LT #20: Metaphysics

Chapter 1

Time went by, as it so often does. Five long years passed.

Michael and Declan graduated from the University. Michael went on to become a full instructor, with hints that he could be looking at Assistant Professor, if he paid heed to the age-old credo, Publish or Perish. Instead, he listened to Nikita and wrote another best-selling high-tech espionage thriller. The ancient faculty found Michael’s decision “amusing”, but it was Michael who had the last laugh. He was still on staff, and he was still writing what he wanted.

Declan went on to work as a part-time instructor, eschewing the usual course of Teach till Tenure. He liked having his afternoons free: to paint, to play with his kids, and to make love. He was happy, for what seemed like the first time in years, and he had every expectation that things could only get better.

As for Nikita…with all of the children now in school, she had time to herself. Time to develop whatever hidden talents she might have. Time to discover what possibilities still remained. Time to rest up before the twins flung themselves headlong into adolescence.

In fact, that time was growing shorter, day by day. For example…

“Why am I always in the kitchen?” Nikita wailed. “I don’t even try to cook anymore.”

Her tall, slender daughter gave her mother a crooked smile, looking for all the world like Michael. “That’s cause Emmy does it for you. Face it, Mom, you’re spoiled useless.”

Nikita returned the grin with a snappy comeback, “Thank you, Faith, you know how to keep me humble.”

She continued to unpack the bags of groceries she had just carried in from the car. “Where is Emmy, anyway?”

“Upstairs. Doing homework.” Faith wrinkled her nose. “She’s in fifth grade, Mom, but she acts like she’s in the Army. Sometimes I think she figures if she works harder, she’ll get promoted,” Faith added with a decidedly unladylike snort.

“To what? Sixth grade?” Nikita said dryly.

Faith made a face at her mother and turned to walk away, only to be stopped by Nikita’s hand on her shoulder. “Fee, help me finish up here.”

“Aw, Mom.” Faith acted like she had the weight of the world on those slender shoulders sometimes, but Nikita knew better. She had visions of her headstrong daughter a few years from now. Butting heads with her. They were too similar not to. Faith was already challenging her, and she was only 11.

Nikita gave her daughter what Faith called “The Look”, and Faith obediently began unpacking the remaining bag of groceries. “Mom?” Faith asked, giving her a sidelong glance, as if to check out the territory.

“Yes?” Nikita responded, waiting for the inevitable question, sure it would have something to do with buying something.

Faith almost always seemed self-confident. Therefore, it was unusual when she appeared hesitant or uncertain. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Nikita blinked as a roll of paper towels fell out of her suddenly nerveless hands and thumped onto the kitchen table. “What?”

“Do you think I’m…you know…pretty?”

“Who’s been talking to you, Fee? I want to know, and I want to know, like, yesterday!” Nikita didn’t know who was more surprised, Faith or her. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had become genuinely agitated in reaction to something Faith said or did. But this was definitely one of those times.

“Mommm…nobody said anything to me. I just wanna know,” she whined.

“Why? You’re too young to date, Faith. Boys are completely out of the question. Don’t even go there. End of discussion.” Nikita’s breath was coming so hard and fast, she felt like her mouth would be as dry as cotton in a few moments.

Faith frowned. “Was your mother this mean to you, Mom? All I did was ask a simple question.”

Nikita’s heart rose into her throat. This was a conversation she had hoped never to have with her daughter. How could she explain that she never really knew her mother? Or that what she did know about her mother, frightened her? Enough to make her think twice about raising children.

Taking a deep breath, Nikita sidestepped the question about her mother, choosing to answer what looked to be the easier of the two questions. “Yes, Faith, you’re a very pretty girl,” she said in a curiously subdued tone.

Faith brightened, her changeable eyes verdant green. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not just saying that to get me off your back?”

“No, honey, I’m not just saying that. You’re a beautiful little girl.”

“I’m not so little, Mom,” Faith said with a groan. “You still think I’m Luc’s age, I swear. And he’s in kindergarten.”

Nikita gave Faith’s shiny auburn hair a playful tug. “Sometimes I think you are,” she kidded.

Faith bit her lip and paused significantly. “Well, there was one other question….”

Nikita sighed. “What?”

“There’s going to be a ceremony, sorta like graduation, only for kids.”

“When?”

“It’s just for us sixth-graders. You know, Mom, before we hafta change schools, like Sasha did this year.”

Nikita nodded. “I know. I can hardly believe Sasha is going to be 12 in another month. Seventh grade. My God.” Nikita shook her head gently. Sasha had grown taller in the past couple of years. He now came to Birkoff’s shoulder. Eventually, he would probably be an inch or two taller than Birkoff. But he would never be as tall as he wanted to be. Like Declan.

“The thing is—“

“Yes, Fee? Spit it out, baby, please. Mom doesn’t have the patience she used to.”

Faith crossed her eyes at that, giggling. “You’d better. You’ve still got two more kids to get through Madame’s academy.”

“How is Madame Dupre these days?” Nikita asked, trying to change the subject. But Faith would not be deterred.

“It’s Madame Wilding, and you know it, Mom. You were the only one not tsk-tsk-ing over the headmistress having a fling with the janitor, remember?” Faith grabbed an apple out of the bag in front of her.

Nikita snatched the apple out of her hand and said, “Not this close to dinner, Fee. And how do you know so much about flings anyway?”

“Oh, I dunno. I hear things.” Faith twirled a long strand of reddish-brown hair around one finger and managed to look completely innocent. It was an act she perfected long ago. But it wasn’t working right now. Nikita wanted answers.

“So tell me why you wanted to know if you’re pretty, Fee.”

“Cause Madame said if we wanted, and if our parents approved, we could wear lipstick. To the graduation thing.”

“All of you? Or just the girls?” Nikita quipped.

“Momm….”

“Sweetie, you have a pretty face. Why do you want to start wearing make-up so soon?”

“Momm…don’t you understand anything?”

“I understand that you’ve got entirely too fresh a mouth for someone your age.”

“Mom, I swear, you could never have been my age, or you wouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“Fee, I not only was your age, I was worse than you. I wanted to do everything, and I mean everything. Before I was ready for it. I just want to save you from going through what I went through, sweetheart.”

“By keeping me locked up until I’m 21?”

“No, honey, that’s your father,” Nikita said with a smile, trying to defuse the situation.

“Besides, we let you do things. We let you see people.”

“Momm…the only people you let me see are related to me.”

“Not all of them. What about Connor? I thought he was the love of your life.”

“I’m not six anymore.”

“Neither is he,” Nikita pointed out.

“No, he’s in fifth grade, Mom. He’s younger than me. Maybe it didn’t matter when we were little, but….”

“Faith Samuelle, I didn’t raise you to be such a mean-spirited little girl, and just what do you mean? You want someone older?” Nikita was developing a decided throbbing in the vicinity of her temples.

“I’m never gonna know anyone older if you don’t let me!” Faith shouted, completely losing control.

“Faith, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that. As for the rest, maybe you and I need to have a little talk.”

“Oh, Mom, this isn’t the sex talk, is it? Cause I already know all that stuff.”

“What do you mean, you already know all that stuff? Where the hell--?”

“Mommm…I’ve never seen you turn color like that. Are you okay?”

Chapter 2

Sasha climbed the outside stairway to the third floor of the Samuelle house, pausing on the landing to find his key. But before he could fit the silver key into the lock, the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord. Only he knew that doors couldn’t move by themselves. Could they?

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his sister Emmy standing there. “Hey, Princess Em. You’re home early, huh?”

Emmy might have inherited the McLaren genes for beauty, but she remained petite, much to her chagrin. She wanted to be tall, like her father and her Aunt Derry, but unless a major growth spurt was in her future, she would probably be no taller than Birkoff.

“Nooo, Sasha, you’re just late. As usual.” She didn’t sound perturbed by this, merely matter of fact.

Sasha shrugged, his long dark brown hair loose upon his shoulders. He was growing into a strikingly handsome young boy. He reached out to ruffle her hair, and that Emmy did object to. Vociferously. “Hey, cut that out. Everybody keeps treating me like their pet. I’m getting tired of it.”

“Must be cause you’re just so damn cute.”

She stuck out her tongue at her brother. “You wouldn’t like it if people did it to you, Sash.”

Sasha smiled blithely and continued into the living room. “They do. Didn’t you notice?” he asked, laying his backpack down before throwing himself into the nearest chair.

“Not like they do to me.” Suddenly pitching her voice high in an attempt at mimicry, she said, “Why, you have the most darling red hair. Can I touch it?” Emmy scowled, a look that was completely at odds with her sunny good nature. “And then they do,” she added.

He laughed. “Am I the only one who gets to see this side of you, Em? When you were little, you were just too perky for words. I used to wish you would just, I dunno, break out or something.”

Emmy fixed her brother with a look that rivaled Declan’s fiercest glare. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? And get your feet off the coffee table!”

Sasha’s feet slid to the floor with a thud. “Yes, Your Highness,” Sasha quipped. “Is there anything to eat? I’m starving!”

Emmy rolled her splendid silver-grey eyes and pursed her mouth. “When are you not starving, Sasha? I swear, if you don’t grow to be as tall as Da, it won’t be because you didn’t eat enough!”

Sasha stood up and pulled his sister into a hug. “Aww, admit it, Em, you love me.”

Emmy lay her head on Sasha’s shoulder. “Yeah, I do. You’re a pretty good brother, Sasha. As brothers go.”

He released his sister and reached past her, for a piece of fruit, only to have her smack his hand. “Not this close to dinner.”

“What are you, my mother?”

Emmy smiled prettily and said, “Sometimes.”

“You cooked?”

Emmy nodded.

“Where’s Da then?”

“He took Daddy to the bookstore to pick up the day’s receipts.”

He frowned. “This early? They going out tonight?”

“Maybe…” she drawled. “What’s it to you?” she asked, tweaking his nose. Sasha had to laugh. Emmy was younger than he was, but in so many ways, she was far more mature than her almost ten years.

“Just checkin’. Have you seen Connor?”

Emmy wrinkled her nose. “What do you think? He’s in my class.”

“I mean, at home, Em. Jeez, you’re gonna be a little beast when you’re a teenager.”

“You’re already a beast, Sash,” she said, playing on Skye’s nickname for him. Sasha couldn’t help it. He actually blushed. Some things never changed. He would never love anyone the way he loved Skye.

“How’s Skye?” he couldn’t resist asking his sister. Emmy was so lucky, she got to spend the entire day with her in class. Not that she saw things the way he would.

“Brilliant. As usual. Y’know, if she wasn’t so nice, I would hate her. She’s so smart. She doesn’t even raise her hand anymore. She knows the teachers love to call on her. And they do. All…the…time. It’s like they think no one else knows anything.”

That worried Sasha. “That’s not fair. They shouldn’t do that. Treat her so different.”

“But she is different, Sasha.”

“Ha,” he snorted. “It’s not like she talks to trees,” he said, reminding Emmy of a time five years ago.

“That’s different. Da says I prolly have Druid ancestry or something. They talked to trees, y’know,” she said smugly.

“But did the trees talk back?” Sasha couldn’t help adding.

“Well, sure. It wouldn’t be much of a conversation otherwise.”

“If you say so,” Sasha said, losing interest. “So…when are we eating?”

Emmy looked at her brother like he had suddenly developed amnesia for the past few minutes. “As soon as Da and Daddy get back.”

“I thought they were going out.”

“You said that. Not me.” Emmy danced away on slender legs and even tinier feet. “Besides,” she called over her shoulder. “Going out is not the same as eating.”

“Oooh, you mean it’s, like, a date?”

“They’re married, Sasha. They don’t hafta date anymore,” Emmy explained, certain her brother had been replaced by a pod person.

“That’s not what I think,” Sasha muttered under his breath, so low that his sister couldn’t make out the words. “What?”

“Never mind. I’ll tell you when you get older.”

“You’ll forget.”

“You’ll remind me.”

It was a common way that they ended their conversations with each other. Sasha was fiercely protective of his younger sister, though he wasn’t always quick to acknowledge it. But Emmy knew. Emmy understood.

She talked to trees, didn’t she?

Chapter 3

“What are you doing?” a little voice piped up.

“Setting the table,” replied Emmy.

“How come?” asked the same little voice.

“Cause we’re going to eat dinner.”

“Why?”

Emmy frowned and turned around to face her little cross-examiner. “Luc, you know why we eat dinner. We eat dinner cause we’re hungry. Our bodies need food to make them run.”

“Why?”

Emmy smiled and counted to ten. If Luc weren’t related to Michael, she would gladly tell the little boy to get lost. But she could bear a little exasperation now and again. She was sure that she annoyed her share of grown-ups when she was his age.

She smiled and touched her index finger to the tip of his nose. “Curiosity killed a cat, you know.”

That went right over Luc’s head. Or if it didn’t, he acted as if it did. Without so much as a blink, Luc continued his inquisition.

“Why do we need food? Is it like cars need gas?”

“Exactly,” she said, proud of him for making the connection. He was a very bright little boy. If only he weren’t so insatiably curious.

Luc sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor. That was one of the luxuries of being a small child. He could sit anywhere and be comfortable. His hair was a bit darker than his older sister Faith’s, but it was obvious that they were related. His eyes had the same tendency to change from grey to green, and virtually every shade in between, just like hers. Just like Michael’s. Sometimes it was eerie how much he resembled his father.

Physically.

Other than demonstrating a decided liking for the scientific, Luc had nothing else in common with his father. So far. He behaved just like any other normal five-year old boy. He went to kindergarten with Kady and the Davenport twins, Jago and Kiarra. They were in the same class at St. Anselm’s. And they were fast becoming inseparable out of school as well.

Perhaps it was the fact that they were the same age. But they were somehow different from the older children. More like each other than like the other children in their own families.

Only time would tell if that was a good thing. Or a bad thing.

***

Sasha was just getting ready to go downstairs to eat with the rest of the family when his parents arrived.

Declan smiled and ruffled his hair. “Hey, kiddo.” Sasha rolled his eyes and thought of what he’d said to Emmy earlier. Cute. I’m cute. Like a puppy. See, Da?

“Da, please, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Declan glanced at Sey, raising an eyebrow as if to say, what brought that on? Sey merely shrugged.

“No, you’re not, Sasha,” Declan finally admitted, controlling the urge to say, “So?”

Sey chuckled softly and said, “Not a big one, either, Sash. Be careful.”

Sasha raked both hands through his hair, just like Declan customarily did when he was unusually pensive. “Umm…?”

One look at those supposedly guileless dark chocolate eyes and Declan was suspicious. “What?”

“CanIhaveanearring?”

“Run that by me again, kiddo?”

“Can I have an earring? Like yours and Dad’s?”

Sey’s eyes widened. He was so accustomed to the emerald earring he wore, he didn’t even notice it. It was like a part of him. In fact, it was. A part of him and Declan.

“Uhhh….” Declan played for time. He was hungry. He and Sey had plans. They seldom managed to finesse their schedules so they could actually go out for an evening. This was special.

“Talk to your father.”

Sey made a face at Declan before saying, “I think….” He paused. “What your father means is…you’re a bit young for an earring, don’t you think?”

“How old do you have to be to wear an earring? Little girls younger than me wear earrings when they make their confirmation.”

Sey groaned in frustration. “You’re not a little girl, Sasha.”

“So what’s the difference?”

“Sasha, let’s not play games, okay? Why don’t you tell me what you really want? A motorcycle, maybe?”

Sasha’s face fell, all the light draining out of his gleaming dark eyes. “Well, no, Dad. That was it. What I really wanted.”

Sey took one look at his son’s face and reconsidered. “Tell me why, and I’ll think about it.”

“I….” Sasha cleared his throat nervously and cast his eyes downward. “I wanna be like you and Da.”

“Like how?”

Suddenly Sey was afraid to hear the answer to that question, but he had to ask. He had to know. He and Declan had made every effort to raise Sasha in the normal way, but there was always a chance they had slipped up somewhere. Sey was fairly certain that Sasha liked girls, but he would support him. No matter what.

All at once Sasha laughed. “Not like that, Dad! Jeez, you should see your face! It’s okay, Dad. I’m still hopelessly in love with Skye, if that answers your question.”

Sey closed his mouth and pretended he hadn’t reacted. “Of course. I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

“So can I have an earring?”

“What was that reason again?”

“I know, hard to believe, but I actually look up to you guys. Go figure,” Sasha said with a grin.

Declan took back the reins of the conversation. He could starve to death before they got to the end of this. “So this is more or less a style issue?”

“Yeah,” Sasha happily agreed.

“Okay…” Declan drawled. “One, you get a plain gold stud. Nothing some idiot will want to rip out of your ear when he sees it. Okay?”

Sasha quickly nodded.

“Two, you pay for it yourself. You’ll appreciate it more that way.”

Sasha nodded again.

“Three, you get one hole pierced. Not three. Not seven. And only in your earlobe. Not your tongue, nose, nipple, navel, or any other places. Got that, kiddo?”

“I can live with that.”

“Good. Now let’s go down and eat.”

Declan moved toward the door, but Sasha stopped him to give him a hug. “You know, you’re pretty cool, Da.”

Declan traded a quick look with Sey before meeting his son’s eyes again. “Remember that when you’re older.”

***

As they walked into the dining room, Sasha noted that they were among the last of the family to arrive. Spotting the youngest Samuelle, Sasha called, “Hey, anklebiter! What’s up?”

Without warning, Luc scooted from his chair, latching onto Sasha’s leg. Sasha tried valiantly to shake the younger boy loose. “Hey, kid! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Biting your ankle! That’s what you called me, wasn’t it?”

Glaring at the second-in-line to inherit the Samuelle fortune, Sasha turned away. “What a weird kid,” he muttered to himself. But Emmy overheard.

Patting the seat next to her, she gestured that Sasha should sit next to her. With a covering smile, she whispered to him, “I’m sure that’s what they said about you.”

“Very funny, Em,” he returned in the same tone.

After a moment or two, Sasha excitedly whispered to his sister, “Hey, guess what? Da and Dad are gonna let me get an earring!”

Emmy hid a smile. Sasha would look good, too. Not that she was about to let him know that. “See? What’d I say? Weird,” she whispered back.

Sasha held a look with her for a long moment, and Emmy lost the round, beginning to giggle helplessly.

Sisters.

Brothers.

Chapter 4

Connor waited until dinner was over to make his move. Faith gathered the dirty dishes, and Connor instantly jumped up, offering to help. Faith shrugged and said, “Suit yourself,” so dismissively that Connor couldn’t possibly read anything into it. But he did.

When they were little, Faith was never far from Connor’s side. Their age difference was moot. They were virtually inseparable.

But now…Faith was impatient to grow up. She felt that she was meant for better things, and for now…those better things didn’t include a childhood companion a year younger than she was.

She rarely invited him over to the house anymore. Connor wangled the dinner invitation from Chris, pretending that he was interested in joining some of the extracurricular activities in which Chris participated. As if. Somehow Connor couldn’t imagine that his future lay in law enforcement. Well, okay, there was no such thing in elementary school. But Chris was a hall monitor, and he took it very seriously.

Connor grabbed some dishes and followed Faith into the kitchen. When she began to load the dishwasher, Connor exclaimed, “Let me do that for you!” She straightened up and gave him a curious look. “Okay.”

And a moment later, he was alone. Faith had taken him at his word, and instead of sharing a little conversation with her, he had inherited her chores. He sagged against the door of the dishwasher and pushed the button. Damn. Why did things have to change?

***

When Connor came out of the kitchen, there was no way to tell that he was both sad as well as angry. He might not have whatever gene developed the blank stare, but he was well accustomed to hiding his feelings. Ever since his kidnapping, he had been deathly afraid of being abducted again. Though he had never been a naturally shy boy, he was definitely guarded now. And suddenly, he had good reason.

He took after his father, as far as his coloring, but he would eventually have Madeline’s height. He already had her slender frame, though he was surprisingly sturdy for one with such deceptively fine bone structure. His hair dark blond to begin with, it had not changed much over the years. He and Chris could still pass as brothers. The resemblance was that striking. Both boys had blue eyes, though Connor’s were still the darker of the two. All in all, he was maturing into a rather good-looking boy. Not that any of that mattered, if he couldn’t have Faith in his life.

Chris, on the other hand, resembled no one as much as Nikita. From his still light blond hair to his light blue eyes, he was the spitting image of his mother. Except for his facial expressions. From his blank stare to his stoic nature, he was Michael’s son, first and foremost.

Sometimes it still took Nikita by surprise, the way Chris looked as though he should be animated and enthusiastic. But the reality was, his father’s influence was nowhere so evident as in Chris.

Chris saw Connor come out of the kitchen and intuitively knew that the younger boy was hurting. In a gesture of support that would make Michael and Nikita proud, Chris instantly grabbed him by the arm, steering him into the living room. Clicking on the television so that they could not be easily overheard, Chris solemnly addressed the other boy. “Are you okay, Connor?”

Connor didn’t so much as blink. “Okay? Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Chris eyed the boy appraisingly, not unlike Michael. He didn’t say anything, but he let his concern for Connor show. He was rewarded. Eventually.

“You know how much I like Fee,” Connor said in a low voice, unable to meet Chris’ eyes.

Chris nodded.

The bitterness suddenly too much for the youngster, Connor finally erupted. “She won’t even stay in the same room with me anymore! How can she do that? We were best friends!”

“Sometimes things change. It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not! It’s hers! She’s the one who changed! Not me…not me,” Connor’s voice trailed off. He wouldn’t ever change. At least, not as far as loving Faith.

“She doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore,” Connor whispered.

Chris patted Connor on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Connor. You know how Faith is. She’s just—Faith.”

How could he not take it personally? Everything about it was personal. It went to the very heart of the most significant relationship in his life. Except for his parents. No, he took that back. He loved his father desperately, but he still had difficulty relating to his mother. Ever since the birth of Kady, Connor felt himself being slowly pushed into the background. Kady. The perfect child.

He had worked hard at becoming unobtrusive, in an effort to please Madeline, but he was beginning to believe there was no way he could do that.

Chris studied the younger boy. He shared a near-mystical bond with his sister, true, but that didn’t make Chris blind to her faults. He knew very well how single-minded Faith could be. Okay, she was occasionally self-absorbed. But he didn’t believe she would intentionally hurt anyone, especially someone who had meant as much to her as Connor. She was just…inexplicably thoughtless sometimes.

“I can’t make Faith do anything she doesn’t want to do. If I could…I’d tell her she was being a jerk, and that…she shouldn’t blow you off this way. But I don’t have that kind of influence over her.”

“Yes, you do,” said Faith, stepping into the room. Her beautiful young face wore a somber expression. “Why didn’t you just tell me I was being a jerk, Chris? You’re the only one who’s not afraid of me.”

Connor turned anguished eyes on the love of his young life. “No, he’s not. I’m not afraid of you.” His careful façade was beginning to crack. “I’m afraid of being without you,” he added, his voice breaking.

Faith admired Connor’s bravery, his straightforward manner, and his ability to admit his feelings without appearing weak. But she couldn’t let him hope.

“Connor…we’re always going to be friends. But we can’t be best friends. Not now. Maybe not ever again. I hope you understand.”

No, he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how anyone could abandon love when it was freely offered, like the gift it was. But that was okay. He wasn’t giving up. She might never love him again. But she couldn’t control his feelings. This wasn’t over.

He wasn’t giving up.

Chapter 5—NC-17

“Can’t a man dance with his significant other?” Declan sniffed politely.

Sey looked over Declan’s shoulder, admiring the heavy sterling silver bracelet Declan had just placed on his wrist. Swaying back and forth in time to the music, their bodies seemed to know instinctively how to follow each other. “This isn’t just dancing, Dec. It’s like making love,” Sey replied huskily.

Sey stopped looking at the bracelet for a moment, putting his head down on Declan’s shoulder with a sigh. “I can’t believe you bought me this. It must have cost the earth.”

Declan kissed his lover’s hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the silky, freshly-washed waves that wafted past his nose. “You’re worth it, baby.”

“But why now? Our anniversary isn’t for another three months, Dec.”

“Since when do I need an excuse to show you how much I love you?” Declan whispered against Sey’s temple.

“Ohhh…I can’t believe you said that, out here on the dance floor, in front of all these people….”

Declan chuckled, burying his nose even more deeply in Sey’s hair. “You don’t know any of these people, Sey.”

Sey shivered within his lover’s embrace, and Declan pressed him more tightly against his body. “I can’t believe you took me back to the restaurant where the maitre d’ called me a queer. In French.”

“Oh, is that why everyone’s looking at us?” Declan laughed. “Money does have its uses. It got us in here, right under everyone’s noses. There’s a certain poetic justice to that. I like it.”

“You like flaunting your sweet little non-conformist ass, you mean.”

“Oh, baby, keep talking. I love it when you talk like that,” Lowering his voice to a sensual whisper, Declan added, “You really like the marriage bracelet?”

“Hell, yes, and it’s mine. Don’t you even think of taking it off.”

As they danced, both of them fell under the hypnotic aura of the music, and Sey snuggled closer, his fingers constantly touching the bracelet. Suddenly Sey froze, realizing that he felt something else. Letters. Engraved deeply into the surface of the bracelet. Unable to reach them, Sey drew back, a haunted look in his eyes. “What’s it say?” he managed to choke out.

“Our names, sweetie. And the date. Oh, and something else, too. Almost forgot.”

Sey felt the rumbling vibration of Declan’s otherwise well-contained mirth against his chest. “Liar. You never forget this stuff. You eat it up with a spoon.”

“Guilty as charged, love.”

“God, I can’t believe how romantic you are.”

“And I can’t believe how many things you can’t believe.” Declan lowered his head to Sey’s ear and whispered hotly, “Honey boy….”

“You do like to live dangerously…making me hard in the middle of a dance floor, filled with straight people. Are you looking to get us kicked out?” Sey almost sounded cross, but Declan knew better. He was turned on. That was one fairly assertive erection pressing insistently against his thigh.

“You know what else the bracelet says?” Declan whispered, his tongue flicking out to caress Sey’s ear.

“Nooo….” Sey’s eyes slid shut of their own accord. He was lost in a sensual haze. And he never wanted to be found.

“I love you…acushla.”

Declan’s voice rasped across Sey’s heightened senses, gently abrading them until he thought he would climax from the mere sound of it. “You love me, Dec? Or that’s what the bracelet says?” Sey’s question, uttered so drowsily, invited Declan closer.

“Both,” Declan said, his lips forming a pout that ached to become a kiss.

“Good.” Sey sounded quite satisfied with that response.

“Just in case you need…reminding.”

“Ha!” Sey chuckled. His knee insinuated itself, very unobtrusively, between Declan’s legs, and Sey groaned against Declan’s mouth, finding it in the darkened room without any difficulty whatsoever.

“I love you, too.” Pause. “Take me home. Please.”

“As you wish.”

***

As they made their way up the stairs, very slowly, stealing heart-stopping kisses every chance they could, Declan said, “Did I mention that the bracelet has a lock?”

“You mean it can’t come off?”

Declan nodded, barely visible in the darkness, but for his magnificent silver eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no…” Sey protested, his hands splaying across Declan’s face, holding him fast for the sweetest, most tender kiss they had ever shared.

“I mean, I don’t want you to think that you’re my…slave or something,” Declan began uneasily.

“I love it….” Sey’s entire body relaxed against Declan. Well, except for the now rock-hard arousal pressing determinedly in one particular place. “I love you….”

Sey’s voice grew insubstantial. “…and I would do anything you asked me to….”

“Anything?” Declan’s own arousal literally sat up and took notice.

As Declan waited expectantly for a response, the door to their apartment abruptly opened. “Well, are you coming in or not?”

Declan was rendered speechless. “What are you doing up, Sasha?”

“Waiting.”

Declan frowned.

“Okay, watching television.”

“At this hour?”

“I’m almost 12, Da.”

“And if you want to live to see 13, you’d better get your ass back inside. Right now.”

Sasha looked suitably chastened. For one long moment. Then he grinned unrepentantly.

“Are you two finished making out?”

“Do you want to live to get any older?”

Sasha vanished.

Declan collapsed against the doorframe and rubbed his face with his hands. “Well, that certainly killed the mood.”

Sey raised an eyebrow at that, threading his fingers seductively through Declan’s thick red hair. “He’s prolly in bed by now.”

“Listening on the other side of the door, more like.”

Suddenly Sey’s head disappeared below Declan’s line of sight. The next thing he knew, something wet and warm was touching him, taking him in.

Declan flung his head back against the door, his hands restlessly seeking his lover’s hair. He groaned.

***

When long minutes passed without hearing his parents pass by his bedroom door, Sasha laughed softly.

Nope. They weren’t done yet.

Chapter 6

Sasha grabbed his backpack in one hand, a glass of orange juice in the other, and he was almost to the door before Declan stopped him. “Hey, kiddo! You were up awfully late last night. What was that about?”

Shit. He almost made it. Turning slowly, he tried out various excuses in his head, none of them seeming quite right. Finally he settled for the obvious. “Nothing. I told you. I was watching TV.”

“After midnight?”

“Well….”

“Sasha, I can hear you thinking all the way over here, kiddo. What was it really about?”

“Why does it have to be about anything?” he countered defensively.

While Declan was speaking, Sey had moved quietly to stand behind Sasha. Despite the fact that Sey made no real effort to sneak up on his son, Sasha didn’t register his presence until he placed a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha nearly jumped. “Jeez, Dad.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong? Look, I’m in a hurry—“

“You’re early. You’re never early for anything, Sasha. What’s this about?”

Sasha suddenly looked very, very young, his eyes huge in his pale face. “It was just a phone call, okay?”

Sey frowned, feeling Declan slowly coming up behind him. Declan leaned on his lover, his fingers absently squeezing his arm. “What kind of a phone call?” he asked.

“It was—just some guys. From school.”

“Who are these guys?” Declan’s tone was growing increasingly ominous, and only his proximity to Sey was keeping him from flying wildly out of control. If he had any inkling, any at all, that anyone was threatening his son, he would deal with it. Himself.

“I-I dunno.”

Declan glared fiercely, his pale grey eyes lit with silver fire. “You dunno? Or you won’t say?”

For a moment, Sasha seemed affronted by the question. Then he put himself in his father’s position. Perspective came with maturity, and Sasha was beginning to see things in a different way. It was enlightening.

His voice ringing with sincerity, Sasha said, “I wouldn’t lie to you, Da. I really don’t know who they are.”

“What did they say?”

“Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know. Just—stuff.”

“About you?”

Sasha’s dark eyes slid away from his father’s, unable to maintain eye contact. The fire in Declan’s eyes died away, to be replaced by something cold and bleak. Something awful was there in his eyes, and Sey could hardly bear to look himself. “Dec-lan….” Sey whispered to him, feeling like everything was about to change again.

“About—us?” Declan’s voice was a frosty whisper, so pained, the air ached with its vibration.

Sasha raised tear-filled eyes to his father’s. “I can handle it, Da.”

Declan’s hand on Sey’s arm tightened its grip to viselike intensity. “You shouldn’t have to, kiddo.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sey asked, reaching out to touch the heavy sterling silver bracelet on his left wrist. It was still there. Somehow that reassured him. He didn’t know why. But it felt good there. Like Declan’s hand pressing into his upper arm.

“God, Daddy, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings!” Sasha burst out. “It’s all shit anyway! Those guys don’t know what they’re talking about!”

“What did they say?” Declan asked quietly.

“I won’t tell you! I won’t repeat it!” Sasha rubbed at his eyes. “I’m trying to forget it, Da! Please don’t ask me again!”

Declan nodded solemnly. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

Sasha sniffled, searching in vain for a tissue, which Sey produced from his shirt pocket. “Thanks, Daddy,” Sasha said gratefully.

Sasha wiped his nose and said huskily, “Look how brave they are, Da. Calling on the phone. They prolly know if they say that stuff to my face, I’ll kick their asses from here to kingdom come!”

Declan smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Sasha, I never wanted any of this to touch you or Emmy.”

“Shut up, Da,” Sasha said with a tearful grin. “I love you guys. Nobody’s ever had better parents than me. You think I don’t know that?”

All at once he put down the untouched juice and dropped his backpack. With an inarticulate cry, he hugged Declan, and then kissed his cheek. Then he turned to Sey and affectionately embraced him. As he slid out of Sey’s arms, he noticed the bracelet. It felt warm to his touch. Like it was a living, breathing thing.

“Hey, this is new. Nice.”

“Your da gave it to me last night.”

“Ohhh…” Sasha smiled knowingly. He ran his fingers over the bracelet’s surface again and again. “You know—I’m okay with this. I have been—almost since the beginning.”

“I know,” said Sey.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew. If it means anything to you.”

Sey pulled the young boy into his arms and hugged him, kissing his hair. “It means everything.”

Declan sighed and wrapped his arms around both of them, feeling dangerously close to tears. “We were very lucky when we found each other, Sasha. But we were even luckier when we found you.”

Chapter 7

“Daddy!”

“Dadddddeeeee!”

Michael lay on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow, a tiny ribbon of spittle leaking from the corner of his mouth. Struggling to raise his head, he focused bleary-eyed on the alarm clock on the night table. Barely 7:30 am. “Unh…” he groaned into the pillow. Whoever slept late didn’t have a five-year old.

“Luc?”

“Daddy!” Luc answered, gleefully shouting his father’s name. In his ear.

The small boy was perched atop his father’s naked back. Thank God the sheets had not come off completely during the night, or Michael had a feeling he would be attempting another version of “What do big boys have that little boys don’t have?” It was way too early for that.

Even Chris had never been this inquisitive. Luc was like Faith. But worse. He was playful and curious. And he had no inhibitions at all about pursuing his latest objective. In this case, Michael.

There were explanations he could give. But they would either go right over his son’s head or they would provoke more questions. So he settled for terse. Terse was doable.

“Luc…go see Grandpa,” Michael said, referring to Walter.

Nikita smiled, half-asleep, clutching her pillow. She too lay on her stomach, her breasts pressed into the firm mattress. Too comfortable to move just yet, she was listening to Michael and Luc when she registered what Michael just said.

“Umm…no, Michael. Dad’s on a road trip, remember? Just him and Miranda? And the Harley?”

Michael began lightly stroking Nikita’s exposed back with his fingertips, and she chuckled, moving just out of reach. “Ah, ah, ah…we have an audience.”

He patted her backside, through the sheet, somehow turning an avuncular gesture into a loving caress. With a sigh, he said, “Luc, Daddy’s getting a crick in his back.”

When that didn’t produce the desired result, he said more loudly, “Luc, get off my back.”

When Nikita started to laugh, Michael suddenly realized just how funny that sounded. In moments, he joined her.

Luc jumped from Michael’s back to the carpet, demonstrating considerable agility for one so young. “Can I watch cartoons before school?”

“Sure.”

“Can you turn on the TV? Faith hid the clicker.”

Michael thought about that for a moment, wondering why Faith had to hide the remote control. “Okay. Go downstairs. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll go back to sleep.”

“No, I’ll meet you there, Luc.”

He climbed back up on the bed, this time wedging his little body between his mother and father. “I’ll just stay here till you’re ready.”

“Luc, I told you to go downstairs.” Michael’s eyes narrowed. Luc already showed an annoying willfulness at the oddest times.

“Not till you come with me,” he whined.

Michael rolled onto his back. What a way to wake up. His 200 plus freshmen class was easier to handle than one small five-year old boy. He was in the middle of weighing his options, trying to see whether it was better to push the issue or let it go. To push. Or not to push. That was the question.

Deciding that the slings and arrows of Luc turning a mere whine into a full-blown temper tantrum were not worth the wasted morning and the heartache that would ensue, Michael heaved himself out of bed, pulling the sheet around his lower body. Now it became a question of getting into the bathroom without company.

Luck was with him. As soon as Michael stood up, the sheet clung to him, concealing just what he needed to conceal. Unfortunately, or fortunately, in this case, it left Nikita’s back completely exposed. That caught Luc’s attention. “Mommy! You’re naked!”

“Yes, Luc,” she agreed, a bemused smile crossing her lips. Run, Michael, run, she cried inwardly, before Luc latches onto an important part. That made her giggle. Especially since there was nothing she would like better than to latch onto one of Michael’s important parts. Oh, my, she could feel the flush starting at her hairline and traveling right down to her toes.

Michael ducked into the bathroom, putting on a clean pair of shorts as quickly as possible. Then he tossed the sheet to Nikita, who hurriedly wrapped it around her waist. Michael wanted a shower desperately, but Luc made it clear that he would not wait patiently.

Bouncing up and down on the bed, Luc began chanting, “Cartoons! Cartoons! Wanna watch cartoons!”

Nikita pulled her pillow over her head. She wasn’t ready to come out and play.

***

Luc thumped and thudded down the staircase, pulling his bookbag along behind him, uncaring if anything got broken. Singing loudly and off-key, he traipsed into the living room, noting that the TV was already on. Faith was laying on her stomach, watching an infomercial about some kind of network of psychic friends, the remote next to her hand.

Dropping his bookbag, Luc grabbed the remote and ran to the edge of the room, clicking it madly, changing channel after channel, in a blur of sight and sound.

“Hey! Gimme that, squirt!” Faith chased after her brother, and soon, the two of them were wrestling with each other on the floor. Faith knew she could disarm her brother, but she didn’t think she should use karate on someone so much younger.

Then Luc clenched his fist and punched Faith right in the stomach, knocking all the air out of her. Faith’s eyes narrowed as she reconsidered her options. Maybe karate wouldn’t be so terrible after all. The little….

“Dad!” Faith exclaimed. She was never so happy to see a grown-up in her life.

Michael, now dressed in a red polo shirt and black jeans, walked quietly to where the remote control lay on the floor. In between the two children. Where it had dropped out of Luc’s hand when he realized that his father was there.

With fluid movements, Michael picked up the remote, clicked off the TV, and threw the remote onto the couch. “Faith.”

Michael’s tone was deadly. He was, ahem, for lack of a better word, pissed. Faith got up off the floor, smoothing her hands down the sides of her clothes in an effort to straighten herself out. “Yes, Dad?”

“Twenty-four hours. No TV.”

“But Dad—it wasn’t m—“

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“No, Dad.” Faith bent her head and cursed little brothers.

“And you,” Michael indicated Luc with a sharp gesture.

Luc stood up, but he didn’t look appropriately chastened. If anything, he simply seemed to be waiting. Well, Michael was no psychologist, but he knew what worked and what didn’t. If his son wanted attention, he would get it.

But he’d be damned if he was going to like it.

“Apologize to your sister.”

Luc blinked. He expected yelling. Or even spanking. But this seemingly neutral statement that an apology was required?

“I’m sorry, Faith.” Luc’s tone was so insincere, it was clear that he didn’t mean a word of it. But he had done as instructed. His father demanded an apology. That didn’t say he had to mean it.

“Now apologize to me.”

Huh? That was a new one. Luc didn’t quite know what to make of it. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

That was debatable. But Michael was no longer in the mood to argue the point. Michael picked up Luc’s bookbag and handed it to his son. “When you come home from school this afternoon, I want you to go straight to your room. No TV. No playing outside. No friends. You’ll have dinner in your room, and then, you’re going to go to bed early. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” came the low reply.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Now Luc looked like he finally got the message. He turned and walked away slowly.

Michael watched until Luc was out of sight. Faith looked at her father in awe. “Wow, Dad. I’ve never seen you do that before. You were like this close to losing your, um, cool.”

“Don’t you need to leave for school?” Michael asked rhetorically, indicating he was not about to discuss his feelings or Luc with her.

“Yep,” Faith said with a gulp. Don’t want that look directed at me, no, sir. “Bye, Dad.”

As soon as Faith left the room, Michael wearily sank down onto the couch, finding that he was nearly sitting on the remote. Clicking the TV back on, he watched what Faith had been watching for all of two seconds, then snapped the TV off again.

Christ, World War 3 would undoubtedly be fought over something like this. It was enough to give one pause.

Chapter 8

“You’re my brother, Chris!” Luc yelled, seemingly at the top of his lungs.

“You’re late, Luc. Those are the rules. You need a late pass from the main office. Go see Madame Wilding.” Chris looked impassive, even impenetrable. Sure, Luc was his brother, but rules were rules. He was a hall monitor, for God’s sake. Who knew what chaos would reign if he showed his little brother favoritism?

Luc seethed with all the unruly emotion a small five-year old boy could summon up. “I-I-I…” Luc searched his brain franticly for a suitable curse. “I hope your stupid badge falls off!” he said finally, pointing to the hall monitor badge that Chris wore proudly.

Chris smiled imperturbably. It was a shame that insubordination was a charge that only teachers could level at students. Chris thought Luc was a good candidate to challenge that particular rule. If he believed in challenging the rules.

His little brother stalked down the hall toward the main office, muttering under his breath the whole way. He wasn’t having a very good day.

***

By the time Luc obtained the late pass, things somehow got worse. According to school policy, he was forced to return to Chris to present his pass for inspection. Before he could go to class.

To say Chris made the most of that situation would be an understatement. He wasn’t trying to gloat. He wasn’t that kind of boy. But he clung to rules because rules made him feel safe and secure. And Chris simply couldn’t understand anyone who ignored or broke them. Like Luc.

“Go on to class,” Chris stated authoritatively after scanning the slip of paper Luc handed him.

His brother glared at him. If looks could kill….

***

Luc was not having a very good day. Kady and the Davenport twins were already playing with another child that Luc didn’t know. Suddenly feeling like he was truly a stranger in a strange land, Luc sat down on his mat. Lunchtime was beginning to look good.

Eventually, the preliminary play period over, the kindergarten class settled down for a brief nap. Everyone took to their appropriate mats on the floor, and Luc scooted over to where Kiarra put hers.

“Hey, Kiarra,” Luc called.

Kiarra’s eyes widened. She was a beautiful little girl. Midnight black hair, like her father’s, hung straight to her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and tanned easily, which made a striking contrast to her light eyes. Her eyes, silvery-grey like the rest of the McLaren family’s, stood out against her lightly tanned face.

Looking around anxiously, to see if anyone was paying attention, Kiarra whispered, “We’re not supposed to talk during naptime, Luc.”

Instead of stating the obvious, that he didn’t care, Luc snuggled closer to her. “I like you, Kiarra,” he sang in a low voice, his only concession to what passed for rules in kindergarten.

“Luc…” she whined, “you’re going to get us in trouble.”

He sighed and pillowed his head on his folded arms. “Aw, come on, Kiarra. Say you like me, too?”

A warning shush from the teacher quelled whatever response she might have made, and Luc rolled onto his back, to stare blankly at the ceiling.

Damn rules.

***

At lunchtime, the four kindergarteners sat close together at a table by themselves. They weren’t anti-social, but they were their own best company.

Swinging his legs back and forth under the table, Jago said, “Luc, you want to come over later and play with the puppies?”

Luc’s face brightened. He loved puppies. “You got new ones, Jago?”

“Yup. Daddy says these’ll prolly be the last ones, though. He’s gonna close down the kennel, I think.”

Jago was every bit as striking as his sister. Fraternal twins, they didn’t share the same sex or the same coloring. In fact, they really didn’t resemble each other at all. Where Kiarra was light, he was dark. Where Kiarra was dark, he was light. Opposites in nearly every way.

Jago’s hair was red, like Declan’s, instead of chestnut brown, like his mother’s. Whatever wonderful McLaren genes there were to pass on, they combined in a rather amazing way to produce Davenport’s son. His hair was bright, but true red, without a bit of orange. Cut short, his hair nevertheless lay in attractive curls around his head. Instead of light eyes, however, like his sister and his mother, his eyes were black, like his father’s. People often stopped just to look at Jago. Yet for all of that, he remained unspoiled.

It was obvious that Jago took after his father. He was often quiet, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t always thinking. He was far from being as delicate as he looked, too. His body was graceful, like his mother’s, yet sturdy, like his father’s. He liked to study people, and his observational skills were definitely above average. As a result, he tended to notice things that other people didn’t.

“Why’s your Daddy going to close the kennel?” Kady asked, speaking up for the first time.

She was a bit shy at times. Introspective. The product of Madeline and Neil’s combined genetics, Kady Elizabeth Hunter was undeniably beautiful, like her mother. In fact, she closely resembled Madeline in almost every way. Big dark brown eyes. The color of chocolate. Melting chocolate, perhaps, since her eyes looked every bit as luminous as Madeline’s. Long thick hair, dark brown, nearly black, falling past her shoulders.

It might have been better had Kady inherited her father’s dry sense of humor or his innate way of caring for those he loved. Instead, Kady was at a loss to define herself. Her mother saw her as the perfect child. Which she certainly was not. But she wasn’t going to argue with her mother. Even Madeline’s children didn’t argue with Madeline.

Madeline thought of Kady as an extension of herself. Through her desire to live vicariously through her daughter, she was robbing her of the freedom to choose who she wanted to be. So Kady fought back in the only way she had left to her. She was passive. To a fault.

Jago smiled kindly at Kady. “Daddy doesn’t have time anymore. He’s the Head of Security here now, y’know.”

Kady nodded. “What about your Mom?”

Jago leaned close to the little girl and whispered conspiratorially, “I think it’s s’posed to be a secret.”

“What is it?” Kady’s eyes grew round.

Jago looked both ways before continuing. “Nobody knows. ‘Cept her and Daddy. I bet not even Luc’s Daddy knows.”

Luc gave Jago a world-weary smile, just as smug as can be. Completely forgetting that he was angry with his father, he declared, “My Daddy knows everything. Even secret stuff.”

“Maybe,” Jago said. “But he doesn’t know this.”

Chapter 9

“Aspatia.”

The beautiful brunette woman of indeterminate age turned to face the speaker. “Yes?”

He looked too young to be the Head of Comm. In some ways, it was a change long overdue. In some ways, it never should have had to happen. If Birkoff were still here…. Well, that was hardly a fruitful avenue of thought to pursue.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

She smiled patiently at the younger man, but the smile never reached her dark eyes. “Of course. Congratulations, Greg.”

He waited expectantly. Was there something else he wanted?

She gently inclined her head, as if acknowledging something, but she wasn’t sure either of them knew just what it was. Perhaps he suddenly had a yen for older women? Now there was an intriguing thought. Aspatia felt desire arrow right down to her groin. Talk about not getting in touch with one’s innermost feelings. She could have gone for years without suspecting that she felt this way.

Reluctant to voice what she was thinking, Aspatia played for time. Aspatia trusted her instincts, relied on them daily, but the thought of embarrassing herself in front of Hillinger held her back.

Curiosity finally won out over reason. “Was there something else…Greg?”

The dark-haired young man looked ill at ease. In fact, he felt sick to his stomach. He wanted Aspatia. But she would never look twice at an inept boy like him. Never mind that he was hardly a boy anymore. He might have been only 14 when he first came into Section, but it had been years since he was a boy.

“I…uhhh….”

Oh, how endearing. He was so cute when he blushed like that. Maybe they could work something out. Maybe there was a nice dark hallway somewhere. He looked trainable. It might be nice to…break him in.

She dropped her eyes to his mouth. It wasn’t a bad mouth. Maybe she could teach him a thing or two.

“Meet me on sub-level 4. One hour.” Her husky whisper seized him by the throat and held on for dear life.

She was so close. So close. And then he blew it. Bigtime. How could he know?

Producing a thin silver disc, he said, “Hey, you ever seen this particular kind of writeable CD before? It looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”

Shit. It was one of Birkoff’s special mini-discs. He made them himself. She recognized it immediately, though it had been years…no, wait… Oh, my God! The last time Birkoff was actually in Section was when George and Operations went head-to-head in the Deck, killing each other and setting in motion the chain reaction of events that brought Section to its knees.

That Section managed to survive was not by chance. It was the handiwork of someone very special. Someone in such deep cover that no one spoke his name aloud. No one could, for no one knew who he really was.

There was constant speculation. But no substantial answers.

Holding her breath, Aspatia held out her hand, hoping that Hillinger would surrender the disc before he realized where he had seen it before.

“I found it on the floor in Comm several years ago. It’s been sorta a good luck charm ever since.”

“Why don’t you let me have it? I can have Munitions drill a hole so you can carry it on your keychain.”

“Hey, good idea.” Hillinger smiled, and for a moment, Aspatia regretted that she wasn’t going to be able to sample how he tasted.

Now that she knew what he had, she couldn’t let him keep it. She had sworn to protect those who escaped Section so long ago, and it had been many years since she thought she might be tested. But here it was.

With the disc in the palm of her hand, Aspatia closed her hand around it, so tightly its hard metallic edges cut into her skin. What if he had looked at it? No, he couldn’t have. He would have said something. He was too immature not to want to share such a juicy piece of intel with her. Especially if he thought it might impress her and win him a place in her bed.

She started to turn away, but Hillinger’s hand clamped down hard on her shoulder. “You wouldn’t be playing with me, would you?”

His voice sounded so serious, his eyes, though, oh, God, his eyes were so troubled, so unsure. He wanted her, and he thought she was going to stand him up. What might he do if she did?

Would she have to sacrifice herself in order to prevent suspicion?

A delicious smile suddenly curved her full, sensual lips. She could live with that.

It was, after all, in the line of duty.

More or less.

Chapter 10—NC-17

Could she get a secure link to contact Madeline? Should she even try? Wouldn’t contacting them, for any reason, be dangerous? Why give Section unnecessary ammunition?

Aspatia lay on her back, her head resting against the headboard of the double bed. Coal-black hair fanning out behind her, she took a moment to contemplate the young man sleeping in her arms. He was hers.

Easy to manipulate, Greg didn’t present a challenge to the older woman’s considerable talents. Though she was hardly Valentine Op material, largely because her expertise simply lay elsewhere, she knew how to keep a man distracted and off-balance.

Her original plan was to duplicate the CD, substituting her copy for the real one. If Hillinger had never accessed its intel, and she was convinced that he hadn’t, he would never know the difference.

Her fingers traced the silky brown forelock that fell over his brow, hiding his dark brown eyes. He was a handsome young man. Not experienced. But that didn’t matter. His energy and his desire to please her more than made up for that.

No, there was only one real way to be sure that the family remained safe. There could be no loose ends. None at all.

She tried to tell herself that she could handle Greg, that she would know the moment he became untrustworthy, and therefore dangerous. But it was no use arguing with herself. Her compassion could lead to her, and Michael’s family’s, downfall.

She wouldn’t last two hours in the White Room. Greg, even less. He didn’t even know what he knew. He would never know now.

He sighed in his sleep, rubbing his face against her breast. She would take him again. Where was the harm in that? She would make his last hours happy ones.

His last hours.

Hers.

Her eyes unexpectedly tearing up, she cradled the young Comm operative’s head, pressing a kiss to his hair. He was so young. And now he would never get any older.

But she would make it painless. For both of them.

Greg stirred, his eyes slowly opening and focusing on Aspatia’s face. “Hi,” he said softly.

It could have worked. They might have had a relationship. If things were different.

“Hi,” she whispered back. She traced a slender finger along his hairline and across his lips.

He kissed her finger, grasping it in his hands as she would have pulled away. “I think I love you.”

She smiled. Some things were too painful to bear. But they could never ever show. This was Section. Where ruthlessness reigned.

Her lips trembled as she kissed him. But Greg didn’t notice. He rarely let his real emotions come out of hiding, so rarely he wasn’t sure she would even believe him. But he did love her.

His mouth opened under hers, and all of the regrets and the dark memories of times best left forgotten fled. Fled in the face of such overpowering warmth and light. Enveloping him in its embrace.

Their bodies joined, he raised himself up on both elbows and stared wonderingly into her mysterious dark eyes. “I love you, Space. For real. Trust me.”

I can’t. She closed her eyes, feeling for the knife under the pillow, certain there would never be a right time to act.

The fingers of one hand on the blade, she caressed his face with the other, finally opening her eyes. He gasped as he approached his climax, and she gave him a gift. Something she didn’t need to do. And yet she did.

“Greg…I love you, too.”

“You do?” The boyish smile that transformed his face said it all. Do it, do it, do it, her senses screamed.

She nodded. “Trust me,” she whispered brokenly.

“I do,” he cried out, completion washing over him in great waves.

You shouldn’t. My poor love. Aspatia plunged the knife between his ribs, thrusting up with the blade to bring a quick end to his young life.

She sobbed as she held him, cradling his still-warm body against hers. It was the only way, she kept repeating, it was the only way.

The disc was already destroyed, its contents forever unknown to anyone but her.

The note told of an unlikely love affair gone awry.

Wrapping her arms around Hillinger’s lifeless body, she took a deep breath and brought the knife home. One quick push…was all it took. To end the furious speculation.

Section might own their lives. But it could not claim their deaths. Not this time.

Chapter 11

Good news travels fast, but bad news travels faster. Usually. But in this case, Walter and Miranda were out tooling around the French countryside on the Harley. Unbeknownst to anyone, Walter had his own sub rosa connection to Section for intel. No one else knew. Not Miranda. Not Birkoff. Not even Michael.

When Aspatia sacrificed herself to protect the secret of Michael and Nikita’s escape and subsequent family, she wasn’t aware that there was another person on the inside, feeding intel to a completely different source than Madeline. That was as it should be. It was the old double-blind. Neither informant knew about the other, thereby protecting both of them from inadvertent disclosure.

Once a week, Walter went into town where he picked up any messages left for him. The route by which these messages came to him was so circuitous, even Walter could not have guessed the actual source of the original message, were it not for the fact that he set up the chain of information subsystem. This way, no one could follow the path to Walter and, by extension, Michael’s family.

It was not that Walter still craved contact with Section. Far from it. He wished such subterfuge were not necessary. But experience had taught him to be very careful, and the more they knew about what Section was doing, no matter how insignificant it might sound, the better prepared they could be.

So it was that Walter and Miranda ended their road trip and headed home, becoming the bearers of bad news by default. The Harley roared up the driveway to the Samuelle home, stopping mere feet away from the steps to the front porch. Walter kicked a booted foot in the direction of the kickstand and removed his helmet.

“You okay back there, Honey?” he asked Miranda.

In answer, she removed her helmet and shook her hair out. Running her fingers through the limp blonde cap of hair, she despaired of making it look presentable without major preparation.

“Yes, love. Nothing that picking a few bugs out of my teeth wouldn’t improve,” she began, catching the disapproving look her husband sent her.

“I thought you loved our road trips, Honey.”

“I do, Walter,” she said, kissing him tenderly, then wiping at the lipstick on his mouth with her thumb. “Just teasing, love. You seemed a little out of it since we made our last pitstop. Are you feeling okay?”

Walter averted his eyes. He couldn’t tell her exactly what made him upset. And yet there was a part of him that wanted to do just that. She was his wife. He trusted her with his life.

“Actually, Honey, there is something I need to tell you….”

***

Faith bounced from foot to foot like her feet were on fire. “Mom! Grandpa’s home!”

Nikita smiled at her eldest child. “He is? Guess we’d better go see what he’s been up to, huh?”

Wiping her wet hands on a kitchen towel, Nikita turned to face the new arrivals as they entered. Her smile rapidly fading, she knew immediately that something was wrong.

“Dad?”

“Sugar, I got real bad news.”

***

As the news filtered through the family and its branches quickly, everyone reacted in their own very different ways, depending on whether or not they knew Aspatia or Hillinger. Not to mention what their history was with them.

Nikita was the first one Walter told. Although she told herself that she never had any particular love for Hillinger, she was taken aback by the apparent senselessness of his death. “He was so young,” she couldn’t help but say.

Walter nodded slowly. He couldn’t claim to like Hillinger either, especially given Hillinger’s rocky history with Birkoff. Why, at one point, Hillinger was nearly responsible for Birkoff getting killed. Still, he couldn’t say he wished him dead. Now Aspatia was another thing entirely. Walter knew Aspatia very peripherally, but he remembered her as a kind woman. He briefly wondered what an elegant older woman like that would be doing with a young, albeit handsome, wiseass like Hillinger. But he dismissed it as one of those unknowable things he might never have an answer for.

It didn’t occur to Nikita to ask how Walter came by this intel. Perhaps she was so stunned by the news itself that she wasn’t thinking clearly. But when Michael came home and heard what happened, it was one of the first things he asked.

Figuring it was better to confess what he’d been doing than hide it, Walter outlined his carefully-held connection to Section. Without revealing the name of the person who provided this intel.

“Don’t you think I should know, Walter?”

“Why, Michael? It’s not like you’ll be adding them to your Christmas card list or anything. What the hell difference can it make?”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Sure I do. How can you even ask me that, man? I’ve been doing this for you! All these years!”

“But you won’t tell me who it is.”

“Michael, you must know it’s better that way. If this hadn’t happened, I never would have—“

“—told me. I know.”

After a moment or two of reflection, Michael nodded. “I understand, Walter.” Suddenly looking tired, Michael said, “I didn’t know Aspatia. But I know she played a big part in our getting Connor back from Section, and for that, I will always be grateful.”

“As for Hillinger…I can’t say I miss him. But I never expected his death to be like this. Something about this whole thing…bothers me.” Michael shrugged. He was used to questions that must remain unanswered. It didn’t mean that he had to like it, but sometimes, that was just the way it was.

***

In the end, it was Madeline who put things together in a slightly different light. Aspatia was, after all, her connection in Section.

“She never called me. But something must have come up.” Her dark eyes looked strangely melancholy. “I liked Aspatia. She was very reliable….”

“Jesus, Maddy, you make her sound like a dog!” Neil raked his hands through his blond hair, mussing it completely. “Have a heart.”

Madeline fixed her husband with an enigmatic look. Neil was so irritable lately. Perhaps things were not as they should be between them. Perhaps he was giving up on working on those things.

“As I was saying, Aspatia would put the family’s welfare before her own. It’s why I chose her. If she made the decision…” she swallowed, grimacing as if something tasted bad, “to kill herself, I’m sure that there was a very real threat.”

“To us?” Nikita asked.

Madeline nodded. “Yes.”

“But what?”

Madeline sighed. “We may never know. Or it could be related to Hillinger. I find it odd that a woman like that would hook up with Hillinger.”

“Why, her age?”

“Not just that. She had class. Hillinger didn’t.”

At Neil’s exasperated look, Madeline continued, “Well, he didn’t, Neil. You didn’t know him.”

“Hardly seems right to speak ill of the dead, Maddy.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Neil. We could just as easily be sitting around talking about one of us having died.”

That hit home. “Christ. You think she sacrificed herself and this kid.”

“I know she did. Or as much as I can know anything I didn’t see with my own eyes.”

Walter seized control of the conversation. “Hey, time out! Let’s not get stupid at this stage of the game, okay? What Madeline says does make sense. Should we assume that killing Hillinger neutralized the threat then?”

“That would be a fair assumption,” Madeline agreed.

“Well, I for one need to know that something good came out of this,” Walter muttered.

Nikita put her arm around her adoptive father. “Dad, it wasn’t your fault. No one’s blaming you. Aspatia…well, she made her own decision. For better or worse.”

Suddenly Walter looked his age. “Birkoff’s going to have a hard time with this, Sugar. He knew Aspatia. Well. He’s going to blame himself somehow. And Hillinger? God, he hated him. But still….”

Michael shook his head. “He knew him. Even better than he knew Aspatia. That’s going to hurt.”

Walter’s head came up with a start. “Jesus. I just thought of something worse.”

“What?”

“Sasha.”

Dead silence.

Chapter 12

Walter passed a weathered hand over his face. “I don’t want to sound like I’m backing out of my responsibility here, but—“

“Birkoff should tell his son. It should come from him.” No matter how difficult it might be, Michael was convinced that Birkoff needed to be the one who broached the subject to Sasha. Aspatia was the first person to treat Sasha like a person, instead of a thing, and whatever Sasha’s initial responses to her attempts to mother him had been, he grew close to her.

Walter nodded faintly. “But I’ll tell Declan.” He paused. “Maybe Declan should tell Birkoff, not me. He seems to have a way with him—“

The object of Walter’s attention finally joined the group gathered in the Samuelles’ living room. Pondering the reason for the family being called together, Declan was abruptly caught by the fact that it looked almost like a strike force. “What do you want me to tell Sey?” he asked with the beginnings of a frown.

By the time Walter finished explaining the circumstances of Aspatia and Hillinger’s deaths, Declan looked vaguely stunned. “Christ, I remember Aspatia. She was that woman who was with Davenport. When we went back to Section.”

“Yeah,” Walter agreed. Heaving a great sigh, Walter added, “I’ve got to tell Davenport, too. Get him and Derry down here, would you, Michael? I don’t think this kind of thing should be done over the phone.”

“Davenport…Jesus, he’s not going to take this well either,” said Declan.

Michael laid a hand on Declan’s shoulder in support. “We’ll handle Dav. You just worry about Birkoff and your son.” As far as Michael was concerned, Declan was the one who would have the raw end of the deal. Birkoff and Sasha. Both emotional. Both with good reason to be genuinely distraught over these deaths.

Declan nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “I suppose this had to happen sooner or later.”

“What? Death?” Walter asked.

“Aye. Sasha’s never had to deal with death before. And this…makes it very personal.”

Walter gripped Declan’s arm and looked intently into his pale grey eyes. “If you need any help, you know where I am.”

“Thanks, Walter.”

***

Birkoff was in the process of hanging up his jacket when he noticed Declan sitting in the recliner in their living room. Automatically launching into chatter about his day, he was surprised when Declan didn’t answer him. “Dec? Dec? Is something wrong?”

“C’mere, baby,” Declan said softly, patting the space next to him in the recliner. They had picked out this recliner for its size as well as its comfort. They liked to share their space, sometimes quite literally, and Declan wanted Sey close enough to hold right now.

A muscle began to clench in Birkoff’s cheek. He was nothing if not perceptive, and he had already gotten the scent of something bad. Something very bad. “What is it?”

“Please. Sit with me.”

Birkoff reluctantly sat down in the recliner, feeling as if his limbs were going numb. It was suddenly so hard to move. Declan wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead chastely. Cupping Sey’s chin, Declan forced Sey to make good eye contact with him. It was important that he hear this the first time. It was awful enough without repeating it.

“You know I love you, right?” Declan whispered, unable to resist the urge to touch Sey’s hair. Sey wanted to scream with frustration, but instead, he nodded silently.

“Don’t ask any questions yet. Just listen. Okay?”

Again, Birkoff nodded.

Rubbing a thumb absently against Birkoff’s shoulder, Declan began. “Your friend Aspatia is dead.”

“When? How? Dec!”

“Ssh, baby.” When Birkoff unwillingly subsided, Declan continued. “Hillinger, too.”

“Greg? Jesus, Declan! What--?”

Declan pulled Sey closer, burying his face in his hair, murmuring “Ssh” over and over. It was bad enough that they were dead, but Declan wished that Sey didn’t need to know how they died.

“They died together, Sey,” Declan whispered. “Apparently, they were having an affair and—“

“No way, Declan! No freaking way!”

Now Sey was clinging to Declan, his fingers clenching and unclenching in his long red hair. “Was it Section?”

“No, baby. Aspatia killed Hillinger…and then herself.”

Declan could feel Sey shaking his head back and forth. More and more vehemently. “No, no, no, no, no…Space wouldn’t do that. She was—she was—oh, God, she’s dead?”

Sey cried for several minutes, his tears soaking Declan’s shoulder. By the time he regained control, Declan was tempted to join him. Instead Declan pulled his lover into a tighter embrace, his mouth against Sey’s ear.

“Are you okay, acushla?”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just…damn, I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry that Space is gone, Dec. She was just…a great person.”

Declan nodded.

“But Greg—“

“You didn’t like him, baby.” As if that helped.

“No, but…we spent hours and hours together at work. I know it sounds stupid, but I just can’t imagine him being…dead.”

Declan kissed Sey’s temple. “I know, baby, I know.”

Birkoff shivered, his voice quavering, and for the first time, Declan thought he sounded a little bit hysterical. “Jeez, he was such a wiseass. Like he knew all the answers. Guess he didn’t know this one, huh?”

“Christ, Declan, he was younger than us. It’s kinda…I dunno…creepy when someone that young dies, you know? Like it could—it could—happen to us.” Birkoff’s voice broke as the finality of it all hit him, and suddenly he was facing his own mortality.

Burying his mouth at the base of Declan’s throat, Sey could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. Somehow that helped center him again. Declan was alive. So was he.

Declan rubbed his hand in circles on Sey’s back, the touch reassuring to both of them. In the midst of death, there was life.

Birkoff hiccupped and drew back to look tearfully at his lover. “Sasha. Oh, God, Dec, Sasha!”

“I know, acushla.”

“If it wasn’t for Space, maybe Sasha wouldn’t have survived.”

“Davenport was still in the picture, Sey.”

“Sasha’s going to be crushed. Oh, shit, Declan, he’s never known anyone who died before.”

“He’ll be okay. He’s got us, Sey. He’s got Emmy. Davenport. My sister. The whole goddamn family now.”

Sey smiled through his tears, his cheeks wet and shiny now. “That’s right.”

“So do you.”

“So do I what?”

“Have the whole bloody family surrounding you, baby. Can’t you feel us?” For emphasis, Declan twined his arms around Sey’s neck and kissed him tenderly.

Sey swiped at his eyes with trembling fingers and tried valiantly to smile. “I must look awful.”

“No, you look beautiful. You’re beautiful and alive and well and truly in my arms… oh, God, I love you.”

“Oh, Dec….” Shaking his head slowly, Sey beseeched with his dark eyes. Please. Cast the pain out.

“Make love to me.”

“Now?” Declan seemed almost startled. Then he relaxed. It was said that when there was great tragedy, the urge to do something life-affirming was almost overwhelming.

Sey held his breath.

Declan kissed him. Even in the face of death, there was life.

Chapter 13

They sent Sasha directly upstairs. If Sasha thought it odd, he didn’t say so. But he opened the door with some degree of trepidation. Pushing it open very slowly, he peered around the edge of the door, not totally surprised to see his parents waiting.

Declan still sat in the recliner, but Sey was asleep with his head on Declan’s shoulder, his fingers intertwined with his partner’s.

“Da?” Sasha frowned at the incongruity before him. Sey asleep during the day? The why of that completely eluded him. Declan in hypervigilant mode? Something was clearly wrong. The very atmosphere screamed its surfeit of tension.

Declan answered Sasha by placing a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. “Don’t wake him,” he whispered, indicating Birkoff.

Declan struggled to get free of his lover’s entangling limbs without alerting him, but every attempt only served to make Sey more agitated without ever coming fully awake. “Deccc…d-don’t l-leave me…” he said, trying to hide his face against Declan’s chest.

At Sasha’s shocked expression, Declan abruptly realized that the pre-teen had jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I’m not…Sasha, I’m not leaving. That’s not what he meant.”

Literally wrapping Sey’s arms around him, to hold him fast, Declan studied the young boy before them. “Come here and sit,” he beckoned.

“Th-there’s no room, Da.”

“There’s plenty. I’ll just shift your father over.”

Once he was sitting on Declan’s lap, he asked hesitantly, “Is Daddy sick?”

“No, no, he’s just—upset. We had some rather bad news today, kiddo.”

“I’ll tell him, Declan,” Sey protested, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “He’s my son.”

“He’s our son, and you’ve had just about enough, baby.” Glancing quickly at Sey, he could see that he was determined to assume full responsibility for telling Sasha. But Declan was equally determined—to protect Sey. From himself, if necessary.

“Sasha, how much do you remember about Section?” asked Declan.

“Not much detail. More like bits and pieces. Feelings. That kind of stuff.”

“Do you remember specific people?”

“You mean like Davenport and Cassi—I mean, Derry? Sure.”

“I mean, before them. When you were really little. When you lived in the sublevels.” Declan waited anxiously for Sasha to reply.

“Ohh…you mean the lady who used to bring me real food so I wouldn’t have to eat scraps?”

“Aye. That lady. Do you remember her?”

Sasha smiled suddenly as a memory came flooding back. “She was nice. Even when I wasn’t.” He chuckled softly. “She kept trying to get me to come out of my hiding place, and I think I kept trying to bite her.”

“Well, people hadn’t treated you very well. You had good reason to be wary of people.”

“I remember when I left, I promised myself I would always remember her.” Sasha’s dark eyes held a faraway look, as though he were irretrievably lost in that time. All at once Sasha colored.

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just that—I haven’t thought about her in a really long time. Guess I didn’t keep my promise.”

“That’s okay. She would understand.”

“You think so? I wish we could see her again. I bet she’d be surprised to see how much I’ve grown.”

Declan choked back a tiny sob. “She’d be very proud of how you turned out, kiddo.”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his father’s face. “Why are we talking about her, Da? Did something happen to her?”

Sey raised his tear-stained face to look at Sasha. Releasing Declan’s hand, Sey fumbled to grasp his son’s. “Yeah, kiddo. Something bad happened.”

With his intuitive feel for the underlying emotions Sey was attempting to conceal, Sasha asked, “Is she dead?”

Sey started to give under the overwhelming weight of his emotional load, but Declan bolstered him with a tender kiss before pulling his lover against his chest once more. His face crumpling, Sey whispered brokenly, “Yes….”

Though it was true that Sasha had no frame of reference for death, inasmuch as death had never touched him personally before, that didn’t mean that he didn’t know what death was. Up until now, it was something that happened to other people. Other older people.

Sasha nodded in acknowledgement, but he didn’t really know what to say. “Was she sick?” Or did the bad people get her? Sasha didn’t know where that thought came from. He wasn’t sure if it was a memory or if he was hearing things.

Come on, Sasha, the voice in his head continued. You remember the bad people? The ones who wanted to train you like an animal? The ones who didn’t care when you finally disappeared? Though Sasha didn’t know it, he had repressed most of what happened to him at Section. That was why things came to him in fragments, occasionally accompanied by feelings.

Sey cried silently, fresh tears coursing down his face. He felt like he was failing miserably at supporting Sasha, but Declan refused to let him go. “She wasn’t sick.” Oh, God, she killed herself. After killing someone else. How could he tell Sasha that part? Did Sasha even need to know that?

So he settled for something approximating the truth. Something that felt like the truth, even if it wasn’t quite. “She died trying to protect us.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. Even Sey stopped crying to stare at Declan. Smearing his wet face with the back of his hand, Sey said, “Yeah. She—she wanted to keep us safe.”

Sasha’s lower lip quivered. He didn’t know if he was really starting to remember how it was there, or if he was merely reacting to his father’s tears, but he felt a huge lump in his throat. “Now I feel really bad that I didn’t keep my promise, Daddy. I meant to. I swear.”

Sey pulled Sasha into a big hug, his hands in almost constant motion, playing with Sasha’s hair. “Don’t you feel bad, kiddo. She loved you. Maybe she was even the first one to see the good inside of you. But she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, not for anything.”

Sey kissed Sasha on both cheeks before framing his face with his hands. “She saved you so we could find each other. I’ve always believed that. Now I want you to believe that, too.”

With a wail, Sasha collapsed on his father’s shoulder, suddenly feeling all of five years old again. Sey wrapped his arms around him, his eyes meeting Declan’s over Sasha’s head. With an almost imperceptible gesture, Sey urged Declan to join them.

Declan hugged both of them, his silvery eyes dark and dull with grief. A moment later, he hid his own wet face against Sey’s neck until Sey pushed him back to kiss him. One hand gripping Declan’s hair, Sey slid his cheek against Declan’s, murmuring “I love you” so softly, it was barely audible.

Straining to regain control, Sasha sat up, an occasional hitch in his breathing still noticeable. “Daddy? I think she would’ve liked the way you turned out, too.” Turning to Declan, Sasha said, “And she would’ve been glad that Daddy found you, too, Da. What do you think?”

“I think Aspatia wasn’t the only one who was special.”

Chapter 14

Jago sat on the back porch, his black eyes shiny and wet with unshed tears. He had never seen his father cry before. It was kinda scary. His big, tough, stoic father?

Davenport never realized that his son overheard him talking to Derry. After Walter told him about Aspatia and Hillinger’s deaths, Davenport immediately sought out his wife. Needing to tell someone, but especially her, just how he felt.

“Space is dead,” he said flatly, not a quaver in his voice betraying his inner turmoil.

“Oh, Jake.” Derry’s soft whisper was his undoing. All the feelings so carefully bottled up and under such tight control came spilling out.

He hugged her, his well-muscled arms crossing behind her back. He bit back a cry of something that might have been outrage at the unfairness of it all, hiding his face, and yes, his tears, against her hair.

“Derry, Derry…why’d it have to be Space?”

She had no answer for that. No one did. Maybe Hillinger had. But he was dead, too.

***

No one knew he was listening. People, adult people, forgot that children were there. Underfoot. Seeing and hearing the bits and pieces of their lives they thought hidden.

So Jago was left with the sudden realization that his father was not perfect. He could be hurt, just the same as anyone else…and he could cry. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. In a way, it was like finding out his hero had feet of clay. That was the part that frightened him. He thought his father was invulnerable. Invincible. Finding out that he wasn’t…well, it stunned him.

Enough that he found himself sitting on the back porch. Watching the memorial service on the back lawn from a distance. A safe distance. All those grown-ups, holding hands. Some crying. Some praying.

These were the people he depended on. He wiped at his eyes. I’m glad no one else is here. They’d just think I was a baby. But I’m not, his heart protested, I’m five.

The back door slammed shut behind him.

Straightening up, Jago pretended he was as cool as his father could be. Sasha studied the little red-haired boy for a moment before choosing to sit down next to him.

“Jago?”

His head whipped around, his black eyes burning with the desire to cry. “Oh! Sasha! Um…hi.”

“Are you okay?”

The smaller boy averted his gaze, taking refuge in avoiding eye contact. “Sure.”

Sasha pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped both arms around them. He stared out at the back lawn, seemingly lost in thought himself. After a long minute, Sasha abruptly said, “Y’know, sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

Jago raised his face, his chin set mutinously. “I don’t have anything to talk about.”

“You sound upset to me,” Sasha countered.

“I’m not. Why would I be? I didn’t even know the lady who died.”

Sasha winced. “I did.” There was a world of pain in those two words. Sasha had lived through a great deal in his barely-twelve years on the earth, but this was something he was both old enough and aware enough to experience fully. He knew the finality of death now, in a way that was terribly personal. Worse, he was beginning to confront his parents’ mortality, if not his own. Ha! If Jago thought he was scared, he didn’t know the half of it.

Jago was staring at the older boy, an incredulous look on his face. “You knew her?”

Sasha nodded slowly. “Hillinger, too.” At Jago’s puzzled look, Sasha explained, “The guy who died.”

A guilty look flashed across Sasha’s handsome face and was gone. “Daddy doesn’t even know that I remember him. But I do.”

“Don’t tell, please.” Sasha put a finger to his lips, and Jago instantly swore his silence. He was in awe of Sasha, if Sasha but knew it. Here was someone he couldn’t help but look up to. Sasha could claim his allegiance. No question.

For Jago, and the other children raised outside of Section, there was no other way of living. No basis for comparison. Sasha alone knew what Section was like. Firsthand. That was why he owed Aspatia. For giving him a life. For giving him loving parents. For giving him a chance to make a difference in the world. His world.

When Jago finally got up the courage to speak again, he asked, “Was she nice?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sasha smiled fondly, glad that some of his memories seemed to be coming back. While the return of the bad memories was not something he genuinely looked forward to, he welcomed the return of the good memories. That almost made him laugh out loud. Yes, there were good memories. Of Space. Davenport. Derry.

Hiding a rakish grin, Sasha wondered what Davenport would say if he told him just some of what he remembered about him and Derry. Concentrating on interlocking his fingers, Sasha missed the curious glance that the younger boy gave him.

When it seemed that Sasha would not volunteer what he was thinking about, Jago offered in a worried tone, “I just never saw Daddy cry before, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Sasha replied knowingly. He could reassure Jago that his father, and his mother, too, was undeniably human. But he obviously needed to work through this himself. With a little help, maybe, from someone closer to his age than his parents.

“It is a little scary, huh?” Sasha asked. Jago nodded, grateful that someone understood.

“Well, it’s like…your Dad is real strong, right? Bet he could lift three hundred pounds.”

Jago inclined his head curiously. “Well, he works out and stuff.”

“But as strong as he is…you don’t spend all your time worrying that he might haul off and hit you someday, do you?”

Jago drew back with a sharp gasp. “He wouldn’t! He never--!”

Sasha waited patiently for the smaller boy to catch up to what he was saying. “When you saw him cry, why did you feel scared?”

“I-I dunno.”

“Yes, you do. Just think about it.”

Jago’s lower lip quivered tellingly, but he refused to give in to the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Are you afraid something bad is going to happen to him now? Or you?”

“No…why would it?”

“Are you sure?”

Jago blinked. Sasha met his eyes evenly, never looking away for a moment.

Suddenly the little boy threw himself at Sasha, his clenched fists pummeling him for mere seconds before degenerating into a flurry of helpless motion. Suddenly sobbing, Jago felt Sasha pull him into a hug. After a weak struggle or two, Jago gave up the fight, torn between crying and muttering under his breath.

Unable to quite make out what the redheaded boy was saying, Sasha asked, “What? Jago? What did you say?”

All at once the five-year old screamed, “My Daddy wouldn’t leave me like that lady did!”

Swallowing a strong urge to say, “Neither would mine”, Sasha closed his eyes against the tears that welled up. He could see himself in Jago, wanting to believe that everything would always go on, just as it had, but discovering that no one lives forever.

“No one,” he whispered, as he held the smaller boy in his arms. “Not even Daddies.”

Chapter 15

“You seem lost in thought,” Michael said to Nikita. Arms braced on the windowsill, Nikita stared out the window overlooking the back lawn. It was true. Ever since Aspatia and Hillinger’s deaths, things had changed. Maybe in a very subtle way, but still they had changed.

She would often find moments during the day or night when she would simply drift off. Pondering the why of things. Why someone like Hillinger, who undoubtedly deserved it, but nevertheless had survived far worse? Why someone like Space, who gave herself in a fight that was not her own?

She had no answers. Perhaps with time they would come. Perhaps not. She had a feeling she was going to learn far more about Fate and inevitability than she could have imagined.

Slowly he came to stand behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Lowering his head to her nape, he brushed his lips against her skin, so lightly it was like being caressed by mere air. She shivered, but not with fear or cold.

She turned to face him, a question in her eyes. “Michael?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think about what our lives might have been like?” She reached out to play with a long curling tendril of his cinnamon-colored hair, her eyes not meeting his.

“If?” he prompted.

“If we hadn’t made it out? If we hadn’t left Section when we did? If—“

Michael cut off her musing with a soft kiss. “Stop. We did make it out, doucette.”

“But—“

“What are you worried about?” He gently smoothed the hair back from her forehead, and she unconsciously leaned into his hand, her body language always reflecting where she longed to be. Always. In his arms.

“Nothing really. Just—Do you think that things happen for a reason?”

“Sometimes.” He continued to work his magic over her, a loving touch here, a tender stroke there.

“It’s been five years, Michael.”

“Since?”

“Since Luc was born. We make love all of the time, but I haven’t…you know….”

“Do you want to have another baby, Kita?” His tone said it all. If she wanted a hundred children, he would give them to her. If it was in his power to grant.

“I-I dunno.”

He kissed her again, his mouth nudging her lips apart, deepening the kiss as she responded. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen, Kita. It’s not as if our lives aren’t full. We have so much.” He regarded her with such reverence in his warm green eyes, she was almost taken aback. That he still loved her with that intensity helped her throw off the chill of the melancholy thoughts that occasionally plagued her.

“But it could so easily be taken away.”

“Hush,” he whispered against her mouth, willing her to be silent. “The years we’ve been given are a gift, doucette. Let’s not ruin the years still to come by agonizing over things that may never happen.”

“But someday—“

“Someday…” he said with a fervor that was quite unlike him, “we will die in each other’s arms.”

“But what if we’re not together?”

“We’ll always be together, doucette. Always. That’s the way it’s going to happen. Trust me.”

“I-I want to believe you, Michael.” Tears suddenly filled her light blue eyes.

“Then believe me,” he said softly. With a sigh, he rubbed his cheek against the side of her face, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord. “I love you…and I could never live without you.”

She made an inarticulate noise before burying her face in his hair, her tears gradually trickling down the side of his neck.

“I love you, too.”

It was both plea and vow. A vow that Michael would honor…or die trying. A plea that a merciful God would see fit to grant.

***

“Jake?”

Derry’s voice roused her husband from his preoccupation. Lately he had taken to staring out the window at nothing. Ever since Space’s death.

“Yeah, darlin’?” Davenport sounded almost absent. She had never seen him mourn this way. But then, they had been lucky enough not to be tested before.

A small but capable hand touched his shoulder. He turned to face her, his expression more blank than sad. “Did you want something, sweetheart?”

“You, Jake. I want you.”

“You’ve got me, darlin’, I dunno what you mean.”

“Jake, come back from wherever it is you go. I try to follow, but you won’t let me.”

Davenport sighed. “I don’t want you to feel like I do, Derry. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

“Are you worried about what we talked about?”

Ah, that. The big secret. The secret that Jago had been dying to share with his friends. Especially Luc. Who thought his father knew everything.

“A little,” Davenport said hesitantly.

At Derry’s sharp look, he corrected himself. “Okay, a lot.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to go to work, darlin’. You know that whatever you want to do, baby, I’m right behind you. One hundred percent. I mean that.”

“Jake, it’s okay. I’ve decided to postpone my plans.”

“I…huh? You did?” Davenport couldn’t help it. He tried not to fret over Derry’s desire to work outside the home, but with everything that happened still so fresh in his mind, all he could think of was: Someday I’ll come home and it’ll be her they’re talking about. Dead. And I don’t think I’d want to live very much longer.

Derry wrapped her arms around her husband, enfolding him in her loving embrace, knowing instinctively what he craved now. Closeness. She put her head down on his shoulder, and she could feel his heart thumping with such force, she knew how much he needed this.

“Jake, I still want to go to work someday. But now is not the right time. I know how much you’d worry—“

“Darlin’, I love you, of course, I’d worry. If you decided you wanted to work as a waitress in a coffee shop, I’d still worry. But security work—“ He huffed, his midnight-black eyes moist but not tearful.

“It’s so dangerous, Derry.”

“It’s what I’m good at, Jake. You and I both know that.”

He pulled back, his face animated, as if he’d just thought of something important. “Isn’t there some compromise we could come to? I don’t want you away from me one more minute than you have to be. If you become a bodyguard, I’ll never see you. You’ll be traveling all the time. You’ll—“

“I won’t forget you or the kids, Jake. No job could make up for what we have.” She cocked her head at him, her silver-grey eyes brightly shining. “I do have an idea, though.”

“Tell me, darlin’.”

“Corporate security, Jake.” She smiled, certain that she had hit upon the right combination this time. A combination that would fulfill her while minimizing the risks.

Davenport looked like he was considering the idea carefully. “It would be less dangerous,” he conceded.

She nodded. “It should be regular hours, too, Jake. No nights or weekends.”

Davenport slowly shook his head. “You’re right, darlin’. I guess I should thank you for thinking of me and the kids.”

“Oh, Jake. I love you. Thinking of you and the kids isn’t some kind of sacrifice I have to make.”

He kissed her soundly, abruptly realizing that with her announcement, he felt better. Less lost. More centered. And certainly more like what he thought and felt mattered to the woman he loved.

His big arms connecting solidly with her slender frame, he rocked her back and forth. “I love you, too, darlin’,” came the heartfelt whisper.

Click here to go to Metaphysics Part 2