A KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS

A SAMHAIN STORY

by Linda S Barth

Author’s note: I’d always hoped for a second Samhain episode, one that focused not only on Vincent and Catherine but also more closely on the people of the tunnel community. Since we didn’t get one, I decided to write my own. Originally titled “Prophecy”, this is the final revised story version of an episode that might have taken place between “Remember Love” and “Ashes, Ashes.” I hope you will enjoy reading it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yet she has pledged me, when I die,
A lodge beneath her private palace
In a level clearing of the wood
Where gentians grow and gillyflowers
And sometimes we may meet.

  

         ~ Robert Graves

Children’s voices reverberated from the highest level of Father’s study, their high-pitched tones splintering candlelit serenity.

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

“But they’re really heavy!” He struggled to hold onto his unwieldy burden. “And one of them’s poking me in the stomach!”

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

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

“Where are you going, Eric?”  Samantha stood at the chamber entrance, hands on hips, effectively blocking the boy’s escape route. “You’re supposed to be helping your sister find the books Father’s going to read at the party.”

He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and grinned his innocence at the older girl. “We’re done, Sam. Look — I just put all the books over there.”

She sailed into the room and headed for the desk. “All of them? Are you sure?”

Ellie’s voice from the upper level saved Eric the trouble of coming up with another bit of fiction. “There’s just two or three left on the list. I can bring them down in a minute.”

“We’d better check, just to make sure.” Samantha counted the books. “I think they’re all here, but would you please run up and get the list?”

Eager to finish one final chore, he bounded toward the stairs but stopped halfway up. “Hey, Ellie! Fly the list down and I’ll catch it!”

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

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

“I’ve got it!”  She waved her prize above her head as she looked up at Ellie. “Can you show me how to make these?”

“Sure, it’s really easy,” Ellie began. “All you have to do is –” Her eyes widened at the sight of an unexpected arrival entering the chamber.

Following her friend’s gaze, Samantha pivoted just as she felt the plane being pulled from her grasp. “Vincent!”

Raising his eyebrows, Vincent looked from one young culprit to the next and then glanced down at the folded page in his hand. The children waited in slightly uneasy silence.

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

Samantha gasped with delight upon hearing another story of her hero’s youthful escapades. “Did you really do that?!”

“Yeah, what happened? Did you guys get in a lot of trouble?”

Vincent reached down to straighten Eric’s glasses, knocked askew during his jump from the staircase. “Yes, Eric, we certainly did. Unfortunately, one plane hit Pascal’s father right in the forehead. Of course, we didn’t mean for that to happen, but, well, it did. And we had to take responsibility for our actions.”

“What happened next?” Ellie bit her lip. “Did you get yelled at? Were you scared?”

“Yes, we were scared at first, mostly because we got caught. But after a bit of…yelling…we had to admit we’d done something wrong and needed to make up for it.”

Samantha offered him a sympathetic smile. “What did you have to do?”

“Devin and I were confined to our chamber for a week, except for classes, meals, and many extra hours of chores.”

The children exchanged knowing glances. “Did you guys ever make paper planes again?” Eric asked hopefully.

A chuckling voice from the chamber entrance drew their attention. “If they did, they were wise enough not to let me find out about it. One misadventure with paper aircraft was more than enough!”

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

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

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

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

“These are the last of them.” Ellie walked down the staircase to hand over two final volumes. “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and The Canterville Ghost.”

“Ah, the Headless Horseman and Sir Simon.” Father stacked the books on top of the others. “They’re always great favorites at our Halloween gatherings.”

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

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

“I feel so sorry for the ones who can’t find their way home.” Samantha’s voice trembled. “It must be awful for them!”

“Well, it also has been said that some of those lost spirits may be drawn to a new dwelling place, and that if conditions are just right, they will be welcomed there.” Father smiled gently at the young girl. “So, you see, there’s still hope for them.”

Eric’s eyes gleamed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “Do you think any ghosts used to live here?” He peered around the chamber as if he expected at least one to appear on the spot. “Or maybe some new ones will move in!”

“One never knows.” His eyes twinkling, Father tilted his head as if in serious consideration. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen a ghost here myself. Although perhaps we’ll find that one or two shall choose to join us at the party.”

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

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

“We wouldn’t do the things Vera does in the story!” A wide grin and a pink blush on her cheeks easily betrayed Samantha’s protest. “Well, maybe I would try a trick or two on Kipper.”

She turned to Father in a studied attempt to regain her dignity. “Would you like us to check the list just to make sure all the books are there?”

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

Ellie grabbed her brother’s hand before he could scamper from the chamber in search of other diversions. “Is there anything else you’d like us to do?”

“Not at the moment, Ellie,” Father answered with an approving smile. “You’ve all made a fine job of it. However, I’m sure I heard William mention he needs a great deal of help in the kitchen chamber.” He winked broadly at Vincent over the children’s heads.

“Something to do with pumpkin cinnamon muffins and chocolate lollipops, wasn’t it?” Vincent added.

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

“You go on ahead, and I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” Vincent promised.

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

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

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

Vincent chose to ignore the implications in his father’s words. “Catherine is looking forward to the party very much. But I haven’t told her I won’t be going Above with her after our celebration ends.”

“Don’t you think it’s only fair you let her know? She must have been looking forward to an outing with you.”

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

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

“And if he suspects you set the children on him, he might not be so eager to make your favorite mulled apple cider for the party. Let’s hope no one accidentally mentions it to him.”

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

Vincent paused to look back at his father. “I know.”

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

So deep was his concentration, a small, muffled thumping sound overhead almost went unnoticed; yet it was enough to draw his attention, and he glanced upwards. “Samantha? Ellie? Are you up there?” He frowned and tried again. “Eric?”

For several moments, there was only silence, and with a shrug he turned back to his book, dismissing the sound as nothing to warrant his concern. Then he heard it again, a soft thud and a dry rustling sound like leaves brushed by an autumn wind.

“What the devil,” he muttered before setting aside the ghost story aside and heading for the staircase leading to the loft. But when he reached the top, he found the area deserted except for hundreds of books crowding the shelves. With a small, self-conscious sigh, he shook his head. I must be imagining things, he told himself. Probably Kipling’s influence.

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

“So that’s it.” A sigh of relief hushed his voice. “Only an old book. It must have fallen from the shelf. Perhaps the children dislodged it earlier.”  Bending carefully in the crowded space, he reached for the volume, marking the open page with his thumb as he straightened again. He turned it over to inspect its crumbling leather cover and felt a pang of disappointment to discover the worn gold script was nearly indiscernible. Even squinting closely, he could make out only a few words of the title, Tom o’Bedlam.

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

“With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear, and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end.
Methinks it is no journey.”

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

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

Tucking the book under his arm, Father made his way back downstairs, never noticing the gleam of dark, flashing eyes that had watched his every move from the deepest shadows of the library loft.

* * *

An iciness glazed the October night, hinting at an early snowfall. Vincent sighed as he raised his hand to knock against the glass-paneled doors on Catherine’s balcony, seeing his breath float in small hazy clouds before vanishing. His reluctance to discuss their Halloween plans had kept him Below longer than he’d intended. But there were only a few days left until that special night, and he knew he could wait no longer.

Still, he hesitated, inescapable truths knifing through him, etching pain in his heart. Why did it always have to be this way? Another promise he couldn’t fulfill, one more dream denied, endless expectations kindled only to be smothered. He wanted nothing more than to offer her everything he had, everything he was, and yet each small step forward seemed to lead to another obstacle. He groaned softly. He would change it all if he only knew how.

With a stiff, halting movement he turned away from the light and stared out into the dark night. But there were no answers for him in the familiar shadows, and even before he heard the doors opening, he felt the song of her in his heart, its irresistible allure whispering of possibilities and trust and hope. How could he continue to deny her; how could he deny himself?

“Vincent, you’re here.” Her voice was a soft, breathy sound, and he turned to it eagerly, wishing he might lose himself in all her gentle passion. She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with happiness. “I thought you might not be able to come tonight after all.”

“I almost couldn’t.” His voice was low and tense despite his efforts to lighten it. “But I need to talk to you and what I have to say can’t wait.”

She shivered and pulled the belt of her robe tighter. “What is it?”

He longed to take her in his arms and melt away every icy shard of trepidation they shared, but if he touched her now, he’d be unable to find the words he must say.

“I’m sorry. It’s very late, and you’re cold. I won’t stay long, but there’s something I must tell you…and it’s difficult to find the words when I know they will only disappoint you.”

She reached up and rested her hand against his cheek, gently caressing the coolness of his skin. “Sometimes the beginning is the hardest part of all.” She let her hand drift into the rough silk of his hair before coming to rest on his shoulder. “So just say it quickly and it will be over and done with, and we can move on.”

For a moment he closed his eyes, savoring the lingering warmth of her touch, and when he looked at her again, he found his courage. “It’s about Halloween. I had hoped we could share part of the night Above as we did last year.”

She heard the ominous shading in his carefully chosen words, but it could not mar that cherished memory. “That was such a magical night, wasn’t it?” she murmured. “When the walls between the worlds grew thin…”

“…And all things seemed possible.”

Much too soon, the shared sweetness of that remembered moment receded, leaving a bittersweet taste in its place. “This year the plans for our celebration Below have grown. It will be much more elaborate than before. And it will take a great deal of time.”

Despite her earlier advice, she could not resist a futile attempt to delay the inevitable. “I love the children’s idea of having a literary theme for the party, with everyone dressing as characters from famous stories and plays. Did you know Geoffrey has his heart set on being Frankenstein’s Monster? I’m really looking forward to the whole celebration, the games, and Father’s stories, and…”

The haunted expression on his face forced her to silence save for two final words. “Tell me.”

He swallowed hard, as if to consume the message, leaving it unheard. But it was no use. “Catherine, everyone is happy you’ll join us for the celebration, but by the time the party ends, it will be very late…And there will be no chance for us to go Above together.”

He waited, struggling to find a way to ease the hurt he would surely sense from her through their bond. Yet much to his astonishment, he felt only contentment and reassurance.

“Is that what you’ve been worried about? I don’t mind – I really don’t.” She shook her head in emphasis. “It is disappointing to lose that chance to be together like we were last year, but I’m more concerned about you.”

He tilted his head. “About me?”

She sighed softly. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to enjoy being Above on the one night of the year when you can experience the city freely and without fear.”

“I’m sorry, too. A year ago, it was nothing short of a miracle, being with you in your world, even if only for a few hours. To have lived that dream just once, I should feel only gratitude, and yet I can’t help but wish for one more chance.”

“Then we’ll make sure we have other chances. I know we will. And as disappointing as this is, it would be much worse if we couldn’t be together at all.”

“But so many of those other chances have already been lost. Our hope to see your lake in Connecticut, the –”

She pressed soft fingertips against his lips, stilling further mention of lost dreams. “We still have that hope. We have no idea what the future holds for us. No one does. Maybe wonderful things are just waiting for us. You believe that, too, don’t you?”

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

“There are still so many possibilities for us, Vincent. This is just one night. There will be others. It doesn’t matter where we are as long as we’re together.”

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

Long moments later, she raised her head and leaned back in his embrace, not wishing to end the closeness they’d shared, but longing to see his face. She found him gazing down at her with an intensity that was deep and unwavering.

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

The huskiness in his voice revealed his awareness of every sensation they’d shared. “I’ll go now, Catherine. You must go inside and get warm.”

“No, not yet.” She shook her head, unashamed of the plea in her voice. “I’m fine, and I want to hear more about the Halloween party. I’m so glad I’ll be part of it.” She tried to suppress a shiver.

“Then here, take this and it will warm you.” He reached upward to unhook the clasp of his voluminous cloak.

Suddenly he froze, hands halfway to his throat, as she quickly ducked under his upraised arms. Grasping the heavy woolen folds of the cloak she enclosed herself with it within it, then wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled close with a throaty sigh.

“I think this is much better, don’t you?” she murmured, “and much warmer.”

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

As she rested her head against his chest, she could hear his heart beating with a heavy, rapid cadence that pulsed in perfect time with her own. She sighed in contentment. “Now tell me more about the plans for the party. I know we’ll have a wonderful time.”

Not as wonderful as this, Catherine, he replied silently.

* * *

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

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

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

“Ahh, they are perfect.” She turned her opaque gaze on him. “You do good work, my friend.”

“I was inspired! And it was easier than I thought it would be. In a few days, a shop — the kind they call a New Age Center — is opening right next to Mr. Smythe’s bookstore. It was easy for me to get in and out again without any trouble at all. And the owners probably won’t notice their inventory has been reduced by this one particular item.”

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

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

“I’ll be careful.” As he nodded, the ends of his shaggy dark hair bobbed beneath an ever-present baseball cap. “I won’t let anyone see me yet, especially not him.”

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

The man chortled as he stuffed the box into the pocket of his jacket. “Then I wonder what he’d make of me?” He raised his eyebrows in feigned alarm. “Maybe I’ll stop by his chamber for another visit.”

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

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

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

He leaned forward and kissed the soft wrinkled skin of her cheek. “I’ll never forget about you. We’re in this together, aren’t we? Everything will work out great. I’ll make sure it happens just the way we planned!”

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

* * *

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

Forcing herself to remain calm, Catherine made one final, futile attempt. “Are you sure? I called at least eight weeks ago and asked to have the Cinderella costume set aside for me.”

“Well, these things happen sometimes — you know, computer glitches, that kind of stuff. It’s a new system.” The salesclerk shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.”

Catherine counted to ten, more than once, even while knowing it wouldn’t help. After Vincent had left her last night, she’d drifted to sleep on dreams of dancing in his arms at the party, but now the image of herself in a fairy tale ball gown was fading fast.

“Can’t you go and look in the storage room or someplace? Just to make sure?”

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

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

She stared at the entrance to the storage room, wondering how long she’d have to wait for the clerk, and then found her attention recaptured by the other customer. Even from several yards away, she could hear him singing a hauntingly familiar song. As he broke into snatches of Italian lyrics, she recognized the aria from A Masked Ball, an opera Vincent and she had enjoyed together in their special concert hideaway last July.

She smiled, her irritation and disappointment lifting with the remembrance of that lovely summer night. While the stranger continued his slightly off-key but very spirited rendition of an early scene from the opera, she called upon the Italian language classes she’d enjoyed in college, trying to silently translate the impromptu performance.

May every care dissolve in delight,
Let us come together in that magic cave.
And among the superstitious throng
Let us pursue our frolics one and all
We shall come together, but may suspicion
Of the lurking danger awaken
To protect the magnanimous soul
Which fears not for itself.
The fortune teller predicts all sorts of things,
And so I, too, shall question her,
To learn if the stars are in my favor
And smiling pleasantly on my destiny.

She couldn’t help but enjoy the charming diversion, although she knew it wouldn’t lighten her dark mood for long.

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

“I’m sorry, but it’s just not here.” The clerk shook her head firmly. “Someone else must have already picked it up.”

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

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

“Try both. Please.” She frowned as she looked at her watch. “And could you please hurry?”

The young woman typed in a series of words, and seconds later an alarmingly brief list appeared on the monitor’s screen. Shaking her head, she looked up at Catherine. “Well, just like I said, there isn’t much left that would fit you. We’ve got a witch, a Klingon, and a giant lollipop.”

Catherine stared at the clerk. “You aren’t serious!”

“I’m afraid so.” She started to pivot the screen in Catherine’s direction. “Look for yourself.”

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

“Or a Klingon!”

The young woman’s giggle was hard to resist, and despite everything, Catherine felt her mood start to improve. She still would be spending a magical evening with Vincent, so she’d just have to accept this not-so-minor disappointment. She handed the clerk a credit card. “I’ll pick up the costume tomorrow, probably late afternoon. Please make sure it’s ready when I get here.”

“Will do.”

That’s what I was told last time, Catherine grumbled silently. “Should I ask for you?”

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

“And there won’t be any further problems, will there?”

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

“Whether I want it or not, right? But thanks for trying. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Melissa answered just before the shop door swung shut behind Catherine.

* * *

Feeling as if nothing in the world could challenge his new-found contentment, Vincent relaxed into a large, soft-cushioned chair in Father’s study. A message on the pipes had summoned him there several minutes earlier, but Father had yet to appear. Vincent had called out to him, thinking perhaps he would be found in the library loft, but when he received no answer, he assumed his father had been delayed by some unexpected concern.

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

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

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

Vincent bowed his head, hoping to hide the smile he felt twitching at the corners of his lips. He took several deep breaths before looking up at the older man’s outraged face. “You look quite regal, Father. I’m sure everyone will think — “

“I know exactly what everyone will think — that I look a complete fool!”

Vincent’s eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth as he took in the sight of his parent swathed in a voluminous white sheet, its draped edges trimmed in the same gold braid that held makeshift sandals to his feet. “Well, you did promise to let the children choose your costume.” He diverted an escaping laugh with a loud clearing of his throat. “And I have to admit I was surprised when you actually agreed to the idea of costumes for the adults.”

Father glared at him. “As you well know, I did not agree! This was all your fault from the start. You agreed to the children’s plans, and then informed the rest of us after it was too late to do anything about it!”

“That’s true,” Vincent admitted, “but I don’t think I’m entirely to blame for your problem. After all, you knew about the theme the children had chosen for this year’s party before you assigned Julius Caesar to the intermediate literature class. And you really can’t blame them for being impressed by your reading of those scenes from the play last week. It must have inspired them to choose this costume for you.”

Father’s eyes narrowed. “Do not patronize me, Vincent. I know exactly what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work — not this time!” He shook his head, nearly dislodging the laurel wreath that graced his tousled hair. “The children will just have to come up with another idea.”

Father paced the length of the study, frowning in concentration as he tried to formulate a plan that would restore his dignity without hurting the children’s feelings. Suddenly, he stopped in mid-stride. “I know,” he proclaimed triumphantly, “I’ll tell the children I will not be able to wear this costume because Julius Caesar was a real person, not simply a character in a play.” He sighed with relief. “And before they manage to come up with something else that is equally inappropriate, I’ll have a little talk with them, just to go over a few guidelines.”

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

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

“Because two weeks ago when Mary was assisting me with the Renaissance history class, we had a similar discussion.”

Father glowered at his son. “Go on.”

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

“Then that just proves my point.” Father huffed with satisfaction. “My problem has been solved!”

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

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

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

Vincent felt he had to make a good-natured suggestion. “Maybe you should just give in and wear this costume. You have to admit, it does suit you in a way.”

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

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

As the boys added their enthusiastic agreement, Father managed a convincing smile in their direction, then turned toward Vincent. “Don’t say a word,” he muttered, “not a single word. I see I’ll have to go along with this debacle — but only so as not to disappoint the children.”

“It looks like you have successfully crossed your own Rubicon,” Vincent murmured under his breath, knowing Father would miss neither the humor nor the affection in his voice.

Father offered an imperial Roman wave to the extremely impressed children. “Yes,” he agreed, his implacable dignity – and his laurel wreath — once again firmly in place despite everything. “I suppose I have.”

But as Vincent rose from the chair and turned toward the entryway at the far end of the chamber, he heard Father manage to have the last word.

“Now I wonder what they have in mind for you.”

* * *

Melissa prowled the costume racks to find and set aside Catherine’s witch regalia. “Oh good, there it is,” she murmured as she pushed aside a few other garments to reach for the black satin dress and hat. Minutes later they were safely packaged in a dark blue garment bag, labeled with her customer’s name.

“I’d better take a look at what else is left.” She rounded the end of a long row of racks that had been stripped of most of their stock. “Ms. Chandler won’t be the only one rushing in here at the last minute. Now, let’s –”

Her words were cut short as she walked straight into the arms of a tall, handsome stranger who’d been reaching for a vampire costume. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She stepped back and looked up into his gleaming eyes. “I didn’t see you.”  Something in the back of her mind whispered, ‘And I was sure I was alone.’ But the words vanished unspoken.

“I need a costume for a Halloween party this Saturday night. Something really impressive! Maybe a knight in shining armor ready to rescue a damsel in distress or a fearless explorer sailing around the world!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Melissa,” came a muffled voice from behind the dressing room door. “I’m Kristopher.”

* * *

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

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

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

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

“Actually, I was looking for you. I just sent out a message on the pipes, and Father answered saying you’d left his chamber several minutes ago, but he wasn’t sure where you were going. Didn’t you hear it?”

“No, I didn’t.” A slight frown creased Vincent’s forehead. “I’m not sure why, but I didn’t notice it.”

Pascal shook his head. “That’s not like you, Vincent. It must mean something’s wrong with the pipes out here. I’d better inspect them.”

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

“Well, everything seems okay out here.” Pascal’s worried expression lightened visibly. “Maybe you just weren’t listening carefully for once.”

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

Immediately his friend’s demeanor tensed again. “Something strange happened earlier. But I’m not sure if it’s anything to worry about. Zach has been doing a great job as my chief apprentice, so this week I’ve been giving him a couple of hours in the afternoon shift to supervise the messages as they come through the central pipes. I was trying to read in my chamber after lunch, but I couldn’t seem to relax, so I went back to work for a while — just to check on things, you know.”

Vincent nodded in acknowledgment of the pipe expert’s legendary devotion to the tunnel world’s communications system. “And what did you find?”

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

“Where do they lead to?”

“Narcissa’s chambers.” Pascal’s brow furrowed with consternation he couldn’t hide. “But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Narcissa who was using them.”

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

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

“Singing? Could you tell what the words were?”

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

Vincent frowned as he scanned the words Pascal had carefully printed. “You’re right.” He raised his head to meet his friend’s expectant stare. “These are the words of a song. It’s the English translation of an aria from the first act of an opera, A Masked Ball. Catherine and I listened to it when it was performed in the park this summer.”

“But what do you think it means?” The hint of a nervous laugh pinged his voice. “There can’t be someone in Narcissa’s chamber, sending Father secret messages in songs from operas…can there?”

Vincent’s voice was calm, but the look in his eyes betrayed his puzzlement and concern. “It’s certainly unlikely, but that’s what this seems to be. I’ll check on Narcissa and see what I can discover. Will you send a message to Father to let him know where I’ve gone?”

“Sure, Vincent, I’ll do it right away. Do you want me to come with you, just in case?”

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

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

“I will,” Vincent promised, “and I think it would be best if no one else learns about this incident for now beyond Zach, you, and me. I don’t want Father to worry unnecessarily. If he needs to be informed about it, I’ll tell him later.”

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

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

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

Feeling slightly foolish, he turned and stepped over the raised threshold of the adjacent tunnel, ducking his head until he cleared the low, rounded ceiling of the entryway. He lengthened his stride as he resumed the journey toward Narcissa’s chambers, knowing it would take more than an hour to reach her, even using the shortcuts few knew of and even fewer would risk taking. As he walked, he contemplated the verses Pascal had transcribed.

May every care dissolve in delight,
Let us come together in that magic cave.
And among the superstitious throng
Let us pursue our frolics one and all.
We shall come together, but may suspicion
Of the lurking danger awaken
To protect the magnanimous soul
Which fears not for itself.

He sighed as unanswerable questions rattled through his mind. Who could have sent such a message? What hidden meaning might they be trying to convey, and why would it be addressed to Father?

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

* * *

Catherine’s responsibilities in court had ended unexpectedly early, and she was grateful for the opportunity to escape and head home. She entered the elevator of her building, but as the doors slid shut behind her, she hesitated, then pushed the button that would take her not to her apartment but to the sub-basement.

In the misty light of the brick-edged threshold to the underground world, she paused, hoping Vincent had sensed her intention and would be on his way to meet her, but when she walked several yards into the nearby tunnel, she found it deserted. For a few moments, she considered trying to find her way to the home chambers on her own; then she remembered Vincent’s warnings of how easy it was to become lost Below in the intricate, frequently altered network of passageways. Retracing her steps, she reached for the small hammer that together they’d hidden near the tunnel entrance.

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

A few minutes later she straightened when she saw a flickering light begin to brighten the dimly lit tunnel ahead of her. As she watched, the glow revealed Jamie, carrying a flashlight in one hand and grasping the handle of a wooden wagon with the other.

“Hi, Jamie! Thanks for coming to meet me.” Catherine took the flashlight from the younger woman’s outstretched hand. “How did you get here so quickly? It usually takes Vincent and me at least twenty minutes to walk to the home chambers.”

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

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

“Have you seen Vincent today?” Catherine asked as they made their way along the shadowy route.

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

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

“Why don’t you stay for supper and wait for him? He shouldn’t get back too late, and I know he’d be really disappointed if he missed seeing you.”

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

“Be careful who you say that to,” Jamie warned with a laugh, “or you’ll find yourself knee-deep in colored paper, paint, glitter, and who knows what else. This year’s celebration is getting bigger and more elaborate all the time.”

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

“Pumpkins. I was on my way back from Mr. Long’s shop. He had some extra ones he wanted to donate.”

“Do you want some help? They must be heavy.”

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

“Which they’ll probably love doing!”

“That’s for sure,” Jamie agreed. “The messier it is, the better they like it!”

They continued in companionable conversation, and after several minutes had passed, they reached the more heavily traversed areas of the tunnel world, where slow-burning wall torches and the occasional overhead light, drawing electricity Mouse had managed to convert from sources Above, allowed them to switch off their flashlights and proceed more rapidly.

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

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

“Even Father?” Catherine’s voice rose in surprise.

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

“Yes, Vincent told me. Everyone’s supposed to come dressed as a character from some literary work.”

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

Catherine shook her head. “I can’t imagine. What?”

“Julius Caesar!”

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

The sound of their shared laughter echoed through the tunnel. “Definitely with a toga — and sandals and a laurel wreath!” Gasping to catch her breath, she added, “Now, you can’t laugh when you see him in it!”

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

“Luckily, I put my own costume together before they volunteered to help me. I’m going as Rosalind — you know, from As You Like It. We just finished reading the play in our drama group, and I really like her spirit.” Jamie tugged the wagon over a rough spot in the flooring. “How about you? What’s your costume?”

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

“What happened?”

“I called a costume rental shop weeks ago to reserve a beautiful gown – and even glass, well plastic slippers — but they lost my reservation, and the witch outfit was the best of the few horrible choices that were left. It’s just a plain, stereotypical witch’s dress and hat, so I’ll have to think of some specific character I’m supposed to be.”

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

“Thanks, Jamie,” she said softly. “I’m happy about that, too.”

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

“Sounds like a good idea. I’m starving!”

* * *

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

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

“How did you know I was on my way to see you?” he asked as he drew the old woman into a gentle hug.

Narcissa hugged him back, then turned toward her worktable. “I saw you in the waters, child.” She gestured toward the translucent surface of a liquid in a shallow bowl and flicked her fingertips across it. “Not many come to see me, but I always know when a journey has begun.”

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

“What is it, child?”  She looked up at him with eyes clouded yet far-seeing. “Why have you journeyed so far from home to this old, forgotten place? It has been a very long time since you have entered here.”

For several moments, he surveyed the cluttered room, spotting treasures and mysterious objects that had fascinated him since he was a child. A twine-bound cluster of rainbow tinted tropical birds’ feathers. Glass vials of multiple shapes and sizes, some empty and others holding colorful powders and liquids. A small cluster of twinkling crystals, deep purple, cloudy white, glowing citrine, icy clear, piled upon a ragged silk cloth. Earthenware bowls, old pewter spoons, and an ornate wooden box secured with an antique lock. As a boy, he’d longed to discover the secrets it held. And if he were to admit it, he still felt that same longing.

It was all so familiar, despite the long stretches of time between his visits. Even the smoke and spice scenting the chamber were the same, yet now there was another odor drifting elusively through the air. He knew he’d smelled it before, but it seemed out of place here, and he could not name it. The nascent peace he’d begun to feel vanished, and with effort he relaxed his face into a gentle smile, despite a lingering sense of misgiving. “I have a question to ask, one that only you can answer.”

“Then ask me, Vincent!” she said, her deep affection for him gentling her command. “And I will try to find an answer for you.”

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

The old woman frowned as her gaze flickered away from his face to settle for less than a moment on some shadowy place beyond him. Yet before he could react, she tilted her head sideways as she smiled up at him. “No, I did not send a message to the father. What would I have to say to him? You know he does not believe in my ways.”

He tensed warily but kept his voice even. “Then, who sent it, Narcissa?”

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

He sighed imperceptibly as his eyes followed her gesture, realizing he would find no answers here, for whatever Narcissa knew, she had chosen not to reveal. “Perhaps you’re right. Even Pascal has been known to make mistakes.”

She chuckled, but the sound did not reassure him as it had before. “Or maybe it’s the old spirits playing tricks. Sometimes they wish to tell us their stories. And it is their time now when the walls between the worlds grow thin…”

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

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

He returned her smile, knowing she would somehow see it. “Then I’ll leave you for now. Take care down here.”

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

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

She acknowledged his caring words with a nod of her head but said nothing more. Turning away from him, she reached for a faceted glass bottle and an old wooden mortar and pestle.

With a slight shrug, he moved swiftly into the connecting passage, and as he did, he caught sight of something he had not noticed earlier, a large piece of canvas stretched on a wooden frame, resting in an alcove. It was tilted against the rocky wall so that its painted surface was hidden from sight. For a moment he paused and reached out, intending to turn it toward him. Then he shook his head and continued onward, the impulse discarded as he realized that at least one small mystery had been solved. The unusual odor he’d noticed earlier was linseed oil, used for cleaning oil paint from artists’ brushes. And if for some reason known only to herself, Narcissa had chosen to take up painting, he would simply wait for her to tell him about it some other time.

* * *

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

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

“Probably, although I don’t think Narcissa would do something like that.”

“Neither do I, but then again with her, you can never be sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Vincent?” Pascal gave his friend’s arm a shake. “Don’t you think you ought to get going?”

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

“I won’t forget,” Pascal waved an arm in dismissal. “And I’ll remind Zach about it, too. Now go on! You’ve got better things to do than worry about some dumb Halloween prank.”

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

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

As he descended the stairs, Vincent watched Mouse jump up from his chair next to Catherine. “Sit here, Vincent. Next to Catherine.” Mouse grinned as he clambered into an empty chair near Jamie. “Saved that seat for you.”

“Thank you, Mouse.” Vincent took the chair the younger man offered. Fighting the urge to reach for Catherine, to touch her hand, her face, her hair, he instead accepted a mug of fragrant orange spice tea from Rebecca and clasped it tightly. His gaze swept the length of the table, appreciatively noting the relaxed, congenial faces of several members of the tunnel community, before resting on the love in Catherine’s eyes.

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

“Most of the time we were in the dining chamber, working on a few final preparations for the Halloween party.” Catherine gestured toward a large plate in the center of the table. “And believe it or not, I even managed to help William with his baking.”

“You did very well,” Mary said firmly, as William nodded in affirmation. “The peanut butter cookies turned out just fine. Here, you should try one, Vincent. You haven’t had any dinner.”

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

Vincent shook his head. “I had forgotten about it. How did the project go?”

William laughed as he reached for one of the few remaining cookies. “Not too good at first. Some of them didn’t like it when they found out they were better at thinking up ideas for silly faces than they were at using the carving knives.”

“It was more a lesson in patience and perseverance than pumpkin carving,” Father pointed out. “And a valuable lesson at that.”

“For a while I thought all we’d end up with would be a few bowls of pulp and seeds and a big pile of broken pumpkin shells.” Rebecca shook her head. “Not to mention a lot of hurt feelings.”

“Thought there might even be a fight!” A worried frown creased Mouse’s forehead. “That would be bad. Kids could get hurt.”

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

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

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

“And I suppose they all took you up on the offer?”

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

“His jack-o-lantern turned out okay anyway, even though it’s a little lopsided.” William chuckled as he recalled the sight. “All in all, those kids did a pretty good job. And they even cleaned up afterwards without having to be reminded a dozen times.”

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

“No, thank you!” William’s eyebrows rose in mock horror as he shook his head. “That’s all I’d need!”

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

The sound of a chair scraping against the stone floor drew everyone’s attention. Standing to face the others, Father proclaimed, “It’s been a long day and I still have a bit of reading to do before I turn in. First, however, I believe an important announcement must be made.”  As he paused, his wry grin revealed the intention behind his words to everyone but Vincent.

William and Rebecca exchanged winks, while Mary found it impossible to hide a smile.

“What announcement is that, Father?” Jamie asked as she and Mouse nudged each other. “Sounds like it’s something important.”

Vincent’s eyes narrowed warily. “Yes, Father, what announcement?”

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

“And to whom will this honor go?” Vincent already knew the answer.

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

“But I –” Vincent rose to his feet, ready to make a case in his own defense.

“It’s been decided, Vincent,” Father answered firmly, although his voice was full of mirth. “Make certain you’re available after dinner tomorrow night for the judging.”

As the others cleared away crumbs and straightened chairs, Mary gathered empty mugs onto a tray and cast a sympathetic look in Vincent’s direction. “I’m sorry, Vincent. I know how you hate to be in a position to make judgments like this. But you weren’t here earlier, and you were simply outvoted.”

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

“Vincent, it’s getting late and I should leave.” Catherine touched his hand. “Will you walk to the threshold with me?”

Eager to spend some precious time alone with her, he waited – only slightly impatiently — while she said good night to the others and repeated her promise to return for the party. As he watched her, he replayed in his heart the time just passed, when she had been part of his family, his world, and had seemed entirely content and happy for it.

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

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

As they walked their usual route toward the threshold, he reached for her hand. The surge of happiness he felt shimmering within their bond was as real as the warmth of her fingers entwined with his and the subtle seduction of her smooth skin sliding across his work-roughened palm. He knew such a small gesture would pass almost unnoticed by most couples, yet for him it was a moment of sensuality to be treasured and savored, a promise of something more that for now was just out of reach. Someday…

“Vincent, what are you thinking about?” The reality of her voice was an enticement even greater than his alluring reverie. “You seem so far away.”

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

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

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

“Jamie told me you went to see Narcissa. How is she?” She tightened her grasp on his hand. “Do you think she’ll come to the Halloween party?”

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

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

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

She felt a slight chill at the sound of his words. “What did the message say?”

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “It was nothing really, just some words from a song. And by coincidence, it was a song from –“

His words were cut off by the slap of running footsteps approaching from a tunnel branching away to their left. Instinctively, he dropped her hand and stepped in front of her, shielding her from any possibility of threat as he stared into the gloom of the narrow passageway.

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

“Vincent! Catherine!”

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

“Where are you coming from in such a hurry?” Vincent asked. “You aren’t in any trouble, are you?”

Mouse shook his head. “No trouble. Just need to go fast, that’s all.”  His tone was slightly reproachful. “Meeting over. Cookies gone. So went to see Elizabeth. Need more paint for the little kids’ pumpkins.”

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

The shaggy blond head nodded vigorously. “Somebody needs help, always call Mouse. Even the little kids know that.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be of great assistance to them,” Vincent answered.

Mouse grinned with self-conscious satisfaction. “Better bring these things to Mary. Bedtime soon.” He gestured toward the lumpy pockets of his jacket. “Tubes of paint. Little brushes. She wants to start right away soon as breakfast’s over.”

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

Then, realizing their journey was nearly over, he asked, “When will you come Below for the party?”

“Surprisingly enough, I’m just about caught up with my work assignments, so I can come down early, maybe sometime Saturday afternoon,” she answered happily, “as long as that’s all right with you.”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “Yes, it’s more than all right. I will be here to meet you.”

“Great! About two o’clock?”  She watched a small smile of pleasure curve his lips and felt its mirror image on her own mouth. They had so little time together, and the promise of nearly an entire afternoon and evening, even in the presence of a great many friends and family members, filled them with happiness.

“I’ll pick up my costume after work tomorrow,” she continued, half-hoping he might suggest she come Below then to spend the night in a guest chamber, rather than wait even one more day. Yet she was unsurprised when the invitation was not forthcoming.

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

Her response was not what he expected. “Not the one I wanted.” She made a small sniff of disgust. “I’d reserved a gorgeous dress, but the costume shop lost my reservation, so I had to take what was left.”

“And what was that?”

“A witch costume. A plain, ordinary black dress and hat, instead of Cinderella’s ball gown. It will be fine, I guess, but I really wanted to wear something special, something beautiful just for you.”

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

Any regret she still had vanished as she smiled at him. “How do you always know the perfect thing to say? You can make me feel better no matter what, even when I’m worrying about something as silly as this.”

When his only reply was the love in his eyes, she asked, “And what are you dressing up as?”

“I don’t know. The children asked if they could put together a costume for me, but according to Samantha, it’s not ready yet.”

Their steps slowed as they finally reached their destination, and they hesitated, reaching for a few last moments together.

“But didn’t they tell you what it would be?” Visions of a bedsheet-turned-toga-clad Father rippled her voice with suppressed humor.

His expression grew wary. “No, I told them they could surprise me, but now I’m not certain that was such a good idea.”

Guessing his thoughts had taken a similar path, Catherine grinned. “You know what they came up with for Father, don’t you?”

Smiling despite his worries, he nodded. “Yes. In fact, he shared it with me earlier today. I only hope they will show more…restraint…in their plans for me.”

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

Unable to restrain the torrent of desire sweeping through her, she could do nothing more than give in to sensation, even though she realized he would feel it all flaring through their bond. She’d known for a very long time that he was aware of her yearning for him, for she could no sooner mask it entirely than she could keep the sun from rising in the sky. It filled her dreams of him at night and suffused their waking moments together, its force too vibrant to ignore, too powerful to be tamed. And she knew, no matter how hard he might deny it, his desires mirrored hers.

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

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

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

“Your feelings…for me…are not a burden, Catherine,” he replied, surprising them both when he did not turn away from her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

Only a few candles burned in the late night hours, casting the chamber into deep shadows, faintly illuminating Father still at his desk in a single pool of lamplight, paging through the stack of books from the loft. “Vincent, I would have expected you’d be asleep by now. Is something troubling you?”

He approached the cluttered desk. “Nothing especially urgent, but there was an incident earlier that you should know about.” He shrugged. “It probably won’t amount to anything.”

Father gestured toward a nearby chair. “Tell me.”

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

“And you say Narcissa claims to know nothing at all about this?” He frowned and shook his head. “I find that difficult to believe. Perhaps she knows the truth behind it all too well but has chosen, for some unfathomable reasons of her own, to withhold it from us.”

“I want to trust her, Father, but I can’t be certain. She did say she hadn’t sent any messages at all – and certainly none to you.”

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

Vincent shook his head. “I’ve no idea. But whoever sent it clearly knows about the party. It sounded something like an invitation. Perhaps one of the teenagers did it, and it’s just a Halloween joke after all.”

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

Vincent drew in a sharp breath. “Do you think the message is from Paracelsus?”

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

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

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

Vincent felt a touch of chagrin as he realized he’d already partly broken that same promise he’d made earlier to Pascal, but decided to keep that information to himself. “Good night, Father. I’ll see you in the morning.” He paused at the chamber entrance. “Sleep well.”

“And you, son,” Father replied, although both knew that peaceful rest was now unlikely.

* * *

“Come on, Catherine, hurry!”

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

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

Samantha spun several times, her pinafore dress and braids flaring out as she turned. “Do you know who I’m supposed to be?” She quickly readjusted the straw hat that had nearly slid off her head. “I’ll give you a hint – she’s from Canada and she lives on a farm.”

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

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

“That does sound just like you!” Catherine watched as Samantha couldn’t resist just one more twirl. “What a perfect choice! Have you read all the books in the series?”

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

In an instant, Vincent knew the entire collection of books soon would be added to the children’s library.

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

Catherine pretended to study all the details — traditional deerstalker cap, oversized magnifying glass, clay pipe. “Hmmmm, I believe I have solved the mystery. And I must say, it was quite elementary, my dear Kipper!”

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

“No, you can’t! You never figured out who told Father that time you went up to play kickball in the park when you were supposed to be helping Cullen. Or who took those candy apples off the tray when William was in the storeroom. I knew who it was right away – both times – but you didn’t and I’ll never tell you, not ever. And you can’t make me!”

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

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

Catherine intervened even before Vincent could say a word. “All right, that’s enough. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves, not getting ready to start a battle.”

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

“We moved them to the dining chamber,” Kipper told her as they began walking through the winding tunnels, the altercation with Samantha having been set aside for now. “That way everyone at the party can see them all night.”

“Rebecca made special candles for them,” Samantha added, her dark eyes sparkling in anticipation of the festivities to come. “They’ll burn for hours and hours.”

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

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

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

“Definitely much better. Now we can stay up as late as the grown-ups!”

The adults exchanged understanding smiles as the children raced forward into the large, communal dining chamber.

Catherine paused in the doorway to take in the decorations that had transformed the plain, utilitarian space into a magical world. “This is wonderful! Where did everything come from?”

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

The long trestle tables were covered in cloths of black and orange and set with plates and silverware for the evening meal. In the center of each table, their carved faces transformed by flickering ivory candles, were the jack-o-lanterns arranged between mason jars filled with sprays of colorful autumn leaves.

He tilted his head, indicating she should look upwards. “Those old cast-iron chandeliers are similar to the ones you’ll see in the Great Hall at Winterfest, but we rarely use them in here unless it’s a special occasion. Rebecca and her assistants made all those candles, too, and we’ll save any that don’t burn out tonight for use elsewhere.”

Her admiring gaze traveled the length and breadth of the room from a straw-stuffed scarecrow dangling precariously between two tall sheaves of cornstalks, a large orange pumpkin at his feet, to an array of tissue paper ghosts suspended from the ceiling on translucent fishing line, fluttering in the slightest breeze, to the far end of the spacious chamber where an area had been set aside for musicians just setting up their equipment.

She grinned as she took in the special guests who appeared ready to accompany their performance. “Who came up with those characters?”

He chuckled at the sight of a leering vampire constructed from a somewhat battered mannequin draped in what he recognized as one of his old cloaks, and a full-sized skeleton that usually made its home in the hospital chamber, now wearing a dented top hat and red bowtie. “I believe Count Dracula’s cousin may have made his way here with Mouse’s assistance, and I suspect Peter had something to do with his skeletal accomplice.”

“I think you’re probably right.” She turned to look in the opposite direction at a long table set against one wall, its surface already crowded with covered plates and trays of treats the partygoers would enjoy after dinner, along with a sizable black cauldron from which a large ladle protruded. “Is that William’s mulled apple cider I’ve heard so much about?”

“It is. I think Father would be tempted to end the party early if William neglected to have it on the menu.”

She looked up at him. “It’s all so amazing! I’ve been to so many Halloween parties, but I know this one will be better than any of them.”

“Even better than last year’s party?” He tilted his head and waited for her reply.

She gave him the smile that always made his heart beat faster. “That night was so special for us. But this one will be even more wonderful than that. I just know it will.”

Savoring the array of possibilities he heard in her words, he could only gaze at her until they suddenly found their attention once again required by the children.

“Aren’t you going to come and look at the jack-o-lanterns?” Kipper pointed toward a large pumpkin whose carved face displayed sharp jagged teeth, a misshapen pair of eye sockets, and a long crooked hole where a nose should be. “Mine won first prize for the scariest face.”

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

“Yeah, but I promise mine’s better!” Kipper laughed loudly, but this time Samantha chose to let him get away with it.

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

Catherine pretended to be shocked as she stared at the miniature Frankenstein’s Monster. “I’m glad you warned me. If I had bumped into you in a dark tunnel, I probably would have run away screaming!”

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

As Vincent followed, she let the boy lead her to a nearby table and watched as he pointed to a plump, round pumpkin, its carved face dominated by a toothy, lopsided grin. “That’s mine.”

“It’s wonderful, Geoffrey! Did yours win a prize, too?”

“Yup. Mine got the prize for the friendliest face.”

Vincent caught Geoffrey’s attention, then held a warning finger to his lips before turning to Catherine. “Does it remind you of anyone?”

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

“It actually does, but I can’t quite figure out who.” She straightened and looked back at them. “Will you give me a hint?”

They shook their heads. “Look again, Catherine,” the little boy urged as she did what he asked. “Everyone said it looks just like –“

“William!” She sputtered with laughter. “You’re right — it really does look like him!”

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

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

“Well, I suppose it is,” he conceded with a chuckle. “And I don’t see any other jack-o-lantern faces that look like anybody else around here, so I guess that makes Geoffrey and me pretty special. Right, kid?”  Having set his baskets on the table, William affectionately patted Geoffrey’s shoulder as the youngster grinned up at him.

“Right, William!”

“Now aren’t you kids missing some of Father’s stories? He’s already started reading.”

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

“Well, I still like all the stories,” she announced, dismissing what she obviously considered to be Kipper’s lack of appreciation for literature. “And I’m going to go listen to them.”

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

Kipper sighed noisily. “Oh, all right — but I’ll beat you there!”

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

“William, is there anything I can do to help?” Catherine offered.

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

“I suppose I should.” She looked invitingly at Vincent. “Want to take me on a guided tour?”

“Of course.” He reached for her hand and began to lead her toward the other tables, as William headed back in the direction of the kitchen.

“Say, Vincent,” he called out, pausing at the threshold, “you did good work judging the contest, even though we stuck you with the job.”

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

“I know why you got that assignment,” Catherine said. “But what did Kanin and Olivia do to deserve it?”

Vincent shrugged. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they were busy somewhere else like I was and missed the meeting, too, leaving them unable to turn down the judging duties.”

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

As he disappeared down the passageway, Catherine glanced up at Vincent and was not at all surprised to see a slight blush rising along his neck. Despite the depths of strength and courage he possessed in so many ways, he was far more sensitive, more vulnerable than any man she’d ever known, an incredibly compelling dichotomy of virility and innocence, and to whom no other man could ever compare. A wave of pure love and desire swept through her, a longing for all that he was, all that he could be for her and for himself. Yet before he could sense it fully through their bond, she somehow managed to smother the sensation, and instead forced her attention back to the Halloween decorations.

“The children really did an incredible job with these pumpkins. Do you have a favorite?”

When he didn’t reply right away, she looked up to find him gazing at her, his expression deceptively relaxed and calm, but she knew he had sensed at least a shading of her emotions through their bond. Yet this time the realization did not produce a frisson of concern or fear. Instead, she found herself grateful and glad to know he was finally beginning to accept – and perhaps even savor — her hope for the possibilities awaiting them.

* * *

“One more story, Father, please!”

“Yes, Father, just one more!”

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

“And,” he added as everyone rose from the cushions strewn across the floor of the study, “I suggest that the few adults who have not yet managed to find a moment to put on their costumes should do so immediately. We must not disappoint the children.”  With only the most subtle of sighs, he headed toward his private chambers to enact his own transformation.

Following that advice, Catherine and Vincent walked the short distance to his chamber. “The stories Father chose were perfect. And he certainly has a wonderful flair for the dramatic, doesn’t he?”

Vincent laughed softly. “Yes, he does. And I’m not sure who enjoys this yearly tradition more — the audience or the performer.”

“Well, I certainly enjoyed it! In fact, when he read that selection from The Inexperienced Ghost, where Clayton actually summons forth the spirit and sees it appear before him, I almost believed I saw it, too, standing right there in Father’s chamber. It’s not that I enjoy being frightened, of course. Okay, maybe only once a year…” She shivered and let an exaggerated trembling ripple her voice. “But only if I have you to protect me from all the ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night.”

Vincent grinned as he shook his head. “I can see Father’s going to have some competition next year if he’s not careful.”

When they arrived at his chamber, he stopped at the entrance. “You can change into your costume here. I’ve left mine in Father’s chamber. When you’re ready, tap out your name and mine on the pipes and I’ll come back for you.”

“All right. I won’t be long. But first tell me about the costume the children chose for you. I’ve been meaning to ask you about it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly. “I can only guess they were inspired by their study of Idylls of the King…I’m to be Lancelot.”

“The greatest knight of all. I think they made a wonderful choice.”

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

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

After quickly shedding her sweater, jeans, socks, and sneakers, she reached for the zipper tab on the garment bag and pulled it open, eager to escape the chill of the underground chamber even if it meant putting on the outfit she disdained. But when she reached for the witch’s dress, her astonished gasp echoed in the silence.

For several long moments she could do nothing more than stare at the fabric clutched in her hand. Instead of black satin robes, she held a soft billowing length of white chiffon, layer upon layer of diaphanous silk that rippled as she drew it forward. As if in a dream, she pulled the dress over her head, feeling it settle around her slender body like a cloud. It was a perfect fit, from the low draped neckline to the softly fluted hem which just brushed the tops of her feet. She smoothed the long sleeves, admiring the crystal beading scattered along their length, and gazed down at herself, wishing there were a mirror so that she might see how she looked clad in such unexpected beauty.

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

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

“Wings and a halo,” she murmured bemusedly. “An angel? But which one?” Then, an image flickered through her mind, one she’d never truly seen and had only imagined, but it was enough to tell her who she was meant to be.

From the near distance of Father’s chamber, Vincent felt Catherine’s sense of surprise, followed by waves of astonishment and delight. Deeply intrigued, he hurried to finish dressing, fastening a heavy leather belt over a knee-length royal blue tunic, and pulling on black leather boots over snug-fitting black pants. Despite his haste, he paused for a moment, glancing down the length of his body to admire the children’s creativity in putting together such a handsome costume.

The tunic was embroidered with a border of gold fleur-de-lis, and the belt which rested on his hips even had a scabbard to hold an elaborate prop sword. That they had managed to produce such a wonderful costume to portray a noble, storybook knight did not surprise him. Yet he could not help wondering why they had chosen it for him.

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

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

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m ready.”

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

To his entranced eyes, it seemed that she’d been transformed into a living version of the dream angel with whom he’d journeyed not so long ago through a nightmarish world of a life that should never be. That angelic image of Catherine had guided him home, had led him back to all the love and life and light that was his true destiny, his true reality. Just as she always had, just as she always would.

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

She shook her head, the halo of ribbons atop her hair catching the light in a silvery fall. “I don’t know. When I went to put on my costume, I found this dress instead. The girl at the shop must have come up with it somehow. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Yes,” he whispered, as at last he moved toward her. “Beautiful. So very beautiful.” He stopped only inches away, confusion and pleasure warring in his eyes. “But how can this be? You…you look much like the angel who led me out of that terrible nightmare…But you couldn’t have known. I never told you how she looked, how she…”

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

“I don’t understand.” A wave of turmoil and uncertainty began to surge within him. “I was careful – I didn’t –”

Her face was full of love and reassurance. “You didn’t tell me in words, but I knew. Do you remember when you woke, and I was sitting by you on your bed?”

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

“I’d been there for only a little while, watching you sleep, waiting for you to return to me. I saw the changing expressions on your face, and I knew you were dreaming, a strange and terrible dream, and I wanted to comfort you, to soothe away your pain.”

“And you did,” he broke in, picking up the thread of their story. “You brought me back from that nightmare world. And I remember telling you what I’d seen there and how an angel had journeyed with me — but I didn’t tell you what the angel looked like. I didn’t tell you that the angel…the angel was you.”

A radiant smile illuminated her face. “Maybe the words weren’t spoken. Maybe we didn’t need them. But with every touch, every look, you told me what I’d meant to you in your dream.”

“What you’ll always mean to me, Catherine,” he whispered, his voice deepening, “always.”

As the moments passed, they could only gaze at one another, sharing the voices of their hearts. Then all too soon, the sounds of the tunnel world intruded – rapid footsteps passing in the corridor, laughing voices of excited children, a message tapped along the pipes summoning the last stragglers to the dining chamber — and they reluctantly moved apart.

“I suppose we should join the others,” she said, “before someone comes looking for us.”

“Yes, I suppose we should.” He began to walk to the chamber entrance, but just as he reached it, the sound of her voice called him back.

“Vincent, wait. I was so surprised about my own costume, I didn’t take a good look at yours.”

He hesitated in the doorway and forced himself to endure her scrutiny.

Her smile was incandescent as she slowly approached, letting her gaze ripple over him. “Oh, you look wonderful! Sir Lancelot, the perfect knight.”

“But Lancelot was not a perfect knight.” His voice was bittersweet. “He strove for perfection, yet in the end he failed.”

She shrugged, the slight movement making her gauzy capelet wings flutter enticingly. “Perfection is boring.” Her voice simmered with decidedly un-angelic ardor. “I much prefer a man with a few intriguing flaws.”

He stared at her, and beyond the dreamlike pleasure of all they’d just shared, he saw something more, a heated promise, a gift just waiting for him if only he would reach out to take it.

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

“I’m not afraid,” she reminded him gently. “And some things are worth great risks. They’re worth everything.”

With her words throbbing in his heart, he took her hand, and together they left to join the others.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, those extra pots and pans Lou gave us really came in handy.” William craned his neck toward the kitchen’s storage room, but the small, brown felt hat he wore in his guise as Mr. Pickwick stayed put. “He said he got them when he closed up his mother’s house last month.”

Vincent nodded. “It was very kind of him to think of us during a time of sadness for his family. We are truly blessed to have such wonderful friends.”

“We are,” Olivia agreed, “and I know we’re all glad to be able to give something in return to the people who help our world survive.”

“Especially when it’s something as enjoyable as this party!” Rebecca grinned as another old friend approached them. “Lou! We were just talking about you.”

“Bon soir, Mademoiselle Rebecca.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, grinning as she giggled at the tickling of his elaborate mustache. “I am quite delighted to see you once again!” He pivoted to offer the same greeting to Olivia. “And – bien sur – you as well, Madame Olivia – or should I say Mademoiselle Capulet?”

Mr. Long smiled at his friend’s antics. “Have you found any mysteries to solve tonight, Monsieur Poirot?”

“Mais non, I have not. However, as they say, the night is young, and who knows what adventures might come our way?”

As the others chatted, Father turned to Vincent. “May I have word with you for a moment?” He gestured toward a momentarily deserted alcove. “I need to discuss something with you.”

“Of course.” Vincent followed his father, quickly assessing the area to make sure no one would overhear them. “What is it?”

Father shook his head. “That really is the most abominable French accent I’ve ever heard. Not that I would expect anyone to manage a decent interpretation of the Walloon dialect, but still –”

Vincent’s eyes widened. “The quality of Lou’s accent is what you need to discuss?”

“No, not at all.” Father subdued a quiet laugh. “Simply making an observation.” His voice grew solemn. “Have you noticed anything to cause concern tonight?”

The two men quickly surveyed the crowded room, each having done so numerous times throughout the evening.

Vincent shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen anyone or anything out of place.”

“I agree. Everything seems to be as it should.”

Father’s gaze continued to sweep the vast chamber. “I spoke with all the sentries again late this afternoon, and they said much the same.”

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

The tension that had hardened the older man’s face relaxed a bit. “Then, perhaps that message was only a ridiculous prank, just as we suspected.”

“I think that’s all it was, Father. I have no sense of any danger. But we should remain vigilant, nonetheless.”

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

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

“And even more of our friends will join us at Winterfest. But it’s too bad Peter isn’t here tonight.” Father shrugged his shoulders beneath the purple wool cloak he’d donned as much for warmth as to preserve a sense of dignity. “He always enjoys the Halloween celebrations.”

“Peter always enjoys any celebration!” William chuckled. “But I guess he’ll have to wait a few months until the next one.”

“I heard Pascal report that his flight from California was delayed, so that’s why he couldn’t arrive in time,” Rebecca added. “What a shame he had to miss the party!”

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

“Our friend Peter.” Olivia waved at Count Dracula and his gentlewoman partner as they swirled past again on the dance floor. “He told me about a great costume he’d found — but I’d better not say what it is in case he wants to save it for next year.”

“You would have enjoyed meeting him, Catherine. He’s another of my oldest and dearest friends, one of our original Helpers,” Father told her. “Another time, perhaps.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” She turned to Mr. Long. “It was really nice to meet you tonight, Mr. Long. I’ve heard wonderful things about you from Jamie and the others.”

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, too, Miss Chandler. And we will meet again, I am sure. But now it is getting late and I must leave.”

“Oh, surely not yet.” Father took his friend’s arm to steer him toward a small table nearby. “We haven’t had our game of chess yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I wanted Kanin to come to the party as Romeo, but once he realized he’d have to wear tights, I knew I’d never convince him.” Olivia rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “When he settled on Count Dracula, he tried to talk me into dressing as Mina Harker.” She shuddered. “But that was too creepy, so I stuck to my original plan. I think it all worked out.”

“Actually, my original idea for a costume had a few snags, too. I was supposed to be Cinderella at the ball. But somehow the plans changed. When I opened the bag from the costume shop, this is what I found. It’s a beautiful costume, but it’s not what I expected.”

“It is lovely, but what a shame they mixed up your order. You would have been a great Cinderella.” Olivia’s gaze swept over her friend. “So, what character are you supposed to be? It looks like you’re an angel, but which one? I can’t think of any stories where an angel is the main character.”

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

“Eric!” Catherine smiled at him. “What a great costume!”

“I’m not Eric! I’m Max!” He roared and waved his clawed hands. “I’m the king!”

“King Max?” Catherine glanced expectantly at Vincent who only shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Since I didn’t think this would be my costume, I still don’t know what to say when someone asks who or what I’m supposed to be. Any suggestions?”

“That’s right.” Olivia gave her a careful look. “I guess that’s why you never answered my question about that – because you don’t know either! Okay, hmmmm, let’s see.”

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

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

Catherine’s voice was hushed. “That was my favorite book when I was a little girl. My mother used to read it to help me fall asleep. I haven’t thought of it in years.” She pulled the girl into a quick, gentle hug. “Thank you so much, Ellie.”

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

“Everything’s fine among the wild things, Ellie. Don’t worry about Eric – just enjoy yourself tonight. The older children are starting some new games, and I heard talk about dancing. Why don’t you join them, too, my queen?”

Grinning, Ellie curtseyed expertly and rushed off to follow his suggestion.

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

“Oh, you can borrow the Count anytime,” Olivia teased. “I don’t mind!”

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

“And besides, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Kanin grinned, then kissed her cheek, as the others looked affectionately at the couple.

Vincent touched Mary’s arm, drawing her attention. “It’s good to see you enjoying the party tonight. Your work with the children is invaluable, but you need to take time for yourself, as well.”

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

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

“Remember when Felicity was a Helper, before she moved to Canada?” Rebecca glanced around the group. “She always read the tarot cards for us at Halloween parties.”

“Yeah, I remember.” William scowled and shook his head. “Didn’t believe in it much, though.”

“I thought it was fun.” Olivia shrugged. “Too bad she’s not here tonight.”

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

“Do you have a set of cards?” Rebecca’s eyes flashed eagerly.

“I did, but they were misplaced years ago. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for them. I’m sorry.”

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

Just then the King of the Wild Things appeared again at Vincent’s elbow and tugged on his sleeve. “Hey, Vincent, will you play a game with me? Everybody else is too busy.”

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

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

A warning prickled along the back of Vincent’s neck. “Which Helper?”

“I don’t remember his name.” Eric frowned trying to recall it, then brightened as a clue popped into his head. “But he’s wearing a pirate costume — with a fake sword and everything. It’s really cool! And he knew I was Max. He said he loves that book, ‘specially the pictures.”

Vincent scanned the crowd but could see no one dressed as a pirate. “Where did you see him last? Do you remember?”

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

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

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

“Okay!” He handed them over. “I knew you’d help me. I never saw cards like these before.”

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

“Why, they’re tarot cards!” Mary took the box from his hand. “Imagine that! We were just talking about them.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.” Kanin glanced at a frowning Vincent. “You know, they probably appeared because of some of that Halloween magic Father was reading about.”

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

Vincent cast a quick gaze over the happy, laughing throng, only to find that nothing seemed out of place.

Catherine touched his arm reassuringly. “That’s probably all it is, like Mary said, just a coincidence.”

“Probably,” Vincent forced himself to agree, taking a deep breath to restore his sense of well-being. He turned to Mary. “Would you like to try reading the cards?”

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

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

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

Mary’s eyes clouded for a moment and her voice wavered. “It reminds me of things I’d almost forgotten.”

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

The older woman held up her hand to still Catherine’s apology. “There’s nothing at all to be sorry for, dear. Please don’t be concerned about me. This dress holds happy memories, too.”

Before another uneasy silence could descend, William spoke up. “Well, let’s get started on this tarot business.” He gestured toward a table. “If we move those jack-o-lanterns, we’ll have plenty of room.”

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

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

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

Eric hovered at the edge of the group. “Hey, Vincent,” he called, successfully regaining his friend’s attention, “you can keep the cards. I don’t want them if they’re not a game.”

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

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

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

“Catherine, you should sit across from me,” Mary said, seating herself and pointing to a place on the opposite bench. “Everyone else can sit or stand wherever they’re comfortable.”

Vincent took his place next to Catherine, and as the others found spots, Mary examined several of the cards. “Many tarot decks are designed with a certain theme, and it’s easy to see what this one is.”

“What?” Rebecca quickly leaned forward to scan the cards Mary held out to them. “Oh, I see — it’s myths!”

“That’s right. Here’s the card with the symbol of the Sun. The illustration for it is Apollo, and the card for the Moon shows Hecate.”

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

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

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

He held out the cards for the others to see. “Makes sense that the artist picked Athena for Justice and Hades for Death.” He reached for another. “And here’s Prometheus. He’s on the card of The Hanged Man. What does that one mean?”

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

“But how about the others?” Olivia rearranged a few on the table. “The ones with the plots, not just individual characters.”

“That would be the Minor Arcana. Those cards are divided into four suits which correspond with the four elements — fire, water, air, and earth — and also with specific life paths.”  Mary riffled through them. “In this deck, as in most, the four suits are called Wands, Swords, Pentacles, and Cups.”

“And what life paths do they represent?” Vincent asked, becoming caught up in Mary’s explanation.

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

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

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

William prodded Kanin as he pointed at the cards in Mary’s hand. “Maybe that’s you, Kanin.”

“Hey, you never know! But if Mary reads the cards for me, I bet we’ll find out.”

“Well, it’s Catherine’s turn first,” Rebecca reminded them. “So, let Mary get started.”

“Wait, there’s one more group.” Vincent smoothed the last few cards out on the surface of the table. “What story do those cards tell, Mary?”

Before Mary could answer, Catherine spoke up. “I recognize that one, even though I don’t have the background in mythology that all of you have. It’s Cupid and Psyche, right?”

Mary smiled approvingly. “That’s right, Catherine. The myth of Cupid and Psyche stands for the suit of Cups in this deck, and it’s a perfect choice! The Cups are associated with Water and they symbolize emotions, especially those connected to love.”

“Okay, now that we’ve got that all straightened out, let’s hear Catherine’s fortune.” William’s suggestion was supported with comments of agreement from the others.

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

Vincent tilted his head toward her. “You mean instead of predicting an exact future, they give a sense of direction and point out possibilities that might occur, based on your past and on your own thoughts?”

“That’s exactly it.” Mary gathered all the cards into a stack. “They’re like a map or a mirror. They help the questioner look at things — certain tendencies or qualities — that are often buried in the subconscious but which influence one’s actions.”

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

“You should think of a question to ask.”

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

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

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

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

A hush settled around the little group as the others watched Catherine follow Mary’s instructions. Mary then turned over ten cards, arranging them in a fan-like shape in front of her. “There are many different ways to lay out the cards. This arrangement is especially good for Catherine’s question since it shows present situations and influences in addition to how they might affect her future.”

She pointed to the cards farthest to the left. “Let’s look at these first. They tell us about what’s happening in Catherine’s present life, with reference to the changes she mentioned.”

Everyone leaned closer to see the cards as Mary continued. “The first one is The High Priestess from the Major Arcana. She represents a thirst for knowledge and the revealing of secrets. She is characterized by Persephone, a woman who lives in two separate but intertwined worlds. She is shown here descending into an underworld rich with possibilities and potential.”

“In other words, she is contemplating the realm of the unconscious,” Vincent said. “Dreams and intuition.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. By choosing this card, it indicates that Catherine’s present life is divided but full of great potential, things that haven’t yet been fulfilled but will become real as more changes occur.”

“I can’t get over that it’s Persephone!” Rebecca’s voice was full of excitement. “It’s just like Catherine coming Below, entering our world for part of the time, then returning Above for the rest.” She shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s only a coincidence…”

Catherine glanced up at her friend, a smile flickering across her mouth. “Maybe, but it’s also a good beginning.”

“It certainly is,” Mary said. “Now look at the second card — the Three of Cups. It shows Psyche and Cupid, who is also called Eros, celebrating their marriage. But remember that early in their story, Psyche only knew Cupid had saved and transformed her life. He hid himself from her, so she knew little else about him. Yet it was enough for their love to begin.”

“This is amazing!” Murmurs underscored Olivia’s comment as she glanced from Catherine to Vincent before reaching for her husband’s hand.

“This card represents happiness found in the growth of a relationship,” Mary told them, “but it also warns of sacrifices and trials ahead. Nevertheless, remember that where there is love and loyalty — a true commitment — there will be cause for further celebration.”

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

“The next two cards represent the things Catherine wants and wishes for.”

“Uh-oh, are you sure you want all of us to hear this part?” Kanin grinned at her.

Catherine laughed lightly as she looked up from the cards. “Not entirely — but I’ll take my chances.”

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

“That’s nothing we didn’t already know,” William remarked. “And you could say the same thing about a lot of people.”

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

“It’s the Knight of Cups.” A slight blush tinted Mary’s face. “As I said, the Cups stand for the emotions, particularly those associated with love. The Knight of Cups is represented by Perseus who underwent great sacrifice and change in the name of love. He followed his heart, no matter what, to reach and rescue the woman he loved.”

“That sounds just like Vincent, doesn’t it? He did exactly those things!” Olivia clamped her mouth closed. “Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to –”

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

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

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

Catherine nodded. “What about the other card? Does it tell what these decisions will be?”

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

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

“I remember that part of the story,” Olivia added. “Aphrodite knew her son truly loved Psyche, so she finally agreed to help her rescue him — but she didn’t make it easy!”

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

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

“Then that means Catherine might have to choose between reason and passion?” Kanin shook his head. “That’s a tough one.”

“No, not a choice. Remember the two horses must pull the chariot together or it cannot move forward at all.”

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

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

“It certainly is!” Catherine’s eyes widened. “Much more than I’d imagined it would.”

“Then let’s go on. The other card that tells of the immediate future is the Star.”

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

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

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

“Yes, that’s it. Your faith will be rewarded despite the trials that lie ahead of you.”

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

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

William nodded. “Yeah, I see what you mean. But how about the last two cards? Do they tell what’s going to happen in the end?”

“Maybe, but that’s up to Catherine and the decisions she makes.” Mary looked carefully at the younger woman. “Are you ready to hear about the possibilities that lie ahead for you in the next six to twelve months?”

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

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

“I know it.” Kanin pointed toward the illustrated card. “Theseus had a talisman — the golden thread given to him by Ariadne — to help guide him back from the darkness so he could achieve his goal.”

“This one is confusing.” Olivia frowned. “It seems so specific and yet it’s pretty unrealistic.”

William shook his head. “Yeah, I can’t see Catherine having to do anything like this.”

“Don’t forget that the stories are only symbolic,” Mary pointed out. “Catherine’s journey may be an inner one, where she has to confront something that causes fear. But on the other hand, there’s also the possibility for a physical journey or quest of some kind with the goal of preserving what is good and true. What’s important to remember is that she must disregard what is false and only hold onto the truth, no matter how difficult it might be.”

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

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

“Tell us.” The guarded tone of Vincent’s voice revealed more than he’d intended.

“Well, of course, I will! The final card shows Psyche and Cupid reunited after all their challenges and struggles. They know they will always be together because their love has been made stronger with all they’ve endured. All the other gods – even Cupid’s mother — offer their blessings. See?”  She pointed to the image of Aphrodite smiling upon the happy couple. “This is the card that tells of one’s dearest wishes coming true at last.”

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

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

“So am I! Thank you, Mary. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”  Without anyone else seeming to notice, she carefully reached for Vincent’s hand beneath the table and felt her heart quiver as he clasped it within his, as if nothing could force him to let her go.

“That’s what a tarot reading is supposed to do.” Mary smiled at the group. “But remember that in the end you make your own decisions. Now, would anyone else like a turn?”

“I would!” Rebecca exclaimed, her quick reply bringing a look of disappointment to Kanin and Olivia’s faces. “Sorry, guys, but after me, you can be next.”

“Next for what?” The commanding undercurrent of the speaker’s voice drew everyone’s attention despite their not having noticed his approach.  “What have all of you been up to?”

“Mary has been reading the tarot cards, Father.” Vincent reluctantly released Catherine’s hand and rose to his feet. “It’s been very…enlightening.”

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

“I don’t believe in that sort of nonsense.” He shook his head as he surveyed the group. “And neither should any of you.”

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

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

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

“I don’t need any advice about that! This costume turned out all well and good after all, but I did not care for a few of the comments I overheard — especially a very impertinent-sounding one from a fellow in a pirate costume who I saw talking with Laura earlier. I suspect it might have been Sebastien.”

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

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

“Laura must be free to find her own way in the life she has chosen,” Vincent reminded them. “And her life now lies as much in her new world as it does in the old. We must offer her our support and understanding, but we cannot make decisions for her.”

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

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

“I’ve had such a good time, but it looks like the party is winding down, and I suppose I should leave now, too.”

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

“You know, I’ve really enjoyed dressing up tonight, and I’m not quite ready for it to end. So, I think I’ll keep the costume on, and I can pick up everything I left in your chamber another time.”

A surge of warmth filled his voice with thoughts of now, dreams of tomorrow. “As you wish, Catherine.”

He waited while she said good night to the others, and then far too soon, they found themselves entering the passageway that would soon bring them to the threshold where she again would leave one home for another.

“This was a wonderful night.” They paused near a candlelit alcove. She reached for his hands and clasped them tightly. “Thank you again for including me. I loved every minute of it.”

For just a moment he thought he might set free the words of his heart, but again a lifetime of self-control and denial reined in that passionate impulse. Yet nothing could completely restrain the love and desire he felt for her. “It gives me great pleasure to know you can be happy here, Catherine. I…I cherish those moments.”

Her response filled him with love and hope. “And I cherish the time I spend Below…Then again, I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

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

“Often enough!” She grinned up at him before snuggling closer and resting her head against his chest.

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

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

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

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

“We will…but not tonight.”

“No, not tonight.” She gently eased herself from his embrace and took a reluctant step backwards. “But soon.”

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

Their footsteps grew slower and slower, and both silently searched for one last reason to keep the magical night from ending. As they inevitably reached the place where they would part, the silken rustle of her dress suddenly offered inspiration.

“I forgot to ask. Did you find someone to help you choose a specific storybook angel that your costume could represent?”

“Not exactly, and I was hoping I wouldn’t be asked about it before I could come up with a good idea.”

“It wasn’t as if you could tell them the truth about it.” He blushed slightly as he immediately pictured the cherished culmination of his otherwise nightmarish dream.

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

“A fairy? Any particular one?”

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

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

Her smile was sweet and sad. “Even though the rabbit’s life was ending, he was reborn through love. And he learned that love is the most powerful and wonderful force in the world.”

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

She wanted to tell him there had been no transformation, nor would there ever been a need for one. She loved him just as he was, would love him just as he’d always be. But before she could say a word, he drew her into his embrace. They held each other, cherishing all they had found in one another, dreaming of all that was yet to be.

She knew he felt her response echo in her heart; still she offered him the affirmation of her words. “As your love has given my life more purpose and beauty and worth than I’d ever imagined possible. As your love…as our love…has changed my life forever.”

Too soon, with mingled sighs of contentment and wonder, they forced themselves to part, their joy tinged with regret. With one last look of love and longing, she walked away into the soft effusion of light that marked the border between their worlds.

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

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

He focused his gaze on the very real woman who had moved closer, waiting at the edge of the circle of light. He wanted to go to her, and yet he found he couldn’t move, so enchanted was he by the presence before him. The light transformed the starry whiteness of her dress, faintly illuminating the soft curves of her body that had so often haunted his dreams, asleep and awake. He felt a searing heat suffuse his body in throbbing waves filled with far more pleasure than pain. For a few brief moments, he yielded to their seduction, and then, with a deep shuddering sigh, he tried to smother the sensations. But he could not, and he strode forward to stand so close he could almost feel the rapid beating of her heart.

He ached to touch her – now, always – yet he still struggled with the haunting dream of a life that was never meant to be. A dream of eternal loss and aloneness until an angel had offered him an elusive thread to guide him from a maze of darkness, just as Catherine’s love had always brought him closer to the light.

He could not let the night end as so many others had. “I need to ask you something, Catherine,” he began, his voice raspy with hope and longing. “And when you answer, you must tell me the truth.”

“I will not lie to you, Vincent. I never will.”

He swallowed hard, feeling his heart race. “In my dream, just before I awakened, the angel told me to always remember love. Then she moved closer, and I closed my eyes, and…and the angel kissed me. But when I opened my eyes, I saw you smiling at me.” He lowered his head, hoping to hide his doubt and hope from her.

She raised a hand to his face, gently urging him to look at her again, and felt her heart fill with happiness when he could not resist her. “There’s something else you want to say, isn’t there? Something you need to be sure of.”

“Yes…There is something more I need to know. That night when I dreamed the angel kissed me, it seemed so real. And, Catherine, you were the angel, so did you…was it you…” Again, his voice ebbed, but this time he did not turn from her.

“You want to know if it was the angel in the dream who kissed you…or if it was me.”

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

“I have the answer to your question,” she murmured, “but are you sure you really want to know?”

His heated groan reverberated through her body. “Yes!”

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

His laughter echoed silently through the chamber as he turned and strolled away, content now to return to the mysterious lair of his kindly old friend, to tell her all he had done, and to find with her a promised place of sanctuary for as long as he needed it.

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

Moments later, as he neared Vincent’s chamber, he knew he’d found the right home for his offering. Even though Vincent could not identify the donor, he would appreciate the work and the message, and he would share the gift with Catherine. And this would not be the end. They would all meet again. Maybe they’d even become his friends someday, these two special souls, as Narcissa called them. The strength and vibrancy of the love they shared was an inspiration, the truth and vibrancy of its existence giving hope and power even to someone like him.

He entered the chamber and glanced at Vincent sleeping soundly under mounds of patchwork quilts and handloomed blankets. For just a moment he wondered what would happen if he awakened and found he was not alone. Would he be frightened, maybe angry, or would he welcome in the stranger, bringing him into the light, sharing stories, offering what his existence had lacked for so long?

He sighed. There was no point in playing guessing games. For now, there were other tasks to do. Soon his mission was concluded, and he knew it was time to move on. A last look at his masterpiece, a gentle, bittersweet smile, then there was nothing save for the cool rustle of air that once had been breath.

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

Just in front of them rested a sheet of paper torn from an artist’s sketch pad, the words of a poem scrawled across its surface, a gift of wisdom and warning, of promise and possibility from a knight of ghosts and shadows.

Oh what tremendous multitudes,
invisible and ever-changing,
come to this garden and linger forever!
Every step we take on Earth
takes us to a new world.
Every single footstep
lands on a floating bridge.
I know that there is no such thing
as a straight road.
Only a vast labyrinth
of intricate crossroads.
Our steps incessantly
create as we go,
immense spirals
of unfolding pathways.
Oh garden of fresh
possibilities! Oh garden
of all I still am not
but could and should have been!

~ Federico Garcia Lorca