision could have.

"Vincent!"

He turns towards the stair. "Here." And he still cannot letgo of Victoire's hand. He leads her to meet Catherine at the bottomof the ladder.

"All right?" she asks. They nod. "I convinced the guard therewas only me. He insisted on escorting me onto the elevator. I leftyour bag in my apartment."

"Why don't I meet you up there?" Vincent asks.

"Where do you have to go?" asks Victoire.

"I do not go among the public," he replies.

"Why not?"

"Vincent's existence is a secret," says Catherine. "Only a fewpeople know him."

"How do you live?"

"You are on my front doorstep. I live here."

Victoire scans the bare walls with thinly disguised horror. "Under the ground? All alone?"

"No, not alone. There is a great story to tell, and I willmeet you upstairs."

Regretting even the few moments of separation, the women climbthe ladder into the building, and Vincent watches them go. Victoirefollows Catherine to the elevator, and watches her new friend's facefor a bit. "You came to meet me because of him."

"Yes."

"But I don't think you planned to tell me about him."

"That would have been his choice to make."

"I think, Catherine Chandler, you are a braver woman thanmost." A look of comprehension passes between them, and for thefirst time in several long minutes, Catherine smiles.

The early morning sun penetrates the sheer curtains of thebalcony, and Victoire stretches on the couch in the living room. Catherine still sleeps on the loveseat. Vincent is long gone. Theyhad talked long into the night, learning almost ravenously about eachother, while Catherine watched quietly, feeling as if they forgot shewas there.

They talked of how Vincent found Catherine in the Park, and howthey have grown since then. He told her the story of the TunnelWorld, but he left out how it was he came to that world, notrealizing she saw the omission. They told her the story ofParacelsus, and how he nearly destroyed their home, their lives, andVincent's sanity. There were tears in her eyes, which surprisedCatherine. He has not admitted to Catherine the loss of his bond toher, so she cannot know how deeply Vincent mourns its loss. Victoirecan. It is not only that he grieves for his connection withCatherine, but he has lost touch with a large part of himself, acenter he'd never realized was so vital until this. "It cannot lastforever," she said. "You will recover."

"If it takes another minute, it is too long," he replied. Catherine knew that she did not fully understand the meaning of thatexchange.

And then it was Victoire's turn.

"Jean-Luc and Emilie Dedeaux raised me as their own daughter, "she started.

"What of your own parents?"

A small hesitation. Someone else might not have noticed, butCatherine did. "Who knows? I never knew my parents. I.. was anorphan, and to be honest, the story has gone through so many changes,I can't tell you how it all started."

"I think I could say the same thing," he said, somewhat sourly. "And so?"

"So I was a bohemian child. The Cirque de Joie was a verysmall one in the beginning, and quite average. We had dwarves andacrobats and trick ponies and clowns. We also had oddities: thebearded lady, the sword swallower, and such. Later on, Lu-Lu.." shecaught a quizzical look "that's what I call Jean-Luc - added tigers,and a trainer. Then we had bears. We don't anymore - they cost morethan they really bring in, and we have changed our format.

"But I digress. I suppose the point is that I fit in. I wascarefully shielded as a child, to be sure, as we all were, and I knewall the children around me. European circuses are still a lot likeAmerican circuses once were: very small, and limited in theiractivity. The show travels in the summer, and stays in our home townduring the winter. We live in a town near Nice. Many of us havesecond businesses there, and the children go to school there. Families stay behind even in the summer. Some children are too youngto go with the show, or people stay to keep the shops open, and soforth. It's home, and it's safe."

"But no one ever kept you hidden?"

Another tiny hesitation. "No. What was a lion child among thedwarves and bearded ladies? I occasionally was teased in school, butthe circus children kept together. Even the children of the trainersand acrobats - the "normal" children, if you will - were sometimestroubled by the other children. After all, we were different. Wewere bohemians, circus people. We learned to defend ourselves, andwe also learned how to break down barriers and make friends."

"Defend yourselves?"

She shrugged. "At one point our another, all our fatherstaught us how to fight. Me especially."

"They teased you more?"

"No. I was a troublesome child, with a vicious temper. Me,Lu-Lu had to teach how to... how to... Ooof, English fails me atlast. Not be so hard. Be careful. He sent me to learn Savate."

"What is that?"

"It is a fighting, um, martial art. I guess you could call itFrench karate. It's taught me more than self control. It's taughtme how to control a fight, physical or verbal. Lots of things. Lu-Lu also started me tumbling earlier than the other children. Anything to channel all that energy."

Vincent nodded. "My Father had me reading books, and studyinganything he could get to take my interest." And shattering passagesand rooms out of granite. Some things are not everything they seem,he thought.

"We started a fashion, Lu-Lu and me," she continued. "Prettysoon all the circus kids went to learn. It's useful for them, too. Life on the road isn't always safe."

"I can't believe you've been all over the world."

"All over? I haven't. Most of Europe. Now America. I wentto school in England..."

"School?" said Catherine.

"College."

"You went to college?" the dreaminess in his voice was not loston her, nor was the wistfulness he felt. "In England?"

And so the conversation flowed, for hours. They talked ofdreams they had as children, and how they learned to accept that someof them would never come true. Or that they would come true in waysthey couldn't expect.

"I dreamed of roaming the world. My brother Devin and I usedto lie awake at night and talk of all the things we would do."

"Your brother?"

"My foster brother. His father raised me."

"Ah. So, you were an orphan?"

"Yes." She waited, but he offered nothing more.

"And what does Devin do now?"

He sat quietly for a long moment. "He does all the things wesaid we would do."

She felt the ripples of regret flow away from him, and somesorrow.

"He went without you." He shrugged in answer.

"The wild romance Devin seeks came to you, didn't it?"

He'd smiled at Catherine, sitting bundled in her favorite oldsweater, her hands wrapped around a mug. She smiled back. "Andprobably a good bit of the adventure," she added. What would Devinhave done about Paracelsus?

Victoire settled into the cushions on the couch. "I wanted tobe someone I could never be," she said.

"And who might that be?"

"Cybil Sheperd."

Catherine chuckled.

"Who?" asked Vincent.

"You really don't know?" He shook his head. "She was a greatpassion in France when I was a young teen. The ultimate Americangirl: blonde, sexy, beautiful flawless face, long legs. Desired byone and all." She shrugged. "What girl doesn't want that?"

"Let me guess. Her teeth were all the same length."

"Brilliant, Holmes." Her grin bared her teeth - especially thelong ones. "How was I to know that I was to be a sex symbol of myera? That the same French magazines that went on about her regimenfor her clear skin would spend as much space speculating on theappearance of mine? That others would devote a spread to my work-outsecrets?"

"Work-out secrets? Stand on a scaffold and leap?" saidCatherine.

"With the greatest of ease."

They touched on the difficulties of being alone among so many,even if those people are loved ones.

"I know there are times that I have regretted being what I am,but my true regret is that I don't know why," he said. "It nags atme sometimes: why this? What sort of genetic twist, or fantasticstory resulted in me ?" She became very still, within. She seemedalmost opaque to Catherine, and her withdrawal alarmed her. "Do youever wonder?", he asked.

"All the time," she murmured. She slipped away into somemelancholy thoughts, but then returned, and smiled. "Given a chance,I could drive myself mad with it. You mean, you have no clue? Nofantasy about it all?"

"Have you?"

"I don't let myself fantasize about it any more. I just acceptthat the best and the worst of me, no matter what I look like, liesin my humanity. It doesn't seem it can come from anywhereelse..."

"What do you mean?"

She turned her gaze on him, her eyes searching his. ToCatherine, it seemed that she was debating with herself, that therewas something she wanted to say. And as Catherine watched, Victoirethought better of whatever it was, and smiled. "Never mind." Shereached over and took his hand in hers, played with his fingers. Herdelight in him was obvious, and his delight no less. Catherinelooked on with growing anxiety, all the time unaware that Victoireheard her fears.

"Catherine said that very few people know that you exist. Youlive in hiding?"

"Yes."

She hated it. Something about that shuddered in her soul sodeeply that both Catherine and Vincent actually felt it, and nearlyhated it, too. For the first time in months, he finds an urge todefend the darkness of his home. He said: "Hiding isn't the same asconfinement." After all, he clearly goes where he pleases. She sawthe adventure there.

"And so you live in hiding, but not in confinement, under theground? What is this place like?"

"Perhaps I need to show you rather than tell you. Can youmeet me tomorrow?"

"Tell me where."

Victoire rises, and goes to the balcony doors. She opens them,and steps out into the cold morning air. She leans on the wall,looks out over the park, and down at the street, and over the parapetwhere Vincent disappeared before dawn. Unbelievable. That such agift should land in her lap, and on a night she should remember withnothing but fear. Life is funny like that. But she has a verypassive attitude towards the shocks life can bring her. She knowsthat she cannot stop them, and that the art is all in how she takesthe shocks. She faces trouble with as much equanimity she canmuster, and with as much determination. She accepts life's giftswith gratitude. Vincent is a gift that brings a great deal ofgratitude indeed.

She turns as the door creaks behind her. "Good morning."

"Want some coffee?" Catherine asks, still drowsy.

"Mm. The stronger the better."

"I'll get out the espresso machine." Victoire followsCatherine into the apartment.

"He loves you very much", she says, with her customarybluntness.

Catherine blushes. "He's the center of my life."

"I admit I envy him that. My love-life has not been asblessed. I've been in love half a dozen times. Never was it asbeautiful as what you seem to have. Perhaps I didn't open myself toit well enough."

"Why not?"

"You know why. Caution is the best word for it, I suppose. And there are so many reasons to be careful. I have to maintain arelationship with two strikes against me. There, I did a veryAmerican analogy, didn't I?"

"Two?"

"Being involved with such an unusual-looking person is onething. Being involved with a celebrity is another. But when yourlover is both..." She makes her a very French gesture.

"Lover?" The word is out of Catherine's mouth before shethinks.

Victoire smiles wryly. "I don't look like the sort of girlwho'd save herself for marriage, do I?" She completely misinterpretsthe odd look on Catherine's face. "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you..?"

"Huh? Oh! No. No, not really..."

She bends over the espresso machine, blushing deeply, andreality dawns on Victoire. "You mean, you haven't... You two have alove that fills a room with rainbows, and... I don'tunderstand."

"Vincent is afraid that... Oh, I don't know. There was agirl, when he was young, and..."

"And what?"

"I think it should be his story to tell."

Her discomfort is acute now, and Victoire lets it go. "Perhapsit is. You don't work today, do you?"

"Um, no, not officially. But I brought plenty home to doanyway. I always seem to have to do that."

"I must go soon." Gratefully, she accepts a cup of coffee. "Ihave a matinee, and I suppose I'd better get some sleep first."

"You're welcome to do that here. I'm going for a run now, andthen I have to get groceries."

"Thank you. But if I don't show up at the hotel soon, mypartners will panic." She consults her watch. "Come to think of it,if I get in within the hour, they probably won't know I wasgone."

*****

Later that morning, Victoire sits at Jean-Luc's bedside,reading the reviews of their show to him from the paper, translatingas she goes. They are good reviews, and the two gloat together. "'By far the most breathtaking moment in theater history - thisseason - is the African Star: a feat that should be tried only bymadmen, or consummate professionals.' There. We are both, Ithink."

"What does he mean - this season? That stunt is the greatestexample of brave folly ever invented!"

"Well, Uncle, Americans like to think they are jaded."

"The French really are jaded, and they acknowledge thegreatness of the African Star."

"And there is the difference."

They are interrupted by a young man in a white coat. Heappears ill at ease, and not a little fascinated with Victoire as heintroduces himself as Dr. Hotchkiss. Jean-Luc & Victoireexchange glances as he confesses that he is not here to see Mr.Dedeaux, but Ms. Dedeaux.

"Encore un fois," Jean-Luc murmurs to her.

"I don't suppose I'm the first person to come to you. I'm ageneticist. Um, I do research here, and... Oh, that isn't coming outright..."

"Never mind", she says, gently. "It never does."

"I don't suppose."

"Is my appearance native, so to speak, or enhanced by plasticsurgery?"

"Well.."

"And if it were surgery, would you then pass my name along to apsychiatrist friend of yours who has an interest in people whodisfigure themselves?" This shocks him. She rises and advances onhim, using the sinuous walk that has distracted many men from purerthoughts. And it distracts him, as Jean-Luc nearly laughs out loud. "Oh, that's happened before. And you're right, it's happened beforethat someone wanted to examine my anatomy, physiology, metabolism,and whatever. It is a topic of terrific controversy in France what Imight really look like. The tabloids are filled with supposedpictures of my 'real face'. And I do nothing to stop them."

"Of course, you're a famous person..."

"With a face that sold hundreds of thousands of tickets," addsJean-Luc.

"If I let anyone know who asked ..."

"Terrible business" her uncle finishes.

"But you aren't enhanced," the young doctor says. "Aren't youcurious...?"

"No. I know who and what I am. I'm a woman with a job, afamily, friends. I work, I sleep, I eat, I go dancing. Peoplestare, bien sur. And I smile for the camera. I know what I need toknow." She releases him from the tension she has created by turningback to her uncle. She leans on the bed rails and smiles at him.

"Have you ever met anyone else like yourself?" She whirls onHotchkiss with such alarm that he recoils.

"Mon Dieu, young man, don't say that!" Jean-Luc cries. "Itcould destroy us! And don't look like that. She hasn't mauledanyone in years."

"Lu-Lu!"

He laughs at both of them.

"Look, Doctor, you can't say that examining her skin and boneswill make any difference to mankind."

"But you'd know."

"Know what?" she asks. "How it happened? What would you do,hold a seance to conjure up the past & learn how such a one as mecould have been conceived? Do you want to fantasize that I am somesimple genetic throwback, one gene out of whack, and presto! TheLion Queen?"

He gives up. Certainly, if there were genetic history to bemade, someone else would have made it by now, and he knows that thereis nothing about her in the literature, and that she's right: thereis no simple answer, like there was for the Wolf Boys of Mexico, orthe Elephant Man. "Well, at least I got to meet you," he says. "Iguess I'm one of the starers. Sorry to intrude."

"At least, after all, you are a nice intruder", she says, andthe look she gives him makes him distinctly uncomfortable in the mostpleasant way. She reaches to shake his hand. He can't help himself,he looks at her hand when he takes it, turns it over , and then heblushes.

"Huh. Wild. I'm sorry. Good-bye." And he stumbles out ofthe room before he makes more of a fool of himself.

"That wasn't so bad," Jean-Luc says. "Why did you nearly jumpat him?"

"Did I?"

*****

Pandemonium reigns inside a deli as Catherine waits for herorder. She passes the time by reading the Times, but she isdistracted by two young women behind her in line, chatting.

"So, wait a minute," says one. "Whatever happened towhat's-his-name, Jim?"

"Oh, God, you wouldn't believe," her friend replies. "I was sostupid. I figured it was time for him to meet my friends. You knowmy friend Isabel I told you about? She's a journalist? Anyway, Istarted by introducing him to her; I thought they'd get along, he'dthink I had smart friends. He's a reporter, she's a reporter. Makessense, right? Too much sense. They're living together now."

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry."

"Well, I've got Jerry, now."

"He sounds really great. Is it really serious, do you think? Yeah? When do I get to meet him?"

"Are you kidding? He's not meeting anyone!"

This story has cut up whatever peace of mind Catherine has heldon to. Someone yells her number. She grabs her bag and runs.

*****

Later in the afternoon, after a well-received matinee, Victoireemerges from the theater. She almost blends in as she walkspurposefully down the busy side walk, a graceful young woman in along suede skirt, boots and a short swing coat. Her hair blowsaround her head, and only people who look straight at her notice herface. One man stops and turns to look, but people on the streets ofNew York are famous for ignoring each other. It's a long walk, madelonger by the temptations to be seen in store windows on a brightspring day. She makes it to Catherine's apartment building withoutincident. The doorman remembers her from the morning, and ushers herin. She crosses the empty lobby, and proceeds to the basement.

Vincent is waiting as she comes out of the shaft of light, andsmiling, walks into his arms. They kiss again, but this time lesspassionately, like they've known each other a long time. She settlesinto him. "We've been obsessed with each other all day."

He plays with her corkscrew curls. "Did you sleep?"

"Mmm. Had to. I have a show tonight."

"How long do you have?"

"A couple of hours."

"There's someplace I'd like to show you."

*****

He takes her to the Painted Tunnels, hoping that they mightsimplify some of the telling of the story. And perhaps they do, inways he can't anticipate. He still hasn't fathomed how much of histhoughts and feelings she knows. And that she sees how tight a reinhe keeps on himself.

"There's Catherine," she says, pointing to the portrait ofCatherine in the white dress she wore to Winterfest, the nightParacelsus nearly killed them all.

"Yes."

"She's beautiful, Vincent. You could love her for her facealone."

He smiles at that, remembering what her face was like when theymet.

She moves on. "Who's that?"

"That was Paracelsus."

"Humph. After all that, he just looks like a man."

"After all that, he couldn't escape that that was all hewas."

"Human nature at it's finest..." she muses. "And they'd callus the beasts."

"We are not spotless," he protests.

"Of course not. But the worst in me is most assuredly from myhuman side, of that I have no doubt."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Look at him. How can you not be sure?"

They wander through the gallery, he tells her various storiesabout the Tunnel World, shows her pictures of its residents. Shepauses before the portrait of young Father holding the infantVincent.

"So, you were born here?"

"No. I was brought here by Father when I was an infant."

"He knew your parents?"

"No."

Another tiny beat, "You were an orphan?"

"I assume so. Father found me in a trash heap outside ahospital."

Her reaction surprises him: something leaps in her, emotionsfly across her face as if she's wracked to her own depths, and themix of horror, shock, and delight confuses him enormously. It is sostrong that he wonders if he has not only seen it on her face, butalso felt it from her heart. "What is it?"

"Thrown away in the trash?" She is regrouping beneath hisinquiry, showing him now only sorrow and outrage.

"So the story goes."

"That's hideous. Who would do such a thing?"

His shrug is sad. "Any answer is possible. Perhaps evenunderstandable."

"Oh? You think someone could have birthed a baby and been sohorrified that she left it to die?" In the face of her indignation,all he can do is nod. "Do you really think that someone could sinkto that level of depravity?"

"You know someone could."

"And you call that understandable?" She turns him to face her. "You don't think..." She caresses his face, a gesture that she hasmade entirely her own: no one has touched him just this way, and noone else ever will. "You think it could be justified, that on seeingyou, someone could leave you to die?"

He crosses the tunnel to seat himself against the wall,slumping in near despair. He's so tired, and still so confused. Shekneels next to him. He knows that she feels his turmoil, but hecan't tell how much. "Sometimes I wish I hadn't been found." Hedrops his face into his hands only to avoid her gaze. It doesn'twork. She pulls his hands into her own, makes him look into themirror of her eyes. "It wasn't the creature that I was as a childthat I find so difficult to understand. You don't know what I'vedone," he says. "I have killed so many..."

She gasps a little. This she has never done, although she'sinjured a few, and badly. She waits. Haltingly, he tells her, theparts of the story she did not hear last night, beginning with thatfirst terrible afternoon in the brownstone where the men who haddumped Catherine at his feet returned to kill her. He can enumerateevery kill, every screaming face, but the ones brought to him byParacelsus are harder to speak of: men who were, if not innocent,certainly unwitting of the doom they were sent to meet. There wereothers, predators who invaded the Tunnels to kill those in his world. They were horrible, but not the same, and somehow, he feels guiltyover his lack of remorse for them. Last. The final blow that senthis mind spinning into an Abyss of its own, into terrors he's not yetdescribed to anyone: killing Paracelsus, and believing, dear God,that it was Father he was striking down!

He is beyond tears. Victoire pulls him into her arms, androcks him as if he is crying. She reaches into him, searching forthe well-spring of grief, thinking she can help more if she knowsmore, but she finds such a yawning cavern of despair that she pullsback in alarm. What can she do in the face of this?

Unbidden, anger rises in her throat. She blames Catherine - ifshe had not come into his life, so much of this would not havehappened. She blames Father, a man she's never met, for ... what? She takes a breath, and puts it all away. The worst of it would havecome no matter what. Paracelsus would have tried to hurt them, nomatter what. He used Catherine as bait because he could. Had shenot been there, he would have thought of something else. Andperhaps, without Catherine's love to sustain him, and without thelessons he'd learned with her, Vincent might have succumbed toParacelsus' madness for good. She sighs. Why is life so veryweird?

She finds him staring at Elizabeth's painting of himself as achild. "If they had known what it was I would become, would theyhave taken me in?" he murmurs. She watches the images on the wall asif she expects them to answer him. "I have heard so many versions ofthe story that I don't know the truth. When I last met withParacelsus, he imitated Father so well, and told me so convincinglyof a birth that was hideous..." He looks up at her. "I still see itin my dreams: a woman screaming in agony as some hell-made creatureclaws his way through her. I go to her tomb, and imagine I can hearher screams still."

"But, my love, it is not so!"

"So Father tells me. He tells me that Paracelsus slew his ownwife - over me. No matter how hard I try, Victoire, there has beendeath and madness in my life, even from the beginning."

She seems to go a long way away from him now, staring intoherself as if she's seen an old truth in a new light. "Somedestinies are like that."

He leans his head against the wall. "It's hard to believe indestiny when I don't know the truth about my past."

At last, here in one thing she can answer. "Listen to me." She turns his face to hers. "I promise you: there is nothing therethat is demon-born. Nothing."

"How can you be sure?"

She smiles at him with a spark of love the likes of which he'snever seen before. There is a proprietary nature to it that hisheart leaps to answer. "I'm sure," she says. And for no reason hecan understand, it is enough.

She settles on the ground next to him, snuggling into hisshoulder. "How can anyone live to adulthood and not have actions ofwhich they are ashamed? And how can anyone live into adulthood andnot have to face difficult choices?"

"Most people don't have to face killing someone."

"No. But there are other choices, other crimes. How can weavoid making mistakes? There are always crossroads at which bothpaths are repugnant. And once such a crossroads is reached, and apath chosen, what else is there to do but live the best we can withthe choice?" She takes his hand. "It's over. Paracelsus is gone. I think he committed suicide, for twisted reasons of his own thatwe'll never really know. You don't need to know, not now. Ruminating over the past will not change it. You must decide how youwill live from now on."

"Most people who commit crimes are asked to atone forthem."

She can't help a sarcastic chuckle. "I'm not so sure aboutthat. You must decide whether they were crimes at all. Is it trulyguilt you should be feeling, or isn't the revulsion such an actbrings enough? The men who would have killed Catherine, and you: areyou guilty of their deaths? Or are you culpable? And if you hadstayed your arm, what would have happened?"

"Have you ever ...?"

"No. I've wanted to, been angry enough to. But the traininghas saved me from my temper. On the other hand, I have done a fewpeople some grievous harm in the name of self defense. I put a maninto a wheelchair."

"How did that affect you?"

"Badly. I went around feeling dirty for quite some time. Foryears I thought I should not have struck as hard as I did; and had Ibeen more experienced, I'd probably have taken a different attack. But I also remember that my choice at the time was him or me. Thecritical choice before that was his: it was he who assaulted us, hewho set the events into motion. I could not change that. All I cando is live as well and as fairly as I can after it all."

He gives this long consideration. And takes a deep breath. There is so much truth in what she says. Every day can be a day ofatonement. Every day is the rest of his life. He has to move on. There are other choices in his future that will demand his attention,whether he is prepared to leave this past or not. And yet... "Thereare 36," he says.

"Thirty six?"

"Lives. Thirty six men whose blood is on my hands."

"Looks like you have a lot of living to do." She consults herwatch, and stands with reluctance. "I have to go." He rises, takesher hand, and leads her down the passage. "I wish you could seeus."

"Oh! I will."

"And how is that?"

"I have my ways. You'll see."

****

About an hour before the evening curtain, a tall cloakedfigure emerges from a trap door in the floor of the Walden theaterbasement. Carefully, he pulls himself through the hole, closes thetrapdoor, and slips against the wall, next to boxes. He listens fora long time, learning the rhythm of the movements above him, beforehe moves on. Hisses & clanks come from a door labeled 'BoilerRoom'. Vincent tries the door. It's locked. He surveys thebasement again, looking for a partly remembered place. No. It wasdefinitely through the boiler room door. He forces the old lockeasily, and with surprisingly little noise. The sounds and smells ofthe boiler room overwhelm him a bit. He closes the door behind him,and waits for any sound to warn him of people. Creeping quietly, hepaces around the cluttered room, and nearly jumps out of his skinwhen a valve near his head discharges with a loud squeal. He finallyfinds the trap door in the ceiling he remembers, with the ladderrungs embedded in the wall. Will those rusty bars hold his adultweight? He tries the first, then the next, ready to jump away to theground if he needs to. The odd little latch on the trap door isrusty, but it turns, and he can pop the trap a bit. Dust sifts downonto his face, and he resists the urge to sneeze. Again, he listens,then dares to open the door up all the way: the space is unchanged. A small dark corridor, separated from the stage by a false wall builtmany years ago when the theater was renovated, runs the depth of thestage. On the other side of flimsy sheetrock, he can hear peoplemoving about, talking. The space is much narrower than he remembers,but he searches, moving quietly, and finds the catwalk ladder. Again, a moment of doubt: will the old metal hold him? He starts theclimb, and breathes a deep sigh of relief when he reaches the top. He sits above the highest catwalks at this point, looking down ontothe stage. A large scaffold is set up, and mats laid out on thefloor. Four men in tights and sweatshirts are warming up, andVictoire in beat up tights and leotard is with them. When he firstsees her, she's finishing off a series of somersaults across thefloor, and she waits for one of her partners to catch up with her. She slides down into a split, throws her head back in a stretch, andlooks straight up at the catwalk where Vincent stands. She grins upat him, and continues on. He waves down at her, but he's come to therealization that, although his perch is removed from the commonlyused catwalks, he is exposed here. He looks about. So, how did theyget to the light bays, all those years ago? He traces the steps andbridges he sees, until he can find one near him. But something haschanged. There could never have been this leap between bridges forthem as children. He clambers back down the ladder to find another,and after shuffling up and down the length of the stage more thanonce, he sees it. The first bar breaks off in his hand, but when hejumps for the second it holds, and he climbs up again. This time hefinds a door that leads into the narrow walkway behind the lightbays. He creeps down that passage, freezing again when he hearsvoices below him.

"Blues calibrated?"

"Got it."

"Pin spot?"

"Yep."

There must be a light control room here. He creeps past thearea, and finds a light bay. Its doors are closed. He moves on. The next bay is also closed. As is the next. He makes his wayforward again, to the spot above the control board.

"Go ahead & open the bays", he hears, and the passagebehind him fills with a faint light as the bays open up. He settlesinto the one farthest forward, careful to stay out of the way of thedoor. It wouldn't do to have it close & trap him somehow.

*****

Alone in her apartment, Catherine sits in a brown study. She'scurled up on the couch before the fireplace, nursing a glass of wine. Schubert's Unfinished Symphony is on the stereo. Her eyes are red. She's cried out.

She had not had this in mind when she so recklessly went tolearn the truth about Victoire.

She remembers meeting Elliott Burch, how she nearly fell inlove with him. Vincent tried to hide his hurt at the time, but itwas obvious. She should have seen it for what it was. Instead, sheonly saw what she wanted. She wanted to have it all, Vincent andElliott both, and thought she could get it by pretending Vincentwasn't as much in love as he seemed, or worse, wasn't a man she couldlove. How stupid she must have sounded, telling Vincent that nothingwould change if a romance with Elliott were to develop. Spoiled andvain, and he never let her see that, never thought of anything butwhat could make her happy.

She'd told Victoire that his reticence came from his encounterwith Lisa. What if that weren't all of it? What if, even now, heholds himself apart from her because he still feels she should find abetter love? Someone of her own kind. He's said it before, that sheneeded a man who could give her more than he could. He couched it interms of the world Above, but he really meant that she would behappier with a man who could show his face to that world. She'stried so many times to show him that she doesn't want that kind ofman, or that kind of world. And finally, perhaps, she has gotten himto see. But if she had seen what he was from the very beginning, ifshe had taken him from the start, without hesitation... How muchtime she has wasted!

He's different since Paracelsus. Even now that the scars arehealing, he's not the same. Perhaps someone like Victoire is morewhat he needs now. He had been ready to step aside when Elliott wasin her life. She should be willing to make the same sacrifice forhim.

But she can't.

*****

The African Star is an amazement. Unbeknownst to him,Vincent's breathlessness as it unfolds is exactly like Jean-Luc's,and his mixed relief and pride is no less. The audience below himsurges to their feet. The acrobats bow again and again.

As she has done several times this evening, Victoire looksstraight up at Vincent, but for the first time, she blows him a kiss,and he laughs.

*****

The show is over. The last of the paperwork is finished, andshe gives them into the theater manager's hands. She meets up withtwo of her fellow acrobats as they leave via the stage door. "Odd,"says Etienne. "No paparazzi tonight."

"Oh, and we do miss them," says Yusef.

"Are you coming with us to the clubs tonight?" Etienne asksVictoire.

"Sorry. I have plans."

"Plans? What plans? Who in the world do you know in NewYork?"

"Believe it or not, there are people we know in New York."

"What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"You mean, after you all leave? I'm moving out of the hotel,and staying with friends."

"Who?"

"Eti, who are you, my father?"

"All right, fine. Does Lu-Lu know where you will be?"

"Of course he knows! Look, would you calm down?"

"I wish you'd let me stay."

She takes his arm fondly, and casts a glance at Yusef, who issteadfastly staying out of this. "I'll be fine, Eti. And Lu-Lu willbe fine, or he'll have to answer to me. And I'll bring him home assoon as I can."

Yusef speaks up. "Are we going to walk all the way to thehotel, or does anyone want to fight in a cab?"

*****

After saying good night at the elevators, Victoire runs intoher room and empties her duffel. Working quickly, she refills itwith a change of clothes, nightclothes, and a few other items. Thenquietly, she slips out of the room and down the hall to the stairs.

Moments later, she opens the door by the silent loading dock,and peers out into the alley. No one. An eerie noise rings up thealley as a nearby manhole cover begins to move. She descends thestairs, and glides over to crouch next to the floating metal disk.When the opening is clear, she pauses to grin at Vincent below herbefore she drops into his arms.

*****

They come to the Whispering Gallery. She eyes the boards ofthe bridge with mistrust, but follows Vincent onto its span. Faintsounds of traffic filter into the chamber. As she looks over therail at the endless drop, she's startled by the sounds of a largegroup of people laughing.

"What in the world?"

"Somehow, sounds from the world above echo down in here. Whenwe were studying physics, my friends and I tried many differentexperiments to determine the origins of the noises. All we couldlearn for certain was that the nature of the echoes varies with winddirection."

"How could you forget where you parked the car?" a woman'svoice says. Victoire spins to look directly behind her, for itcertainly sounded like that's where the voice came from, but there isno one there. And then a boombox wanders by, fading as distancetakes it.

"Bizarre," she says. He holds out his hand to her, and shetakes it. "What's down below?" she asks.

"No one knows."

*****

In Father's chamber, Father and Mary are sitting on oppositesides of his desk, she with a list, he with a ledger.

"All right," he says. "A little bit more before we call it anight. What is the expiration date on the Augmentin?"

She consults her list. "August '93"

"We'll have used it by then. The Keflex?"

"May of this year."

"We can eke another 6 months out of that if we have to..." Helooks up as Vincent enters the room. "Vincent." He knows his son'sface too well. "What is it? You have someone with you. Who?"

"I don't think I know where to begin. But there's someone Iwant you to know." He turns towards the chamber door. "Her name isVictoire."

Even with the cryptic messages on the pipes, even with the waythey have come to accept that inexplicable things surround Vincent,they are not prepared for the black-cloaked woman who enters theroom. She stops at the top of the short stair, and raises her furredhands to sweep the hood back from her face. Her gaze sweeps theroom, and she appraises both Father and Mary with great gravity. Butwhen her eyes meet Vincent's, she smiles.

"My God!" Father murmurs. Mary remains speechless.

"Father," Victoire says. "And Mary, I presume."

"Yes", Mary breathes, and then she realizes she is staring. She puts away her list, and rises from her chair as Victoire descendsthe stairs and comes to Vincent's side.

Father sits weakly in his chair, and then falls back on thecomfortable automatisms of manners. "Please, have a seat."

By the time Vincent and Victoire have pulled up chairs, theothers have regained some composure. "Two mysteries", Father says. "Never in my life could I have thought there would be two."

"Victoire has an acrobatic company that is visiting New Yorkfrom France," Vincent begins. "Catherine went to see them, andsomehow managed to meet Victoire, and, well...."

"Acrobats?" Father says.

"France?" Mary breathes.

At this point, Victoire begins to laugh. "Have I shocked youhorribly?"

"I'm not sure," says Father. "How many of you are there?"

"Until last night, I thought I was the only one in the world",says Victoire.

They are distracted by a small shuffle in the tunnel. "Who'sout there?" Vincent says, and Samantha and Jaimie appear at the door,looking rather sheepish.

"Excuse us," Jamie begins. "Kipper said..."

"Never mind," Father says. "Come in and meet Victoire."

They run down the stair, and into the room, introducingthemselves all at once, and trying to be cool. At which point Pascalcomes in. He says nothing, but stops and stares at Victoire infascination.

"Pascal," Father says. "Just how many people do you think wemay expect?"

"The pipes are still being rather mysterious," Pascal says. "Icame because I was standing watch. Should I put out the word thatVincent's ... twin is here?"

Vincent and Victoire are both absorbed in Pascal's word "twin",when Mary says, "Victoire, are you ready to meet a crowd?"

The twins exchange a glance. "Actually," Vincent says slowly. "I asked Victoire to stay the night. Perhaps we can meet everyone inthe morning."

Father coughs at this, but he recovers. "Vincent told you hisstory, and ours, I suppose?" he says. Victoire nods. "Will you tellus yours?"

"I saw your ad in the paper," Samantha says. "I thought it wasmake-up."

"Lots of people do," Victoire says. "I'm a foundling, likeVincent. Only I grew up in France, and Jean-Luc, whom I call Uncle,had a circus. It was perfect for me. But more than that, he and myTante Emilie took me to their hearts, since they had no children oftheir own."

"So you grew up in the circus?" says Jamie, who is obviouslymore than a little taken with the romance of that thought.

"Sounds like fun, doesn't it?" the girls nod. "It was. Wewent to school in the small town where the circus wintered, and inthe summer, the older children traveled with the circus all overFrance, and sometimes all over Europe. I began tumbling lessons whenI was very young, and I was performing with the troupe by the time Iwas 12."

"But now you have a different act," Father says.

"Yes. After I finished college, I thought it was time tobranch out. Two of my partners and I had come up with a new act forthe circus, and we just expanded it for the stage. It startedsmall." She shrugs and smiles. "It hasn't stayed that way."

"Did you say college?" Mary says.

"Yes. I went to a small school in the South of England."

"What did you study?" asks Father.

"Business."

"Business!" this is not what Father had envisioned.

"Of course. I am to assume the control of a growingentertainment concern. What else would I study?"

"How can you be sure your act will always be so popular?" Jamieasks.

Victoire nods approvingly. "You can't, and we don't count onit. There's more to it than that. We have a school of gymnastics. And one of my partners, Etienne, has a degree in engineering. A fewyears ago, he and I worked up a system for scaffolding that isportable and strong, but lightweight. We had a local manufacturermake it up for us, and we patented it. We arranged with the factoryto sell the product, and then, Lu-Lu bought the factory last year. So far, it's doing well, and we are thinking of new products to add. One can fly only so long. It's a retirement plan, when our jointswon't climb the rig anymore." She becomes solemn. "I suppose thatnow, I will be spending even more time on administrative things. Lu-Lu had a heart attack last night. Catherine was there, and I'msure the angels sent her, because she was an enormous help tome."

"Is your uncle all right?" asks Mary.

"They say that he will be. They did some more tests today, andthey won't say when they will let him go home."

Father leans forward in his chair. "Tell me, Victoire. You goall over the world. You went to school. Even in a circus, you hadto stand out. Aren't you taking risks? How do you handle theexposure?"

She smiles apologetically. "I'm afraid I exploit theexposure," she says. "When I first started touring with the summershow, we made a point of making up the whole acrobatic team to looklike me, and Lu-Lu had at least one other person in cat-face wheneverwe went out. I believed it was for my protection, but later, I thathe wasn't above using a gimmick. We carried cards for the show withus wherever we went, and when someone gawked at us, we handed them acard, and told then to come see us.

"I exploited the same trick when we started the stage troupe. The press became interested in me, and we marketed the "mystery ofLeonie" until we were blue in the face. Once people came to see us,we knew we had to give them a good show - but that was the easy part. The first job was to get everyone's attention."

"Has no one ever wanted to... to study you?"

A hesitation, small, but there. "Perhaps, when I was small. Iwouldn't know. Lord knows, in my profession, I need a lot ofdoctoring, spraining and breaking things. The company doctor knowsme well."

"And he does not reveal what he knows to the press?" Vincentasks. She shakes her head.

"But," says Samantha. "The press know about you already."

"They know what I look like. They think it's make-up, or thatI've had some sort of plastic surgery. The big desire is to catch aphotograph of my 'real' face."

"And so the press follow you everywhere," Mary says.

"Quite so."

"That seems horrible to me," says Father.

"It brought an audience into the theater," she says. "It madeus famous. It gave us the chance to show what we could do."

"It's the opposite of the life Vincent has lead," says Father."On the other hand, if there were a soul who knows why you are theway you are, he would have come forward by now."

Another hesitation. "I'm not sure that would be good forbusiness."

*****

It's late when they wander to the guest chamber. In the courseof the late evening, they had been joined by Pascal, and William, andRebecca, and half a dozen others who found an excuse to come saygood night to Father that night. The resulting impromptu party wenton till after midnight. "What a family," she says. "You arelucky."

"Yes." They smile at each other. "Now more then ever," hesays. "You know, perhaps our childhoods weren't so different. I hada group of friends who knew me, and accepted me for what I am. Wehad countless adventures down here, and Above, at night. And theyprotected me from the World Above, when we went too far, and riskedmeeting people who could cause us - me - harm. When it came to theWorld Above, none of us really fit in there. Our World was so muchsafer, to us."

"We had sawdust and trapezes. You had tunnels anddarkness."

"Darkness isn't so bad."

"Nor are trapezes. But plenty of people are afraid ofthem."

"Just so."

Now what? They stand at a crossroads they hadn't anticipated. Parting. She moves into his arms, and feels the power of histhoughts surge through her. And she feels a happiness that echoesher own. She's been poised all night, but now... now she is awkward,and so is he. When she leaves his embrace, he stands still, andeasily, as if he's always watched her walk away. Just as she hasschooled herself to control her anger, he has learned to master hisimpulses, restrain his happiness. Catherine hardly feels hisyearning when she turns away from him to climb that ladder, butVictoire is not Catherine. She sees the effort in his apparent calm. And it brings her back into his arms. "Dream of me," she whispers,and he chuckles.

"How can I not?"

And she breaks away from him to enter her room. His footstepsrecede down the passage as she stands inside the doorway and listens. She takes stock of the chamber, warm with candle light, and almostfilled with the old oak bed. She pulls her clothes off absently, andthen dives into her bag.

Minutes later, she is perched cross-legged on the bed, brushingher hair. She is dressed in satin pajamas the color of autumnleaves, and the matching robe lies across the coverlet next to her. She can feel him moving about his own chamber, readying for bed. Shecan feel his wistfulness, matching hers. Perhaps it's a strangeblessing that he cannot feel her as she feels him. The power isstill there in him, broken, but healing. If his sense was as strongas hers, they could move into each other's souls with much too muchease, and then what? Both of them such strong individuals, how wouldthey do, drowning in each other? On the one hand, the thought isromantic, and draws her. On the other, she finds the logical extremedaunting. There are depths to him that frighten her, just as sheyearns to explore them.

She leaves the bed, and seats herself upon the cold stonefloor. Long ago, she learned that she could clear her mind while shestretched her muscles, and she would slip into a near-meditation whenshe warmed up for practice. She adopted the habit when she neededto calm fears, or restore order to her thoughts, and now she slidesinto the routine, stretching over her knees and listening to herheart beat, and the air move through her body. One with her world,she lets the world slip through her limbs, and out into theether.

In his chamber, he settles into his bed. Through walls ofrock, he imagines that he feels Victoire, as he felt Catherine whenshe was in that room.

"I will feel for both of us," she'd said. And she has, slidingthrough his thoughts with a tenderness and understanding that no oneelse could give him - not even Catherine, who could love him with allher heart and soul, and accept him utterly, but never could she knowwhat Victoire knows. More than this: he cannot shake the convictionthat somehow, she knows why she is the way she is. She knows whereshe's come from. And she has hidden that from him, although he can'timagine why she would.

He sits up to rest his head on his knees, and reaches forCatherine, as his habit has been for years. But she's too far away. Sometimes, when he has her in his arms, he thinks there could bestirrings of the bond, but here, Below, it's as if she doesn't exist. Last night, with Victoire and Catherine together, he could almostbelieve that the old power could come back, as if he could channel itthrough Victoire.

There's a lot that comes from Victoire. So much of what shesaid today made sense to him. And she struck a cord within him thathas shown him a chance for peace. She is so like him. And sodifferent. How has he lived all his life without her? And how willhe bear it when she leaves?

She sits up abruptly. She heard that cry in his heart. Howwill he bear it? How will she? When she leaves, it will be theeffort of her will that will carry her away from him, not his. Andthen she makes a decision.

He raises his head as she enters his chamber. She stops nextto the bed, tosses her robe across its foot. "All my life, you'vebeen half a world away, and now I cannot bear to have you a few feetdown the corridor. Move over. I'm staying here"

He reaches to stop her as she pulls back the covers. "Victoire, you can't..."

"Shhh!", she says. He watches in surprise as she curls up nextto him, her back to him. "Go to sleep!" After a moment'sconsideration, he lies beside her, snuggles in spoon-style. When hethrows his arm around her, she accepts him with a sigh. He can'tresist the thoughts he'd had earlier.

"When are you going to tell me?"

"When I'm sure."

It is enough. Before he knows it, he is asleep.

*****

Late in the night, Victoire is awakened by a dream of horror: a far off voice, low and menacing, uttering muffled words that sizzlewith venom. And near-by, a child cries in fear and betrayal,begging, begging: "Daddy! No!", with such anguish that she isawakened by her desire to go to that child. As she struggles toconsciousness, she realizes that it isn't even her dream that haspierced her so, but Vincent's, and he is still in its grip.

She leans over him, caresses his face, whispers his name, buthe does not wake. Just as she's about to shake him, he jolts up,gasping. She catches him in her arms. "Vincent!"

Panicked, he grips her with a short snarl, but she shakes him. "It's me!"

He stares at her in the dim light from the stained glasswindow. "Victoire?"

"What did you dream?"

"God, no! I can't..."

"Darling, tell me. What else am I here for? Tell me."

He props his arms on his knees, and rests his head on hishands, trying to slow his racing heart. "Nightmares are a fact oflife," he says.

She waits.

"They used to be continuous, sometimes so much so that I didn'tknow if I was asleep and dreaming, or awake and hallucinating. Andit was always the same sort of thing: killing and more killing. Thesmell of terror and blood, and their screams in my head, and thathorrible sickening feeling of life draining away under myhands..."

"Is that what you just dreamed?" she asks, knowing that itwasn't.

He shakes his head. "No. Lately, it's more often ... What Itold you about my last confrontation with Paracelsus, what was said,what he did. .. I don't remember any of it when I'm awake. I try torecall just how it all happened. I can't. But in my dreams... WhatI told you was what I recall from my dreams."

She fights the tears that are in her eyes. He is the child sheheard, begging his father not to tell him these lies, not to tell himwhat he does not want to hear. Begging for love, and safety, andtrust, and hearing only betrayal and death. She pulls him into herarms, brings him to lie with his head on her shoulder.

"I know I killed him. And I know that, somehow he goaded me toit. But I don't know why, Victoire. I can't be sure why. And inthe dreams, Victoire, it isn't Paracelsus that I see, even at theend. It's always Father. It doesn't matter who was really there. Islaughtered my own Father. You can't imagine what it felt like tosee him pull off that mask, and to turn around and see Father, alive,and whole, and... horrified, standing there, watching Paracelsusdie..." Finally, tears come. Have they ever come till now? Itdoesn't matter. She holds him tightly until her arms ache. She doesnot try to quiet him - he's silenced himself for so long.

Eventually, he falls asleep, and she can feel that it is a truesleep this time. She lies awake longer, staring at the patterns ofthe golden window.

Jean-Luc Dedeaux looks up as Catherine enters his room. Hesmiles gratefully. "Ah! Mlle. Chandler! How kind of you to comevisit an old man!"

"You remember me?"

"You speak French? Wonderful! Of course I remember you! I'vehad a heart attack, not a stroke! How could I forget such a lovelyface?"

"How, indeed? Tell me how you're feeling."

"I am a pincushion! Look!" he holds up an arm with an IV,another with Band-Aids from blood-drawing. "And still they insistthat all this is to save my life!" he takes her hand. "I must thankyou for looking after my little Vicki. It gives me great peace ofmind that she has found a friend."

"I'm glad I can help."

Something else occurs to him, and he sits bolt upright, settingoff beeps and chimes. "Do you know what else they told me?"

"What?"

"I must stop smoking! Who ever heard of such a thing? I'vebeen smoking for almost fifty years!"

"Fifty years! That long?"

"Yes. And they think I should stop."

"Well, I don't know M. Dedeaux. After fifty years of doingsomething, you must have it right. Isn't it time to do somethingelse?"

He laughs at her, and pats her hand. "Tell me. What hashappened to Victoire?"

"What do you mean? Was she supposed to come this morning?"

"No, no. Suddenly, she's so different. So alive. Almost asif she is in love." He doesn't notice that Catherine looks as she'sbeen struck. "And she's keeping a secret from me. She never doesthat. If there's something she doesn't want me to know, Vicki is thesort to come right out and tell me so."

"She was scared to death for you. Perhaps she's happy abouthow well you're doing."

*****

Later, Victoire breezes into Jean-Luc's room, bearing flowersand a French newspaper. She kisses him soundly. "Did yousleep?"

"Have you ever tried to sleep in one if these places?"

"Er, no. That bad, eh?"

"I want to go home."

"Well, the good news is that they say you'll live to dothat."

"Are the others off?"

"Their plane leaves at five. I went to the theater to see tothe packing up of the equipment, and it's all loaded up. I thinkthat rear scaffold needs to be redesigned. It doesn't fold up theway we'd planned."

"What are you going to do when the others are gone? Is Etiennestaying with you?"

"No, I made him go. It will be just you and me. I'm movingout of the hotel, though."

"And going where?"

She sits in the chair next to the bed, and thinks for a moment. "There's something you should know."

"Ah! Here it comes!"

"Here comes what?"

"Little One, you can't hide anything from me. I raised you. You've had something under your hat for two days now."

She smiles at him so fondly that they almost forget what theyare discussing. But then: "I don't know where to begin," shesays.

"Perhaps from the beginning?"

"That would take too long. Remember I told you that I feltthat something was waiting in New York?"

"Yes."

"Well, it wasn't something, it was someone."

"And you are in love?"

"Always the romantic. Not exactly. Lu-Lu, he is mydouble."

"Another lion?"

She nods.

"And this is good?"

She laughs. "Don't worry, he isn't publicity minded."

"Good, because it would never do if the press..."

"Stop! Everything isn't the business, Lu-Lu. Sometimesthere's the rest of life, you know."

"Who says?"

A knock at the door interrupts them. When it opens, it is thewhite-haired man who had been at the theater.

"Helmutt!" Jean-Luc cries.

"Good afternoon." The man crosses the room to warmly shakeJean-Luc's hand, and then gives Victoire a huge hug.

"I am so glad to see you," she says.

"Are you, my dear?"

"Of course I am."

"It's taken you a long time to come to America."

"I know, and that was silly of me. But I've gotten over itwell."

"And taken New York by storm." He turns back to Jean-Luc. "And so, my friend, how are you?"

"They try to tell me that I have to stop smoking!"

"And well they should."

"There is no one who will give me sympathy on this."

"Not in this hospital. Now, Vicki. What are you doing whileLu-Lu is convalescing? Could you bear to stay with Mama Edna andme?"

"Thank you, Papa, but I have made arrangements to stay with afriend."

"She won't tell me who," say Jean-Luc.

"Not so. But I'm glad you're here now, because I have somequestions about the age-old topic. With a new twist."

"You know I'll tell you anything I can, but I think there can'tbe much more."

"About me? Nothing more. It's about the other baby..."

*****

Catherine drops a stack of files on her desk and sinks into thechair with a sigh. So she had a sleepless night. And she's feelingpretty insecure. Nice she can count on the pace at work to keep herdistracted from her troubles. She runs her finger down the tabs onthe files, frowning at the labels. Which one to choose first?

Her phone rings. Saved by the bell. "This is CatherineChandler."

"Ms. Chandler? This is Sgt. Miller at the front deskdownstairs." Sgt. Miller sounds definitely uncomfortable. "You, um,have a visitor, ma'am, um..." His voice disappears and Catherine canhear the receiver travel.

"Catherine?"

"Victoire?"

"Are you too busy for a brief break?"

"Of course not! Let me tell the Sergeant to let you upstairs." This was going to be interesting. She glances around the room atall the people going about routine duties as she walks over to theelevator. It would probably be best if she took Victoire to theconference room. The elevator opens, and there's Victoire.

Something changes in the air as she greets the lion goddess. The rattle of keyboards has faded. An intern staresopen-mouthed.

Catherine can't help but laugh as Victoire makes her way acrossthe din of curiosity, chatting to Catherine as if she's never noticedthat she's caused a stir. The denim coat swirls around her as shewalks, and Catherine wonders if Victoire has found a way to make itdo that. She leads her into the conference room, and firmly closesthe door on all the faces outside. "What brings you here?" sheasks.

"Oh, I came to cause trouble." Victoire seats herself, dropsthe coat over the back of the chair, fluffs her hair.

"Really? Well, you have caused a quiet riot," says Catherine. "You'll be the talk of the place all week."

"Think they'd buy tickets if we came back next year?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"I brought you something," says Victoire. She draws a heavypaper sack from the folds of the coat, and sets in on the table. "Iguessed you might not have had much good for lunch..."

"Oh, my God! What have you done?" Catherine drawls as sherecognizes the printing on the sack.

Victoire pulls an ice cream sundae concoction out and hands itto Catherine. "I succumbed to temptation." She produces another forherself, and spoons.

Catherine inspects the temptation with glee. "You're right. This is lunch. Thank you so much!"

The next few moments are devoted to the adoration of ice creamfor both of them. Presently Catherine asks quietly, and in French:"Did you go Below last night?"

"Yes, after the show. And I met Father and Mary and a dozenothers last night. This morning, at breakfast.." All she can do ismake a helpless gesture.

Catherine chuckles. "Mob scene?"

"Am I expected to remember everyone's name?"

"I'm afraid so. You'll do fine."

"Everyone was so warm, and kind. And the children arewonderful. It's an unimaginable community. There may be nothing newunder the sun - but under the earth... Strange that that was wherethey had to go to make such a home."

Catherine peers at her over the rim of her ice cream cup,suspicion growing. "You didn't like it..."

"Is that horrible of me?" Victoire looks worried. "I could notlive there forever - never see the sun. I'd go mad, wonderful aseveryone is. Their hospitality is a dream! ... Am I horrible?"

Catherine smiles. "No. Does Vincent know?"

"Heavens, no! I'll never say so. And I don't mind goingthere, at all. I just couldn't live there."

"How long do you think you might stay?"

Victoire shakes her head sadly. "I have my work, and mygymnastics school, and I must go back." She looks a little helpless. "How am I going to do that?"

Catherine finds a stab of jealousy conflicting with hersympathy. "I thought of moving away from him once," she says. "Icouldn't do it."

"You'd better not!" Catherine blinks questioningly at her. "Idon't think he could survive without you," says Victoire. She putsher sundae down on the table with some resolution. "Look. It isn'tjust the Hell that Paracelsus put him through. He's driving himselfwith guilt over every life he's taken. Every violent encounter growsin his mind until he's sure that he deserves nothing good. But helives for you. I think you're the only reason he's alive rightnow."

Catherine contemplates this with mixed feelings. "Most ofthose violent encounters were because of me. I seem to be unable tostay out of harm's way - and sometimes I think that I take risksbecause I know he'll be there to help me."

"Perhaps you do. And maybe it's time for you to change how youtake those risks. But don't spend too much time worrying about thepast. It's done - and it isn't as if those lives were lostfrivolously. He needs to find a safer way to express his love foryou. It's been said that a man has no greater love than to lay downhis life for others. Perhaps there is one greater thing: to killfor a loved one. But that can only go on for so long. He needs toknow that he can stop."

"I've been thinking along the same lines."

"There is something I can do for him."

"What is that?"

"Can you come Below tonight? Before dinner?"

"Of course," mystified. Is this a change of subject?

Victoire smiles at her puzzled frown. "He needs you there whenhe hears this."

*****

Victoire steps from a taxi. She strikes out for an address -if it can be called an address - where she means to meet Vincent. She passes two ratty-looking young men, who see her face, and grin ateach other. They have found some sport. They start to follow her. She is aware of them, and is wary, but something in her manner is alittle disdainful. They catch up with her as she reaches an alley,and flank her.

"Hey, funky lady. Aren't you a little far from the Village inthat get-up?"

"Don't feel bad if you are. We like a little wild life."

They find themselves amusing. She gives them a cold glance,and walks on, but they block her way.

"Don't be so cold, baby. We wanna invite you for a party."

"Whatsa matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Her scorn becomes intense, and she pushes the first one out ofher way. He experiences a moment of doubt when he feels the strengthin her arm, but his buddy pulls her down the alley, and he goesalong.

"Come with us a minute," says the second man.

"You won't like it", she says. The deadly quiet of her voiceshould be warning enough, but they are too cocky, and too drunk, tonotice.

"Oh, yeah? Get this, man, and what you gonna do?"

"Let go of me."

The second man shoves her against a wall. "When I'm ready." He grabs her face roughly, and moves in to kiss, when she snarls athim. It gives him pause, but not enough. He moves toward her again,when she roars, and he jerks as if something has happened to hismidsection. And indeed, it has. She has raked her claws through hisclothes, and serrated the skin of his side. He clutches at thewound, and then he finds himself flying across the alley, hitting thewall hard. He slumps to the ground, and looks at his bloody hands. The first man pulls a knife. He'd run, but Victoire is between himand freedom. When he lunges clumsily for her, she grabs the knifehand and swings him around, roaring in his ear. She throws him ontop of his friend, and he finds he has embedded his knife in his ownthigh. They try to scramble to their feet, and the first man makesto move towards her, but she starts at them, flinging her arms in theair, and snarling like some monster out of B-grade horror movie. They fall back on each other, then they start crawling for the streetin a blind panic. She advances on them as they go, snarling softly. At the very edge of the alley, one of them looks back at her, and hisface registers a look of greater terror. He screams, staggers to hisfeet, and runs. She watches them run down the street, with her handson her hips, and an attitude like that of a lady shooing small boysaway from her apple tree.

Then she turns and smiles at Vincent. He had burst into thefoot of the alley in time to see Victoire throw a grown man throughthe air, and he stopped when he realized that she was not the one indanger. He watched in fascination as she drove them away, and as hisown appearance sent the last man out in blind panic.

She saunters up to him, still smiling. "Good afternoon. Friendly people you have here in New York."

"We need to get out of sight," he says, and taking her hand, heleads her down a staircase into a basement. He leads her through ahole in the basement wall, and into the tunnels.

"Where are we going today?"

"I have somewhere to show you."

*****

They sit on a rock outcropping in the waterfall chamber. Shehas her head on his shoulder, and he has his arm around her. Thesight of the glittering water, and the river, fills her with quietawe that she waits a long time to explain.

"I have seen this before", she finally says. "In my dreams,when times are bad. I dream I am here, listening to the water,except in my dream I can feel the spray on my face. And I alwayswake up feeling better."

"This is a part of our world I especially love." He fallssilent for a while, watching the water, feeling her warmth next tohim. She sees his waterfall. The meaning of this grows on him, andhis amazement distracts him until she pokes him in the side.

"You're keeping me in suspense!" she laughs.

He smiles. "I dream of a garden, and a bench under a tree. Ithink it's a lemon tree." He can feel her smile. "And a white housewith red tile roof, and flowers everywhere."

"Like a Van Gogh painting?" He nods. "Vincent, that's thegarden of my house."

They sit up, and look at each other. Finally he grunts, "huh",and they laugh.

"All along," she says. "We've been here all along." Shesettles against his shoulder again, and starts to play with his hand. "How I wish you could really see it." She looks up at him, ready tobeg him to come with her - but no. "Let's not talk about it."

"There's something I would like to talk about."

"And what is that?"

"Those men in the alley..."

"Hardly worth the effort of thought. That sort exists all overthe world."

'The thing is... I couldn't help but think..."

"What?"

"You enjoyed that."

"Once it became inevitable, I suppose I did. Drunks can be sostupid."

"Were you afraid that you could have killed them?"

"I never intended to. Fools learn more from terror than actualharm. Of course, one does have a knife wound that will likely needattention. I wonder what the doctor will think of his story?" Shesmiles up at Vincent. He remains unhappy. "What is it?"

"It was like I was watching myself, there in that alley. Andyou were holding back..." He turns to face her. "I know the powerin the wellspring of anger. Blackness rises in my mind - it blocksall other thought, until it seems I'm entranced by it. For me, theonly thing to follow is self-hatred. But you. You reveled in it. And you controlled it."

"Yes."

"Why do I find that in itself frightening?"

"I learned early about my strength, and I learned early tocontrol my miserable temper. The discipline of Savate is.. well, adiscipline. Just as I had to defend myself, I had to learn how tobrake my anger, how to command it, and not be commanded by it.

"I think, my darling, you have never learned that the violenceof your anger can be controlled, even as you let it loose. You keepsuch a terrible rein on yourself that you don't know how to deal witha very basic emotion when it presents itself. To you, it's all ornothing, non ?"

He ponders this. "Most of the time." Those times he stalkedmen in the tunnels who came to deal death to his family, howeverrepugnant to him now, were taken with method, and no emotion. He hasmulled over these memories for several moments before he realizes herpresence, not just beside him, but within him, watching some part ofhis memories with understanding. For a moment, he realizes that thisis what Catherine has experienced when he has been in her thoughts -but it seems to him that Victoire can probe deeper than he could. How far can she take this?

She reaches for him, and pulls him into herself, almost as ifshe intends to remove his misery by her touch. He buries his headinto her shoulder.

"I'm afraid, Victoire. I don't understand what happens whenthat black tide carries me beyond... I loathe myself."

"You let your passion frighten you."

"Why shouldn't it?"

"It isn't for you to fear it. Rage, and your strength, areyour servants to command. They deserve no respect from you, onlyfrom those you oppose. If you respect and fear your own anger, itgets away from you: what good is your action if the first person youfrighten is yourself? If you're into a fray, there must be reason,and there must be something important at stake. Why waste time withphilosophy? It is battle, and battle is best engaged with a strategyin mind."

She says all this so simply, with the straightforward grace hehas heard from himself. He looks to her to see if she is joking, butshe returns his gaze, with all the blue-eyed serenity they share.

"And sometimes, when you are out in the world, no matter howstrong your principles, or your will, some stranger will force you toviolence. That happens to anyone, you know. Some people succumb,and are hurt or killed. Some fight back."

"But when we fight back, we have an unfair advantage."

"There are no unfair advantages in war," she retorts sharply. "There is nothing unfair about defense. If there is a choice betweenthe health and welfare of someone who means me harm, and the welfareof my self or someone I love - phaugh! That is not a choice! Thereis one regret that is impossible to swallow: hanging back andallowing evil to occur."

"You truly believe the evil is not in yourself?"

She smiles sadly. "There is evil in everyone, Vincent. How canthere not be? But that evil does not lie in our shape. It lies inour minds, and our hearts. It isn't my claws that make me good orbad. It is, indeed, in how I use them. The same goes for you. Itold you, my love. All that is the best, and the worst in me lies inmy humanity, nowhere else. It doesn't need to be anywhere else."

"I wish I could be as sure."

"Trust me. Not only that, but the rage you fear doesn't havethe power you imagine that it does. There is only one emotion thatcan so consume a mind that it removes all self control, all awarenessof anything but the self. And rage is not it."

"What is?"

"Joy, my love. Joy."

He absorbs this with some doubt. "I've forgotten joy. I don'teven know that I recall rage anymore."

"You feel numb inside?" His answer is a dull nod. "It isn'tjust that you can't feel your loved ones, but that you can't seem tofeel you own feelings?"

He stares at her with incomprehension. She smiles. "I wentthrough a rather bad depression some years ago," she says. "Ithought I'd lost myself forever. I couldn't think right. I couldn'tfeel - except despair. It was awful. And it ended."

"Do you know what ... sent you there?"

She shrugs. "It started right after Tante Emilie died. Fortunately, Lu-Lu knew what to do. And there are medicines. Still,it was a bad winter. And it was only a winter." She smiles again. "As I said: it ends."

*****

Catherine steps over the threshold beneath her building, andinto Vincent's arms. She clings to him, and realizes that he allowsa greater intimacy in the embrace than she's ever felt before. Shenuzzles into the folds of his cloak to stifle a small irrational sobof relief.

"What is it?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Honestly, nothing."

"Catherine."

"Honestly. I just had a thought that..." This isembarrassing.

"What?"

"That now that Victoire is here, you could forget me." Sheraises her head to glance shyly at him. Tenderly, he lays hisfingers against her cheek. She leans into his hand, savoring a touchhe's never braved before.

"I could never do that."

*****

Victoire sits at the table in Vincent's chamber, engrossed inthe laptop computer she has propped in front of her. She drums herlacquered claws on the table top, frowning at the spreadsheet on thescreen. Father stops at the door of the chamber to take in thissight. How many times has he seen Vincent seated, deep in thought,in just that chair? She looks so like him, the way she leans herhead on her hand. And yet, she carries an air of strangeness thatjars Father - and the bit of advanced technology that sits before herisn't all there is to it. She turns and smiles at him - Vincent'ssmile, surely, and yet with a feminine flair that makes himblush.

"Do I disturb you?" he asks.

"You are a welcome disturbance," she says. "I'm mulling overthe accounts for the tour, and at the moment, they make littlesense."

"Let me see this contraption you have here," he says. "What isthat?"

"It's a personal computer," she says. "It's been very good tohave, to keep track of all those millions of things I need to know tokeep this company running."

She smiles at his fascinated stare. "How is it powered?" heasks.

"There's a battery that holds its charge for several hours. Iplug it into any electrical outlet to recharge it."

"And you keep your accounts on it?"

She shuts down the spreadsheet program. "Accounts. Correspondence. And other things." She opens up a program andsmiles up at him.

"Chess!"

"Indeed. Care to give it a try?"

"Do you ever win?"

"Sometimes."

He pulls up a chair, and sits. "What do I do?"

Half an hour and two very short beginner's-level games later,he sits back in consternation. "And you say you can beat thisthing?"

"Sometimes."

"I confess to a great deal of admiration for your prowess."

"Of course, the format could also throw you off your game."

"In which case, allow me to challenge you to an old-fashionedgame, on a board that doesn't glow."

"I'd love to, but may I ask that it be later? Vincent will behere soon, and there's something I want to discuss with you beforedinner."

"Where is Vincent?"

"He's gone to meet Catherine."

Almost as if on cue, Vincent and Catherine appear in thechamber door, with Mary.

"Ah, Vincent! Victoire has been showing me new ways to lose atchess!" says Father. He rises to embrace Catherine, murmuring in herear: "Just what I needed."

Vincent gazes at the game set up on Victoire's screen. "Howcan you win against a computer?"

"With difficulty," Victoire replies, shutting the computerdown. "But I've done it."

"Victoire says she wants to talk to us before dinner," saysFather.

Vincent gives her a searching look. "You've learned what youwanted to know?"

"Yes." She sits on the bed, props herself against the pillowsat its head. The others take seats as well. Victoire gathers herthoughts for a moment, and then she begins: "You assume that I wasborn in France because I said I was raised there. Well. I was bornhere. In New York City. The story of that birth has always been aclose secret - first to protect someone, then to enhance the boxoffice, so to speak. Although, truth be told, the true story of whyI am Leonie would cause quite a stir." She settles into the pillowsat the head of the bed. "I'm not sure it would be a good stir.

"I spent the first six years of my life in the home of a Dr.Helmutt Brauhier."

"I think I know that name," says Father.

Victoire nods. "Well you might. He an obstetrician, aboutyour age, and a geneticist, and the chairman of the GeneticsDepartment at one of the Universities here. I've long thought he wasthe greatest victim of this story. Now I think he may be the onlyone.

"When I was six, he took me to Europe. His intention was totake me to family he had in Austria, where I could grow up inrelative obscurity. But we stopped in Paris, and I changed his plansrather radically.

"I was quite adventurous, and rebellious even then. I ranaway, for a lark, and I got lost. Jean-Luc Dedeaux found me. Therest you can guess. It took poor Papa Helmutt two years to findme."

"Why so long?" asks Catherine.

"Well, as far as anyone else knew, I didn't exist. He couldn'tgo to the police and ask for help. He couldn't let anyone know whatI was like. It was a challenge. I thought he did rather wellfinding me at all. I found out today that Lu-Lu had actually writtento him and told him where I was. The rat - he never told methat."

"Why do you object to that?" asks Vincent.

"Oh. I don't mind that he contacted Papa. I mind that henever told me. At any rate, Papa came to the South of France to seeme that summer, and I was simply hateful to him. When I lived in hishouse, I'd been kept hidden. He and his wife were so afraid that mydiscovery would cause trouble - for him and for me. I was a greatthreat to his career, you see. Even at that age, I needed myfreedom.

"I'm rambling. On my sixteenth birthday, Papa sent me a letterdescribing the circumstances of my birth. The original is in a safein France. I keep a copy with me when I travel. Perhaps the easiestway to do this is for you to read this, Vincent." She pulls a thickenvelope from her purse, and hands it to Vincent. "It also appliesto you."

His hand trembles a little as he opens the envelope, and slowlyunfolds the papers. "It's your copy," Victoire says.

"This is.." he says, and falters.

"This is it, my love. The fantastic story that resultedin...us."

He's almost afraid. He looks into her eyes for a long moment,trying to find some hint. Then she smiles at him. "Just readit."

And he does. "My dear Vicki," it begins.

"I want to wish a very Happy Sixteenth Birthday! I think thatthis is the birthday upon which you deserve to learn how you came tobe as you are. Keep this letter safe. It may be a help to you. Itmay also do you great harm.

"When I was just starting my career, I did a great deal ofresearch on early embryonic development. The techniques formaintaining cells alive in culture - living in a test tube - werejust new then, and we were learning how to maintain embryos inculture, at least for a short while. My partner was a brilliantgeneticist and veterinarian named Patrick Meecham. Together westudied the earliest form of the embryo, called the morula, which has16 cells or fewer. (You may have already studied about this inschool: the fertilized egg divides into two cells, then four, theneight, and so on. At those stages, the embryo remains a solid ball. After the sixteen-cell stage, it starts to organize its parts into adifferent configuration.) We used anything we could get: chicks,rats. Sometimes we fertilized the eggs in a petri dish. Meechambecame very good at that technique. We watched the clusters of cellsorganize themselves and migrate around as they tried to form a newcreature, and we took notes on everything we saw."

"Meecham," says Father. "I remember that name, too. It isn'tvery common for a veterinarian to come to medical society meetings,but he did. I guess he came with Brauhier."

"You remember him?" asks Victoire.

"He was hard to forget. He was a tall charismatic Irishman,all red hair and ruddy cheeks, full of bluster and yarns. Held hiswhisky rather well, and yes, he was a genius. A loud one. Somepeople didn't like him much, because he was so.. Oh, all I canthink of is 'over-the-top'. But he was brilliant. I think I couldrecognize Brauhier, now, too."

"Really?"

"Yes. A bit taller than I am. Broad-shouldered. Germanaccent. Rather shy, especially compared to Meecham."

"Yes."

"I didn't know you were interested in reproductive sciences,Father," says Vincent.

"The medical community was smaller then, especially among thebasic scientists. We had some rather eclectic meetings. Never mindthat. Go on."

And Vincent reads on: "I had finished my residency inObstetrics, and I was just starting out in my own practice. In thecourse of patient treatment, in a day when our treatment options werefew, I performed hysterectomies on many young women. Carefulpathologic examination of the organs I removed from these womenproduced, every so often, an egg in the Fallopian tube. These findsI stored, frozen, not knowing what else to do with them.

"My partner knew about them, since I kept them at the lab weshared, but we never discussed them. I never dreamt that they mightbe viable, but Meecham thought otherwise. He was the staffveterinarian at the zoo, and he had had to perform a hysterectomy ona lioness who turned out to be pregnant. He salvaged eight embryosfrom the uterus, and froze them next to my human eggs.

"I think what happened next may have been triggered by thetragic loss of Pat Meecham's little sister, who died of kidneyfailure. She was a good ten years younger than he was, and he adoredher. He kept talking about how he should have known how to save herlife. I suppose I should have thought that something beyond normalgrief was at work, but I missed the signs. God forgive me, Meechamwas going mad before my eyes, and I never noticed until it was toolate.

"As I said, maintaining embryonic tissue in culture was new. The techniques that became the almost routine methods for in vitrofertilization, and surrogate gestation, were things of which we onlydreamed. Some researchers have done experiments wherein they fusedembryos from two different individuals, and incubated them to theircomplete forms. These mixed forms are called 'mosaics'. The bestknown of these experiments involved differing species of salamanders,but to date, there are no published efforts involving mammals. Meecham not only dreamed of artificial gestation, he plannedtechniques. He also overstepped the bounds of ethics.

"He later told me that his fantasy was to develop a method ofcreating organs that could be transplanted into those in need, likehis sister. He dreamed of a safe, plentiful supply of donor organs,and he thought he'd found a way to achieve this. Unbeknownst to me,he began a series of experiments involving his lion embryos - and myfrozen human ova. There is a way to separate the cells in a morula. If ones does so, and allows the separate cells to sit, they divide onas if they are newly fertilized eggs themselves. And form new,identical, individuals. You know this happens in nature from time totime, and a woman will bear identical twins.

"Meecham fused the cells of human and lion embryos, thinkingthat the lesser life form would act as a vehicle for the humanorgans, serving as an incubator of sorts until the vehicle wassacrificed to give up the donor organ. I don't know how many of hisinitial attempts failed, but he finally found a way to produce aviable product.

"The first batch of successes, Meecham implanted in a lionessat the zoo. How he thought he could risk the life of one his chargeswithout having to answer a lot of questions later, I'll never know. He was behaving pretty strangely by that time, and I worried a littleabout him, but I was also seeing very little of him. The unfortunatelioness suffered a prolonged gestation, and a difficult delivery ofthree badly deformed, nonviable cubs. He wrapped them up, andbrought them to our lab. While walking in from his car, he fearedthat someone was following him, and he hide the most unusual cub -one shaped not like a cat, but like a human baby - in some debrisunder a dumpster outside the hospital where our lab was."

Vincent's voice fails at this point. He stares into space,stunned. Finally, he looks to Victoire, and then to Father, who hastears in his eyes. "Dear God," he whispers. He looks back at thepage in his trembling hand, and then gives it to Catherine. "Please," he says, "will you?"

She takes the sheaf of papers, and reads: "When he went back toretrieve the corpse of that failure, he could not find it. Heassumed that some wandering dog had taken it. I remember I found himin the lab that morning, very distressed, alternately raging andweeping. I thought that the loss of these lion cubs reminded himsomehow of his dead sister, and I begged him to go home. I neverexamined the little corpses. I never questioned.

"Meecham had time to try once more before he went perfectlymad. This time, he found a human surrogate mother, a young womanwhom he promised a large sum of money. Who knows what he told her,but he impregnated her with his last unbelievable experiment, andshortly afterwards, suffered a complete breakdown of mania."

"Oh, no," murmurs Father.

"A few weeks later, the woman came to the lab, at firstdemanding her money, and then begging for help. I had no idea whatshe was talking about, and she had no clue what she carried.

"I went to the asylum to see if I could learn anything fromMeecham, and it was then that I learned of the incredible things hehad done. Alternating between grandiose triumph, and wild despair,he told me the whole story. He told me where his notebooks werehidden, and even begged me to carry on in his place! The interviewended with his obsessing on the whereabouts of the biped cub's corpse- there was an element of paranoia that some unseen rival hadpurloined the specimen, and was even "beating him to it", whateverthat was.

" I remember telling the psychiatrist at the asylum that Icould not make heads or tails of Meecham's ramblings. It's a wonderI didn't suffer a breakdown of my own at that point. My partner inresearch had endangered a young woman's life after nearly killing alioness, and losing lives that were half human anyway. That youngwoman was wandering around the city - I was nearly frantic with fearthat she would go into labor and go to a hospital - and then what? If this became public knowledge, my career would be ruined. Guilt byassociation, and Meecham was not able to answer for his own crimes.

"Secretly, and terrified, I delivered that second baby - you,Vicki. Your first few days were tenuous at best, but you rallied,and you throve, the world's only living human mosaic.

"I never told him about your birth. I lacked the courage, andwhen I did go to see him, he'd become nearly mute as he descendedonto the depressive phase of his illness. He occasionally mumbledsome words, most often calling his sister's name. I didn't admit toanyone that I knew what the rest was about. Not long after, hemanaged to kill himself, even in the asylum.

"As you grew, I constantly marveled at your intelligence. Ednaand I may have made a mistake in keeping you so closely guarded, butwe meant to do right by you. I admit, I think of you now, and Icannot think of Patrick Meecham's effort as a total failure, or evenas evil. That isn't possible.

"This is your story, my dear. Write to me with your questions. Mama Edna and I want to come to France in the summer. Perhaps wewill see you then."

Catherine stops reading. They sit in a shocked silence.

"So, my love, that's what you are", says Victoire. "Not somehell-born demon. Just one of earth's creatures. Born of two ofearth's creatures, like me. A commonplace human. A commonplacelion."

"A remarkable result," say Father.

"But not mysterious. Not even a new species."

Vincent says nothing.

"Can you tell," asks Mary, "which part of you is fromwhich..."

"Donor? Most definitely. I've learned a bit more embryologyin my day than the average aerialist. After the morula stage, theembryo starts to flatten out, and the cells wind up in sheets." Sheholds her hands out, one on top of the other. "The cells move about,and, since there are so few of them, a single cell can give rise toan entire organ. The cells on top make the nervous system. Themiddle cells form heart and muscle. The inner cells form the gut,and so forth. Wherever one of those 16 cells goes, it stays, andcontributes to specific parts of the body. Very few of my organsystems are mixed. My heart and kidneys are leonine, my gut andliver are human. And, obviously, my brain is human."

"How do you know?" asks Catherine. "About your heart andliver, I mean?"

"For the heart, mostly by the shape. And then there's thelabwork. My liver functions are perfectly normal for a human, and mykidneys function along lion parameters."

"Well that would explain Vincent's unusual physiology. It'sprobably quite normal," says Father. "If we just knew what we werelooking at."

"What keeps your body from rejecting organs?" asks Mary.

"I have bone marrow from both sides, and have had from thebeginning. So I have white cells from each species that recognizeboth sets of native organs. That is one of the happier things. Whatgerms the human cells are susceptible to, the lion cells are not, andvice versa. I'm rarely sick."

"Neither is Vincent," says Mary.

"Vincent," says Catherine. "Say something."

He shakes himself. "It explains why.. I'm not sure how to sayit. I've always felt that a part of me didn't belong... to me."

Victoire nods. "Me, too. It wasn't just that I didn't fit inwith everyone else. I didn't fit in with me." She takes a breath. "I saw Papa Helmutt today, and I had quite few questions to ask himabout the baby that was lost by the dumpster. I must tell you that,when he asked my why I was interested in that, I told him youlive."

Father and Mary look a little alarmed at this, but Vincentnods. "What did he say?"

"Well, nothing for several moments. I think he was near tears. He always carried a burden of guilt about that child. He was sorelieved to learn that you survived, and that you grew. I didn'ttell him where you live - actually, I said you grew up outside thecity." There's some laughter at this. "But I did tell him yourname. He said it was so odd that we'd have such similar names. Andhe wants you to know that you may write to him in completeconfidence. He'll never give you away."

"Why were two babies quadruped and two biped?" asks Catherine.

"Because two have lion brains, and two have human brains." This is met with confused looks all around. "The development of theskeleton and muscles is governed by the growth of the nervous system. There were experiments done in the 70's that proved that if thenerve bud to a limb of a developing fetus was microsurgicallyremoved, that limb would not develop. The experiments were done inlizards, but it is assumed that the same is true of mammals. I guessyou and I prove that, Vincent. We may have feline muscle and bone,but we stand upright."

"That must be why you are so strong," says Mary. "And I guessit explains your profession."

"Acrobatics?" laughs Victoire. "No. I am very strong, but Idon't think that's where the grace required comes from. Do you thinkVincent could tumble?"

Vincent answers that with an emphatic "No!"

"I know that my human mother was a ballerina. It more likelycomes from her."

"How do you know that?" asks Father.

"There were only two eggs left when Meecham made his lastattempt. One was from a 44 year old black woman with fibroid tumors. The other was from a dancer in her twenties, who was quite fair." She pulls up her sleeve. There is a stripe of golden fur runningdown its side, and next to it, creamy human skin, dotted with a fewfreckles. "My human skin isn't dark. So it must be the dancer. Shehad uterine cancer. This sounds very strange, but she died before Iwas born." She becomes wistful.

"Why are there patches like that?" asks Mary, almost as iflooking for a distraction.

"The skin is mixed like the bone marrow. And I am female,which means that coloration and such can vary in asymmetric ways theydon't for a male. So I guess that I am calico."

"Um," Catherine starts, and then she loses her nerve.

"What?"

"Never mind. I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Perhaps you do."

No use for it. Someone would have to ask at some time. "Itwas eggs Meecham stole from Brauhier. Not embryos."

"That's right."

"He had to fertilize them."

"Yes."

"Oh, dear," says Father. "I don't want to ask the nextquestion."

"Then don't," says Victoire. She looks at Vincent. His faceis unreadable, but she doesn't need to read it. "There are worsethings than being Patrick Meecham's children. I liked it when Pascalcalled us "twins". In an odd way, I think that exactly describeswhat we are. And we are, on the lion side, anyway."

"One bright twin, and one dark twin," he says bleakly.

Victoire perches on the arm of his chair. "Which one am I?"

"Don't. You know I'm not like you." She stares him down. "Victoire, please."

"Please, what?" She jumps up, and turns to blockade him in hischair, her face thrust into his. "Please allow you to dive deeperinto your despair? Don't you understand that the legacy of PatrickMeecham's madness is not violence? It is the despair. If you givein to that, you allow the very thing that destroyed him to destroyyou." She settles back on her heels. "Welcome to the human race, mylove."

"Human?" he snaps.

She stands up between his knees, still dominating him. "Yes,human! You think that you have more lion cells in you than I do, andthat makes you worse somehow? Think! It's your brain - your mindand your soul - that is human! What other creature ever made acareer of revenge? What other creature commits premeditated murderfor the sake of jealousy? What other creature could ever exalt theact of killing to a thing of glory? Believe me, in the animalkingdom, it is a matter of need, hunger, and nothing more.

"Meecham was mad, no doubt. But he was a genius. And hisincredible hubris stemmed only partly from vanity. His ultimatedesire was to save lives. Where is the evil in that?"

Why in the world is he fighting this? It is the one thing thathe's silently desired his whole life - and more. More than just theknowledge of what he is, but the guarantee that he is a man likeothers in the ways that it matters. And yet, he fights it. Thedreams that destroy his nights and haunt his days, the memories thatshatter his peace mock this. The last thing he can do now is jointhe human race.

Victoire grasps his hands, and pulls him to his feet, againsther chest. "You and I share the same genes, three times over. Andthere is a connection between us that is part of the legacy of ourhuman father. I know it's only a thread to you, but listen to it,Vincent. Feel it. How could it be possible that you could havesome fantastic curse of evil, and I wouldn't share it? Wouldn't youfeel it? Try, Vincent! Look a me. I am your mirror. Listen to us! Do you sense any breath of it from me? Does one demonic noteresonate from me to you?" He stares down at her. She shakes him. "ANSWER ME!"

He exhales, as if something has left him, and then very small:"No." He buries his head in her shoulder.

"You had me worried, my love. I was afraid I was going to haveto choke it out of you." Somehow, he finds this funny. "Are you allright, now?" she asks him.

He sinks into the chair. "I think so."

TUESDAY

"Father?"

"Good afternoon, Victoire! How is your uncle?"

"Doing better, thank you. They are moving him to a cardiacrehabilitation center tomorrow."

"A what?"

"Normally, they have their patients come in from their homes,but since we are from elsewhere, he will be staying there."

"Pardon me, but what is cardiac rehabilitation?"

"It's a program of exercise and endurance training for peoplewho have suffered a heart attack."

"In my day, they put those people to bed for 6 weeks."

"Not any more." She cruises the nearest bookshelf for a while. And then: "Fancy that game of chess?"

"Splendid!"

He sets up the game pieces as she settles into the chairusually occupied by Vincent. Fortunately for Father's peace of mind,this game lasts longer than the ones on the computer. "I cannot tellyou how grateful I am for the information you have shared with us,"says Father, eventually.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have found Vincent,"she replies. And she takes his knight. He winces. "The oddly funpart is to guess which part of him is what," she continues.

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Blood tests. X-rays. If the parameters match those of alion, then it's probably lion. And so forth. Some things are moreobvious than others." She pauses to allow him to study the board forseveral minutes and make a move. Then she promptly takes abishop.

"I'm beginning to see how you beat the computer," he says. Hesettles into another long study. Which she follows with a somewhatlonger contemplation of her own next move that he suspects is out ofdeference to his feelings.

"For the most part," she says, after a bit, "I'm rather pleasedwith the distribution I was given. You know, whatever was lion,whatever was human. I do hope that Vincent doesn't have the samedisappointment that I did in one area, though."

"And what is that?"

"My reproductive system is lion. It's taken me years to cometo terms with the fact that I could never have a child of my own. Honestly, it still grieves me."

Father stares at her with some apprehension. She goes on. "There was one man who wanted to marry me - and I very much wanted tomarry him. I loved him so. But when I told him I am, in effectbarren, he changed his mind. Thank God I didn't tell him why - thethings he said were hurtful enough."

"If you don't mind my saying so, but he doesn't sound quiteworthy."

She smiles gratefully. "Perhaps not."

"Forgive me for prying, but you have had relationships?" saysFather, very awkwardly.

"Of course."

"Weren't there difficulties related to your... er..."

"Difference?"

He nods rather sheepishly.

"Certainly. Some men aren't very honest. I learned early howto tell the difference between one who really wanted to know me, andone who wanted to bed me as a novelty."

"Er..", he begins, with some embarrassment. "I meantdifficulties with intimacy..."

She chuckles. "You sound like Lu-Lu. He was afraid I'd havean unnatural lust for lions. No, it doesn't work that way. Passionand the sex drive are truly matters of the mind, you know." Shemoves a pawn.

Father sits in some consternation. She lets him stew for awhile. "It's your move," she says gently.

"Oh. So it is. I'm not paying attention."

"What's bothering you?"

"Perhaps Vincent is lion, too. And perhaps it's different fora male.."

"What is?"

He looks miserable. "When Vincent was a teenager, he had anencounter with a girl for whom he had...feelings. He scratched her,in his ardor. I feared he could hurt a, a partner, and I told himthat this is a form of, of contact he should avoid..."

"You're joking."

He looks up to find her, sitting in Vincent's chair, looking solike Vincent, regarding him with an expression he's never seen onVincent's face. There is such censure in her eyes that he nearlywants to cry. He collects himself. Nothing for it but to forge on. "The mating behaviors of cats are somewhat more .. aggressive thanhumans indulge in. Perhaps..."

"Mating behaviors come from circuits in the brain, not from thegenitals," she says briskly. "And the mating behaviors of teenagedboys are usually not reflective of wisdom. Most of them don't knowtheir own strength. Gentleness - and lovemaking - must both belearned. The first teenaged boy who ever kissed me, bit me. And puta bruise on my arm. I doubt his father took him aside and told himhe was unfit for feminine company. I admit there are some men I wishtheir fathers had done just that." The look has faded from her eyes,but she goes on with firmness. "But I don't base that bit of censureon how sweetly or roughly they make love. I base it on theirqualities as men. And Vincent is a very good man. There is a greatdeal there for a woman, on every level. Catherine certainly seesthat. You can't mean to tell me that you have discouraged him fromthe most fundamental and precious communication two people in lovecan have?" Father cannot meet her gaze. Just as well, the censureis back in her eyes, and a little bit of anger. "Well," shecontinues softly. "Perhaps sometimes it's been hard to see him asreally other than a beast."

He looks at her as if she's slapped him. "Good God! Inever... His differences could not be ignored - they are part of himno matter what. But I have always loved him as my own son. I onlythought to spare him..." But the introspection has already started. Just how much has dwelt on the dangerous parts of Vincent? Whatother mistakes has he made?

"You did without the advantages that Lu-Lu & Tante Emiliehad. They knew what I was." Victoire feels a small stab of guilt athaving distressed him. After all, he is a good man himself. Sheindulges in a bit of amusement. "Let's hope that he's grown to keephis own counsel," she says. "In the absence of a child of my own,I'd love to spoil a niece or a nephew." She watches him sit inanxiety. "Father. It's still your move."

Outside the door, Vincent had stopped, afraid of interrupting aprivate conversation. And once stopped, he could not bring himselfto walk away. And so he's committed the sin of eavesdropping, andchastises himself for it. But he cannot walk in at this point. Hemay not be able to feel Father's embarrassment, but he knows it. Andthere's a good bit of food for thought for him in this exchange. Heslips away.

Not even a flicker of her eyelids gives away the fact thatVictoire has known he was there all along.

"You're worried about tomorrow's flight, aren't you?"

"I can't help it. It's so long - and it isn't as if we cantake rest stops. But we have no choice. And we'll spend a couple ofdays in Paris if we have to."

"He'll do fine."

Victoire smiles at her brother with the look he cannot get usedto - a look that marks him as hers in a way he never thought he'dsee. Funny how he never dreamt of this. He'd dreamt hopelessly oflove - a dream that came true in spite of himself, it seems. He hadat times thought that the dream of the garden connected to Catherinesomehow - after all, she was his fantasy. But that it meant a familyof his own was something he couldn't have imagined. His own fleshand blood, and unbeknownst to him, she's been here all along, someodd tiny part of her, deep in his mind, with a dream all her own. From the other side of the world, she's always come to him, and he'sgone to her, although neither of them knew that was what they weredoing.

And now she looks at him with sibling ownership that no oneelse can claim. He pulls her into his arms, claiming his own inreturn. "I can't believe how much I shall miss you," he says.

"Me, too," she says. "Soon. I'll write soon. And I'll come. Besides, you have Catherine, who'd better keep your mind occupied."

"I hear my name," says Catherine, stepping through the doorwayof the terrace. "More wine?'

Victoire holds up her glass. "I admit to some terriblychauvinistic surprise at the California vintages," she says. "I likethis cabernet. Please don't tell my uncle I said that."

"My lips are sealed," says Catherine. "It's late, and I havework tomorrow. Would you two consider me a terrible hostess if Iwent to bed?"

Vincent rises to embrace her. "Sleep well," he says.

She kisses his cheek. "See you in the morning," she says toVictoire, and vanishes into her room.

The twins sit in silence, looking at the stars and listening tothe murmur of traffic below. Victoire reaches for his hand. "You'restruggling," she says.

He twines his fingers through hers. "My heart should besinging."

"Perhaps it is. You just can't hear it."

"I don't think I'll ever find my way out of this."

"You will. Give it time."

"How long?"

"Too."

"And in the meantime," he says. "What?"

"You live one day at a time. And you decide what you will dowith each of those days. Some days will be bad. Some less so. Yousimply go forward, and make the best of what there is."

"I have so much."

"Focus on that. And don't be afraid to ask for help. Youdon't have to do this alone. And one of these days, I'll be thinkingof you, and you'll feel it."

"I felt Catherine when she was in California," he sayswistfully.

"It will come back," she says.

Catherine swings open the terrace door, and pulls Vincent intothe room. "It's raining," she says. She helps him off with hiscloak, and goes to hang it in the bathroom. When she returns, shewalks straight into his embrace.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you, " he replies, marveling at the beauty of thesewords. He leans his cheek against her hair. She smells of roses. "Did Victoire's plane leave on time?" he asks.

"Yes. I don't think she really wanted to leave."

He presses her closer to him. It's a simple concept, but hisheart is so full, he can find no words. In a little over a week, hisworld has opened so many things to him - so much goodness. So muchlove. And the most wonderful possibilities, the most wonderful ofwhich is in his arms.

"Come," she takes his hand. "Sit." And he does, withouthesitation. When did he start that?, she wonders with delight. Atwhat point did he decide that he could take the right to come intoher home without doubt? " I have a book of essays by M.F.K. Fisher,"she says. "Interested?"

"You've done it. You've stumped me," he says. "Who is M.F.K.Fisher?"

"She wrote about food and travel - particularly in France inthe forties."

"Intriguing."

Two hours later, after stories about bakeries, and the roofs ofBurgundy, and cheeses, and trains, they close the book. "You knowwhat I did?" she asks him.

"What?"

"I took tomorrow off."

"You did? Why?"

"So I wouldn't have to leave here, if I didn't want to." Andshe holds her breath.

"Even to go Below?"

"I might not want to go Below if you were still here..."

He reaches for her hand, and carries it to his lips. A momentof masculine self-doubt flashes through his mind. But it's only amoment. He's able to keep his own counsel. He looks deep into hereyes, and nearly loses himself. Perhaps he should say something. Such as what?

In the end, he decides that rather than speak, he should act.

THE END

C. B. McWhorter has been a passionate devotee of BatB since itsbeginning, but she only came to find the wonderful fanfic websites in1998! She wrote stories to amuse (and console) herself during theintervening years. This is one of the first. She'd be interested infeedback: mcwhorterstl@yahoo.com, if you feel so inclined.