FAIRE GAME

by JoAnn Baca

“Preposterous!”

Catherine had to use every bit of self-control to keep from rolling her eyes at Father’s response to her announcement. It was amazing to her that the man could still walk, what with all his knee-jerk responses to her ideas for expanding Vincent’s horizons. You’d think he would have blown out the ligaments in his legs by now.

This time, however, she was determined to overwhelm his objections, utilizing her formidable skills of persuasion, logic…and stubbornness.

Father stopped for a moment to inhale, his mouth open to deliver more scathing comments about her lack of common sense, how little she must care for Vincent’s safety, and probably to accuse her of causing world hunger on top of it all. In the momentary cessation of his harangue, she stepped towards him, arms raised in dual “talk to the hand” gestures. He was so shocked, his inhale turned into a gasp, and then a choke, and he began coughing.

Catherine threw an arm around Father’s shoulder and shook him…just a little…to jar the coughing fit. And as he was momentarily unable to speak, she took the rare opportunity to present her points.

“Not that your objections are without merit (Nearly, she thought, but not completely), but I have taken every step to mitigate your concerns. First, we will not be going alone or without protection. There is a bus coming which will take up to fifty Tunnel community members with us. There will thus be many people all around us who are intent on keeping Vincent safe.”

Father’s eyes grew wide in surprise, and Catherine took advantage of his stunned disbelief to press on.

“Second, the event will be filled with people in costume, all of whom will think nothing of seeing people wearing masks, so all of us (she emphasized the “all”) will fit right in. The only reason anyone would stare would be in admiration of a costume or mask.”

She risked a glance at Vincent, who had remained quiet behind her, his lips twitching a bit as he watched the scene before him unfold. The merriment in his eyes nearly undid her. She quickly returned her gaze to the red-faced leader of the community, who already had his mouth open again to launch into further objections.

“Third!” She said this hastily and loudly, intent on cowing him with her determination to speak. Slightly surprised that it had worked, she pushed her advantage. “Devin will be there, as he is traveling with players who are appearing on the Renaissance Faire circuit this summer, and he knows all the ins and outs at the location, all the pathways and the detours. So we have an extra layer of safety in place.”

Father closed his mouth. Catherine realized her words had finally penetrated his mental armor, and he was considering her comments.

“Therefore, Vincent and I will be attending the Renaissance Faire on Saturday, he will be totally safe and protected, and…” she tried not to hesitate or grind her teeth at what she had to say next, but it was impossible for there not to be the slightest hitch in her voice as she added through gritted teeth, “you are welcome to join us, if you wish.”

She had gotten it all out without having to sit on the older man to make him listen. She considered this a greater victory than any she’d had in a courtroom.

Father glared at her. His eyes fixed next on Vincent, and his glare grew even fiercer. Vincent’s steady gaze was unperturbed, and he simply said, “We are going. Are you coming with us?”

The prayer died in her heart when the older man frowned, his lips turned downward, and he muttered, “Fine!”

* * *

Word spread like wildfire through the community. Vincent was going Above during the day! He was heading out of the city, to be at an event where he would be surrounded by hundreds of people! Everyone was astonished both by the audacity of the plan and by Father’s acquiescence to it. Elizabeth even traveled to the Home Tunnels to confirm that the rumor was true.

“How delightful!” she exclaimed, when Mary told her the details. “Might I come along?”

* * *

In the end, so many members of the community wanted to go that Catherine rented two buses instead of one. Having the safety of such numbers was making Father feel more comfortable about the trip…while Catherine focused happily on how many more buffers there would be between Father and Vincent. A woman with a plan within a plan, she had dropped a few words in a few ears, enough to ensure that Father’s attention would be diverted or taken up by any number of individuals, allowing Vincent to roam as he wished, with Catherine by his side.

* * *

As Vincent accompanied Catherine to her threshold the night before the trip to the Renaissance Faire, he hesitated at the broken brick barrier between their worlds.

“Last-minute jitters?” Catherine asked.

“Not really,” he replied. “Well…perhaps a few.” He gave her a flash of smile and added, “But there’s excitement, as well.”

“Tell me.” She knew he had been trying to muster the…what…courage?…to say something all evening and, for a brief moment, fear lanced through her that he would demur at the 11^th hour. If Father has gotten to him…

“What you are doing for me…for all of us…is too much, Catherine. The expense…”

She smiled, relieved. “Money is not a worry of mine. You know that, right?” She waited for his reluctant nod of acknowledgment before adding, “This is a baby step, Vincent. First, the Faire with dozens of others. Then maybe the next time I bring up the summer house in Connecticut, objections will be muted…or non-existent.”

Understanding dawned, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “You are devious, Ms. Chandler.” He smiled to soften even the hint of criticism.

“Devin and I have this all worked out. Don’t worry. Just try to enjoy the experience. All right?”

She gazed into his deep blue eyes with such hope and love, he could only nod and graze a kiss ever so lightly across her lips in thanks.

* * *

The September Saturday was bright, the morning sun filtering through the trees of Central Park as an excited throng of Tunnel dwellers headed toward waiting chartered buses for the one-hour drive to Tuxedo – and the New York Renaissance Faire. While no one was strictly in Renaissance costume, normal Tunnel wear qualified as close enough in spirit to the 16th century timeframe of the Faire that they would all seem to have taken time to craft costumes just for the event.

For Vincent, every step into the sunlight was a journey deeper into the unknown. With his Winterfest finery on, he looked his usual magnificent self, and the scores of Tunnel folk surrounding him provided context for his “look” – that of a stunningly masked and costumed gentleman amidst many other costumed folks.

His gaze went everywhere, taking in the rich panoply of daytime colors, from the sun-drenched trees to the summer dresses of women passing by, their bright crayon reds and yellows stunning to his eyes. He breathed deeply, the warmth of the grass and earth around him filling his nostrils, as well as the multiple aromas of foods in vendor carts and perfumes wafting in the breeze. It was the best kind of sensory overload, and he smiled at the wonder of it all.

People rushed by or ambled along. Some sat on benches, eating or reading or chatting together. Children squealed as they played with their balls or their dogs or each other. Dog-walkers and bike-riders stopped to stare in curiosity at the large group of oddly clad people, who were now hurrying down the Ramble as if they were late for a parade, anxious to board the buses and begin their adventure. Mouse especially was getting into the mood of the occasion, cavorting with handstands and tumbles, then popping upright to wave two-handed at those watching him. A few – obviously tourists – even clapped.

Catherine appeared, dressed as a serving wench. Several of the Tunnel men and older boys turned to stare at her as she made her way through the crowd to Vincent’s side. She noted his demeanor. “Is it too much?” Catherine asked him, worried that Vincent might feel overwhelmed already.

He dipped his glance for a quick look at her face…and outfit…before returning to the view of the park. “Yes, it’s too much. And it’s glorious.”

Content, Catherine leaned her head against his shoulder as she began to walk alongside him.

The doors to their buses opened just as the group of Tunnel dwellers approached their pick-up point, and there was a mad scramble to climb in. Everyone had been told to follow either Jamie or Rebecca, so boarding went more quickly than even Catherine had hoped, for which she was grateful. Jamie, on board one bus, and Rebecca, aboard the other, quickly checked each face against their respective lists, then alerted their drivers to take off.

Oddly, although Father had created the seating charts for both vehicles, for some reason neither Vincent nor Catherine were on the bus carrying him. Instead, Elizabeth and Narcissa, who he distinctly recalled including on the list for the other bus, were in the seats across from Mary and himself. He frowned, but it was too late to do anything about the mix-up now, as both buses were moving.

He accepted a small envelope from Rebecca, who was passing one to all the passengers, but Mary took it from his unresisting fingers and tucked his along with hers into a pocket. She was aware of what it contained: money enough for each person to buy lunch and perhaps a small memento of their time at the Faire. Mary judged there was no need to let Father know of this extra evidence of Catherine’s largesse, not yet. She was aware of how he frowned on her extravagances for the community, and hoped that by the time he was hungry, he would be so totally enjoying the Faire that he wouldn’t mind in this instance.

Catherine had given Vincent the front seat by the window, so he had the best view out the front and sides. His head was on a swivel the entire ride, noting street signs as they flashed by, buildings and vehicles and people creating a wonderful panorama of daytime city life, as if for him alone. He sighed repeatedly, squeezing Catherine’s hand as he surveyed this city he knew so well from his unusual perch.

The countryside beyond the city was even more intriguing to him – an environment seen only in photos before, now come to stunning life. He was mesmerized by the rural landscape. Watching his reaction to the view, Catherine was convinced that, even if the bus turned back now, the ride alone would have been worth it, an experience in itself.

The plan was to arrive just as the Faire opened at 10:00, so that everyone could take in as many events as possible before the buses took them home again at 4:00. They would return to the Tunnels just in time for a light dinner of chicken soup and biscuits, as Father had instructed, since many would call it an early night after the excitement of the day. Catherine gave in on the timing as her one concession to Father’s authority. They would miss a few hours of the Faire but, considering how much time Vincent would have to enjoy himself Above, six hours was enough. It would have to be.

Devin had used Catherine’s credit card to purchase tickets ahead of time, and had alerted the staff at the entrance to the Faire of the large group coming. On the dot of 10:00, they were all ushered through a side gate, bypassing the growing line of other attendees, and soon the group from the Tunnels, maps in hand, had scattered into the grove in search of its many delights.

“Stay close,” Father murmured to Vincent, just as Devin appeared, bearing a large tankard of ale. He was sporting exceedingly form-fitting green tights, topped by a suede vest over a loose white poet’s shirt, neither of which covered his…attributes.

“Welcome to the Faire!” he said. He whipped off a brightly feathered hat and, with it fluttering in his hand, made a complicated low bow before them.

Father gaped at the codpiece barely concealing Devin’s crotch, while Catherine, grinning at the spectacle Devin was making of himself, tugged on Vincent’s hand, urging him to follow her as she ducked behind the others and made for Sir Arthur Avenue, to the left of the main lane into which they had entered.

With Father’s attention so completely on his eldest son, Vincent and Catherine made a clean getaway, much to her satisfaction. And if she had her way, that would be the last they would see of Father until 4:00.

She heard an unexpected sound just behind her. Turning toward it, she realized it was coming from Vincent: he was laughing. “That was…marvelous!” he declared, a smile as sunny as the day spreading across his unique lips. “I must congratulate Devin on one of the best entrances I have ever seen.”

Catherine let out a low chuckle. “He told me to be prepared but he didn’t say for what. I was almost too astonished to take advantage of the diversion he created!”

A young man in a jester’s outfit bumped into Vincent. He was staring with curiosity at his face. “Neat mask, man!” he commented before stepping aside and moving past them.

Other than widened eyes, Vincent had made no move. Now he turned to Catherine and said, “You were right, this is the perfect place to be…myself, out in the open.” He glanced around at the crowd beginning to fill the lane. “Except for that jester, no one is looking twice.”

“You will likely get a few more comments on your wonderful ‘makeup’. People who come to these things are very appreciative when someone has made a special effort.” Her lips twitched as she tried to hide a smile.

“I must learn to accept the compliments then. I forgot to thank the young man just now, which was rude of me.” Vincent shrugged but immediately forgot the interaction as he gazed around at the booths on both sides of the wide lane, filled with an assortment of costumed individuals hawking everything from custom chain mail to handmade candles to Celtic flags to ceramic mugs and plates. Many of their customers were similarly dressed, although a number of attendees wore regular street clothes.

“Devin handed out the schedule of events,” Catherine informed him. She handed it to Vincent. “Pick out what you’d like to see so we can be sure to be in the right area of the Faire grounds when performances start.”

Vincent stopped dead in the middle of the lane, letting walkers stream around him on both sides, having quickly become accustomed to walking in a crowd in broad daylight. As he inspected the schedule, Catherine just stood there, drinking in the sight of him. His long golden hair wafted around his face in the light breeze, and his clothing gave him a definite Renaissance air. His outfit was perfect for the occasion. But whether in sunlight or shadow, Above or Below, she could never tire of looking at him.

Impulsively, Catherine stepped toward a hat-maker’s booth and pointed back towards Vincent, who was oblivious to her actions. The hat-maker considered him, then reached for a brown leather cavalier hat with a jaunty golden plume set at a rakish angle. Catherine nodded, paid for it, and stood patiently once more beside Vincent until he looked up, his decisions made. She accepted the schedule with one hand and presented him with the hat with the other.

Surprised, he took the hat in both hands and stared at it.

“It’s not to hold, it’s to wear,” she said.

Tilting his head to one side in acknowledgement, he set the hat on his head. It was a perfect fit, and Catherine turned and smiled at the young woman who had sold it to her. The hat-maker was already nodding in approval.

Someone noticed Vincent’s hat and made straight for the hat-maker’s booth. Then another did. Then another.

Catherine smiled. “If you stand here much longer, we should ask for a commission!”

Vincent turned to see a small crowd now shopping at the booth, everyone pointing toward him and then looking at similar hats. He smiled himself, offered Catherine his arm, and they walked on.

Music caught their attention, and they strolled over to a small stage set amidst sheltering trees, with hay bales for seats. A Highland dance troupe was skipping in perfect unison, performing complicated steps in time with sprightly music played by a small orchestra. The delight on Vincent’s face warmed Catherine’s heart.

She looked around, more absorbed by the crowd than the dancers, noting the presence of others from the community, all enjoying the dancing. There was Jamie, trying to get Mouse to sit down instead of him attempting to copy the dancers’ complicated footwork. And on their other side, Samantha, Geoffrey and Kyle were absorbed in the atmosphere, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Her smile grew as she turned back to Vincent, hugging his arm tightly, feeling his happiness through the relaxed set of his shoulders and the excited breathing, his own smile wide enough to reveal his canines.

After the performance was over, Vincent clapped heartily, his gloved hands creating a resonance of leather on leather. “Where to next?” she asked him.

“There’s an axe-throwing contest in the Viking Village.”

“The Viking Village it is then!” She tugged him forward with alacrity, having just seen Father come into view behind them. She chided herself on not being more alert to his presence. The very last thing she wanted was Mr. Not a Good Idea, Vincent throwing cold water on Vincent’s attempts to enjoy himself.

Father was hard-pressed to catch up to Vincent and Catherine, especially with Mary beside him, hanging on his arm, seeming to hold him back as he tried to maintain his normal pace. And Winslow was lumbering along so slowly in front of him, Father almost gave him a poke with his cane. He barely restrained himself, instead barking, “Move it along more briskly, would you, Winslow?”

Rather than speeding up, the big man instead stopped in his tracks. He, too, had realized they were getting close to Vincent. He turned and looked at Father with a frown. “I’m pacing myself, if you don’t mind,” he said, and added, “I suggest you do the same. It’s gonna be a long day.”

By the time Father managed to get Mary and Winslow walking again, he had completely lost sight of Vincent.

* * *

Several brawny men were waiting to take their turns in the axe-throwing competition when Vincent approached. At Catherine’s urging, he handed her his hat and stepped forward.

The other men had varying degrees of success in hitting the target, with several managing to impact its outer rings. When Vincent’s turn came, all eyes focused on the magnificently masked man, so tall and regal, as he hefted the axe to assess the weight and balance, and calculated the distance to the target. A voice from the crowd that sounded like Cullen to Catherine’s ears shouted, “Go, Vincent!” and several others cheered.

The axe flew swiftly through the air, stabbing directly into the center of the bull’s eye.

The audience cheered while the heavily tattooed and bearded “Viking” who was running the competition pounded Vincent on the back and handed him his trophy: a horned drinking cup. “Never seen that done by a visitor,” he whispered, deeply impressed.

Vincent’s tentative wave to the crowd was met by more cheers. He nodded his acceptance of their praise and returned to Catherine’s side.

“My big hairy Viking!” she said approvingly, hugging him. “Where to next?”

* * *

On Mystic’s Way, Narcissa was intriguing an impromptu audience with her reading of the cowrie shells that the Faire’s tarot card reader had offered to her, having recognized a kindred spirit in the old woman wearing her robe bedecked with feathers, shells and bones. The air around the old woman seemed to shimmer a bit as she spoke, which the tarot card reader’s sharp eyes noted with some anxiety; spirits rarely blessed this place, with so many non-believers about. She found herself comforted by a pat on her hand and Narcissa’s murmured, “They’re kindly, child.”

* * *

Zach walked around gnawing on a huge turkey leg as he tried to figure out the way to the “How to be a Pirate” performance coming up soon at the Pageant Wagon Stage. Eric and Sean were already there, saving the center of the bale they were sitting on for Zach.

* * *

Jamie had made straight for the Roundabout, where an archery contest was featured. Determined to try her skills against others, she was disappointed when she arrived to find that the competitors were amateurs who had never held a bow before. She frowned, thinking the prize not worth winning, until a handsome stranger clad in head to toe forest green stepped up. He had bracers on his forearms and an empty quiver over his shoulder to attest to his familiarity with a bow and arrow, even if he couldn’t bring his “weapons” into the Faire. Smiling now, Jamie stepped forward to sign up for the competition.

* * *

Mouse was in his element in the middle of Renegade’s Way, cavorting with a couple of roving jokesters known as the Merry Mischief Makers, who were combining tumbling with bad puns to delight those walking by. The acrobatic comics were happy to incorporate him into their act, never having had audience participation this good.

* * *

Elizabeth, noting the long line waiting for face painting, and had offered to assist the harried young woman doing the work. She spent pleasant hours creating fairy wings and dragon faces and intricate butterflies on cheeks and foreheads, then wandered away before taking her share of the fees.

* * *

Despite himself and his determined effort to catch up to Vincent, Father was drawn to the Tudor Rose Stage, which the schedule had promised held a Theatre Competition. Mary had been tugging him in that general direction for a while, so he assumed it was because she, too, wanted to enjoy that show. He didn’t realize she had noticed Catherine off to their left on what the map described as the Kissing Bridge and was trying to get him moving in the other direction, no matter what lay that way.

They settled onto a hay bale near the front just as a familiar sight greeted them: a handsome man in indescribably body-hugging green tights with a completely inadequate codpiece, a suede vest and poet’s shirt bounded out onto the stage to catcalls and whistles from the many women in the audience.

“Greetings, gentles!” he shouted, waving and pumping his fists, a rock star secure in the adoration of his audience.

Father ground his teeth.

“The competition this day is, forsooth, a difficult one. Dost our assembly contain any scholars of the Bard of Avon, perchance?” He scanned the crowd for raised hands. A few went up. Devin waved the volunteers down to the stage.

Mary nudged Father. He ignored her. So she stood to get Devin’s attention then pointed to the man sitting beside her.

As if it had been planned, Devin walked across the stage until he stood above Father. “Sir, thou hast been identified by this gentlewoman as an expert on the Bard. Prithee, come forward.”

Father stood up reluctantly, glared once at Mary, and accepted Devin’s hand to help him up to the low stage.

Questions about characters and plays soon eliminated the others until only one contestant was left on the stage with the man in green tighter-than-tights. Father realized that he could have given an incorrect answer to a question and thus taken his seat too. Simple pride had made that impossible, however, and he knew Devin had counted on that. What did the boy have planned for him now?

“Well, sirrah, thou hast bested thy rivals most fairly. However, canst thou best me?” Devin waggled his eyebrows, infuriating the older man.

Devin’s first question for Father was many degrees harder than what he had asked of the contestants earlier. “Which Shakespeare plays were written entirely in verse?”

Father smiled. “Only two – Richard II and King John.”

There was a smattering of applause at his answer.

Devin nodded and opened his mouth to ask another question when Father interjected, “How about I ask you one now?”

The audience liked that, and cheered. A verbal gauntlet had been thrown! Would it be taken up?

Devin inclined his head in acceptance of the challenge, his brown eyes sparkling.

“Name the shortest of Shakespeare’s plays.”

Scoffing, Devin retorted, “Easy! The Comedy of Errors.” His triumphant grin caused Father to narrow his eyes.

“My turn to ask again!” Devin said. “When was Shakespeare’s first play written?”

Without batting an eyelash, Father immediately replied, “Around 1590.” He smirked. “All right, young man, on which street was Shakespeare born?”

Devin blinked twice, obviously searching for the answer. But just as Father was about to claim victory, Devin blurted out, “Henley! He was born on Henley Street!”

The crowd, very much into this competition now, cheered Devin’s almost-too-late response. “Since we’re focused on his early years now, tell me this, sirrah: How many siblings did Shakespeare have?”

“Five?” Father seemed unsure, then nodded decisively. “Yes, five!” Several audience members gasped, and applause rang through the crowd as Devin conceded he was correct. His own question followed. “Shakespeare’s age at death?”

“Fifty-two!”

The competition continued, each man meeting the challenge, digging deeply into the esoterica of Shakespeare’s life and plays. Some in the audience actually grew bored and left as the presentation showed no signs of wrapping up, but they were replaced by others – mostly Tunnel community members – who were fascinated by the toe-to-toe competition.

“Longest play?”

“Hamlet. How many times does a character commit suicide in Shakespeare’s plays?”

For a moment, the audience could see Devin mentally counting, then he smiled and said, “13! Hah! Thought you had me! Date of Anne Hathaway’s death?”

And so it went, until Devin got a frantic “wrap it up” wave from the edge of the stage: the next act was scheduled to go on.

Reluctantly, Devin said, “You and I, sirrah, are two of a kind in our love of the Bard, as all here can attest. Shall we shake hands and agree on a tie?”

The audience burst into cheering as Father accepted the offered hand and shook it. He nodded and gave a little wave to the crowd before leaving the stage with Devin.

“My, that was quite something!” Mary said as she stood to take Father’s arm. Neither of them paid attention as the next act, The Harmless Danger Jugglers, took the stage.

Devin pounded his father on the back. “That was fun, Old Man! You’re just lucky I was so easy on you!” Over Father’s head, he winked at Mary.

“Easy, you say?! Ridiculous!” Father stood a bit taller as he added, “I’m man enough to admit you nearly had me stumped several times…as I nearly had you, by the way.” He was grousing, but Devin could see that he had enjoyed himself immensely.

“Very true, very true. Well, I’m off to my next assignment. Enjoy the rest of your day!” Devin kissed Mary’s cheek and jumped back onto the stage to take his place as a Harmless Danger juggler.

“He left before I had a chance to ask him to put on more…er…more comfortable tights,” Father grumbled.

* * *

The Kissing Bridge, alas, was not as secluded as Catherine had hoped, and there was no chance for a quiet moment with Vincent. Besides, he was almost childlike in his amazement and enjoyment of everything going on at the Faire; romance likely was the furthest thing from his mind, Catherine thought.

She could hardly mind that, however. Their day was one engrossing adventure after another: they attended the jousting at the Roselawn Tournament Field; relished Her Majesty’s Daily Diversion; quaffed a mug of ale at the Cock and Bull Pub; tore into turkey legs while sitting under the shade of an elm at the edge of the Enchanted Forest; rode camels; watched, astonished, as Father actually bested a rival at the Human Chessboard; and enjoyed a private falconry encounter. Every moment was a thrill for each of them – for Catherine, watching Vincent experience so many new things, and for Vincent, making memories for a lifetime with each new adventure.

And no matter where they went, if not for admiring glances or the occasional call of “Great costume!” no one seemed the least bit bemused by his appearance. For Catherine, that was the most satisfying thing about the Faire to that point.

It was closing in on 3:00, when the Costume Contest was set to begin. Catherine urged Vincent to join it, but he had something else in mind.

“Come, there is one last thing I want to explore.” He took her hand and led her to the paddle boats on Serpentine Lake. They took a boat out, with Vincent steering it. He paddled with intent, and brought them under Robin Hood’s Bridge by the Sherwood Forest Crossing.

For the moment, they were alone there, hidden in the shade of the bridge. “Thank you for this, Catherine. For all of it,” he said to her then, turning to her, his gaze fully upon her.

She felt a little thrill shoot from her heart to her stomach as he leaned towards her. When his lips touched hers, she melted against him. For one long, glorious moment, they shared a kiss that seared the thought of any others from her mind. She reached to draw him closer and he didn’t resist. The shadows held them fast, two lovers alone amidst the crowded Faire.

The promises made there would be kept later that evening. Twice. And again very early the next morning…

* * *

As she left the Faire for the bus, Jamie hid her archery trophy in her backpack, wanting to keep secret the sweet memory of beating the one other real archer…and of how he had congratulated her privately later as they wandered the less traveled Faire pathways…

* * *

Happy, excited voices greeted Vincent and Catherine as they joined the line awaiting their transport back to the city. Everyone, it seemed, had enjoyed the day – but none more so than Vincent, who had cherished each moment of freedom in the open daylight, each smile that had greeted him, each easy tread, feeling relaxed and safe in the unusual environment, however temporary it all was.

* * *

When they all were back on their buses, the last to board was Father. He waved to everyone as they cheered for him, word of his triumph at the Human Chessboard having raced with amazed retellings through the community attendees. He smiled and nodded as he took his seat.

Catherine, in the other bus, noted what was happening through the window. “It seems Father had an excellent time today. Perhaps he might allow a similar outing for next year’s Faire?”

Vincent nodded. “I suspect so. As long as Devin promises to put on slightly looser tights!”

The buses pulled away and began their journey back to the city, back to real life for everyone…back to the shadows, in Vincent’s case. But for now, he still had an hour of daylight to treasure.

Catherine could see how much this day had affected Vincent. Recalling an earlier moment together, she leaned towards him and whispered, “Sort of like a dream?”

She didn’t need a response, his eyes told her…it was better.