RAINBOW

June 2018

"Welcome to New York, and thank you for flying British Airways."The practiced drone of the flight attendant was nearly drowned by thehigh-pitched squeal of jet engines, but Victoria Chandler ignoredboth. Beyond the window lay Kennedy Airport... and home.

Her stomach twitched with nerves as she gathered her things anddisembarked. The line through Customs moved slowly, but at last itwas her turn. The official gave her passport a cursory glance andhanded it back. "Welcome home," he said, his tone perfunctory.

"Thank you," Vicky answered, just as automatically. Already shewas looking beyond him, scanning the teeming terminal for a familiarface.

Scores of people stood watching the passengers come throughCustoms, but none seemed to be waiting for her and she didn'trecognize any of them. She sighed and moved toward a row of moldedplastic chairs. As she did, a man peeled himself away from the wallwhere he'd been lounging and came toward her.

"Vicky?" he called, in a voice that seemed familiar.

Even then, it took a moment to recognize him. She gaped wordlesslyas he travelled toward her with an economy of motion that was purepoetry. Could this huge blond bearded fellow really be her brotherEvan?

Any lingering doubts disappeared when he swept her up in a bigbear hug, pounding her back with enthusiasm.

"Good grief, Evan," she protested, struggling free. "I've onlybeen here five minutes. You're killing me."

"Sorry," he apologized casually, and set her down. "It's just sogood to see you."

"You, too," she answered, and stepped back to look at him. "You'vegrown." It was something of an understatement. He'd always been tall,but in the three years since she'd seen him, he'd filled outtremendously across the shoulders and chest, transforming from alanky teenager to a massively powerful man who rivaled their fatherfor sheer presence. "You're huge," she expanded. "Bigger than Daddy,even."

"Yeah," he admitted modestly, and flexed an arm for her benefit."I could beat him arm wrestling, I bet."

She gave him a friendly shove and bent to retrieve her bags. "Hey,strong guy, help me with these."

He picked up her suitcase and slung her big nylon carryall overhis shoulder. "Don't tell me you lived in England for three years andthis is all you brought back."

"I'm trying your way," she answered swiftly. "Travel light."

He put on a mock scowl and started through the terminal."Victoria, I hate to tell you this, but a big suitcase, a hugecarryall, a canvas tote bag and a purse does not constitute'travelling light.'"

"Oh. Well, then, I guess it's safe to tell you I have a trunk andabout a dozen big boxes coming. They wouldn't fit on the plane."

He grinned. "Figures."

The sleek, modern, mid-sized car waiting in the airport's vastparking structure surprised her.

"It's new," Evan told her, slinging her luggage into thetrunk.

"Yours?" she guessed suspiciously.

"What are you, nuts? I have no use for a car. It's Mom's."

"What happened to the minivan?"

He shrugged and slid behind the wheel. "She said she'd beendriving minivans for twenty years and she was tired of it. Now thatwe're all gone, she bought something her own size."

"And now we're all home again."

"Yeah." He grinned. "I guess if we all want to go somewhere, we'llhave to make two trips."

"Right now, I just want to be home," Vicky said fervently. "Whereis everybody, anyway? How'd you get saddled with airport duty?"

"We drew straws for it. I lost," he said cheerfully, swinging outinto traffic.

She glared at him and he backed down. "Actually, Mom would havecome, but she's in court. They've got a big family dinner planned,though. Charles and Elizabeth will be there, and Jacob andAmanda."

"Above or Below?" she inquired.

"Below. Mom talked about having it at the house, but too manypeople want to see you. There's a concert, too," he addedlaconically, "but you needn't think it's in your honor. I happen toknow it's been scheduled for a long time."

"You happen to know a lot of things, considering you haven't beenhere much longer than I have."

He accepted the accusation easily. "I flew in yesterday, as amatter of fact," he admitted. "From Rio. Beautiful place, Rio.Exotic. Great pictures."

"Yeah. I saw the one you sold to JET SET."

He gave her a sly sideways glance. "Did you like it?"

"Who, me? Like something you've done?" she asked in mock horror.Then she smiled. "Yeah. I liked it. I showed it to everybody and toldthem my brother took it."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah. I really did."

"Wonders never cease."

"The real wonder is, you're here," Vicky remarked, bringing theconversation back on track.

"That's not a wonder," Evan said. "A couple of months ago I calledMom, and she told me when you'd be home. She suggested it would benice if I could be here."

Vicky snorted. "Strongly suggested, I'll bet."

Evan's answer was an abstracted grin as he weaved through thelate-afternoon traffic. It would probably be better if she let himconcentrate, so she turned to look out the window.

New York hadn't changed much in the three years she'd been gone.It was busy and noisy and even dirty; as she and Evan enteredManhattan, office buildings began to disgorge scores of people whosoon crowded the sidewalks.

A slow-moving bus blocked their progress and Evan tapped the hornimpatiently. It didn't help, of course. Horn-honking rarely did inManhattan traffic, but the gesture seemed to make him feelbetter.

She could sense him, picking his restless impatience easily out ofthe mass of feelings brushing her from the teeming sidewalks andcrowded street. She opened herself to him, enjoying the familiarityof his presence beside her. Though she'd had friends, close friends,in England, and had developed the ability to sense a select fewwithout actually touching them, she'd always felt like an intruder,unfairly aware and unable to explain. She'd forgotten how comfortablethe same sensation could be when it was a member of her family, whoknew of her empathic ability and was comfortable with it. CertainlyEvan showed no sign of distress, though to be fair, she wasn'tentirely certain he was aware of her sense of him.

Out of politeness she tried to lessen her awareness. As Evanfaded, she recognized another sense tugging at her, this one evenmore familiar. The thread of it grew stronger and she sank back inher seat, basking for a moment in the wonderful, soothing sense oflove and anticipation that flowed from her father. There wassomething else, too, though, and it took her a moment to identify it. Anxiety. Apprehension. Why, he was nervous! As nervous as shewas, from the feel of it.

Somehow, knowing he wasn't entirely secure about their firstmeeting in three years made Vicky feel more confident. After all,their emotional link, and her inability to block it off underpressure, had been a big part of her decision to finish high schoolas an exchange student in England. It also contributed mightily toher choosing to remain an additional two years.

The connection continued to grow and Vicky was able to pick outother threads, like puzzlement. Gradually, the anticipation faded,replaced by the faint beginnings of disappointment.

Puzzled herself, she pondered the confusing emotions floodingher heart as Evan circled the block, looking for a parking spot. Vicky only half-heard his cry of triumph. Her father was obviouslymaking himself completely accessible to her, which was odd in itself;she couldn't remember him ever doing that before.

Her own block, consciously cultivated ever since she'd left,was firmly in place. It was automatic now, she realized. That waswhat was wrong. Her block was so complete that her father, whosurely knew what time her plane was expected, had no sense of her. Even with the long plane ride and the excitement of being home, ithadn't slipped.

With a surge of triumphant elation, she opened herself as sheopened the car door, and felt her father's answering torrent ofrelief and joy.

She flew up the steps and jigged impatiently as Evan sortedthrough the keys for the one that fit the front door. Finally hefound it, and, with a cursory stab at the doorbell, he unlocked thedoor and pushed it wide.

Vicky raced through the vestibule and threw open the innerdoor. Her sense of her father was strong and sure now and she didn'thave to look to find him. Her feet and her heart carried her up thewide staircase. Her father waited near the top, out of sight of anycasual passersby. He stretched out his arms, and she threw herselfinto them gladly.

"Oh, Daddy," she whispered, into his shirt. "It's so good tosee you."

He held her tightly, murmuring something unintelligible intoher hair. His joy washed over her. At last, though, he moved heraway from him, holding her shoulders so he could look into her face. She smiled and blinked away the tears she hadn't expected.

"You've... grown up," he said, with something like wonder inhis eyes.

"Not your little girl any longer?" she guessed, her voiceshaky. He'd changed since she'd seen him last, his face more linedand his once-bright mane more liberally streaked with silver. Shefelt a momentary pang. He was getting older and her excursion toEngland, however much she'd needed it, had cost her three years ofher father - of seeing him, talking with him, even simply being withhim. She was here now, though, and resolved to make the most of theopportunities she had.

He seemed to catch the gist of her musings, and wrapped an armaround her shoulders to lead her upstairs. "You'll always be mylittle girl," he promised solemnly, as they climbed.

In the vestibule below, Evan was complaining audibly about bringing in her luggage by himself. Today it was such a welcomesound that Vicky put both arms around her father's waist andsqueezed. He smiled one of his rare smiles and tightened his holdaround her shoulders.

"Don't tell him I said this," he confided, "but I'm pleased tohave Evan here, as well."

His solemn teasing filled her with gladness. It was, truly,good to be home.

As Father's Chamber was the hub of the world Below, so thesecond-floor study was the center of their home. As they entered,Vicky disentangled herself from her father's arm and hurried acrossto one of the three wide windows to peer out. "Where's everybodyelse?" she asked, scanning the street below, so strange and yetfamiliar.

"Your mother is on her way," her father said. "Charles andElizabeth should be here soon, as well; then we'll go Below. Jacoband Amanda are waiting there, along with many of your friends."

Vicky nodded. "Great." She turned from the window and let theheavy drape fall back into place. "And where's Carey?" She tried tokeep her voice, her feelings neutral, but couldn't tell if shesucceeded. Her father began to exude the warm glow that sheassociated with her mother, and then, quite abruptly, she found shewas picking up her mother's sense, herself.

Downstairs, the front door closed with a resounding bang thatwasn't at all the way her mother closed doors, even when she was in ahurry or excited. The sound of Evan, still complaining, explained itthough; a moment later he appeared in the doorway with Vicky's bagsvariously slung, hung, and dangling from one strong arm. Tuckedbeneath his other arm was their mother.

To Vicky, Catherine had such presence that she never seemedsmall except when she stood close enough for Vicky's four inches ofadditional height to make a difference. But in the circle of Evan'sarm, she seemed positively fragile. Her face lit when she saw Vicky,and Evan dropped his arm and grinned as Vicky rushed to close the gapbetween them.

"It's so good to have you home," she heard her mother say.

"Me, too, Mom." Her murmur was heartfelt. "Me, too."

After the greetings were over, Evan lugged Vicky's things up toher old room on the third floor and tossed them on the bed. Vickyleft them there while she turned to the closet where some of her oldclothes still hung and pulled out a long, softly flowered skirt and apair of deceptively dainty boots. From hangers she took an ivoryflannel blouse, its collar delicately edged with soft lace, and aloosely knit handmade sweater of pale blue wool. The neck andsleeves of the sweater were laced with leather ties; the ends of theties hung down, forming a kind of fringe.

Tunnel clothes. It had been a long time since she'd worn them,but she'd wear them tonight to honor her father and the people of hisworld who loved her.

She donned them quickly and brushed her hair out, tying it backloosely with a length of ribbon she found in a drawer. When herpreparations were complete, she paused in front of the mirror andexamined her reflection carefully. Gazing back from the glass wasnot the Victoria Chandler whose photograph had occasionally appearedon the society pages of the London papers, wearing the latestfashions and attending the most elite parties, nor even the VickyChandler who had worked hard in school and spent alternate Saturdaysvolunteering at an English children's hospital. Now she was simplyVicky, her father's daughter. And that pleased her.

"Charles called," Evan informed her as she came down thestairs. "He and Liz are running late, so they'll just meet us downthere."

"It happens frequently," her mother apologized, on Charles'sbehalf. "He gets so wrapped up in his work..."

"Unlike anyone else we know," Evan countered, with a sunnysmile. Vicky had to grin. Their mother's penchant for becomingutterly and personally involved in her cases was legend. Evan hadn'talways taken it so well, but apparently he'd mellowed. Now, withexaggerated gallantry, he offered Vicky his arm. "My lady?"

The gallantry didn't last long. The little passage between thebasement and the tunnels proper, while only a few feet long, wasnarrow. Evan lingered to be sure the door, cleverly designed to looklike a smooth cement wall, closed tightly. When they regrouped inthe passage, Vicky found herself at her father's side.

The pleasure, she decided, was not in what they said or did,but just in being there; even though the way was smooth and her bootssensible, she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Being able to sense his pleasure was wonderful, too, and for amoment, she even wondered why she'd left.

"We'll go to the kitchen first," he said. "Jacob's preparingthe meal himself, so I'm sure that's where we'll find him."

Vicky acquiesced a bit nervously; it felt odd, travelling thetunnels after three years above ground. And even though no one wouldever accuse her of being shy, she found the thought of all the peoplewaiting to greet her a bit unsettling. Her father seemed to senseher trepidation, though, and reached across to squeeze the hand stillresting on his arm. She squeezed back and they entered the longchamber that served as the kitchen.

This chamber was always at least ten degrees warmer than thosearound it, and for as long as Vicky could remember, one end had beenset aside for the community's elderly, who felt the chill more thanmost. Since they were almost certain to find a storyteller there, itwas a favorite gathering place for children, too.

Restored rockers and shabby upholstered chairs stood near awide wooden table with chairs and benches. Four or five older peoplewere gathered there now and Vicky paused to greet them, bending toexchange hugs.

The remainder of the long chamber was strictly business, withno fewer than three stoves; one that burned wood, or sometimes coal,one gas, and one, Mouse's invention, heated itself improbably withsteam. All were massive, and right now, all were in use.

Vicky spotted her brother immediately, bending to peer into theoven of the wood-burning stove. He said something to one of the boysassisting him. The boy nodded and began to expertly stoke the fire. Jacob wiped his hands on a towel and turned.

"Hey, Tinkerbell. It's good to see you. We missed you."

She was so glad to see him, she didn't even object to his useof her childhood nickname. Instead, she hugged him fiercely, andthen embraced her sister-in-law Amanda. She didn't recognize any ofJacob's small crew of kitchen helpers, so she merely nodded politelyin their direction before turning back to her brother.

"People are starting to gather in the dining chamber," Jacobtold her. "Why don't you go on? 'Manda and I will be through herein a few minutes."

"'Manda's through here now," his wife informed him. "Come on,Vicky."

The kitchen was connected to the dining chamber by a short,wide passage. Amanda took Vicky's arm and pulled her through,leaving Evan and their parents to follow. On the other side, thesmall throng that was forming turned and voices rose in excitement. Vicky's special friends gathered close - Seth and Deirdre, Hannah andMark, Abbey and Gena - all talking at once. "Oh, there's so much totell you..." "We missed you..." "You were gone too long!"

"Can you stay tonight?" This was from Abbey, who caught herhands eagerly. "Please say yes!"

"Oh, do!" the other girls chimed. "We can stay up andtalk..."

"I'd love to, but I can't. The flight... the excitement...I'll be lucky to make it through the concert tonight. And besides,my parents..." Instinctively she glanced around for them. They hadtactfully drifted away and were now engrossed in conversation withsome of the older adults, but Vicky knew they'd be stricken if shespent tonight away from home. "Maybe next weekend," shesuggested.

"That's a good idea. Maybe we could get Marti and Rita downhere, too," Deirdre said, naming a helper's daughter and a formertunnel resident whose parents had returned to the world Above.

"A slumber party! Vincent'll let us use the guest chamber ifwe promise to clean it up afterwards..."

"Jacob will let us make brownies and fudge and cookies..."

A touch on her arm drew Vicky's attention away from herfriends' eager planning. She turned. "Nathaniel!" she cried, andthrew her arms around his neck. He'd been her best friend fromchildhood and she'd missed him sorely.

"Welcome home." He embraced her, and when she lifted her headfrom his shoulder to smile at him, he bent and kissed her shyly onthe lips.

It startled her and she glanced toward her father; he had hisback to her, head bent attentively, listening to Ellen. He hadn'tnoticed, and she realized her block was still firmly in place. Shecould feel it there, shielding her.

The adoration shining from Nathaniel's eyes was another matter,but she brushed it off as a reflection of the deep affection they'dalways shared. Her little group reformed to include him, and theymigrated across the chamber and settled around one of the big tables. The next half-hour or so was spent in happy conversation, catchingup on the details of lives that couldn't be told in letters andmaking eager plans for the future. The boys pretended to be crushedthat they weren't included in plans for the slumber party, but Vickysuspected they'd show up anyway at some point in the evening.

Talking made her throat dry, so when members of the kitchencrew brought out the tall urns of lemonade and iced tea, she excusedherself and went to get a drink. She stood by the urn of lemonadeand drained her glass. As she was reaching to refill it, Jacob cameup behind her.

"Having a good time?" he inquired.

"Yes. I really am."

"Good. It looks like the only people missing are the onessetting up for the concert, and I'm about to send one of the childrento Father's Chamber to fetch them."

"I'll go," she volunteered instantly.

"You're having fun with your friends. Let one of thechildren..."

"Please, Jacob," she asked. "It's only a short walk. And tobe truthful, I could use a break from talking."

His look of surprise changed swiftly to a smile ofunderstanding. "I imagine it's pretty overwhelming," he agreed. "Okay, run and get them. Tell them to hurry - we'll be serving bythe time you get back."

"All right." She paused by her friends to inform them of hermission, but turned down their offers to accompany her. "I need justa few minutes, guys."

"Okay," Seth answered for all of them. "We'll save yourseat."

"Better not, this time," she decided regretfully. "I'm afraidmy family will be disappointed if I don't sit with them."

"Probably," Deirdre agreed. "And at the concert, too."

Vicky laughed. "Probably," she echoed. "I'll be down again ina day or two, though."

"And there's always the slumber party!" Hannah reminded.

"Vicky, are you going?" Jacob called.

"Right now!" she answered, and, with a quick, apologetic waveto her friends, scurried off.

The route to Father's Chamber was a familiar one, even after solong, and she reached it in minutes. The shortest path brought herto the lower rear entrance and voices greeted her as she came inunder the loft. A half-dozen teenagers were arranging chairs andbenches in the center of the chamber. On the wide, waist-high shelfthat curved around one side of the chamber, an older man tuned aguitar.

She paused in the shadows, watching. She recognized few of thepeople here, not altogether surprising when she considered that she'dbeen gone three years and that there had always been a transientsegment of the tunnel population. No one seemed to notice her andshe lingered in the shadows, letting the pure atmosphere of herfather's world envelop her.

Her thoughts were disrupted when a young man, dark and beardedand accompanied by a pretty girl with honey-blond hair, came inthrough the main entrance. He turned, picking his way along theshelf to the solitary man, while the girl descended the short flightof wrought-iron stairs and moved to the center of the chamber.

Vicky's gaze went back to the dark young man. His presencewasn't overpowering, the way Evan's was. He was of average heightand slender build, but his shoulders and chest looked solid. Helooked familiar, and when he turned his head toward her sherecognized him with a shock. Carey! But when she'd left, he'd beena gangly, sometimes awkward boy. In the interim, he'd grown up.

He said something to the man with the guitar, and both laughed. The warm sound brought her attention back to her errand, and shemoved forward, into the light.

Both men turned to look at her, and Carey's face lit withrecognition. He vaulted lightly from the shelf and came toward herwith outstretched hands. "Vicky."

"Hi, Carey," she said, feeling suddenly, absurdly shy. Sheevaded his hands, moving between them for a hug. When they parted,the girl with the honey-blond hair moved to Carey's side. He steppedback and put a protective arm around her.

"Vicky, I'd like you to meet Annie," he said, giving the girl asqueeze. "She moved here with her father two years ago."

Vicky nodded acknowledgement. "Hello, Annie."

"Hello." Annie tucked herself more tightly beneath Carey'sarm.

"Annie's shy," Carey explained. "But I'm sure when you get toknow one another, you'll be friends."

"Yes, I'm sure we will," Vicky agreed, but privately she wasn'tsure at all. Something unidentifiable flickered within as sheregarded the other girl, but she quelled it sternly and forced acheerful smile. "I've been sent to tell you it's time for dinner,"she said. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah. We're done here, aren't we, Russell?" he called to theman on stage. "Dinner's ready."

Russell looked up from his guitar and nodded. "Be there in aminute," he said.

"We don't have to wait," Carey said, removing his arm fromAnnie's shoulders to take her hand. "Come on, you guys," he calledto the teenagers, who were straightening the last row of seats. Theyabandoned their task eagerly and it was a lively, talkative groupthat made its way back to the dining chamber.

Vicky was glad of the crowd; she felt faintly awkward withCarey, and Annie still disturbed her. In the dining chamber, thegroup dispersed. Even Annie detached herself from Carey's side andwandered off to one of the little tables. Carey took Vicky's elbowand began to guide her to the family's table on the far side, butevery few feet she had to stop and acknowledge someone else'swelcome, making progress slow.

At last, though, she could make out the padded quilting of herfather's vest. She aimed for it. Carey dropped her arm as the mansitting to her father's left rose from his chair.

"Hi, kid," her brother Charles greeted affectionately. "Welcome back." They hugged and he turned to a delicately prettydark-haired woman. "You remember Elizabeth."

Vicky smiled at her newest sister-in-law. "Of course I do." She put out her hands and Elizabeth took them, squeezing warmly. "Now we'll have a chance to get to know each other."

"I'm looking forward to that," Elizabeth replied.

Vicky scanned the table, noting that Carey had already taken achair at the other end, next to Evan. There was an empty placebeside her mother, though, directly across from Elizabeth, and Vickyguessed that was hers. She sat down just as the older children beganto bring out the meal - tray after tray of thick, crusty chicken andbeef pot pies - one of Jacob's specialties.

The pies were excellent, though at their table, consumption ofthe meal was slow, impeded by constant conversation. By the timethey finished, many others had already left the dining chamber. Whenthey rose to leave, Vicky noticed Carey wasn't among them andwondered how she could have missed him slipping away. Before shecould look for him, Charles had taken her arm. Evan, she noticed,was walking with Amanda, and Jacob had fallen into step withElizabeth. Of the couples in her family, only her parents walkedtogether, her mother's hand tucked into the crook of her father'sarm.

Halfway to Father's Chamber, Nathaniel joined them and Charlesdiscreetly faded away, leaving Vicky to walk beside him.

The chamber was already filling when they reached it but thefamily found a cluster of chairs near the side and spent a fewminutes arranging themselves and talking back and forth. By the timethey finished, the chamber had filled to capacity.

The older man Vicky had seen earlier entered the stage area andseated himself on a tall stool. A guitar leaned against the stooland he picked it up, strumming once or twice to check the tune. Vicky nudged Jacob, on her left. "Who's that?" she whispered.

"That's Russell. Moved down here a couple of years ago withhis daughter Anne. He used to be a folk musician in the worldAbove."

"You mean we're going to hear folk music?"

"And what Carey refers to as soft rock, and a little country,"Jacob confirmed.

"Wow. What does Dad think about it?" she asked, with a glancetoward her father, who sat two chairs over in the row ahead.

Jacob grinned. "Well, he wasn't particularly enthusiastic thefirst time, but naturally he allowed it."

Vicky nodded. Of course he had. Just as he'd never tried tocensor his children's reading material or musical preferences whenthey were growing up, so he wouldn't attempt to restrict the choicesavailable to the tunnel residents. This was not to say that hedidn't make an effort to influence appreciation for the classics,both in literature and music. "What happened then?"

"Well, Russell put on a couple of recitals, and more and morepeople went. One night, Mom decided she wanted to go."

"Mom?"

"Yeah. She said even though she was too young to be a truechild of the sixties, she remembered a lot of the music. So shewent, and of course, Dad went with her."

"Did he like it?" Vicky almost giggled at the thought of herstaid, conservative father listening to rock music from thenineteen-sixties.

"He did," another, deeper voice broke in. Vicky startedguiltily, then grinned. She'd forgotten how acute her father'shearing really was. "Russell's music has a beauty all its own," heexplained now, twisting to lean over the back of his chair. "Andthere's often poetry in the words."

Russell's soft strumming ceased and they turned their attentionback to the makeshift stage. There was another tall stool toRussell's left and Vicky was just about to inquire who else would beperforming when, to her utter astonishment, Carey came in from underthe loft and leaped to the stage.

"We can start now," he announced to the room at large. "I'mhere."

The audience chuckled. Warmth and good humor and a pleasantsense of expectation filled the chamber. It surprised her how muchwas directed at Carey. Evidently he'd carved out his own place hereand showed every sign of being respected and liked. He picked up hisguitar and settled himself on the vacant stool. After a couple ofexperimental strums and a short, whispered exchange with Russell,they began to play.

They were good together. Russell was clearly the superiormusician, his fingers flying on the frets of his instrument, whileCarey was content with a handful of chords, but Carey's voice wasbetter and he sang most of the songs in a pleasing tenor. Theyplayed songs made famous by entertainers such as John Denver, Crosby,Stills and Nash, Dan Fogelberg, Seals and Crofts and made them theirown. Carey sang Denver's "Annie's Song" with muted passion and Vickycouldn't help noticing that he directed it toward the rear of thechamber, where the girl he'd introduced as Annie (Russell's daughterAnne, she guessed) stood. When it ended, Russell spoke into thehush.

"This one's for Catherine," he said, giving her what almostlooked like a wink. "Because I know she likes it."

He played a short intro and Carey began to sing. "Starry,starry night..." Vicky recognized the song as Don McLean's "Vincent"and felt an extraordinary sense of warmth as she watched her mother'ssmile and her father's answering nod. Some of the affection washers, but some was external. The crowd, she thought. Today's beensuch an emotional one, I'm just over-sensitized. But thatexplanation didn't quite fit. It didn't feel like a collectivestream of emotion. It felt like one person. And it wasn't herfather.

She glanced at Nathaniel, who was seated on her right. Heseemed the obvious source, since he was so close, but the stream ofconsciousness wasn't right. It wasn't Nathaniel.

It wasn't her mother, or any of her brothers, though she couldsense all of them right at the periphery of her awareness. Herquesting gaze skipped across the stage, then stuttered to a halt. Grudgingly, she brought her attention back to Carey, who seemed to besinging this song solely to Catherine. And then she knew. Theessence she was feeling so strongly was Carey's.

With rising dismay, she sat through the rest of the concert,barely hearing the lively rendering of "Duelling Banjos" that servedas a finale. Nathaniel had to elbow her twice before sheapplauded.

"You okay?" he whispered, leaning close.

"Just tired," she lied, unhappy gaze fixed on the performerstaking their bows. "It's been a long day."

"That's right," he sympathized. "You woke up in London thismorning."

"Three-thirty New York time to make my plane," she agreed, andturned to the other side. "Jacob, I'm going home," she began.

"Not without a guide, you aren't," he informed her. "We'vechanged some of those passages and I don't want you gettinglost."

"I grew up down here," she reminded him in a fierce, hissingwhisper. "I'm not going to get lost."

"That's right. Because someone's going with you." He glancedaround, as if to summon an escort.

"I'll take her," Nathaniel offered.

Vicky's heart sank. Normally, she'd have enjoyed a long walkin his company, but right now, she had some things to ponder. Beforeshe could even begin to formulate a reply, her father was there.

"Thank you, Nathaniel, but there's no need. Victoria's motherand I will walk her back."

"Us, too," Charles volunteered from behind them. "We'reready."

Vicky wasn't sure she wanted her family's company, either, butobviously she couldn't refuse without creating a lot of questions. She made her goodbyes to Jacob and Amanda and turned toNathaniel.

"It might be a few days before I get back down," she said. "But we'll spend some time together when I do."

"I'll be here," he promised and smiled his sweet smile. "Goodnight, Vicky."

As she turned, she spotted Carey. He had come down off theplatform and was moving in their direction, but seemed to be impededby those who wanted to compliment him on the concert. Vicky duckedher head instinctively, a useless move, really, when she consideredshe was standing between her father and her oldest brother, each ofwhom stood well above six feet and did not precisely blend into acrowd. Solicitously, her father took her arm and ushered her underthe loft and out.

A glance back showed her mother, flanked by Elizabeth andCharles. No one else came through the opening and Vicky breathed asigh of relief. She'd been back in this country for fewer thantwelve hours and already she was avoiding people. She had her fatherlooking askance at her, too, though he was too polite to inquire. His attention, subtle though it was, alarmed her. She examined herblock, but it was still there, still sound. Clearly he knewsomething was wrong, though; it must be her behavior.

Consciously she took a deep breath, and another. They entereda long, rough, climbing passage and gratefully she concentrated onher footing. By the time they'd reached home, she'd regained most ofher poise.

"Stay for coffee?" her mother invited, speaking to Charles andElizabeth.

"Not tonight, Mother," Charles demurred, kissing her cheek. "It's late, and we need to get home. Vicky," he hugged her warmly. "It's good to have you back."

He stepped away and it was Elizabeth's turn. She, too, offereda hug. "I'll call you," she promised. "Maybe we can have lunch oneday soon."

"I'd love that," Vicky answered. "I can tell you all sorts ofthings about Charles's wicked childhood."

"I'd love to hear them," Elizabeth answered, with a brightsmile for her husband. "Charles contends he was a perfect angel,growing up."

"I was," Charles insisted, and tugged at Elizabeth's arm. "Come along, dear. I don't want my sister corrupting you."

"Wicked he wasn't," Catherine offered, walking them to thedoor. "But he wasn't quite angelic either."

Amid good-natured laughter, Charles and Elizabeth went out andthe rest of the family climbed the stairs. "I'm really tired," Vickytold her parents when they reached the second-floor landing. "Ithink I'd better get to bed."

"Yes, I think you should," her mother agreed. "And I supposeyou're too big for me to come up and tuck you in, so I'll saygoodnight here."

"Goodnight, Mom. Daddy."

She was halfway up the stairs when her father's voice stilledher. "Victoria."

She turned, expectant. "Yes, Daddy?"

He stood at the foot of the stairs, his arm around her mother'sshoulders. They both watched her tenderly, and an external rush oflove and quiet pride washed over her. He'd lowered his block so shewould know what he felt. He might even be channeling some of hermother's love. "I hope you know how glad we are to have youhome."

Tears misted her eyes and clutched at her throat, making wordsimpossible. She managed a nod, though, and threw open her heart sohe would know, in return, how very happy she was to be here.

Their love followed her up the stairs, where she changed intoan oversized t-shirt and crawled into bed. Despite her body'sweariness, though, sleep refused to come, and she lay under thecovers, thinking.

The strong sense of Carey was still with her; even now she knewof his well-being. She rolled over restlessly, and punched at herpillow.

Thinking of Carey made her think of the girl Annie, and sheinstinctively recoiled. Of course she had no way of knowing theextent of the relationship Annie had with Carey, but from theirbehavior, boyfriend-girlfriend seemed a good guess. She was afraidto wonder why that bothered her.

Muffled voices reached her through her closed bedroom door andher new inner sense told her that Carey was near. He and Evan musthave just gotten home. It was only a moment before she heard theirfootsteps on the stairs. They paused in the hallway, whispering. Because they'd stopped near her door, some of the words carriedclearly.

"That Annie's a heck of a girl." That was Evan's voice, bluffand good-humored.

"Yeah. She is." Carey's voice was lower and less distinct,blurred by sleepiness. "'Night, Evan. See you in the morning."

"Or afternoon," Evan countered cheerfully.

She heard separate doors closing and smiled at how odd thatseemed, since Carey and Evan had shared the smallest room in thehouse for more than two years. Carey, she'd learned earlier, stilloccupied that little room. Evan, as a guest, was sleeping in theroom that used to be Jacob's.

She could tell when Carey drifted off to sleep. He sleptcalmly, peacefully. Gradually her own nervous, fretful energy seepedaway, replaced by that calm peace. She slept.

Her internal clock, still set on London time, told her she'dslept late, but the bedside clock showed it was only just past seven. Though she'd only slept a few hours, she knew she wouldn't be ableto sleep again, so she pulled on a robe and tiptoed down thestairs.

Her father was in the kitchen, sitting alone at the littletable, a steaming mug in his hands. He smiled a greeting when shecame in.

"Good morning," she murmured, mildly startled to find him here. The half-cup of coffee cooling on the counter explained hispresence, since she knew he always drank tea. "Mom just leave?" sheguessed, pouring herself a fresh cup from the waiting pot.

He nodded. "Only a moment ago."

Vicky sank into a chair. "I'm sorry I missed her," she said. "She thinks the case she's trying will end early, though. If itdoes, she wants to take me shopping."

Her father nodded. "I know."

Vicky wrinkled her nose. "I don't know why, though."

His gaze was calm and blue, full of amusement. "Yes, you do,"he disagreed, gently.

She grinned. "She wants to spend time with me."

He nodded. "Of course. Shopping is no more than an excuse. You'll visit a half-dozen stores, stop somewhere for coffee, orsomething to eat..."

She laughed. "The voice of experience."

He smiled, showing the tips of his sharp teeth, and rose toplace his empty mug in the sink. "I must go," he explained. "Mouseexpects me. If you do go out with your mother, you might remember totell the boys so they will know they have to find their owndinner."

"I will," she agreed. "And send a message on the pipes foryou?"

"No need," he answered, and bent to kiss her cheek. "I willknow."

She felt the warmth of a blush rising. Of course he would. "Iforgot," she murmured, and then realized her own sense of someoneelse was stirring. Carey. He was awake now; he'd be down soon, andshe didn't want to face him. For a panicky instant, she consideredjoining her father in the tunnels today, but she hadn't showered yetand wasn't dressed.

Her father hesitated; his eyes looked worried. "Victoria?"

She shook herself. "I'm fine. Just a little tired still, Iguess." She rose and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Bye,Daddy," she whispered. "Have a good day."

"My children are home," he answered. "It's already a wonderfulday."

In the dining room, he opened a cleverly concealed panel toreveal the hidden stair that led to the tunnels. He stepped inside,sliding the panel closed behind him.

Vicky turned toward the main stairs. If she hurried, maybe shecould get to her room before Carey came down.

It was too late. She could hear him on the stairs, feel himcoming closer. Retreating hastily to the kitchen, she resumed herchair. When he came in, she was studying the dregs in her cup.

"Good morning," he greeted, breaking off the cheerful tune he'dbeen humming. "You're up early."

"I'm always up early," she reminded him.

"I know." He turned to the coffeepot. "Refill?" heoffered.

Part of her still wanted to flee, but a cooler, more rationalpart reminded her they lived in the same house. She had to deal withCarey sometime. Now was as good as any. "Please," she answered, andheld out her cup.

After he filled it, he put the coffeepot down and crouched torummage in the refrigerator. "Breakfast?" he asked, over hisshoulder.

"What's on the menu?"

He sat back on his heels and grinned. "Well, I was going tohave a couple of blueberry bagels with cream cheese, but I'll fix yousomething else if you want."

The grin was boyish, belying the dark beard and she smiledback. "Real bagels?"

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "As opposed to what?"

"As opposed to those sawdust package things they sell in Londonsupermarkets."

"Oh." He nodded. "Real bagels. Bought 'em myself, yesterday. At Kaufmann's."

Her mother maintained Kaufmann's Deli made the best bagels inthe city. "I'll have one," she decided. "I haven't had a decentbagel in years."

Pulling her bare feet up under her, she cradled her steamingmug in both hands as she watched him prepare the meal. He workedeasily, his hands moving with careful precision, absorbed in histask.

"You made me breakfast the first morning you were here," sheremembered aloud.

"That's right. Eggs over easy with toast," he agreed. "That'swhen I found out you like to get up in the mornings."

"Yeah." She tipped her head to one side. "Now it's the otherway around. You live here and I'm the newcomer."

"That's right," he said, swinging around, his expression one ofrevelation. "You should be fixing my breakfast!"

"Come on, Carey," she admonished him. "I haven't been gonethat long."

He grinned and placed their bagels on a plate. "No. Iremember that cooking isn't one of your talents."

"But understatement is one of yours," she countered, andreached for a bagel. It was still hot from toasting under thebroiler, thickly spread with cream cheese, and smelled wonderful.

She took a blissful bite and sighed. "This is terrific. Thanks,Carey."

"My pleasure," he answered, dropping into the chair besideher.

"So how's school?" she asked after a moment, trying to makeconversation.

He gave her a sidelong glance of pure disbelief. "It'ssummer," he reminded. "No school."

"I'm aware of that," she answered, imbuing her voice with allthe sarcasm she could muster. "But you've only been out a couple ofweeks. I thought you'd be able to remember that far back." Shesmiled. "I'm not even sure what your major is."

"History," he answered succinctly. "I'm passing."

"That's good. You'll be a senior, right?"

He nodded.

"So what will you do after college?"

"Teach."

"I thought you needed a master's for that, or at least a degreein Education."

"Either one, depending. But I'm hoping Columbia will accept meas a graduate student after next year."

She couldn't quite think what to say. Her gaze seemed todisconcert him and he looked away.

"I'm paying for it myself, you know," he said, and she couldfeel him bristling defensively. "School. All of it."

She frowned. "I didn't know, but does it matter?"

He had the good grace to blush and she wished she could easehis sudden embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd think yourmother was sending me to school. I didn't want that."

"Why not? It would probably please her."

A slow smile broke over his face. "Yeah," he agreed. "Itprobably would. I guess I'm just stubborn."

"Well, you come by it honestly," Vicky said placidly, andreached for another bagel. "Your dad's pretty stubborn when he wantsto be. But where'd you get the money?"

He shrugged. "Sold the farm."

She gasped. "Sold the farm! But, Carey, you loved thatplace!"

He made a little I-don't-care gesture. "I'm not cut out to bea farmer, Vicky," he explained earnestly. "Never was. And much as Iloved the farm, it seemed silly to hang on to it when it could put methrough school. So I sold it."

Impulsively she reached out and touched him. Somethingelectric leaped between them; he noticed it too, and stiffened, butshe closed her fingers on his hand and held on. With an effort, herelaxed.

"I remember the first time I saw you," she said, to distracthim.

"Yeah. Dripping wet, cold, hungry, not a penny to myname..."

"I thought you were terribly brave," she confided. "Coming allthe way from Illinois by yourself after your mother died."

He shrugged. "I didn't really have a choice. I did what I hadto do."

"You could have stayed with your aunt and uncle," she remindedhim.

He snorted. His posture in the chair didn't change, but shefelt something tighten, a thread of resentment he still hadn'tconquered.

"Okay, okay," she relented. "Still, I thought it was brave. For a while there, you were my hero."

"You're kidding."

"No. I'm not."

He shook his head, grinning, and leaned back in his chair. "Inever thought of what I did as being particularly courageous."

"My father says brave people never do," she countered.

She could see him thinking about that. "Well, if Vincent saysit, it's probably true," he conceded slowly. "But I don't think itnecessarily applies to me."

He glanced at his watch and his entire demeanor changed as hegave a small start and leaped to his feet, gulping the last of hiscoffee. "I'm late."

His abrupt change of mood startled her. "For what?"

He flashed a quick grin. "Work."

"Work?" she repeated in astonishment. "What do you do?"

"Promise you won't laugh?" he challenged.

"Promise," she swore, but already she was having troublekeeping it.

"I'm doing research. For a historical novelist."

"You're kidding."

"No. She's writing a book about medieval France and she needslots of details."

"Like...?" she prompted him.

"Like clothes, food, housing, who the king's enemies were, andlots of other things I don't have time to go into."

"Just tell me one thing," she asked, following him to the frontdoor. "Is she anybody I've ever heard of?"

"Oh, probably. Gabriella Sykes." He went out, slamming thedoor behind him.

Vicky found herself smiling. Of course she'd heard ofGabriella Sykes, who hadn't? She'd even read a couple of the woman'sbooks.

More important, she'd just spent a pleasant half-hour withCarey and managed to keep her newly sensitive sense of him undercontrol. She was certain he didn't suspect a thing; it was a greatrelief to know she wouldn't have to avoid him.

After tidying the kitchen, she went upstairs. Yesterday therehadn't been time to unpack more than her toothbrush, so she did thatfirst. Her trunk and boxes weren't here yet, so she only had to putaway the clothes from her suitcase and carryall. After that she madeher bed and took a long, hot shower.

When she came out of the bathroom, she was moderately surprisedto hear Evan moving around in the room that used to be Jacob's. Shepadded barefoot to the doorway.

"Hi," he greeted her, uncharacteristically cheerful consideringit was still morning. "I'm going down to the darkroom. Want tocome?"

It was a welcome diversion to what otherwise stretched out as adull day and she spent the rest of the morning helping him in therevived basement darkroom.

The pictures were of the seamier side of New York City streetlife: dirty urchins, sullen teenagers, hopeless elderly. The starkblack and white images were disturbingly gripping.

"Oh, Evan, these are great," she said as print after print washung to dry. "What will you do with them?"

He shrugged and lifted another print from the fixative. "Notmuch chance to sell them in the magazine market," he admitted. "Butwho knows? Maybe I'll do a book someday."

Looking at his work, his perception, Vicky decided she wouldn'tbe surprised at all if he did just that.

After they finished in the darkroom, Evan surprised her bygoing out.

"Where?" she asked. "Taking your camera?" If he was, shemight invite herself along. It would be fun to see how he went aboutgetting those pictures.

"Not this time," he said, dashing her hopes. "I'm meeting someof the guys."

"Oh," she said, deflated. "Anybody I know?"

"Yep." His reply was deliberately brief. When she didn't riseto the bait, he grinned. "Jason and Scott, Paul and Marcus for sure. Maybe some of the other guys."

It was the group he'd hung out with in high school and ofcourse she knew them all, but had no real interest in seeing any ofthem again. "Okay. Have a good time." As he went out, she shoutedafter him. "Don't stay out too late!" and heard his laughter as heslammed the door.

His absence left a void and Vicky imagined she heard herfootsteps echo as she went up to the second floor study.

The room reminded her strongly of her father; if she tried, shecould almost see him sitting behind his massive desk, head bent overa map or a book or even his journal. Suddenly, she was lonely forhim.

Their bond had changed in the time she'd been gone, and now,unless she reached for it consciously, she had no sense of him. Slowly she reached out. He seemed preoccupied, but gladness rose inhim as she opened more fully, and she realized he was sensing hertouch. She thought of him, pausing in his work to think of her, andsmiled. The connection closed slowly, as if by mutual consent, andshe settled back in her chair and sighed.

The contact with her father reminded her that the other sensebeating lightly against her heart wasn't his. Carey was all right,though, his emotions running on a pleasant, even keel, and sheresolved to put him out of her mind.

When the phone rang, she leaped for it eagerly.

"Hi, honey," her mother said. "How's your morning?"

"Pretty good," she answered. "How's yours?"

"Not so good. Some new evidence has turned up and the PD and Ihave to meet with the judge in chambers at four o'clock. I won't beable to get away. I'm sorry."

Vicky didn't need to be an empath to sense her mother's regret;it came clearly through her voice. "Me, too," she answered. "We'lldo it another time."

"Another time," her mother agreed. "I'll try to be home bysix."

Vicky cradled the phone and looked around dismally. Until thismoment, she hadn't known how she'd looked forward to spending theafternoon with her mother. Now she'd have to find some otheractivity to fill the hours until everyone got home.

She turned to one of the crowded bookshelves and ran her fingeralong one, scanning titles, but she wasn't really in the mood forreading. Besides, she'd read most of these already. Her finger cameaway smudged fuzzy gray and that gave her something to do. She hadno intention of dusting all the books in the room; that was an allday job. But she could dust the shelves and the tables.

She got a dustcloth and a spray bottle of furniture polish andset to work. After she finished the furniture, momentum carried heron. With a clean rag, she wiped a film of dust from lampshades andpicture frames. After that, she polished all the paperweights in hermother's collection and ran the cloth over the carved wooden birdsher father liked so much. The polished wood of the chessboard, shenoticed, hadn't collected much dust but its surface was smudged withfingermarks, so she buffed it until it shone. Then the floor seemeddull, so she vacuumed the rugs and pushed a dust mop around thehardwood floor. When she finished, the room gleamed and she lookedaround in satisfaction. Odd, how much she'd enjoyed this, whennormally she hated housework. It must have something to do withbeing home again.

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed noisily. "Anybodyhome?"

It was Carey's voice. She'd been so absorbed in her work shehadn't sensed him coming. Somehow that unsettled her.

He came up the stairs lightly, two at a time. "Hi," hegreeted. "Where's Evan?"

"Hanging out with the guys," she answered, and wondered ifshe'd ever be able to meet him without her heart leapingviolently.

"Oh. You here alone?"

She nodded.

He seemed hesitant, and she could sense his uncertainly. "Well, listen," he began awkwardly. "I was going Below, but I couldstay here, if you like. Or you could come with me," he offered.

Of the three choices - staying in the house alone, staying withCarey, or going into the tunnels - the last was the leastdaunting.

"Just let me get a jacket," she said and ran upstairs.

The trip down was uneventful and Vicky found herself at ease,once she'd gotten over the initial shock of Carey's suddenappearance. They parted at the entrance to Father's Chamber.

"I'm supposed to meet Annie," he said, looking apologetic.

"Don't worry about me," Vicky assured him. "I'll be fine."

"All right. I'll look for you later, to see if you want towalk back together."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

He strode off down one of the side corridors. Vicky went intothe study. Her father was there, writing in one of the big ledgers. He looked up as she came in.

"Hi. I'm visiting." She dropped into a chair.

"So I see." He put down his pen and pushed the ledger back. "Have you enjoyed your first day home?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Sort of, I guess. I mean, therewasn't much to do. I helped Evan print some pictures and cleaned thestudy."

One highly arched eyebrow went even higher. "You must havebeen bored."

She laughed. "I was. But I have some things I want to do. Pretty soon I'll be so busy you'll hardly see me."

"Have I told you how very pleasant it is to have you where Ican see you, even if only occasionally?"

"I believe you have, but you can say it again." She grinned. "You really didn't know how bored I was?"

He shook his head faintly. "No. Your control of ourconnection seems complete. I feel nothing unless you wish it."

She leaned forward with interest. "How would you tell if I'mwishing it, or it's just seeping through?"

"Because the only times I sense you is when you're thinking ofme. Thinking warmly."

She smiled. "When I'm thinking warmly, how do you know it's ofyou?"

"It's difficult to express. But the warmth you feel toward meis different from the warmth you have for your mother, or yourbrothers, or your friends."

"Really?" She thought about it. "Well, I guess that makessense. After all, when you let me, I can tell when you're thinkingabout me, as opposed to when you're thinking about Mom. I'm not sureI could distinguish your feelings for any of the boys, though."

"No. There's no discernable difference in your feelingstowards them, either. Or at least, there wasn't three years ago. I'm not sure now."

"Because you can't sense me," she guessed.

"Not unless you allow it. So far you haven't done that whilethinking of your brothers."

She smiled. "I have to tell you, Daddy, our connection feelsreally strange. For three years, I haven't had to worry about it. Imean, I practiced separating myself, just so I'd know how to do it,but it was different over there, because even when I slipped, therewas no one to know. I missed you sometimes, at first," she confided. "I'd be feeling lonely or sad and I'd reach out, and you wouldn't bethere."

"I know that feeling," he confirmed. "I missed you, too."

"Now it's the same thing in reverse. It feels odd to openmyself and feel you there."

"Would you rather you did not?" His careful inquiry held atrace of stiff formality and she rushed to reassure him.

"Oh, Daddy, no! It's wonderful to have you there. I just haveto get used to it again, that's all."

"You're certain? You're my daughter, Victoria, but you're alsonot a child anymore. You've grown into a lovely young woman and Ihave no right to intrude on your privacy."

"You don't. You can't, anyway," she pointed out. "You saidyourself you can't feel me unless I let you."

"That's true."

"But, Daddy?"

"Yes, Victoria?" He waited patiently while she found thewords.

"If... for some reason... because I'm distracted, maybe... andmy control starts to slip..." She could feel herself blushing as sheremembered that other time when her still unperfected control hadfallen away, leaving her father as helpless witness to one of themost private moments of her growing up. "Could you let me know?" shefinished in a rush. "Somehow?"

He nodded gravely. "I think neither of us wishes to repeat theincident with Sean," he replied. "If I begin to sense something Ishouldn't, I will let you know."

She nodded jerkily, avoiding his gaze.

"Where are the boys?" he asked, and she wondered if he waschanging the subject to ease her embarrassment.

"Evan went out with some of his buddies. Carey's down heresomewhere. With Annie. Anne."

Vincent nodded. "And your plans?"

"I'm not sure yet. I didn't get to spend much time with myfriends last night, though. I think I'll try to find them."

"Hannah and Gena are in the nursery," her father answeredpromptly. "Deirdre's shift as sentry ends in fifteen minutes, andAbbey has been helping Mouse."

"Do what?" she asked in amusement.

"I'm not certain," he confessed. "I only know it has somethingto do with the water supply. I'm trusting Abbey to keep the projectwithin the realm of possibility."

Vicky knew Mouse well enough to smile at that. "But theyshould all be done soon, right?"

"Yes. It's nearly dinner time. I'm sure your friends would bepleased if you could join them for the meal."

Vicky nodded. "I think I will."

Her father closed the big ledger and pushed to his feet.

"Then," he said easily, "I think I'll go Above. Your mother willbe home soon, and it's been some time since we've had a quiet dinnertogether, just the two of us."

"Ooh, romantic," Vicky teased. "She'll like that." But shecouldn't ruffle her father's unshakable serenity.

"Yes," he agreed, and reached for his cloak. "I believe shewill."

It wasn't hard for Vicky to find her friends. All she had todo was stop by the pipe chamber and ask Zach to send a message forher. He complied, and fifteen minutes later the entire group wasgathered around a table in the dining chamber. The meal wasn't quiteready, but that didn't matter. It gave them a chance to talk andthey were still going at it when Young William, no relation but heirapparent to Old William, signaled it was time to eat.

Halfway through the meal, Carey came in with Anne. Vicky foundherself watching them as they crossed the large chamber.

"Carey and Anne are inseparable," Hannah commented.

"Really?" Vicky tried to keep her tone casual, all the whilewondering why Carey's choice of girlfriend should matter to heranyway. "Is she nice?"

"Yes, she really is," Abbey said. "Pretty shy, though. It'shard to get her to talk."

"She almost never eats with us," Gena added. "Even thoughwe've asked her. If Carey's not here, she waits and eats with herfather."

"I think that's sweet," Vicky said. "To want to spend timewith her father."

Deirdre laughed. "I guess it is," she agreed. "My parents arealways after me to sit with them."

"My mother, too," Abbey chimed.

Hannah and Gena simply looked wistful; they were among thecommunity's orphans and had no parents of their own.

"Anyway," Hannah said forcefully, "Anne and Carey have beentogether for so long, I figure we'll be hearing wedding bells anytime."

There was a chorus of agreement. Vicky glanced toward thesmall table Carey and Anne shared. They did seem like a couple, sheadmitted. Her connection with Carey hummed with contentment, and shetried to be glad.

After the meal, she and her friends retired to the chamberHannah and Gena shared, and were happily gossiping when the residentmales in their age group - Nathaniel, Mark, and Seth - foundthem.

"May we come in?" the boys asked from the doorway.

A chorus of noes greeted them. Grinning, they came in anyway. Hannah seized a small crocheted pillow and hurled it towards thedoor. The other girls quickly followed suit and soon the air wasfilled with soft missiles. Cannily, the boys amassed pillows untilthe young women ran out of ammunition, then threatened to returnfire.

The women dissolved in giggles and surrendered. The young mentossed the pillows aside and found places to sit. Mark, Vickynoticed, took care to find a seat next to Hannah. Nathaniel boldlysat beside Vicky.

An hour passed in laughter, teasing, and easy conversationbefore Vicky saw Mark nudge Hannah with his elbow and give aquestioning glance toward the chamber entrance. Hannah smiled shyly,and they rose.

"Where are you going?" Seth asked. His voice held nosurprise.

"For a walk," Mark retorted.

Vicky missed Seth's reply, as pressure on her arm drew herattention to Nathaniel. "Want to go for a walk?" he whispered.

Going out the door with him would be a commitment of sorts, sherecognized. It was a sort of informal declaration, among their peersat any rate, that she and Nathaniel were a couple, like going steadyin her own world. She wasn't sure she was prepared to do that, butNathaniel did hold a certain attraction that hadn't been there beforeshe'd gone to England.

Acting on impulse, she slid her hand into his. His look ofpleasure was gratifying and she let him draw her to her feet.

"Ooh, another one," Seth began.

"Shut up, Seth," Nathaniel said pleasantly. "You're justjealous because none of the girls down here will succumb to yourquestionable charms."

"They're questionable, all right," Gena agreed, laughing. "Don't worry, you guys. We'll hold him down while you make agetaway."

The two couples made their escape. In the passage outside,Mark and Nathaniel exchanged some sort of silent message that Vickycouldn't translate; then Nathaniel was pulling her along one passagewhile Mark and Hannah moved down another.

"Pretty slick," she observed. "Alone at last?"

He had the good grace to blush. "I'm sorry. But Seth does gosort of overboard sometimes. He likes Natalie Shaw - I don't thinkyou know her, her parents became helpers a few years ago, but it wasafter you left..."

She nodded silent agreement; she'd never heard of theShaws.

"...anyway, he likes Natalie and she likes him, but they don'tsee each other often because Seth's down here and she's up there. She's in college at the University of Connecticut and doesn't gethome very much."

"Can't Seth go up there? Maybe even find a job, go to school? To be near her?"

Nathaniel's gaze implied she was marginally crazy. "Why wouldhe want to do that? He lives here. He's been teaching the littlekids math and science and he really likes that."

"He could teach up there. If he went to school, I mean. Or goto college and then come back here."

"Well, I don't think he's going to," Nathaniel said. "And wedon't want to talk about him, anyway." He still had her hand, andpulled her closer, turning into the long passage that led,eventually, to the Whispering Gallery.

"So tell me," Nathaniel asked as they strolled. "While youwere in England, did you dance with the Prince of Wales?"

She giggled. "Don't be silly, Nathaniel, he's only a littleboy. I did meet the King's brother, Prince Harry, though. At acharity function. He spoke to me, and was quite charming."

"You liked England."

"Very much. I have lots of friends there."

He put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad you're homenow," he said, and pulled her close.

She swung around to face him and slid her arms around hiswaist. He was warm and solid when she rested her head on his chest,and his scent, redolent with damp earth and candlesmoke, reminded herof her father. She felt safe, and when he lifted her chin and benthis head to hers, she didn't resist. His kiss was pleasant if notelectrifying, and she found herself a little disappointed when hepulled back.

His eyes searched hers a moment before he turned away. "Comeon," he said, feigning a lightness she knew he didn't feel. "I wantto hear the voices."

No, you don't, she thought, but didn't voice her doubts. Instead, she followed him onto the narrow span, moving patientlybehind him until he found just the right spot. She let him pull herclose so they could both hear. The sounds focused on this spotconfused her. "What is it?"

"Isn't it great?" he asked. "It's the Yankee game. Soundslike we're right in the park, doesn't it?"

"No," she replied honestly. Vicky had been to Yankee Stadium. Besides, except for when Evan and Carey had played, she'd never beenmuch for baseball. "Can't we find some music?"

He looked down, his expression puzzled. "Sure," he answered. "I guess so." He moved her slowly along the bridge. Once they hit aspot where they could hear something fast and loud and not verymusical to Vicky's ear. He paused, but moved on when she shook herhead. Other spots gave them the sound of a bitter argument, along-winded political speech, and a baby's fretful wail. At lastNathaniel located a place where the soft tinkle of a piano playingbland versions of show tunes and easy listening songs could be heard. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she shrugged in response. Itwasn't as if they could be terribly selective, and this was certainlythe best they'd been able to find.

They listened in silence for a few moments and then Vickybecame conscious that Nathaniel was turning her towards him. Instinctively she tilted her face up to accept his kiss but suddenlystiffened and pulled away.

Nathaniel's face showed confusion. "Vicky, what...?"

"Someone's coming," she whispered.

A moment later Carey emerged from the passage and stepped ontothe bridge. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interruptanything."

"You aren't," Vicky assured him hastily, suppressing the urgeto smooth her hair. Nathaniel's arm tightened around her shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, actually. I'm on my way home and we saidwe'd walk back together..." He stopped in mid-sentence, glancingback and forth from her to Nathaniel. "Look, I'm sorry. I aminterrupting."

"It's okay, Carey." Nathaniel's voice held a trace of strain,but Vicky couldn't quite place the emotion causing it. There was toomuch turbulence in the thread connecting her to Carey.

Nathaniel turned to her. "I have sentry duty tonight anyway,"he said. "My shift starts soon, so it's probably a good idea for youto go on with Carey."

She nodded.

Nathaniel gave Carey a quick look. Then, with a surge ofdefiance that was almost palpable, he bent and brushed his lipsacross hers. "See you soon," he whispered, and with a squeeze of herhand, went on across the bridge and vanished into the tunnel on theother side.

Vicky watched him go, then moved slowly in the oppositedirection. Carey had turned away and was busy examining his wornsneakers, but he looked up when she stopped beside him.

"I'm really sorry, Vicky. I didn't know things had gottenserious with you and Nathaniel."

She gave him her best smile. "I don't know about serious," shesaid, and fell into step beside him.

"You spent a lot of time together," he observed politely.

Not as much as you and Anne, she wanted to say, but recognizedthe urge as childish. "A little bit," she agreed, instead. "It'sfunny. Before, we were just good friends. Now, it's as if I'mseeing him in a whole new way."

Carey nodded his understanding. "Nathaniel's a good guy. Ilike him," he said, and Vicky felt a brief, irrational burst ofirritation. As if she needed or even wanted his approval! Sherecognized the irrationality, though, and bit down on the impulse tooffer a sharp retort.

The silence between them grew. Carey seemed outwardlycomfortable, but underneath he was seething with something shecouldn't pin down. It plucked at Vicky's nerves, stretching themtight and she nibbled at her lower lip, trying to think of somethingto say. Only idiotic banalities sprang to mind.

They hadn't gone very far when Carey stopped and put hisshoulder against what looked like a sheet of stained plywood set intothe cracked brick of the passage wall. The panel swung away,concealed hinges protesting, and Carey ducked through the narrowopening behind it.

"Wait!" she cried in confusion. "Where are you going?"

"Home," he answered. He looked back and offered his hand. "Come on. It's shorter this way."

After a moment's hesitation, she accepted his hand and let himassist her through to the dank, musty chamber on the other side. Shewaited while he pushed the makeshift door back into place, thenfollowed him down a short, dark passage. "Where are you taking me?"she whispered.

"Above. It's quicker."

"You said that," she complained. "It didn't used to be."

"They've blocked off the passage between the Whispering Galleryand the drainage system under the park," he explained. "Basically,you can't get there from here anymore."

"Without going most of the way back to the main tunnels," Vickyagreed, understanding.

"Right." Carey stopped again, this time to pull a lever. Asteel door, smaller than the one in the conduit under the park, slidopen. He waited, peering through the opening; Vicky waited behindhim. When he moved, it was quickly. He caught her arm and pulledher through, triggering the closing mechanism with his otherhand.

Vicky was surprised to find herself on the platform of a nearlydeserted subway station, but she didn't have time to look around. Carey still had her arm and dragged her across the platform, up thestairs, and out into the summer night. Only when they were on thesidewalk, walking away, did he release her.

Vicky looked around, getting her bearings; they were onBroadway, not six blocks from home. "Neat trick," she murmured, andstarted after Carey.

He set a brisk pace and she hurried to catch up. "Where'd youlearn about that?" she asked, absently rubbing her arm.

"I have my ways," he said, raising an eyebrow in what was meantto be an evil leer. Then he noticed her arm. "Vicky, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "Not much. You had hold of me prettyhard, though."

"I'm sorry. It only occurred to me after we were there thattaking you through the subway had to be a pretty stupid thing todo."

"Why? Oh, because of the muggers and stuff."

"Right. I mean, they've cleaned the stations up a lot in thelast few years, but subway stations - and subways, for that matter -are still not the safest places in the world. Especially at night." The unsettling weave of emotions was gone now and only Carey'scustomary calm touched her.

"The subway in London is like that, too," she said. "Theunderground, they call it. I never rode it."

"Never?"

"I never rode a New York subway, either."

He grinned. "A deprived childhood, right? And you never tookshortcuts through subway stations, or along the tracks?"

She grinned back. "While it was common knowledge that suchshortcuts existed," she said precisely, "it was also widely acceptedthat if we used them and the trains and muggers didn't get us, myfather would. I didn't want to take the chance."

"He uses them."

"He might," she agreed, wondering how Carey came by thatknowledge. "But I don't think I should."

They turned the last corner and reached home a few minuteslater. Vicky had forgotten her keys, but Carey had his and let themin.

"You want something to eat?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "I had supper Below," he answered.

"So did I, but I could use a snack." She started towards thekitchen.

"Hey!" Carey leaned over the bannister, calling after her.

She turned and feigned indignation. "What?"

"When you come up, bring me something to drink!"

Carey was in the study, seated at her mother's desk, takingnotes from a thick book. Vicky set a cold can of Pepsi down in frontof him. "What are you doing?"

"Looking up some stuff for Gabriella," he answered, and reachedfor the can.

"Tell me about her," she urged. "I've never met a best-sellingwriter. You get to call her Gabriella? Not Miss Sykes?"

He laughed. "You'll have to meet her sometime. She's not whatyou're thinking. She's very open, very nice."

Vicky thought about the photographs of Gabriella Sykes she'dseen on the back of dust jackets and frowned doubtfully. "If you sayso," she agreed. She glanced down at his work. "Mom's law books?"she asked, surprised.

"British Common Law," he explained, and showed her the spine. "I'm trying to find a precedent Gabriella can use for her hero, butit's actually pretty interesting reading."

Vicky made a note of that for the next boring afternoon, andwent around her father's desk to sink into his big leather chair. "Where is my mom, anyway?" she asked.

"I don't know. Nobody was here when we came in."

Vicky glanced through the open door, into the hall. On theother side of the stairs, her parents' bedroom door stood ajar justfar enough for her to be certain they weren't there. She started toreach out with her empathic sense, but suddenly checked herself. Maybe her father wouldn't want her contact right now.

Carey glanced up from his work. "You okay?"

She bent her head to hide her burning cheeks. "Yeah. Do theydo this often?"

"What?"

"Disappear. I mean, they didn't used to when I lived here, butit seems things have changed..."

"Sometimes they like to go off together, yeah," Carey replied. "Not often. If they're going to be gone long, one of them usuallyleaves me a note. So I won't worry."

She peered at him. "You'd worry? About Mom and Daddy?"

"Yes. Of course."

"But why?" she asked, bewildered. "Daddy can take care ofanything that happens..."

"Sometimes he goes Above," Carey reminded her. "What could hedo against a gun?"

She found the very notion bewildering. "You mean like amugger? He'd never let anybody like that even see him."

"Not if he knew," Carey agreed. "But what if someone had atelescope? A camera with a long lens? He'd never even know... andthey might come back later, armed..."

"Nothing like that could happen to Daddy," she whispered.

"It did, once," Carey answered flatly. "Before any of you wereborn."

"Someone shot him?" she asked in horror.

"With a tranquilizer gun. They took him to the university, puthim in a cage. Your mother came to rescue him and two men died."

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "I never heard that. Whotold you that?"

"Vincent did."

Vicky wanted to argue, wanted to refute everything he said, butCarey was quite calm, quite sure of himself. She found herselfstaring.

"And what if something happened to Aunt Cathy?" he went on. "I've heard those stories, too. I know what he'd do to protecther."

A long-buried memory pushed itself to the surface and sheflinched.

"What? What's wrong?" Carey was beside her in an instant,taking her suddenly cold hand between his warm ones.

"When you said that," she whispered, reliving the horror. "Iremembered something. Something that happened when I was a littlegirl.

"Something bad?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Kind of."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I don't know," she answered. "Maybe telling you will help meunderstand it. I must have been eight or nine," she began. "Mom andI had been out. I don't remember anymore where we'd been, but it wasdark by the time we started back. We were walking and I wasn'tafraid because I was holding her hand. But as we started gettingcloser to home and there weren't as many people, or as much light, Icould tell she was getting worried. I held tighter to her hand, andat the same time, I reached out for Daddy. Immediately I knew he wasnearby and I was going to tell Mom so she wouldn't worry when somebig boys stepped out in front of us. It didn't scare me until I felthow frightened she was. She pushed me behind her and I saw one ofthe boys had a gun. I started to cry. And then everything gotred."

"Red?" Carey asked, startled. "You mean blood? Someone gothurt?"

"No. I mean red. In my mind. I mean, I could see what washappening, that they had Mom's purse and were making her take off herearrings and her wedding ring, but it was like it wasn't happening tome anymore. There was something red and angry and terrible washingover me, and I couldn't think of anything else. And then someoneelse... something else was there, and it was big and black and made aferocious sound... later, when I first heard the phrase, sound andfury, that's what I thought of. And one of the boys fell down andthe other one started running, kind of limping. And the big, blackthing started after it... and my mother caught hold of it and stoppedit."

"Vincent," Carey said softly.

Vicky nodded. "At first, I didn't recognize him. I'd seen himangry, but I'd never seen him like that before, never felt anythinglike that before."

"It was his fury you were sensing."

She nodded. "I guess he couldn't control it completely; I wasgetting the overflow. He turned around and he terrified me, Carey. His face... it was a minute or two, I guess, before he looked likeDaddy again. And the whole time, Mom was holding his arm and talkingto him. I couldn't hear what she said, but somehow she calmed himdown. He looked at me before he left us, and his eyes were so sadand somehow I wasn't afraid anymore. I wanted to hug him, have himhug me, but the boy on the ground was moving a little and kind ofgroaning and Mom pushed Daddy toward an alley and grabbed my hand andhurried me away. She was walking so fast I had to almost run to keepup, and the whole time, she was talking, telling me that if anyonestopped us, anyone asked, we hadn't seen or heard anything. I canstill hear how her voice trembled.

"When we got home, we didn't come inside. Instead, she made mesit with her on the steps, out front, while she talked to me."

"She didn't want you to be afraid," Carey guessed.

"And I think she didn't want me to hurt Daddy's feelings. Soshe explained to me that those boys could have hurt us very badly andDaddy had only been protecting us because he loved us, and stuff likethat. And also, that I must never, ever tell anyone what I'd seen. I think that was the worst part. That I wasn't allowed to tell."

"You're telling me," Carey pointed out, and she knew he wastrying to relieve the tension.

"Years after the fact," she answered, forcing a smile. "I toldGrandfather, too, and he listened to all my fears and worries andanswered all my questions."

"Did you ever talk about it with Vincent?"

She shook her head. "Never. At first..." she hesitated,wanting to choose the right words. "I wasn't afraid of him, but Iwas, you know? I mean, I knew he could never do anything to hurt me,but still, I had seen him large and loud and terrible..."

"Interesting phrase," Carey murmured.

"Yes, but that's how I thought of it. Large and loud andterrible. And red."

"The red part confuses me."

Vicky spread her hands. "I know it doesn't make sense. Butthat's what it felt like. Red. Angry. Vengeful."

"And you never felt it again?"

"One other time. Not too long before you came. I was in myroom, reading, and I felt it. Not so strong that time, but stillloud and terrible."

"Loud?"

She forced a laugh. "I know it sounds funny. How can things Ifeel be loud? The same way they can be colors, I guess."

"What happened that time?"

"I don't know. My mother wasn't home when it happened, and ofcourse, I was waiting when she did come, but she seemed fine, and Ididn't want to ask because if she didn't already know, it would upsether. And I didn't think I should tell Daddy, either. So I just keptit to myself."

Carey nodded thoughtfully.

"Carey, I hope this won't change the way you feel about myfather," she said hastily.

"Of course not," Carey said, surprised. "I think he'sfascinating."

Vicky found herself bristling defensively. "What do youmean?"

"I mean the way he balances what he is, the way he makes it allwork for him." What Carey was feeling was a kind of affectionaterespect and Vicky relaxed. "I used to be in awe of him, you know?"he went on. "But we've spent more time together the last couple ofyears, playing chess or discussing books or points in history. Now..." he chuckled softly. "I don't think I could love him more ifhe was my own father."

The depth and truth of what he said and the quiet passionbehind it showed her a Carey she'd seldom seen, and demonstrated thathe was a man of sensitivity, of strength and perception. He was aman to be admired. She wanted to tell him so, but she'd told himonly that morning that he'd been her hero. She'd been half-teasingthen, but it might make him think what she wanted to say now wasinsincere.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and a moment later Vicky'sparents came in. Her mother was flushed and breathless, laughing,and she had to let go of Vincent's hand to kiss Vicky's cheek. "Hi,honey. How was your first day back?"

"Pretty good. Where have you been?"

Her parents exchanged one of those looks that had always madeVicky feel left out. "We went for a walk in the park," her motheradmitted.

Vicky gave Carey a cautious glance, but he was leaning back inhis chair, smiling. "Isn't that sort of dangerous?" she asked.

Her mother looked surprised. "Not really. We stay away frompeople; your father knows when someone's coming." She seemed tosense Vicky's concern, and smiled. "Don't worry, honey. We've beenwalking in the park since before you were born. We're careful."

She sounded calm, even matter of fact, and a glance at herfather showed him to be equally unruffled. With an effort, Vickyswallowed her concern and forced a smile. "Okay, then," she saidbrightly. "I'm glad you had a good time."

The next two weeks were busy ones. Evan packed his cameras andduffle bag and set out to photograph a festival in Spain. Vickymissed him, but soon her trunks and boxes arrived and were dulyunpacked. Her mother found time for their postponed shoppingexcursion and Vicky spent a pleasant afternoon in the study,listening to music with her father. She soon felt as if she'd neverleft.

She saw Nathaniel five times during those weeks, twice atinformal gatherings below and three times to walk hand in handthrough some of the less travelled tunnels. Her fondness for himgrew, and she found herself anticipating their time together with anervousness that felt silly when she considered that they'd beeninseparable as children.

But often as she saw Nathaniel, she found herself more oftenwith Carey. The disconcertion of having him not only across the hallbut ever present in her heart, tugging at her mind, was something shewas learning to live with.

He was easy to talk to and she often found herself discussingthings she'd never talked about with anyone else.

"What color is happiness?" he wanted to know, one lazy Saturdayafternoon.

She looked up from the chessboard where she was losing - badly- and frowned. "What?"

"You remember. You talked about it the other day, aboutfeeling in colors." His expression was open, interested. Clearly,this was a concept that hadn't occurred to him and he wanted toexplore it.

She pondered a moment. "Happiness is yellow, I guess. Brightand shining. Sometimes with peach or even orange overtones."

"Like a sunset?"

"Brighter. Maybe like a dawn. Contentment's green, though. Peaceful and cool and relaxing."

"How about sadness? That's blue, I'll bet."

"Nope. Purple."

"Purple?" he asked skeptically. "Doesn't sound sad to me."

"It is to me. Sadness always feels purple. Dark. I don'tlike purple."

"Anger's red. I remember that. How about fear?"

She shivered. "I don't think fear has a color. It's justcold. Still. Helpless."

"Like an icy rain," he said softly. "I know that feeling." Heseemed to be looking inward, his eyes somehow bleak, but she feltstrongly that he did not want her to ask about it.

"Right now," she announced instead, "I'm feeling relaxed andcontented."

He took his cue. "That ought to be green."

"Nope. Not that kind of contentment."

He grinned. "Okay, I give. What color is it?"

She pretended to ponder. "Pink. I think it's pink."

It had been a long time since she'd had the leisure to spend aSunday morning sipping coffee and reading the paper. That her familywas there, too, simply increased the pleasure. Pushing a section ofthe Sunday Times off the coffee table to make room for her coffeecup, Vicky sank down on the floor beside it. "Has anybody seen theentertainment section?"

She received a noncommittal grunt from Carey and no answer atall from her father, but her mother looked up from the folded segmentin her hand. "It was over here a minute ago," she said, stirring thehaphazard stack of papers at her elbow. "Yes, here it is." Shepassed it over.

"Thanks." Vicky spread it open on the coffee table and pausedto sip at her coffee.

"Did you see this article on Lionel Mason?" she heard herfather ask.

"Not yet, but I will," her mother replied. "He's a fascinatingman, and I want to..."

Vicky tuned the voices out and concentrated on the paper,turning pages lazily. "Look," she said, after a moment. "'Fellowship' is still running."

"That play's been running for months," Carey answered withoutlooking up from what appeared to be the sports section.

"I know," she answered with a touch of acerbity. "It may haveescaped your notice, but I haven't been here."

He peered over the top of the paper and grinned. "True," heconceded.

"Did you want to see it?" her mother asked.

"I'd like to. Want to go with me?"

"Oh, I don't think so, honey. I'm sure you can find a friendto join you. In fact, why don't you ask Nathaniel?"

Vicky darted a glance at her father. "Would that be okay?"

"Of course." He sounded surprised.

"Well, last time I asked if Nathaniel could go somewheretopside, you said no."

"Last time, you were both twelve years old and it wasNathaniel's father who didn't wish him to come Above. Nathaniel'sgrown now. He makes his own decisions."

Vicky called the box office the next morning to order ticketsand took the newspaper along when she went Below that evening.

"Look." She showed Nathaniel the ad. "What do you think?"

"About what?" He peered at the paper. "'Fellowship,'" he readaloud, and grinned. "I haven't seen it."

"Good. Because neither have I, and I have tickets."

Something that looked like shock crossed his face. "To a play? This play?"

"Sure. What's wrong with it?"

"For one thing, I'm not crazy about plays."

"Oh, but, Nathaniel, you'll like this one, I'm sure you will. I really want to see it," she wheedled.

"You can go."

"I'm not looking for permission. I want to go with you. Together. Like a date."

"There's a concert in the park on Thursday," he suggested. "Wecould listen to that and it would be like a date."

"That's not what I mean. This is important to me, Nathaniel. Please?"

He squirmed. "Vicky, I'd rather not."

She sat back, puzzled and a little hurt. "Why not?"

"Because."

"That's not a very good reason."

He sighed. "Because it's up there."

"What? Up where?" She stared at him. "Nathaniel, are yousaying you won't go because it's Above?"

He nodded. "I don't like it up there," he muttered. "It'snoisy and dirty and frenetic. People get hurt up there all the time,Vicky. Killed, even. It's safe here."

"It's safe there if you know the places to avoid," she argued,bewildered. "I love your world, Nathaniel, but it's dull. Boring,even. There's excitement up there, adventure. I live there," sheadded, stating the obvious.

"I know you do," he said with obvious reluctance. "I wish youdidn't."

"You really mean that, don't you?" she asked softly.

He nodded, and despite all her arguments, refused to be moved. Finally she gave up and offered the tickets to Carey. "Take them,"she said, trying not to let her disappointment show. "Take Anne. I'll bet she'd like to go."

"Annie doesn't care for plays," he said. "Doesn't care to comeAbove, either. Though she's not as adamant about it as Nathanielis."

She stared at him. It hadn't occurred to her before, but inmany ways, he and Anne faced the same obstacles she and Nathanieldid. "Doesn't that make it awkward sometimes?" she asked. "With youliving up here, going to school, and Anne living Below?"

He shrugged. "No more awkward than if she lived across town,or in one of the boroughs. A lot of my friends live Below. Seeingthem requires some travel, that's all." He grinned. "Besides, Ilike the tunnels. It's quiet there. The pace is slower. I go thereand I come back refreshed."

Well, that was certainly true of her, too. She'd always lovedto visit her father's world. But a deep relationship could mean adecision down the line - a decision Vicky wasn't sure she wasprepared to make. "Could you ever live there?" she asked.

He took a moment to think it over. "Probably," he saidfinally. "I mean, I'd miss things like hot showers, movies andplays. Baseball. But it's peaceful down there. I could read,study. Teach."

She nodded dismally and he leaned toward her.

"Vicky, what is it? This thing with Nathaniel has you moreupset than you'd like everyone to know, doesn't it?"

She nodded. "I keep thinking, what if we go on and it becomestruly serious? He won't live up here. He won't even visit. And,Carey, I don't want to live down there."

"Is that why you asked me if I could?"

"Yes, but the situation's not the same; even if you lived downthere, you could still do the things you love - teach, study. It'sthe same. But me..." She laughed sadly. "There's no call for whatI want to be down there."

"You never know," he said, sliding his arm across her shouldersand giving a little squeeze. "You've never told me, Vicky. What doyou plan to do with your life?"

She bit her lip and looked away, and he gave her a littleshake.

"Come on."

She squirmed, but his gaze, though mild, was implacable. "Okay," she said finally, "but you have to promise not to tellanyone."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is it that bad?"

"I don't think so, but my parents might."

He leaned closer. "Don't tell me. You're going to become abelly dancer."

She laughed. "No. Columbia doesn't offer that degreeyet."

He raised his eyebrows. "Columbia?"

She nodded. "I've transferred my credits from my college inEngland and I'm registered for the fall semester."

"School is good," he approved. "That can't be what I'm notsupposed to tell."

"I'm thinking of majoring in Political Science."

"You're right. That's worse than belly dancing. You're goingto become a politician?"

He was so genuinely appalled that she had to laugh. "No, no,no. I just think the government and the way it works isinteresting."

"Interesting enough to make a career out of it?" he askedskeptically.

She ducked her head. "Carey," she said softly. "I have adream."

He stopped teasing and sat a little straighter. "One thatincludes a political science major?"

"No. It involves the other things I've been doing since I gothome."

"For instance?"

"I guess you could say I've been looking for a job."

"Belly dancing," he guessed.

She couldn't help a smile. "Wrong."

"Am I close?"

"Actually... closer than you think."

He removed his arm from her shoulders. "To belly dancing?" heasked, incredulous.

"You know I've always loved the stage," she began, and felt himnod. "While I was in England, I decided to do something about it. To try. So I went to some auditions."

He was gazing at her with awe. "And...?" he prompted when shepaused.

"And eventually, I got a part."

"You're kidding."

"No. It was a very small part, but it was on stage. London'sWest End, as a matter of fact. That's sort of their version ofBroadway."

"I know. Vicky, that's terrific!"

"The play only lasted three weeks, but I learned a lot, andanother director noticed me. He asked me to audition for him andgave me a part in his play."

"A bigger part?" Carey guessed.

"Not very much bigger. I died in the first act. But dying onstage is good experience, and when the play ended this spring, thedirector gave me names of people to contact here. That's what I'vebeen doing."

"So when can we expect to catch you on Broadway?" he asked.

"Not for a long time, I expect," she said candidly. "I'm notgoing to deceive myself about my chances, Carey. Acting's a toughbusiness and it's hard to break in, but I do have an agent now andshe's going to be sending me out on some auditions."

"That's terrific." The look he was giving her seemed a blendof respect and enjoyment, which pleased her. Her plans would seemmuch less possible if Carey disapproved. "Now explain to me how apoli sci degree is going to help your acting career."

His droll delivery made her laugh. "Oh, Carey. If you mustknow, I'm hedging my bets, as the saying goes."

"In what way?"

"If I haven't made any progress in career number one by thetime I finish college, I'm thinking of going on - to law school."

That elicited a grin. "Really."

She bristled defensively. "Yes, really. Why? Don't you thinkI'd be a good lawyer?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it. I just know I'd makea lousy one."

"I've always thought what my mother does is fascinating."

"Not fascinating enough to get me to apply to law school," heanswered swiftly. "But if you do, it'll please her. Did you knowthere have been attorneys in her family for five generations?"

"No." She scowled. "How come you know more family historythan I do? Stuff about my mother, my father..."

"Probably because I ask," he answered. "After all, they're myfamily, too, now."

She gazed at him thoughtfully. "Yes," she agreed slowly. "Isuppose they are."

In the end, she and Carey went to see "Fellowship" together. The pleasure she found in his company made her feel guilty, though,and the next time she went to see Nathaniel, she took a present. "It's Brigit O'Donnell's newest book," she said, putting it into hishands. "A collection of fairy stories. She says in the blurb thatshe can take time to write these now that there's peace in NorthernIreland."

He looked at the cover, turned the volume over and examined thejacket photo, and set it aside. "Thank you," he said. "I'll try toread some of it later."

"Try!" Vicky burst out. "Nathaniel, I don't understand you. My father showed me his copy and I couldn't wait to sit down and readit. I read the whole thing that same night."

"I remember how you like to read." He shrugged. "I'm not sohot on it."

She gazed at him, incredulous. "You used to read. Mark Twain,Jack London, Dickens and even Shakespeare."

His answering grin was charming and full of mischief. "Vicky,that was all required reading. For my classes."

"Really?"

"Didn't you have to read some of those things for your school? Up there?" The last was faintly tinged with scorn, but she ignoredit.

"Well, yes, actually, but I never thought of it as assignedreading. Besides, I'd already read most of those books before myteachers ever started talking about them." She glanced at thediscarded book. "Want me to take it back and find you a bettergift?" she offered.

He leaned forward to brush her lips with a kiss that tingledall the way to her toes. "No. You gave it to me; that's enough. I'll find time to read it. I'll make time."

"Okay." She smiled. "Did you know my parents once met her? Brigit O'Donnell, I mean. A long time ago." This was new knowledgeshe was anxious to share; lately, she'd been following Carey's leadand asking questions. To her vast surprise, each of her parentsseemed pleased to be asked, and more than willing to share stories ofdays gone by.

"I never heard that," Nathaniel said, without much interest. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

Vicky was lying on the couch, reading, when someone grabbed herbare foot and gave it a vigorous shake. Abruptly dragged from thearid climate of Frank Herbert's Dune, Vicky looked up to find Careystanding over her. Her mind, still playing catch-up, finally toldher he'd said something when he first came in.

"What?" she managed, finally.

"I'm going Below," he repeated. "Down. The tunnels."

She'd made the transition to the real world now, and he stillwasn't making sense. "So?"

"So I thought if you were going, too, we might walk downtogether."

"Oh. No, not tonight. Nathaniel has sentry duty untilmidnight. I'm going to stay here and read."

He hesitated, then pushed her feet off the couch and sat besideher. "This makes three nights in a row," he informed her, as if shewasn't capable of counting for herself.

She sat up. "Nathaniel's been busy," she said quickly. "Didyou know Jamie's made him responsible for ensuring that the routesfrom Harlem and the east side are changed properly?"

"No. I didn't," Carey responded. "That's a greatresponsibility. Jamie must think a lot of him."

"I think she does," Vicky confided. "I heard her tell Daddythat she thinks Nathaniel's ready for more."

"I'm impressed," Carey replied dutifully. "Jamie takes beingin charge of security very seriously. But," he continued, notlooking at her, "it seems to me that no matter how busy he is,Nathaniel could make time for you if he wanted."

"It's not just Nathaniel," she said, uncomfortably defensive. "It's me, too."

"You're busy?" he inquired, with a pointed look at the book inher hands.

She felt herself blushing furiously. "Not busy, exactly. Andanyway, it's not your concern."

He retreated instantly. "Sure, Vicky." He was polite, but sheknew she'd stung him.

"Carey, I'm sorry."

"Tell your mom I'll be late," he said, as if her apology hadgone unspoken. He stood up, and the small canvas bag beside himtoppled to the floor.

Anxious to smooth things over, Vicky bent to help him retrieveits scattered contents. "What's this?" she asked, picking up apristine copy of COSMOPOLITAN.

"It's for Annie," he admitted, and plucked the magazine fromher hand. From the tone of his voice, they were friends again.

"You take her presents?" she asked, anxious to keep theconversation going.

"Not presents, exactly," he said. "I have some magazines shemisses, the chocolates she likes."

"Ooh, and a flower," she teased to cover an unexpected pang ofenvy. She reached for a soft pink carnation that had miraculouslyescaped injury.

"Annie likes carnations," he said, and replaced it in the bagwith care. "Sure you don't want to come?"

"Three's a crowd," she reminded him with forced cheer.

He seemed to hesitate longer than necessary. "All right. Ifyou're sure." His brief flare of acrimony had vanished, butsomething was still not right. But before she could identify it,he'd gathered his things and gone out.

With a sigh, she sank down on the couch, her bookforgotten.

She was still trying to piece together the threads of Carey'sfeelings and behavior when she heard the front door close. A momentlater she recognized her mother's step on the stairs. Glad of thedistraction, she went across the hall to meet her.

Her mother looked tired from a long day; she'd already droppedher briefcase by the bedroom door and kicked off her shoes. As Vickycame in, Catherine pulled off her jacket, turned to toss it on thebed, and paused in mid-motion. Vicky looked to see what made herstop.

On her mother's pillow lay a single red rose, its petals velvetsoft against the crisp white of the lace-edged pillow sham. Thestem, carefully bare of thorns, anchored a folded slip of paper.

With a smile, Catherine dropped the jacket and reached for therose. She inhaled its fragrance and then caressed the petals withher cheek as she read the note. Her smile widened and some of herweariness seemed to lift.

Vicky lingered in the doorway, curious but too polite to ask. Her mother noticed her at last and smiled a surprisingly girlishsmile. "You must think I'm silly," she said.

"No. Just... enigmatic."

Catherine offered the note for her inspection. The message wasbrief - Meet me below the bandshell for a special evening - andsigned only with the initial V.

"That's sweet," Vicky said.

"Your father is an incurable romantic," her mother answered. "You'll be all right if I go, won't you?"

Vicky nodded dutifully, but after her mother left, she sankdown on the bed.

Her mother got a rose and an invitation to a concert. EvenAnnie got magazines and candy and a carnation. Small, thoughtful,romantic things.

What she'd told Carey was only half the truth. Nathaniel wasbusy, but he'd wanted her to come down anyway, and had expresseddisappointment when she'd made excuses. But he would never think tosend her a flower, or a book, or take time to arrange a romanticinterlude. Even his impulsive invitation to the concert in the parkwas offered as penance for not wanting to attend the play. He wassweet and devoted - and without a romantic bone in his body.

She flopped back on the pillows and sighed.

Dinner the next night was a cozy family affair, just Vicky andher parents. "What are we having?" Catherine asked, unfolding hernapkin. "And who prepared it?"

"I don't know," Vicky answered. "But it smells good."

"Young William prepared it," Vincent informed them. "It'scalled jambalaya. A Creole dish, I'm told."

"I had that once," Catherine said. "In New Orleans. It wasdelicious."

Vincent gave her a rare smile, showing the tips of his sharpteeth. "Let's hope William's creation gives you as muchpleasure."

They exchanged one of the looks that made Vicky feel as ifthey'd forgotten she was there.

"Daddy," she asked as he served her plate, "will you tell mesomething?"

"If I can."

"When did you know, really know, that you were in love withMom?"

His gaze moved, almost involuntarily, to her mother. Hisexpression softened. "The first time I saw her, I knew she was...remarkable."

"Daddy, I know the story," Vicky interrupted. "She wasunconscious, bleeding. How could you know anything?"

"I'm aware it defies all logic, Victoria. But still, I knew." He smiled and put out a hand to her mother, who covered it with herown.

"Are you going to ask me the same question?" Catherine askedlightly.

"Well, since you mention it..." Vicky let her voice trail awayand, as she'd hoped, her mother picked up the thread.

"When I woke up, after the attack, I hurt all over, and I wasso frightened. I couldn't see, and I didn't know where I was... Andthen I heard someone telling me not to be afraid. But it wasn't thewords that comforted me. It was the voice... warm, soothing, andbeautiful. Your father's voice. I think I knew then."

"You did not," her father contradicted. "It was months beforeyou began to think of me that way."

"It was months before I began to think of you that way, yes,"her mother agreed serenely. "But my heart, Vincent... I think myheart always knew."

If she hadn't been there, Vicky thought they might have kissed. As it was, their clasped hands tightened.

"What brings on this rash of questions, anyway?" her motherasked.

"It wasn't a rash, it was only one," Vicky defended herself. "I was just wondering."

"Are you, perhaps, wondering about Nathaniel?" her fatherinquired.

Vicky nodded reluctantly. "I don't know what I feel. Ithought I was beginning to love him, but now I'm not so sure. Thingsare getting so complicated."

Her mother reached across the table and pressed her hand. "Love is certainly a complex thing," she sympathized. "But when it'sright, you'll know. I promise."

"And if it's not right?" she asked, her voice a barewhisper.

"If you're patient, you'll know that, too," her father said. "Trust your heart, Victoria."

She nodded. Of course he was right. Her heart had alwaysknown the truth: about Sean, about Dylan, about Edward and James. Ithad always known she hadn't loved them, not truly. And if shelistened closely, it would tell her about Nathaniel.

In fact, it already was.

She folded her napkin carefully. "Would you excuse me? There's something I have to do..."

"You've hardly touched your dinner," her mother objected, butVincent stilled her with a glance.

"Go on," he said quietly.

Vicky changed into tunnel garb before going Below. Shetravelled the passages slowly. She'd only been this way a handful oftimes since coming home and the way had changed. Getting lost wouldmean the indignity of calling for rescue on the pipes and she didn'twant that. Not tonight.

Tonight was going to be difficult enough. Once she'd heededher father's advice, she'd known what she had to do. LocatingNathaniel was easy; she simply stopped by the pipe chamber. Nathaniel was on sentry duty up near the park, Zach informed her, andasked politely if she remembered the way.

She did; it hadn't changed as much as some of the other routes. It didn't take long to reach Nathaniel's post.

Once there, she moved forward slowly. She was behind the firstline of defense where Nathaniel wouldn't be expecting anyone, and shedidn't want to startle him. When she was close enough, she calledhis name.

He pivoted in surprise. "Vicky!" His welcoming smile quicklyturned to concern. "You shouldn't be here. I'm on duty."

"It's okay," she said. "Zach said I could."

As Pipemaster, Zach's word was nearly as important asVincent's, and Nathaniel relaxed. "Okay. Come sit down."

She did, gingerly, careful to keep a small distance betweenthem.

"So what's up?" he asked, turning to give a glance out thepeephole at his shoulder. When she didn't reply, he turned back andseemed to see her distress for the first time. "Vicky, what'swrong?" He reached out, but instinctively she shied away. Hurt rosein his eyes. "What is it?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Can't I touch you?"

"It's better if you don't. I can't think."

"Okay." He settled back against the wall and folded his handsin his lap, waiting patiently while she searched for words thatwouldn't hurt. But there weren't any, so she plunged in.

"I have dreams," she began, her voice shaking. "Of what I wantto do, of what I want to be."

A fleeting look of puzzlement crossed his face. "I want you tohave your dreams, Vicky," he said softly. "Whatever they are."

"You don't understand them, though, do you?" She didn't waitfor the sad, slow shake of his head. "Because it's not like that foryou. You're not restless the way I am, Nathaniel. There are nodreams burning inside you, waiting to be fulfilled, no restlessnesspushing you in new directions. You're content here, standing sentryduty, helping Jamie plan defenses, changing routes."

"Yes," he agreed slowly.

"Your place is here. But mine... my dreams are up there. Mylife has to be up there. Where you won't go."

Shock drained the color from his face. "If it's that importantto you, Vicky, I'll go. Wherever you want."

She shook her head. "No, Nathaniel. Don't you see? You'd beas unhappy there as I would be here. More. We're different. Toodifferent."

"Your parents do it," he whispered. "We could try that. Withyou Above and me down here."

"No." She shook her head. "It wouldn't work, Nathaniel. Notfor us. There's something else." She glanced up.

He was watching her, his eyes wide and sad. "What?"

"I'm not in love with you." The knowledge had come to her asshe listened to her parents; now, however much it hurt, she knew thiswas right.

He managed to keep his face neutral, but he must have forgottenshe was an empath, and his shock and hurt flowed into her. "Don'tsay that."

"I have to. Because it's true. I care for you, Nathaniel,very deeply."

"But you don't love me."

"Not the way you mean. You're like a brother, a favoritebrother."

"A brother," he said flatly.

She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him, but fearedhe might misinterpret it. So instead, she took his hand. "Nathaniel, I'm so sorry," she said, feeling ineffectual.

"I know you are," he answered, and carefully, gently, removedhis hand from her grasp. "If it's all right with you, Vicky, I thinkI'd like to be alone now."

Vicky wondered if she was going to cry. "I do love you,Nathaniel," she whispered. "I just wish I could have loved you theway you wanted me to."

"Yeah," he answered, his voice sounding thin in the chilltunnel. "So do I."

The walk home wasn't long in distance, but it seemed to takeforever. At one junction she heard footsteps and shrank back againstthe wall, unwilling to face anyone just now. A moment later, Careystrode through the intersecting passage, passing so close she couldhave put out her hand and touched him. He didn't see her, though,and she covered her mouth with her hand to keep from calling out. She needed time to sort through the churning emotions that had kepther from sensing his nearness.

At home, she climbed the stairs slowly. From the study, shecould hear her father's voice, low and measured. He was on thecouch, reading; her mother curled beside him, her head on hisshoulder. Both looked up when she came in.

Her shield was still in place, so it must have been her facethat betrayed her. "You've been to see Nathaniel," Vincentobserved.

She nodded. "He's upset."

"If it wasn't right, then you did the kindest thing," hermother said, "even if it doesn't feel that way right now."

"I hurt him, Mom. So much. I never wanted to hurt him."

"I know."

Her eyes stung and she swallowed hard. "I think I'll go tobed. Maybe things will be better in the morning."

"They will be," her mother promised. "Goodnight, honey."

"Goodnight, Victoria."

She forced a smile. "Goodnight."

She turned, but before she reached the door, a shock of sheerterror struck violently. She stumbled with the force of it. Just asswiftly, it passed, leaving her trembling, gasping for breath.

Desperately she sought Carey. He was there, strong and solid. Somehow she knew he was trembling, too, with the aftermath ofwhatever had caused that brief surge of panic. He was calming now,and she was able to use that to calm herself.

Only then did she realize her father was beside her, his armsupporting her. "Victoria? What is it? Are you all right?"

She shook her head to clear it, and carefully distanced herselffrom the thread of Carey's emotions. "I'm all right. Just a shock. It's all right now."

He wasn't reassured. "A shock? Victoria, what happened?"

Her mother, at her other side, was more astute. "Whose shock?"she asked, her voice gentle.

Vicky looked down. "Carey's," she admitted. "Something scaredhim, I think, but he's okay now."

"Where is he?" her father asked. He looked puzzled.

"Below. He's Below."

"And you felt it here?"

She nodded. "I feel everything... all the time."

He looked alarmed, clearly torn between staying to comfort herand rushing down to see what had happened Below.

"He's all right, Daddy. Not upset or anything. Something musthave startled him."

Vincent let out a long breath and nodded, accepting herjudgement. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No. No. I just want it to go away."

"It's not going to do that, honey." That was her mother. "Ithink maybe you have to face up to it."

"I guess I do." She allowed her father to lead her to thecouch. "And I guess the best place to start is with you, Mom,because only you can truly understand what it's like."

"I'd say that's a fair statement," her mother agreed, sittingon her other side.

"When did it start?" her father asked gently.

"When I came back. But before that, really. Remember, Mom? It was already happening before I went to England. But when I left,it went away. I thought... I hoped that meant it was gone forgood."

"The bond returned, though, when you came home."

It's not a bond! She wanted to cry the words aloud, butdidn't. Because she was afraid what her father had said was true. She nodded. "When I saw him."

Her mother leaned forward. "Vicky? What you said aboutNathaniel earlier makes me wonder. Is it Carey you love?"

She jerked her head up, flaring with indignation. "No! Imean, I'm fond of Carey. But, no. No."

She could sense the thread of her mother's disbelief, butCatherine only nodded. "All right."

"It's not fair!" Vicky burst out. "Not to me and not to Carey,either. I feel everything he feels. Sometimes I think I know whathe's thinking. The worst part is, he doesn't have any idea. It'slike I'm eavesdropping or something."

"You believe Carey would be upset," her father said.

"Don't you?" she flung back at him.

"I think I must defer to your mother in this," he said,ignoring her outburst. "I have little experience with thatside."

"You did with me," Vicky reminded him, her voice small.

"But I've been able to control what you sensed since you were alittle girl. Carey doesn't have that ability. And, as I think youmust know by now, the connection isn't the same."

"No," she agreed, whispering now. "It's deeper and fullerand..."

"More intimate?" her mother suggested.

Vicky could only nod.

"Well," Catherine began slowly, "I'm not certain I'm able toput myself completely in Carey's place. Because when your fatherfirst told me of his ability to feel what I felt, I'm not sure Ibelieved him. It was a long time before I truly understood. Careyknows already. He believes already."

"What happened when you did understand?" Vicky asked.

She thought her mother's soft smile was more for her fatherthan for her. "I didn't always know what to think. Sometimes I wasangry, though. Your word is a good one, Vicky, and there were timesI did feel as if he was eavesdropping, hearing things I never meanthim to hear."

Vicky let out a soft moan. "He's going to hate me," shedecided, burying her face in her hands. "He can't help but hateme."

"I don't think Carey is capable of hate," her father soothed. "It is true, though, that he may be angry, Victoria, and you mustprepare for that."

"You think I should tell him?"

They exchanged glances and she envied their ability tocommunicate that way.

"I think you must." It was her mother who spoke, but it wasclear her father agreed. A strong sense of compassion and strengthtouched her. It was her father's strength, lent willingly to bolsterher, and her back stiffened.

"You're right," she admitted. "I have to tell him. It isn'tfair not to." She sighed. "And what I'll do after that, I don'tknow."

Her father's arm came around her shoulders. "If there is asolution, you'll find it," he assured her, and kissed her brow.

Vicky hunched at the top of the stairs, waiting on the thirdfloor for Carey to come home. She wanted to waylay him before he gotto his room.

He was on his way; she could feel that much, though her ownturbulent emotions were interfering with their usually clearconnection.

She pressed her hands together to stop their trembling andwondered what she could possibly say to explain things to him. Nomatter what approach she tried, all her imaginary conversations endedwith him exploding in fury at her temerity in intruding on his life. The enormity of what she had to tell him seemed to leave room for noother reaction.

She pressed herself against the wall, needing its support. Ifthe connection between her parents was anything to judge by, shewould be connected to Carey for as long as they lived. The thought,once she'd faced it squarely, was terrifying. How was either of themsupposed to live a full life, marry, have children, with this hangingover them, binding them together?

Unless it could be broken by distance. That had worked before,when she'd gone to England.

She tried to picture herself in Japan or Australia or SouthAfrica - all the far away places Evan and Uncle Devin loved - butwhile she was sure they'd be fascinating and exciting places tovisit, her heart sank at the thought of living there. Forever. Isolated from her family. Never to see her father again, never tosee Carey...

It probably wouldn't work, anyway. That earlier connection hadbeen different, tenuous. Not at all like it was now. What theyshared now was surely what her parents had. And that link wasunbreakable.

Instinctively she reached out and it was Carey she found first. He seemed intent on something and she wondered what it was. Then,realizing what she was doing, she wrenched away, cutting him off ascompletely as she could. The loss of his touch cut keenly. Sheclosed her eyes.

The landing below was dark; her parents had gone to bed. Lights from passing cars flickered briefly in the window visiblethrough the door of Jacob's old bedroom, and she watched them dartacross the glass and vanish.

He was close now, nearly home. Her mouth went dry and shewondered what she could say to him. Maybe she should try to prepareherself. She reached out cautiously, trying to gauge his state ofmind. If she had to name his mood, she'd call it pensive, andwondered what had made him so somber.

She spared a moment to be grateful that, if she had to bebonded with someone, it was Carey, who was even-tempered andeasy-going. If she'd had to contend with a constant barrage ofemotion from someone mercurial - someone like herself, for instance -it could easily drive her mad.

There - that distant thump. It was Carey, closing the basementdoor. She shrank back against the wall, making herself small. Notthat he was likely to miss her. She closed her eyes. "Oh, Daddy,"she whispered. "I'm scared. Of hurting him, or scaring him, ordriving him away."

Like an answer, her father's love and faith poured over andthrough her, giving her strength. She straightened. She let herlove and gratitude flow so he would know she'd understood hismessage, and then carefully closed their connection. This wasn't hisproblem. It was hers, and she had to handle it herself, no matterhow badly things might turn out.

And then there was no more time to think, to plan, to dread. Carey stopped halfway up the stairs.

"Vicky?"

"Yeah."

He peered at her through the darkness. "Are you okay?"

She lifted her hands, palms up. "I don't know yet."

He resumed his climb, more slowly now. "Want to talk aboutit?"

What she wanted was to flee to the safety of her room and slamthe door. Instead, she nodded.

He sat beside her on the top step, his hands laced loosely inhis lap. "I'm here."

For a moment, she wanted to burst into tears. If she did,Carey would put his arm around her and hold her and murmur soft wordsof comfort. But that wouldn't solve anything, so she swallowed thetears and took a deep breath. "I have to tell you something," shesaid shakily. "And I don't think you're going to like it."

"All right." He waited in that patient, open way that remindedher so much of her father.

"You know how my father can feel what my mother feels?" shebegan. "All the time, no matter where she goes."

"Sure. Even when she went to visit you in England. He talkedabout it." He laughed. "I think it made him feel better. He feelswhat other people feel, too. If they're close enough. The way youdo."

"You remember that?"

"Of course. It's one of the first things I learned aboutyou."

She nodded, and looked at her hands. "Yes."

"Vicky, what is it? Nathaniel?"

"No. Nathaniel's over."

"I'm sorry." Carey frowned. "Somebody else? In England? Areyou feeling what he's feeling, and missing him more than you thoughtyou would?"

She smothered a laugh that sounded half-hysterical to her ears. "No. Not in England."

"Who, then? There is someone, isn't there?"

"Someone I'm feeling," she agreed sadly. "All the time. Nomatter where he goes." From somewhere she found the courage to meethis concerned gaze. "It's you, Carey."

He blinked once, twice, three times, as she held her breath,waiting for an explosion that never came.

"So that's it," he said softly. And to her utter shock, hiswords were accompanied by a soft current of amusement.

She caught his arm. "Carey, don't you understand what I'mtelling you? Everywhere you go, everything you do, everything youfeel... I feel it, too. It's like you're inside of me and I can'tget you out."

"Do you want to?"

"What?"

"Get me out."

"I don't know," she said in confusion. "I mean, I thoughtyou'd want me out."

"Why?"

"Carey, think! If I'm feeling you - all the time, and whereveryou go - how are you supposed to have a normal life?"

"I'm having one now," he said gently.

"Because you didn't know. Now that you know, it changeseverything."

"For instance?"

She squirmed inwardly, but it had to be said. "Anne."

"Annie? What about her?"

She rocked forward, burying her face in her arms. How could hebe so incredibly obtuse?

Then she realized he was laughing.

She lifted her head indignantly. "What's so funny?"

"You. Or at least, your assumptions."

She scowled at him. "What are you talking about?"

"About Annie. She's not my girlfriend."

"She's not?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. Not for a long time."

She stared. "But Carey, it's not just my assumption. Everyonethinks you and she..."

"They do?" It was his turn to be surprised. "I didn't knowthat."

"You spend practically every spare moment with her," Vickysaid, unable to keep from sounding cross.

"That's because she's lonely. And she's my friend."

"You take her flowers and candy..."

"Because she likes those things," he said. "We tried theboyfriend-girlfriend thing. It just didn't work for us."

"I'm sorry," Vicky said automatically, but inside, she wasn'tsure she was sorry at all.

"There was another girl," Carey went on. "I know her fromschool. She works at the coffee shop around the corner fromGabriella's, and sometimes we talk. I was going to ask herout..."

"You can," she said softly. "I'll try to stay away..."

"No need. I decided not to. A couple of weeks ago."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, she just wasn't right for me," he saidslowly.

"And the other thing?"

"I kept feeling something tugging at me, trying to get myattention," he said. "I think it must have been you."

Shock coursed through her. "You can't feel me."

"Why not? I know your mother can sense your father sometimes. It's not impossible."

"It should be. Oh, Carey, I'm so sorry. I come back here and start messing up your life." She swallowed hard. "If you want, I'llgo away."

That startled him. "Where would you go?"

"I don't know. Somewhere far away. When I went to England, itbroke it before. If I could get far enough away..."

"For how long?"

"Forever, I think," she said miserably. "But I'll do it,Carey. It's not fair..."

"Not to you. This is your home. Your family." She could feelhim bracing for something. "If it's that important, Vicky, I'llgo."

She could feel the dread in him; it matched her own andinstinctively she touched his hand. He might have been charged withelectricity, so strongly did she feel the contact. She jerked herfingers away as if they'd been singed. "I don't want you to go. Oh,Carey, I'm sorry. Sorry about this, sorry about that girl..."

"Don't be sorry," he counseled. His dark eyes were fixed onher face and he absently rubbed his hand where she'd touched it.

"But someday, someone will come for you... And even after youfind her, there's still me. Our connection. I'll know, Carey, and Idon't think you can learn how to keep me from knowing."

"Why not?"

"My mother never could."

"I suspect your mother never tried very hard," Carey said. "But it doesn't matter. Because maybe I've already found her."

Vicky's heart constricted. "Found her? Where?"

His hand came up slowly; his fingers grazed her cheek. "Here."

"Here," she echoed shakily. Her heart was hammering. "Me?"

"If you'll have me. I love you, Vicky. I think I alwayshave."

She stared at him, trying to make sense of the maelstrom ofsensation whirling through her. Carey... loved her? He leanedforward and his kiss, gentle as it was, shattered all her doubts andmisgivings.

"I love you," she heard herself whisper. Of their ownvolition, her arms went around his neck and she pressed her foreheadagainst his cheek.

He was shaking.

So was she. "Carey?"

"Yes?" he whispered into her hair.

"Am I really the one you've been waiting for?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad." She shivered and he pulled her closer.

"Carey?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me again."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. She leaned against himand sighed. "Tell me something," he said softly, "before I kiss yougoodnight."

"Anything," she promised rashly.

"What color is this? What we're feeling?"

She closed her eyes and let the passion, his and hers, sweepover her. "All colors," she whispered finally. "All shades of allthe colors. It's a rainbow."

The End