LUCIDITY

CJ Lyons

PRAISE FOR CJ LYONS:

"Adrenalin pumping." ~The Mystery Gazette

"Riveting." ~Publishers Weekly Beyond Her Book

"Smart and intriguing, and her character development is so incredible that she leaves me literally breathless waiting to see what will happen next." ~Becky Lejeune, Bookbitch.com

Lyons "is a master within the genre." ~Pittsburgh Magazine

"Breathtakingly fast-paced." ~Publishers Weekly

"A winner!" ~Romantic Times, Top Pick

"Simply superb…riveting drama…a perfect ten." ~Romance Reviews Today

"Characters with beating hearts and three dimensions." ~Newsday

"A pulse-pounding adrenalin rush!" ~Lisa Gardner

"Packed with adrenalin." ~David Morrell

"Engrossing, intriguing..." ~Heather Graham

"An adrenalin rush and an all-around great read." ~Allison Brennan

"…Harrowing, emotional, action-packed and brilliantly realized. CJ Lyons writes with the authority only a trained physician can bring to a story, blending suspense, passion and friendship into an irresistible read." ~Susan Wiggs

"Simply exceptional. The action never lets up…keeps you on the edge of your seat." ~Roundtable Reviews

"Explodes on the page…I absolutely could not put it down." ~Romance Readers' Connection

"A perfect blend of romance and suspense. My kind of read." ~#1 New York Times Bestselling author Sandra Brown

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010, CJ Lyons

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Library of Congress Case # 1-273031561

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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LUCIDITY

CJ Lyons

CHAPTER 1

Wrestling with Angels

Operating Room 6, case 3, to follow

Surgeon: Helman

Patient: Moran

Anesth: Warden

Procedure: temporal lobe biopsy

Equip: cranio tray, Lucidine protocol

Most of us only die once.

Death is something we fear, we avoid, we struggle against, denying its inevitability. Not so for Grace D'Angelo Moran. For Grace, dying held no fear.

Rather, it offered hope.

She had danced with Death, cheated Death, even stolen from its all-consuming greedy grasp. Now, finally, Grace knew her time had come. She was Death. Why else the paralysis of her limbs, the eerie disconnected feeling as if she floated outside her body?

She heard Jimmy's voice and began to struggle, impatient, desperate to return to him. All those years of her taunting Death, it should come as no surprise when Death chose to return the favor.

As always, it was Jimmy who provided her with much needed patience and solace. "Our love," his voice rang through her mind, his Irish lilt as crisp as fresh-bloomed jonquils, "will live forever."

He had used those same words, in both English and Gaelic, when he toasted her on the night they became engaged, drinking Guinness from champagne flutes, their glasses meeting with a sparkling chime.

"Promise?" Grace had asked, reaching her hand with its new shimmering emerald to wipe foam from his lip.

"Promise. Our love's too strong to die."

That had been four and a half years ago. Now Jimmy's voice rang clear once more, pealing like church bells on Easter morn.

And so Grace struggled. Where was he?

Grace fought. Harder than she ever had in life.

She gagged and retched, struggling with the unseen forces keeping her from Jimmy. She felt pain. First it was faint. Distant pins and needles in her toes. Then a stabbing spiraling into her chest as she tried to force her lungs to expand.

If her head had been less muddled, she might have remembered that corpses don't fight to breathe.

But her entire being was focused on finding Jimmy. It had been so very long. His voice was so clear in her mind, he had to be near.

As a final cacophony ricocheted through her head, she wrestled her eyes open, anticipating being greeted by Jimmy's wide grin.

A bright white light flooded over her, drowning her in its brilliance. Grace did not close her eyes against the radiance. Damned if she would. Not after fighting so hard to get here.

"What the--Eve, get her back under!" A man's voice thundered through Grace's awareness, shattering the silence.

"I'm working on it, Dr. Helman." The silhouette of a woman's head eclipsed the light filling Grace's vision. "It's a reaction to the Lucidine. Give me a second."

Grace's body bucked as an invisible force drove air into her trachea just as she was trying to breathe out. Her throat spasmed against the sneak attack. Tears seeped from her eyes.

Corpses didn't cry.

The woman turned toward her, revealing deep grey eyes above a surgical mask, wisps of blonde hair escaping from the paper cap that covered her head.

"Hurry up! I'm drilling into her brain for chrissakes!" The unseen man's voice roared like a lion, dissolving into nonsense syllables as it penetrated the mists shrouding Grace. He sounded nothing like Jimmy. Where was Jimmy?

"You're at Angels of Mercy Medical Center," the woman told Grace in the chipper tones of a disk jockey announcing top ten hits. Her hands flew in and out of Grace's peripheral vision, revealing fluttering glimpses of shiny glass ampules. "I'm Dr. Warden. I'm going to put you back to sleep and when you wake up again everything will be all right."

Grace no longer fought the tears. She closed her eyes, surrendering the light.

The woman lied. Jimmy was dead. And she was still very much alive.

Everything would not be all right.

CHAPTER 2

The Escape

"Grace Moran. Thirty-two-year-old white female presenting with new onset seizures. Yesterday, biopsy revealed a fast growing, high grade glioma originating in the right temporal lobe," Dr. Jonas Helman, Chief of Neurosurgery, was saying when Vincent Emberek entered the conference room.

According to Vincent's watch, he was right on time for the Tuesday afternoon Neurosurgical Case Conference, but obviously his watch and Dr. Helman's did not agree. Vincent shuffled his stack of files and sidled toward the rear of the room, hoping to go unnoticed.

The six neurosurgery attendings, each flanked by their own residents, surgical fellows and medical students, all turned to stare at Vincent as if he trespassed on hallowed ground.

"Can I help you?" Helman asked in a frosty tone, obviously irritated at having his presentation interrupted.

So much for a low profile. Helman was the last person Vincent wanted to piss off, not now when he needed the surgeon's support. "Dr. Emberek, Pediatric Chief Resident," Vincent introduced himself. "I was invited--"

"Right, the pygmy doctor."

Vincent ignored the insult. Helman probably would have called him a "flea" if Vincent had introduced himself as a Medical Resident. What would the neurosurgeon call him if he knew Vincent had completed both residencies? He was saved from replying by the entrance of a smiling blonde who breezed in with no apologies for being late.

"Vincent, you made it." Dr. Eve Warden greeted him with enthusiasm, taking his hand and leading him to a chair. "Jonas, you remember Dr. Emberek," she called to Helman, ignoring the surgeon's glower. "I invited Vincent to present Katherine Jellicle's case."

The surgeon grunted his acknowledgment. "We'll get to her in a minute." Helman gestured for the lights to be dimmed and the three dimensional projector turned on. The air shimmered with a violent glow of color. "You can see the extent of the tumor. It involves the hypothalamus and amygdala, wrapping around the optic nerve."

Someone in the back gave a low whistle. "That's one nasty sonofabitch," came a murmur of appreciation from the audience.

Vincent glanced up from his papers. Suddenly, he was inside the patient's brain.

Her optic pathway shimmered in yellow, the hypothalamic nuclei and limbic system in blue. And, in the sickly sweet purple of spilled Kool-Aid, the tumor sprawled across the vital areas that controlled emotions, language, memory--in short, everything that made Grace Moran human.

"A perfect candidate for my new procedure," Helman announced. He strutted before the screen like a proud father, as if he'd given birth to the massive tumor himself.

"It'll be a tricky one, Jonas," a grey-haired surgeon said with authority. Senior in years but not in prestige, Vincent thought, noting Helman's bemused expression. At forty-eight, Helman was young to be Chairman of Neurosurgery, a fact that rankled his colleagues and caused him no small amount of satisfaction. The fact that he was also tall, still had a full head of hair, drove a new Porsche every year, and was an excellent surgeon didn't help him win any popularity contests among his fellow surgeons. "Are you certain you want her to be the first?"

"Oh, yeah. This bastard is mine," Helman replied with a grin. "And get this--the subject has a history of anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and agoraphobia."

"Caused by the tumor?"

"No, pre-existing. Post traumatic stress disorder. She hadn't left her house in nearly four years. We got her after her housekeeper found her unconscious on the floor and called 911."

"Lucky for us."

Helman smiled, his perfectly aligned teeth gleaming violet in the reflection of the projected image. "Right. If not for that, she'd probably have gone peacefully in her sleep."

"How will you get psych on board?" another surgeon asked.

"Don't have to. If she refuses the surgery, the tumor will kill her in a matter of weeks. Her past psych history gives me an out. I can have her committed and get a court order to operate if need be."

"Think they'll go for that? It is an experimental procedure and awfully risky," the first surgeon argued.

"If you were the one holding the scalpel, I'd agree." Helman's reply was joined by the amused chuckles of his compatriots. "But no one's gonna let us sit back and watch this girl die. Not when I can save her life."

"And make medical history by doing so."

"Exactly," Helman concluded, his smile widening until it binged the PT Barnum end of the spectrum.

A sucker born every minute—only this time the "sucker" in question was a woman fighting for her life. Vincent marveled at the way the surgeons diminished a woman's life to another challenge for their already overblown egos. Personally, he was more interested in what kind of trauma would have kept the patient, Grace Moran, imprisoned by her own fears and anxieties for so long. Four years, Helman had said.

Now that the tumor had forced her from her sanctuary, how would she respond? Would she retreat again? Or fight to return to what most people regarded as the "real world"?

Of course, with a tumor that pervasive, she could be lying in her bed a vegetable—or worse. Hardly human. No conception of reality….maybe she'd already found her escape.

Helman brought the lights back up, a flick of his finger vanquishing the hungry mass devouring the woman's brain. "I'm transferring her to the Extended Care Unit today to begin brain mapping. If everything goes well, we'll operate on Friday--Saturday if we have to get the court order." He jerked his chin at Vincent. "The next case is Jellicle, my Rasmussen's Syndrome. Emberek, would you like to present her medical history?"

Vincent got to his feet, gathering his files. As he passed her, Eve Warden reached out a hand and squeezed his arm in encouragement. She was well aware he needed to score points with Helman and had arranged for him to present Katherine Jellicle's case here this morning.

"Rasmussen's Syndrome is a viral encephalitis which systematically destroys brain tissue," he began after clearing his throat. "If detected in its early stages, when still confined to one hemisphere of the brain, radical and aggressive surgical removal of the affected tissue has been shown to cure the disease. Otherwise, death is inevitable."

"Have you got everything?" The grey-haired nurse bustled around Grace's room like a mother robin preparing a fledgling for flight.

Spring doesn't start for two days. Too early for robins, Grace thought, staring out the window. Grey clouds threatened to smother Pittsburgh beneath their blanket of sleet and rain.

She sighed, dreading venturing into the streets where the wind would whip off the rivers and drive the rain into whirling daggers to slice through every seam of her clothing. The chill would creep into her marrow and take up residence there, bringing with it a brittle ache rivaling the constant throbbing reverberating in her head.

Pressure from the tumor, the pimple-faced surgery resident had told her after she woke from her brain biopsy. Not much they could do about it. Just get on with life and ignore it best you can, he and his comrades instructed Grace.

Like they knew anything about life. Like they knew anything about anything. She scratched the tiny area of shaved skin around the seven staples holding her scalp together.

"You don't have very much, do you?" the nurse prattled on, thrusting the changes of underwear and socks Ingrid had brought Grace into a plastic bag labeled Patient Belongings. "No coat? At least you've got your own shoes. There's some I've had to wheel out of here wearing paper booties from the OR."

Grace looked down at the white Reeboks on her feet. Never had two feet been so lucky. Wouldn't last long out there without shoes.

Out there. A shudder hijacked her body.

"Of course," the nurse continued, "you're only going over to the Extended Care Unit. You'll like it. It's in the new Tower--everything's new over there. And fancy. I tell you, you won't even feel like you're still in the hospital while you're in the ECU."

Grace ignored the nurse. She had no intention of staying anywhere in this hospital. Certainly she wasn't going to join the other lab rats in the research unit, no matter what new name they gave it. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her green fleece top and jeans, then turned away from the window. For the thousandth time she cursed Ingrid's sister for going into pre-term labor, forcing the housekeeper to abandon Grace.

An immediate flush of shame warmed her face. But how was she going to make it out of here without Ingrid? How was she going to make it home on her own?

"If you just leave that on the bed, I'll get it," she told the nurse, anxious to escape before her courage fled.

"No bother at all. I'm just glad Dr. Helman can help you. You gave us all a scare, I'll have you know. It's amazing someone can be up and walking around with a tumor like that growing in their brain. I'll go get the chart ready and send the volunteer down with the wheelchair." She clasped Grace's limp hand between hers. "Good luck, dear."

Grace fought not to jerk away from the uninvited contact. Don't touch, don't touch, insects buzzed as they swarmed through her body. The nurse held on, her lips moving, but the words could not penetrate the haze of panic. Wasps tunneled under her skin, crawling down each nerve ending, leaving her breathless and dizzy.

"Remember, we're all praying for you." The nurse mercifully released Grace. "I'll see you after your surgery in a few days."

Once the nurse was gone, Grace fled to the bathroom and began washing her hands in scalding water and Hibiclens, the ubiquitous pink hospital soap. She washed them ten times, counting each cycle out loud as she took deep, cleansing breaths from her belly.

Slowly, the buzzing subsided. Grace dried her hands on a paper towel, taking care not to touch the metal dispenser. She grabbed the plastic bag from her bed and fled before the nurse could return.

Free at last, she told herself, gritting her teeth and crossing the threshold.

She caught Jimmy's grin from the corner of her eye. Have a care for what you wish, he said, as rain pelted the window behind his transparent image.

"Going to join your girlfriends for tea?" Kat Jellicle asked Alex Weiss when she caught up to him outside the glass windows of the pediatric playroom on the third floor.

Alex shook his head, leaning forward in his wheelchair, his blue eyes never wavering as he watched the three bald girls pour pretend tea into their plastic cups. Pink lace elastic headbands adorned their naked scalps. They each wore white dresses that swirled and ruffled when they skipped down the hall.

Behind their chairs stood IV poles with noxious potions running through clear plastic tubing. Poison delivered directly into in-dwelling needles positioned above each girl's heart.

Between two of the girls sat an emesis basin, ignored now that the daily afternoon tea party had begun in earnest. One of them, her scalp as smooth as melted chocolate, turned and flashed Alex a merry smile of invitation.

Alex raised his hand to the window, skipping a quarter over his knuckles without looking at it. The girl nudged her companions. The coin danced back and forth over his fingers, mesmerizing them as the gleam of the overhead fluorescent lights twinkled off the quarter. He finished by pretending to throw the coin into the air, catching it, then opening his hand to reveal it vanished from sight. His adoring audience applauded. Alex folded his arm across his chest and bowed from his waist, the oxygen tubing tugging over the back of his wheelchair.

"Come on," Kat urged her friend. "You're too old for these kind of games."

"I was born too old." Alex sighed and straightened up in his chair. He was ten years old and he was dying. Had been dying, in fact, since he was a few weeks old and the first exacerbation of his cystic fibrosis landed him in the ICU.

"You haven't said anything about my new do," Kat chided him, grabbing the wheelchair's handles and rocking him back and forth. She ducked her head down over his, shaking the purple licorice whip electrodes that snaked beneath the gauze dressing wrapped around her shaved scalp. The wires had been gathered in several strands of loosely woven braids before they inserted into a small recorder, slightly larger than a pager, which Kat wore on her waistband.

"So, do I look like a technopunk Rasta, or what?" Eleven, almost twelve, Kat prided herself on her inventiveness. After all, what else did a girl with half a working brain and no hair, who'd spent the majority of the past two years in the hospital, have to work with?

"What happened to your Pirates' hat?"

"Needed a change of pace. C'mon, let's blow this joint."

"And do what? Go back to the ECU where you belong?" The seventh floor of the new Tower housed the Extended Care Unit where patients on research protocols resided. Right now Kat was its only pediatric patient.

"Back to the Freak Show?" Kat asked, using her favorite derogatory for the ECU. "No way Jose. Let's tail a perp."

Alex and Kat shared a passion for detective stories. They'd read the books, watched the shows and movies to the point where they could repeat much of the dialogue verbatim. And now, they practiced the real life skills necessary to crime fighting. They'd spend hours on stake outs, following hapless visitors and staff members through the hospital, then retreat to their secret hideout in the old Annex on the seventh floor to compare notes.

They were perfect for undercover work. Who would ever suspect a girl with half a brain and a boy with lungs so crippled he could barely walk, much less chase down a bad guy?

"There's a likely subject." Kat pointed through the glass windows to a petite, dark-haired woman watching the tea party from the other side of the play room. Her skin was pale enough to warrant a transfusion, yet somehow, she didn't look hollowed out, empty, like a HIV or cancer patient. Instead, she seemed filled with an edgy energy. Her right hand was splayed against the window, long, narrow fingers yearning for what was beyond the glass. "I'll bet she nabbed something from the gift shop and stashed it in that bag she's carrying."

"Or drugs from the pharmacy."

"Right, the top-secret formula that will cure cancer. You got enough juice?" Kat leaned down to check Alex's oxygen tank. "Yeah, good to go."

When she straightened, the woman was staring right at her. Their eyes met, separated by the expanse of the play room, and Kat was surprised to see that the stranger's eyes were the same startling blue as Alex's. Then the woman broke the connection and bowed her head, moving away, her pace brisk, hardly the gait of an invalid. More like the panic of a sneak thief caught in the spotlight.

"Did you see that?" Alex asked, a spark of animation in his voice for the first time in a long while.

Kat hesitated. Her scalp itched. Not the usual irritation from the implanted electrodes or their dressing, more a creepy-crawly, I've got a bad feeling about this kind of tingle.

"Hurry, we'll lose her." Alex obviously had no such misgivings.

She followed his command. "Aye Cap'n, warp speed coming up."

CHAPTER 3

Lightning Strikes

Grace ignored the elevators and jogged down the steps from the third floor Pediatrics Unit. Not because elevators were one of her phobias--they weren't. It was because Grace knew hospital elevators intimately, the ones at Angels of Mercy in particular. They were all slow, often stopping at every floor, and smelled of urine, vomit and the dried sweat of fear.

Angels of Mercy Medical Center had changed since Grace was last here. The new research tower was finished, all gleaming glass and chrome, a tribute to modern science.

The faces were new as well. The only familiar face she'd seen was Helman's and he had no reason to recognize an Emergency Medicine resident from four years ago, especially after all the changes she'd been through. Now she had a different name, a different face, was a different person.

The old Grace had wiled away boring nights on call practicing her climbing holds on the metal railings that encircled these stairs. She craned her head up toward the flights above and sighed.

The new Grace only wanted to get home and crawl into her bed, pull the covers over her head and imagine Jimmy there beside her, counting down the breaths until she could rejoin him forever.

A wave of vertigo hit. She leaned against the wall of the stairwell, clutching her plastic bag of possessions. If she had a seizure now, here on the concrete steps, she could do some serious damage.

She imagined her body tumbling, bouncing down the steps, landing in a crumbled heap at the bottom.

The thought didn't frighten her the way it should.

It wouldn't necessarily be a bad way to go. If she could guarantee the results. She moved over to the railing, looking down two and a half flights to the bottom. Soaring, flying over the edge, down, down, that would be a better death than her brain imploding under pressure from the tumor. Poetic even.

She shook her head and the wave of vertigo subsided. No seizure, no drop attack followed. Probably just good old-fashioned hunger.

Besides, she didn't want to die here surrounded by sterile walls and strangers. She wanted to die at home, with Jimmy.

She continued down, her steps clattering and echoing throughout the stairwell. Home, she needed to get home.

Kat and Alex rounded the corner in time to see the stairwell door swing shut. "Shit," Kat said, ignoring Alex's frown of disapproval. He hated it when she swore, so Kat made a point of doing it loudly and often. Whenever any adults were around, she'd go off on jags of scatological tirades, shake the electrodes planted deep within her brain, then grin at them like the madwoman of Challot.

Most of them ran away after that, leaving her and Alex in peace. Kat had a million ways to get rid of prying adults--from volunteers to nurses to her own parents. After a dozen hospitalizations, each longer than the last, she was a pro.

She jabbed the elevator button and was rewarded when the doors opened immediately. "Hold it," she told Alex, pushing him inside where he could reach the controls. While he held the door, she sped to the stairwell, listening for footsteps. She hopped back on board the elevator.

"Down," she said breathlessly. "Definitely going down."

"There's nothing on Two but radiology." Alex debated, his finger hovering over the buttons. "I say One--the main lobby, cafeteria, pharmacy, ER." Kat nodded her agreement, and he pushed the button for the first floor.

Kat drummed her fingers impatiently on the back of Alex's chair. They'd never had a suspect use the stairs before. Usually the hardest part was trying to look inconspicuous while crowding on the elevator with the people they tailed. "We need to steal one of the elevator keys. Then we can call an elevator whenever we want."

It wasn't an impossible idea. Kat's distractions and Alex's sleight of hand had already garnered them keys to the old rooftop helipad, the seventh floor Annex, and the basement boiler room. Not bad for a couple of kids.

Finally, the elevator came to a halt on the first floor. Kat pushed Alex out, parking him at the junction between the corridors leading to the cafeteria and the ER. She pushed the stairwell door ajar, listening. At first, there was silence and she worried that they'd lost their quarry. Then the tap-tap of sneaker clad shoes began to approach.

"Keep your eyes open," she told Alex. She took up her own position in the hospital gift shop where she could watch the paths to the main lobby and the pharmacy. The volunteer at the register looked at her in disapproval as Kat grabbed a copy of Cosmopolitan to hide behind.

The dark-haired woman emerged from the stairwell between her and Alex, moving past Kat without glancing in her direction.

The itching beneath Kat's scalp grew from annoying to nerve-jarring, now accompanied by the tell-tale smell of wet horse. Shit, not now. The magazine began to rustle then shake as Kat's hand twitched uncontrollably, her fist clenching without direction, crumbling the magazine into a wrinkled cylinder.

Damn seizure. She forced herself to breathe deep, willing the seizure to remain partial, only usurping her arm and hand, refusing to allow it to spread further through her brain or body.

"Are you all right?" the volunteer asked, her voice sugary with politeness.

"Go 'way," Kat said through clenched teeth, all her concentration and will power focused on her renegade brain.

Their suspect turned toward the main lobby. She heard the wheels of Alex's wheelchair graze across the carpet, stopping in front of the gift shop.

"Come on," he urged, breathless with the exertion.

"I'm calling for help." The volunteer went behind the counter to the phone.

Kat tried to drop the magazine. Her hand remained clenched tight. To hell with it. She took her place behind Alex and began pushing him with one hand.

They couldn't lose their prey.

Grace disapproved of the new decor in the lobby. It must have been updated when the Tower opened. She crossed over thick cinnamon-colored carpet that reminded her of rotting peaches. From the volunteer desk wafted the odor of flowers not-quite-decayed.

What designer had convinced them that this decor evoked feelings of confidence or a healing atmosphere? The wood was stained an ochre color. The art covering the walls consisted of twisted pieces of rusted steel. To Grace's eyes it appeared splattered with blood as if it was evidence recycled from crime scenes.

She shuddered and quickened her steps toward the large revolving doors at the entrance. Here was her escape, her way home. Back to Jimmy.

Rain buffeted the glass, creating an impenetrable grey shroud beyond the brightly lit lobby. Grace hesitated, pulling her hand back from the cold steel surrounding the vibrating glass. Her breathing quickened and the hairs on the back of her arms stood at attention. Beyond the doors, storm clouds stacked high, threatening to swallow the sky.

She gathered her strength--couldn't keep Jimmy waiting--and entered the revolving door, leaning her weight against the bar to propel it forward.

As soon as it began to move, trapping her within its embrace, she realized her mistake. Wind pummeled the glass walls of her cage: blows from an invisible assailant, amplified to a mind shattering intensity. Grace struggled to push the door further, to escape.

It didn't move. She pounded her fists against the walls, trying to alert someone in the outside world to her predicament. Water sluiced against the glass and the only figure visible was a silver-haired man dressed in black. He stood in the middle of the drive, impervious to the wind and rain. Cars passed him on either side, yet he did not move. The rain blurred his face, but the way he stood, something about him seemed so very familiar.

Grace pressed her palm flat against the frigid glass in supplication. The man nodded his head as if he saw her. She was saved.

Wind gusted, blowing a sheet of water horizontally against the door, shaking it violently. When the glass cleared, the man had vanished.

Fear tightened its grip on her. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. Then the buzzing started. Hordes of wasps stinging, taunting. They crawled under her skin, the panic attack drenching her in sweat, stealing her breath as she hyperventilated.

Home, she had to get home. She focused her entire being on her goal, ignoring the ringing in her ears, the pounding of her heart and head, the numbing void conquering her limbs. Still the wasps stung and buzzed, the rain thundered, and the door refused to yield.

She dropped her bag and pushed with all her might, rushing halfway past the exit, almost imprisoning herself within the glass coffin once again. Cold air swept in to embrace her, to coax her out into the open. She took one tentative step toward freedom.

Lightning shattered the world. Thunder followed close on its heels.

The pounding in her head grew to blinding proportions. Grace closed her eyes against the blue brilliance of another lightning strike. Its ferocity stabbed through her eyelids and she winced in pain.

She cowered against the door as thunder shook the building. Then the cold air and blinding light were gone. Grace opened her eyes to the smell of burnt flesh and almost collapsed in anguish. She had fallen against the door, pushing it further along its circumference. Wheel of misfortune.

The glass cage trapped her once more. The wasps whirled in a victory dance. Grace shuddered, ignoring the tears that warmed her cheeks. She bowed her head and slumped against the unwelcoming, cold glass wall.

Alex watched in dismay as the woman entered the revolving doors, becoming trapped before she could escape to the outside world. He looked around at the other people in the lobby: two blue-haired women sitting behind the volunteer desk, the clerk with the thin mustache and thinner lips at the registration desk, a security guard reading a newspaper, his back to the rain and cold of the world beyond the lobby.

None of them noticed the woman's look of panic, the terror that widened her eyes.

Alex did, his own body breaking out in a sweat. The hairs on his arms prickled as she pounded her fists against the glass doors. He wanted to dash forward, to take the blue-eyed woman's hands in his, to save her.

He bounced in his chair, frustrated that there was no way he could help her. Fear of an unseen menace clamped around his throat like the cold hand of a murderer.

"Closer," he urged Kat.

"She'll spot us."

"Closer, I need to be closer."

Kat pushed his chair over the carpet toward the doors. Their quarry was trapped, like a lab rat caught in a maze. Kat reached up to stroke her electrodes. She knew the feeling well. She found herself leaning forward, unable to tear her eyes from the woman's silent struggles.

Alex's breathing became rapid with excitement when the woman finally broke free. But then two blinding lightning strikes crashed just beyond the doors, between her and freedom. He watched her recoil from a peal of thunder and become trapped once more in the prison of glass.

Kat gripped his hand so hard his fingers cried out in protest. So he wasn't imagining it. She too saw the invisible forces driving the woman, herding her like a panic-stricken lamb to slaughter.

"Wait here," Kat told him. Alex admired her courage as she crossed the lobby, purple electrodes whipping behind her. She paused in front of the frozen doors. He wanted to call out a warning for her not to enter but kept his silence.

Kat studied the situation. Instead of moving inside the partitions, she reached out to grab the door's edge, her fingers barely fitting between the rubber gaskets that held it in place. She wrenched it forward. The door fought her, writhing in her grasp like it was a living, breathing creature.

There was a high-pitched whine and the glass grudgingly moved. Then came a gust of foul-smelling air as if the woman was being belched from the smoldering pit of Jonah's whale. With a final surge of effort, Kat tugged the door far enough open for it to disgorge its captive.

"Hey, that door's not a toy." A meaty hand landed on Kat's shoulder. The security guard had left his newspaper to chastise her. He bent down and picked up the woman's abandoned plastic bag. "This yours?"

Kat nodded, her breath choking against the stench of brimstone and hell fire emanating from the doorway. The guard handed her the bag, oblivious to anything except his need to return to the sports page.

"Thank you," she breathed, turning away before the guard could ask any more questions.

Tsch, tsch, it's all right, everything's all right, love. Jimmy's arm was warm comfort around Grace's shoulders, banishing the wasps and the terror that accompanied them.

He was there--she could feel him this time as well as hear him. Would he still be there if she opened her eyes? Would he be whole once more? Or merely the transparent wisp of memory that had taunted her ever since she woke from her brain biopsy?

Did it even matter anymore? Grace kept her eyes closed as Jimmy led her from the revolving doors, back to the lobby with its overwhelming fragrance of dead carnations.

Come with me, love, he coaxed.

She opened her eyes when she felt his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up. He looked down at her. His face was whole, unblemished, a mischievous grin curling his lips. A mop of unruly red-gold curls circled his head and his hazel gaze sparked with life.

His hand slid down to wrap itself around hers, and he took a step further into the lobby. He looked over his shoulder at her when she froze. Have I ever led you wrong?

It didn't matter where he led. Grace was amazed at the peace his presence settled upon her. She would follow wherever he would go.

He tugged at her like a child, leading her across the desolation of the lobby, back onto the elevator. Grace stood, watching as her hand moved without volition, following his pointing finger to press a button. Seven. What on earth was on the seventh floor, why was he taking her there?

"Where did those men come from?" Alex asked after Kat escaped from the guard and re-joined him.

"What men?" Kat heaved hard against the chair to get it started on the carpet. "The guard?"

"No. I saw you push the door open and bend over to pick up the bag. When I looked up again there were two men with her. One guy looked like a priest or something dressed all in black. The other, he hugged her, kind of looked like he was going to cry or something--" He broke off, took several shallow breaths, trying to understand what he'd seen, how to explain it.

The priest guy looked kinda normal--almost too normal. But the other man, the one with red hair, he'd been all shimmery like--like he didn't know what. The only thing he'd ever seen that came close was those holy pictures with the golden halos glowing around people. Or the old Star Trek episodes when the transporter malfunctioned.

"I don't get it," he continued when he got his breath back. "I swear those men didn't come in through the door."

"They must have gotten past you while you weren't looking. Which way did they go?" Kat pushed him past the reception desk.

"I don't know where the priest went. But the woman and the other guy went into the elevator. Seven." Alex grabbed the bag from her hands and motioned for her to turn him around. "The elevator stopped on Seven. Let's go."

Kat hesitated. He banged his hand against the arm of the chair in frustration.

"I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this," she said, the taste of copper and burnt ashes still tightening her throat. "Maybe we should find someone else to follow. Or go watch a DVD. We could sneak some hot cocoa from the nurses' kitchen."

Alex turned his head to face her. He was frowning, his eyes blazing with intensity, not to be denied. "No," he insisted. "I have to meet her. I don't know who she is, but she seems so familiar. Kat, I think that woman saved my life."

"You saw her. She's acting nuts. Probably came from the psych ward or something."

"I'm serious." His forehead creased as he concentrated, trying to clarify his feeling. "Maybe she didn't save my life yet," he said, his voice sounding far away, "maybe she will save my life. Later."

Kat leaned down and checked the oxygen level on Alex's tank. She hated when he said things like that, giving her this creepy nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach like grasshoppers fighting to get out.

The tank was almost full. No answers there. She was silent as she pushed the chair over to the elevator and pressed the Up button.

Sometimes Alex reminded her of a book she'd once read about the wizard Merlin. Alex was also living his life backwards, dying much too young but knowing more than most grownups.

The elevator arrived and Kat wheeled Alex inside. The doors slid shut behind them and she heard a woman laughing. Her palms began to sweat as she clenched the grips of the chair's handles.

It sounded like Eve Warden, the physician in charge of the Extended Care Unit. The biggest Freak in the Freak Show, Kat liked to joke, but she couldn't hide the truth from herself.

Warden was the only thing in this world Kat was truly, deeply, intensely frightened of. Eve Warden controlled Kat's dreams, her seizures, her chances of living through the surgery Dr. Helman had planned for Kat.

Eve Warden held Kat's fate in her bony fingered hands. And anything that made her laugh could not be good.

CHAPTER 4

Hide-n-Seek

"Nice presentation, Vincent." Eve Warden lingered after the neurosurg conference to speak with the pediatric chief resident. It surprised her how close in age she and Vincent Emberek were: she was thirty-eight and he was thirty-five. Yet, he was only beginning his career and she was about to achieve the pinnacle of hers.

As Eve admired Vincent's well-sculptured body and dark, Mediterranean good looks, she wondered if he realized she had been studying him since he first came to Angels of Mercy nine months ago, that she had chosen him, had been grooming him oh so carefully. She needed a new associate for her next venture, someone with experience with both adult and pediatric patients, someone who would be as enthusiastic about his work as he was about his partner.

She brushed against Vincent's hip. He didn't shy away from the contact. His rugged good looks would be a definite asset in attracting the right kind of private patient to her clinic. And those hands--large, callused, the hands of a working man.

Eve took in a sharp breath as she imagined those hands on her body. "You need to spend more time up in the Extended Care Unit," she told Vincent. "I know you're focusing on Pediatrics right now, but I have some very interesting adult patients as well."

"Did you tell him we need to use Lucidine on Katherine Jellicle?" Jonas Helman interrupted her.

Eve frowned at the neurosurgeon. She was probably the only person in the hospital who could get away with giving Helman a look like that. But she and Jonas had been partners both in and out of the operating room for years.

Eve's specialty in neuro-anesthesia had proven invaluable to the surgeon in his development of new operative techniques. She liked to think she was the power behind the power, that she'd molded the man, shaped his career.

Enhancing her own in the process. Her work with Jonas had led to patents on several monitoring devices and drug protocols, gaining her prestige and financial freedom.

Although Jonas didn't know it yet, she was ready to move on. The surgeon had grown too predictable. His egocentric demands, constant need for attention was wearisome. She needed fresh blood.

Like Vincent. He would be an invigorating change of pace.

"We hadn't gotten there yet," Eve told the surgeon, wishing he'd leave this to her.

Jonas didn't get the hint. He never did. "Jellicle keeps sabotaging her recording," he told Vincent, acting as if the eleven-year-old girl was insulting him personally by not following his instructions. "I need somewhere between ten to fourteen hours more to finish mapping her seizures. I want Eve to put her under with Lucidine. I can't operate until I have that information."

Vincent looked puzzled. "Lucidine?"

"Lucidine," Helman told him. "Haven't you been following Dr. Warden's work?"

"Vincent's duties are keeping him on the pediatric floor, Jonas."

"Still, the man's boarded in both medicine and pediatrics, he should be keeping current. Though I don't know why anyone would waste that much time doing both residencies. I could've made a surgeon out of you in the same time."

A chance to cut was a chance to cure. Eve prudently held her tongue. Jonas routinely disparaged any branch of medicine that didn't involve arms plunged deep inside body cavities. He even ridiculed her own field of anesthesia, calling it 99% boredom and 1% panic, despite the fact that without Eve's help he never could have progressed to become head of the neurosurgery department.

The two men squared off with her in the middle. "Maybe if you did more reading you wouldn't be in the midst of a malpractice suit, Emberek," Jonas added injury to insult. "One that I understand is not going favorably." He shook his head in mock dismay. "Doesn't bode well for your chance at receiving a permanent appointment here."

Vincent bristled at that. They all knew Jonas, as chairman of the hospital's executive committee, had the final say in which physicians were allowed on staff. And Jonas could also easily use his influence to help Vincent with his malpractice case. If he were so inclined.

She held her breath, waiting to see which way Vincent would play the encounter. Would he vent his anger at Jonas's insults or meekly take it, currying favor with the chief of neurosurgery?

"Lucidine," Vincent began, making Eve smile as he proved the neurosurgeon wrong in the most diplomatic way possible. The lad had brains in addition to looks. "The trade name for alphamethylcyclidine, is a new striated muscle relaxant that does not cross the blood brain barrier, allowing patients to experience anesthesia and paralysis of their body without sedation," he recited Eve's research virtually verbatim. "Combined with the Farwell technique of brain stimulation, it allows the neurosurgeon," he nodded to Helman, "to operate while simultaneously assessing the surgery's effects on the patient's brain centers. What I don't understand is why you want to use it on Kat Jellicle."

"Because I need that information," Jonas snapped.

"I'm beginning to use Lucidine outside the confines of the OR," Eve explained, placing her hand on Vincent's arm. His muscles were rock hard, making her almost purr with delight. "I have to monitor a case in the OR now, but come up to the ECU at five o'clock. I've got a bariatric patient due for a treatment."

"How does anesthesia treat obesity?" Vincent asked.

Eve laughed. "You'd be surprised what I can treat with Lucidine. It's going to revolutionize medicine--for those of us with enough imagination."

"What about my patient?" Jonas broke in, obviously feeling left out.

"Don't worry," Eve assured him, laying her other hand on the surgeon's arm, enjoying the energy that flowed between the men, through her body. She felt Jonas tense and knew he was suspicious--but his ego was too big to allow him to imagine that she'd ever leave him for a lowly resident. "Have I ever let you down?"

Was this what it felt like to go insane? Grace wondered as Jimmy's arms snugged her closer to his body. The elevator seemed possessed, flying to the seventh floor without stopping.

If this was insanity, then she understood why so many psych patients refused treatment. It was intoxicating, arousing, this feeling that she was in her own universe, far away from the filth and ugliness of the real world. And to have Jimmy with her--heaven couldn't compare.

She understood that he was here because of the tumor. Some random focus of out-of-control cells had impinged upon small folds of neurons in her hippocampus, generating Jimmy's image, his voice, the tang of Old Spice that lingered in the air when he appeared.

Even knowing that didn't make his presence any less real. Just as the sudden clench in her gut and the rapid pounding of her heart, the absolute pang of joy she felt each and every time she saw him again was real.

As was the desolation when he vanished.

Because, despite the multitude of medical reasons why he could not exist, Grace still believed.

She'd been watching, waiting four long years for something to believe in. This was the tumor's gift. Allowing her to remember Jimmy with hope instead of terror and despair. To reunite her with her love. To prepare her for death. It was a gift she was unwilling to relinquish. The tumor could have her body--she was done with it.

The very first time Grace met Jimmy he'd rescued her. Leave it to him to find a way to return from the dead and save her once more.

She took a deep breath, reveling in the musk of Jimmy's sweat and Old Spice deodorant. After he died, she had tried to recreate that smell, even using the men's deodorant herself. But it hadn't worked. She didn't have the right chemistry to turn the tangy perfume into Jimmy's wet, warm scent of security.

Grace had left the stick of Old Spice open in Jimmy's closet, a sachet of loneliness. Nights when she couldn't sleep, which were most, she'd pull out one of his shirts, wrap herself in its embrace, inhaling his scent.

It was an illusion--but what wasn't anymore?

The elevator doors opened. She stepped out on the seventh floor. They slid shut behind her, taking Jimmy with them. Grace whirled, the sudden emptiness a knife spiraling through her gut.

He'd be back. She was certain. Jimmy would never abandon her. Not again.

Grace wrapped her arms around her chest, failing to recreate the warmth Jimmy had brought her--even if he was just a figment of a brain gone bad.

God, she wished she was back at home. An errant tear slipped from her eye before she could blink it back.

She looked around. When she'd been a resident here at Angels, the Seventh Floor Annex had been a second home, a refuge for her. Now everything had changed.

To her left, a set of metal double doors with windows inset in them guarded the new glass-walled Skyway leading to the research tower. In front of her, the door to the roof, where the helipad had been when she was a resident, looked dingy and unused, neglected.

She looked to her right and saw the scratched wooden door leading to the call rooms and the small kitchen and lounge where they'd had parties. Her body shook with a feeling of unbelonging.

She needed to go home. She wasn't a doctor anymore. Here she was only a stranger in a strange yet familiar land.

"Forgive me my trespasses," she whispered a stray bit of an old prayer Brother Leo had taught her when she was a little girl. She'd felt the Jesuit's presence ever since she'd woken in the operating room yesterday. Probably because without Leo, she never would have met Jimmy in the first place.

Hugging her arms around her chest, she regarded the brightly colored signs directing elevator passengers to the left, to the Tower via the Skyway, as if nothing of importance remained behind the other two, older, forgotten doors.

The two doors that once had been the most important in her life. One leading to the adrenalin rush of desperate flight to a fresh trauma scene, the other to the promise of a few moments of peace and quiet in an otherwise turbulent workday. Grace leaned her head against the window of the door leading to the roof.

Is this why you brought me here? she asked Jimmy. She remembered her earlier fantasy of flying through the air, falling down the stairwell. The roof was a much more practical solution, guaranteed success from seven stories up.

Despite its weight, the fire door rattled against a gust of wind and rain. No, please--let me go home, let it happen there. We'll leave jumping as a last resort, shall we, love?

She thought the last with an overblown Irish brogue--always guaranteed to make Jimmy chuckle at how Yanks seemed unable to master the Queen's English in any proper fashion.

"Hello." A small voice from behind her made Grace jump. She whirled around, half expecting to see another ghost.

A much too-skinny to be healthy boy in a wheelchair emerged from the elevator, pushed by a young girl in jeans and a Godsmack T-shirt, her shaven scalp sprouting electrodes.

"Hello," Grace replied, smiling at the unlikely duo. The boy was wearing comfortable over-large sweats with the Pittsburgh Steelers logo on them.

"We saw you downstairs at the playroom," the boy continued. "And then in the lobby." He paused frequently to breathe. His lips were tinged blue despite the oxygen he wore. He held out his hand to her. "I'm Alex Weiss."

Grace shook the grave young boy's hand with a firm grip. Three plus clubbing distorted his fingernails, a sure sign of chronic oxygen deprivation. Heart or lungs?

Alex's companion stared at her with suspicion. Grace tried another smile, hoping she wasn't so out of practice that she frightened the children.

"I'm Grace." It wasn't until Alex released her hand that she realized there'd been no panic, not even a tinge of anxiety at his touch.

Before she could puzzle that through, the girl stepped forward and held out her hand as well. "Kat, Kat Jellicle," the girl muttered, shaking hands even as her eyes scrutinized Grace's face with the look of a well-trained cynic.

Grace's smile widened on its own--no buzzing with Kat either. She felt normal. Was this another gift of the tumor? Curing one disease even as it killed her with another?

"You dropped this." Kat retrieved the plastic bag with Grace's few belongings from Alex's lap and handed it to her.

Grace glanced down at the bag, forgotten during her panic attack in the revolving doors. Maybe not so cured after all.

"What happened downstairs?" Alex asked. "What was in there with you?"

Grace glanced away, out the window, toward the Skyway leading to the gleaming research Tower. Kids saw entirely too much. She didn't want them to think her crazy, hated to have them disappointed in her so soon.

She shrugged and scuffed her feet against the linoleum.

"You can't leave, can you?" he continued relentlessly. "Is that why you came up here--to hide in the Annex?"

Grace looked up at that. Kat's expression was one of skepticism while Alex's face held wonder and awe. Surely not for her.

What was going on here?

Too many questions, she heard Jimmy's chuckle echo through her. Always asking too many questions.

Before Grace could say anything, Kat jerked her head, her electrodes whipping behind her. She rushed over to press her face against the glass pane inset in the door leading to the Skyway. "Jeezit, the cops. Nurse Cray, coming in fast."

"Give me the Annex key," Alex said.

Kat dug in the pockets of her jeans, her eyes never leaving the window. "I don't have them, you must."

Alex began to rummage through the various bags attached to his chair. A deck of cards came and went, followed by packages of shrink wrapped pills, several quarters, a Cosmo, two inhalers, bits of string and assorted rubber bands, Kleenex both used and virginal, a water bottle, snack bars, baseball cards, and finally, a key ring.

"Got em," he said in triumph.

"Too late. Hide."

Alex beckoned Grace to push him behind the second door while Kat opened the other and breezed through it onto the Skyway. Grace huddled beneath the window. Even safely anchored on the Annex, she could feel the vibrations as the wind tore at the glass-walled bridge across the abyss separating the Annex and the Tower.

"Mrs. Cray, nice to see you." Kat met the nurse half way across the Skyway. The acoustics in the walkway were strange, creating hollow echoes, carrying voices in waves and amplifying them to a deafening volume that made Grace's teeth ache.

"Katherine, I've been looking all over for you. Pediatrics called, wanting to know where Alexander was. It's not my job to be chasing you two all over the hospital. If you can't act responsibly, I'll have Dr. Emberek put you back on restriction."

"Alex is with the Chemo Trio," Kat told the nurse.

"Really, Katherine. You're much too cynical for an eleven-year-old."

"Twelve--I'll be twelve on Thursday." Grace heard steel in the girl's voice as she corrected the nurse.

"Then you're still eleven," Cray continued. "Go get Alexander back to his room, then I expect you resting quietly in your room for the rest of the day."

"Yes ma'am." Grace heard the grudging surrender in Kat's voice and knew it must have cost the girl dearly to bow to the nurse's will. She promised herself she'd pay the eleven--almost twelve-year-old--back when she could.

The door beside them opened, and Kat returned to the sanctuary of the elevator lobby. She looked through the window. "She's gone, back to the Freak Show."

Kat pushed Alex to the Annex door. He selected a key and twisted it in the lock. Despite the swelling of his fingertips, he moved with confident dexterity.

Kat wheeled Alex through the door and looked back over her shoulder at Grace. "We don't have all day."

Grace hurried through the door, shutting it behind her. The smell of stale bug spray hit her first, wrinkling her nose.

She followed Kat and Alex down the narrow tile-walled hallway. Half of the overhead fluorescent lights were missing, the rest blinking in random intervals, casting the empty wing into an eerie half-light. The call room doors stood open, only a few still furnished with narrow steel framed beds naked except for plastic-covered mattresses. The windows were grimy. Dust covered the grey and brown linoleum as well as the few pieces of furniture that remained.

"Don't the residents still use their call rooms?"

"Not since the Tower opened," Kat told her with the voice of authority. "Now they have call rooms on every patient floor."

Sounded convenient but a hell of a lot less fun. Grace remembered the impromptu parties and all night card games that broke the drudgery of every other night call. Not that any of them had a lot of free time, but it was nice to know you weren't alone as you waited for the pager to interrupt whatever small pleasure you'd immersed yourself in. Like sleep.

"Oh," was all she said as she followed Kat and Alex into the largest call room, the one traditionally reserved for chief residents with its private bath and proximity to the kitchen. Here there was no dust, the bed was made with hospital linens and the desk and bookcase were brimming with tattered paperbacks and magazines.

Photos torn from magazines, drawings, drug ads and deflated mylar balloons festooned the walls. A clubhouse, Grace realized. She looked at the two kids. "How long have you guys been here?"

Kat jangled her electrodes. "Fourteen admissions over two years, this is my longest--ten weeks and counting."

Alex was blushing. "I came when I was three weeks old."

She blinked at that. "You've been a patient here since you were three weeks old? But your parents--"

Kat shook her head, warning Grace from her position behind Alex. Grace shut up.

"I've been out a few times, but no more than a week or two at a time," Alex went on. "My mom left me here when I was a baby. It's hard to find foster parents for sick babies." He shrugged philosophically.

Grace looked again at the young boy. Alexander Weiss. Now she knew why the name rang a bell. He'd been a patient in the Peds ICU when she was a resident. She remembered one of the attendings had talked about maybe adopting him but something happened and it fell through.

Cystic fibrosis, severe. He'd be, what, ten now? That was older than the experts had expected him to live. She smiled at the boy. He'd fooled them all.

"We've got to go," Kat said. "Crayfish is waiting and the Wicked Witch makes her rounds in an hour."

"You'll be safe here," Alex told the woman. Grace. He was reluctant to leave her but couldn't figure out if it was because he was frightened for her--or of her. Kat wheeled him out the door and into the hallway. "We'll be back."

They hadn't gotten far when he felt his chair begin to jerk and buck. "Kat!"

He craned his head to look over his shoulder just in time to see her body hit the floor with a sickening thud.

CHAPTER 5

Vital Signs

Alex pushed at the wheels, struggling to pivot his chair in the narrow hallway. By the time he was turned around, Kat was in a full grand mal seizure. Her arms and legs banged against the empty lockers, creating a clashing crashing noise like dueling reggae drums.

He sucked in his oxygen, tried to find the strength to leave his chair and help his friend. Then Grace was there. And, he saw with approval, she knew exactly what to do. She'd gathered Kat's bouncing head into her lap, letting the arms and legs go where they would. She didn't do anything stupid like put something in Kat's mouth. Instead, she merely turned Kat's head to one side, ignoring the drool that spilled onto her jeans.

There was only one thing she hadn't done. Alex reached down, snagging the monitor from Kat's belt and turned it off.

Grace looked up at that. "Don't they need that? They're recording her seizures, aren't they?"

Alex nodded, his hand fisted on the monitor in case Grace decided to turn it back on. Not that he could fight her if she did.

"How long?" Her gaze darted to the clock on the wall. "How long do they usually last? Maybe I should call--"

Kat stopped seizing. Her arms and legs slowly ceased their flailing. Her body went slack in Grace's arms. Grace leaned forward, monitoring Kat's breathing, then nodded in satisfaction and turned her attention back to Alex.

"She has Rasmussen's Syndrome," he said. "They want to remove part of her brain--almost half of it." He handed the monitor to her.

"They need the recording to know exactly what parts of her brain have been affected," Grace finished for him. "Otherwise the surgery will leave her just as bad off as before. Rasmussen's is triggered by a virus, but once begun it's progressive. If she doesn't have the surgery soon, it might be too late."

"She only wants to stall it by a day or two," Alex said. "It's her choice."

"So you sabotage the recording." Grace was quiet, her eyes on Kat. "She wants to wait until after her birthday?"

He nodded, both surprised and pleased. Most grownups wouldn't understand. "Her parents promised they'd be here for her birthday. They have a farm and six other kids, they can't come very often. She's afraid she won't wake up after the surgery, that she'll be a vegetable or a different person..."

What would Kat think of his sharing her secrets with a stranger? Then he looked at Grace, her fingers soothing Kat's bald forehead, her voice crooning the nonsense syllables of a lullaby as Kat's exhausted body writhed in the confusion that hit after a full body seizure.

Maybe Grace wasn't a stranger after all. Maybe she was one of them.

Kat's eyes fluttered, then opened.

"Shit," the girl snarled, struggling to sit up. She wiped drool from her face. "Goddamn it, not again."

Eve and Jonas Helman left the conference room and Vincent was alone. He could hear Eve laughing at something the neurosurgeon said as she shut the door behind them. Jealous stirrings rumbled through his gut.

He barely knew the woman. Not like that had ever stopped him before. And she'd made it perfectly clear she was interested in Vincent.

So what was the problem?

Helman. Vincent needed the Chief's support to get his staff appointment. As Chairman of the hospital's Executive Committee, Helman could make that happen for him. With the malpractice suit hanging over his head that was probably the only way Vincent would be staying at Angels of Mercy. He grimaced. To be indebted to Helman--he'd rather sell his soul to the devil.

His gaze fell upon the CAT scan images of Helman's brain tumor patient, Grace Moran. Only thirty-two years old, the neurosurgeon had said. Shitty way to go. He wondered if Helman's new procedure really could save her. Helman certainly had no doubts. But it was a damned ugly tumor in a precarious place.

Even if the patient lived, she might never wake up, might emerge from surgery worse than before, still alive but existing in a limbo filled with feeding tubes and bedsores and constant pain.

All Vincent had to worry about was facing a bunch of lawyers who held his future in their hands. He considered that, his fingers idly tracing the tumor mass on one of the scans. He'd almost rather trust Helman.

To be facing a tumor like that...wouldn't it give you some kind of release? Freedom to do whatever you really desired, one last fling for the tomorrow that may never come. And this woman had been trapped inside her house for what, four years? Maybe her tumor would come as some kind of blessing. A chance to escape, to live again, even if only for a short while.

He smiled, thinking of the opportunities revealed if you took that attitude. Possibilities. The unimaginable might suddenly seem attainable. Exploration. Discovering new pleasures, joys.

His fingers tingled as if they stroked the woman's skin rather than sterile X-ray film. He wondered how Helman's patient was using the time until her surgery.

The thought intrigued him. He was thirty-five and still uncertain what he wanted to do with his chosen career. But here was a young woman with only a few days to do enough living to sustain her for the rest of her life.

Carpe diem indeed.

The conference room door opened and his attorney entered, followed by another man in an identical charcoal grey designer silk suit, and a stenographer.

Vincent bet Helman's tumor patient wouldn't be wasting her time with a bunch of lawyers. He felt his hands clench into fists and almost wished he could change places with her.

Maybe there were some things worse than a brain tumor.

Lukas Redding pressed his hand against the wire-reinforced glass, his platinum wedding band absorbing the chill. Today was a bad day. A day where he couldn't outrun his memories, couldn't forget himself.

Sheets of rain pelted the window. His breath fogged the glass with a grey haze matching the color of his soul. The only visible light came from the abandoned helipad across from his window in the Extended Care Unit. Bright red, the lights flashed obsolete warnings that only Lukas heeded.

His palm began to sting with the cold, but he didn't move it. The pain helped to ward off despair, to prevent his falling back into the abyss. The darklands where sorrow and guilt clouded time sucked his marrow dry until he had no strength left. Until he wanted to die. Or kill.

He clenched his fist, pounded it against the glass as he blinked back tears. No. He would not dishonor her memory by failing again. He was stronger than that. His love for her had made him stronger than that. Once upon a time he had sacrificed everything for love--only to have her stolen from him by a cruel and violent twist of fate.

His wife's screams, the sickly-sweet stench of her blood, the criss-cross wounds of her shattered face filled his mind. Followed by the ugly countenance of the drunken monster who'd caused the wreck, condemning himself as well as Lukas and his bride.

Warm tears streaked his face as he remembered, sobbing in frustration, wild-eyed with grief and hysteria, refusing to believe. His body shook now just as it had that night four years ago when he'd been consumed by rage.

His memory blurred. One small part of Lukas' brain knew he now stood at his window, in his room, safe and whole on the seventh floor tower of Angels of Mercy Medical Center. But that knowledge soon faded as he tumbled into the past.

Flashing red lights, stern-faced paramedics followed by sterner-faced policemen, pulling him off of the body of the drunk driver who had struck them, yelling at Lukas, pinning him to the pavement, their weight choking the breath from him as they wrenched his arms behind his back when he fought them, tried to stop them from taking his wife from him.

Heavy chains weighing him down, the buzz of a courtroom, a dry, nasal voice reading charges of manslaughter and aggravated assault, describing how he'd brutally attacked and killed the man responsible for his wife's death. Itchy too-bright prisoner's jumpsuit reeking of sweat and fear, shoes without laces flapping with every step, scuffed linoleum the leg irons forced him to cross in an old man's shuffle.

The chains vanished, wide, leather belts taking their place, men's faces staring down at him and the sharp pricking of needles.

It was all a whirling haze, time and space consumed by his grief and anger.

Not just anger. Fury. At the drunken piece of shit who caused the accident. At himself for being unable to prevent it. At his wife for leaving him, abandoning him in such a cruel fashion. At God for torturing him, giving him a taste of heaven, then yanking it away, leaving him bitter dregs.

Fury at this world where no one understood great love. Love everlasting. A love so pure not even death could destroy it. That love had once healed Lukas, made him whole for the first time in his life.

"Lukas?" A nurse's voice broke through the haze of memory. "I've got your lunch."

He drew in his breath, reluctant to begin the painful journey back to reality. The clatter of utensils, the smell of corned beef and onions, the warmth of a woman's body near his, brought him back from the shadows.

The nurse--what was her name again?--touched his arm.

"Lukas, is everything all right?" she asked with genuine concern in her voice.

He still couldn't see her face, hadn't left the shadows far enough behind to focus. Her hand stayed on his arm, stroking it, until he wrenched himself away from the hypnotic rhythm of the rain, landing back in the world of bright light, pain, tears, fears, and sharp edges. The world without love.

Finally he looked at her. Her smile was tentative and he knew she cared for him more than just as a patient.

She meant nothing to him. No woman could. Never again.

It was part of his healing, of becoming human once more, so he tried his best to mirror her smile. It felt uncomfortable, his muscles unused to the motion. Her eyes gleamed in response, so it must have been a close approximation to the real thing.

Lukas looked down at the Primanti Brothers' reuben that awaited him. "Your mother sent lunch for the entire staff," the nurse said, her voice thin, barely able to compete with the rain drumming against the window behind him. "She wanted to thank us for the terrific progress you're making. I told her that you were the one doing all the work."

"Did she stay?" Lukas felt his mood brighten at the thought of his oh-so-busy and important mother taking the time to visit. She almost never did, not unless one of her clients required his services.

Now that he was stumbling his way back into a life outside his memories, Lukas needed the distraction of the assignments his mother gave him almost as much as she needed his unique talents to further her ambitions.

"No. She called to tell us the food was coming."

He tried not to be too disappointed. After all, as one of the most powerful lobbyists on Capital Hill, Renee Redding had the ear of everyone from Congress to the White House. Lukas was proud to be able to help her mold the future of the country. He could take raw data, analyze it for marketing trends, accurately predict what everyday voters would respond to and more importantly, what they would rebel at, ousting their duly elected officials.

Baby steps are what it takes to change the world, Renee would say, scaling back a campaign or dumping one politician in favor of another based on Lukas's predictions.

Baby steps were about all he could handle right now. Lukas sat down to enjoy the hearty sandwich. Reubens were his favorite. But today the greasy concoction tasted like ashes.

Outside his window, the wind whispered his wife's name, calling him back to the abyss like a siren's song. He shuddered, wondering if even baby steps were too much.

"You don't find yourself treating immigrant families any differently, Dr. Emberek?" the plaintiff's lawyer asked in his irritatingly condescending tones.

"No, of course not. My parents both come from immigrant families."

"Tell me about your parents and their families."

Vincent caught himself rolling his eyes and forced himself to meet the attorney's gaze. Didn't matter anyway, the lawyer was shuffling through his papers with one hand while tapping on his Palm Pilot with the other. "My mother's parents fled Italy in 1936. By the time they left Ellis Island they had nothing but the clothes on their backs. My grandfather worked on the Pennsylvania Railroad six days a week and my grandmother cleaned houses and took in laundry."

"And on your father's side?"

"Hungarian. Part of the cheap labor brought in by Carnegie to break the unions. Three generations worked the coal mines and steel mills."

"What do your parents do for a living, Dr. Emberek?"

Vincent looked over at his lawyer who nodded for him to continue. "My father is a brick mason and my mother is a nurse."

"You grew up in Warrior's Mark, Pennsylvania, correct?"

"Yes."

"Not many Asian families live around there, I expect."

"No." Vincent was tempted to add more, but his lawyer gave him a quick look that signaled him to answer only the question asked.

"You went to school at Penn State?"

"Undergrad, yes."

"Did you have any classes where Asian graduate students were responsible for most of the teaching?"

Vincent nodded. "Is that an affirmative?" the stenographer paused in her typing to ask.

"Yes." Vincent rubbed his sweaty palms along his thighs, embarrassed by the rookie mistake. This was more nerve wracking than running a Code Blue. Of course, this was his life at stake, not some stranger's.

"Did you ever have the occasion to complain that they were hard to understand or that they should improve their English skills before being given a job teaching a subject?" the lawyer asked. Vincent was silent. "May I remind you that you're under oath, Doctor."

"Yes," he admitted reluctantly. "There were several who did not speak English well enough to teach their subjects."

"In fact, didn't you write a letter to the editor of the Collegian newspaper decrying this fact?"

"I signed it. It was written by a group of us who were basically forced to teach ourselves physics because of an incompetent TA."

"I see, so not being fluent in English is the equivalent of being incompetent?"

"No, of course not." This time Vincent ignored the scowl sent his way by his attorney. "But this TA was. At teaching--not necessarily in his field of study. I was on a scholarship, my college tuition paid for by my father's union. These guys come here from their country, get free medical care for themselves and their families, don't pay any taxes and get paid by the university--out of my tuition--to teach hapless undergrads who can't understand a word out of their mouths. It didn't seem right, so I signed the letter of protest."

"And you're still a bigot to this day?"

"Objection," Vincent's lawyer put in blandly. "Argumentative."

"In fact, Doctor, the fact that Mr. Nguygen spoke with an accent did not make him an incompetent parent, did it?"

"No. But he ignored my advice for treatment and left our hospital with a critically ill infant."

"He came to you for help initially. Is it not true that it was your incompetence which led to Mary's death? Your own inability to adequately communicate your concerns to her parents and obtain consent for treatment which could have saved her life?"

"He said he understood what I explained to him about her condition. I left for a few minutes to attend to an urgent patient in respiratory distress and when I returned to draw the blood work and do the spinal tap, they were gone."

"Did you try to call them after they left?"

"Yes, several times. But the only person who answered the phone did not speak English and hung up on me."

"So what did you do then?"

"I finished my shift."

"You finished your shift. Knowing there was a potentially ill baby roaming the streets of Pittsburgh, you finished your shift and went home to bed. Tell me, Dr. Emberek, did you sleep well?"

"Objection," Vincent's lawyer said, his tone bored.

Vincent got to his feet, his anger roiling over. "I did everything I could! I had the nurses call the family during the night. When I came in the next morning and found they hadn't reached the family, I called the police and CYS to report a case of possible medical neglect."

"But by the time they arrived, it was too late for Mary Nguygen, wasn't it?"

"What did you want me to do?" Vincent asked. "I wasn't the one who decided to take that baby out of the hospital without treatment--"

"It's okay, Vincent." His lawyer twisted his wrist, glanced at the diamond studded Rolex there.

Vincent swallowed his anger and almost choked on it. He would never own a watch like that. Or wear silk suits. All he did for a living was save lives--unless the lawyers took that away from him. If he lost this case, his career was as good as over.

He'd never be able to face his family, his father's friends--men Vincent had worked side by side with summers since he was sixteen. He'd never have the life he dreamed of.

"It's late. Shall we resume this later?"

The other lawyer stared at Vincent a long, hard minute as if assessing if it would be easier to break him now or to let him stew a while.

"Fine with me." He gathered his papers into a neat stack in front of him. "Don't take it so personally, Doctor." He turned to Vincent's lawyer. "We still on for squash tomorrow?"

Grace bent and lifted Kat into her arms. "Let's get you to your room," she murmured to the disoriented girl. Often it would take an hour or more for a patient to become fully alert after a generalized seizure like the one Kat had.

"I didn't wet my pants, did I?" Kat asked, her eyes half closed, her words blurred.

"No," Grace assured her, moving through the Annex door Alex held open for her.

"S'okay, then." Kat slumped in Grace's arms.

She was thin but lanky for her age. Grace was glad that until a few weeks ago she'd been religious in her workouts on the climbing wall Jimmy had built for her. Alex rolled his chair ahead of her and opened the door to the Skyway. Before Grace crossed the threshold, he stopped her.

"Maybe I should go back to Peds." His eyes went wide as he stared down the length of the Skyway to the entrance to the Extended Care Unit.

Grace looked down in concern. He was breathing heavily but did not appear to be in any distress. Instead he seemed afraid. His lips had gone ashen and a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead.

"What's wrong, Alex?" she asked, shifting Kat's weight in her arms. The girl was getting heavier by the minute.

"I don't like it over there. The Freak Show, Kat calls it." He cut his eyes to the doors at the opposite end of the Skyway.

Grace followed his gaze. Hairs standing on end along the back of her neck prickled. Her chest constricted with an effort to breathe that had nothing to do with how heavy Kat was.

She shivered hard enough that Kat stirred in her arms and mumbled something unintelligible. "All right," she told Alex. "Go back downstairs. I'll take care of Kat."

She looked down on the wasted boy dwarfed by his wheelchair and its paraphernalia. Suddenly Grace didn't want him anywhere near the ECU. If she could think of a way to keep Kat out of there, she would have taken her somewhere else as well.

Grace crossed the threshold and took a step onto the Skyway. A jolt of lightning crashed, shaking the glass walkway. Rain beat against the glass, hurled by wind that blew from every direction simultaneously, pounding through the glass walls and into Grace's head, giving birth to a migraine that made her feel faint, the pain was so sharp and sudden.

She stumbled, catching her breath. Pain as intense as the lightning bolts thundered through her. The sky grew menacingly dark. The only light came from the door to the Annex behind her.

Grace kept going, pain screaming through her brain, blinding her in a red haze. She'd never felt pain like this before. Maybe the exertion of carrying Kat had caused the delicate blood vessels around the tumor to burst?

If so, then these might be the last steps of her life.

CHAPTER 6

Welcome to the Freak Show

Grace closed her eyes against the pain and leaned her hip against the railing, using it as a guide as she shuffled down the walkway. If she was going to die, she had to get Kat to safety first.

You can wait a few minutes longer, can't you, Jimmy?

Jimmy was silent.

A hand reached up to touch Grace's arm. Her eyes shot open in surprise. "I'll get the door," Alex said, his voice barely audible over the tympani pounding in her head. He moved past her, opening the door to the seventh floor of the Tower just in time for Grace to stumble through it.

She leaned breathlessly against the wall on the other side, sliding Kat's limp body onto a love seat upholstered in raw silk. The entrance to the Tower was a lobby with two banks of elevators, just like the entrance to the Annex. But unlike the Annex, there were no scuffed linoleum or cracked tile walls here. Instead, there was Berber carpet and furniture that looked like it belonged in the office of an expensive plastic surgeon.

The lobby was empty except for the three of them. Two solid mahogany doors stood across from the elevators. The only other door was a fire exit leading to the stairwell.

"Welcome to the Freak Show," Alex said glumly.

"Doesn't look so bad," she said, before realizing that her arms were wrapped tight around her chest, warding off something. "Which room is Kat's?"

"703. Down the hall and to the right." He jerked his chin at the double doors.

"I can take her if you want to go back downstairs."

He bit his lip but shook his head vehemently. "You shouldn't go in there alone."

As she lifted Kat once more, he wheeled forward and opened the thick, wooden door. Grace carried Kat through it, wrinkling her nose against the smell. Not the antiseptic that tinged the air of the rest of the hospital. A sweet scent of carnations and lilies--almost like an expensive French perfume. But too sweet. To Grace it smelled like death.

She looked down and saw Alex also breathed through his mouth, his nostrils pinched in distaste.

"This way," the boy said, leading her down a corridor with dark paneling on the walls and expensive reproductions of famous paintings, all with a floral motif. Halfway down the hall there was a receptionist desk, also mahogany. The clerk had his back to them, head bent low as he spoke with someone on the telephone.

Grace and Alex moved quietly past several large, well-appointed treatment rooms, all of which stood empty. Dinner hour, Grace guessed. She'd lost her appetite.

At the end of the paneled hallway stood a sturdy metal door with a large lock and a reinforced glass window.

"What's down there?" she whispered, feeling like a prisoner trying a jailbreak.

Alex frowned. "The Beast. Never, never, go there." He led her along another hallway flanked on both sides by patient rooms.

As they walked, Grace couldn't believe how silent this floor was. Most hospital wards bustled with activity and noise--even ones like the NeuroICU where the patients were comatose. Where was the gossip of nurses and medical staff? The cafeteria workers with their trays, the housekeepers, the bleep of machinery and monitors?

It was as if they had left the hospital for another world.

The patient doors were all open and Grace glanced inside the rooms. They also bore little resemblance to the typical hospital room. Instead they were furnished like an upper class hotel room, complete with floral chintz curtains and mahogany sleigh beds.

In the first room a young woman, painfully thin to the point that Grace expected the lamplight to shine right through her, sat cross-legged on a sofa, leafing listlessly through a fashion magazine.

"The Skeleton," Alex whispered.

Grace glanced down, hoping his voice hadn't carried inside the room to the woman. "Hush."

The woman looked up and Grace immediately saw why the children had given her the name they had. Her face was angular, all sharp planes as if it had been carved from stone, her eyes sunken deep within their sockets, reminiscent of a cadaver's. The woman met Grace's eyes with no expression, as if she were in a drunken stupor. Her mouth parted in a rictus-like smile. Thin, pale lips peeled away to reveal rotten, stained teeth, gums shrunken to the point that her teeth appeared ready to fall out of their sockets.

Grace hurried past. Severe anorexia and bulimia, she diagnosed. Teeth rotting from purging, skin thin from lack of body fat and muscular wasting.

The woman's body was essentially cannibalizing itself.

The room across the hall was occupied by a middle aged man pacing back and forth, almost colliding with the wall before pivoting in a burst of energy. He mumbled to himself, touching each finger as he made a point, head swinging back and forth and shoulders hunched with the weight of the world.

"Mr. Atomic," Alex said.

Grace looked again, then smiled. These kids were good. The man showed all the symptoms of chronic, severe anxiety--symptoms she knew intimately well herself. In addition, she could see his neck veins bulging, the dangerous ruddy complexion of a severe case of high blood pressure. Indeed a patient ripe to "explode".

They arrived in Kat's room and Grace gently deposited her on the bed. Kat immediately rolled over and curled up in a small ball.

Grace went to close the door but Alex stopped her. "Don't do that," he whispered.

"Why not?"

He pointed up at the ceiling. A video camera hung at an angle where it could take in the entire room. "That turns on whenever the door's closed."

Grace nodded. She could understand the need for close monitoring--especially patients like the anorexic who could potentially hurt themselves. But every room?

Kat rustled in her sleep. Grace leaned over, stroking her arm, soothing her. "What is this place?"

"I like to think of the Extended Care Unit as my own version of Never-Never Land," Eve confided to Vincent when she met him at the reception desk of the ECU after his deposition. "A place where dreams come true." He smiled at that. She linked his arm in hers and led him into one of the treatment rooms. "A lot of our patients have no hope when they come here. We're their last chance."

"I never knew you were such a romantic, Dr. Warden," he said and was rewarded by a brilliant smile.

"Eve, please."

He gave her a long look. She effortlessly met his gaze. As if they both knew how this would end. "Eve."

"Usually I'm not. Romantic, I mean. Ask Jonas sometime, he'll tell you I'm as cold hearted as they come."

Vincent frowned at the mention of the neurosurgeon. "Think I'll pass on that. I'm trying to stay on the Chief's good side."

"Your presentation on Katherine Jellicle was a good start. Now, if you can convince her to stop sabotaging her readings, that will go a long way to getting in his good graces."

"I thought you were going to use your miracle drug, Lucidine, on her."

Eve's lips turned down in a small frown. He'd never met a woman before whose frown was as endearing as her smile. "I already tried. Last week when I realized we weren't getting enough data to complete her brain mapping. She had a," she hesitated slightly, "adverse reaction. She's not a good candidate."

"Are there problems with Lucidine?"

"No, the drug is perfectly safe. But, as with any treatment, it's not 100% effective for every patient. Some respond better to it than others." She pulled the chart for her next patient and handed it to Vincent. "Like Mr. Barbarosa."

Vincent flipped the chart open and saw a photo taped to the inside cover. A man, only in his mid thirties, but grotesquely obese. He scanned the pertinent data on the initial history. 456 pounds, compulsive eating, not responsive to drugs or psychological therapy, failed gastric stapling, heart failure, hypertension, diabetes, renal involvement, fatty liver. At thirty-four, Mr. Barbarosa was a train wreck with more health problems than many men twice his age.

Eve flipped to the last page of the chart, a progress note of their last session. "Weight now 328 pounds, blood pressure normal, diabetes under control, cholesterol improved. All in six months."

Vincent nodded his head. "Impressive. Was he in the hospital for the entire time?"

"The first four months. Mainly because of all of the medical complications of his obesity. They were even contemplating possible dialysis at one point. Now he comes in twice a week for Lucidine therapy."

"How does it work?"

She crooked a finger at him, smiling. "Come and see. He should be ready for us next door."

They moved into the treatment room beside them. Mr. Barbarosa wore loose fitting sweat pants and was lying on a comfortable recliner. A nurse taped electrodes to his chest. Floppy layers of skin cascaded from his chest and abdomen, a result of his rapid weight loss. Vincent wondered if plastic surgery was next on Mr. Barbarosa's schedule. The drapes of skin, although much healthier, were almost as disgusting to look at as the rolls of fat they had replaced.

"Hey doc!" he greeted Eve, obviously delighted to see the physician who provided him with such a miracle cure. "Lost another six pounds since last week. And never felt hungry once!"

"That's great, Bernie," Eve told him with a warm smile as she checked his vitals. "I think after today we'll try just once a week sessions."

Bernie frowned. "You sure? I really look forward to coming here. It's the only place where nobody stares at me."

Vincent hastily averted his gaze. He had been staring. The man's progress was remarkable, but Vincent still didn't understand how an anesthetic drug had affected such tremendous results.

"Bernie, this is Dr. Emberek." Eve made the introductions. Vincent stepped forward to shake Bernie's hand. It was surprisingly small and delicate compared to the bulk of his body. "He'd like to observe today's session."

"Sure, no problem." Bernie settled back in his recliner. "Let's go."

Vincent watched as Eve slipped a gold wiremesh cap over Bernie's head, securing the electrodes carefully around his scalp. She then fitted him with special goggles and earplugs, all wired to the same machine as the electrodes. Finally she placed a mask over his nose.

"Patients breath more shallowly while on Lucidine," she told him. "So I like to augment their respirations with a little oxygen and positive pressure."

She nodded to the nurse who began running the infusion of the anesthetic. Within seconds, the patient's body became limp. "It's all right to talk, he can't see or hear anything except the stimuli I send him. But don't touch him. Lucidine blocks external pain receptors but not light touch."

"So he's kind of in a state of sensory deprivation?" Vincent asked, trying to understand.

"Except for the sensory data I send him, yes. He's paralyzed, entering a relaxed state not dissimilar from hypnosis." She pointed to the brainwave activity on the computer screen in front of her.

"Now I'm going to start his input." The computer screen divided and began to flash still photos interwoven with video clips. Photos of Barbarosa before he lost weight, lying ill in a hospital bed, standing nude from every angle, shoving food in his mouth. From the speakers came an audio commentary in the patient's own voice describing how miserable he was, that he never wanted to go back to that life.

Vincent frowned as he watched the EEG waves; several sharp spikes coincided with the images of Barbarosa eating, as if his brain were being stimulated by the images. "Are you doing that?" he asked, pointing to a spike.

"He's doing it to himself. Remember Pavlovian conditioning from freshman psych? Do something bad you get punished, do something good you get rewarded. Repeat often enough and the unwanted behavior is extinguished and a new behavior, a desired behavior replaces it."

Vincent nodded. About as basic psychology as it came. Even worked on dogs and other animals.

"We start by using Farwell brain mapping to identify the individual's pain and pleasure centers and what triggers them, specifically anything we can use to modify the patient's condition."

"Like a sight or smell or sound?"

"Right. Then I use those stimuli to reinforce a healthy response to the stimuli. The first few weeks of therapy are intense, several hours a day, but over time the patient's own brain learns how to correct the aberrant response on its own."

"Kind of like brainwashing?" Vincent joked.

She looked up at that, frowning. "No, of course not. It's an extremely humane way to treat behaviors that otherwise would lead to self destruction."

He loved the way her eyes blazed as she defended her work. A blush colored her cheeks as well, giving her a glow.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply--"

"Vincent," she interjected, her voice intense. "Think of the possibilities. No more depression, anxiety, suicide. Think of a world with no pedophiles, no homicidal urges, most psychiatric illnesses cured. And so many medical ones as well--how many diabetics could be saved if they were more compliant with diet and medication? How about hypertension? Patients with chronic diseases like Lupus? Or transplant patients--a few sessions of Lucidine therapy and they'd never have to worry about falling back into bad habits that may aggravate their illness--"

"What about stress induced disorders?" Vincent interjected, her passion contagious as he allowed his imagination to roam. "Migraines, chronic pain syndromes, peptic ulcer disease?"

She nodded, gripping his hand and squeezing it in enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. Think how many people could be saved!"

"Now I understand why you call this a place where dreams come true."

"Lucidine is the future of medicine. I'm convinced of it. I need help to continue my work with it. Someone with a background in both adults and pediatric patients."

Vincent straightened. "You want me to work with you?" He was both surprised and flattered by her offer.

"I know you're worried you won't receive a staff position because of your malpractice suit. But you could work for me, Vincent. Help me finish what I've started here at the ECU. I'm planning to expand beyond Angels of Mercy. Start my own private clinic."

He frowned. It was a very generous and tempting offer. But the whole reason he'd decided to stay out of private practice and specialize in hospital-based medicine was that he liked taking care of different challenges every day. From what he saw of her work so far, Eve was essentially a technician, punching a few buttons on the computer and monitoring the patient's vital signs during their time under the anesthesia.

Lucidine would be a major boon to many patients, but did he want to spend his life staring at a computer screen all day long?

"I don't think so, Eve."

Her face filled with disappointment and she turned away, shoulders hunched. He felt like he'd disrupted something growing between them. He hoped not.

"That's all right," she said, her voice neutral, almost cold. "Just think about it."

"I will," he assured her. Then he remembered Helman's tumor patient. Now there was an interesting case, one he'd love to be involved with. "Could I observe when you start working with Dr. Helman's case, Grace Moran?"

She turned to look back at him, appraisal in her eyes. "Why that case?"

"With her psych history, I thought she might be interesting."

Her lips pursed together and the corners of her mouth turned down. "Let me see how she responds to the Lucidine first."

Was she hiding something? "Is there a problem with your Lucidine therapy?" he asked again, following her out to the nurses' station. "If I'm going to consider working with you, I need to know everything."

Her back still to him, she shook her head as she handed Barbarosa's chart to the clerk. Then she swiveled to face him, turning so quickly her body pressed against his as she tilted her face up to meet his. Her smile was wide enough to reveal a small dimple at the corner of her mouth.

"Lucidine isn't a miracle drug," she said, one hand stroking along his arm in time with her words. "But it will change medicine forever. If you work with me, you'll be a part of that. Together, we could make history."

Her words sent a thrill through him, a promise of great rewards, a long and fulfilling career. He would definitely consider her offer. What did he have to lose? Given the way his malpractice case was going, Eve might be his only hope for a career in medicine.

She squeezed his arm and slid sideways, out of reach. "What room did you put Grace Moran in?" she asked the clerk, leaning forward over the counter, giving Vincent a glimpse of her more than ample cleavage beneath the powder blue silk blouse she wore.

"She hasn't arrived yet, Dr. Warden."

Another frown puckered Eve's brow. Vincent found himself wanting to brush the worry lines away with his fingertips. He stepped farther away, out of range of her intoxicating jasmine perfume.

"She should have been here hours ago. Dr. Helman wrote her transfer orders early this afternoon. Call down to the surgical floor and see what the hold up is."

"Yes ma'am."

Eve turned back to Vincent. "I guess that means I'm free for a while. Would you like to talk more about Lucidine over a cup of coffee?"

Vincent allowed her to take his arm and lead him down the hallway to her private office.

"You look exhausted," Grace told Alex after she was certain Kat would be all right. "Let's get you back downstairs."

Alex had refused to explain anything more about the ECU. The subject obviously upset him, so Grace let it go. She was pushing him toward the main doors of the ECU when one of the treatment room doors opened and a morbidly obese man emerged. Alex motioned for her to stop, and she backed them into a small alcove that held a desk for charting.

"That's Tiny," Alex whispered. "He was real nice to me and Kat. He made it out, but now he keeps coming back. I don't know why."

Grace watched the man turn and wave happily at someone behind him in the room. He'd obviously lost a tremendous amount of weight, his skin draped over his waist in jiggling swaths that were obscenely hypnotic to watch. She could tell by his small feet and hands and narrow shoulders that his frame was actually that of a lean man which made the grotesque layers of fat seem artificial, the product of hours of stage makeup artistry.

In reality she was certain they were the hard won product of years of trying to insulate himself from whatever he feared in the world outside. She should know--she'd built a similar prison around herself inside her house for the last four years. The only difference was that Tiny's prison was portable. And, from a medical point of view, quite deadly.

"Duck," Alex told her, grabbing her hand and pulling her back as a man and a woman followed Tiny from the room. Their backs were to Grace and Alex. Grace watched the woman lay a hand on the man's arm and lean over to whisper something to him.

"The Wicked Witch," Alex told her, his eyes narrowed as he watched the woman flirt with the man. "And Dr. V--what's he doing here?"

"Who's Dr. V?" Grace asked. The woman laughed as she and the man disappeared around the corner, headed toward the nurses' station. Grace pushed Alex out into the hall and through the main entrance to the ECU into the elevator foyer. Suddenly the air seemed fresher, easier to breathe.

"He's not supposed to be up here. He's my doctor," Alex said with a tone of betrayal.

"And who was the woman?"

"Dr. Warden. She's in charge of the ECU."

Grace was more happy than ever that she hadn't moved over to the Extended Care Unit like Helman wanted. The new research unit might boast state of the art technology but something about it made her skin prickle, as if wasps buzzed just below the surface. Her headache was almost unbearable, the pounding so loud she could barely see. All that vanished as soon as they were in the elevator heading away from the ECU.

They traveled down to the first floor where the Tower and Annex were joined by the administration wing and crossed back over into the Annex. Once they were back on Peds, she wheeled Alex to his room. She wasn't surprised to find that he had room 333, the one at the end of the hall, farthest from the nurses' station. Traditionally either the least sick or patients expected to die were given those rooms.

And she knew which category Alex was in.

It was obvious he'd been in this room for quite some time. Just like the room upstairs that he and Kat had taken over, this one was strewn with posters, art projects, autographed photos of Ben Roethlisberger, Mario Lemieux, and other Pittsburgh celebrities who had embraced the children of Angels of Mercy. An entire corkboard was covered with Polaroid photos of Alex with members of the staff, celebrating birthdays, Halloween, Christmas--as if the hospital was his only family.

Grace switched his oxygen over for him and encouraged him to eat his dinner. He picked and ate about half, she finished the rest. Finally, he leaned back against his pillows, his pale skin blending into the hospital linens.

"Go to sleep," she urged him.

"It's not even six," he said, his words blurred with exhaustion.

"Doesn't matter, you've had a long day."

"All right. But first, tell me a story."

A story? Grace almost panicked and it had nothing to do with agoraphobia or any of her other fears. What stories did she know?

A flash of Lukas Redding's wide grin, his face splattered with hers and Jimmy's blood, crossed her mind. The only stories she knew were horror stories.

CHAPTER 7

Spinning Tales

Alex patted the bed beside him and Grace stretched out, her left arm circling his shoulders. "Once upon a time," she fumbled, trying to decide what came next.

She stopped as the three girls from the playroom sidled in through the open door. Their chemotherapy treatments finished, they now roamed free from their IV lines. They nodded to Alex, who didn't seem at all surprised to see them, and crowded together on the upholstered chair, one of them swinging her legs over the arm.

"Not a fairy tale," he complained. "Those are for babies."

"A love story," one of the girls chimed.

"Nothing sad," her neighbor put in.

"Happy ending," the last said, her heels bouncing off the side of the chair in emphasis.

Grace frowned. "A love story with a happy ending--"

"But nothing gushy--and it's okay if there's monsters and space aliens and stuff," Alex told her.

"A monster and space alien love story with nothing gushy or sad and no fairy tales, is that it?" she asked, more uncertain than ever that she could appease her discriminating audience.

"Well, we maybe don't need the space aliens," Alex allowed.

Grace took a deep breath. She was no good at this. Where was Jimmy with his blarney when she needed him?

The chime of gold on gold came as Jimmy's hand covered hers, their wedding rings touching with a tone of pure harmony. She looked over to see Jimmy sitting on the other side of Alex. His right hand reached behind the boy and suddenly the three of them were snuggled together like family.

Alex sighed with contentment and his eyes closed, his breathing eased. The three girls beamed. Grace wondered for a split second if they could actually see Jimmy.

Of course not, he was her hallucination and hers alone. It was still nice to have him here.

Tell them our story, love, he said, turning his wide smile on Grace.

Of course. Not a fairy tale and it had everything except for the space aliens. Which were optional in any case.

"Long ago and far away," she began, her voice steady and clear. Jimmy nodded his encouragement. "There once was a Queen named Maeve. She was a good Queen, a warrior as well as a diplomat. Some said she was a witch, others tried to call her a god, but she was just a woman. A woman who was strong and proud and worked hard to keep her people safe."

"Yeah, Maeve!" One of the girls cheered. Alex's face creased in a smile so Grace knew he wasn't asleep yet.

"Do you want to hear more?" Grace asked, now enjoying her role as raconteur.

"Where's the love story?"

"Well now, that happens much later--more than 3000 years later to be exact. You see, there was a great plague that fell upon Maeve's land. They didn't know it at the time, but a volcano had exploded and the cloud of dust blocked the sun all around the world."

The children stared at her in rapt attention as Grace formed a large sphere with her hands.

"You mean the whole world was dark, no sun?" one of the girls asked.

"Like an ice age?" Alex put in.

"Almost. This happened in the fall. That winter was the worst ever seen and it seemed never ending. Spring just never came."

"That's not good."

Grace nodded. "Not if you want to eat. So Maeve moved her people to the coast, hoping the sea would sustain them. She had to fight off many tribes of other starving people, people who wanted to survive as much as her clan. But she had to put her people first--that was her job as Queen."

"Did she save them?"

"Some of them. Enough so that once the dark years passed, her people survived and even prospered. Then a man betrayed Maeve and killed her."

The girls all formed perfect O's of dismay with their mouths. Alex shifted on the bed, unperturbed by Grace's tale of villainy. Waiting for the space aliens, no doubt. Jimmy chuckled, effortlessly following her thoughts.

"Her people buried Maeve in a hidden place, but over time they forgot where. Then one man began a quest to find her grave so the people would never forget their brave queen who had once saved them all."

"Was he a knight?"

"A prince?"

"A space captain?" The last was whispered by Alex.

Grace shook her head. "No, none of those. He was just an ordinary man." Jimmy wrinkled his nose and playfully pinched her at this. "Well, maybe not so very ordinary. He was a professor."

"A what?" one of the girls asked, her forehead creased in puzzlement.

"Like Indiana Jones," Alex put in, his eyes wide open now.

Grace had no choice but to smile at that description. "Kind of like Indiana Jones," she conceded. "But this man's name was Jimmy, Jimmy Moran. He taught history."

"That doesn't sound very exciting."

"Sometimes ordinary people are the ones who do the most exciting things," Grace reminded them. "Jimmy thought he found Maeve. He was very close to uncovering her grave. But then--" She paused and the girls leaned forward as one. Alex sucked in his breath and held it. "Then it started to rain."

"Rain? That's nothing." As if to contradict Alex's words, a peal of thunder and lightning shook the window.

"Rain. But this rain was sneaky. It would be sunny for a while, then dreadful storms would move in. The island where Jimmy was searching for Maeve's grave was cut off."

"How did he escape?"

"Now wait. One day during a nice spell a woman came to the island. Her name was Grace." Jimmy squeezed her hand at that, their rings sliding over each other. As Grace told the story, edited into a PG version the children would enjoy, she couldn't help but remember that day.

The best day of her life, even if she had spent most of it soaking wet and freezing cold.

Almost six years ago, and she was so very different now that the memory of those days seemed to have happened to a different person. Back then she had known no fear, had a reputation as a maverick among her fellow ER residents. A reputation hard won, that gave Grace a blush of pride when she heard nurses or paramedics discussing her latest exploits.

Once upon a time she had been fearless and brave. Like Maeve. Just six years and so much had changed. So much lost….

She remembered the breath-taking beauty of the monastery on Inishmurray, feeling steeped in a timeless embrace of tradition and a regal solemnity as she entered the chapel ruins. The few remaining rock walls soared high overhead. Intricate round and arched latticed stone windows cast swirling shadows onto the ground as the wind scudded dark clouds across the sun.

She had walked among the ruins, fingers tracing over carved images in the rocks, including the burial masks of several men who appeared to have been entombed directly into the stone walls.

The chiseled letters were worn, only the faintest etchings remained in the rock. She wished Brother Leo were here, he would have been able to read the ancient script.

Were they saints? she wondered, crouching to look upon the peaceful visage of one resident. Warrior kings who had given their lives to protect the monks? Wise bishops?

It was nice to dream about. Her own monks, holding back the darkness in their own small, quiet ways, would approve.

A slab polished with time and countless bent knees was all that remained of the altar. Grace crossed herself and knelt, placing a hand on the ancient stone. It felt strangely warm, vibrating as if with the sound of hundreds of male voices raised in praise. She could almost hear Brother Leo's voice, chanting along with the ancient, long buried monks.

Brother Leo had convinced her to come on this vacation with Linda, a friend who was a nurse in the ER. He'd said she needed time away from the hospital to explore new lands. He'd been right. Leo always had an uncanny knack of knowing what she needed before she did.

A shadow chilled her. Thick raindrops splattered the grey stone. Dark clouds climbing in thick, wooly layers devoured the sun. She flipped up the hood of her Gortex jacket, cursing Linda and her romantic impulses. Linda had paired up with a man from the village who had brought them across Donegal Bay in his motorboat. The last Grace had seen of them, they'd had their heads together, examining the ring of standing stones on the hill above the monastery.

The wind screeched through the holes riddling the ancient walls. Lightning struck nearby, shaking the ground. There was a small arched doorway behind the altar. She crossed through it, seeking shelter.

It was a smaller room, still roofless. An iron door stood ajar in the side wall and a set of worn rock steps led down. At least she'd be out of the weather. She took care on the rain-slicked steps. A small brass plaque bolted to the wall at the top of the stairwell announced that this was the entrance to the King's Cairn. There was a thick rope attached to rings that acted as a safety railing. Grace followed it down the spiral of rough-hewn rock steps. Lights encased in weatherproof containers lined the walls, but none were lit today.

Of course not, she thought, September is the low season. She remembered what the tour book had said. The Kings Cairn was a large underground burial site dating back to the Bronze Age. It was accessible through tunnels monks had laboriously carved beneath the hillside, connecting with older passages constructed by ancient inhabitants 3000 years ago.

Grace glanced behind her. The rain was coming down harder and showed no signs of letting up. Might as well be nice and dry and soaking up local history, she decided, taking her flashlight from her coat pocket and turning it on.

The sharp beam of the keychain sized Maglite sliced the darkness like a stiletto. Grace made her way safely to the bottom of the steps to where another iron grate sat open. This one was only waist high and led to a small tunnel carved into the hillside. Another thick rope served as a guide and safety rail. The passage was a little more than a yard wide and about the same in height.

Cozy, but dry. She was certain if the lights were on this wouldn't intimidate her at all, but when she shone the light down the passage she could see no end in sight.

"Alli, alli, oxen free," she called down. Her voice echoed pleasantly. The air was cool but not musty, obviously well circulated. There was no chance of getting lost--not with the rope right there.

This had better be worth it. She entered the tunnel and began to duck walk through the cramped space. Soon she came to a slightly larger passage, barely enough room for her to stretch to her full five-six without hitting the roof. There was a grille dividing the chamber. Plaques on the wall described the small space beyond the grill as the tomb of Concolin, King of the Westerlands at the time of the Roman invasions two thousand years ago. Grace aimed her light between the bars that separated her from the ancient tomb and gasped.

Intricate carvings, some of them only shadows on the rock, others highlighted by some sort of metallic pigment ground into the stone, flashed back at her. In the darkness they seemed to float, come alive, proclaiming to all the wondrous feats of the King buried there. She placed her hand flat against the rock wall and felt the same vibrations she'd felt upstairs at the altar stone. It was just the rain, but it still thrilled through her body as if a promise of something glorious about to happen. The air was charged with electricity and possibilities.

Grace spent several minutes entranced by the tomb, finding new fascinating details with each flick of her light. She turned and saw that the tunnel continued further into the mountainside. It was a little chillier now. Glad for her jacket that enabled her to easily slip over the stones, she half-crawled, half-walked through the narrow passage. It spiraled through the mountain. She stopped to admire several more burial sites and areas of well-preserved rock art.

At the last cavern, the deepest and oldest site, the plaque proclaimed that archeologists were still hoping to find more sites, including the rumored burial ground of Maeve, the pagan queen who unified the island during the dark times, more than a thousand years before Christ was born.

Grace thought the tour ended there but as she was turning to leave, her light found another tunnel. She crouched down to examine it. It was a little more narrow than the rest and there was no helpful rope guide, but there was no barrier across the entrance. The only sign she could find was a hand painted arrow pointing down into the tunnel.

Must be a new addition, she thought, easing her way through it. The roof sloped down a bit, and her legs were cramped from duck-walking, so she rolled onto her belly and crawled head first. The air was if anything more fresh and she could feel a stir of a breeze.

The Maglite gleamed off a polished golden disk about six feet in front of her. It seemed to float in the darkness. She pushed forward. And found herself falling through empty air.

Momentum and the slick raincoat kept her moving. Her arms flailing before her, she flew into space, dropping a short distance before landing on her side.

"Shit!" She shouted the epithet from her position on the muddy floor of the cavern. Other than having the breath knocked out of her and being scared silly, she found no obvious injuries. Except to her pride. Had to go on, keep exploring--couldn't have turned back when there was one more thing to see, could she?

Brother Leo always said her stubborn pride would get her into trouble. Guess he was right.

Grace caught her breath. The fall had knocked the flashlight from her hand. It wasn't completely dark though, she could make out hazy shadows coming from several angles far overhead. She remembered the other hillside burial grounds she and Linda had visited. Often the oldest and most revered sites were deep in the center, the remainder of the mountain built around them. The creators of these intricate tombs would cut vent holes and clever air shafts designed to allow fresh air in while protecting the burial site from the weather.

Grace felt around her for her own light, squishing in the mud as she did. A cold stream of water ran up her jacket and she shivered. Then the stream became a current, pushing at her.

She climbed to her feet and realized the mud and water which had broken her fall now swirled above her hiking boots. As water gushed in to chill her toes, she wondered at that. The tombs were designed to be dry.

She splashed around until her fingers closed on her light. Still worked, thank God for Maglite. Grace swung the light around and gasped. Brilliantly worked inlays of colored stones and bits of metal formed a mosaic on the wall opposite the tunnel. Intricate Celtic runes and knots were woven into the headdress and garment of the statuesque woman the mosaic portrayed. Was this Maeve's tomb?

Water bubbled up out of the ground, rising fast, now almost to her knees. Slabs of mud, rock and clay slipped from the outer walls, splashing and allowing more water to drain inside.

This was an island, Grace thought with panic. It's not just ground water seeping in, it's the whole bay! The more that came, the more the very foundation of this man-made hill was being eroded.

Now she understood the strange vibrations that haunted the rocks around here. It was water, busy devouring the island from the inside out.

Grace spun around, searching for an escape route. The air vents were too high. If they were like the other cairns she'd visited, they most likely opened onto the hillside, concealed by well-placed rocks, sheltered, but where anyone could stroll past them.

The tunnel's mouth grinned like a grey on grey jack-o-lantern several feet over her head. Grace began calling out at the top of her lungs even as she searched for hand holds to scale the granite wall leading back into the tunnel.

She quickly ran out of breath and fell back, gasping for air. The wall was smooth, polished by long dead craftsman. The water lapped at her thighs and the bottom of the chamber was filling with debris. Screaming never did anyone any good, just a waste of energy, she chided herself. So instead she began to sing, lifting her voice in all the Latin hymns she'd been taught as a child, the only female voice among a host of men.

As she sang, her spirits lifted. With renewed energy she began to search for a tool, something to cut handholds into the wall below the tunnel opening. She carefully raked her fingers through the debris below the mosaic. There she found several lengths of plastic carefully weighted over a recent excavation on a ledge cut into the wall. The water was not quite as high as this ledge, not yet at least, so Grace pulled the plastic from its anchors and climbed in.

And came face to face with a skull, brown with age. She felt a crack under her knee and realized that she'd broken one of the delicate bones of the person buried in the wall of the cairn.

Sorry, she muttered, ceasing her singing for a moment to get over the shock. Grave robbing and now desecrating the dead. If she got out of here in one piece, she'd be lucky if she didn't end up in jail. The light from her flashlight began to dim as she used it to examine the body. Bits of fabric adhered to the bones, giving the ghoulish appearance of a mummy. The skeleton's hands clasped a semicircle of metal. It resembled the ules she'd seen Inuits use when she'd visited Alaska. A rounded knife with a handle forged from the same metal across the diameter of the half circle.

Just what she needed. Grace sent a little prayer to whatever gods guarded this ancient tomb and pried the blade from the brittle bones that clung to it. It wasn't as heavy as she expected, ridged with tracings carved into it. Two more broken bones fell into her hand and she shoved them into her pocket, focusing on the knife. She struck it against the rock wall of the tomb and a spark flew. Too strong to be bronze, too old to be steel, and it wasn't heavy enough to be iron.

She'd pay the fines for grave robbing and let the archeologists argue about it after she escaped. Her light died just as the water began to lap over the ledge.

After hastily protecting the corpse in the plastic sheet once more, Grace half waded, half swam across the cavern back to the wall where her escape tunnel beckoned to her.

She began to stab the blade into the cavern wall, cursing as it slid off without doing much damage against the worn rock. "Damnittohell!" she bellowed, venting her anger and frustration. "Would you just cut me a break here?"

A blaze of light filled the top part of the cavern far overhead and thunder shook the entire structure, loosening more mudslides.

"Sorry!" Grace cried out, covering her head as the ledge around the tomb buckled and the rocks supporting it cascaded around her.

The ground at her feet shifted in treacherous patterns, threatening to pull her down into the frigid water. Grace shivered and realized hypothermia would get her long before drowning. The mouth of the tunnel mocked her, so close yet so far.

Just another foot or two, she thought, stretching her arm as far overhead as she could. She slid the knife into her pocket and began to feel around for rocks large enough for her to stand on.

She would make her own cairn. And climb out on it. The work was hard and she slipped underwater several times but was soon rewarded with a wobbly pile of small boulders.

Gingerly she crawled to the top of it, then balanced herself against the wall, sliding her arm up, up, reaching for the edge of the tunnel. No good, she was still too short. She swept around searching for handholds, finger holds, anything she could use to free climb the wall, and found one small crevice excruciatingly to the side and over her head.

She shifted all her weight, reached for the finger hold and leapt for it. Her feet dangling over the water, she grimly held on as her other hand and her toes scoured the rock, searched for additional holds. She focused everything on the five fingers keeping her suspended, ignoring the chills shaking her body or the pain in her muscles.

Nothing, there was nothing she could grab on to. The realization came just as her strength gave way and she plummeted into the water. The frigid blackness pulled her down, sucking her breath away. She flailed, hopelessly lost, searching for the surface.

CHAPTER 8

From the Mouths of Babes

"That's enough for now," Grace whispered, gently moving Alex's head from her arm. He was snoring, soft corduroy rasps that echoed through the room.

"What happens to Grace?" the girls asked, swirling around her as she escorted them from the room and closed the door behind them. "I'll bet she and Jimmy live happily ever after."

Jimmy smiled at that and blew Grace a kiss before vanishing. Grace rubbed her wedding ring, still warm from his hand. "Maybe," she said, trying hard not to allow sorrow enter her voice.

"Would you like to come to our tea party?" one of the girls asked.

"Brittany, no grownups allowed."

Brittany grabbed Grace's hand. "Grace isn't grown up. She's just like us, aren't you, Grace?"

"We want to hear more. Please?" The girls pulled and tugged until Grace found herself seated at the miniature table in the playroom, her knees bumping as she perched in a child-sized chair.

"I'm Tiffany," said the girl who had originally protested Grace's invitation. Obviously the leader. "This is Brittany," she pointed to the ebony skinned girl. "And Heather." The last girl, the one who rarely spoke, nodded shyly at Grace.

"I'm Grace."

The girls giggled in unison. "We know, silly."

Grace blinked, then remembered Brittany using her name earlier. How had they known who she was?

"What happened?" Tiffany asked as she poured pretend-tea for them all. "Were you scared? Down there in the dark, all alone--"

"Except for moldy old Maeve," Brittany put in. "I'll bet it was kind of fun. What happened next was totally up to you--"

"But it wasn't," Heather finished in her quiet voice. The rest nodded their agreement. Grace was surprised at their understanding. They were only eight or nine years old at most. But she guessed if they were here receiving intensive chemo, then they probably did have some idea of what it felt like to face mortality.

Free and yet terribly bound to fate at the same time.

Tell them, Jimmy urged from his position leaning against the glass wall. A nurse looked in, through Jimmy's transparent image, and Tiffany smiled at her.

Or was she smiling at Jimmy? Grace wondered with a chill, facing these three bald, young but much-too-old girls.

"Go ahead," Tiffany said, delicately sipping at her tea, her pinky extended. "Tell us what happened next."

Of course she couldn't tell them everything that happened after she discovered Maeve's tomb--the blood, the pain, the terror.

But she could tell them the happy parts--and they had been happy, hadn't they? Jimmy smiled at her and nodded his encouragement. Grace took a deep breath before beginning, trying to bottle up all the emotions that talking about their first meeting stirred up. She felt ancient now. Yet back then, only a few short years ago, she had felt hopelessly young, anxious to face life on her terms and prove herself.

Fool. She remembered falling, careening off the sheer wall. This time she had bounced off several rocks and into the water. She came up shrieking for air, retching against the volume of water she'd inadvertently swallowed. The water was now high enough that the only way to keep her head above it was to tread vigorously. But at least it had stopped rising.

"Jesus Christ!" she screamed in fury as she swung her limbs, trying to find solid ground to stand on. Her small cairn had tumbled down.

She was cold, wet and tiring fast. Grace tilted her head back, the better to breathe, and saw a bright light dancing over the mosaic on the other side of the cavern. She wasn't dead yet, she cursed the brilliant light, not realizing she'd shouted the words until their echo rained back down on her.

"Not dead yet!" she shouted again, liking the sound of the words.

"So I see," came a voice from above. "Would you be wanting some help, then?"

Grace gaped as the voice was joined by a man's grinning face, disembodied as it hung over the edge of the tunnel. The light glowed off his fair skin and shimmered over red hair laced with shadows that made him appear to be the devil incarnate.

The last thing she saw before he disappeared was a set of perfect, gleaming white teeth. Then there was a loud splash and a light shone on a length of rope thrown down to her. "Tie it around yer waist and wait for my signal."

With numb hands Grace did what she was told, looping the rope between her legs before cinching it at her waist in what she hoped was a secure knot.

"Ready?"

Grace moved to brace herself. Her feet had no purchase against the floor of the cavern so she leaned back, planting them against the vertical wall. "Ready," she called back, surprised at how cheery her voice sounded.

The rope went taunt. Her rescuer's grunt of effort echoed through the cavern. Grace pulled herself hand over hand, walking up the vertical wall. When she collapsed onto the tunnel floor, she was amazed at how wonderful dry, non-moving rock could feel under a person. Who needed mattresses? She could fall asleep right here.

"You all right, now?" Rough hands ran over her arms and torso, checking for injuries. "Ain't hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, wishing he'd leave her to her slumber.

"Then what the bloody hell were ya doing in my tomb!" His shout shook her awake like an earthquake of modest proportions. The light moved away as he crawled up the tunnel.

"Bloody Yanks, don't have the sense God gave a turnip. Couldn't you read the signs that said no entrance?" he shot over his shoulder, shining the light at her.

Grace hadn't moved.

"You're not expecting me to carry you out, now are ya?" he said, scorn evident in his voice. When she didn't respond, he continued, "Not just a Yank, a bloody female Yank. Can't think for herself much less get herself out."

"Shut up already," Grace found the energy to snap back. "I'm coming." She began the weary task of hauling herself back through the tunnel, propelled by his sarcasm and her own anger.

What signs? she thought, ignoring the pain cramping every muscle as she clawed her way into the cavern where she'd found the arrow directing her to the cavern that had almost been her final resting place.

"Where are those warning signs you were crowing about?" she asked, using the opportunity to sit on the rock floor and catch her breath. Her rescuer was climbing into the next tunnel, oblivious to her fatigue, when he turned and shined his light over the walls of the cavern.

"Right there--" he said, then his voice faltered as the light hit the oh-so-helpful arrow. "Ah, there's where they should be. Paddy promised me--"

Grace sighed and got to her feet, ignoring him as he continued to swirl the light around, searching for non-existent warning signs. She climbed into the next tunnel, knowing the sooner she got out of this hell hole, the sooner she'd be warm and dry. "You coming or not?"

"Next time I see Paddy O'Dwyer, he's a dead man," he muttered as he climbed into the tunnel behind her. He continued his tirade as they slowly made their way to the base of the stairs leading up to the monastery.

Grace looked up at the seemingly endless circular steps and slid down the wall to sit on her heels. She shook her head, wrapped her arms around her wet body, unable to control her shivering.

"I don't know your name, but thank you," she said after she caught her breath.

"Jimmy. Jimmy Moran. And you're welcome." His voice was sheepish now. "I'm sorry 'bout the warning signs. I didn't know--"

She waved off the rest of what he was saying. "How'd you come to find me, anyway? I thought I was going to become a permanent resident."

"You would've been in good company, I can tell you that." He paused. "We've been worried that with all the rain this year, a big storm could weaken the foundation of the cairn. I came over to check on things when I ran into your mates."

"Linda and TJ? Are they all right?"

"A little wet is all. I sent them back to the mainland. That TJ needs ta learn how to listen to a weather forecast. He should've known better than to bring you girls out here with a storm brewing."

Since he'd just saved her life, Grace ignored his use of the appellate, "girls". "It was sunny, beautiful this morning in Lissadell."

He grunted. "Anyway, I'm walking back over the hill and I hear an angel singing between thunder booms. I'm thinking I've been struck by lightning, on me way to meet St. Peter hisself when next I hear a most ill tempered cursing. I say to myself, Jimmy me boy, that's no angel! So I hurry inside here and the cursing is getting louder, so I just follow it, like chasing a rainbow to a pot o' gold."

Grace almost laughed--his accent grew thicker even as he piled the bullshit deeper. Voice like an angel indeed. She climbed to her feet, swaying for a moment until his hand steadied her.

"Just a wee bit further then I'll get you warm and dry, some hot soup," he promised her. She let him keep his hand around her waist, helping her up the twisting stairs. She had to admit, it felt nice. Warm, strong, everything she was not right at that moment.

By the time they made it back to the monastery, the storm had grown in intensity. Jimmy turned her into him, his head bowed against hers as he fastened her hood around her face and cinched it tight as if she was a child. It was as dark as night except for sheets of lightning raining down on them. He shouted to be heard above the wind and thunder. "It's not far. Just follow me."

He took her hand in his and led the way with the flashlight. Several times Grace slipped on the wet grass and stumbled over hidden rocks and tree limbs. Each time he caught her before she hit the ground. Her teeth chattered and she couldn't feel her hands or feet but she didn't complain.

A short time later they reached a large, wide stone building shaped like a beehive oven but almost two stories tall. Her guide bent forward and loosened a tarp, the wind twisting it immediately from his fingers. He gave her a gentle push and she doubled over and scuttled inside the dark but dry room. He accompanied her, handing her the flashlight as he fought to re-secure the tarp.

She held the light for him with both hands but still couldn't keep it from shaking. He strode past her and soon there was a whoosh and the room was lit with the glow of a Coleman lantern quickly joined by a second then a third. He returned to her, taking the flashlight from her numb hands and turned it off.

"You're freezing," he said. She couldn't stop her teeth from chattering long enough to respond. "Christ, even your lips are blue. Damn it, Moran, why'd you not think of that, could've built a fire, brought a tarp or something--"

As he carried on his monologue, Grace had the feeling he often talked to himself. He moved around the round room, opened a bright red backpack and pulled out various items of clothing. Some he rejected, others he smelled, testing them, then shrugged and brought her an assortment.

"Can't vouch for how clean they are, but they're warm," he assured her. He placed the bundle into her arms and turned her to face the wall. "You change, I'm going to build a fire," he told her. "Unless you need help?"

She shook her head, dropping the clothing to her feet as she worked her way free of her mud-soaked clothes. Her boots were the hardest, but she finally was able to fumble them off with fingers thickened by the cold. She slid into the flannel shirt and fleece pullover he'd brought her, delighting in the feel of the soft, dry fabric against her numb skin. Next, she pulled on a pair of sweat pants, rolling up the cuffs to make a ridiculous pouf around her ankles. She turned around, and saw he'd built a fire in a stone ring. He sat with his back to her, bent over an electronic device.

"The monks used these beehive huts for periods of private meditation," he told her. "Brilliant design, don't you think? Warm in the winter, cool in the summer, efficient without being claustrophobic. A little dark when the sun's not direct overhead, but you can say that about most places 'round here. You doing all right?"

"Yes, thank you," she told him, leaving her pile of wet clothes to join him by the fire. The floor of the hut was dirt, but it was hard packed so it almost felt like concrete. He took her hands in his and began to examine them. She'd broken several nails to the quick and her palms were abraded by her attempts to free climb the wall of the cavern.

"Christ almighty," he said, looking upon her with admiration. "You're a scrappy one, ain't you?"

"Did you think I was just spending my time down there singing?" she asked. He rubbed his fingers over her calluses. "I'm a pretty good climber. Just couldn't find a handhold."

"The storm's only getting started, we'll be stuck here a day or so," he told her.

"How do you know?"

He held up a Palm Pilot and grinned. "Ain't technology a blast?" In the light of the lanterns and the fire she could see that his features weren't really that of a devil incarnate, despite his rough manner. His hair was fair, a shade redder than blonde but too light to be called auburn, long and a little ragged as if it hadn't been cut in a long while. His eyes were hazel and he was trim, well muscled. "I sent emails to your hotel so your friend would know you're safe and sound."

"Thank you, Mr.--"

"Moran, Jimmy Moran." He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "And who do I have the pleasure of rescuing?"

"Grace D'Angelo," she told him, wishing he'd stop smiling at her like that.

Frown lines bracketed his eyes. "Italian? I would have thought with those eyes and skin..." he trailed off and shrugged.

"I could be anything," she said, sliding her hand away from his warm grasp.

"Right, you Yanks, always proud of your melting pot." He turned away to pour something from a pot on the Coleman stove into a mug. He handed it to her and returned to his seat with his own cup. "Course, that doesn't stop you all from coming over here and pretending to be Irish. Not that we mind it--brings good money in." He peered at her again as she drank the instant soup he'd made. "Sure there's no Irish in you?"

"No," she snapped. She flinched at the wounded look in his eyes and regretted her shortness. You'd think after all these years, she'd get used to people asking. "I mean, I'm not certain what my heritage is," she amended. "I was abandoned as a newborn."

She sipped at the soup and waited for the inevitable barrage of questions.

He pursed his lips and considered her statement. "Reckon that could be confusing," he finally allowed. "You're just lucky you don't live around here where everyone knows each other's family tree gone back generations. All of it coming back to haunt the current generation, of course." His face broke into a wicked grin as he mimicked an old lady, eyes squinted almost shut, mouth curled up in disapproval. "You're Jimmy Moran of the Clifden Morans? Your great-great-grandfather twice removed was a thief, got hisself branded for stealing my grandda's cattle to boot! Ya should be ashamed of yourself. The apple don't fall far from the tree, I always say!"

Grace laughed, threatening to spill her soup. The movement sent fresh waves of pain through her newly thawed muscles. "I never thought of it that way."

"Course, if ya were from here, you'd have the nuns to contend with as well. What, Jimmy? You don't have all the lives of the saints memorized? Saints preserve us, lad, you've got to shape up or you'll be going straight to Hell and nothin' we do will save you! What would your poor, sainted mother be saying then?"

The mincing tones of his mimicry echoed through the room. Grace nodded, feeling warm both inside and out. "Don't worry--I had both nuns and monks!" She launched into a vulgar Latin parody of the Sanctus that Brother Leo had taught her in one of his weaker moments. Both of them paid dearly come Confession that week. To her surprise Jimmy joined in, his baritone mixing nicely with her clear alto.

"I didn't think any girls knew that one," he said, chuckling when they finished. "Do you know what the words mean?"

"Of course, I was speaking Latin almost before English." He arched an eyebrow at that. "I was left swaddled in the arms of a statue of the Virgin Mary," she explained. "At the entrance to a Franciscan monastery outside Loretto, Pennsylvania. A Jesuit monk was staying there on sabbatical. He found me, convinced the brothers to keep me, raise me."

Moran shook his head at her story. Grace finished her soup, relieved that he hadn't laughed. It was the first time in a long, long time that she'd told anyone the truth about her upbringing.

"Christ, what an awful thing to do to a baby."

"I don't know. It wasn't a conventional upbringing, but I had a good time. When I got older, they sent me to live at a convent. Somehow Brother Leo wrangled it so he and the Society of Jesuits were my official guardians. I never had to contend with the horror of the foster-care system." She shrugged, remembering the monk with fondness. He'd seemed ancient to her as a child, but she realized now he could have been only in his thirties. But somehow despite all the years, in her eyes, he never seemed to change in appearance. Flowing silver-grey hair, his one act of rebellion he called it, a wrinkle-free face as if he'd long ago been set free of earth-bound worries.

"This Leo, he wouldn't be a Leo Augustine, would he?"

"Yes. Do you know him?" She stretched out her legs and noticed the Duquesne University logo on the borrowed sweat pants she wore. "You've visited Pittsburgh? Is that where you met Leo?"

"I live there now." He nodded at the logo. "That's my school."

She looked over at him. It was impossible to guess his age--could be anywhere from thirty to fifty. The only lines on his face were tiny crinkles at his eyes when he smiled or frowned. "What do you do there?"

"I'm a professor of history," he told her. She raised her eyebrow in disbelief. "Now, you dinna think that I rescued damsels in distress as a full time occupation, did you? Leo and I taught a course together, comparative mythology of early Christianity and ancient Ireland. He's the one who helped me get the grant I needed to come here this year."

Basking in the warm glow of the fire and Jimmy's whiskey-smooth brogue, she smiled. What was one more minor miracle? Her life had been chock-full of them so far, many thanks to the meddling of a certain Jesuit.

Jimmy's laugh filled the small space, echoing pleasantly from the stones surrounding them. "Guess I owe the good brother a pint next I see him."

"So he did save you." Brittany leaned back with contentment at the happy ending.

"And you and Jimmy lived happily ever after," Tiffany said. "What about Maeve? All his work?"

"I thought Grace would end up saving Jimmy," Heather said, frowning.

Budding feminist, Grace thought, lifting her eyes to meet Jimmy's. "She did," she said, speaking of herself in third person. "But it's getting late and that's another story."

The girls groaned, recognizing a hook when they heard one. "Tomorrow," Grace promised them, stretching her cramped legs and regaining her feet. "Thanks for the tea."

"Grace, where are you going?" Heather asked, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

Grace was going to go back upstairs, sneak a peak at Kat's chart, try to figure out why the ECU gave off such disturbing vibes. As much as the place made her feel uncomfortable, she felt drawn to it.

"Be careful the Witch doesn't get you," Brittany told her.

Grace spun around. She crouched before the three girls, huddled together now, holding hands. "Do you know what happens up in the Tower," she asked. "On the seventh floor?"

They nodded. "Bad things. And it's spreading."

"She wants Vincent."

"She wants it all. Wants everyone to join her in her world."

"But none of it's real. It's only what they want to see."

"It's not real," Heather repeated, taking Grace's hand and squeezing it tight, as if this was vital information.

Grace nodded; even though she didn't understand any of it, their words resonated with the churning in her gut. She circled the three in her arms, squeezing them tight until the giggles of little girls supplanted the ominous portends. But when she looked up to find Jimmy, he had vanished.

CHAPTER 9

Dark of the Moon

Jonas Helman used to have a life. He used to have it all: wife, two kids, dog, house in the 'burbs, even a goddamned minivan.

Then he found his addiction and lost it all.

Best thing that ever happened to him.

Adrenalin and power were his drugs of choice. He craved them constantly. Every waking moment was spent in the pursuit of one or the other or both.

It was ten-thirty at night, the OR manager reminded him as she turned the lights off in the other rooms. Helman ignored her.

Wilson, his assistant, adjusted the screws that held the cadaver's head in precise location in the center of a ceramic halo. Helman glanced up, did some mental calculations, then realigned it a bit so that the holographic image of the MRI fit precisely.

He donned his goggles and lit up the laser and began slicing into the cadaver's brain.

"Damn it!" Helman yanked his goggles off and hurled them across the room. He'd just disintegrated the dead man's hippocampus. If resurrected the corpse would have awakened without any memories or the ability to lay down new ones.

"Sir, if you'd let me tie the laser to the computer guidance--"

"Shut the fuck up, Wilson!" The operating tech obeyed, clamping his lips together until they formed a single thin line. "What the hell's the good if I let a fucking machine do the goddamn surgery?"

Wilson knew better than to answer.

Helman paced the room. "Reset to the thalamic lesion, let's run that one."

Wilson turned to the computer, his shoulders hunched, presenting the smallest possible target to the irate surgeon. The holographic image changed; still the same cadaver's brain but with a new lesion programmed into the images. The idea was that with a precise map of both the normal and cancerous tissue of the brain, the laser could be guided to obliterate tumor and spare the rest.

It worked perfectly when the computer programmed the laser's movements. Wilson judiciously did not remind his boss of this.

Helman held his hand out and Wilson scrambled to retrieve the goggles from the floor, then darkened the overhead lights.

"I'm gonna get you this time," Helman murmured as his fingers delicately nudged the laser on its path of destruction. "Computer, my ass."

If medicine was as much an art as a science, then neurosurgery was the fucking Sistine Chapel and he was Michelangelo.

Helman finished his work and gestured for the room lights. "Take that, you bastard."

"Computer says there's 1.56% residual tumor remaining," Wilson told his master in a low voice.

"What? Now it's saying I wimped out? Let's see it do better without taking out the thalamic tract."

Wilson punched the keys and they watched as the computer guided the laser's bursts of energy. It only took a few seconds. Helman rushed forward to inspect the brain while Wilson waited for the computer's tally.

"100% tumor free, only 2.3 mm encroachment onto healthy tissue."

Helman shook his head. It was impressive work--but done by a goddamned machine! He wanted this technique to be his masterpiece, not the product of some mindless pile of circuit boards and wires.

He even had a name for it: the Helman Process. His legacy.

"Let's try another," Helman told his assistant, ignoring the other man's sigh of fatigue. "We're not going anywhere until I can take on Grace Moran's tumor and beat that fucker."

Vincent was in his office on the third floor, emptying the extraneous papers from his lab coat, his last ritual before leaving for home. Not that anything or anyone special was waiting for him at home--or had been for a long time.

Goddamn lawyers and their malpractice cases. His life would be perfect if it wasn't for the Nguygens. He'd have his staff appointment locked in, salary negotiated, signing bonus in hand for a down payment on a condo in Shadyside and a new car to put in the parking lot.

Instead all he had to go home to was microwave pizza in a Squirrel Hill studio, his dinner companion a stack of bills, all past due.

The last papers to spill from his pocket were the notes from the neurosurg conference. Grace Moran, the woman with the tumor Helman was planning to make history removing, still haunted Vincent--had been all day. He couldn't seem to get her out of his mind, imagining the circumstances that brought her to this juncture. It was so unlike him. Usually he prided himself on his detachment, his ability to remain objective.

It was fascinating to imagine the freedom that might come from knowing that you possibly only had a few days to live. Eve Warden said the brain mapping would take a day at least, so in reality Helman's patient would be confined to the ECU during the time before her surgery, but in Vincent's imagination she was living out her dreams.

A trip to Tuscany? Breakfast at Tiffany's? Diving with dolphins in Maui? The possibilities were enticing, especially after knowing the woman had been a virtual prisoner in her own house for the past several years.

He scanned the notes again. Vincent sat down at the utilitarian desk and used his computer to access Grace Moran's medical records. One of the few perks of being the Chief Resident. Still had the same lousy pay and rotten hours, but he had his own private office and call room for the year. If the place had a window, he might consider moving in, saving money on rent. Might still if the Nguygens won.

Grace Moran was listed as a patient in the ECU but there weren't any vital signs or notes detailing her progress today.

Her phone number and address were included with her other demographic information, including the fact that she was not married. He was surprised to see that she lived only a few blocks away from him. Her occupation was listed as web consultant. Good job for an agoraphobic. One previous admission to the trauma service almost five years ago. No psych admissions listed. Maybe she wasn't as crazy as Helman painted her.

Might be interesting to wander back over to the ECU, meet her in person. Then he shook his head and cleared the computer screen. Was this what his life had come to? Stalking a patient?

Worse was the tinge of envy he felt about Grace Moran. The woman was facing an operation that would probably, despite Helman's boasting, kill her.

Yet somehow, he almost wished he was in her place, had her freedom.

He deliberately folded his notes in half, let them fall. Caught in the breeze from the vent, the white sheets of paper fluttered through the air like angel wings.

Vincent stared at them, head bowed as he stood beside his desk, frozen for a moment in time. He felt light-headed, unsure which direction to move in. Finally, the papers hit the bottom of the trashcan with a slapping sound that woke him from his trance. The sound of a fastball hitting a glove. The sound of cement landing on a trowel. The sound of someone, somewhere doing something.

But not Vincent. He stood there, vision blurred as he stared at the simple white sheets of paper, motionless.

Vincent clicked the overhead light off, shut the door and headed for the elevator. He had to get out of here.

Just wished he had somewhere worth going to. Maybe he should reconsider Eve Warden's offer--both the business partnership as well as the social one.

Lukas tossed and turned, his dreams shrouding him in the past, taking him back to the first time he had seen his father having sex with a woman.

He was nine. The woman was not his mother. In fact, he later learned from his mother that once he was conceived and a male heir produced to carry the upstanding Redding name into the next millennia, his father never touched her again.

He'd heard a woman screaming and rushed into his father's bedroom. Then stopped. The plush Persian rug beside his father's bed had been shoved aside. A strange woman was on the hardwood floor, on her hands and knees, naked. His father was still dressed and knelt on the floor, leaning up against the woman, pushing at her from behind, his fingers wrapped around her hips as they rocked back and forth.

The woman screamed again, but her lips were bared in a wide smile that revealed a mouthful of yellow, rotting teeth. She turned her head and made eye contact with Lukas, then laughed.

"Go back to your crayons and baby dolls, little boy," she said.

Earl Redding whirled around, disengaging from the woman's bare bottom. "Shut up," he told the woman. "That's my son you're talking to and he'll be a man soon enough."

Unlike Lukas' mother, Earl had never been employed and was always home. It was just the two of them rattling around in the Redding family's Fox Chapel mansion. Except for the servants, of course. Weeks could go by with Earl never making eye contact with Lukas or otherwise acknowledging his son, leaving Lukas alone with his computer and cyber-tutor.

Under other circumstances Lukas would have been proud at his father's words.

Now Lukas' attention was riveted by the long, red throbbing appendage jutting from his father's open pants. He knew it was called a penis--his tutor insisted he use correct terminology for anatomy instead of slang. But it looked nothing like Lukas' own penis, the only one he had to compare it to other than vague drawings in his biology text and a few bizarre photos he'd accidentally come across while on-line.

His father had an enormous penis. His father's penis was a monster. Pulsing with power.

Lukas glanced at the woman. No wonder she was on her hands and knees. And something that big shoved inside you--that had to hurt. Yet she had been smiling.

She caught his expression and laughed again. The sound was shrill, echoing from the vaulted ceiling of the large room. Earl Redding lunged forward, gripping her long, stringy hair in his fist, yanking her head up as he kicked her between her legs.

She yelped, an animal noise of fear and pain. Only Earl's hold on her hair kept her from slumping to the floor. Earl began to kick and pummel her with his free hand, his erection growing even larger with each blow landed and every cry uttered.

Entranced, Lukas took a step forward. Then another. Earl paused, looked Lukas in the eye and grinned. "Never let the bitches think they're better than you. You take control, you hear me? You make them do what they're supposed to do."

The woman was sobbing, tears streaming down her face, twin rivers of black mascara and blue eye liner. Earl reached for Lukas, pulled him closer. "Go ahead, son. Show her who's boss."

Lukas hesitated only a moment, the gleam in his father's eye frightening him. If he didn't do what his father wanted, would his father hit him, too? The woman was a grown up, he was just a kid. Also, there was this strange new sensation in his groin, a warm tingling that made him wonder if he might also someday have the same monstrous, strange power as his father.

He swung his fist into the woman's face, bouncing off her cheekbone. It hurt, but it also felt good, especially when her nose began to bleed. He hit her again and again, but the initial nosebleed was the worst damage he inflicted. His father's laughter stopped him.

That was Lukas's first lesson in sex. Earl must have felt his performance enhanced by his son's presence, or maybe it was simply one more form of revenge on his too-successful absent wife, but he began to order Lukas to join him for lessons on a regular basis.

It was the only father-son bonding Lukas had until he was fourteen and finally killed the bastard.

Maeve Goes Into the Light….

Lough Ree, Roscommon, Eire

1630 BC

Maeve slid beneath the placid surface of the dark waters and allowed herself to float, to simply be, released of all boundaries and responsibilities. She loved bathing alone at night like this, especially when the moon was bright and the stars shimmered and danced above her.

It was so unlike the way nights had been during the dark times. No moon, no stars, only a murky shadow that shrouded the land.

She tilted her head back, dipping all her hair into the cool waters, and sighed. How much had been lost back then. So long ago that the trees now standing guard over her hadn't existed. Most of her people no longer spoke of those times, they were merely a fairytale used to scare children.

Not to Maeve. She still dreamed of those dark days of endless night. Especially of the day when she was forced to kill Lothar, her brother.

As she floated in the quiet lake, bathing in moonbeams and quiet water, Maeve shivered. Tonight--could tonight be the night? Twisting her body to the right and the left, she scanned the perimeter of the lake. All was quiet. Except her memories. Those she couldn't silence.

She quelled her nerves, finished her bath, and returned to shore. As she emerged from the lake, a man's form separated itself from the shadows beneath the trees.

"Furbaide," she said, standing upright before her nephew, not bothering to cover her nakedness. He had chosen his ambush well. She was alone, unarmed. But not surprised. For twenty-two years she had been waiting to pay the blood debt.

"Maeve," he spat her name like a curse. He was less than an arm's breadth away. His face was raw, chiseled with sharp angles.

She took a single step towards the pile of clothing that concealed her weapon. But stopped when he raised the short sword, her sword, from behind his back, twisting it so moonlight danced over its wickedly sharp edge. The same edge which had killed his father.

Before Maeve could move to defend herself, Furbaide thrust the sword at her. The blade whistled through the air, impaling her.

She reached for the hilt, her hands covering his. His eyes were lit by a righteous fire as he leered down at her. He twisted the blade once, his grin widening as Maeve cried out.

Another man's arm snaked out of the darkness, wrapping itself around Furbaide's neck and choking him until he dropped to the ground. Maeve sank to her knees, her hands still wrapped around the sword hilt. The pain that shot through her was now a mere trickle of agony but she felt her life slipping away with it.

The second man crouched beside her, lowering her gently onto the rocks. She strained to focus and saw it was her old friend, Leonid. The druid who had led her and her people to salvation.

"You should have listened to me, Maeve," he chided her, his silver hair streaming over his shoulders and framing a miraculously unlined face.

Twenty-two years had passed, yet Leonid had not aged. What kind of marvel was this? She reached a hand out to him, beckoned him closer.

"You could have had it all Maeve," he continued, regret in his voice. "You could have ruled the world, changed history forever."

She managed to shake her head. "No," she choked out. "It was always meant to be this way."

"No. No, it's not." His dark eyes grew fierce. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

Maeve tried to speak again, but her throat had filled with a fluid she recognized as her own blood. She felt nothing, not pain, not the night breeze, not Leonid's hands as he cradled her. Her vision dimmed, her eyes fluttered shut. Then she opened them again in shock.

Leonid had leaned forward. He lay his mouth over hers and kissed her, drawing her breath into his body in an act more intimate than any she had ever shared with a lover. As he held his mouth over hers, she watched the stars above her swirl and spin, as if she were falling into the night sky.

She looked down and saw her body, Leonid still hovering over it, from above. His voice came from a great distance. "Sorry, my queen, but someone will be needing this in a few thousand years."

Leonid stood and with a mighty jerk, pulled free the blade that had impaled her. Maeve felt a flutter of curiosity, even as she spun further and further away. Then it too was gone, a handful of sand tossed into the churning ocean of night.

CHAPTER 10

Night Terrors

Grace lay on a bed in a deserted call room. The plastic-coated mattress rustled with every breath she took. After the girls' warning, she'd decided she was too tired to investigate the ECU tonight, had returned to the Annex instead. Now she lay in the musty, abandoned call room, staring into the dark, trying to will herself to sleep and failing. Maybe it was the room--brought back old memories. Her body tensed as if she were waiting for her pager to go off, primed to jump into action at a moment's notice.

Fool. She didn't have a pager and she wasn't a doctor, not anymore. Not for a long time.

She sighed and flopped over onto her stomach, face buried in the thin pillow, inhaling the scorched scent of hospital linens. She hadn't told the girls the entire story, about that day when she met Jimmy. Now she couldn't stop thinking about it. Her senses scanned the dark room, hoping for some sign he was here with her, but she was alone.

That first night in the beehive hut she had woken to find Jimmy crouched at the fire, adding more peat. His chest and feet were bare. The fire cast strange shadows on the rough stone walls of the hut, bizarre shapes of mythic beasts: griffin, dragon, unicorn. As he rose to his full height, silhouetted by the crackling fire, he appeared to be the master of them all.

The wind tore through the air shafts with the mournful cry of a lover lost. Jimmy looked over at her, brushing soot from his hands, and their eyes met. He returned to the sleeping bag, sliding in behind her without a word.

Of course, she told herself, trying to force her body to relax, there was only one sleeping bag--his. It wasn't as if he'd been expecting company. She kept her eyes on the fire and realized the shadows weren't creatures but her own clothing rescued from the sodden pile she'd abandoned it in, hung by the fire to dry.

Jimmy's body stretched out behind hers. She was no longer cold, but she still shivered. He circled his arm over hers, drawing her into his chest. His body was warm, solid, safe.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I believe you Yanks call it spooning," he said, his breath rustling the hair on the crown of her head. "Tsch, tsch," he crooned as her body remained tense, trembling like a child woken from a nightmare. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm not a baby--" she protested, her words blurred with exhaustion.

"Of course not, shh."

"I'm twenty-six, you know."

His chuckle resonated through his chest and into her. "Then you are a baby--compared to me."

Silence. Grace closed her eyes, hypnotized by his steady breathing. Still, she could not lose herself in sleep.

"I wouldn't have died," she whispered, too low to wake him but loud enough for the words to take on solidity. Jimmy sighed deeply and wrapped his leg over hers, snugging her closer to him. His protectiveness irritated her.

"The water would have risen and I would have been able to swim to the tunnel, climb out by myself," she continued. He was silent, but she felt his breath catch and knew there was a flaw in her logic.

She squeezed her eyes shut, imaging her plight in the burial tomb as a simple physics problem. The cavern was an empty wine bottle, upside down with its corked neck in a shallow pan of water. Pull the cork and water flowed into the bottle, seeking its own level. Then it stopped. Just as it had in the cavern--far short of the ledge. She would have lasted maybe a few hours, trapped with escape in sight but out of reach, until hypothermia and exhaustion took her under for the last time.

Her eyes flew open and she choked as she took in a smoke-filled breath. It was the peat making her eyes water, she told herself. But she was grateful for Jimmy's hand searching out hers, entwining his fingers around hers, giving her a comforting squeeze.

Jimmy stared out the window of the helipad door. He didn't like the new building across the way. There was something about the new tower that felt unbalanced, made the hair on his neck bristle.

Or it would have if he had any hair. Or a body. The only time he seemed close to being real was when Grace was there with him. Other times, he felt as empty as a beggarman's purse.

More frustrating was even when Grace was near and he felt somewhat whole, he still couldn't feel her. Yet, he felt all too much of what was going on inside her. The fears, the panic, the overwhelming darkness that threatened to devour her.

The pain of knowing he was the cause of it.

To be suddenly yanked back into the world was one thing. To wake and find yourself drowning in the terror and sorrow that had become your beloved's daily existence was quite another.

Christ, what he wouldn't give to be whole again, to find some way to heal Grace and to get his hands on the bastard who had done this to her. This he prayed with all his might, his gaze locked onto dark shadows moving past the windows of the tower opposite the helipad.

In answer to his prayer, rain slashed against the door and a man's laughter rang through the deserted hallway.

"Don't fret, Jimmy," the man he'd known in life as Brother Leo said. "There's not many who could have come as far as you have, even with my help."

Jimmy spun around. Or rather he changed the direction of his attention and the building seemed to spin around him. Leo lounged against the elevator doors, his silver hair falling around his face like a lion's mane. His eyes were darker than the storm-tossed night, darker than Jimmy had ever noticed them to be when he was alive.

As if Leo were more demon than man.

"About time you returned." Jimmy's voice thundered with emotion despite the fact he had no vocal cords or even a mouth to form the words. "What is this, then? Some kind of purgatory? I pay for my sins by watching Grace suffer?"

"There is no purgatory. I explained that to you when I brought you here. There's no heaven or hell either--only time."

"Riddles and rhymes. I want answers. You said I was here to help Grace, tell me how."

"You've done your job. You kept her here. Now you can go."

"Like hell I will!"

"You've no choice in the matter," Leo said with a nonchalant wave of his hand, dismissing Jimmy.

Jimmy felt icy fingers tug at his heart, trying to yank him back into the void from which he came. "No. I'm not leaving her. Not again, dammit!"

He reached out for Grace. In his mind's eye he saw her tossing on the narrow bed of the call room. She was dreaming about the first night they met. He felt her hand reach out, weaving her fingers between his, felt her squeeze his hand tight, holding on for dear life.

Jimmy fastened onto the memory, pulling from her strength. He pushed the cold emptiness back and watched as Leo's expression turned to surprise.

"I'm not going anywhere," Jimmy told the former Jesuit. His hand was clenched at his side; he imagined Grace's hand holding it, anchoring him.

Leo's face creased into a smile. "No. I guess not. So, what are you going to do? You can't stay here forever, drawing on Grace's strength."

"I don't intend to stay forever. Just long enough to see Grace out of danger."

Grace remembered Jimmy holding her that first night. In her half dream state, she could almost feel the weight of his arm, his breath rustling her hair, the beat of his heart slow and steady as she shivered in fear.

"I'm sorry," she had muttered, both embarrassed and comforted by his presence.

"For what? Being scared?" His grip around her tightened. "Let me guess. Your damned priests taught you to have faith, that fear was useless. Idiots."

She craned her head toward him, surprised by his bitterness. "What's wrong with faith?"

"And you a scientist. Christians seem to believe they created the concept of blind belief in a higher power. Pshaw. A thousand years before Christ, pagans like Maeve had faith. It was that faith that almost got her killed."

"What happened?"

He sat up on his elbow, looking down on her, shadows from the fire dancing over his face. They could have been living thousands of years in the past, him an ancient Druid or warrior poet, spinning his tale. "What happened? We're talking 1652 BC here, young lady. What do you think happened?"

She shrugged. The date meant nothing to her.

"Christ save me from children who don't know past what they see on a bloody computer screen. 1652BC, as in the eruption of Thera, the most powerful volcanic explosion in history. One hundred times the force of Hiroshima, it was heard over two thousand miles away.

"1652 as in the plagues of Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, a colossal tsunami ninety feet high, powerful enough to destroy the palace at Zakros and eradicate the entire Minoan civilization. Any of this ringing bells?"

"Moses and all that," she replied hesitantly.

He rolled his eyes. "A wandering Jew in the right place at the right time. How about this, then? Fall of Atlantis?"

"Right. Santorini they call it now. A Greek Island. They uncovered houses, beautiful art work, frescoes and statues, as well as feats of engineering far advanced from anything expected. Electroplating, metal working, knowledge of medicine and mathematics, even the first known computer--all over 3,000 years ago."

Now he beamed at her as if she were a star pupil. "Right. Santorini is Thera--or Kallista as the Minoans who lived there called it. But what's important is that they found no human bodies--only remains of a few livestock. Not a single person was left behind. They all disappeared, scattered to the four winds and beyond."

She twisted around to sit cross-legged before him, enchanted by his tale of ancient history. He gestured with his hands as he continued, "Beads and artifacts traced back to that period and a Mediterranean origin have been found beneath the stones of Stonehenge, in ancient Mayan ruins in Belize, along the coast of France and Africa. An entire population vanished, leaving only bits and pieces behind."

She smiled at the passion in his voice. "What do the people of Atlantis--"

"Kallisteans."

"Kallisteans have to do with Maeve?"

"It is my belief," his chest puffed out as if he were preparing to ward off any word of ridicule or rebuttal, "that the Kallisteans came here to the west coast of Ireland. And Maeve found them."

Jimmy shoved aside the remnants of Grace's memories, trying to keep his focus in the here and now. A here and now where he wasn't meant to exist at all.

Leo pushed away from the wall, flaunting the fact that he had a body to push with, and strode toward Jimmy. "You really think you can save her, do you?" he demanded. "Has it occurred to you that maybe she can't be saved? That maybe she's here to save someone else?"

"Like who?" Jimmy felt anger surge through him, somehow the strong emotions seemed to help him stay whole, helped to keep him from disintegrating back into the void. "What kind of games are you playing with us, old man?"

"It's no game. It's deadly serious. And sometimes people must be sacrificed."

"No! I won't allow it. You can bring me back from the dead, you must have it in your power to save her."

"It's not a question of what I can or cannot do. It's all up to her. Free will. I can suggest, influence, but only she can decide what is to come next."

Jimmy considered that. He didn't trust the Jesuit, devil, demon, or whatever Leo Augustine was in reality. But the man had knowledge, power Jimmy needed. "How do you do it?" he asked, forcing himself to sound meek, awe-struck. "Keep your body as if you were alive? Are you alive?"

"In fact, Leonard Augustine is alive now. Alive and well and living in Los Angeles, as a matter of fact. But he's not me--not yet."

"You're from the future?" Jimmy's head began to throb as he tried to follow Leo's explanation.

"Listen here, my boy. Einstein had the right idea. Energy, mass, time. All tied together. When we die, we release energy. Think of all those billions of cells, powered by millions of mitochondria, tiny atomic energy plants. Most of us simply scatter, our energy drifting along the tides of time."

"Unless," Jimmy prompted.

"Unless you have enough energy to hold on to a bit of your consciousness. Then, if you pay attention and find a way to harness more energy, you'll find time is like ripples on a pond. It can travel either forward or back. And you can skip like a stone in either direction. If your will and focus are strong enough."

"So you've traveled here from the future. What happens to Grace? How can I save her?"

The monk snorted a short laugh. "Christ, you're just as stubborn as Maeve. I haven't only traveled back from the future, I've traveled all through time."

"You met Maeve? 3500 years ago?"

"I was the one who warned the Kallisteans and sent them on their way. I was there with Maeve--stubborn woman. Focused on her own wants instead of the greater good. Just like you. I was there on Calvary during the crucifixion, beside the Lion Heart as he destroyed Palestine in the name of that same god, comforted Joan before she burned at the stake. I've tried to warn, to influence, to guide them all--but nothing has changed. Time is catching up. Grace is my last chance."

Jimmy felt his pulse race at the mention of the great figures of history. "You've seen so much. Why here, why now, why Grace?"

"Everything I've done has been in an attempt to re-balance the universe, to prevent a great evil from emerging."

"What evil? What do you want Grace to do? How can she stop it?" Jimmy wanted to wring the answers from Leo, but could only listen, helpless.

"Aye, there lies the rub. I can observe, suggest, influence. Free will still reigns supreme."

Jimmy would have paced if he had feet. "But you're solid. You have mass. If you're like me--"

"Dead."

"Right. How did--"

"I told you. Energy, mass, time. Enough energy and you can create mass but you lose your freedom to travel through time. Give up the mass and you can go where and when you want. It's just physics. Laws of the universe."

"This good versus evil is no law of the universe," Jimmy argued. "Morals are imposed by men, society. Not physics."

"We don't have time to argue philosophy. Have you never heard of the entropy effect?"

"Everything is headed toward destruction from the moment it's created."

"There you go. Destruction equals chaos, chaos equals evil. Lesson over. Come, my boy, if you're going to stick around, then I've got work for you."

"No. I want to see Grace. I want to be with Grace."

"So sorry, you've missed your chance. While you were prattling on about morals and semantics, she crossed over into the Tower. There you can not follow."

Kat sat sideways on the couch, her head cradled by the window. One o'clock. Only five more hours before daylight again. Maybe they'd even see the sun today. Instead of grey steel clouds that swallowed all light. She dared to hope.

She stifled a yawn, then pinched herself to keep awake. She could do five hours, piece of cake. Sleep was overrated anyway.

Her door opened a crack, allowing light from the hallway to spill inward. Kat jumped and turned guiltily to the woman in the doorway. "I was just going to the bathroom," the words rushed out, her voice tight with fear. "I'm going right back to bed."

"It's okay, Kat. It's me." Grace entered and joined her at the couch.

"Grace? You shouldn't come here--not alone, not at night."

"Why not? I was worried about you."

Kat straightened. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

Grace was silent for a moment, her gaze never leaving Kat's face. She took Kat's hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "What's so scary that you won't go to sleep?"

What didn't scare her? Kat thought with chagrin. She remained silent for a long moment, but the idea of someone listening, of being there in the dark with her, was too compelling to ignore. "Sometimes I'm frightened I won't wake up--or if I do, I won't be me anymore. I'll be a vegetable, drooling and peeing my pants, not able to walk or talk. Or worse, I'll still be me on the inside but no one will know."

"You mean like in a coma?"

"Yes, but awake on the inside."

"It's called the locked box syndrome," Grace told her.

"Locked box. Yeah, it feels like being buried alive in a coffin, locked in with no way out again."

"Feels like? Kat, when did this happen to you?"

Kat fought against the shudder the memory brought with it and lost. Grace pulled her into her arms.

"Last week," Kat whispered. "When the Witch took me."

"Who took you? Took you where?"

Kat began to weep. She hated to admit it but it felt good to have a grown up care about her--not that her parents didn't, but they had too much to think about and Kat was already such a burden to them.

Snap out of it, she told herself. Think of all those kids your age out on the streets, fending for themselves, or drafted to fight wars, starving in Africa. You've got it easy, three meals a day, roof over your head, your own bathroom--just 'cause your brain doesn't work right is no reason to get all whiny and wimpy.

"Tell me what happened," Grace said.

Kat wiped her nose on her pajama sleeve. She kept her other hand entwined with Grace's--that wasn't being a wimp, was it? She needed the contact to give her strength to face the memory of last Thursday night.

"My surgery was supposed to be last week," she began. "But they didn't have enough data to build the map of my brain. They need that so they don't cut out the good parts, what little's left."

"But you sabotaged the download. Alex told me."

"Yeah, I just wanted to wait 'til after my birthday. I know it sounds stupid, but--"

"That's all right, I understand."

"The Witch--Dr. Warden--figured out that I was turning off my recorder. So she called my parents and told them not to visit because I wasn't cooperating. I only get to see them once a week anyway, so that was really unfair." Her voice tightened and she was afraid she'd start crying again. But she took a deep breath and didn't.

"She had no right to do that," Grace said. "You're a child, alone here facing a serious illness. Of course you need your parents beside you."

"I'm not a child!" Kat said. "I don't need my parents. Anyway, they've got too much to take care of, the farm, my brothers and sisters." She shook her head, the electrodes rattling. "I can take care of myself."

"What else did Dr. Warden do?"

"That night she had the nurse bring me over to the room for a treatment. She gave me that drug of hers, Lucidine, you know it?"

Grace went rigid. "Lucidine? Are you certain?"

When Grace had been a resident Lucidine was just entering its clinical trials. There was one study going in the ER and several upstairs in the OR. She never liked the drug--even though patients said they felt no pain during procedures. The drug spooked Grace. She'd seen several people have an adverse reaction. The feeling of being out of control, totally at someone else's mercy and yet still aware of what was happening was too much for some patients.

Just like being buried alive.

"Why did she give you the Lucidine?"

"She said it would help me not to sabotage what the doctors were doing. The nurse gave it to me and suddenly it was like I was dead. I couldn't feel anything, could hardly breath, couldn't talk, couldn't see--but I could hear, smell, taste. And then--"

"What happened? Did someone hurt you?" Grace tried to keep the fury from her voice. That Warden had so little consideration for a child's feelings much less her welfare was unconscionable. "It's all right, you can tell me."

"When I was a kid, just seven or so, I fell off my horse and broke my arm. It really, really hurt and I was so scared, I thought I was gonna die or something. All of a sudden after they gave me the Lucidine I started feeling that same pain again, and I heard Dr. Warden's voice telling me that if I tried to turn off my recorder the pain would come back. She said it over and over and over and I kept feeling the pain, only it wasn't in my arm, it was in my head, and I wanted to scream, get her to stop, tell her I'd be good--" Kat choked down fresh tears, "but I couldn't. I couldn't get her to stop."

Grace pulled her close. Kat's sobs wracked through her body. "It's all right. It won't happen again, I promise." She glanced out the dark window, the lights of Pittsburgh obscured by rain and mist. Can you wait for me just a little longer, Jimmy? "I won't let it happen."

Kat's extreme reaction to the Lucidine was probably because of her underlying brain damage from the Rasmussen's. But that didn't excuse Warden's behavior. The doctor should have known better than to use a drug like Lucidine on a patient with neurologic abnormalities. And to misuse a drug to punish a child!

Warden would pay for it, Grace promised herself. Dearly.

"What do you want?" she asked Kat once the girl's sobs had calmed down. "Do you want me to call your parents, tell them what happened? They could report Warden."

Kat shook her head vigorously. "No, you can't do that. They'd send me home, tell me to have the operation somewhere else and my parents can't afford that. If I stay here, they don't have to pay for anything."

"Want me to talk to Dr. Warden?"

Another head shake. "You'll just get her mad and she'll do something else. You don't know what she's capable of."

Grace was certain that Kat was overreacting but then she remembered the feeling of dread that overwhelmed her every time she came close to the ECU. Maybe something more was going on here.

"Like what? Has she done anything else to hurt you?"

"Not me. But some of the other freaks--"

"Don't call yourself that," Grace told her sternly. "Kat, you're a beautiful young lady, not a freak."

"Yeah, that's me, the girl with half a brain. Anyway, the Skeleton--her real name's Angie," Kat amended when she caught Grace's look of disapproval. "She's only been here a few weeks. She used to cut and scratch herself a lot and she'd make herself throw up after she ate anything. She was crying in her room the other day and I went in, asked her what was wrong and she asked me to cut her."

"You know, Kat, some kids do that kind of thing as a cry for help," Grace floundered. What the hell did she know about helping an eleven-almost-twelve-year-old understand these things?

"Oh, I know," Kat said in an off handed manner. "One of the girls in my class used to do it--she was nuts. Anyway, Angie said she couldn't do it herself, anytime she tried her body went numb. Not only couldn't she use her hand to cut herself, but even if she could manage to scrape herself on something like the radiator she couldn't feel it anymore, not since her treatments. And she was scared. 'Cause she said the pain she felt when she cut herself let her know she was alive and if she was alive then there was still some hope, but if she couldn't feel anything, then what was the point of living?"

"What did you do?"

"I pinched her real hard and she yelled. And I told her not to give up 'cause she was definitely still alive."

Grace looked down on the girl-almost-woman before her and couldn't suppress a tear of her own. She wished she had someone like Kat around when she'd been fighting her own battle between suicide and hope.

Then she remembered Brother Leo sitting at her bedside in the ICU. And after she went home, she'd found Ingrid. Guess she was lucky after all.

"Is Angie all right now?"

Kat shrugged. "She doesn't cry anymore, but she doesn't smile either. And she won't talk to me. Says this is something she has to work on alone--whatever that means."

"I think it means the same thing as when you tell your parents not to come more often because you're just fine," Grace said gently.

Kat looked down. "Oh. I didn't think of it that way."

"I know you and Alex think that delaying your surgery won't be a problem. But the sooner you get it over with, the sooner you get to go home."

Kat jerked her head up at that and Grace saw the panic in her eyes. Sabotaging her surgery had nothing to do with her parents or her birthday, she realized. It had everything to do with fear.

"Has anyone talked to you about what happens after your operation?"

Kat shook her head and wouldn't meet Grace's eyes. "Half my brain will be gone. What if it's the half that the kids at school like? Or the part that can whistle even better than my dad can? What if I forget my parents and brothers and sisters--even my dog and my horse? What if," her voice dropped to a whisper, "I don't wake up at all? Not dead but not alive either--what's in between?"

Grace lifted Kat's chin, directing the girl's gaze back toward her. "Kat, I promise it won't be like that. Did you know that you only use a portion of your brain to start with? So that leaves a whole lot left over that you weren't even using. After the operation you'll have trouble using one side of your body, maybe some trouble talking and chewing--but you're young and they'll help you get stronger. Things won't be the same as before, but if you don't have the surgery, the seizures will kill you."

Kat nodded gravely. "Will I remember everything? I won't be a retard, will I?"

"No, you won't. But you might forget a few things. It's hard for me to predict without knowing what parts of your brain have been affected by the Rasmussen's."

"So you don't know either," Kat said, a hint of bitter disappointment in her voice.

"Not right now. But if I can get to your chart, maybe I can find out more. Would that help?" Kat nodded. "How about we make a deal? You and Alex stop sabotaging your recording, and I'll try to figure out a way to sneak a look at your chart. Deal?"

Kat took Grace's outstretched hand and shook it. "Deal. But don't come over here at night anymore. That's when they let the Beast out."

"Don't worry about me. How about if you get some sleep? It's late."

Kat left the couch and crawled into her bed. Grace sat beside her and held her hand until she drifted off to sleep.

It was three in the morning when Grace left Kat's side. The ECU was quiet, the lights dimmed. All over the hospital, all over the city, people slept, closer to death at this hour than at any other.

It was a time of night that Grace was well acquainted with. The time when nightmares hit, the time when dawn seemed too far out of reach, the new day it brought as hopeless as the last. A time when souls wandered, slipping the barriers between what was real and what was not.

Grace usually never allowed herself to sleep at this time of night--too risky in so many ways.

No, three in the morning wasn't a time for slumber, not in Grace's world. It was the time to fortify oneself with strong coffee and buckle down, get the work that kept a roof over her head done. Then, finally, when the sun dared to show its face again, then she could think of going to bed, take a chance on a few hours of vulnerability.

She left Kat's room and crept down the thickly carpeted hall toward the rear of the nurses' station where the patient charts were kept. Now would be the best time to keep her promise to Kat. Then she'd be free to leave in the morning, free to go home where she belonged.

Where Jimmy was waiting for her to join him. Forever.

She had a brand new bottle of Tylenol--more than enough to polish off her liver. In a few days, she'd slip peacefully into a coma and never wake up. By the time anyone realized what she'd done, it would be too late.

She sucked in her breath, overwhelmed for a moment by the longing to be back in her house, surrounded by familiar smells and sounds and sights. Jimmy's face looking down on her as she worked on her computer. Even locked behind the cold glass of a photo frame, his smug grin lent her warmth, strength.

Please God. Let me find a way out of this place. I just want to go home.

Grace shook away her childish wishes. She of all people knew the futility of praying to a faceless god. She ducked her head around the corner of the nurses' station and checked to be certain it was empty before she crept inside.

She knelt in front of the chart rack, below the sight line of anyone passing in the corridor. Kat had been here long enough that two thick volumes bore her name. She grabbed the first and leaned back against the wall. Down the hall a door swished open. Footsteps came toward her accompanied by a man's breathy whistling.

She pulled her knees to her chest and slid behind the chart rack into the dark space below the counter top. The footsteps passed her. Keys rattled in the secure door at the end of the hallway. Where Alex said the Beast lived. She wondered what kind of patient earned that sobriquet and the need for locked doors.

A woman's voice came from nearby. Dr. Warden. A man's voice answered. A voice that sliced into Grace's very marrow, releasing a swarm of wasps and terror.

Grace curled into a ball, squeezed her eyes shut as panic overwhelmed her.

She had a good idea who the Beast was.

CHAPTER 11

The Beast

Eve removed the last of the electrodes from Lukas's shaved scalp. "Let's go over everything we covered tonight," she told him.

Lukas looked up at her with glassy blue eyes--his usual look, not a side effect of the Lucidine therapy. But he was more engaged now than he had been when they began therapy four months ago. He flexed and closed his long, skinny fingers but otherwise sat perfectly motionless, his body slumped in the chair, watching her with that almost-vacant stare as if trying to judge if she was real or not.

"Tell me about your wife."

"Gracie. Gracie is my wife." His face became animated, his gaze bounced around the room as if his wife hid in a corner.

"Is?" Eve frowned. Tonight's session had been frustrating--all the ground she'd gained over the past four months lost again for unknown reasons. She pounded her fist against her thigh. Renee Redding was not going to like this. Not at all.

And if Renee wasn't happy with Lukas' progress, then Eve would lose the funding for her private clinic. "You mean, was, right?"

"No." Lukas frowned, concentrated on twisting his wedding band. Eve had tried repeatedly to get him to stop wearing it, decided when that finally happened, she'd know that her treatment was a complete success. Until tonight, she'd thought that might be any day now. "Our fifth wedding anniversary is coming up this May."

Goddamn it! She'd worked so hard--she couldn't stand it that those idiot psychiatrists at Western Psych might be right. They'd had Lukas for almost four years and got nowhere--said his delusions were fixed, he was beyond treatment, psychotic.

But with the help of Lucidine, she'd been able to replace those delusions with a new reality, one that would render the man harmless to society. It was to be Lucidine's greatest triumph when Lukas was re-evaluated in two weeks.

The launch pad for her own clinic, supported by the government grants Renee Redding promised her after she cured the lobbyist's son. Renee also assured her a steady stream of private patients once Lucidine therapy was validated.

"Lukas," she injected the venom she felt into her voice. "We've been through this. You and Gracie were married but what happened on your honeymoon? Do you remember driving home from the airport? The drunk driver swerving into your lane? Remember, Lukas?"

He squinted at her, brow creased in a frown as he tried to separate his delusions from the alternate reality Eve had programmed his brain to respond to. She leaned forward, took his hand. "Think, Lukas. Remember the blood? Her screams?"

He nodded as if in a trance. "I remember blood. I remember screaming."

That was right, big boy. Only it had nothing to do with a drunk driver. When Eve first got Lukas, sent to her by his lawyer after a long court battle and a lot of string-pulling by his wealthy, politically connected mother, he'd thought every woman with dark hair or wearing white was his "Gracie". It had taken a lot of creativity to devise a program of therapy for him. She hadn't even had a photo of the real Gracie to start with--the police had refused to release the file to her. But she'd begun with various stimuli and monitored Lukas' response. Certain chairs became synonymous with Gracie as did knives with long, wicked blades. Anything the color of blood.

Finally, he'd begun to respond. Until tonight. Now Lukas fought her every step of the way.

"I had my hands around his throat," he continued in a low whisper. "He deserved to die for what he did to my Gracie."

Eve sighed, patted her hair back into place. They'd make more progress tomorrow. Now that Fate had intervened and deposited the real Grace into her hands, giving her the final trigger she needed to cure Lukas.

Eve would use Grace Moran's presence to introduce more realistic stimuli and expedite the therapy. But time was running out. She needed to get Helman's patient up here, under her control before Moran's surgery. If the woman died under Helman's knife, she was no good to Eve. Grace Moran was the key to Eve's future.

"That's enough for tonight, Lukas. Let's get you back in bed."

She motioned for the orderly to go ahead and open the door to the locked ward. Lukas was its only resident and he was doing so well that during the daytime when there was enough staff, he was free to roam the unit. Not that he did. He spent most of his time in his room, working at the computer his mother had brought, only occasionally venturing to the door. Sometimes the nurses, who all believed the same fantasy Eve was programming him with, would coax him as far as the nurses' station where they would play cards or give him a book to read.

Lukas stood, his gaze still fixed on his silver wedding band, shuffling toward the door. They headed toward the locked room at the end of the hall where the orderly waited. As they passed the nurses' station Lukas suddenly froze, raised his head, eyes wide as he sniffed the air.

"She's here! Gracie, where are you? Gracie--" His shouts reverberated through the empty corridor. He began pounding his fists on the closed doors along the hallway. Eve tried to grab his arm, but he flailed out, knocking her off her feet. The orderly dashed down the hall and tackled Lukas.

As they wrestled on the floor, Eve rushed to the medication cart inside the nurses' station. In four months, he'd never been violent--what the hell had gone wrong? What had set him off? She punched in her security code and grabbed a syringe full of Haldol. Lukas blocked her way out, lunged at her, teeth bared.

"I know she's in there!" he screamed at Eve. "Why are you hiding her from me?"

Eve looked around. Other than her, the nurses' station was empty.

The orderly regained his feet and slammed Lukas against the wall. Lukas bucked and writhed against the bigger man's weight, but this time the orderly was able to hold him.

It couldn't be the Lucidine making him act this way. Eve jammed the needle into his biceps. It just couldn't be.

Grace cowered behind the cart rack, hidden in the shadows beneath the counter. Her hands covered her head, ready to ward off the blows that would come any second. The wasps tore through her skin, their exuberant buzzing ricocheting off the insides of her skull.

He was back, they said he was gone, had promised, but he was back, he was coming for her, all over again, it was happening all over again--and there was nothing she could do.

Her body trembled and sweat soaked the thin cotton scrubtop she wore. She tasted blood, bit her lip harder in an effort to keep from screaming in terror.

Jimmy, come get me, take me home, please Lord, not again, Jimmy where are you? Her tears burnt her eyes, but Jimmy didn't come.

Her eyes closed tight on a vision of blood, Jimmy's face, but not Jimmy, not anymore-- Lukas had won that time--and now it was just her, alone, Jimmy wasn't here, wouldn't come here, was powerless to stop Lukas--stop the Beast.

The screaming out in the hallway came to an abrupt halt. It was replaced by the sound of a man cursing and a body being dragged away. A door slammed shut. Then there was silence.

Dead silence.

Even the wasps seemed afraid to come out of hiding.

Grace peered through the spaces between her fingers. Nothing moved. She crawled away from the chart rack, dared to look out in the hall. She could see figures silhouetted behind the thick glass of the locked ward. No one else was visible.

Now or never.

She pushed off like a sprinter in the race of her life and ran down the corridor, not stopping until she was half way through the Skyway leading to the Annex. She didn't dare to look back, just caught her breath and kept on running.

Not the Annex--she couldn't bear to be alone, not now. Try for home? Jimmy would be there--or would he? What if she made it home and found it empty? No Jimmy, no Ingrid, no one to protect her when the Beast came for her again. He knew where she lived, it was the first place he would look for her.

So where would the last be?

CHAPTER 12

Light of Day

Vincent always started his morning by checking on his sickest patients. And right now there was no one on Peds more critical than Alex Weiss.

But Vincent was smiling as he pushed open the door to Alex's room. He'd finally been able to convince the ethics committee to place Alex on the list for a heart-lung transplant and waiting in his in-box this morning had been a message that UNOS had approved Alex and made him Level 1, the highest priority. Vincent couldn't wait to tell Alex, to be able to offer the boy something besides comfort measures. He grabbed the clipboard from its hook beside the door and went inside.

Then stopped. A woman lay beside Alex in his bed, her arm snuggled around the boy's shoulder, his hand entwined in hers as if he was grabbing onto a lifeline.

What the hell? Who had allowed a stranger into his patient's room? Vincent dropped the clipboard to the bedside table and stalked over to the side of the bed where the woman slept, the side of her face cradled against the top of Alex's head. Night and day is what they looked like--her long dark hair tousled against Alex's blond curls.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Vincent tried to pitch his voice low enough that Alex wouldn't be disturbed. No answer except for the soft snuffle of stereophonic snores.

"You've got to get out of here or I'm gonna call security," he continued. Still no response. But then, anyone who could sleep through the noise of a hospital ward must be a sound sleeper. He wished he could sleep that deeply. Before the Nguygen case, he could.

He touched the woman's bare arm. Who had given her a set of scrubs? Did she work here? He didn't recognize her.

A stray beam of sunlight slid through the window, casting her profile into relief. Vincent stopped, caught by the secrets the light revealed.

She might have been beautiful once--but something had happened. The light exposed thin whispers of scars lining her face. One angled through one eyebrow and across her forehead, another through her cheek and upper lip. They'd been expertly repaired but now that he was looking Vincent saw that bones had been broken as well; one cheekbone was slightly higher than the other. She shifted and the blanket slid from her right arm. Both arms were criss-crossed with scars. A gold wedding band and emerald engagement ring circled the fourth finger of her left hand.

The only time he'd ever seen injuries like these was after some sonofabitch had thrown his wife through a plate glass window. The sunlight grew stronger now, glinting off a row of surgical staples closing a fresh laceration in her scalp.

Vincent backed away. She'd gone back, let the sick bastard do it again! Why did women do that?

He remembered his college girlfriend, Mona. Well, at least he'd thought she was his girlfriend--she kept going back to her ex, a lacrosse player who would torment her, drag her down, and then beat her senseless and kick her out. She'd end up on Vincent's couch for a few days, igniting his hope that this time she'd see what was going on, stay for good, then one day he'd wake up and she'd be gone again. Finally he went to confront the bastard--only to have Mona call the cops on him and try to hit him with a lamp before they came. He'd fled, vowed never to get involved with anyone that needy again. He'd never heard from her again until he read in the paper that she'd married the lacrosse player.

Probably was still letting the guy use her as a punching bag. He knew you weren't supposed to blame the victim, but the way Mona kept leaving him, going back for more--that spoke of some fatal flaw in the psyche.

So, how had this refuge from the woman's shelter ended up in his patient's bed?

He was about to shake her awake, demand answers, when the door was flung open and Kat Jellicle flew in.

"Alex! I can't find--" The girl caught sight of Vincent and skidded to a stop, one hand over her mouth.

Vincent looked from Kat back to the two on the bed. Alex was awake now as was the woman, both staring at him with twin pairs of eyes the same startling hue of blue.

The woman jerked as if surprised she had fallen asleep and sat up. Alex kept hold of her hand when she tried to move it.

"Don't go," he said, his voice raspy with sleep.

The woman looked down at Alex with a smile. "It'll be all right."

Her voice was smooth, hypnotic even. Vincent shook off his reverie. He didn't care if she sang like an angel--she didn't belong here. And who the hell was she to be telling a critically ill child that everything would be all right?

"Who are you?" Vincent demanded. She looked at him, those brilliant blue eyes lighting on his face like a monarch butterfly coming to rest. "What are you doing here with my patient?"

She blinked once, remained silent as if she didn't have the answers to his question.

To hell with this. He wasn't going to play the sap, not again. "I'm calling security."

Kat stepped between them. "Dr. V, you don't understand."

"Go back to your room, Kat." Vincent reached for the phone on the bedside table.

"Please don't," Alex's voice carried across the room. "She didn't do anything wrong. Don't make her go."

"She's Alex's mother," Kat said in a gush and grabbed Vincent's arm.

There was a sudden hush in the room as if all the air had been sucked out of it. Vincent dropped the phone and turned to the children--they were easier to face than the woman with her quiet, hypnotic stare.

"That's impossible. I don't know what she told you--"

"No, it's true," Kat rushed on. "She gave him up but then his new parents left him here when he got sick and she'd been looking for him ever since." Alex nodded in time with her words, his face lighting up with a smile. "She came all the way from--Minnesota," Kat finished and took a deep breath.

"It's true," Alex said.

Vincent looked from one child to the other, then forced himself to face the woman. She had slipped her hand from Alex's and now stood at the side of the bed, arranging her crumpled scrubs back into place with nervous hands.

The silence grew. Vincent was certain she would elaborate on Kat's impossible story, waited for her to tangle herself in her own lies. Show her true colors to the children she had deceived. What did she want--a roof over her head until she decided to return to the man who beat her? Did she think she could somehow profit by this ridiculous charade?

She surprised him by taking a deep breath and extending her right hand. "I'm Marie D'Angelo," she said, her voice forthright, her gaze raising to meet his.

Her hand was warm in his, her grip strong. She had the shortest fingernails he'd ever seen on a woman and her fingertips were rough with calluses. He held her hand a fraction too long but she didn't pull away.

Then he let her go. "And you're Alex's long lost mother?" He had wanted to cut her with sarcasm, but instead his words came out filled with wonder.

As if he was beginning to believe.

Her gaze held his. "I'm here to take care of him."

"Funny. I thought that was my job."

Grace fought hard to stay on her feet. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The angry swarm of wasps buzzed around her head, dive bombing at her as she forced herself to remain where she was, to face the man before her.

He wore green cotton scrubs, a stethoscope around his neck, and a look of chronic fatigue now tempered by suspicion. He glanced from her to the two children, obviously protective of them.

Grace stood frozen, fighting to control her breathing.

"Gr--Marie, this is Dr. Vincent Emberek, Alex's doctor," Kat intervened once more. "Isn't it great, Dr. V? After all these years, Alex's real mom finally found him. She had to hire a detective to track him down and she drove all the way here from," Kat faltered for a mere second as she spun her tale, "Minnesota," she finished triumphantly.

"Yes, that's what you said before." The man's eyes had locked onto Grace and refused to release her. "All the way from Minnesota?" Dr. Emberek scrutinized her face, his gaze resting on the staples in her scalp. "Must have been some trip."

"I was in an accident." Grace heard her own voice sounding calm and assured, traveling from someplace far away from the here and now where wasps buzzed through her and the sharp edge of panic bit into her every breath. "Got banged up pretty good."

"But she made it," Alex put in, reached over to take Grace's hand once more. The buzz of the insects immediately receded and she could breathe.

"Isn't it great, Dr. V?" Kat was bouncing on her feet, one hand tapping on Vincent's arm as if she hoped enthusiasm was contagious.

The doctor nodded slowly. "So you're Alex's mother," he continued in a pleasant drawl.

Kat opened her mouth but stopped when Grace cut her eyes at her. No telling what the next fantastic lie would be. "I was young. I made a mistake letting him go," Grace said quietly. "I didn't even see Alex before they took him away. But I knew him," she looked down at Alex and smiled. "Knew him as well as my own heart beat. You know that ache you get when there's a storm coming and the wind shifts direction?" She looked up at the man and saw him nodding, listening intently. His eyes were softer now, no longer narrowed in suspicion. "That split second of a vacuum when all the breath is sucked out of you and there's this painful emptiness that threatens to swallow you whole? That's the feeling I've had ever since Alex was torn from me--as if my breath was ripped away, shredded by the storm."

Grace and Vincent stared at each other in silence. He straightened and sniffed at the air, testing for a sudden change in the wind.

"Marie is a poet," Kat told Vincent with excitement and awe in her voice.

"I can tell." He smiled down at Alex. "You're a lucky guy to have a mom like this." His words came slowly, a man hypnotized, immersed in an illusion he'd decided not to struggle against.

Vincent sucked in his breath, blew it out again, and the spell was broken. Then he straightened and turned to Kat. "You are supposed to be in your room. The tech is waiting for your down load."

Kat sighed dramatically. "That's all I am to you people," she told them as she made her exit. "A walking database of information. I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille," she said with a hand swept up to her forehead.

"I've got to get these kids some new videos," Vincent muttered. "Alex is due for a therapy session now," he told Grace. "But he'll be back by the time we're done."

"Done with what?" Alex asked.

"Your mom and I have a lot to talk about."

Grace leaned over, kissed Alex's forehead. "It's all right. I'll see you soon."

He smiled and gave her a B-movie wink. "Bye, mom."

CHAPTER 13

Parlor Tricks

"Nice scrubs," Vincent said as they walked down the steps to the first floor.

Grace stuttered for a moment, then remembered her cover story. "The ER gave them to me. They had to cut my clothes off after--"

"The accident." He didn't sound convinced.

"Yeah." They emerged from the stairwell. Grace fought to keep her pace slow, uncertain, as if she couldn't find her way through the hospital in her sleep.

They arrived at the glass doors leading into the cafeteria. Vincent held one open for her and a wave of noise crashed down on her. So many people crowded into one place.

What if Lukas was hiding among the crowd, waiting for her? She took a step backwards, fought to control her breathing, to push back the crimson tide of panic.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"Why not? You must be hungry after your," he paused, looked at her, "long trip. From Minnesota."

"I don't have any money."

He looked like he expected that. "Don't worry. It's on me."

He took her by the arm and steered her inside. Insects buzzed at his touch, crawling under her skin and playing hopscotch along her nerve endings. She took several deep breaths and managed not to jump when the door banged shut behind her. See, that wasn't so bad. She'd always liked coming here before. For medical personnel, the cafeteria was a refuge, a place where you could talk about anything, get sustenance, maybe even relax for a few minutes.

The smells of sausage and hash browns, pierogies with onions danced past her. Breakfast always was the best meal here. Her stomach growled in a most unladylike fashion and she couldn't help but smile. When she looked up again, Vincent was staring at her with those dark eyes of his and she wondered what he was thinking.

"There's a table by the window. You grab it, I'll bring the food," he said. Grace hustled through the crowd, snagging the table just ahead of a giggling gaggle of nursing students. A few minutes later Vincent returned with a tray piled high with food which he divided between them.

"So that must have been some accident," he said when they both came up for air, the plates cleaned. He gestured with his fork to the staples in her scalp.

Grace nodded and took a sip of coffee.

"And it looks like you've been in accidents before," he trailed off, giving her an opening. Grace ignored it--what could she tell him, anyway?

"Let's talk about Alex," she steered the conversation onto safer ground.

He raised an eyebrow. "All right. Do you seriously think you can just waltz into his life like this? Even if you are his mother, there's protocols to follow. I don't know, probably DNA testing or a court hearing--he's a ward of the county."

Grace shook her head and set her coffee cup down. "He doesn't have time for any of that. He needs someone now."

"You think you've got what he needs?" His voice rose and Grace flinched. "Unless you're willing to give him your heart and lungs, then I sincerely doubt it."

"Alex is on the transplant list? How? He has no permanent home. Have you found someone to adopt him?"

"What would you know about it? Besides, it took a lot of work and fast talking for me to get him on the list--"

"Are you sure he even wants a transplant? Maybe after all he's been through, he just wants to die in peace."

The fork that he'd been waving like a conductor's baton hit the tray with a clatter. "Like hell! What do you know about it--you don't know shit! And even if he said that, he's just a kid, he can't decide--"

"Just because he's a kid doesn't mean he can't have a say in what happens to him. He's not dumb. He's been through it all, seen it all. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Now they were both yelling, turning heads all around them.

"Like I'm gonna take advice from you! All you want is a roof over your head until you decide to go back to hubby dearest."

"What are you talking about?"

He twisted her left hand so that the emerald engagement ring and gold wedding band gleamed in the harsh fluorescent lights. "Your husband, isn't he waiting for you at home?"

Grace faltered. How did he know about Jimmy? "Yes--I mean no, my husband died a few years ago." She jerked her hand away from him.

"All right, not your husband. Then your boyfriend--don't lie to me, Marie. I know what kind of accident you really had."

Before she could answer, his gaze left her to stare at a man entering the cafeteria. Grace froze. Helman--he couldn't find her, he might find a way to force her to stay. And she couldn't stay here. Vincent had been right about one thing, Jimmy was waiting. She had to get back home.

"I have to go, there's a man I need to talk to," Vincent was saying.

Grace nodded and turned her chair so that she faced the window and her back was to Helman and Vincent. She watched their reflection as they spoke for a moment. Vincent said he knew how she got the staples in her scalp. Did he really? Would he turn her in to Helman?

She slid from her chair and, using a flock of medical students as cover, ducked past them and out of the cafeteria.

"Who was that woman you were talking to?" Helman asked. "She looked familiar."

"Her? Just a patient's mom." Vincent dismissed Marie D'Angelo as inconsequential. Couldn't risk Helman thinking he couldn't manage Alex's case, had allowed a con artist to worm her way past Vincent's guard. "Sir, I wanted to ask about my staff appointment--"

Helman held up a hand. "This isn't a good time, Emberek. Get yourself clear of those damned lawyers and then we'll talk. Congratulations on convincing Kat Jellicle to finish her download. We'll have enough data to go to surgery by Friday."

Vincent stared at the Chief. He had forgotten to talk to Kat, but he'd take credit if it kept him in Helman's good graces. "How's your other patient? Grace Moran?"

To Vincent's dismay, Helman's brows arched together in a furious frown. "She's disappeared--never made it to the ECU yesterday."

Realizing that the Chief was in a bad mood and this was a poor time to enlist his support, Vincent began to edge away. Helman did an about face, reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Maybe there is time in my schedule to help you," Helman said, leaning forward so that their heads nearly touched and no one could overhear them. "After you track down my missing patient."

"She's not at home?"

"No one answers the phone and I don't have time to go down there myself. I'm sure you understand the delicacy of the situation. I can't risk this getting out. Too many people wouldn't understand, might think that I was forcing the woman to have the surgery merely for my own glory." He straightened, clapped a hand on Vincent's shoulder as if they'd just sealed a pact. "But we both know that's not true. I'm the only one who can save Grace Moran's life. We have to find her, get her back here. It's imperative, Emberek."

Vincent glanced down at the neurosurgeon's fingers digging into his shoulder. Oh yeah, he understood. A little quid pro quo. He'd save Helman's ass and find his AWOL patient. Then Helman would get Vincent his appointment to the medical staff.

"Yes sir. I understand perfectly."

"Good man, Emberek. You'd better get going. The sooner we get Moran up in the ECU and finish mapping her brain, the sooner I can operate." The surgeon rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Let me know immediately when you find her."

Helman strode through the throng like Moses parting the Red Sea. Vincent stared after him, wondering what he'd just agreed to. What if Moran didn't want the operation? Could he force her?

Helman had the psychiatrists on his side, but that didn't make him right. Vincent shook his head. Surgery was the only way to save the woman's life, that's all there was to it. Isn't that why he'd gotten into this business? To save lives?

The image of Mary Nguygen's listless expression flashed through his mind. Vincent shoved his fisted hands deep into his lab coat pockets. He turned to take care of his other little problem: Marie D'Angelo. But the woman had vanished.

Vincent blew out his breath in disgust. Probably off to cage another free meal from someone else. As long as she stayed far away from his patients, that was fine with him. He grabbed a cup of coffee to go and began planning his first step in finding Grace Moran, the first--and hopefully last--step to ensuring his future with the security of a permanent post on the medical staff.

Helman's presence in the cafeteria was a not so subtle reminder that Grace was in danger as long as she remained at Angels of Mercy. But with Lukas on the loose, where was she safe?

Nowhere. Not until she rejoined Jimmy.

First, she had a promise to keep. Grace climbed the steps up to Peds. Alex was back from his therapy session, sitting in the playroom with the three younger girls.

"Hi, Grace," Brittany called out as soon as she entered the glass-walled room. There was no one else there except the four children who sat huddled together at the table as if planning strategy for a major campaign.

Tiffany slid a miniature chair out for Grace while Alex shuffled a pack of playing cards. "You're not playing poker, are you?" Grace asked with a mock frown.

"Alex has a new trick," Brittany said.

"He's a great magician, you know," Tiffany added as Alex blushed. "Do it again, for Grace."

"He promised to show us the secret if we can't guess it for ourselves," Heather added in her breathless voice.

A chill swept over the back of Grace's neck. She suddenly had the idea that they weren't talking about only a card trick. She watched as Alex carefully began to deal the cards into three piles in front of her.

"Concentrate," he intoned in a stage voice. "This pile represents your past, this your present and this," he paused for dramatic effect, "your future."

Jimmy's hand came down to rest on Grace's shoulder as Alex tapped each pile with his "magic wand", a tongue depressor covered with glitter. A shower of gold and silver rained down on each of the stacks of cards. Grace raised her hand, her wedding ring tapping against Jimmy's as she tried to control her shivering.

"I don't know if I like this trick," she said. Alex's mouth twisted in disappointment and he looked away, obviously upset by her lack of faith in him.

The girls turned their faces to her, nodding and smiling. "It's all right, Grace," Tiffany said. "It's only a trick."

"And Alex is really good. Honest," Brittany added.

Heather said nothing, but slid her hand over to squeeze Grace's free one for a brief moment. The girl seemed to look past Grace to meet Jimmy's eyes.

Or where Jimmy's eyes would be if he was real and if anyone besides Grace could see him. Grace blew her breath out, ashamed at the tricks her mind played on her. It was just a kid's game, nothing to be afraid of.

"Okay, Alex. Go for it. But there'd better be a million dollar lottery ticket in my future."

Alex brightened and tapped the cards one last time. He lowered his hands over each stack, waving his fingers dramatically. "Your destiny is drawn to you," he said. "You cannot escape it."

As he spoke, a single card separated itself from each stack, sliding free as if pulled by an invisible force. Grace smiled. Ah, this was the real trick. Nothing to do with fortune telling. She breathed easier.

"Very nicely done," she said when three cards were arrayed face down before her. She clapped her hands. "I'm impressed. How did you do that?"

Alex blushed again and held his hands up. "It's a secret."

"Wait," Tiffany said. "You have to turn the cards over."

"Oh. Sorry." Grace reached for the card signifying her past. Her fingers tingled with an electric shock as they touched it. She flipped it over. It was the Ace of Spades. The Death Card. Grace snatched her hand back.

"That's not right," Alex said, furiously scanning the remainder of the deck.

Grace couldn't help herself, she felt drawn to the other two cards. Jimmy's hand squeezed her shoulder as she took a deep breath and turned over the card representing her present. The Queen of Spades. But in this deck, the Queen held a sword through her head as if committing suicide. She smiled knowingly up at Grace, ruby lips parted in a grimace of both pain and ecstasy.

Alex dropped the rest of the deck, cards spewing over the table in a flurry of red and black. None came anywhere close to the remaining card in front of Grace, as if there was an invisible force field protecting it. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of their breathing.

Grace's hand trembled as she reached for the last card. The three girls watched her anxiously. Before she could touch the card, Alex's hand shot out, grabbed hers. "Don't Grace. I did the trick wrong, it's not the way it should be."

Grace raised her gaze from the hypnotic blood-red swirls on the back of the card and met Alex's eyes. He looked almost tearful, his fingers clenched her hand as if this was life and death, not a mere parlor trick gone awry.

"She has to," Heather whispered, tugging Alex's hand away from Grace.

"It's her destiny," Brittany said.

"You can't stop it," Tiffany concluded. All eyes turned to Grace. "Go on, Grace. You need to know what's coming."

Grace hesitated, her hand hovering inches above the card. The air between her flesh and the piece of cardboard crackled, tinged with the blue of a lightning storm. She squeezed her eyes shut. Hallucinations she could handle, but this felt real--too real.

Jimmy encircled both his arms around her shoulders, hugging her tight, the scent of Old Spice bathing her in warmth and strength. "It's all right, love," he murmured, his breath brushing the small hairs on her neck. "I'm here."

She opened her eyes, slid the card from the table, turned it over. The Joker.

"That's impossible," Alex's voice sounded thin, as if it had been torn from him. "I took all the Jokers out."

They stared at the card resting between Grace's splayed fingers. The Fool juggled as he furiously pedaled a bicycle over a tight rope leading from solid ground into clouds. He grinned at Grace, seemed oblivious to his impending doom. One hand caught a ball colored like a globe, clutched it to his heart. In the air above his head hung two more spheres--one a ball of fire, the other a ring of shimmering gold.

"Girls, time for your meds," the chipper voice of a nurse broke the silence.

Grace clenched the card tight against her chest as the girls pushed their chairs away and stood. Each of them patted her on the shoulder as they filed out, Heather stopping to run back and give her a big hug. For a moment Grace was sandwiched between Jimmy's warm embrace from behind and the vibrant youngster's from in front. With the card of her destiny caught between.

Then the girls were gone and it was just her and Alex. And Jimmy, of course. Grace scooped up the scattered playing cards. All except the Joker.

"I'm sorry, Grace," Alex said, rocking back and forth in his chair, even more agitated than he was when he'd accompanied her to the ECU. "It wasn't supposed to work that way. It worked fine for the girls, all hearts and happiness, I don't know what went wrong."

He looked so upset that it about broke Grace's heart. She forced a smile and tousled her fingers through his hair. Jimmy blew her a kiss and vanished once more. "It's all right, Alex. Hey, I heard some good news. Dr. Emberek said he was arranging for you to have a transplant."

Alex scowled and slumped further down into his chair. "That's not good news," he muttered. "Not to me."

She was right, he didn't want the transplant. "Why not?"

"What's it matter? No one listens to me anyway."

"I'm listening. Why don't you want the transplant?"

He pivoted the chair to face her, their knees touching. "It's not going to work, even if they do find a donor in time," he said. "And they won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not a dummy. I've done the research. The odds of finding a donor for a heart/lung transplant in someone my age with my histocompatibility factors are about 11%. And even if they did, it only means more time trapped in here." He gestured to his surroundings with contempt. "Like I'm a prisoner."

Grace regarded the small boy. He was right--and showed more wisdom and foresight than his adult guardians had. "What do you want, Alex?"

He jerked his head up, met her gaze with a solemn stare that made his blue eyes darken to indigo. "You seriously want to know?"

"I seriously want to know."

His entire body worked as he sucked in a deep breath, nostrils flaring with the effort. "I want to go outside, feel the grass, the sun shining on my face. I want to be free of this." He pounded one small fist against his wheelchair. "I want a family, people who love me to hold me tight and..." he trailed off, staring at her as if gauging her ability to handle the rest of his wish. "I want to be free to go. Is that too much to ask for?"

Grace blinked back a tear and reached a hand out to take his. "No, Alex. I don't think so."

"You and Kat are the only ones," he said bitterly. "I tried to explain to Dr. V, to the judge and social worker, but no one listens. They just nod their heads and then go on talking like I'm not even there. I've had fourteen surgeries, spent a total of 454 days in the ICU hooked up to machines. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been allowed outside. What gives them the right to decide what's best for me?"

She wished she had an answer for that. But this boy-man wouldn't accept any of the obvious patronizing platitudes about doctors trying only to help him, save him. She remembered the way Vincent spoke about Alex. Obviously he was so attached to the boy that he couldn't let Alex go, couldn't admit defeat, couldn't face the fact that he wouldn't be the one to save Alex.

"That's why you told Vincent I was your mother."

Now Alex looked sheepish. "Yeah. After Kat said it, it just felt right. Did I get you in trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle. I'll talk to Vincent, all right?"

His face lit up with a grin filled with hope. "Thanks, Grace."

"Now I need your help. I told Kat I'd look at her chart, but--"

"You don't want to go back to the ECU. You don't have to," he said in an excited rush. "Dr. V lets me use his computer sometimes to play games, research new magic tricks and stuff on the Web. I know his password."

Grace stood up, grabbed the wheelchair's handles. "What are we waiting for? Let's go."

CHAPTER 14

House Calls

After finishing morning report and a talk on colic to the interns, Vincent was free to begin his quest for Helman's missing patient. He printed out her demographic information including address and contact numbers. Still no answer at her house.

Vincent drove his Mustang over to Grace Moran's address in Squirrel Hill. The street she lived on was a series of yellow and brown brick duplexes shouldered together as if they were the last defense against the rest of the world.

Raggedy lawn chairs and ancient chrome kitchen chairs sat at the curb, holding parking spaces until their owners arrived to claim them--a unique Pittsburgh tradition that was more sacrosanct than any civil law. Vincent had learned to never violate the sacred spaces protected by chairs that in any other city would have been stolen or disposed of as garbage.

He found a spot down the street from 209. Moran's house was perched on a hill, its front stoop a steep flight up from the sidewalk, the garage tucked in beneath the first floor. The outside was a dark yellow brick that had been popular fifty years ago with blue shutters draped around large, mullioned windows.

He leaned forward to peer up at the house through the windshield. It was an ordinary house, no hint that a crazy lady lived here. Morning kindergarten had just let out and he watched as kids walked past 209 without a glance or hitch in their steps.

It wasn't like that when he was a kid. Any rumor of instability or even eccentric behavior, and the kids would immediately brand the house. Even after the suspected miscreants moved on, the half-truths kids overheard would take on mythic proportions and the house would be marked for graffiti, eggs, and toilet paper, minor mischief and mayhem.

But these kids didn't seem to care. Did they not know? Or were city kids just less bored and curious than he and his friends had been?

He left the Mustang and stepped out into slashing March rain that tried its best to push him down the hill, away from Moran's home. Vincent fought through it and after huffing his way up the hill and the steep steps to her front porch, found himself jabbing at her door bell. A sonorous tone echoed inside as if the empty house was in mourning for its absent owner.

He peered through the glass at the top of the oak door. Moran's front room appeared orderly, would have even met his mother's approval. Photos were clustered on the fireplace mantle, too far away for him to make out the subjects. There was tasteful artwork on the other wall that was within view, a console table with a bowl for keys lined the foyer, and if he turned his head he could see the back of a sofa. The only thing out of place was a floral runner rug that stretched out along the foyer and behind the sofa in subdued shades of red and green.

He tapped the bell again. No movement inside the house—he knew it couldn't be that easy. He settled on the porch swing and pulled Moran's information from his pocket. What was an agoraphobic doing with a porch swing, anyway? He used his cell phone to call her emergency contact, an Ingrid Garman.

"Mrs. Garman?"

"Who's this?"

"I'm Dr. Emberek from Angels of Mercy."

There was the clatter of dishes in the background as she sucked in her breath. "My God, Grace--is she--"

"She's all right, as far as I know."

The woman's tone turned stony. "What do you mean, as far as you know? You're her doctor, aren't ya?"

Now for the tricky part. "Yes ma'am. But we've had a small problem. Ms. Moran seems to have left Angels of Mercy. I'm trying to find her."

"Did yinz try her house?"

"I'm there now. There's no one answering. If you don't know where Ms. Moran is, I was hoping that you could maybe let me in."

"What, into her house?"

"Yes ma'am."

There was a long moment of silence on the other end. "I don't know," the housekeeper said. "Grace, she treasures her privacy--that's why she fired three women before she hired me. They'd go through her stuff, try to get her out of the house, interfere with her way of doing. I told her, I believe as long as you ain't hurting nobody, what you do in the privacy of your own home is your own business. And after that, me and her, we got along real good. She even gave me a TV last Christmas, a small one for the kitchen so's I can watch my stories while I work."

How was Vincent supposed to compete with that? "I promise I wouldn't disturb anything," he began. "And you might be saving her life. What if she's had another seizure and is lying alone somewhere?"

"How's going through her stuff gonna help you find her if she's out on the street?" Mrs. Garman asked shrewdly. "And don't try telling me she's lying in the house needing help, I just came from there."

"Maybe if I could get some insight into her personality I'd know where to start looking."

"Well," she hesitated. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt things. I've got to get these groceries over to my sister's place first, help her with the baby. I can meet you at Grace's house at four."

"You'll help me find her, then?"

"We'll see once I get a look at you for myself."

"Thanks, that's a big help."

"You'd better bring ID, proof that you're really a doctor. You wouldn't believe how many reporters and snoops were around after the trial, as if the poor thing hadn't been through enough already. I've got to go now."

"Wait. Trial? When was that?"

She clicked her tongue as if he should know exactly what she was talking about. "What, are you nuts? After the murder, of course."

And she hung up.

Grace pushed Alex through the hallway past the Pediatric nurses' station to the small corridor behind the elevator bank where the two wings of the Annex came together. Several old patient rooms had been converted into call rooms for the pediatric residents, med students, and the Pediatric Chief Resident.

Alex nodded at the plain wooden door with Vincent Emberek's name written in magic marker on a piece of surgical tape. Grace looked up and down the empty hall, feeling guilty as she knocked on the door. No answer.

Alex opened the door. Being a former patient room, it had no lock. Didn't matter, there was never anything worth stealing in call rooms. She wheeled Alex inside and closed the door behind them. Vincent's privileged position as Chief Resident earned him a private room with space enough for a small desk, ancient computer, two chairs, bookcase and bed. Cozy.

As Alex pulled up to the desk and began typing on the computer, Grace looked around the room. It was neat and spare to the point of being Spartan. Despite the fact that this was his home away from home for a year, Vincent had added no personal touches. The walls remained blank institutional green, the linens covering the bed were hospital issue, stretched taut enough to bounce a quarter, there weren't any newspapers or magazines other than the most recent copy of Archives of Diseases in Childhood.

The tattered, thread worn textbooks on the bookshelf stood at attention in perfect alignment. A crisp white lab coat, pockets empty of the usual detritus that weighed down most residents, hung from a hanger on the back of the door. Behind it a pair of scrubs also hung from a hanger.

"Who bothers to hang up scrubs?" she asked. They wrinkled as soon as you pulled them on anyway. Jeez, and they called her obsessive compulsive.

"Don't touch those. Dr. V doesn't like his stuff messed with," Alex told her.

"So I see." Vincent Emberek obviously worshiped order. Probably a total control freak. No wonder he'd been so upset when she'd challenged his authority.

"I'm in," Alex said triumphantly.

"Does Vincent know that you know how to access confidential patient files?" she asked as she slid into the chair beside him.

"No. But he uses the same password for everything." He typed Kat's name into the database and within seconds her patient record appeared on the screen. "There's a lot of stuff here. Do you know what you're looking for?"

Grace took over the keyboard and began searching the files. The medical record system had a few new bells and whistles but was basically the same as when she was a resident. "Does he have a printer?"

"No. If you print from here it goes down to the nurses' station."

That wouldn't work. She focused on Kat's MRI reports first, then skimmed through the neurology notes. Alex sat beside her in silence, reading over her shoulder.

"What's grey matter vacu-u-mization?"

"Vacuolization," she corrected. "It means part of her brain has been turned into empty pockets where the nerves can't transmit signals. That's what triggers the seizures." She clicked on an MRI image so that he could visualize what she was trying to describe. "See those black holes there and there? That part of the brain controls her left arm and hand."

He squinted at the display of Kat's brain. "Wow. Her brain looks like Swiss cheese. How's come she's not sicker?"

"The virus starts by attacking one side of the brain. In young people like Kat their brain is still developing, so they can compensate. But if the damage begins to cross to the other side, then--"

"She'd end up like me. In a wheelchair--or worse." Alex slumped back, his face cloudy. Grace clicked back to the main menu, erasing the gruesome image of Kat's ravaged brain. "Can her operation fix her?"

"It's her only hope."

"But--will she still be Kat after?"

The million-dollar question. The damage to Kat's brain was extensive, but so far appeared to affect only the motor cortex. Grace pursed her lips. "I think so, yes."

Alex frowned, his eyes squinting as he rocked in his wheelchair. He obviously wanted more definite answers from her. But she didn't have all the answers.

"You keep reading," he told her. "I'll watch the door." He wheeled over to the door, opening it a crack. "Are you a doctor or something?"

"Once upon a time I was."

"Did you ever take care of me?"

Grace paused in her typing. She swiveled to face the earnest boy. "Yes. Once. I was doing a Peds ICU rotation."

"I thought I remembered you."

Impossible. He'd been comatose, coding after his intestines perforated from an obstruction. She'd barely been able to bring him back, stabilize him for the surgeons. "I doubt it."

"No, I do remember you. You only had one ring then." He pointed to the emerald on Grace's left hand. "It sparkled in the light."

Grace twirled the two bands of gold around her finger. He was right. That had been between her engagement and wedding. How could he have known what was going on?

Jimmy's voice rang through her mind: too many questions. She gave Alex a smile and reached over to rumble his hair before turning back to the computer.

"If I'd asked you not to save my life, would you have done it?"

Her fingers slipped on the keys, freezing the computer with nonsense commands. She shivered as the vent beside her blew out a gust of air. "That was a long time ago, Alex. You weren't old enough--"

"But if I was, if I asked, would you?"

Damn, the kid was nothing if not persistent. She was silent for a moment, trying to wrestle control of the computer once more. Then she turned around in her chair to face him.

Before she could answer, the door flew open.

CHAPTER 15

No Safe Haven

"Did you hear the Beast last night?"

"Yeah, what sent him off?"

"Who knows? The guy's freaky-deaky. Makes the rest of us look down right sane."

"He was yelling for someone named Grace. There's no Grace here, is there?"

"You said it, brother. Won't find no grace anywhere near this joint."

Kat shuffled behind the grownups heading into the community room, silent, listening to their gossip. Group was the one time the freaks felt free to speak, the one time they could revert to their previous, pre-mortem, states of being.

Every morning, all the denizens of the Freak Show, except for the Beast, joined together in the community room, exchanging insights, positive reinforcement and accolades for the mandatory ten minutes until Nurse Cray was satisfied and left them to their own devices. There was a video camera in the community room, but no audio monitoring, so first amendment rights were also celebrated here.

"He's a danger to us all," Mr. Atomic said, thumping his fist on the pool table to emphasize his words. "I say we do something about it before someone gets hurt."

"He's no danger to us," The Human Cannonball retorted, true to form. A squat, bullet-headed man, the only consistency about him was his ability to contradict everything and anything anyone one else said. "Only to this Grace person."

"What're you saying?" Minny Mouse squeaked. A tall, solidly built black teenager who would have intimidated anyone with his looks and glowering tattoos, he had the high-pitched voice of a helium fiend. Or in this case, a middle-class kid not much older than Kat who'd lost his voice to a showdown with crystal meth. "Y'all think we should find this Grace, give her to him or sumthin?"

That attracted the women's attention. A much less social and more narcissistic lot than the Y-chromosome blessed among them, the two women tended to gravitate to the perimeter of the room, brooding on their own ills, each secretly wishing for the spotlight.

"Is it true?" Angie the Skeleton asked. "Is she here?" She acted as if she'd missed an opportunity to meet her favorite anorexic poster girl movie star. "Where?"

"She's his lost love, you know," Godiva, the diabetic, a statuesque blonde with waist-length hair and a penchant for forcing her blood sugar to plummet, said in a dreamy voice. "And he's still looking for her. It's so romantic. Pining away for the woman you love."

"I heard he killed her," the Cannonball said with a leer at Godiva. "Then he chopped her up and ate her to destroy the evidence." His own admission ticket to the Show had been punched by a psychiatrist who was unable to banish his "obsessive thoughts". The way everyone shut up around Kat when they talked about him behind his back, she figured his obsessions must have something to do with sex.

But the Cannonball was harmless, Kat knew. Even before he began Lucidine therapy, he'd showed himself to be all bluster and bluff, cowering whenever anyone took a stand against him.

"So, she's dead?" Angie sighed. "That's so sad. It'd be nice for someone to have a happy-ever-after."

"With the Beast?" Mr. Atomic put in. "Are you kidding? No happy endings for anyone with that maniac running loose."

"But he's not, is he?" Kat clamped her hand over her mouth as the adults all swiveled to stare at her. Stupid. The trick was to sit quietly in the corner--she of all people knew that. "I mean," she faltered, determined to have her question answered now that she'd blown her cover anyway, "he's locked up, isn't he?"

"Aw, Kit-Kat," Angie crooned, stepping away from the window where she'd been studying her reflection to join Kat. "Don't worry. We won't let him anywhere near you."

"Don't make a promise you can't keep," the Cannonball said with a glower. "The Beast rules this place. If he wants this Grace, he'll get her. If he wants you, little girl," he said, swinging his head down to within a few inches of Kat's, baring his teeth in a grin, "he'll get you. Hell, maybe we'll give you to him. A little peace offering until he gets hold of his real thing."

"Stop it. You're scaring her," Angie said, but Kat noted that the other girl moved away from Kat instead of drawing near. Placing distance between herself and the sacrificial lamb.

Kat straightened herself to her full height and despite the goose bumps making her tremble, gave them all her best eat-shit-and-die glare.

"You don't scare me," she said, rattling her electrodes. "None of you Freaks do. Know why?" The adults were silent, their gazes narrowed in distrust as if she'd betrayed some silent code by merely speaking her mind. "Cause I'm gonna have my surgery and then I'm out of here."

The tremble that shook her body became focused into a downright quaking along her left arm and hand. The smell of wet horse flesh choked her nostrils. Kat ignored the partial seizure. As long as it didn't get worse, leaving her at the mercy of these misfits. She tossed her head, electrodes swinging with the motion, and strode to the door. "I'm outta here for good."

Vincent trudged up the steps from Medical Records to his office on Peds. He ignored the water dripping from his coat and shoes on the linoleum, he was so caught up in reading Grace Moran's chart from her admission to the Trauma Service almost five years ago. Medical records had finally found it buried in a stack of records waiting to be scanned into the computer's database.

The trauma surgeon's admission dictation was short and sweet. Grace Moran had been the victim of a vicious assault, brought in with severe lacerations, head injury, blunt force trauma to her chest and abdomen as well as several broken bones. Vincent pushed through the third floor door and walked the ten paces to his office behind the noisy elevator bank as he skimmed the sparse dictation.

Most of it seemed aimed at covering the surgeon's ass in his decision to forestall surgery until a CT scan was completed instead of immediately rushing her to the OR. Explaining that the patient was alert and oriented and insistent on giving her statement to the police prior to anesthesia.

There was no mention of anyone involved in the assault other than her attacker, whose name wasn't listed. Was it her husband? Had she killed him? Or had the housekeeper merely been exaggerating for dramatic effect?

His hand tightened on the doorknob to his office as he thought of Grace fighting off her attacker, holding onto consciousness long enough to speak with the police--he hoped she killed the sonofabitch. Pounded his ass. Or maybe the police had. A little suicide-by-cop would have been too good for the man who'd done this. He recognized the detective's name on the EMS run sheet. Sean Kelly, he'd accompanied Grace in the ambulance to Angels of Mercy.

Vincent shoved open his office door and stepped inside. Then stopped.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked at the sight of Alex and his so-called mother at his desk.

"Look," Alex said, his fingers flying over Vincent's computer keyboard. "If you want to kill the Gorgons, you gotta flame them like this." Sparks showered the screen accompanied by the sound of dying alien invaders. "Hey, Dr. V. How's it going?"

Vincent barely nodded at the boy in the wheelchair. His entire attention was focused on the woman who sat beside Alex, in Vincent's chair.

"I thought you would have left by now, Mrs. D'Angelo," he said in as civil of voice as he could muster. The nerve of the woman, barging in here, touching his things.

"I haven't finished what I came here for," she said, her gaze as serene as only a con artist could fabricate.

"I think maybe you have." He shuffled the thick volume of Grace Moran's chart from one arm to the other. "Alex, it's time for your treatment."

Alex gave him a curious look as Vincent held the door open and gestured for the boy to leave. "Can't she come too?" he asked, reaching for D'Angelo's arm.

Vincent couldn't control his anger. Damn woman, worming her way into a defenseless kid's heart, taking advantage. He crouched down to Alex's height, positioning his body so that he was between Alex and D'Angelo. "I'll send her down later. But hey, I do have some good news for you. I pulled it off, Alex. I've gotten you on the transplant list."

Instead of the excitement Vincent had hoped to see on Alex's face, the boy looked up at him with a blank stare that disintegrated into an expression of dismay.

"Why, Dr. V?" Alex asked in a small voice that was heart-wrenching. "Why'd you do it?"

What really cut Vincent to the bone, more so than even Alex's lack of enthusiasm, was the way Alex snaked his hand free of Vincent's to reach past him to Marie D'Angelo.

"Alex, we talked about this," Vincent tried to ignore the silent tears seeping from Alex's eyes. "It's your best hope. I worked really hard to make this happen, I promised you that I'd take care of you."

To his chagrin, D'Angelo took control of the situation. She stepped around Vincent to bend over and embrace Alex. "It's okay, sweetie. Go on back to your room. Vincent and I need to talk."

Alex nodded. She released him. Alex pulled away and, never making eye contact with Vincent, rolled out the door. He blew his breath out between clenched teeth and stood. Pivoting, he slammed the door shut and wheeled on the woman who had poisoned Alex against him.

"What the hell do you want?" he demanded. "What gives you the right to interfere with my patient? We both know you're not his mother! You're just a blood-sucking leech working a gimmick. And it's Dr. Emberek to you."

She took his abuse, her expression never changing. Why not? He was sure her husband or boyfriend or man of the hour had done worse than yell at her. Worse than her lack of reaction was the insolent stare she aimed in his direction. He threw the thick chart to his desktop where it landed with a heavy thud like a fist striking flesh.

She didn't even flinch. Which only made him more furious.

"He doesn't want a transplant," she said in that siren-soft voice of hers. "He wants a DNR order. He wants to die in peace."

"He's a kid. He can't make that decision."

"Why not? It's his life."

"He has no idea what life is. The possibilities, the future that lies ahead of him. I'm not letting him sacrifice all that because some crazy woman has twisted his mind. I'm his doctor, I know what's best for him."

"Do you? Do you really?" Now there was some heat in her voice. Vincent was surprised to find himself taking a half-step back. "Or do you just know what's best for you? You can't stand the thought of him dying because it means you failed."

"I think it's time for you to leave now. Do I need to call security?" He yanked the door open.

She shot him a glare, but took the hint and strode through the door. Then she paused on the threshold. "The ethics committee meets tomorrow morning, doesn't it?"

Vincent went rigid. How the hell did she know that? Then he remembered the meetings were posted on a sign outside the cafeteria. "Don't even think about it. If I ever see you near one of my patients again, I'll have you arrested for trespassing. Thrown out on your ass."

To his amazement, she actually had the audacity to throw her head back and laugh. Her laughter bubbled through her, under other circumstances it would have been like music in the small, stark room.

"Throw me out? I'd like to see you try, Vincent. Believe me, I would leave this place if I could."

With that cryptic statement, she strode down the hall. Vincent gave the door a good shove, slamming it shut behind her.

CHAPTER 16

Friends of Friends

Sean Kelly was a six-four ex-linebacker with a nose that had been broken more times than he could count. His most remarkable possession was a pair of vivid hazel green eyes, inherited from his father. Otherwise, he looked like any other lumbering black man comfortable with his size and body who happened to be a cop.

Not just any kind of cop. Sean was one of a rare breed--he investigated crimes against children. The stuff of nightmares. He'd come to the Juvenile Unit from Major Crimes, a step backwards, career-wise. But the hours were better, the pay and benefits the same, and most days he got to go home in time to coach his daughter's soccer team.

Sean twisted his gold Rose Bowl ring around his right ring finger as he re-read his notes on the Silvestri case. He hated going to court. Not because he didn't know his stuff cold, but because the lawyers would find ways to twist his words with their double negatives and "could it be possible" traps. And then the ADA would screw up on redirect and not ask the questions Sean needed asked in order to straighten everything back out.

It was all a fucking game to them, he thought, his fingers brushing over the etched lion's head on the side of the ring. There should have been a national championship ring to go with it, but thanks to Nebraska, Penn State's undefeated season hadn't been good enough.

JoePa had polished what Sean's father had begun. Unfortunately, every man had to make his own way and his own mistakes before realizing how right those old guys were. A few years with the Cowboys, living the high life, then living with regrets after a torn Achilles ended his pro career, had done that for Sean. The man who returned to his hometown with a degree in criminal justice and a few dollars in the bank had been hungry for a change, for the chance to make his ex-coach and his dead father proud.

And right now it was his job to make sure the actor who had repeatedly raped his stepdaughter over the past three years didn't walk. He'd told Anita Silvestri that he'd do everything he could, had assured her that even though she was only twelve that the jury would listen to her and all she had to do was tell the truth, had done everything short of promise her that the world wasn't as bad as she thought it was and that some days the good guys won and justice prevailed.

In other words, he'd bullshitted the scared girl whose mother had denounced her as a "slut" in court yesterday. Sean sighed, the words in his notebook blurring in front of him. He was only thirty-six, but days like today he felt way too old for this crap.

A shadow crossed his desk and he looked up. Doc Emberek, what was he doing here? the detective wondered as he got to his feet and greeted the physician.

"Sean, do you have a few minutes?" Emberek slid into the seat across from Sean. It was a welcome change from the angry or grieving parents who usually sat there.

"Is this about a case?" Sean was going to Disney with the family next week, his partner was on rotation for any new cases.

"Not a new one. There's patient at Three Rivers, a woman--" Emberek paused, seemed uncertain of himself.

Sean considered that. They'd worked together on several abuse cases and the doctor had always struck him as confident, cocky even--reminded Sean of himself back when he was single. Their time at Penn State had overlapped, and although they hadn't known each other back then, being fellow Nittany Lions had provided an instant bond.

"A woman? Not a kid?" Sean asked, wondering where Emberek was heading with all this.

"No. She has a brain tumor and she's gone AWOL."

"From the hospital? You talk to the guys out at Zone 5, that's the precinct Angels of Mercy is in."

Emberek shook his head. "No. I thought maybe you could help me. It's kind of a delicate matter."

No shit. Patient going missing from a hospital--might be grounds for some jackass lawyer to sue everyone in sight. "No friends or family to file a missing persons report?"

Emberek shook his head, obviously frustrated with the way the conversation was going. "You don't understand. This woman lives alone for the past four years, never leaves her house, she's agoraphobic. Has been ever since her husband was murdered and she was assaulted. I found the EMS run report--you accompanied her to the hospital. I was hoping you might remember something that would give us a hint where she might go."

"Sure, what was the name?"

"Patient's name is Grace Moran, her husband was--"

"Jimmy Moran," Sean finished for him. He hadn't thought about the Moran case in years, but the details were immediately clear and present. Sean had hated that case. It was all so senseless. Not even anything like drugs or money or booze to blame it on.

At least he'd closed the Moran case. Even if the perp wasn't locked up like he should be. Damn lawyers and head-shrinkers had seen to that.

"Grace Moran is your patient? She has a brain tumor? Is it serious?" Stupid question, when was a brain tumor not serious? Still, he couldn't believe it was happening to Grace Moran of all people.

"She'll die if she doesn't get the surgery," Emberek told him. His voice broke a bit, as if he and Moran were involved in more than a doctor-patient relationship. Sean glanced at the physician. Emberek wore the expression of a teenager in love.

"How do you know Moran? Was she a patient of yours?"

Emberek shook his head. "I've never met her." He explained about the neurosurgery presentation, about his interview with Moran's housekeeper, Ingrid, how he'd tracked down Moran's only other admission at Angels of Mercy.

"So you don't know anything about how Jimmy Moran died?"

"It happened before I moved here. The housekeeper said he was murdered. Did Grace--did she kill him? Is that why she became a prisoner in her own house?"

Grace, Emberek had said. Christ the kid had it bad.

Talk about crazy--Emberek had never even met the woman. Still, he cared enough to try to help her. Sounded like Moran could use all the help she could get.

Sean cleared his throat, remembering the night of the murder, his first interview with Moran. His gaze caught on his bulletin board. Photos of smiling children were plastered over it, layered on top of each other, most without a happy ending, either missing or dead.

Sean got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. He needed some fresh air before court and he didn't want to talk about the Moran case here.

Not in front of the children.

The clatter of a woman's heels on linoleum intruded into Lukas' awareness. He blinked, the ceiling tiles above him returning to focus. Grace? Had she come back to free him?

He'd been dreaming of their first meeting. The way her fingers, so small, yet so strong, gently palpated the bones of his hand, then eased his pain by crafting a splint that fit perfectly, protecting his bruised and injured hand in layers of fiberglass and warm, soft felt.

Those blue eyes of hers, the curl of her lips as she smiled and listened to his lies about breaking his hand while working on his black belt in Karate, trying to smash concrete blocks. Ah, and her smell. That enticing combination of pure feminine mystery mixed with the vanilla of her shampoo and the cinnamon of the donut she'd recently eaten. Sheer ambrosia.

"You will release my son, immediately!" came the shrill tones of a woman's voice from outside his door.

He closed his eyes once more. Not Grace. His mother.

Fourteen years she'd ignored him. Who knew gaining her attention was as simple as drowning his father?

Not that Renee Redding or anyone else living knew that Lukas had been with his father in the pool that sultry July day. They all thought Earl had drunk too much, flipped his floating lounge chair and drowned on his own. No one had been upset enough to challenge the obvious verdict of accidental death.

Especially not Lukas. After his father died, his mother moved her base of operations home, was with him most of the time, even sometimes came to him at night when he cried out with the night terrors that had plagued him all his life.

Curled up beside her, her arms wrapped around him, he'd inhale her scent of Chanel Number Five and Plumeria moisturizer and he would drift off to sleep. Like a baby.

"I said, remove those restraints. Now!"

"Mrs. Redding." Another woman's voice. Dr. Eve--the one person who actually listened to Lukas and cared about what he said, what he felt. "Your son tried to attack me last night with no provocation. I can't--"

"You can and you will. I will not have you treating my son this way."

Lukas inhaled. The odors of Cuban cigars, men's aftershave, single malt Scotch, and sex all mixed with his mother's scent. Ahh. She'd been with the Senator, the Chairman of the Finance Reform Committee.

Since she'd temporarily lost Lukas's services four years ago, she'd returned to more traditional forms of coercion and information seeking, but with nowhere near the success rate he had given her.

Must have hopped the first shuttle from DC when she heard, not even bothered to stop at her Georgetown apartment to change. After all, a mother's love for her son's welfare took priority over politics.

Especially when that son had discovered the weakness in the Senator's campaign strategy and had the secret locked away in his brain. A brain that was rather blurry right now.

"Have you found this Moran woman yet?" his mother continued.

Eve's sharp intake of breath whistled through the air. Lukas held still, his eyes closed, his breathing regular as if he were in a deep sleep. "Not here. He doesn't know."

"Just untie him and we'll talk."

Soft hands, the scent of jasmine, the rustle of silk approached. The click of a key, the ratcheting of the leather restraints being undone, the sheepskin beneath them carefully peeled away from his wrists and ankles.

Eve had given in to his mother's demands, freed him. But he smelled her fear, felt the slight tremor in her exquisitely manicured fingers. Why was she so frightened of him? There had to be a reason, but his foggy brain wouldn't focus.

Then he remembered. He sat bolt upright, his vision blurring with black spots, his head spinning. Eve jumped back, the color draining from her face.

"Where is she?" he demanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Where's Grace? Why are you hiding her from me?"

His mother put her hands on her hips, marring the lines of her Donna Karan power-crimson wool suit. Her lips tightened into thin lines of disappointment. Lukas swallowed hard, his mouth felt like cotton after the drugs, and looked at the floor.

"Why?" he repeated in a softer voice.

"I'm not hiding her from you, Lukas," Eve said.

"Of course not, honey," Renee chimed in, her voice bright and chipper. A middle-aged Holly Golightly who just happened to wield the power to decide the next presidential election, that was his mother. "No one would do that to you."

"She's here--or she was." He looked up at his mother, pleading for her understanding. Might as well pray for a miracle. "Last night. She was here."

A kaleidoscope of contradictory images collided in his brain. Grace, her face ravaged, covered in blood, the drunk driver, his eyes wide with fear as Lukas choked the life from him, Lukas's own screams of rage as he raised his hand--holding a chair leg? No, no, he cradled Grace's body against his. Held her as she died--hadn't he?

"I know she was," he said. Renee's lips blanched and frown lines appeared across her brow. "I'm not crazy." The last came out sounding like a question and he knew that he sounded anything but sane. How could Grace have been here, in the ECU of all places? Especially when she'd been dead and buried for four long years.

Eve slanted her eyes at Renee and cleared her throat. She sat beside him on the bed and placed her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Lukas," she said in a soothing tone. "It's my fault. I pushed you too hard last night. But we were so close to a breakthrough, to a cure."

His head felt heavier than a lead balloon when he swiveled it to look her in the eye. Her pulse had jumped a bit and the odor of fear still swirled around her. Was she lying to him? Why?

"A cure?"

"We're very close."

"You see, son. That's why you need to stay here, do whatever Dr. Warden tells you to," his mother added. "If you do, then when the doctors re-examine you in two weeks, they'll see that you're a different man, a changed man."

"And I can come home? Live with you? Just like before?"

Her pupils widened despite the glossy smile that parted her lips. "Of course, son. Just like before."

She lied. Whatever was going on, his mother was in on it as well.

Lukas was all alone. But he'd get to the bottom of this--whatever they were hiding from him, wherever they had hidden Grace, he would find her.

She couldn't hide. Not from him. Her one true love.

The Bloody Queen

Knocknarea, Eire

1651, BC

Maeve plunged her hands into the icy water of the stream. Crimson ribbons colored the pool below. Her fingers grew numb with the cold but still the blood coated her skin. Some of it was hers, trickling from minor nicks and slices that came with any swordplay.

Most of it was Lothar's. Her brother.

She sank down to her knees, her reflection wavering in the crystalline pool. Lothar's blood streaked her face, her chest, she was covered in it. What had she done?

A man's footfall sounded on the rocks behind her. She whirled, grabbing her sword and falling into a fighting crouch. Then she saw who it was and lowered her blade.

"Leonid." She stopped after saying his name. What more was there to say? She had left Lothar in command, but she had trusted the care of her people to the druid.

He stood still, his eyes narrowing at the reproach and anguish in her tone. He said nothing in his defense, merely staring at her blood-slicked and torn clothing.

Maeve turned away, setting her sword at her side within easy reach, and continued her attempts to scrub the blood away. "Is he dead, then?"

"Aye. They finished the job for you."

She spun on him, splashing him with red-stained water. He didn't flinch, didn't raise a hand to wipe the fluid from his face. "I had no choice! And you, you--how could you have stood by and watched, allowed him to turn my people into savage beasts. Worse than beasts!"

She took a step towards him, her fists raised in anger but he didn't retreat from her fury. "Unless--did you join them, Leonid? Did you help butcher the aged and infirm? Did you join as they feasted on the flesh of their own people?"

His eyes flashed in the half-light. "No, Maeve. I didn't. Understand, it was their choice. Their path to follow."

Her laugh rang from the rocks with the hollow sound of a death knell. "More of your riddles and rhymes? Was it then my path to follow, returning home with the promise of saving my people only to be forced to raise arms against my own brother? Blood of my blood."

She raised her hands, palms facing her. Lothar's blood was finally gone, leaving her pale skin to glisten in the twilight. She looked at her hands in wonder. Some part of her had believed the blood would never come clean, that it would stain her forever.

Blinking back tears, she sank down to sit on one of the boulders lining the path. "What path do I walk now, druid?"

"The path you were destined to walk, my queen. The path of greatness." Leonid knelt on one knee before her, one hand reaching out to stroke her sword. "These weapons you brought from the Kallista will make you the most powerful force in the world. With an army carrying swords and shields made of this wondrous material, you could conquer everything in sight and beyond."

"That blade you speak of just killed my brother."

"Not you, my queen. You wounded him in fair combat. It was his own men who killed him."

"Butchered him like a pack of wild beasts. I will not give men like that the power of these weapons."

"Think, Maeve. Beasts can be tamed. To build an army you need men capable of doing anything--"

"Anything? Like murder and feed upon their own people? I think not."

Leonid stood, his shadow casting her in darkness. "Maeve, you returned with these gifts to save your people. Now you have the chance to save the world. Not just from this endless night but also from the constant wars and killings. All you have to do is choose."

She shook her head, too weary to raise it and meet his gaze. All those months with the Kallista, all she wanted was to return home, to see the jubilant faces of her people when she revealed their salvation. Now here she was, back with her people only to have the two Kallisteans who had accompanied her butchered and her brother's blood on her hands.

She reached for her sword, forged by the Kallisteans of their magic metal, and shoved the point into the dirt, using it as a crutch to regain her feet. She leaned on it, her strength sapped.

"No," she said. The single word was swallowed by the darkness. She inhaled deeply, ignoring her pain, and straightened, meeting Leonid's stare. "No. No more killing. Gather the women and children who are left. The rest will remain, their fate is no longer any concern of mine."

"Maeve, please, think what you are doing. You have the power to save the world." His gaze darted down to the sword she leaned upon.

"Why do you sound so desperate, druid? Have you seen something in your scrying?"

"I have seen many things, my queen." For the first time since she had met him, the druid sounded unsure of himself.

"Did you see me kill my brother?" she demanded. "If so, why did you not stop me? Not prevent this tragedy?"

"It is not in my power. Everyone must follow their own path. But know this, Maeve, for every choice you make, there is a price to be paid. Oftimes you will not know how high it is until it is much too late."

She pursed her lips and stared at the agitated druid. He was only a hand's breadth taller than her, yet he seemed to grow larger before her eyes. The wind whipped his unfettered silver hair away from his face and his eyes grew dark. She felt power within him--power and a great need.

"What price did you pay, Leonid?" she asked softly.

He raised an arm to strike her. She didn't flinch and it hung there between them. Then he shook himself as if emerging from a trance. A sorrowful look settled upon his features. "One far too high. I lost my family--my wife and daughter."

"Did you kill them?"

He would not meet her gaze, instead he turned and walked away, shoulders bowed. "Know this, Maeve," he called over his shoulder. "The deeds of today will be avenged in seasons to come. If you make this choice, the next you see me will be on the night of your death."

CHAPTER 17

Tears of a Ghost

"I know it happened right after they were married," Vincent told Sean once they were out on the street. The rain had changed to flurries that drifted aimlessly, too halfhearted to be much more than a nuisance to motorists. They walked down Grant Street, headed toward the courthouse.

"They had just gotten back from their honeymoon," Sean picked up the narrative. "I mean literally. The husband was unpacking the car--they'd gone to Ireland, where he was from--and the wife walked down the street to the market to pick up groceries. We figure Redding must have pushed his way inside behind Moran. There were a couple of suitcases dumped by the front door. Redding worked over Moran pretty good. Stabbed him, beat him, clubbed him with a broken chair leg. Then he hog-tied the guy with a cord he cut from the vacuum cleaner."

Vincent didn't want to visualize the brutality Sean was describing, but images of blood and pain flashed into his mind unbidden.

"All along, Moran must've been working to get Redding out of the house before the wife returned," Sean continued and suddenly his tone was no longer that of a cop but of a husband. "Probably offered the guy anything, everything to leave. But the whole problem was that Redding was fixated on Grace, had been stalking her for almost a year as it turned out. Grace was what he wanted. And Moran marrying her set Redding off. Guy saw Moran as defiling the woman that, in his warped mind, belonged to him and him alone.

"That's when the wife came home. She had her arms filled with grocery bags, left a bunch on the stoop while she carried the rest inside, calling for the husband to come help her. Redding caught her just inside the door, blitz attack, she didn't stand a chance. He clubbed her with the chair leg and when she came to, she was lying face to face with her husband. Her arm was broken and her face was pretty messed up. Redding was trying to saw off her ring finger with a kitchen knife."

Vincent shuddered and told himself he should have worn a warmer coat.

"The wife tried to plead with Redding, got him to stop cutting on her long enough for her to slide the emerald engagement ring and her wedding band off and give them to him. The wife watched as Redding began to beat the hell out of Moran--I mean this guy's face was so messed up, I doubt his mother would have known him. He was probably already dead or as good as. She could have tried to run, might have even made it, but instead she crawled over to shield the husband, put herself between Redding and Moran."

Sean sucked in his breath, raised his face as if scrutinizing the clouds, seeking answers to the madness he was describing. "That was the last straw for Redding. He turned on her, beat the crap out of her and worse, then left them both for dead." He paused. "That's the short version. Whole thing took hours."

"Jesus," Vincent breathed out.

"Jesus wasn't anywhere near that house that night," Sean said with conviction. "The wife said she never actually blacked out for more than a few minutes, just long enough for Redding to think she was dead and take off. She comes to, she's got the broken arm, skull's fractured in three places, her face is all messed up, broken ribs, collapsed lung, internal bleeding--you name it, she's got it. Still, she manages to crawl to the front door where she got the attention of a neighbor walking his dog. Next day, we caught Redding based on her description. Bastard still had the bloody damned rings in his pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief for chrissake."

"She testified?" Vincent was surprised. He'd assumed that Grace's career as a recluse had begun right after the murder.

Sean nodded. "At the prelim. She was one tough cookie. Gave her first statement to me from the back of an ambulance, the second from a bed in the ICU, tubes and wires and God knows what coming out of her. Never changed her story, defense was never able to shake her on the stand even though they had experts who said with her head injuries there was no way she could have remembered everything so accurately. Judge almost threw the case out before it even began."

"That is pretty remarkable--usually there's amnesia or at the very least some confusion, jumbling of names, faces, memories."

They were stopped at the light on Grant Street, waiting to cross over to the formidable stone courthouse. Pittsburgh's fortress of justice, it resembled an ancient castle, a tower of inquisition.

The light changed but Sean didn't move. Vincent looked over at the detective and knew there was more to the story.

"That's what she said herself. You know she was a doctor, right?"

Vincent swiveled his head to stare at the detective. "Grace Moran was a doctor?"

"Sure, over at Angels. Worked the ER. She was good, too." Sean shook his head, looked away. "Once upon a time, I guess. She did have one thing confused," the detective admitted. "It never came out because none of us put it in any of the reports. All the woman had been through, we couldn't see opening her up to ridicule. And we didn't think it had any bearing on the case against Redding. She was rock solid on her ID and we had physical evidence out the wahzoo."

"What was it?"

"The coroner put Moran's time of death at least three hours before the 911 came through, probably longer. But when the neighbor found Moran she was insisting that he help her husband. She even crawled back into the room, gasping out first aid directions to the guy. The guy freaked out--he could see the husband was dead, had been dead a while, was ice cold, blue already. When the paramedics arrived, they find the wife cradling the husband in her arms, saying he just died, that there was nothing she could do, it was too late. Well, they agreed with the neighbor but didn't say anything to the wife, figuring she's in shock. But she's perfectly lucid otherwise, even insists on talking to me before they run her over to Angels of Mercy."

"What'd she say?"

Sean sighed. "Said her husband was still alive while Redding was beating and raping her, that after Redding left, the husband spoke to her, giving her the strength she needed to make it to the door and get help. Even told me his last words to her--some Irish thing, I didn't get it--but she insisted that he spoke to her even while the neighbor was on his cell phone to 911."

He paused and tilted his head up once again, gazing into the low hanging clouds above. If he didn't know better, Vincent would swear that the cop who'd seen the worse Pittsburgh had to offer was blinking back tears.

"You're the doctor, you tell me. Why would your brain play tricks on you like that? I mean, wouldn't it be more comforting to know your husband died quickly than to hallucinate that he was dying in front of your eyes and you could do nothing to save him? I just don't get it. But she never gave it up, never changed her story. She really believed her husband was still alive and with her the whole time."

Vincent shrugged. He sure as hell didn't have the answers.

"Guess it isn't too surprising after all that she went off the deep end," Sean finished, a tone of regret in his voice.

"What happened to Redding?"

Sean turned his head and spat a wad of mucus into the gutter. "After the prelim, the DA heard about her confusion from the neighbor when he interviewed him. He turned chickenshit, too afraid that Redding's lawyer would make mincemeat of Moran under the stress of a real trial. Jagoff lawyer convinced the DA to accept a verdict of guilty secondary to mental defect. Redding's still at Western Psych, far as I know. Unless we got lucky and some other looney tune shived him."

He stepped off the curb. "Well, I gotta go make sure another scumbag doesn't get off." He turned back to Vincent, oblivious to the traffic passing behind him. "Let me know what happens to Grace Moran. She's a good person, doesn't deserve this shit."

Vincent watched as the detective crossed the street against the light and jogged up the steps into the courthouse. He glanced at his watch, almost four o'clock. Time to return to the scene of the crime.

Vincent reached Grace's Squirrel Hill duplex a few minutes early for his appointment with Ingrid Garman. He parked across the street and watched as a blue Toyota Corolla pulled into the Moran driveway. A young woman in her mid-twenties emerged. Vincent stared for a moment, uncertain. Ingrid Garman had sounded older on the phone, spoke with the wisdom of the ages. But the woman took the steps at a brisk pace and he decided it must be her—or the elusive Grace Moran. Could he be that lucky?

"Mrs. Garman?" he called as he crossed the street and followed her up the cement steps. "I'm Vincent Emberek."

She paused outside the door and turned to him. Her skin was freckled, her hair so pale it appeared as ghostly wisps escaping from the braid she wore. Her eyes were pale also, a shade between blue and grey, as washed out as faded denim.

"You the doctor?" she said, one hand on her hip as her eyes interrogated him.

"Yes ma'am." Though the housekeeper was almost a decade younger than Vincent, he still felt compelled to address her in a formal manner. He proffered his photo id from Angels of Mercy and she scrutinized it. "I appreciate you taking the time--"

"I'm getting paid, so I'm gonna earn it."

She opened the door and motioned him inside the foyer. Vincent hesitated, reminded himself that Jimmy Moran's bloody and battered corpse wouldn't be waiting for him beyond. Still, as he crossed the threshold, he imagined luggage scattered amidst bloody bags of groceries. Ingrid walked briskly past him, obviously not the type to see ghosts.

Vincent followed her through the foyer into the living room. Windows filled two of the walls and a fireplace took up most of the rear wall. A well-aged camel colored leather sofa established the boundary between the foyer and the room and two comfortable appearing overstuffed chairs sat in front of the window facing it. A large oriental rug, faded with time, filled the center of the room. Another, smaller, newer rug sat behind the sofa, jutting out into the passageway. Vincent noted that Ingrid skirted this rug without breaking her rhythm.

He stood at the edge of the sofa and looked down at the rug. It was spotless, well coordinated with the rest of the room, but somehow felt jarringly out of place.

The one solid wall extended from the foyer back past the living room into the rear of the house where it met a staircase going upstairs. The common wall between the two duplexes. As Ingrid sorted mail onto a table beside the steps, he thought about Sean Kelly's description of the crime scene.

Both Jimmy and his wife had been ambushed just inside the front door. Vincent cut his eyes back down the foyer to the front door. He hastily took a step back away from the rug that looked so right but felt so out of place.

The rug that lay just about where Jimmy Moran had died.

Mrs. Garman saw his flinch and nodded her head, leaving the mail to join him. "Yeah, right there's where it happened," she said with the voice of authority that she seemed to take about every subject. "The couch wasn't there then, it was against the windows. There was just a chair and end table--they're both gone now. Smashed to bits."

Vincent drew his breath in, startled by her nonchalant description of a murder weapon.

"Their blood 'bout covered the floor," she gestured to the immaculate oak floorboards, "from here to the door and back again." She shook her head, tsking at the mess a murder made. "They said there was blood and other bits on the walls, even the ceiling."

Vincent looked up with a shudder as if half expecting unidentified "bits" to come crashing back to earth around him.

"You seem to know a lot about it," he told her, remembering her previous statement that she hadn't pried into her employer's drama.

"Just because I wouldn't talk to Mrs. Moran about it, didn't mean I didn't look into what happened before I came here. Got to check things out. What if there'd been a reason for Lukas Redding to come back? Or if he had friends?" She shook her head. "But no, it was just blind luck, that's all. Ain't it always the nicest people that the worst things happen to? Mrs. Moran's neighbors they all said 'bout how happy them two were. How you could call anytime day or night and Jimmy'd come get your car jumped or he and the missus often would shovel everyone's walks after a snow--without being asked, just 'cause they liked to. Back when the missus still could, she'd even help out Mr. Agostino with his medicines, he takes so many he can't keep them straight, you know and she'd always be checking on Mrs. Purcell, make certain she was getting her insulin okay while the mister would be cleaning out her gutters or the like."

"Sounds like they were a nice couple."

She shot him a look that said that was an understatement. "More than that," she asserted. "They was good people."

Vincent noted her use of the past tense, as if Grace Moran had stopped being a person after Jimmy died.

His fists clenched in the pockets of his overcoat as he wished desperately that he could give Grace a second chance. Not just at living, but at life.

"Wanna see something?" Mrs. Garman asked, her voice lowered as if worried that someone might be listening.

"All right."

With a flourish she whipped back the small rug behind the couch. "They tried and tried but couldn't get all of it out," she told him, kneeling down to brush her fingers against the palm sized stain on the pale oak floorboards. "Said they'd have to sand it down, but she told 'em to leave it."

Vincent crouched down, drawn against his will to the blood stain. A man's life force that refused to be banished from sight or memory. His fingers reached out to hover over it as if the owner could still be felt through it. Mrs. Garman rocked back on her heels.

"That's just what she does," she told him. "The missus, she comes down here when she can't sleep. I can't tell you how many times I've come in the morning and seen her through the front windows, curled up like a baby on the bare floor, her hand right there like she's searching for something she lost. Those days I'll ring the bell, pretend like I've lost my keys."

Vincent doubted that the young woman in front of him ever lost track of anything.

"She'll come and open the door and the rug will be back in place, but," she paused, building to the climax of her campfire ghost story, "when her back's turned, I'll look and that spot will be wet." She finished, daring him to explain away her modern miracle. "Now, that's true love if I ever heard it."

More likely a combination of tears, sweat and condensation, Vincent thought. But something did seem to pulsate from the stain on the floor. He jerked his hand away and got to his feet. He was a scientist, didn't believe in ghosts.

"Those are bad days," she continued, straightening the rug and covering the living testament to a dead man's life force. "There're worse. Days when she'll lock herself up in her room, not eating, not talking--as if she were dead to the world. Or," she turned her shrewd gaze up to the ceiling as if she could see through it to the heart of the matter, "the world's dead to her."

"She's lucky to have someone like you to watch over her," Vincent said as he got to his feet and brushed his slacks off.

"Doubt she'd see it that way. Should've heard her cussing me out when the ambulance guys drug her away last week. And then I had to leave her alone in that hospital--my sister went and had herself twins, born a month early." Mrs. Garman sighed as if the weight of the world was upon her shoulders. She turned away, picked up the stack of mail. "I think maybe she wants to die, thinks it'll fix everything. Some days I think she might be better off if she had died way back then. Some days she thinks it too. Others--" She shrugged. "Ain't none of my business, I'm just a housekeeper."

Vincent knew a mother's instinct when he heard it. Ingrid Garman definitely was more than a housekeeper to Grace Moran. No wonder the woman was so protective over her charge.

"Do you have any photographs of Mrs. Moran?" he asked, adopting Ingrid's formal tone in addressing her employer. He'd seen the inside of Grace's brain, but never her face.

He followed as Mrs. Garman led the way to the fireplace and the framed photos collected there.

"Aren't you worried that re-arranging things would upset Mrs. Moran?" Vincent asked, remembering Grace's diagnosis of OCD.

Ingrid only tsked. "She's not crazy," she said. "She's perfectly fine around here. Sometimes you know, she can even be downright sloppy about things--like a kid or something. And if she's spent the day in the garden--"

"She goes outside to the garden?"

"Course she does. Sleeps out there when the weather's nice. Has an air mattress, got some, what'cha call it, mosquito netting, and she sleeps out under the stars," she sighed. "Those are the good nights."

"And the bad ones?"

"The bad ones she'll end up down here." She nodded behind him to the area behind the couch. "Or she'll be up the entire night--sometimes two, three nights in a row, working herself into a frenzy. Always worse 'round their anniversary, his birthday."

"You know, there's medication--"

"She ain't no fool and neither am I," the housekeeper retorted. "She tried them at first but said they didn't seem to make the pain any better--just made the rest of her numb. Decided she'd rather live with the pain and when she was ready to let it go, she would."

"But she's built a prison for herself," he protested. "She was a doctor once. She could be out there, helping people, doing--"

"Doing what? She can help people from inside here but on her terms 'stead of theirs. She does a lot of good on her website, she gets people money from insurance companies that are trying to gyp them, she helps them cut through the medical gobbledygook you doctors 'bout drown 'em in. And what's so great about the world out there?" She jutted her chin at the window. "I live there and I have to tell you, there's a lot of days it's a helluva lot nicer in here. I just wish I had her guts to turn my back on it all, tell all those so called normal people to go to hell and leave me alone." She said this last in the tone of a mother proud of her child's accomplishments.

Vincent had to admit he didn't have a very good argument to offer her. What was he to do, quote the psychiatric diagnostic and statistical manual's criteria for agoraphobia, post traumatic stress, and obsessive-compulsive disorder?

That wouldn't convince the woman in front of him that Grace Moran was sick, that her choices had been wrong, a legacy of her trauma rather than her own free will.

He had to admit, he wasn't so certain if he agreed with Helman that Grace Moran was incompetent. Despite her meeting the criteria for several serious psychiatric diagnoses, he was beginning to think that Grace Moran had created a reasonable method of coping with her own very unreasonable living hell.

"Here, you wanted to see a picture," Garman continued. She lifted a heavy silver framed 8x10 photo from the mantle and gave it to Vincent. The metal frame felt cold in his hands. He looked down into the faces of two people obviously very much in love.

The man was tall, with red hair and a gaze that seemed focused solely on the woman beside him, oblivious to the camera or anything else that existed in the outside world.

"It's their wedding picture," Garman said.

Vincent's gaze focused on the woman beside Jimmy Moran and the frame almost slipped from his grasp. Staring out at the camera with brilliant dark blue eyes was Alex Weiss' mother, the woman calling herself Marie D'Angelo.

"Did Mrs. Moran have any sisters?" he asked, scrutinizing the photo. This woman's face had a few subtle differences from D'Angelo's. Grace Moran's cheekbones were higher, had a different curve, her eyebrows more even as well. But there was no mistaking or disguising those eyes or that intense stare.

"Nope. She was an orphan. Her ma abandoned her when she was just a few days old." Mrs. Garman took the photo from his trembling fingers before he could drop it.

An orphan. Abandoned. Just like Alex.

Could the differences in her face be the product of the injuries she'd received from Redding's beating? No. It couldn't be the same woman.

He'd talked with D'Angelo, had coffee, a meal with her--she functioned perfectly well, didn't act at all like an agoraphobic outside of her comfort zone. Wouldn't an agoraphobic flee the hospital, want to return back home as soon as possible? Marie D'Angelo seemed content to remain at Angels, tending to Alex, mooching off the system.

One mysterious woman with a horrific past, fleeing a frightful future. One woman with a mysterious past, trying to give a dying child some comfort in his future. Two women or one?

His eyes widened as he thought. He stared at the photo again.

Grace Moran was Marie D'Angelo, he was certain of it.

Helman would be ecstatic, his pet project wasn't gone missing but was building a new life for herself right under his nose at Angels of Mercy.

CHAPTER 18

Wheeling and Dealing

The drive back to Angels of Mercy was a blur as Vincent tried to untangle the ramifications of his discovery. He could deliver the prize to the Chairman, be assured of Helman's backing for an attending position as well as his support in the malpractice case.

All he had to do was betray Alex and, by doing so, save Grace Moran's life. If she didn't want the surgery, why had she stayed at Angels of Mercy? Why pretend to be Alex's mother?

Christ, he hoped the kid had some inkling that she was lying. He couldn't bear to make Alex cry again.

Not his fault, he told himself firmly. He hadn't started this charade, Grace had. He clenched the steering wheel tighter, angry that he'd felt the slightest tinge of envy or sympathy for the woman. She was a doctor, damn it, how could she do that to a kid like Alex?

It had to be the tumor, it made her unstable. Helman was right, she needed to be locked up, forced to have the surgery. Grace Moran was in no condition to decide anything for herself, that much was clear.

He parked the Mustang in the employee lot and slogged through puddles back into Angels of Mercy. The snow changed back to rain, but he paid it no attention. The memory of Alex's smile this morning when he'd introduced Grace as his mother filled Vincent's mind. Damn, this was going to be tough.

After dropping his sodden parka back at his office and shrugging into his lab coat, Vincent headed for Alex's room at the far end of the hallway. To his relief Grace wasn't there. He didn't want a scene, not in front of Alex.

He paused in the doorway, watching as Alex practiced a magic trick, making cards seem to slide from three stacks on their own volition. "Nice trick. Want to do it for me?"

Alex looked up with a frown and hastily pushed the cards back together. "No, I'd better not. I tried it earlier and it went all wrong."

Vincent sat on the edge of Alex's bed and pushed the table separating them to one side. "We need to talk."

He watched as Alex's lips turned down and the boy looked out the window at the sheets of rain.

"It's about your mother," Vincent continued. "Grace."

Alex jerked up at that, pivoting his sleight frame to sit Indian style on the bed, all focus now on Vincent's face. "Don't make her go away. Please, Dr. V."

"Alex, I'm sorry. But she's a very sick lady. And she may be unstable--even dangerous. She needs help."

"She's not dangerous. She's here to help."

"Convincing you that a transplant is not in your best interests is not helping."

"That wasn't Grace's idea," Alex protested. "That was me. I asked her--told her--I guess I was just wishing out loud. Don't blame Grace for that."

"I'm sorry the way this has worked out. Grace should have known better. Should have never put you and Kat in the middle."

"She didn't. It was our fault. We found her, we just wanted to keep her for a while, that's all. It was Kat's idea to say she was my mom, not Grace's." Alex was practically bouncing on the bed in his eagerness to explain.

Vincent thought back to the morning, to the look on Grace's face when Kat had introduced her. She had seemed just as surprised as Vincent was. But she had gone along with the lie.

"She helped Kat," Alex continued. "Got her to finish her download. And she's a doctor, just like you. She saved my life once."

"She's not like me," Vincent said, standing up and pacing alongside the bed. "We're nothing alike."

Of course not, a nagging voice whispered in his mind. Grace made Alex happy, had him smiling. All you seem to be able to do is make him cry.

Vincent whirled at the foot of the bed, planted his hands on the railing and leaned his weight on them. "Alex, I don't know what Grace has been telling you, but you have to trust me about the transplant. It really is the best thing for you."

Maybe he couldn't make Alex laugh like Grace did, but he sure as hell could do his job and keep him alive.

Alex's lips pressed together and he looked away from Vincent for a long moment. "If I say yes, will you let Grace stay? Just for one night? Please? I never had a family before now."

When Alex stared up at Vincent with such deep longing in those intense blue eyes, he was damned near impossible to deny. "We'll see," Vincent hedged. "First I need to talk with her. Where is she?"

"Nu-huh." Alex shook his head vigorously. "First you need to promise. Grace gets to stay with me one more night before you lock her up with the Freaks."

"Alex! I'm trying to help Dr. Helman save her life. Don't you understand? She has a brain tumor. She'll die without treatment."

Alex merely leveled a stare on Vincent and sat silently, patiently waiting for Vincent to cave. Vincent knew better than to try to resist. Over his many years in the hospital, Alex had learned all the tricks of how to get his own way. In most things, at least.

"One night. Then I tell Dr. Helman where to find her. And," he added, "you don't say anything else about a Do Not Resuscitate order or not wanting a transplant. Deal?"

Alex narrowed his eyes at Vincent's outstretched hand, then nodded and shook it vigorously. "Deal."

"Now, where is she?"

"Gone to visit Kat. Over in the Tower."

"Thanks." Vincent slid off the bed. "You get some rest while I go track down your mysterious friend. And I'm on call tonight, so I'll be here to keep an eye on things."

To his surprise, Alex's smile was bright enough to banish the gloom of the storm clouds from the room. "Great. It'll just be like having a real family."

Grace found Kat alone in her room, the door shut. "Okay if I come in?" she called. She poked her head inside after knocking again and receiving no answer.

Kat shrugged. She sat in the chair beside the window, knees hugged to her chest, staring out into the grey skies beyond. Grace perched on the window ledge.

"Alex and I spent the day sneaking a look at your records," she began after a lengthy silence. "I think I can answer your questions about your surgery now."

Kat shrugged again, didn't make eye contact. "Sure, whatever."

Not the answer Grace was expecting. She laid a hand on Kat's shoulder. The girl flinched away from the contact. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"The tech said my download is complete. I can have my surgery any day now." Kat's tone was leaden.

"You were hoping it would take longer?"

"No." Kat looked up, her eyes held a hard edge to them. "I want the surgery. I want to get it over with, get out of this place where everyone lies and you can't trust anyone."

Grace straightened at the steel and bitterness underlying Kat's words. "Who lied?" she asked, wondering if Eve Warden had done something to upset Kat. "Who can't you trust, Kat?"

"You, for starters!" Kat turned her face into her shoulder, then swiped at her eyes before looking up. "I heard the nurses talking. Everyone's looking for you, Grace. Why didn't you tell me about your surgery? All that time spent trying to convince me to have mine, that it's my only hope--but you never mentioned that it's your only hope too. Except you're going to run away home and let your cancer kill you, aren't you? Aren't you, Grace?"

Grace pulled away from Kat's all-too-true accusations. Her back pressed against the frigid glass window, the shriek of the wind vibrated into her bones.

"Here I was crying about what a scaredy-cat I was, but you're the one who's a coward," Kat continued mercilessly. "You're just like all the other Freaks. You're all trying to kill yourselves, in your own way. Not me. I'm getting out of this place. I'm going home to my horse and my dog and brothers and sisters and parents and I'm going to live! You and the other Freaks," her voice cracked with tears, "can all just go to Hell!"

Kat wept openly, her glare pinning Grace in place. This time Kat didn't bother to wipe away the tears. Instead she got to her feet and stalked to the door, holding it open.

"Get out, Grace. You did what you came here for. Now go on home and die, just like you want. I don't care."

Grace took a hesitant step toward the door, searching for words to comfort Kat, to explain herself. But Kat spoke the truth. There was no defense against that.

"I said, go home!" Kat shouted when Grace didn't move fast enough to suit her.

Grace stumbled to the door, her own tears blinding her. She stopped and reached a hand out to Kat, who batted it away.

"I'm sorry, Kat," she said. Kat slammed the door shut behind her, leaving Grace shivering in the empty corridor.

Grace wrapped her arms around her chest, wishing she'd taken the time to steal a lab coat in addition to the scrubs. She glanced down the hallway and noted curious stares from the other patients who pressed their faces into tiny slits left by their ajar doors. No one bold enough to come out and confront her, they seemed content to watch and listen from behind their barricades.

Her gaze caught the frosted glass door at the end of the hall. A man's silhouette was pressed against it, his fists drumming a desperate beat on the thick, reinforced glass. A beat that thundered through her skull, blinding her with pain.

Grace whirled and fled through the double doors at the exit from the ECU, stumbling right into Vincent's arms.

CHAPTER 19

Wishing Hour

Vincent stumbled back as Grace Moran plowed into him. Her eyes were wide, her face a ghastly white, highlighting the faint scars. She looked scared as hell.

"Are you all right, Grace?" he asked, setting her back onto her feet.

She glanced around at the oak doors behind her, as if something was chasing her. "I'm fine. I just need to go home," she mumbled. She straightened, then pulled away from him. "What did you call me?"

"Your name. Grace." He scrutinized her with the eye of a clinician. She was shaking, looked ready to fall down at any moment. "Here," he guided her to the love seat opposite the elevators. "Sit. We need to talk."

She nodded absently, her fingers tracing the seven staples along her temple, then pulling her hair forward once more to cover them. The incandescent light from the two stick-lamps on the end tables played over her features, softening them. But Vincent's vision was filled with images of blood and torn tissue. Each nuance of healed tissue now revealed the grim secret of its origin. His anger at her for interfering with Alex's care eased.

He was ashamed of his earlier denouncement of Grace Moran as a victim, even blaming her for what he assumed had happened to her. The woman standing before him was no victim. She was a fighter. Or at least she once was.

"Why don't you want the surgery?" he asked in a gentle voice, laying his hand over hers.

She stared down at his hand, then slid hers away, hugging herself around the chest. Vincent wished he had a sweater or blanket to offer her. But all he had was his lab coat.

"Please," she said, not meeting his eyes, instead staring out the window at the garishly lit helipad on the Annex roof across the void that separated the two buildings. "All I want to do is go home."

"I know."

She nodded at that, her gaze still fixed on the Annex.

"Why didn't you leave yesterday? Why did you stay?"

"I tried. I--I couldn't. Then I met Kat and Alex--" she broke off, turned to face him as if emerging from a trance. "How do you know who I am?"

"Sean Kelly is a friend of mine. He says hi, says he hopes you're feeling better. Ingrid is worried too."

"Ingrid--you were at my house?" Her voice took on an edge. "How dare you. Who gave you the right?"

"Grace, you're a sick woman. Wandering alone on the streets for all we knew. Dr. Helman was concerned, asked me to find you."

"Worried about making history, you mean. With me as a guinea pig." She stood now, hands dropping to her sides. "Maybe I don't want to make history. Maybe I just want to go home."

"To die." He stood as well, facing her.

"Yes." She challenged him with an upraised eyebrow. "Happens to all of us sooner or later, Doctor."

"If that's what you really, truly wanted, then you would have left yesterday."

"I thought you were a pediatrician, not a shrink."

"Actually I'm boarded in both medicine and pediatrics. But it doesn't take a psychiatrist to see that there was a reason you couldn't force yourself to leave Angels of Mercy, a reason why you're here right now."

She glanced back over her shoulder at the doors to the ECU. "I wanted to help Kat. No one," she shot a disapproving glare at Vincent, "prepared her for her surgery, what to expect. I promised I'd help and I did. So now I can go home."

"You're the one who convinced her to finish her download?" She nodded. "Guess I should thank you for that. But what about Alex? Are you just going to abandon him? He's over in his room right now, waiting for you. Begged me to let you stay with him tonight--has some fantasy that you're as close as he'll ever get to a real mom."

She stepped back until the doors to the Skyway blocked her path. "I didn't ask him to pretend I was his mom--"

"I know you didn't. But kids," he shrugged, "sometimes their imagination runs away from them. If you leave, it will break his heart."

Her shoulders bowed as if he'd placed a great burden on her. He only hoped she realized that it was also a fragile burden. A gust of wind rattled the windows beside her. The lights in the Skyway flickered. She raised her head and gave him a half smile.

"You really do care about him, don't you, Vincent?"

"Sure I do. He's a great kid. And that's why I got into this business. I'll look the other way if you stay tonight."

She bit her lip and nodded. "I guess one more night won't matter."

Jimmy knew he shouldn't have any memory of these things, just as he shouldn't be here now, watching, waiting, yearning for the woman he'd lost four years ago. Four years. Was that an eternity or a heartbeat? Neither, both--he could not say.

Nor did he understand why he couldn't follow her. His celestial leash seemed to end not quite halfway along the Skyway, beneath the maintenance hatch set into the flat glass roof. So he paced the limits of his domain, remembering, re-living...

Jimmy and Grace had spent another day in the beehive hut, trapped by the storm. On the morning of the second day, Jimmy woke alone.

He stood up, groggy, reaching for his shirt. The fire was lit, as were two of his lanterns; coffee was brewing, but no Grace. He turned around in a complete circle but there was nowhere to hide in the small confines of the stone hut.

Wind howled through the cracks between the stones, echoing the fury and fear Jimmy felt building inside of him. He wrenched the tarp guarding the doorway back, fighting the tempest for possession of it.

The rain had eased but the clouds were tearing across the sky, ripped into shreds by the banshee-gale that screamed from every direction at once, mourning the spent storm. What little rain there was, was hurled like daggers by the ferocious wind, biting at Jimmy's skin with sharp, painful nips.

No one with the sense God gave a cow would be outside in this, Jimmy thought as his eyes scoured the horizon, searching for signs of Grace. Nothing. He returned inside, now cold and wet for his efforts, and cursed.

"Goddamn yank! Where the hell are you?"

"Here," came the answering voice of an angel from the heavens above. Her sweet alto echoed from the stones and multiplied like a heavenly host.

Jimmy craned his neck up and saw her, a good twenty feet overhead, perched in one of the openings high in the cone of the stone roof.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How did you get up there?" he yelled, his own voice bouncing off the stones to return as a mincing parody of his mother's. He now understood Mary Moran's fury when he or his brothers had done something stupid and reckless--and why the sainted lady had gone grey at such an early age.

"It's lovely!" She balanced on her hands, her legs dangling in free fall as she slithered her shoulders and head through the narrow opening, momentarily blocking the light.

Her feet were bare, Jimmy saw as he watched her gymnastics with horror. "Come down here at once!" he bellowed, continuing to channel his mother.

The joyous kicking of her feet was his only reply for a few moments. Then her head and upper body reappeared.

Jimmy's heart lurched. He spun around, helpless below her as she pushed her body away from the ledge, dangling only by the tips of her fingers. Could he catch her, break her fall if she slipped?

Her laughter only made it worse.

Then to Jimmy's horror, she began swinging her lower body like a pendulum, back and forth, taunting and terrorizing him as he watched.

"Grace, be careful!" he shouted. He was going to kill her when she got down. If she got down.

Then she let go of one hand. Jimmy's fingers clenched into helpless fists and he couldn't take his eyes off of her as his breath caught, waiting for the fall.

It never came. With practiced ease, Grace used her momentum to swing to another handhold, pulling her body along with her so that she was now molding against the curve of the wall, well anchored by hands and feet. As Jimmy watched, she continued down the wall, hands and feet scampering from one hold to the next.

Like a goddamned monkey, Jimmy thought, still furious at her for frightening him, but admiring of her skill. If it hadn't been for the polished granite walls in Maeve's tomb, she would have gotten herself out without difficulty, he now saw.

As Grace reached a point about eight feet off the ground the light of the fire and lantern were reflected in the grin she wore. She didn't bother with more climbing but instead leapt to a spot precisely two feet in front of Jimmy, straightening up, arms overhead as if taking a triumphant curtain call.

"Ta da."

Her hair was whipped into a frenzy by the wind, her face glowing with effort and enthusiasm, blue eyes blazing in the firelight.

Imbeciles, Jimmy thought, taking in this reincarnation of Ireland's warrior queens, this passionate, vibrant woman before him. The monks had been imbeciles to give her an Italian name--any fool could see it was the blood of this island that ran deep in her.

Her teeth gleamed with a ferocious grin and his heart clenched again, but this time not from fear.

Grace D'Angelo, Grace of the angels, indeed, he thought, unable to tear his eyes from her.

Devil would be more like it.

And damn his soul if he wasn't in love with her himself.

Which, in the end, was exactly what had happened, wasn't it? If he had interpreted Leo's cryptic hints correctly, then Jimmy was about to risk eternal damnation. But if it saved Grace, it was worth it.

Finally, Jimmy spotted her crossing over the Skyway that connected his here and now with the darkness beyond. Hurry, he urged, knowing that his time was short, their time even shorter.

Unless she was ready to take the next step.

"I've something to show you," Jimmy told her as she entered the Annex elevator lobby. She nodded at him distractedly, as if she'd become so accustomed to his presence that she no longer paid much attention.

When she walked past him, right through him for chrissake!, he scowled. Didn't she know that the more she took him for granted, ignoring the awful and awesome powers that were converging on this time and place, the less he'd be able to help her? He would simply fade away, a distant memory.

Leaving her alone to face what was coming.

"Grace!" He forced all his fear into his voice, creating a blast of sound as powerful as a thunderbolt. She jumped and spun toward him, eyes wide. "Please," he softened his tone. "Open the door, come with me."

Her forehead wrinkled in a frown as she took the two steps needed to cross to the door to the rooftop helipad.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm not ready. Surely there's more time?" She tilted her face up to him, lips pressed together, the color blanched from them.

He heard her thoughts, felt her fear and anguish as if they were his own. And in a way, they were. He raised a hand to stroke her jaw, his thumb caressing her lips, saw them tremble beneath his touch. Seeing wasn't enough. He wanted, he needed, to feel her. All of her. "Trust me, love. Open the door."

Her fingers shook as she turned the key in the lock. It was stiff from lack of use. She needed both hands to twist it. Finally it gave, the key snapping off in her hand as it clicked open. Looking over her shoulder at him, she pushed the heavy steel door open.

The helipad was no longer in use, but automatic controls switched its lights on whenever darkness approached. Jimmy placed his hand on her shoulder, looking past her at the waning sun silhouetted behind the Tower. "Hurry. Turn the lights off."

She stepped over the threshold and turned to a small plastic electrical box beside the door. She opened it and flipped the breaker, leaving them in the half shadows of the approaching sunset.

"Jimmy," she said, her voice tight. "I'm afraid."

He knew. It always amazed him when he was alive that this woman who appeared so fearless and confident, as strong as any warrior queen, was actually in constant battle with terror. One of his great regrets was that his death had condemned her to a prison of fear.

No longer. Not if she was strong enough. And Jimmy was certain she was. All he needed to do was to get her to focus that strength, to share it with him.

Leo had laughed when he'd suggested it, but Jimmy knew he could do it--that Grace could do it. He had that much faith in her, in their love.

He pulled her to him, enveloping her in his arms, yearning for the feel of her silky hair as the wind rippled through it. "Ahh now, it's going to be all right," he crooned to her. "Do you remember the first time we made love? On top of the fairy mound?"

She sniffed hard and he felt her scrape together enough strength to brazen a smile. "I remember wild jungle sex on the rocks and an assortment of bruises the next morning."

He held her at arms length. "Grace, I'm serious. I need you to remember everything about that night. It's important. Think hard. Concentrate."

For Jimmy that moment six years ago was as real as this one now. He remembered feeling strange all that day after the storm broke, releasing them from their captivity in the beehive hut. The seas were still too wild to risk crossing and the wind kept shifting in strange, unpredictable whirlwinds. As if unseen forces were converging on their island.

He had led her to the top of the fairy mound that stood over Maeve's and Concolin's graves. They stood together in the ring of stones that circled the peak, holding hands as the sun set.

"They say that during the blue time at sunrise and sunset, ghosts cross the veil that lies between heaven and earth. If you listen, you can hear their cries as they try to break free," he had told her.

A strange keening had grown, swirling around them, low and faint, setting his teeth on edge. Grace tilted her head to one side, listening, then raised an eyebrow in skepticism.

"That's just the wind blowing through the ventilation holes in the tombs," she said. "That's how you found me when I was trapped below, remember?"

Indeed he did. The memory of her voice calling him to the rocks beneath the earth, an irresistible siren's song, would not soon fade. Nor would his first sight of her. Face upturned, glowing in the light of his torch. His heart had skipped a beat before almost stampeding from his chest. He'd thought for a moment that it was Maeve herself returned to life.

Who could blame him, looking upon that countenance of fierce determination? If sheer willpower alone could have levitated her from that watery grave, she would have soared free without any assistance from a mere mortal like Jimmy.

But it was no ancient warrior queen he'd gotten his hands on. Rather a flesh and blood woman who had stirred his soul in ways no woman before her ever had.

Jimmy brushed aside her rational explanation and took both her hands in his. They stood beneath the lintel stone, facing west. He stretched her arms out so that her palms rested on the vertical stones on either side of them.

"Can you feel that? The stones themselves are singing."

She nodded dreamily, then shook herself and pulled away, breaking the connection. "It's only vibrations. I noticed it before down in the monastery. I'll bet it has something to do with water currents."

He blew out his breath in irritation, not sure why but knowing it was important for her to believe. "Those Jesuits did their job well," he muttered. "Is there anything you won't question? That you can take on faith?"

"No much. Besides, you're the one who said faith was useless," she said with a smile, challenging him, making a game of it.

But this was no game. Not tonight. Not to Jimmy.

"That was faith in religion, not faith in people, in the power of the unknown." He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her so that her back was pressed against one of the standing stones. She trembled beneath his touch as if he'd trapped a wild animal.

"What did they teach you about love?" he demanded. "You do believe in love, don't you?" Before she could answer, he lowered his face to hers, pressing his lips on hers, stealing her breath.

She didn't respond like a frightened animal. Instead she took control, her mouth opening beneath his, her tongue thrusting past his teeth as she greedily stole all that he had to offer. They parted, the sunset painting her pale skin crimson.

"I believe," she answered his question. She reached out, snagged his hair between her fingers and dragged his face back down to her.

Jimmy plunged into the kiss once more, then broke it off. "Jesus," he exhaled, trying to catch his breath. "You didn't learn that from any monk."

The sky was now a glorious mix of purples and indigo, the sun a mere memory that cast a few last glints of gold against the bottoms of distant clouds. As the sun vanished, the full moon became visible directly above them. The wind had risen, now swirled around them as if making them part of the stone ring. He pivoted Grace so that he held her tight, both facing out through the standing stones.

"This is a special night, a magic night," he whispered. "The autumn equinox, Mabon. A night of thanksgiving."

"Mabon?"

"Michaelmas, the English call it, the feast of the Archangel. On this night, spirits can walk among us. The boundaries between heaven and earth are loosed, power fills the air. A night when wishes can come true." A shooting star spiraled across the twilight. "There's your star, Grace. Make a wish."

Lukas banged his head against his window. She was here, had been here, so tantalizingly close and he couldn't reach her. But he was certain. Not even the stale, re-circulated, re-conditioned hospital air could hide her scent from him.

As the door from the Annex was opened, a rectangle of light encroached on the twilight of the helipad across from his window. He watched as a woman crossed the threshold. The light behind her surrounded her in a halo, the flashing red lights of the helipad bathed her features in fire.

His breath caught in his throat as his fingers splayed on the glass panes, straining to reach her. Grace.

She turned and the lights were extinguished, the door shut, leaving her shrouded in darkness. But nothing could hide her from his eyes, not now that he knew where to look.

She had come for him, to rescue him. God, what she must think? Did she curse his name for abandoning her these long, four years? Yet, still she came, searching. For him. Her one true love. Her forever love.

"I didn't want to," he shouted, pounding on the glass in a futile effort to get her attention. "It wasn't my choice! They tricked me, they took you from me! Grace!"

She turned to face him and for one brief moment his entire being was filled with the ecstasy of her love.

Blue bolts of lightning began to shower her, a curtain shielding her from his eyes. There was no rain, no thunder, even the wind had died.

Yet it was as if the heavens above were lashing out, determined to stop her from seeing him. He called out her name, his shouts echoing through the small room, rattling the glass, pounding through his bones.

As quickly as it began, the lightning storm ended. Grace stood there, whole, somehow untouched by the heavenly wrath. But she was no longer alone.

Lukas' scream died before he could give it voice. His throat clenched tight with terror. He was back, returned from Hell itself. The Devil reborn.

He watched in horror as the demonspawn that was Jimmy Moran took Grace into his arms, holding her captive in an embrace that threatened to choke the life from her.

Cold spiraled through the glass into the silver platinum of his wedding band, racing into his very soul. Grace had risked herself to come to his aid, but now it was up to Lukas to save her from Moran.

Again.

CHAPTER 20

Dance with the Devil

On the dark rooftop of the helipad, the rain had stopped. Clouds parted as if by an unseen hand. Grace shivered, the thin cotton scrubs she wore no match against the March Pittsburgh night. Today was the first day of spring, but winter didn't seem willing to surrender.

"Do you remember?" Jimmy repeated. "That night? Our first night?"

She remembered. It was the first time in her life she had believed in magic, in the unknown, in hope.

On that ancient hilltop, surrounded by sacred stones that sang, caressed by his strong arms, she had dared to believe.

"There was a meteor shower," she said. "A thousand falling stars. I felt dizzy like I was falling with them, I didn't know which way was up."

She craned her head to look at him, reached a finger to trace his strong jaw line. A shiver swept through her. To be able to touch him again, after all this time. The illusion was marred only by the sight of the Tower shimmering through his transparent form. Why couldn't her imagination fix that?

"I remember falling and you catching me," she finished.

"Then look, Grace." He turned her so that she was snugged against his chest, his arms wrapped around her, both facing west. The sun was now hidden by the Tower, but reflections of its golden glow could be spied in the clouds above. Then the wind scudded the few last wisps of clouds aside, revealing an indigo twilight sky. "Watch, Grace. Do you see them?"

She did. Falling stars, shooting through the night above the Pittsburgh skyline. "Yes," she whispered.

"Make a wish, Grace. Wish hard, for what's most important. Wish carefully. Wish for what you want most in the world."

She understood now why her diseased mind had brought her here--hadn't she imagined this rooftop as her last resort when she found herself trapped in this hell on earth? Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Jimmy's arms tightened around her chest.

This should be easy, she'd been wishing for the same thing ever since she woke during the brain biopsy. To go home and die, to be with Jimmy again, to finally leave this world that no longer held any light or joy or magic.

But now as she tried to form the thought, she saw Alex and Kat. Their laughter rang through her mind. She thought of what they'd suffered in their short lives, what they still faced. She wished that they could experience the love and joy she'd been blessed with, that they would find the strength and courage to face what was to come, that they wouldn't have to face their future alone.

"You wished well," Jimmy said, his breath caressing the side of her neck. "Open your eyes."

She did. Overhead, the meteors continued their dance across the sky, shimmering faintly against the city lights. "Just like that first night," she whispered into the darkness.

"A thousand and one stars. I wished on every blessed one," Jimmy said. "Do you know what I wished for back then?"

"No." She lied. She had a very good idea what he wished for, it haunted her to this day. "Don't tell me, don't say it," she begged.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill out. He turned her within his embrace, tilted her chin up, smoothed away her tears with a callused fingertip.

"I wished to spend the rest of my life with you, Grace." His lips caressed her forehead. Grace kept her eyes shut tight, suddenly terrified of what she might see if she opened them.

"Open your eyes, Grace," he commanded. "Open them."

Curiosity trumped her misgivings. She opened her eyes. Jimmy stood before her, reaching to take her hands in his. As he raised her left hand to his lips the faint glow of gold from her rings was swallowed by his shadow.

He stood before her, his body whole, undamaged, solid. He threw his head back, his laughter splitting the air. Then he snagged her by the waist and raised her up high, spinning her around the abandoned rooftop.

"You did it, love. You did it!"

Jimmy felt like howling at the moon. So he did. A triumphant, gleeful howl that exploded into the air. The howl of a beast, a creature of the night, a being of sheer power.

Except that he was none of those--and all of them. Rain cascaded down on him, chilling his naked flesh. The goose bumps rising on his bare skin made him laugh, a brittle noise that sounded hollow to his ears. His ears! He could hear himself! He sucked in a deep breath and tried once more.

This time the sound was a bit closer to how he remembered laughter, but still tinny, like the soundtrack from a B-horror flick. Grace must have felt the same, because she was clawing at him, trying to push free of his embrace.

As if he'd ever let her go! Not now, after coming so very far to hold her again. The cold night air was intoxicating, as was the scent of the woman in his arms. He whipped her around once more, spinning so hard and fast that he began to feel dizzy. Dizzy--he'd totally forgotten what it felt like to have your head rushing past your body like that!

"Jimmy, please!" Grace's voice finally broke through his exultation.

He stopped, swayed a moment and steadied himself, still holding her tight. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. He sniffed and realized he could smell her fear as well, washing off her in waves, caressing his nostrils with a primitive surge of power.

Grace was afraid. Of him.

The thought should have brought him to his senses, but instead her fear was as overwhelming as the knowledge that he was alive once more. Power, far greater than he'd ever held in his previous life, surged through him. Accompanying it was desire, lust, primal passion. The knowledge that the woman in his arms was his and his alone.

He crushed her mouth beneath his, barely noticing her fists glancing off his bare chest and back. He tasted her, feasted on her, inhaled her, embraced her and knew her.

Their eyes met and slowly, so slowly, she relaxed in his grasp. The fear fled from her eyes, replaced by wonder and awe.

Her body trembled against his and a small noise of amazement caught in her throat as she relinquished herself to him.

Cradling her in his arms, he strode through puddles and carried her out of the night chill and back into the Annex. Ahh, the tender joy of caring for another. How well he remembered that.

His bare feet slapped against the cold linoleum, sending shivers of delight up his spine. Every molecule of air that brushed against him, every mote of dust disturbed by his passing, every small exhalation of her breath on his skin, shimmered over and into him so that each sensation became precious and vital.

"Say my name again," he commanded as he pushed through the door leading to the abandoned call rooms.

She met his gaze head on, no fear in her eyes now. "Jimmy."

Her voice lanced into him, striking with such intensity that he was instantly and totally aroused. He couldn't wait until they reached the call room or her bed. He pinned her against the wall, tugging at the soaked, thin cotton that clung to her body like a second skin.

"Aw, love," his voice emerged a ragged whisper as he skimmed his lips over her face, memorizing every inch, every nuance. "My Grace. I missed you so."

She pushed his fumbling hands away long enough to kick free of her pants, then she stroked one foot up the back of his calf, higher, her touch like lightning searing into him. His mouth closed on her breast, layers of fabric still between them, but he felt her arousal as his tongue stroked over her nipple. He shifted his hands to cup her bottom and raised her hips to meet his.

"Say it again," he begged as he slid into her heat. Her muscles clenched around him, pulling him in deeper, inviting him home.

"Jimmy!" She cried out his name, repeating it over and over as he thrust into her, until her cries and the echoes of his own collided. Her head arched back, slamming against the tile wall with a crack as the climax shuddered through her.

Jimmy felt his seed pour into her and couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face, slipping onto her cheek as she clung to him, shaking. He slumped against the wall, would have dropped her if she hadn't lowered her feet back to the ground.

Together they stood, broken, bowed, and united.

The only sound Jimmy could hear in the empty, deserted hallway was the thump of her heart as it pulsed against his flesh.

This, this was what he had returned for.

"Ar gra buana brach. Our love lives forever."

Alex couldn't remember a time when he was happier. Tonight was better than even last year when the nurses invited a real magician to come to the ward on his birthday. The Great Leonardo. He was the one who had taught Alex the fortune telling trick that had gone so very wrong earlier today. After the excitement of the party, Alex's lungs had gone all spastic and he'd spiked a fever. Despite the five days in the ICU that followed, that was the best day of his life.

Until tonight. Tonight he was going to have a real sleepover like a real kid with a real family. The girls brought popcorn and a video, Star Wars, one of Alex's favorites, to keep him company until Grace and Vincent arrived. He watched the movie, hoping Grace would find a way to sneak Kat out of the Tower as well.

Then everything really would be perfect.

"The biggest mistake of my life," Renee Redding said as Eve closed the door to her office, ensuring their privacy, "was leaving my son with his father. But the only reason Earl married me was to give his parents an heir, someone to carry on the Redding name. I thought he wanted Lukas so much that he would love him, take care of him."

Eve watched as the meticulously groomed older woman sagged a bit with memory and slid into the chair across from her desk.

"I was wrong," Renee admitted. She slanted her gaze up to meet Eve's, her back straight once more, knees together. "I will not abandon my son again."

Eve bought herself a moment by hanging up her lab coat before taking her own chair behind the large, blond oak desk. When she spoke, it was with her best clinical tone, the one designed to break bad news to family without them blaming the messenger.

"Mrs. Redding, I'm truly sorry that I haven't been able to help your son more than I have. But we knew from the beginning that this was a very difficult case and that the chances of success were slim."

Renee didn't react at all the way Eve expected. She was prepared for tearful arguing, a tirade decrying Eve's clinical skills, a protest of her son's innocence. But not for the shrewd narrowing of the older woman's eyes or the gleam of triumph that was reflected in them.

"You're not giving up on my son, Dr. Warden," Renee told her--no, not told, ordered. "That's not you, the woman who dug herself out of a Coinjock, North Carolina trailer park and vowed never to return, leaving behind daddy-dearest with the quick fists and her mother the human punching bag. Not to mention the four younger brothers and sisters that you were expected to raise and shelter."

Eve looked up, keeping her face placid as her nails bit into her palms out of sight beneath the desktop. "You don't know anything about me."

Renee rose to stand regal and tall over the desk. "Surely you didn't think I'd entrust my son, much less something as important as the Lucidine Project, to you without checking your background? Besides, your tidewater twang comes out when you're upset or excited. You really should watch that, dear."

"Where I come from has nothing to do with the Lucidine Project or your son."

"Maybe, maybe not. How about the fact that you stole the formula for Lucidine from your former lover during your neuro-anesthesia fellowship? Or the fact that that same lover shot himself with your gun after you left him--in remorse, no doubt."

Eve forced her anger down and lowered her eyes, blinking hard. "Tom's death almost killed me. How dare you drag him into this!"

As she spoke, choking back imaginary tears, her hand inched over to the desk drawer containing her Smith and Wesson .38. One thing about country girls, they learned early the value of a good gun and knowing how to use it.

"Stop the theatrics. We're both women of the world here. You know as well as I that Tom Wilson didn't kill himself. That's all right, I've done as bad or worse myself. I admire you, Eve. We're a lot alike. And if you do what I say, we'll both get what we want: my son healthy, the Lucidine Project up and running, and with both of those, we'll control of every important piece of legislation coming out of Washington."

Eve remained silent, uncertain if she should show her hand or bluff. The diamond edged hardness in Renee's voice convinced her of the folly of further dissembling. Renee wanted to use Lucidine for her own ends, but if it got Eve what she wanted....

"What did you have in mind?"

Renee pursed her lips into a satisfied smile. She edged her chair closer and sat back down. "You originally said that if you had the Moran woman you could use her to convince Lukas that she really was dead, bring him closure so that the new memories you gave him would overshadow his real ones."

"Yes. But that was before he suspected that she was still alive. And I don't have Grace Moran, remember?"

"Surely someone is looking for her? I mean, a crazy, sick, dying woman disappearing from the hospital--"

Eve nodded. "Helman told me he has Vincent Emberek searching for her."

"The man you want to work with you on the Lucidine Project? Perfect. He has as much to lose as we do."

"Not quite. He's not exactly on board with the Project. Yet."

Renee arched an eyebrow at that. "He's a man, isn't he? However you do it, you need to get him working for us. Before it's too late."

"Even if Vincent finds her, we don't have much time," Eve argued. "With Lukas building resistance to the idea that Moran is dead, it will take more intensive therapy to overcome that. I'll need to sedate him for a while before he'll be receptive enough that I can even start."

"It will work," Renee said with confidence. "Especially if you can show him Moran's dead body. But you need to move fast. I can't stand to see Lukas in such turmoil."

Her voice softened at the mention of her son and Eve was surprised, again, by the intensity of the other woman's devotion to her warped and damaged child.

Renee Redding truly did regret the choice she had made that left her son in the company of a sociopath like Earl Redding. She had devoted all her energy and considerable resources to giving Lukas every opportunity to live the life Earl had stolen from him.

Even if that meant sacrificing Grace Moran's life to achieve that.

Eve stared at the other woman long and hard, weighing the risks to herself and her project if she did as Renee suggested. Before she could say anything, there was a quick knock on the door and Vincent entered.

"Hi," he said with a bright smile as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Is this a bad time? I thought we could have dinner and talk more about your Lucidine clinic." His gaze caught Renee and he paused. "I'm sorry. I can come back--"

"Oh no," Renee said with a wide smile that revealed her gleaming white teeth. She stood and turned to Vincent, taking his hand and holding it for a moment too long. "Lucidine has saved my son," she gushed. "I wouldn't dream of keeping you two from your work."

Eve stood as well, bristling as the older woman clung to Vincent's arm. Laying it on too thick. But Vincent didn't seem to notice, instead he beamed down at Renee. "Lucidine helped your son?"

"Oh yes," Renee said. "Dr. Warden is a genius. The world will be a different place once more people have access to the Lucidine treatment program." She turned to Eve. "Thank you again, Dr. Warden. I don't know what we would have done without you. I'd best go. I know your time is precious."

Then, with a knowing arch of an eyebrow at Eve, Renee left.

Eve knew what she had to do. She glided from behind her desk to stand in front of Vincent, arching her back slightly and noting with satisfaction the way his gaze drifted to her breasts. "You look pleased with yourself," she said. "Did you find Grace Moran?"

"I know where she'll be in the morning."

She guided him to the seat Renee had just vacated and set herself to pouring coffee for him, her plan crystallizing. They'd have dinner and after, she'd dose his coffee with some rohypnol. Just enough to make him complacent and to ensure amnesia if events took a turn the wrong way. She wasn't taking any chances, not with her dream so close.

"That's great," she said, handing him his coffee, two creams, just the way he liked it. "If I start the brain mapping in the morning, it will give me just enough time to prepare her for surgery before it's too late."

She stood beside him, watching as he sipped the French Roast with satisfaction. "This isn't hospital issue."

"I spend so much time here that I like to treat myself with small indulgences. Good coffee, dinners catered by Julian's. In fact, I was just about to call in my order for tonight. Would you care to join me?"

His eyes lit up and she knew she had him. She'd been watching Vincent for a while now, and knew that he enjoyed the finer things in life, including four star restaurants priced far beyond the budget of a resident. Which explained why he was sorely over-extended and buried in debt.

Once she hung up from ordering a sumptuous meal for the two of them, she regarded him. "I'm glad you met Renee," she said, moving to perch on the arm of his chair. "I was going to wait until it was certain, to surprise you--"

He glanced up at that. "Surprise me?"

She bit her lip coyly and nodded. He shifted his weight, his arm brushing against her thigh. "Renee is one of the private investors in my Lucidine Clinic. I told her about your interest in the program and mentioned how terrible it was, the way the Nguygen's malpractice suit might prevent you from joining the staff here--"

"You told her about that?" His face colored, his brow creasing with a frown.

"Not the details. She's a real advocate of tort reform, so she has an interest in frivolous malpractice cases. Anyway, she said that if you did decide to join the Clinic staff, she would be willing to approach the Nguygens with a settlement."

He stared at her, disbelief widening his eyes. She heard his breath whistle through his pursed lips, then felt his body relax beside hers as he realized the implications of her offer. Freedom. From a bleak future of bankruptcy, from the stain on his professional reputation.

"Why?" he asked. The syllable emerged with a mixture of hope and skepticism. "Why would a total stranger offer to spend that kind of money--"

Eve waved his doubts aside. "Renee doesn't care about money. She has more than she knows what to do with. She cares about helping people. After seeing what Lucidine did for her son, she realizes that it has the potential to change the world, to change the future of medicine." She traced her fingers along Vincent's strong jawline, tilting his face up so that he stared into hers. "She's a dreamer. Like us, Vincent."

He held her gaze for a long moment. Eve was certain she'd won. Who would have believed it would be so easy?

But then he shook himself, pulling away from her, and stood. She watched as he strode across the room from her to the bookcase housing the video screens. His shoulders hunched as he watched the flickering black and white images being recorded.

She gave him a moment before joining him. "You've seen for yourself how powerful Lucidine can be," she reminded him. "Look. There's Angie. Severe bulimia, depression, self-mutilation, suicidal when she arrived three weeks ago." She pointed to the teenager, still too-thin, but perched in a comfortable chair, reading a book as she snacked on cheese and crackers, her face serene. "When she first got here the only nutrition she got was forced down her through a nasogastric tube that she pulled out every time she was released from her restraints."

As if Angie knew they were talking about her, she turned the page in her book and laughed, then reached for another piece of cheese. "Look at her, Vincent," Eve urged. "She's happy now. She's cured. Free to live her life again--because of Lucidine."

He remained silent, glancing at the other active monitor. Charles and Randi playing pool in the group room, their expressions bright and animated. Eve knew they would retire to Randi's room later where Charles would inject her with enough insulin to render her numb, without feeling, as he had sex with her. No need for Vincent to know what went on behind the scenes or that she was using Randi's need to avoid feeling anything, even pleasure, to guide Charles away from his sadistic fantasies.

Not that either Randi or Charles, both consenting adults, were complaining. But Vincent might not understand. Not yet, anyway.

"Tell me about Renee's son," he said, turning to face her again.

Eve was glad that when Renee arrived she had turned off the monitor feed from Lukas' room. If she would have Grace here in the morning, she needed to sedate Lukas tonight, prepare him for the intensive therapy--once Vincent left, that was.

"A tough case," she admitted, leaning back against her desk. "I almost lost him. The psychiatrists had him so drugged up that the poor guy didn't know what was reality and what existed only in his twisted fantasies. Had no idea what was right or wrong, he was so confused and delusional. You see," she gave him the same story that the rest of the staff had heard, "his wife had died under tragic circumstances and Lukas, he couldn't cope with it. His grief literally drove him mad, to the point where he insisted that she was still alive. It got so bad the psychiatrists declared him a danger to both himself and the women he began to stalk, desperate to find his wife again. They had him committed, pumped up with drugs until he didn't know his own name by the time his mother's lawyers were able to get him released to my care."

He frowned at that. "And now?"

"It's been a long haul, but he's almost cured. In fact, he's so improved that he's back working as a consultant, doing market research again." She omitted the fact that he was tele-commuting from a padded room.

His eyes narrowed in appraisal. A knock on the door announced the arrival of their dinner. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course," she lied. Poor man, after she finished with him tonight he'd be ready to commit to anything. She'd love to take her time, waltz and seduce him in a way that would give her as much pleasure and enjoyment as him, but time was too short. Ah well, couldn't be helped. "Take all the time you need."

CHAPTER 21

Razor's Edge

Grace rolled over on her side, the plastic-covered mattress crinkling under her weight. The burnt smelt of hospital linens was suddenly replaced with Old Spice and Ivory Soap. She squeezed her eyes shut. Go to sleep, she commanded herself. Just ignore it and go to sleep. This was all a crazy dream. A hallucination brought forth by a broken mind.

Either that or she was already dead, lying in the rain on the helipad in the dark, crows squawking as they descended to pick at her remains. Her body shuddered at the thought and she almost opened her eyes to decide once and for all which was the truth: death or insanity?

But then his hand slid over her shoulders, lifting her hair, cascading it through his fingers to rain back down on her. "You've let your hair grow," he whispered, his breath stirring the fine hairs of her cheek. "I like it."

She cursed her body as it responded to his touch, relaxing as his arm curled around her chest, his fingers playfully stroking hers. If she was dead, a murder of crows currently feasting on her body cooling on the rooftop, then how could he make her feel like this? Unless, somehow, this was real?

No. It couldn't be--that would be worse than being dead. Because if he was here with her now, and she was still alive, then that meant--

"I'm here, everything's all right now," he assured her.

She sucked in her breath even as he rolled her over to face him. Don't look, don't look, became her mantra.

For four years she'd sold her soul in an effort to resurrect the dead--all that time it was as simple as a brain tumor invading key areas, eroding her mind, stealing her senses. She'd straddled the knife edge of reason for so long, occasionally tempted to topple over into insanity, that now she clung to the knowledge that she wasn't crazy, that there was a reason for this hallucination.

Please, Lord, she prayed, really prayed, for the first time in years. But that was how desperate she had become, death or insanity was preferable to the possibility that what had happened on the helipad, in the corridor, was real. No. Please, let it be just a dream. Because I can't bear to lose him again...

His lips moved over hers and she tasted barley and hops of Guinness and the salt of bar nuts. Hands that knew her better than she knew herself caressed her, arousing her and suddenly her hips arched up and he was inside her, where he belonged.

Grace cried out as anguish and pleasure tore through her. She writhed across the bed, as helpless in her desire as a horny, love sick teenager. He took his time, using his fingers and mouth to arouse her, to torture her as she lay there, refusing to open her eyes, to acknowledge his presence.

"Please Grace," he begged, "look at me."

She was drowning in the smell of Ivory Soap and Old Spice. He called out her name as he climaxed. She raked her fingers over his back as her own release came. Her hands clawed at his skin, the solidity of his muscles taunting her.

"Aye, Grace, it's been too long," he sighed as he collapsed on top of her, their bodies trembling together. His breathing slowed after a time and his fingers reached up to caress her cheek. She felt his weight shift and he moved up beside her. Still her eyes remained clenched shut, even as she reached to hold onto him, not wanting to release him. Ever.

It had almost killed her to lose him once, how could she risk it again?

He brushed his lips against both her eyelids, his light caress tempting, oh so tempting. "Our love lives forever," he whispered. "Did you doubt me? Think that I wouldn't find a way? Tsk, Grace. Anything is possible. You should've had more faith than that."

Faith? He thought she lacked faith? What did he think had kept her alive the past four years?

Unable to bear it any longer, she opened her eyes and faced Jimmy's too-solid countenance. "You bastard."

The sound of her slap echoed through the small room. His flesh was warm, her hand left a pink imprint on his cheek. Grace blinked, then fell against him, her fists pummeling his bare chest, as she collapsed under the weight of her anguish.

"How could you leave me? You left me, I was alone, alone--" Her sobs choked the words so that they emerged in short, breathless cries of desperation. "And now you're going to leave again, aren't you? Aren't you?"

"Aye," the word emerged from him in a mournful sigh. "We have until tomorrow, sundown." He held her close, saying nothing until her fury and grief were spent. He rocked her against his chest like a child, humming nonsense syllables as he laid his face against her hair. His heartbeat echoed from his body into hers, each beat mocking her with its vitality.

"Why, Jimmy? Why did you come to torture me like this?"

"I came to help you, love. I would never hurt you, you know that. Grace, tell me you know that. Please, tell me that." He raised her face to his, his eyes searching hers. Tears caressed his cheeks.

Grace traced her finger through his tears. Her breathing slowed and she regained control. She knew now what she had to do. "You have until sundown?"

"Yes. A day, no more, no less."

"When you leave I'm going with you."

"Ah, love, I wish you could. You have to wait your time. Then we can be together again."

She shook her head, watched as his eyes clouded. "No more waiting, Jimmy. When you leave, I'm going as well. One way or the other."

"No, no, you can't." He reached a hand to tangle in her hair, tilting her chin up as his forehead creased in a frown. "Please, no, Grace. That's why I came back. To stop you. If you kill yourself, we can never be together."

"But we could have been together if I made it out of here and went home to die, right?" He nodded, his frown deepening. "Then why wasn't I able to do that? Why can't I choose how I want to live or die?"

"There are things I know but I don't understand, Grace," he said slowly as if searching for the right words and finding none. "Faith is necessary."

"Faith? How dare you talk to me about faith! You of all people, you hypocritical bastard. How dare God or whoever the hell is making these rules play with my life!" She glared at him, remembering the convenient timing of the lightning strikes that yesterday had driven her back inside the hospital, blocking her escape to the warm comfort of her home.

"Did you do it, Jimmy? Did you stop me yesterday? You or whoever is pulling your strings? Why? It's my life, goddamn it!"

Thunder outside the windows punctuated her words, the force rattling the glass, but she paid it no heed. God--or whoever, whatever--obviously wanted her alive, so what was he-she-it going to do? Strike her dead?

Sending Jimmy back to her and then telling her he'd be yanked away again was already worse than any torture she could imagine.

"Jimmy," she said, sliding away from his arms, dodging his warm caress, "tell me why you're really here. 'Cause this sure as hell isn't an answer to my prayers."

"Christ, you're a stubborn woman. Are you trying to say that you never prayed to have me back again?"

"It's not the having you here that I've a problem with, and you damn well know it. It's the thought of losing you again." She drew in a ragged breath, hands fisted at her sides. "It'll kill me, Jimmy. You know it will."

"No. No, it won't. The woman I knew, the woman I fell in love with, is stronger than that." He laid his hands on her shoulders, lowered his forehead to touch hers.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Maybe once. But not anymore. I'm tired, Jimmy. So tired. I just want to go home, lie in our bed, pull the covers over my head and..."

"And what? Die?"

"Why the hell not? If it's my time, it's my time, right? What's to stop my walking out that door and just keep on going?"

"I am."

"You are? So you broke every law of physics, of science, of heaven and earth to come here and hold me prisoner? Why are you really here, Jimmy? And what's it to do with me?"

"If you leave, Alex will get that transplant. He'll suffer in agony for eight months before succumbing to pneumonia and finally dying. Alone."

Grace turned her head, stepped away from him. "I'm sorry, but there's no guarantee the Ethics Committee will listen to me anyway."

"Without you, Kat might not go through with her surgery. Without it, she'll die."

"Liar. I already talked to Kat. She's pissed as hell but she's going to have the surgery. Even if it's only to spite me." She narrowed her eyes and stared down at him. "You didn't know that, did you? Why not? Doesn't your boss--Mr. all seeing, all knowing--fill you in on details?"

He frowned again, swung his legs around and sat up. "I could hear your thoughts before--except when you were over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the Tower. "I have no power there."

"You hear my thoughts? Then you must be getting an earful right now o-husband-of-mine!"

"I can't hear them anymore, Grace, not since--" He gestured to his naked body. Then he sighed and slumped back onto the bed. "Why are we wasting precious time arguing? I'm here, really here, and I love you Grace--more than ever. Why can't you let me show you how much? Why can't you believe in me, trust me?"

"Low blow, Jimmy. Besides, how the hell am I to trust you when you're using me and you won't tell me why?"

"I can't."

"You can cross the great divide but you can't tell me what you want me to do or why?"

"Free will--the choice must be yours in the end, Grace."

"I made my choice. I want to go home to die."

His sigh whispered through the room like footsteps through a graveyard, chilling her very marrow. He stood and walked toward her, eyes locked onto hers. She tilted her head, certain he was going to try to change her mind with more of his seductive caresses.

Instead, he stepped past her and opened the door. He stood in the threshold, palms up, arms wide open.

"Then go. I won't stop you. But if you do, we'll never see each other again. In this life or the next."

The hope of seeing him, somehow being with him in some form in the hereafter had been Grace's only religion for a long time. That desperate, ragged, frayed strand of hope was her lifeline. She had clung to it during four long years of endless tortured nights.

She was a scientist trained to question everything, to take nothing on faith, but that one irrational belief had sustained her where science and medicine had failed so miserably.

Now she finally had reason to believe that her faith had not been misplaced, proof of a world beyond scientific measurement or calculation, proof that she hadn't suffered four years in hell for nothing.

And he was forcing her to choose between the pain of losing him forever and the torture of returning to the purgatory her life had become.

Her tears flowed silently, blurring her vision as she stared at him. "Why? Just help me understand why you're doing this to me, Jimmy…"

He wept as well and finally stepped forward, wrapping those strong, warm arms of his around her, pulling her close. "So many questions," he said, "always so many questions."

He pulled her down onto the bed and held her, rocking her like a child until her breathing and his synchronized and their hearts beat as one. Then his breathing became deep and regular, a metronome that resonated within Grace's memory.

Who knew ghosts snored?

Grace lay still, fighting her own exhaustion. She was a scientist for chrissakes, or she once had been one. How could she allow her imagination to run away like this--tumor or no tumor? Still, it had felt so real.

She glanced over at Jimmy's sleeping form. No, she already knew she couldn't trust the evidence of her eyes. Her body was covered with dried sweat, her breasts and pelvis ached in ways they hadn't in four years. She pulled the sheet up over her. It was wet in spots, smelled of the musky scent of sex. Was that good enough? No. Not like she could do a DNA analysis on a ghost's semen.

She looked down at her fingernails, remembering the way she had desperately clung to him, scratching at his back.

And found nothing. Her nails were cut very short, too short to have gathered evidence of human contact much less a ghost.

The thought finally crushed her. Grace folded her legs into her chest, hugging them, her only grip on reality. Why was she struggling so hard to prove her sanity? Who was she fooling, anyway?

Then another thought raced through her mind, one that rocked her to the core. Maybe the tumor wasn't heaven-sent after all. What good could come of tormenting her this way?

Tears and laughter both choked her throat, fighting for control. Hysteria won.

Because tangled between her wedding band and engagement ring was a strand of gold-red hair. Solid, real, tangible proof.

Grace Marie D'Angelo Moran, former Medical Doctor, recent agoraphobic, current brain tumor patient, apparently had indeed conjured herself a ghost.

CHAPTER 22

Comfort Measures

Eve cracked open the door to Vincent's call room and looked in. She smiled, remembering her own nights spent in similar rooms, glad that period in her life was over. Now if she stayed late at work it was because she wanted to, not because she was at the beck and call of others.

Like most residents, Vincent had left the bathroom light on and the door cracked open, the better to read messages on his pager without the shock of turning on the overhead light. He stirred, the mattress squeaking as he turned in his sleep and began to snore. How adorable. Just like a baby--a baby who was about to have a very pleasant dream.

She slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. Stripping out of her blouse and skirt, she moved over to the bedside table and carefully opened the tiny vial of chloroform. Old fashioned, but suitable for her purposes: guaranteed to both sedate and arouse, the anesthetic had once been used as an aphrodisiac.

Combined with the small dose of rohypnol she had slipped him earlier, he would be easily swayed by any suggestion, physical or otherwise, that she made.

Eve held the surgical mask, the chemical would burn if it touched bare flesh, and carefully placed a few drops on it. The cloyingly sweet scent of ether wafted through the room as she held the mask beneath Vincent's nose. She breathed shallowly but still caught enough of the chemical to give her a delicious tingling that began at her toes and worked up to her groin. Vincent coughed once but then remained still as Eve climbed on top of his body.

She straddled him, placing the mask within reach on the nightstand just in case. Usually one dose was enough, once begun she could allow nature to take its course. Often she could even convince the man that he had seduced her by the time it was all over.

But it was really Eve in control--and that was the most powerful aphrodisiac of all.

Vincent was drowning in flowers. He choked down the sweet scent, half arousing from his sleep. There was a weight on him. A woman, he realized as her hands slid up his naked chest.

Naked? The thought nearly pierced the veil of confusion that had engulfed him. He was on call, wasn't he? He never slept nude in the hospital.

Then her lips covered his and he was drowning again but this time the sensation was welcome, drifting in a field of flowers, all responsibilities and worries left far behind. The taste of sweet vanilla on a tongue that twisted with his. The kiss was stirring as were the hands that continued to tantalize his chest, moving down, down.

If this was a dream, it was the best one he'd had in a long time.

The lips left his, proceeding on a taste tour of his neck, his shoulder. "Grace," he whispered.

She froze and for one second he was certain that he'd broken the spell. But then she pulled his hands to her breasts, curling his fingers into her flesh.

Vincent struggled upright to a sitting position. She slipped away, he reached for her, frightened that he had lost her. Her weight returned as she repositioned herself over his naked hips, her body moving against his, sliding, rubbing, arousing.

He buried his mouth over one breast, his fingers kneading the other, delighting in the warmth of her silky smooth skin. Her hands guided his hips as he entered her. Her muscles tightened around him, pulling him in deeper as they moved in synchrony.

His thoughts seemed joined to his body by tenuous cobwebs but he dimly realized that her breasts were much larger, fuller than Grace's, they spilled out of his palms with overabundance. And she was taller, more curved, fuller-figured than Grace's lean boniness.

He started to pull back, to try to look upon the woman before him, but she held him tight against her, her body rocketing him to heights of pleasure he'd never imagined before.

A raucous beeping clamored through his brain, igniting a throbbing headache. The noise meant something important, it was soon joined by another, their high-pitched tones a jarring counterpoint to the groaning of the bed and the guttural moans escaping Vincent's mouth as waves of pleasure rocked him.

Her hand left his flesh for an aching moment followed by the clatter of two pagers banished to the ground, devoured by hobglobins and hoards of dustbunnies hidden beneath the bed.

Her fingers returned, raking at the flesh of his back, sending delicious shockwaves of pain and pleasure through him. He heard Grace's voice coming from a distance and knew it was vital that he listen, attend to her words, but by the time they reached his brain they were consumed by his passion, burnt to meaningless fragments. It was as if he could no longer speak or understand English--the only language he knew was the primordial urge that had overtaken his body and mind.

The bed heaved against the wall as he came, a thundering climax unlike any he'd previously experienced. He collapsed into his partner's arms, but she was still moving, urging him on. Her head rolled forward, her teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder.

Pain shot through him as she bit deep enough to draw blood, her talons tearing at the flesh around his spine. She shuddered as her own climax overcame her. Vincent raised his head, opening his eyes in the dim light. It took a few moments, but finally his vision began to clear.

His eyes met the monochromic grey of Eve Warden's. She smiled at him, gleaming white teeth in a wide mouth.

Vincent blinked hard.

There was a tiny drop of blood sliding along the edge of one perfectly formed incisor. Her tongue ran across her teeth and it vanished.

His head was pounding, keeping time from the insistent beeping echoing beneath the bed. He was on call. What the hell had happened? Fog swirled through his mind, impenetrable and leaving him with a cold chill in the pit of his gut.

A woman's voice called to him, but Eve's lips never moved. Grace?

Then he realized it wasn't Grace's voice but the hospital operator's sounding outside in the hallway. Announcing a Code--a patient in distress. Room 703.

Eve gave him a sideways smile, appearing coy and much younger than her years. "No one's ever done that to me before," she told him, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment. "I still can't believe you talked me into coming here. I've never--"

He brought her here? Vincent searched his memory, but it was shrouded. All he could think of was the ecstasy that had blasted through him, leaving ripples that the sight of her naked body, the feel of her sweat as she moved against him, amplified and reverberated. He slumped back, exhausted, devoured, empty, devastated. Ravished.

The best sex he'd ever had and he could barely remember most of it. At least she seemed satisfied as she curled up on top of his chest, her tongue teasing his nipple like a cat licking cream from its whiskers. How had he ever convinced Eve to join him in bed while he was on call?

He was on call. He jolted upright, reaching for his scrubs, trying to pull himself together as the operator's urgent message penetrated his fuzzy and cobweb cloaked brain.

"There's a code," he told Eve, his tongue thick as he struggled to form the words.

She rolled off of him, and he couldn't help watching as she moved with a dancer's grace, sliding her clothes back on.

"Room 703," she said, her voice cutting through the haze as she bent down to retrieve her pager. "That's Katherine Jellicle's room."

As she walked out Vincent groaned in dismay, struggling into his clothes, pulling his shoes on even as he tore out of the room.

He'd fucked up, big time, the words chased after him. All because he'd been thinking with his glands instead of his brain, Kat might die. Might be dead already.

CHAPTER 23

Twist of Fate

Jimmy kissed Grace's forehead and crept from the room. He hated leaving her, hoped she wouldn't awaken, that she might not even know that he was gone, but he needed answers.

He gathered some discarded clothing from a locker, fumbling with the scrubs and lab coat until fingers remembered the once familiar routine of tying and buttoning. A pair of green clogs, still wrapped in surgical booties speckled with old blood, provided protection for his feet. Now properly disguised and attired, he returned to the helipad.

"Bravo, bravo. Well done, Jimmy." Brother Leo stood on the parapet that guarded the empty space between the Annex roof and the Skyway. He clapped his hands and with a whoosh of what sounded like wings, leapt down to land in front of Jimmy. No easy feat given that the door where Jimmy stood was a good fifteen feet from the parapet.

"I'm proud of you, me boy," he continued in a fake brogue that made Jimmy gag. All the more so because he knew that this man, of all men, could assume the genuine thing any time he desired.

So he meant to mock Jimmy, goad him. The Jesuit seemed incapable of standing still, pacing the roof in long strides. He appeared as an ordinary man, wore faded black jeans, a dark cotton shirt, black leather loafers. Ordinary until you gazed into his eyes, dark pools of black that seemed to have no bottom, that threatened to swallow you whole if you dared stare too long.

"Many before you have begun this journey," Leo said. "But you're one of the few who has actually made it this far." He nodded his head at Jimmy's very solid form. "Unfortunately their track record has been, shall we say, mixed at best. It's overwhelming for most, the temptations of the flesh, the intoxifying scent of life. Sure you're up to it? Hate to see you lose everything--and in doing so, condemn Grace as well."

Jimmy straightened, tried to pin him to one spot with a glare. "I need to know everything. Why I'm here, what I'm to do, what Grace needs. I need answers. Now."

The priest's chuckle rang merrily through the night, echoing from the glass panes of the Skyway, battering at Jimmy from all sides. "My dear boy, you know me better than that. I'm not in the business of giving anyone answers, merely teaching you how to find the right questions to ask."

"I've done what you asked. I kept her here. Now tell me why."

"Your job is only half done. You need to stop her from going into the darkness." Leo stopped his frenetic pacing and spun to stare at the Tower standing beyond the void crossed by the Skyway. "And help her make the right choice--even if it means giving her up."

Jimmy didn't like the sound of that. He'd come too damn far to give Grace up ever again. "I'm human now. At least for a day. Tell me what needs to be done. I'll do it. Leave Grace out of it, she's suffered enough."

Brother Leo was silent for a moment, his attention consumed by the Tower. He shook himself, then turned back to Jimmy. "No can do. There are rules, you know."

"Rules? But can't you talk to Him, them--"

"Who? God the Almighty, Shiva, Buddha, Creator of Heaven and Earth--take your pick, there are many names, an infinite number of faces, and they're all wrong. Nothing is all powerful. There are merely powers. Some strive to maintain balance, some feed off chaos."

"You mean angels and demons. And which are you?"

"For a self-proclaimed agnostic, you sure take these labels seriously. Me? Call me an independent contractor."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I have a goal, a destiny to fulfill. I'm not content to merely inspire and watch from the sidelines but I've not succumbed to the temptation to join the frenzy either. It means that I'm a lot like you, my boy."

Jimmy's teeth ground together as his fists clenched tight. It took all his will power not to strike out against the man--more than man--before him.

He was getting damned tired of this nonsense. All he knew was that he needed, he wanted, he had to protect Grace. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. Hell, he'd already died once and lived to tell the tale. "If you're not a god or even an angel, then what's to stop me from wringing your scrawny neck?"

More laughter. "Nothing, of course. That's the beauty of it all. Free will. Everything hinges on it, darkness and light, order and chaos, the past and the future. But I didn't say that I wasn't a god, or even that there is a God. A scholar such as yourself should know better than to jump to conclusions."

"You're really starting to piss me off. Maybe I'll just take a stroll over there," he nodded to the Skyway and the Tower beyond, "and see what they have to offer. Maybe they'll give me answers, help me save Grace."

"Others before you have made that choice. You know your Milton, don't you?"

Jimmy frowned. "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. Are you saying that's the Devil over there, that you're sending Grace up against Lucifer? Like Hell you are, not if I've a breath left in my body to stop you."

Brother Leo swiveled his head, his mane of silver hair shimmering in the dim moonlight, and stared at Jimmy. "I do believe you're serious." He chuckled once more. "In all the millennia I've traveled to, that's the one thing that never changes. You humans, so unpredictable--yet always so dreadfully serious, certain that you're the center of the universe. Of course," he continued, talking to himself, "in this instance you are. My, oh my." He rubbed his hands together as if anticipating some enjoyment. "This time, it just might work."

"I've had enough of your bullshit," Jimmy said, turning on his heel and stalking back to the door.

"Wait, you've missed my point."

Jimmy stopped, looked over his shoulder at the Jesuit. "Which is?"

"That Milton had it wrong. To reign in Hell implies that both there is such a place and that it is ruled by a sense of order. Neither is true. If you cross the Skyway, leave my sphere of influence to enter the darkness, that's exactly what you'll find. Darkness, nothingness, the ultimate void. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, that's the closest thing to the truth of Hell. Chaos, disintegration, you'd be rendered into atoms, your atoms shredded into flotsam of even smaller particles, all cast randomly to all corners of the universe. That's what we're fighting against."

"Nothing? We're fighting nothing?"

"The ultimate force of destruction, the darkness that swallows all light, the force that someday will destroy the universe. Chaos, entropy, anarchy. Call it what you will, it's a fight that began with the dawn of time and that we're doomed to lose."

Brother Leo's face grew clouded, then suddenly brightened as he grinned, revealing gleaming white, perfect teeth. "But not today. And not tomorrow. We're mere foot soldiers, my boy, fighting small skirmishes. Every battle is important in a war that encompasses eternity. And this battle has special significance to me."

Jimmy felt his head begin to pound as he struggled to follow the Jesuit's reasoning. He turned his gaze upon the Tower. Something about the modern edifice of steel and glass felt wrong, as if it were off-center, skewed just enough to make Jimmy's head spin and his stomach roil with nausea. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

"Why do you believe I sent you back to her, Jimmy?" Brother Leo said.

Jimmy opened his eyes, focused on the Jesuit instead of the Tower swimming in his peripheral vision. "To help her. To keep her from killing herself, losing her soul by committing a mortal sin."

Brother Leo tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. "This isn't catechism. You don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear. To help her is why I told you I sent you. Now tell me why you think I sent you."

Jimmy blew his breath out in frustration. Nothing like a duel of wits with a representative of the Almighty Himself to make a man realize how small he was in the grand scheme of things.

"Because something's coming, something big and bad. So awful that the life of one puny mortal woman doesn't matter in comparison." He didn't bother to hide the bitter impotency he felt.

"And you'd be right--on both counts."

"So you're just using her--and me, is that it? That's what all your fine preaching and proselytizing and philosophizing come down to: if you're human and you've the misfortune to be in a time and place where God--or whatever the hell you call Him--can use you, then you're screwed?" He practically spat the words out. "Fuck you and the whole goddamn universe! You can just go bugger yourself!"

Brother Leo's laughter cleaved the night, accompanied by a howl of wind and bolt of lightning. "Joan d'Arc said the same thing to me as I led her to the stake and lit the fire. It sounded a lot nicer in French."

"Bloody hell. What's the use?" Jimmy said, smacking one useless fist into his other palm. What the hell was the good of being human again if he was helpless to save Grace?

"I like you Jimmy, I really do. And Grace, too. Do you remember what I told you and Grace on the day I married you?"

The words sang through Jimmy's mind with crystal clarity but he resisted. "If I'd known who you were then, I would have eloped, taken Grace, and skived off to Tahiti."

"I'm sure you would have. Free will, remember?"

Jimmy paused, staring past Leo into the abyss that the Skyway crossed. If Leo would just shut up for a minute, maybe this buzz of confusion in his brain would stop.

"You sent Grace to Maeve's tomb. You planned for us to meet, to fall in love." He went rigid, took a step towards the priest. "Did you plan what happened next? Did you know what Lukas Redding was going to do to her?"

His hands were reaching for the older man's throat before he could blink twice. Leo put up no resistance, merely arched an eyebrow as if disappointed in Jimmy. Sparks of blue-white energy crackled between the Jesuit's flesh and Jimmy's palms, igniting a blaze of pain that forced Jimmy back.

"I'm the one who tried to stop you from returning home," Leo said, his voice infuriatingly calm. "Remember? Just as I tried for years to dissuade Grace from medicine or practicing here."

Jimmy lowered his hands, opening and closing his fists in frustration.

"Why do you think I led you to Maeve's treasure?" Leo asked. "I gave the two of you a chance to save the world."

Jimmy rubbed his finger along his forehead, trying to quiet the insistent hum setting his teeth on edge. It was as if he'd gotten too close to a high voltage wire. As if Leo were a being of pure energy--yet, he was also solid. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "But you still let us come back here. Even knowing--"

"Free will, my boy." Finally Leo's voice held a hint of regret. "I did everything in my power to prevent Grace and Lukas from meeting, then to keep the pair of you safe. Why do you think I traveled thousands of years through time? I knew this day was coming."

"I don't understand. Lukas already--" he faltered. "He's already done what's done. How are you going to change it now?"

"I can't. But with your help, Grace can prevent a greater evil." Leo nodded to the Tower looming over them, casting its shadow on them. "Finally, this time, I can stop it."

Jimmy frowned, still confused. And irritated because he knew that Leo meant him to be. "Somehow this new evil, here in the present, has its roots back three thousand years ago with Maeve?"

"I saved the Kallisteans so that Maeve could use their treasure to save her people."

"She did."

"No. She saved a few. Saved one wretched island. If she'd listened to me, she could have raised an army, swept through a continent. Then there would have been no Roman Empire--all of Europe would have been under Celtic rule. And with no Romans, a thousand years later there would have been no crucifixion."

"You're mad. Insane. What could be so evil that you try to alter the entire history of civilization to stop it?"

"Just a man. One weak, simple man." Leo's laugh was bitter. "But you've said yourself that Christianity has led to the deaths of more people than any other force in human history. So who's to call it civilization? If Maeve had heeded me instead of tending to her own tattered flock, who knows how the world would have changed."

"Not you. Yet you were willing to take the gamble with all of history to pay if you were wrong."

Leo's grin was ghastly white in the darkness. "Yes, I was. Does that frighten you? It should."

"How can you masquerade as a man of God?"

"It's easy once you realize there is no God. What do you say, Jimmy? Want to join me in changing the future?"

Jimmy looked up at that. "Me? Can I do this for Grace? Save her the pain?"

"I wish I knew. I'm not even sure if you'll have the chance to help her. The choice is solely up to her."

"Back to that free will crap again? What the bloody hell good is all this power you speak of if it all boils down to one poor, sick, tired woman's choice? How can you put that on her? It's not fair, goddamn it!"

"Fair's not a part of the bargain. But free will--without that, the entire enterprise would spin off into oblivion like a snake eating its own tail."

"I don't understand."

"You're not meant to. Does she love you, Jimmy?"

Jimmy looked up at that, effortlessly met Leo's dark, penetrating gaze. "You know she does."

"So she has courage. Has she the strength to hope?"

Jimmy hesitated, thinking of Grace's words to him earlier. "That's the only thing that's kept her alive these past four years."

"And do you love her enough to let her go? To allow her to live, to love again--with another man?"

Wicked fingers of fear reached in and chilled Jimmy's gut. The stars overhead seemed to grow distance and dim and he thought for a moment he might fall back into the void he'd been released from. He thought of Grace, of her pain, of how it had almost devoured her.

He nodded to the priest, swallowed hard and found his voice. "Yes. If it means her life, yes, I could."

Leo's smile was as wide as a Cheshire's cat's. "Good. Then maybe there's a chance. For both of you."

The howl of a madman ripped through the night, mocking his words. Lights began to flash in the Tower, silhouetting Leo in a blaze of color.

Jimmy looked past Leo to the Tower and the chaos storming the halls of the ECU. A shudder raced through him and he crossed his arms, straining to get warm.

"So it's begun," Brother Leo said in a terrifyingly calm voice. "You'd best get to work, Jimmy. Time's a’wasting."

"All I have to do is keep Grace from crossing over to the Tower?" Jimmy considered that. Given the pleasant way his first few hours back on earth had passed, that shouldn't be too difficult.

Then he spotted movement on the Skyway. He whirled as a woman's figure ran past, a dark silhouette viewed through the glass that was so close yet a lifetime away.

Jimmy bolted to the parapet, shouting her name, waving his arms in a vain attempt to get her attention, to stop her.

"Grace! No!" He teetered on the edge of the low wall, precariously close to falling into the dark chasm separating the Skyway from the helipad. Brother Leo's strong fingers dug into his arm, hauling him back to safety.

"Watch your step there, boyo."

Jimmy spun around to face the priest. "What the hell are we meant to do now? We have to stop her, you have to get her back."

"The fates have spoken," Brother Leo said with a grim smile and a one-shouldered shrug that made Jimmy want to slap some sense into him.

"Like hell they have. I'm not losing her--not again."

Leo clucked his tongue in reprimand. "Free will. She was never yours to begin with. Never lose sight of that, old man."

Jimmy advanced on the monk, fists raised, ready to do some serious damage. Leo raised a hand and Jimmy found himself frozen in place, unable to even breathe. His heart, that wonderful machine whose thrumping had so entranced him since his return, he felt it stutter, then lurch to a stop.

He was dead, or hovering on the brink of death. Held back only by Leo's power.

"If you hurry, you might still be able to save the boy. And through him, find a second chance to save Grace. You must keep her with the boy."

For a brief moment Jimmy's vision reddened with fury. Used, abused--he was a pawn in a game that he did not understand. Powerless.

His chest began to constrict as the need for oxygen became urgent. Leo waved his hand once more and Jimmy stumbled forward, gasping for air, his heart pounding.

"The best you can do for Grace is to save the boy," Leo repeated.

The door to the Annex flew open as a gust of wind whipped around the Jesuit, blurring his form and blinding Jimmy's vision. Jimmy blinked and he was alone on the rooftop.

He stared for a long moment at the now brightly lit Tower. Shadowy figures were silhouetted, racing along the ECU's corridors in a frenzy. One of them was Grace, he was certain.

He squeezed his eyes shut, praying as he had never prayed before in this life or the one previous. Please God--if there is a God--protect and keep her safe. Please.

He turned and ran through the Annex door, pounding down the steps to the pediatric unit.

Grace had no code beeper, but old habits died hard. She'd jolted awake immediately when the operator announced the Code. Grabbed her clothes and raced from the Annex when she heard the room number, not even taking time to wonder where Jimmy had vanished to or to close the door behind her.

Who cared if she was discovered? It was Kat in trouble.

Procedures and protocols as familiar as a catechism ran through her mind. It had been four years but there were some things you just never forgot.

Like how to save a life.

When she reached Kat's room, nurses were milling around, one sliding a board under the girl's seizing body, another holding oxygen near her blue tinged face. A third was pushing a crash cart in from the hallway, his face red with the effort.

"How long's she been seizing?" Grace took control of the situation and no one questioned her presence or her authority. She moved to the head of the bed, replacing the oxygen mask with a bag, carefully forcing oxygen into Kat's lungs.

"17 minutes. Valium given per protocol but no response."

"Give me 800 of fosphenytoin and draw up 500 milligrams of phenobarb." More people began to fill the room and Grace handed over control of Kat's airway to a respiratory therapist. She pushed the anticonvulsant medication into the IV line in Kat's forearm. Nothing more to do now except wait for the drugs to take effect. She stroked Kat's shoulder as the girl's body continued to buck and strain.

Then after several minutes that seemed like an eternity, the seizure slowed. Grace yanked a stethoscope from a hovering resident and listened. Kat was breathing normally again. "Get me a set of vitals, start her on 100% oxygen by mask."

The crowd slowly dissipated, most of the residents and medical students disappointed by the anticlimactic resuscitation. No chance to perform any invasive procedures or even to practice an intubation. They grumbled over the missed sleep Kat had stolen from them and yawned their way back to their call rooms.

"Who the hell are you?" a woman asked from the doorway as Grace felt Kat's pulse.

Grace looked up, giving Kat's hand a reassuring squeeze. The woman marched into the room as if she owned it, tall and regal, her blonde hair so pale it seemed almost transparent in the harsh gleam of the fluorescent lights.

"Dr. D'Angelo," Grace told her. She didn't like this woman. Something about her brought forth the memory of the panic attack she'd experienced yesterday when she was trapped inside the revolving doors. Her mouth filled with the taste of copper salts and burnt flesh.

She wasn't leaving Kat here, not alone with this woman. Eve Warden. The Witch.

Warden flicked a penlight over Kat's pupils, quickly assessed her patient's reflexes and respiratory status before looking up at Grace once more. Her eyes were the color of steel--flat, without depth. Hard as steel, too, Grace thought, but she met the woman's gaze without flinching.

"I'm Dr. Eve Warden, head of the ECU, and this girl is my patient." The woman dismissed Grace with an impervious wave of her hand. Then her eyes narrowed and cut back to Grace, focusing on her face.

Grace had the sudden feeling that this woman knew who she was. The urge to run was overwhelming. She tightened her grip on Kat's hand, more for her own protection than the girl's.

Warden's gaze took in Grace's scrubs. Where was the hospital ID, the paraphernalia of a doctor on duty, the questions burned through Warden's expressionless gaze. Then Warden arched an eyebrow, focusing on the bright row of staples along Grace's left temple. And she smiled.

Kat was all right now, Grace told herself as she released her grip on the now sleeping girl. She despised the wave of fear that knotted her stomach but she couldn't stay here, not with this woman.

Before she could turn tail and flee, Warden reached out a hand, taking Grace's. Grace gave a tiny whimper, shaming herself with her cowardice, and tried to pull away.

Panic now gripped her, the buzzing wasps joined by darts of fire that raced from Warden's grip to consume Grace, paralyzing her.

"It's Grace, isn't it?" Warden asked, her eyes of liquid steel plunging into Grace's soul like daggers.

The blood fled from Grace's face, replaced by icy fingers that burnt and choked, stopping her breath before air could reach her lungs, mingling with the terrific roar of wasps and the jolts of fiery pain that seared her limbs. Her chest was being crushed from inside and without as a red haze filled her vision.

No need to wait for the tumor to do its job. The mere touch of this woman, the sound of her voice, and Grace was about to die.

CHAPTER 24

The Tower

Jimmy tore down the four flights of stairs as if pursued by a banshee. The damn clogs clip-clopped with a fury of noise that reverberated like shotgun blasts, enough to wake the dead.

If he had breath enough, the thought would have made him laugh. As it was, it only spurred him faster until he almost tripped over his own feet as he plunged through the door to Pediatrics.

The children's ward was dark, only the dim lights of the nurse's station in the middle of the corridor shed any light. The entire unit was silent except for the faint beeping of a distant monitor.

Jimmy slowed his steps, clutching the too-small lab coat around him as if it would hide him from prying eyes. He kept his gait quiet, heading down the hallway to Alex's room. He arrived without incident and pushed the door open.

To his surprise, Alex was wide awake, staring at the door as if waiting for him. Surrounding him were the three bald girls.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?" Alex said.

One of the girls, a skinny lass with gorgeous blue eyes that looked all the larger given her missing eyelashes, hugged him in sympathy. Heather, Jimmy remembered. The girls looked at him as if they knew who he was, accepted his presence without question.

"Maybe," Jimmy said, not wanting to cause the boy more distress.

Alex was already breathing hard and fast, drawing in oxygen from a machine that fit over his forehead and face like a horse's bridle.

"Is it Kat? I heard them page her room number." The machine whistled as Alex sucked in air. "Where's Grace? She was supposed to be here."

"My name's Jimmy. Grace sent me to keep you company."

Alex slit his eyes at him, scrutinizing Jimmy. Jimmy stepped forward, offering a hand. Alex stared at it a long moment, as if expecting a trick, then finally took it. Then he surprised Jimmy by reaching for Jimmy's left hand as well. The boy twisted Jimmy's wedding ring between his fingers.

"This is just like Grace's. You were with her yesterday after she got trapped in the doors." He turned to the girls gathered beside his bed. "She's in trouble, isn't she?"

The girls remained silent but they all bobbed their heads in affirmation. Jimmy watched the strange tableau, the glimmer of a plan beginning to form in his mind.

"Do you think you sweet lasses could give me a hand?" he asked in his most charming voice. "Take a stroll across the Skyway for me? Fetch Grace back?"

The eldest of the girls, Tiffany, smiled at that. Just as Jimmy began to relax, thinking he'd found his answer in these three girls, she cocked her hand on her hip as only women knew how to do. The other two looked to her, waiting for her answer. "Sorry, Jimmy. We're not allowed to leave the floor."

Jimmy wrapped his hand around the bedrail, his grasp threatening to dent the metal. "It'll be all right," he wheedled, hating the desperation that crept into his voice. "I'll be with you most of the way."

"But not all the way," Brittany put in.

Alex turned to the girls. "Can't you help? It's for Grace."

Heather gave him another hug, then all three joined hands and began to stroll from the room. "Don't worry, Alex. You can do it." She blew a kiss to both Jimmy and Alex, then they were gone.

Jimmy looked at the pale wraith of a child dwarfed by the bed and the machines surrounding him. What good were the two of them? A ghost-turned-man who couldn't cross a fucking bridge and a boy resembling a ghost who would never be able to make it that far without collapsing.

Could he risk this boy's life by sending him into the darkness of the Tower?

Grace felt her soul slipping away, being drained from her as her body swayed against Kat's bed, Eve Warden's claw-like hand gripping hers.

God, she had no idea it would hurt this bad, she thought as red-hot flames of pain possessed her, blinding her to everything except Kat's face, peaceful, at rest.

She had to fight, couldn't abandon Kat to the Witch. Struggling to breathe, she tried to pull her hand away from Eve's grip. The other woman only squeezed tighter, her talons digging into Grace's skin, her beady eyes devouring Grace's strength like a cosmic vampire.

"Is Kat all right?" Alex's voice warbled its way through the air, a gasp of breath punctuating each word.

And Grace was saved.

Eve turned her gaze to the defenseless boy. Alex struggled to keep on his feet as he leaned against the door frame, breathless with exertion.

A shudder raced through Grace's body, chasing away the fire and ice, drowning the wasps as she gulped in fresh air. She couldn't let Eve Warden take these children. She wouldn't.

"Of course, honey." Eve's syrupy sweet tone pealed out like a bell. "Why don't you go back to bed?"

Go, Alex. Go. Grace fought to bring voice to the words, but her breath still came in short gasps. She slid her hand from Eve's, amazed her fingers weren't burnt to a crisp, and clutched at the bedrail.

Alex took a deep inhalation that reverberated through the room, then took the three steps needed to move to Grace's side. He reached out a hand to Grace, clasping hers in the strong grip climbers shared. She wrapped her fingers around his bony wrist and was able to breathe once more. A warm tingle of energy seemed to flow from her to Alex and back again.

"Jimmy sent me," he told her.

If she had the energy, Grace would have laughed. Of course Jimmy sent him--which meant that Alex could see her ghost of a husband also. Her stomach fluttered with the memory of the passion she and Jimmy had shared mere hours ago.

What the hell was happening to her? To all of them? She straightened and reached her other hand to Kat's limp one, drawing the unconscious girl into the circuit of energy.

"Kat's going to be fine," she spoke the words not just for Alex's benefit, but as a promise to Warden, her eyes meeting the other physician's with a crackle of energy.

Before Eve could reply, Vincent rushed into the room. He took in the tableau, his hands smoothing his rumpled scrubs, tightening the drawstring of his pants. Grace noted Eve's possessive smile as she gazed upon the flustered pediatrician.

"What happened?" Vincent asked.

"Just a seizure." Eve dismissed the almost fatal event as incidental. "I'm glad you're here, Dr. Emberek," she said, moving to take his arm, but her gaze darted back to Grace. "Look who I've found. Our missing patient. Grace Moran."

Vincent flushed and Grace realized that he hadn't betrayed her to Eve. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

"No," Alex said, clutching Grace with both hands now. She reached an arm around his shoulders, supporting his weight as his body sagged against hers. "You promised, Vincent."

Eve's laughter etched through the air, the brittle sound of icicles smashing. "You need to go back to your room, Alex. We'll take good care of your friend."

Alex ignored Eve, his stare capturing Vincent.

Vincent shifted his weight, obviously uncomfortable with the confrontation. His hair was disheveled and he looked disoriented, unable to focus or make eye contact with any of them except Eve Warden.

"Please, Vincent," Alex said, his voice raspy as he gathered his breath. "You promised."

Vincent looked at Eve, then at Grace. "Do you remember your promise?" he asked Grace. "You'll wait in Alex's room until morning?"

Alex squeezed Grace's arm. She nodded mutely, trying to understand the silent communication flowing between Vincent and Eve. The other woman flounced and took Vincent's arm in a possessive grip.

"As long as Grace is back in time to begin her therapy," she said, glancing over her shoulder with those flat, mirror-like eyes that threatened to devour everything they saw. "Come on, Vincent. We need to discuss Katherine's treatment plan. I think it's imperative that we do anything we can to get her to surgery before something further can happen. Something serious."

Vincent looked back at Grace with eyes glazed with confusion. Grace bit her lip. It was either him or the children. Vincent was a grown man, capable of protecting himself. She saw the disappointment fill his face when she remained silent, allowing Eve to lead him from Kat's room.

Alex looked down on Kat's face, peaceful in sleep, and felt like crying. Even with Jimmy's help, he couldn't get here any sooner, couldn't protect her. He'd let her down. Despite her shaved head and the bristle of electrodes poking out from the white gauze surrounding it, she was beautiful and he loved her more than life itself.

Would have gladly given his life--what little of it that was left, as worthless as a body slowly consuming itself was--if it would save Kat.

"She's going to be all right," Grace told him, her voice firm now. She squeezed his hand in encouragement.

He thought about the way she faced the Witch and he looked up at her with awe. Could he ever be that brave?

"She hates sleeping--afraid that she won't wake up," he told Grace, his eyes on Kat.

"I know." Grace sighed. "Let's get you back to your room. You need your oxygen and a breathing treatment."

"Will you come back and stay with her?" he asked as Grace lifted him into her arms and carried him from Kat's bedside. "Watch over her?"

"Yes, I will."

Alex relaxed in her arms, gathering all his energy to breathe, certain that Grace wouldn't let him down.

CHAPTER 25

The In-Between

Jimmy paced furiously along the Annex side of the Skyway, his gaze focused on the double doors at the other end, willing them to open. Eight steps, that was all. Eight steps. Any farther and the world span out of control, turning him inside out, whirling him into blackness.

"Bloody hell!" His anguished shout echoed from the glass ceiling and windows, returning to mock him. He pounded a fist against the window closest to him, cursing the pain.

What was the good of being alive if he was forced to stand here, useless, reduced to sending a dying boy in his stead to protect Grace?

If Brother Leo were here, Jimmy would have gleefully chucked him through one of the windows, heaven and hell and damnation not withstanding. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life.

The thought brought him up short. He stared at his reflection in the dark glass, the overhead spot lights cast him in an unearthly glow. Wind shook the glass and the image wavered as he remembered another time and place when he'd felt even more desperately helpless.

A night four years ago. Grace had rushed in to save him, despite the risks to herself, while he'd watched in a half-trance as he drifted in and out of consciousness, seeing exactly what that monster had done to her, listening to Grace plead not for her own life, but for his....

His shudder threatened to topple him as the memory crashed over him. Maybe oblivion had its upside, he thought as he forced the memories aside. Maybe there were some things worse than death.

Like living with the torment of that memory every day.

He whirled away from the window and charged down the narrow Skyway once more, determined to save Grace.

Please Lord, this time, let me help her.

A vortex of blackness overtook him. Lightning struck the glass roof above him, shaking the entire structure. An arc of electricity split the darkness, ribbons of blue cascading from one lighting fixture to the next. Brilliant sparks flew and the lamps exploded, the noise and light and smell of burnt wires thundering through his brain. He felt himself falling; it seemed to take an eternity for his body to fly through the air.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor, back against the Annex doors. Right where he started.

Patience, the word whispered through his brain. Have faith.

Jimmy struggled to his feet, every muscle groaning in protest. Oh he had faith--faith that Grace needed him, faith in the power of their love, faith that there was no way in this life or the next that he was going to let her down again.

He braced himself for another attempt, swallowing against the waves of pain that lanced through his body. Grace was over there, God only knew what was happening to her...

The doors opened and there she was.

The light behind her bathed her in a golden glow for a moment, her and the boy she cradled in her arms. The door swung shut again and she was shrouded in the shadows that engulfed the Skyway.

Speechless with joy, he watched her stumble through the distance that separated them. He rushed forward to meet her, stopping at his eight-pace limit.

Then she was there, in his arms where she belonged. The boy didn't protest as Jimmy's bear hug crushed him between them. Jimmy wasn't certain it would matter if he had, his joy at seeing her was that overwhelming.

She raised her head and before she could say anything, he captured her lips with his, burrowing into the kiss as if that one taste would need to sustain him a lifetime.

Her body trembled and shook in his. He lowered his arms to take the boy's weight. Still she shook, her skin chilled as if she were the one returned from the grave.

Jimmy never wanted the moment to end. He now realized what she was so terrified of, why she had so desperately resisted admitting that he had returned to her. The pain of leaving her would break him, destroy him just as surely as the void Brother Leo warned of.

Her touch, this feeling of vitality, was intoxicating, addictive. He well understood why it had driven others before him to madness.

Of course, they didn't have Grace. She was all he needed. All he had ever wanted.

Finally, far too quickly, she broke free of his embrace, leaving the boy in his arms.

"Thank you," she said, her fingers trailing through his hair, telegraphing whispers of the passion they'd shared earlier. "For sending Alex. He saved my life."

The boy turned his head from his position on Jimmy's shoulder to look up at that. "I did?" he asked, taking a pause to catch his breath between the words.

Jimmy felt a pang of envy at the loving expression Grace turned on the boy. She slid her fingers down to rumple Alex's hair. "You did. You're my hero."

Thunder echoed from the night beyond. Jimmy shifted the boy's weight and stepped to the Annex doors. "We'd best get this one back where he belongs."

He stopped after two steps. Grace wasn't following. Instead she had turned to face the Tower once more.

"I have to go back," she said, her voice a sorrowful whisper that barely overcame the rain rattling the glass surrounding them.

Jimmy almost dropped the boy as anguish lanced through him.

"No," the syllable was torn from him, sliced through the darkness that separated them. She looked up at him, her lips set in a hard line, eyes wide with sorrow.

"No!" he repeated, taking a step toward her. "You can't. I won't allow it. We don't have much time, don't waste it on foolishness, goddamn it!"

The smile she gave him was filled with pain. God, he never wanted to hurt her so. But he was only human now.

"I can't leave Kat alone," she said. She reached out a hand, cupped his chin in it. "Someone has to stay with her."

"No, Grace, no," he was begging now, but he didn't care. All his pride had fled with the thought of her leaving him again. "Please, no. The girl, she'll be fine. I'm sure she will. If you go, I'm not sure you'll make it back to me."

"I will," she promised, stepping up on tip-toe to kiss him once more. "We'll still have tomorrow."

Jimmy was helpless to control the tears that broke past his dam of self restraint. She lowered her head to face Alex, giving him a quick peck on the forehead.

"My hero. You'll watch over Jimmy, won't you?"

"Yes, Grace. I will," the boy replied solemnly.

Jimmy clutched the boy to him with a tight grip that had to be painful, but Alex never complained. Thank God, because the boy was the only thing Jimmy had to hold on to, the only thing keeping him anchored, preventing him from rushing after Grace as she crossed the dark Skyway and vanished into the Tower.

He stood there, unashamed of the tears flowing down his cheeks or the trembling that overtook his body when the doors shut behind her. Would have stood there for an eternity, waiting for her return, if it wasn't for the boy.

"Guess we'd better get back," Alex said in a breathless gasp. Jimmy looked down and for the first time saw that the boy's face was an alarming shade of blue.

"Aye," he said, reluctantly turning back to the Annex doors.

"Hey, Jimmy," Alex said as Jimmy carried him to the elevators. "Know any good stories?"

Eve drew Vincent into her office, closing the door behind her, ensuring their privacy. She felt his confusion. Good, she would use that.

He'd called out a name that wasn't hers at the height of pleasure--Grace Moran's. So the naive chief resident had more up his sleeve than even Eve had imagined. He'd been hiding Helman's precious patient from the Chief and all too obviously had fallen in love--or at least lust--with the woman.

Grace D'Angelo Moran. Did she think Eve such a dunce that she wouldn't recognize a patient she'd put to sleep a few days ago? And Moran had the audacity to waltz into Eve's own unit--her territory where she reigned supreme, had fought and sacrificed much to win--and interfere with the care of Eve's patient?

Eve turned away, to hide her grin from Vincent. Oh, she'd make Moran pay for her trespass, dearly. And that whelp of a girl, too. It was high time that Jellicle learned how to respect her elders.

By the time she looked back at Vincent she'd assumed a look of wide-eyed wonder colored with a hint of embarrassment. "I know you'll think me terribly naive," she started, her voice halting, "but I don't have much experience with men."

The lies came easily, effortlessly as she continued to stroke his ego. "No one's ever made me feel like that--" she faltered, hanging her head as if afraid to continue. "I just hope it meant as much to you as it did to me," she finished with a note of wistfulness calculated to break any male's heart.

Right on cue, Vincent's wonderfully strong hands grasped her shoulders, turning her gently to face him. "Eve," he started, his face filled with compassion and desire.

Eve knew how to fan those fires. "Ssh, don't say anything, don't make any promises you can't keep," she asked, placing a trembling finger over his lips. "Just hold me, please."

His arms drew her in close, his lips brushing against her hair. She raised her face to his and his lips met hers.

Point, set, and match, Eve thought as she moved to rekindle the passion they'd shared earlier. There'd be no drugs to augment his arousal, but she knew other tricks. After she was done with him, Vincent Emberek would be lucky to remember his own name, much less that of Grace Moran.

Grace barely made it through the doors at the end of the Skyway without falling down. Wasps buzzed all around, under her skin, biting and stinging so that every inch of her being was lanced with fire. The shotgun booming in her head echoed with every heart beat, every breath, each step that took her closer to the ECU.

The calm she'd felt in Jimmy's arms had been shattered the instant she turned back to return to the Tower. But she couldn't abandon Kat, leave her here alone.

She managed to push through the doors of the ECU and, finally out of sight of Jimmy and Alex, allowed herself to slump against the wall.

She blinked back tears of pain and decided that she'd take Kat back to Alex's room where both she and Jimmy could watch over her. Only had to make it a few more steps, that was all.

The smell of burning flesh assaulted her, doubling her over with nausea, and her vision went red as she stumbled into Kat's room.

And found it empty.

CHAPTER 26

Graveyard Shift

"So it's a story you're wanting?" Jimmy asked Alex once he had him snuggled safe and sound, back in his bed, oxygen machine hooked up.

The boy looked up at him, his color better, but Jimmy didn't care for the dark circles that rimmed his eyes or the sunken appearance to his cheeks. The boy didn't have much strength left--or much time. How much had he sacrificed rushing in to help Grace?

"Yes, please," Alex answered. "Grace told us about when you and her met and Queen Maeve."

Jimmy smiled. Yes, he knew.

He stretched out beside the boy and curled his arm around his shoulder. One of his greatest regrets was that he and Grace never had the chance to have children. Grace would have made a wonderful mother. He would have dearly loved to have seen her chasing down a handful of munchkins. And he didn't think he'd make such a bad father, either.

"Ah, but she didn't tell you how Maeve saved her people. Or how Grace herself saved half the world. Or how she saved me."

Course, now that he thought on it, some of that was Brother Leo's doing as well. He frowned. How far did the good Brother's power reach? He kept saying all he did was influence events. Meddling was more like it.

"Grace saved the world?" Alex asked, resting his head against Jimmy's chest. "I believe it. I wish she really was my mom."

Jimmy couldn't help himself, he tilted his head down and kissed the top of the boy's head. "She loves you like a son."

Alex sighed in contentment, then after a long moment of silence, stirred himself and looked up at Jimmy. "My story."

"Aye, aye cap'n. Let's see." How in hell was he to focus on a story when all he could think of was Grace alone over there? Leo hadn't given him any details of what danger she might face, only that dire consequences were in store if she chose to remain in the Tower. Alex tugged on his arm impatiently.

"All right then. You already know of Queen Maeve and how she almost lost her people during the dark time."

"From who? Space invaders?"

"No, something much worse. You see, there once upon a time was an island known to some as Thera, known to others as Atlantis. The people who lived there called it Kalliste. A long, long time ago, the volcano that made up the island exploded. The sky rained fire. The sea churned into tidal waves taller than the Empire State building," he was exaggerating here, but the boy would never know. "And everything in the world changed."

"What happened?"

"Those waves sucked the water from the Red Sea just as Moses was leading his people to safety, then the water surged forward to crush the Pharaoh's army. The ocean devoured Atlantis, almost the entire island fell into the sea. The part that was left was covered in ash. Even to this day as the scientists dig it out, they're finding beautiful art work and lovely houses, but," Jimmy lowered his voice for effect, "not a single body. They all disappeared. Everyone. An entire civilization."

"Whoa," Alex breathed out.

"The explosion was so massive that the earth shook for days after. And the sky was so dark that the sun was blocked out. Everlasting night." Alex's eyes grew wide. "Fierce storms raged over all the lands and ash rained down from the skies, even as far away as Maeve's land, half a globe away. Winter came months early and never left. There was snow in July. People prayed to their gods, thinking they were being punished. They turned on each other, fighting for what little food remained, brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor. No one was safe."

"What did Maeve do?"

"Well, now. She was one very smart Queen. She saved her people and kept them alive, hoping for the sun to return. Crops were blighted, livestock starved, people frozen to death, but Maeve kept her people alive during the dark time."

"How?"

"She had a secret weapon. The same secret weapon that Grace found three thousand years later and used to save more people."

"A secret weapon? What was it? Excalibur? A magic ring? No, I know. A ray gun sent by space invaders."

Jimmy shook his head, wishing Grace were here to see the boy's enthusiasm. Wishing Grace were here, period. "No. None of those. Maeve found the lost treasure of Atlantis."

"Grace," someone whispered her name.

She whirled around, searching the emptiness of Kat's room. Had she actually heard it, or was the tumor playing more tricks? The scent of burnt flesh assaulted her once more. Was this some new kind of seizure? Was she hallucinating?

"Come out, come out wherever you are," a second voice joined the first. But it came from a different direction.

Grace stepped back out into the hallway. All of the patients' doors stood ajar, winking at her, darkness behind them.

"Grace, come and play," a low sing-song came from the room directly across from her. Angie, the anorexic's room.

Grace glanced down the hall at the nurses' station. The two nurses were closeted in the medication room, appeared to be doing inventory. The ward clerk's back was to her as he lounged in his chair, headsets covering his ears, his body rocking to an unheard melody.

She took a deep breath and found the strength to cross the hall. She pushed open the door to Angie's room. Rain pelted the window, echoing through the space. Grace turned the light on.

It was empty.

"Down here, Grace." Another whisper, this one a man's voice, beckoned her. She stepped back out into the hallway and looked at the doors lining the opposite side. Was Kat behind one of them? Or should she check the treatment rooms on the other side of the nurses' station?

For a long moment the hall was quiet. The pounding in her head and the wasps fell silent as well. The only noise was the thundering of her heart and the rush of air as she sucked in a breath and slowly pivoted, turning to look past the nurses' station.

At the far end of the hallway, the Beast's door stood open.

"Treasure?" Alex asked. "Was it gold? How did it save her people?"

Jimmy smiled at the youngster's enthusiasm, it helped him to put aside his fears for Grace. Alone in the Darkness.

Alex yanked on his arm. "Tell me more."

"Maeve moved her people to the coast, hoping the sea would provide sustenance. But the endless night had killed off most of the fish as well. And soon others came, fighting them for what little they had. Maeve knew she couldn't keep her people safe for much longer, not as the bitter cold of the true winter approached. Their second winter of darkness."

"The treasure, how'd she find the treasure?"

Jimmy gave Alex a stern look at his interruption and the boy clamped his hand over his mouth. Jimmy chuckled and continued. "Despite her own desperate need, Maeve offered shelter to a traveling druid. He entertained her people with his ballads and poems and in return for her hospitality, told Maeve about weird lights seen on the forbidden isles off the coast to the south. Islands that legend held were the home to the Selkies, the ancient sea people. He described strange wreckage of unfamiliar ships, larger than any currach or boat Maeve's people used. Ships that could sail to the end of the world and back.

"Maeve was intrigued, stirred by the hope that these strangers--whether they were Selkies or some other clan chased by the strange weather from their own lands--might be able to save her own people. She took a few of her most trusted men with her, left the rest to protect her people and they set out for the forbidden isles."

As he told the story, Jimmy wondered if that druid had been named Leo--or some variation. The bugger sure did get around, hadn't been lying when he said he'd been planning, preparing the seeds for eons.

He caught his breath, wishing for a pipe to punctuate with as his da had used when Jimmy bounced on his knee. No need with Alex, though. The boy's eyes were fixed on Jimmy's mouth, eagerly waiting for him to continue.

"It was a rough crossing, as if the seas themselves were aligned against Maeve and her quest to save her people. And the islands--" He frowned and shook his head in wonder. "Barren crags of rock jutting from the ocean as if the sea had chewed them up and spit them out again. The sea spun around the rocks aiming to smash Maeve's currach to bits, trying its best to swallow Maeve and her crew whole. The small boat was swamped, almost smashed to bits on the rocky cliffs. Maeve was tossed into the ocean, felt the water crush her in its angry fist as it pulled her under, hoping only that by taking her, it would spare her comrades."

"What happened?" Alex asked, his fingers squeezing Jimmy's wrist.

"She woke up to find herself in a strange house, with even stranger people. Dark haired, dark skinned, they spoke a strange musical language as they nursed her back to health. Over time, Maeve learned enough of their language and they learned some of hers and were able to eventually communicate. They came from a far away island called Kalliste, had traveled across several seas in the ship that had become their shelter. Maeve realized that this shelter, large enough to house two dozen families was actually the body of their boat, hauled out of the water and turned upside down.

"She'd never dreamed of a boat that size, or of the other wonders the Kallista revealed. Intricate pulleys and winches that allowed one man to do the work of three, a machine that charted the sea and kept them from getting lost, ways to work metal so that it was lighter, stronger than any she'd ever seen, and most important--their sacred treasure."

"They were from Atlantis! What was the treasure? How did it save Maeve's people?" The words tumbled from Alex in a rush. Then he frowned. "Hey, this happened like thousands of years ago. How did the treasure help Grace? How did Grace save the world with Maeve's treasure?"

Aye, now. That was the question, now wasn't it? How much of what had happened five years ago had been because of Grace--and how much was Brother Leo's meddling?

Jimmy thought back to the months before they were married. The year hadn't begun so well. Grace was still living in her East Liberty apartment and every time he visited her his car would be vandalized or he'd have a run in with one of the street thugs who seemed to think he owned Grace's block.

What a strange courtship it had been: he working all hours, pouring over images of ancient documents, getting up in the middle of the night to conference with scholars around the world. And Grace, finishing her residency, working in the ER, flying in helicopters, rescuing strangers, rescuing him. In more ways than one.

He remembered the night she finally agreed to marry him. It was past midnight and he was still in his office at the university, working in darkness except for the glow of his computer screen as he pieced together translations of ancient Minoan texts that recorded a strange tale from an island in the North. He hunched over the computer, flashing back and forth from one garbled bit of text to another, a headache wrapping his skull in an anaconda's grip and one eyelid fluttering from fatigue. But he knew he was close, so close, and kept working, fearful that he would lose this thinnest tendrils of an idea if he quit.

Just as he found the thread that unified the snippets of ancient history, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his neck, and Grace leaned her head down to join his as she read the words on the screen.

"Yuck. Poor Maeve, almost drowned, then only to return home and find her brother has turned everyone into cannibals."

"Not everyone," Jimmy said, twisting in his chair to tug her onto his lap. "Some of them they ate. To see them through the endless night."

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before. Atlantis go bang, dust clouds in the sky, no summer or sun for two years, chaos, savagery, calamity."

He pulled back to look at her closely. This was so unlike her, she was as fascinated with Maeve and her story as he was. Her shoulders were slumped, she still wore her surgical scrubs, which meant she'd left the ER as soon as her shift was over, not even bothering to change into street clothes like she usually did.

She shifted her weight, her fingers running through his hair, and the light of the computer screen illuminated several tiny specks of what could only be dried blood just in front of her left ear, where her surgical mask wouldn't protect her.

"Rough night?" he asked. "Want to talk?"

In answer she began to unbutton his shirt. She buried his mouth beneath hers, drowning him in her need and hunger.

Of course not, he thought. She never wanted to talk about the bad things. The things that went wrong, that she was helpless to prevent. The times she failed to outsmart Death.

Their kiss deepened as he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to draw on his strength. Her entire body was knotted with tension but slowly she began to relax. She had his shirt open, was playing with the sparse hairs on his chest, drawing her fingers lower and lower as she squirmed on his lap.

Sex--primal, pure, passionate celebration of life--that was Grace's answer to death, to chaos. It was an ancient ritual, one that Jimmy understood on an intellectual level and enjoyed immensely on a physical one. Her hand slid beneath his waistband, and his breath caught.

"Have a care, woman," he gasped as her fingers tightened around his growing erection. "You might need that again someday. I know I will."

Her laughter filled the room as she tilted the chair back to a dangerous angle and straddled him.

Afterwards, he had taken her home to her apartment in East Liberty. "Won't you marry me, Grace?" he asked yet again. Sooner or later he would wear her down, he was certain. "At least move out of this dump and into my place."

She merely shook her head and they continued trudging up the steps to her third story apartment. Jimmy forced himself not to sigh. He hadn't expected her to acquiesce, but still he always hoped. For all her quiet upbringing with the monks and nuns, she often seemed like a wild animal--skittish, afraid to stray too close to capture.

For Grace, though, it wasn't only fear of losing her independence. It was a deeper, greater fear that Jimmy worried no amount of love would conquer. A fear of being abandoned.

Anger rose, as always when he thought of the careless disregard of the so-called mother who had left her, discarded her like trash instead of cherishing her for the treasure she was. A treasure he'd hunted for his entire life and refused to lose now.

He grabbed her arm, spun her so her back was to the wall, and kissed her hard, allowing his frustration to speak for itself.

"What was that for?" she asked when they finally separated.

"Just letting you know what you're missing by not moving in with me."

She narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a twisted smile. "You're never home anyway. Always with your other woman, Queen Maeve. I'd be left alone with only the dog for company."

She continued up the stairs and he followed. "I don't have a dog."

Fitting her key in her door, she turned and nodded. "See, that's what you're missing. It's not me you need."

"Yes, yes it is," he insisted, reaching for her arm once more, ready to prove it yet again.

She darted away, pushing her door open and rushing into the dark apartment. Before Jimmy could step inside, there was a crash followed by the sickening thud of a body falling.

"Grace!" He raced over the threshold but was immediately bowled over by an unseen assailant. The clamor of pounding footsteps echoed down the hall. Jimmy bolted to his feet and fumbled for the light switch.

Grace was slowly regaining her feet from her spot on the other side of the couch. "He grabbed me, threw me across the room," she said, her eyes wide, darting around the room, searching the shadows for hidden danger. "Are you all right? Did you see him? Where did he go?"

Jimmy was frozen, stunned by what had happened, torn between the need to go to her and the desire to catch the intruder and beat him to a bloody pulp. His fingernails dug into the skin of his palms and he raised his clenched fists, staring at them in wonder.

Never once in his entire forty-two years had he ever wanted to do violence to any man. Never once--until tonight.

The thought made him feel more than a little sick. The sight of Grace, her face red with a bruise that was already forming on her cheekbone, made him ready to vomit. He spun to the door, took one step before realizing the futility of giving chase, and instead reached for the phone on the hall table. As he dialed 911, he walked around the couch to where Grace stood, looking around the small apartment as if she were lost.

"How—why--" she broke off as he pulled her close to him, buried her face in his chest. She didn't cry, didn't break down, merely stood there shivering as the fear overtook her. He didn't care--she was safe and in his arms and she was going home with him. For good.

The next morning Jimmy had brought an assorted collection of grad students and friends and they had moved Grace into his house.

He remembered that Sunday morning. Brother Leo had joined them, bringing an assortment of muffins baked by the Sisters of Mercy. The day had begun crystal clear, bright sunshine. But by the time they had packed the cars and trucks and driven off, they'd been cloaked in a fog so dense that no one could ever follow them.

Jimmy realized now that the fog which hid Grace's escape must have been Leo's doing. Just as he now knew that the person responsible for harassing him on his visits to Grace and the burglar in her apartment were one and the same: Lukas Redding.

But at the time, he and Grace attributed everything to the bad neighborhood. Indeed, things were peaceful once they were settled into Jimmy's Squirrel Hill house.

So peaceful that Jimmy was able to procure enough grant money to allow him another trip to Ireland that summer. After he'd proven, with Grace's suggestion that he use mitochondrial DNA from the bones she'd inadvertently taken from Maeve's hand, that it was in fact the ancient warrior queen herself buried at the base of the cairn.

Grace, finished with her residency, took time off to accompany him before beginning her search for a "real" job.

Jimmy tried to remember if Leo had a hand in that as well, but couldn't. But he did remember the awful day of the explosion. The day when everything had changed--for his research, for the world.

Brothers in Blood

Knocknarea, Eire

1651, BC

The days should have been getting longer, but a constant grey mist shrouded everything in Maeve's land when finally she returned from her quest to find salvation for her people. Gone were her fertile green fields and woods, replaced by brown bracken and withered trees with few buds brave enough to show themselves.

Maeve rushed up the last hillside separating her from her people, a pang of fear making her stomach tumble. Would they have survived the harsh winter? How many would be left for her to save?

To her surprise, when she reached the hilltop she spied a well-ordered collection of huts circled together around a large cooking area. Smoke drifted lazily from the center of each roof but no one appeared outside.

Unable to contain herself, Maeve ran down the hill, followed by Timor and Mellis, the two Kallisteans who had accompanied her. She stopped at the outer perimeter of the settlement and waved them back, drawing her sword.

A tall man with regal bearing emerged from the largest hut, stretching as if he had just woken. Lothar. Her brother, the chieftain she'd left in charge of her people during her absence.

Smiling at his obviously healthy appearance, she strode forward, dropping her sword to dangle at her side. He turned at her approach and began to call out a warning, then stopped, his mouth open in astonishment. He rushed to her, clasping her arms in a strong grip, shaking her as if he wasn't certain if she were real.

"They said you'd been lost to the Selkies," he said. He turned and called out, "Come, see your fallen queen. Maeve has returned to serve her people!"

Slowly the huts emptied of men, followed by women and only a handful of children, all girls, Maeve noted with surprise. The old ones were all gone; she had feared they might not survive the winter. But the men, her warriors, appeared hale and strong.

To her surprise, her people held back, not venturing farther than their doorways, staring and pointing at her and the two Kallista.

"Selkies," she heard the word whispered more than once, accompanied by fearful glances in their direction.

The Selkies were the ancient sea people who took the form of seals in the water and humans on land. They were known for their cunning, vicious ways, tricking real people out of their lands, their lives, their souls. And they could only be killed while in their human form.

"No, not Selkies," Maeve said, stepping into the center clearing and turning around so her people could see that she was whole, unharmed. "These are friends. They have come to offer their aid in our time of need. Together we will survive this never-ending winter."

Instead of cheers her words were received with frowns from the men and puzzled looks from the women.

Lothar waved two of the men over. "Take our guests and show them our hospitality. Ready a feast to welcome our queen," he instructed. "Maeve and I have much to discuss."

As he led Maeve into his hut she spied a young girl scurrying to hide beneath a pile of furs.

"Leave me," Lothar told the frightened girl, never using her name or looking her in the face. Maeve watched as the girl, barely ten but already showing faint signs of womanhood, raced from the hut.

Her stomach knotted as she spun to face her brother. "Why is that girl here in your quarters?"

He shrugged as if it were of little consequence. "All of us must learn to serve, for the good of all," he said, straightening to his full height and frowning down on her. "Even you, Maeve."

She grew rigid, her hand falling to clasp her sword. "How dare you speak to me that way."

Her voice was low, commanding. He took a step back, regarding her as if coming to a decision.

"I am your queen. I know what is best for the good of all my people."

"Do you?" he asked, his voice neutral now. "I suppose so. Forgive me, my queen," he bowed his head, "it has been a long, bitter winter since you left us. Many have suffered, many have been lost."

"You and the other men look healthy. Have you found food?"

A sly smile flitted across his face. "We've made good use of the food provided. As you'll see at the feast."

Indeed as he spoke, a thick oily smell of roasting meat began to fill the hut. The Kallista ate no flesh, she'd become unaccustomed to the scent, and the smell made Maeve's stomach heave.

"There's no need for a feast. We need to pack–the Kallista have offered their hospitality to all. They've secret ways. More than I can explain now, but with their help we'll all live through this to see the sun again."

His chuckle surprised her. A harsh, brittle sound, it made the hackles on the back of her neck raise.

"The good of our people may not lie where you assume it does, Maeve. We've found new ways while you slept with the Selkies."

"I told you, they're not Selkies. They're men, just like you."

"No, not like me. And not men, not any more."

"What have you done?" she demanded as she ran to the door.

The stench of burning flesh grew. A large fire blazed in the cooking pit, arranged around it were the men, behind them were arrayed the women, some one to a man, a few men with two.

She barely recognized most of them, they appeared cowed, their shoulders hunched, heads hung. Except for a few who glared at her as if afraid that she'd returned to steal away what little they had left.

As she watched in horror, she saw one of the men tug his woman onto his lap and begin to drink from her breasts with the loud suckling noises of an animal. Suddenly she realized why there were no infants, no boys left alive. Any man-child might grow to challenge the warriors and any infants would need their mother's milk.

Lothar approached her from behind as she tried to take in what she was seeing. How could this happen? These weren't her people, the thriving, vibrant community she'd left behind. Lothar grabbed her arm, pulled her to him.

"You too can serve my warriors," he whispered into her ear.

"Never." She reached for his hand, twisted a finger back until he yielded.

He released her but then shoved her hard, so that she stumbled to the edge of the cooking pit. The churning in her bowels worsened as she choked in the rank, oily smoke that blinded her.

"Then there are other ways you can be of use." Lothar's mocking laughter encircled her as she struggled to clear her vision. "It's all for the greater good, Maeve. For the good of the people."

The smoke cleared and she caught her first sight of what was roasting below her in the pit. Mellis and Timor's bodies sizzled in the fire, their skin blackened and cracked, the juices of their muscles making the flames spit and dance around them.

"No," she choked out the word, spinning to Lothar, her sword at the ready. "They were our hope, our salvation. They were innocent."

He merely smiled, waving his men back. "We're our own salvation, Maeve. We need no one, not even you to lead us. We make our own laws, we are our own gods!"

His words split the air between them. Maeve staggered back. Her vision clouded by the flames of her own disgust and fury, she charged him. His sword snaked from its sheath and he quickly parried her first blow.

She forced herself to calm down, to think like a warrior, cast aside her anger. Lothar was her best warrior, it would take all she had to defeat him even with the help of the Kallistean sword she carried, a blade so sharp that it could cleave a man's head from his body, given the right stroke.

Not that Lothar would be likely to give her such an opening. He swung his sword, feinted then parried once more, toying with her. His laughter was louder than the crackle of the fire at her back.

"Do you want to join them," he asked, his smile revealing all his teeth. "Or me?"

Who was this stranger? Where was the brother who had fought so often at her side? "I'll join you in hell!"

CHAPTER 27

Strangers in the Night

The thought of Lukas with Kat propelled Grace down the corridor. The storm raging outside made the lights flicker just as she passed the nurses' station and turned toward the treatment rooms.

Nothing. They were dark and empty. Beyond them lay a linen closet, Eve Warden's office and the rec room. The door to the rec room stood closed, but she heard the murmur of voices beyond.

Grace hesitated, looked around for any possible weapon. Nothing. She glanced back over her shoulder to the nurses' station but before she could make a move in that direction, the door behind her flew open and a pair of hands pulled her inside, another pair fastening around her face, closing over her nose and mouth.

CHAPTER 28

Just Desserts

"Do you remember Tambora?" Jimmy asked Alex.

"Sure, the big volcano that blew up when I was a baby."

"It was only five years ago, lad. Don't go making me feel older than I am."

Alex just looked at him with a quizzical expression. Jimmy sighed. He was an old man compared to this lad. Compared to everyone, he guessed. "That was the second time that volcano exploded. The first time, in 1816, it caused the year without a summer. Thousands around the world starved."

"Did a lot of people die when it blew up again?" Alex asked and Jimmy realized that a five year old trapped inside a hospital, critically ill, probably wasn't hooked into CNN.

Jimmy nodded. "Yes. But a lot more were saved."

"Because Grace figured out how Maeve saved her people when that other volcano exploded. When she found the treasure."

Jimmy grinned and ran his fingers through Alex's hair. "Smart lad. You see, Maeve left a map, a clue to where the treasure was hidden in case future generations needed it."

"But she was buried by all that water. Did you get her back?"

"I wish. That's what I wanted to try, but it proved too dangerous." Too expensive as well, but the boy didn't need to know that. "We tried a few ways to rescue Maeve's grave, but in the end we had to content ourselves with the photos and few pieces we were able to retrieve. The rest we had to sacrifice, bury with fill so that we could save the other tombs. Otherwise, the entire island threatened to collapse back into the water."

"Poor Maeve. Now she has to stay down there, all alone."

"I'm thinking she's not minding the peace and quiet. And she still did her part, even from beyond the grave. You see, after Tambora blew again, I knew that whatever Maeve had done could be done even better now with modern technology, maybe save millions from starvation. Guess you could say I became obsessed, searching out every ancient record with a scrap of Maeve's story, trying to find the facts hidden among the fiction." He smiled.

After Tambora, Grace had spent several weeks on a disaster relief mission. When she returned, she became as obsessed as he was with finding Maeve's treasure. Working side by side, she'd ferret out obscure references, following arcane snippets of information with a mind as nimble and agile as her body. Those had been some of the best days of his life, but now he regretted them. Wasting all that time when they could have been exploring each other instead of mysteries three millennia old.

Of course, back then, they'd thought they had forever, thought what they were doing would save the world.

Jimmy shifted his position, stretched his legs out, hugging Alex to his chest so hard the boy squirmed for breathing room. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, wouldn't let anything distract him from what was important this time. "Turns out, Grace had the answer all along."

Two men pulled Grace into the darkened rec room. She blinked as the lights snapped on, blinding her for a moment. Kat lay on the green felt pool table, her nightgown billowing out, the triangle holding the balls positioned over her head like a colorful crown. She was pale, but her chest rose and fell with comforting steadiness. A woman stood on each side of Kat, their hands clutched before them, two ladies in waiting.

A large black man approached Grace, slapping a pool cue across his palm. He glowered down at her as she struggled with her captors. Then he spoke.

"This the bitch the Beast wants so bad?"

Grace almost laughed. The man's--no really he was only a boy, she saw on closer inspection--voice emerged in a shrill whistle. Like a squeaker toy that a dog had gnawed and torn apart.

She shrugged free of her two guards and spun around to look at them. One was Mr. Atomic, his Adam's apple bobbing in time with his pulse. From the size of his jugular veins, he looked about ready to pop. The other was a bald headed man who seemed more interested in staring down her top than trying to restrain her.

She turned back to the teenager, somehow he seemed to be the one in charge. "I'm Grace Moran," she told him. "The Beast as you call him, is named Lukas Redding. He tried to kill me once."

She took a step closer to the boy, snagged the pool cue, halting its downward arc, and stared him in the eye. "He failed."

The room was silent for a moment. The two women turned to look at each other, then stepped forward to examine Grace as if she were a museum exhibit.

"Really?" the young one, Angie, said. "You got away from the Beast?"

"How? What happened?" the older one asked with a skeptical look.

Grace watched as the bald man snagged the woman by the waist, dragging her away from Grace. From the possessive look he gave the woman, it appeared that he worried that she might be somehow contaminated by Grace's victory over the man who had tried to kill her.

The woman looked down at the floor, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, shuffling her feet. Angie gave her a superior glance, then sidled up to stroke the teenager's muscular arm. He squinted his eyes at Grace in what she was certain he thought was a look of intimidation, releasing his grip on the cue stick to pull Angie close to him, his hand casually fondling her breast.

"What do you want?" Grace asked, pivoting so that she stood between the pool table and the others.

Freaks, Kat had called them. She saw now how right the girl had been. She leaned against the table, hoping to block their view of Kat, twirling the pool cue in her hands as if it was a baton.

"Look here, lady," the bald man said, shoving his woman behind him, putting her back in her place. "The Beast runs this place. If he wants you, he gets you. And whoever gives you to him--" He licked his lips, his gaze dropping to Grace's breasts once more. "Well, let's just say that there's rewards awaiting."

Grace's stomach clenched as she saw him look past her to Kat's still form, his hand dropping to his crotch in a not-so-subtle message. She risked a glance in Kat's direction herself and saw that one of the balls in the wooden rack above her head was missing. Kat's hands were both hidden beneath the folds of her nightgown.

Two against five, at least the odds were getting better. The bald man and the teenager were the two they'd have to worry about. The others would follow their lead.

Grace began tossing the cue stick from one hand to the next, keeping a hypnotic rhythm as she spoke. All eyes were on her, exactly where she wanted them focused.

"All right," she said calmly. "So now you've got me here. What are you going to do?"

The men exchanged glances as if they'd never expected their plan to make it this far. "Take you to the Beast," the teenager squeaked. "He's waiting."

Grace purposely almost missed catching the cue, shifting her weight as she leaned to the side to grab it. The men didn't mirror her sudden movement, if anything they relaxed as if she posed no threat.

"You're going to waltz me down the hall, past Dr. Warden's office, past the clerk, past the nurses' station and into a locked ward." She tossed the stick high, snagged it on the way down without even looking. "And you're going to do that, how?"

Baldy stepped to the plate. "We'll tie you up, gag you, roll you down the hall in a laundry cart," he said in a voice undercut by glee.

She shot him a glance, wondering how someone with such predatory fantasies ended up on an unlocked co-ed ward.

"We can't do that," Mr. Atomic protested. "Everyone knows what we look like, we'll never make it past the station."

"Yeah, we need a disguise," Squeaky added.

The three men huddled together, the women joining them. "No," Angie said. "What we need is a distraction."

The older woman placed her hand on her hip and vamped, rubbing her body against Baldy's. "Sounds like a job for a real woman, not a walking-stick."

"Hey, who you calling--"

"We can still tie her up. I'll do it."

"No, I will."

Grace barely heard their heated discussion as she reached a hand behind her. The smooth roundness of a pool ball was instantly slapped into it. She nodded her head. "Hey, guys--"

Atomic was the only one who paid her heed, whirling to her. "Give us a minute."

"Whatever you say." Before he could turn back to the others, she whipped the heavy ball at him. It collided against his head with a satisfying smack. He dropped to the ground, scattering the others. The two women immediately dove for cover behind the love seat, but the other two men still stood between Grace and Kat and the door.

Grace was thankful that the other pool cues were safely in the rack behind them at the far end of the room. Leaving the men with no weapons other than their fists and feet.

"I'm gonna kick your ass from here to the Point and back," Squeaky said, his hands balling into fists the size of Easter hams.

"Not if I get her first," Baldy said, stepping over Atomic to get to Grace.

Grace sidestepped away from the table, giving herself more room and leading the men away from Kat. Then she swung out with the pool cue, now gripping it like a warrior's staff. She hoped that all those Kung Fu movies she'd watched over the years had taught her something. She squared her shoulders. Attitude, just like handling drunks in the ER. It was all in the attitude.

The pool cue whistled through the air, harmlessly bouncing off Baldy's arm as he raised it to block the blow. It continued its arc towards the ground and he lunged for it, trying to grab it from her and pull her off balance.

Squeaky waited, arms crossed over his broad chest, a smirk on his face as if he'd enjoy the outcome no matter who won the contest.

Grace swung the pool cue just beyond Baldy's grasp, drawing him out and then immediately reversed its course, ramming it up between his legs. An inhuman yelp emerged from him as he crumpled to the ground.

No longer content to wait, Squeaky rushed her from the side. She choked up on her grip and aimed the cue against the side of his head.

"Run!" she called to Kat.

Grace's blow slammed against Squeaky's skull with a vibration that shot through the cue, almost making her drop it. He merely shook it off and grinned at her.

Oh no. Something told her he'd been in street fights before. She watched as Kat rolled off the table and ran to the door.

"Go Kat, get to Alex's room," Grace called as Squeaky grabbed the other end of the cue and was using her own weapon to force her back up against the pool table.

He was snarling now, drool slipping from his mouth. He yanked the stick from her and raised it high over his head, about to bring it crashing down on her.

A leaden thunk echoed through the room and a yellow ball ricocheted from Squeaky's skull onto the floor. Squeaky froze, his eyes wide with shock. Then, almost in slow motion, the cue slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. His knees bent and he sank to the floor beside it.

"That's for calling me stupid!" Kat yelled in triumph.

Grace leapt over his body and ran to the door. The women still cowered, hands over their mouths as they stared at their fallen comrades. Grace grabbed Kat by the waist and hauled the girl out of the room.

"C'mon, we've got to get out of here."

CHAPTER 29

Volcano Weather

Together they ran down the hallway and through the dark Skyway to the safety of the Annex. Only then did they stop for air. Grace pushed the button for the elevator while Kat danced around the lobby, her bare feet slapping on the linoleum. Grace glanced back over to the Skyway. No one pursued them.

"Hah! Did you see that?" Kat cackled in glee, tossing an eight ball from one hand to the other. "Could've told them not to mess with me, I was short-stop on our little league team, can throw better than both my brothers!"

The elevator dinged its arrival. Grace hustled Kat on before the girl got any ideas about returning to the scene of her pitching debut. Grace felt no sense of triumph, only a deep-seated relief that they had escaped.

Kat paced the confines of the small metal box for a few moments, then suddenly sagged against the wall as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. "Goddamn it, that scared the crap out of me!" She leaned forward, resting her hand on her knee, her chest heaving. "I think I'm gonna puke."

Grace pulled Kat to her feet, wrapped her arms around the girl. Kat shook uncontrollably. The elevator stopped. They emerged into the dim shadows of the pediatrics floor.

"It's all right," she said as Kat began to sob. "You did fine, I'm proud of you, Kat. You saved my life. Everything's all right now."

Finally, Kat stopped crying and looked up. "I did? Really? I saved your life?"

Grace smiled down at the girl, used the hem of her scrub top to wipe away the tears. "You did. I've never known anyone as brave as you, Kat."

"Wow. I mean--wow." Kat blew out her breath. "You won't tell Alex that I cried, will you?"

"Course not. And it happens to everyone. It's just the adrenalin. Even soldiers and cops cry after something like that--sometimes throw up, too."

"Hah. At least I didn't puke." They started down the hall to Alex's room when Kat tugged on Grace's arm. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier, Grace. I was wrong, they don't want to die, they're already dead. Inside at least. And you're not like them, not at all."

Grace hugged Kat to her as she paused in the doorway of Alex's room before entering. She felt a smile widen across her face at the sight of Jimmy and Alex sitting together on the bed, Jimmy's arm around the boy as if they were father and son. They'd talked about children, thought that after they were settled--

She shook her head, following Kat into the room. Kat plopped into the chair beside Alex's bed, hugging her knees to her chest, still flushed by their near-escape.

"Kat, are you all right?" Alex asked.

"You should've seen it, Alex. Grace kicked butt--"

"What she means to say," Grace interrupted before Kat's too-vivid imagination went wild, "is that the other patients in the ECU won't be bothering Kat anytime soon."

Grace brushed by Jimmy who snagged her by the waist and pulled her close to him. "You all right?" he asked, his eyes narrowed in concern.

"I'm fine." She bent over and kissed the top of his head. "Really." He gave her a squeeze before releasing her.

"Jimmy was telling me how Maeve saved the world," Alex said. "She found the lost treasure of Atlantis."

Kat looked up, eager to hear more, not complaining as Grace wrapped a blanket around her. Grace glanced over at Jimmy.

"You can't tell him that story," she protested, remembering how her stomach had curdled when they had discovered Maeve's secret. "It's not for kids. What about the--"

Jimmy waved a hand, dismissing her concerns. "Nah, kids love that stuff."

Grace grimaced, hoping he'd translate the dark tale of cannibalism and blood lust into something that wouldn't give the kids nightmares. The story had disturbed the hell out of her.

Maeve returning home with two Kallistean men only to find her people following Lothar, her brother, on a path of cannibalism, preying on neighboring clans. After Lothar killed the two Kallisteans, Maeve had fought him in a fierce battle. She had defeated him and his own men had pounced on him, finishing the job.

The resulting blood feud had led to Maeve's own death years later. While she bathed in a lake, her nephew had murdered her.

Grace shuddered at the memories of the tales, and began to stop Jimmy, but the rapt smiles on the faces of Alex and Kat as he summarized the story about the Kallista for Kat's benefit stopped her. She perched on the radiator, leaning against the window, the cold panes of glass vibrating against her back as Jimmy continued his tale.

His voice was so welcome, it lulled her into a trance as she remembered back four years.

She smiled, her mind filled with the image of Jimmy juggling a full pint of Smithwicks as he tried to teach her to dance at their wedding rehearsal dinner.

Somehow he hadn't spilled a drop even as she tripped and stepped on his toes, finally ending up laughing, rolled up in his arm, his warmth supporting her. After that the wedding had passed in a blissful blur of a dimly lit and overheated church, followed by strange but welcoming faces, loud music, and louder laughter.

Although she was anxious enough that a drink might have soothed her nerves, Grace had abstained. Several of her new in-laws had commented on this with knowing winks and toasts to Jimmy followed by ribald jokes about him being old enough to be her father. Grace had remained silent, although her reason for not drinking wasn't the traditional bridal secret.

With the help of Brother Leo and Jimmy's friend, Paddy O'Dwyer, an archeologist with the National Museum in Dublin, she had a surprise planned.

Finally the ceili band dwindled down to a maudlin accordion player and one of Jimmy's cousins joining in on a tin whistle, the tales of Jimmy's childhood exploits had finished, and Grace had denied knowing "me brother Mickey (or Sean or Brian), he's gone to America, lives in Boston, that's near to Pittsburgh in'nt it?" for the umpteenth time.

She had danced one last dance with Paddy, taking the keys he handed her afterwards and had snagged Jimmy's arm, dragging him away from the bar.

"Time for you to see my wedding present," she had whispered in his ear when he protested that the party was only now beginning. He had blushed and grinned, waving at his friends as he stumbled out the door behind her.

She had fumbled with the room key, suddenly afraid that she had made a terrible mistake. Could she ever hope to give Jimmy the happiness he deserved? She with her restless ways, and both of them so used to being on their own. What if he grew tired of her? What if they drifted apart like so many couples she had known?

Despite his semi-intoxicated state, Jimmy seemed to effortlessly follow her thoughts. He took the key from her, opened the door, then swept her up in his arms to cross the threshold.

"Our love will never die," he whispered amidst the rustle of her silk gown.

They had collapsed on the bed, both too exhausted to contemplate anything more than resting in each other's arms. Grace kicked off her shoes, she swore she'd worn right through the soles with all her dancing.

"Where's my present?" Jimmy roused himself enough to ask.

Grace dangled Paddy's keys before him. "Paddy's lent us his boat for the week."

He collapsed back on the pillows, one hand idly tracing the pearls sewn onto her bodice. "Is that all?"

She felt her face stretch into a wide grin. Jimmy sat up straight, his own smile mirroring hers. "What have you done, Grace?"

"I found it, Jimmy."

He tilted his head, his eyes widening, creases crinkling at their edges. "No, it can't be true."

She nodded. "It is. I found Maeve's treasure. I had an idea, so Paddy took me with a few of his students yesterday."

"I thought you were meant to be at that day spa in Galway. Getting your toes done and seaweed wraps and all."

She laughed, stretching one naked foot up for him to examine. "Do I look like the pedicure type?"

He shrugged. "I thought it was wedding jitters, you know--"

She leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly. No jitters there. As they embraced, his hand closed over hers and he slid the keys from her fingers.

"Have you seen it, actually seen it? Is it what we thought?"

"After I found it, Paddy and his crew photographed it and began a grid. But he says he'll leave the rest to you. As long as you don't muck it up."

Jimmy bounded out of bed faster than a kid on Christmas morning. "Muck it up? I've been working sites longer than--" He ducked under the bed. "Where are my shoes?"

"What do you need shoes for?"

"We'll leave tonight, sleep on the boat. Then come first light--" He came up for air, his head at the level of the bed.

She stretched out, took his face between her hands. "It's not going anywhere, Jimmy. Tonight is ours."

They had gotten a late start the next day and it was well past noon by the time they reached the craggy, deserted island southwest of Galway. Waves battered the small inflatable raft they used to gain access to the cave, making Grace seasick and glad she had abstained the night before. Jimmy didn't seem to mind the raucous motion of the dingy. His face flushed with excitement, he perched on the gunwale, gunning the motor, too excited to wait for the tide.

Grace's eyes welled up with tears and she had to look away. Never in her life had she been able to give anyone a gift that had caused such delight. Approval, gratitude, respect--but never sheer, unadulterated joy.

She brushed her eyes with the back of a hand and found herself looking forward to many years of surprising and delighting Jimmy.

"You okay there?" Jimmy asked, circling one hand around her waist and snuggling her back against him. "Not getting seasick on me, are you?"

A sudden wave made the raft lurch as water sprayed both of them. Jimmy's laugh filled the air. Grace turned and risked sliding off her seat to plant a kiss on his lips.

"Whoa now, I could get used to this marriage thing," he said before turning his attention back to steering. The island loomed over them, a craggy grey-green mass of granite riddled with inlets and caves. "The one on the right is it?"

"Yes. Better to wait for the tide to go out, it won't be as rough." She had to shout above the sound of waves smashing against the cliffs on either side of the opening.

Jimmy laughed again and gunned the engine. "No way. I've waited all my life for this."

Paddy's crew had set up lights, which made navigating inside the sea cavern much easier than Grace's first time there. The ropes she left anchored to the granite wall inside were wet, slippery to climb. Jimmy waited impatiently below while she scaled the slick rock face.

Twenty meters up was the sheltered ledge where the group of sealed vessels waited. The air was crisp, charged with energy. Maeve's sword lay across three of the large clay pots. Despite the wet atmosphere, it was a gleaming color between silver and copper with not a speck of rust to mar its surface. It looked as if its owner had just sat it there three minutes ago rather than three thousand years ago.

"I'm coming!" Jimmy shouted from below, not waiting for her to set up the safety ropes she had brought with her.

Grace dropped her gear and craned her head over the cliff's edge. The sea churned as the tide rolled in, the small dingy bouncing like a child's toy. Jimmy balanced on the edge of the gunwale, reaching for the rope. A rogue wave blindsided him and he careened over the side, toppling head first into the water.

"Jimmy!" Her cry of warning was too late. The coil of the anchor rope tangled around Jimmy's leg as he disappeared beneath the surface. The small boat flipped over, trapping him.

She didn't have time to think or plan, only to react. Ignoring Paddy's carefully laid out grid, she grabbed Maeve's sword and dove off the cliff into the water, barely missing the rocks hidden by the tide. She kicked her way toward the surface.

She shook her head, clearing her vision. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen, only white-frothed water churning around the overturned dingy. The sword was short enough that it didn't slow her much as she swam to the boat and tried to turn it over. Waves pounded her back.

Sucking in a deep breath, she grabbed the line that ensnared Jimmy and dove under the boat, following it.

Jimmy was a few meters below the surface, struggling with the rope tangled around his ankle and one wrist. His face was tight with panic and he almost hit her when she approached. Then he looked at her and his panic subsided.

She swiped at the ropes, cutting any that she could reach without slicing into Jimmy's flesh. To her relief, the ancient blade was still sharp, parting the thick nylon easily. Then, Jimmy's body went limp, drifting down. He was still hopelessly snarled.

Grace felt her lungs burning. She wanted to scream, but she pushed her own terror aside. She grabbed Jimmy's belt with one hand as she reached into the darkness beyond him to slash at the remaining knots. Finally he floated free and she kicked hard, propelling them to the surface.

Now the current helped her, launching them forward onto the small spit of gravel that edged the cave. She rolled Jimmy out of the water and onto his back. Straddling him, she checked his breathing. Nothing.

She blew two breaths into his mouth and watched his chest rise. His pulse was there, fast, but definitely there. She sealed her lips over his and gave him another breath. This time a stream of water spewed into her face as he retched and gagged.

Wiping her eyes clear, she rolled him onto his side as he continued to vomit and cough. His color was pale but his breathing steady aside from an occasional cough.

Even though he was out of danger, she could not let go of the handful of his shirt she had twisted in her hand. It felt as if her own heart had stopped during those endless moments of willing him back to life.

Then he opened his eyes, blinking hard, the whites filling with tiny splotches of blood.

"Some honeymoon," he'd said, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Grace had started crying then, shaking and weeping and generally making a fool out of herself. He had wrapped his arms around her and everything was all right again. It was the first time in her life she had felt true terror.

The first time she'd actually had something to lose that she couldn't live without.

CHAPTER 30

The Great Divide

"What happened?" Alex asked when Jimmy paused for breath. He had just gotten to the part in the story where Maeve's brother killed the two Kallisteans and ordered Maeve to follow him or die.

Grace slipped off the radiator, her butt growing numb, and crossed over to stand beside Jimmy. He slid his hand over her arm, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"Well, now." After a suitable pause to build suspense, Jimmy continued his carefully edited version of Maeve's story. "Maeve and Lothar fought all that day and into the night." It was an exaggeration, Grace knew, but the kids were rapt, hanging on his every word. "Maeve was smaller than her brother, but she was skilled and she had the special sword the Kallisteans had forged for her. Finally, Maeve forced Lothar's sword from him, had him down, her blade at his throat."

"Did she kill him?" Kat shifted, the blanket falling aside as she slid to the edge of the chair.

"Worse," Jimmy said in a low, groaning voice. What a ham. And a ghost telling a ghost story, how fitting. "She walked away."

"Walked away?"

"She decided that the worst punishment would be to leave him to his own companions. He lay there, bleeding, wounded, and they pounced on him."

"Did they eat him too?" Alex added.

Grace shook her head at the boy's gruesome sense of humor. Cannibals seemed to hold no fear for the kids.

"Maeve took the women and children and returned to the Kallista settlement. There they flourished during the year without sun."

"The end," Grace interjected. The children didn't need to know the rest. Not tonight at least. "Time for bed."

The kids flopped back, then Kat sat up again. "Wait. What was the treasure? How did it save the world when Grace found it again?"

Grace took over the story-telling, otherwise they'd be there all night. "When the sun finally returned months later, Maeve and the others decided to split up. Some of the Kallista wanted to try to sail home. The rest followed Maeve to a new home near where she once ruled. She left the treasure on the island and gave the leader of each group a map so that they could lead future generations to it, if needed."

"A map? How'd a piece of paper last three thousand years?" Kat asked.

"Did they have paper back then? Maybe they carved it on a stone," Alex suggested.

"Maeve wouldn't be carrying around a hunk of stone."

"She carved it onto her knife," Grace answered them. "The knife I took from her tomb. It was fashioned of a special metal alloy unknown in Maeve's time--before the Kallista arrived, that is. Her sword was made of the same material, much lighter, sharper, stronger than Lothar's."

"That's how she was able to defeat him."

"Plus she was smarter and better than him," Kat said. Then she turned to Grace. "Where was the treasure hidden? What was it?"

"We had clues to where the island was from Maeve's manuscript. Once I realized that the markings on the knife were a map, I found the treasure hidden in a sea cavern, half way up a cliff."

"And about got yourself killed climbing up there to get it," Jimmy put in from his place beside Alex.

"Did not. Besides, you were the fool who almost drowned." Grace wrinkled her nose at him.

He humpfed in response. Grace shot him a glare. He'd almost died that day, yet he always joked about it whenever he told the story.

Of course, back then, how were they to know that Jimmy's days were numbered? The scent of blood filled her mind and for a moment her own screams drowned out the other sounds in the room.

She shook herself free of the memories. Jimmy was giving her that same half-grin but his eyes narrowed in concern. The kids watched them both eagerly.

"So what was the treasure?" Alex asked.

"Just a bunch of seeds," Jimmy said laconically, his fingers wrapping around hers and giving her hand a squeeze which she returned.

Alex sat upright in bed. "Seeds? That was the treasure? No way!"

"Aye. Well, there was also the secret of how to make the metal alloy. Maeve could have used that to arm her people, could have conquered the known world, especially with others weakened from the two years without a harvest. But she didn't. Instead she united the people in peace, shared the seeds. Maize and legumes--all designed to grow faster and with less light. The Kallista bred them for their long sea voyages so that they could stop for a short while, grow more food and move on. That's how they were able to circle the world three thousand years before anyone else. Maize and legumes."

"What's maize and legoons?" Alex asked.

"Corn and beans," Grace told him with a smile. "The same ones that they are now growing in famine areas across the world. The places hit hardest when Tambora erupted. So the treasure did save millions even three thousand years after it saved Maeve's people."

"No way, corn and beans. Yuck." Alex made a sour face. "I wouldn't eat them if my life depended on them."

"Guess you're lucky you don't have to worry about that. Now, time for bed."

"No," Kat cried out. Grace turned to her and was surprised to see she was shaking, her legs drawn up to her chest. "That can't be the end."

"Kat, what's wrong?"

"I don't want it to end, I don't want to go back." She drew in a shuddering breath and turned her face to Grace. "Please, don't make me go back there."

Grace rushed around the bed to take the girl into her arms. "You're not going back."

"But, my surgery--"

"Don't worry, sweetheart." Grace pulled the blanket up over Kat's shoulders. "In the morning I'll talk to Helman, tell him to leave you down here with Alex until your surgery."

"Really?" Kat looked up at Grace, her eyes wide with hope. "Promise."

"I promise. I'll make sure you don't have to go anywhere near the ECU again."

"Thanks, Grace," Kat mumbled, her eyes drooping.

Jimmy was glaring at her, but Grace studiously ignored him. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on Kat's forehead. The girl was so exhausted that she was asleep within seconds. Alex's snores filled the room a few minutes later.

"We need to talk," Jimmy said, gesturing to the door.

Grace crept past the two sleeping youngsters and they slipped outside into the quiet corridor. Alex's room was at the far end of the pediatric wing, as far away from the nurses' station as you could get. A small alcove with cleaning supplies and a sink sat across the hallway. Grace left Alex's door ajar and beckoned for Jimmy to join her there, out of sight of any passerby.

"You can't go to Helman," Jimmy began. "He'll lock you up, have you committed and sent off for his miracle surgery before you could say boo!"

"Shh. Hold your voice down. It's all right, I was already planning to see him in the morning."

Jimmy's bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What? Why? Grace, you can't--"

She lay a finger against his lips to quiet him. Then noticed that it was trembling and quickly drew it away. Not before he saw, though. He gathered her into his arms, held her tight, the beat of his heart echoing through her.

God, this was so hard, the hardest thing she'd ever done, harder even than losing him the first time. Her breath shuddered through her body as she fought her tears. Jimmy wasn't helping any, whispering nonsense to her in Gaelic as if she were a child frightened by things that go bump in the night.

Because in Grace's world, things that went bump in the night were all too real.

At last she understood why he had been sent back. There were some things that she could not do alone.

She pushed back, gaining some space. "I need you to stay with them, protect them. I can't be two places at once, Jimmy."

His frown deepened into a glower. "You think I crossed heaven and earth to play nanny? Grace--"

"No. It's the only way. Helman is on the ethics committee. He can guarantee Alex gets what he needs and that Kat is taken care of. He can see that Eve Warden is stopped. I have to go to him."

"Let me. You stay here with the kids. Alex needs you, can't you see that?"

"Why would Helman listen to you?"

"I'll make him listen, damn it!"

She shook her head mournfully. "No. I have something he wants--I can give him the chance to make history. He'll bargain for that."

He pulled her tight against his body once more. "There has to be another way. There must be."

She burrowed into the warm comfort of his chest, allowing herself to drift in a universe that existed solely of the two of them. How long had she dreamed about a moment like this? It was still so difficult to believe that he was actually here, that she wasn't dreaming...

She wished this moment could last forever.

The sound of Alex's coughing drifted across the hall to them. Jimmy kissed the crown of her head, then released her.

"We'll find a way," he whispered, his fingers stroking her cheekbone.

Not trusting her voice, Grace merely nodded.

They returned to Alex's room. Jimmy sat with him, patiently collecting tissues filled with wads of bright green mucus as Grace got the boy some water. A few moments and half a box of Kleenex later, Alex was breathing normally again.

He lay back against his pillow and patted either side of the bed for Grace and Jimmy to join him. He pivoted his head, staring at Jimmy with an earnest expression.

"What's it like, dying?" Alex asked Jimmy.

Grace shook herself, reached to the chair beside her to check on Kat. The only light in the room came from the red Exit sign over the door, but that was enough for her to see that Kat still slept peacefully, hadn't heard the question.

Jimmy cleared his throat, his eyes meeting Grace's above Alex's head. "Aye now, don't you think that's a topic best discussed in the light of day?"

Alex gave a small humpf, unconsciously mimicking Jimmy. "No one ever wants to talk about what really matters. But you're a ghost, aren't you? I mean, if you're Grace's Jimmy, you must be, so who better to ask?"

"Ahhh--" Jimmy stammered.

"Alex, why would you think Jimmy is a ghost?" Grace asked when she found her voice.

"I Googled you--when you were over with Kat earlier," Alex explained as if his assumption was perfectly rational. "His picture was in the news story." He swiveled his head back toward Jimmy once more. "Along with his obituary."

"Busted." Jimmy chuckled. "Damn technology."

"So," Alex repeated with great patience, enunciating each word, "what's it like, dying?"

Jimmy gave Grace a silent shrug.

"It's all right," she said. "Go ahead, tell him." She wrapped her hand around Alex's shoulder, found herself holding her breath, waiting for Jimmy's answer.

Jimmy reached his hand to hers. Their wedding bands glowed red in the dim light, two embers of a dying fire. "Well now," he began, clearing his throat, "what do you think it's like?"

Alex shifted his weight in irritation. "Why do adults always answer a question with a question?"

"It's a trick he learned from a friend of ours, Brother Leo," Grace answered.

"No friend of mine," Jimmy retorted.

"Is it like falling asleep?" Alex continued, drawing their attention back to his question. "Or more like a blink of an eye--one second you're here and the next, you're gone?"

"Neither, both."

Grace and Alex both turned their heads to stare at Jimmy.

"Have you ever thrown a rock into a pond, watch the ripples?"

"So it's like drowning? Like falling?"

Jimmy shook his head. "No. Death is in the ripples. At first they're close together and you think you can hold on to everything. How you looked, what the world around you looked like, music, smells, memories. But then the ripples spread farther and farther apart and you begin to lose bits of yourself. The work that you spent a lifetime on, that's now gone over there, lodged between those bits of atoms making up that window. Your favorite song, that's floating up in the clouds making the rain falling over your grave. The woman you love..."

He trailed off, his fingers squeezing Grace's hand so tightly she almost winced in pain. She heard his breath catch before he began again.

"The woman you love, you hold tight to that, but by now you're dead and gone long enough that the ripples have taken you across the solar system and beyond so that now you're part of a new galaxy just forming and the ripples that once made you whole are as much a part of millions of other lives as they are of you. You can't remember who you are or why you were, but you hold onto that one minuscule piece of yourself. And," he turned his face to Grace's, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, "sometimes that small piece is enough to lead you back home."

Jimmy lay his lips against the silent tears that streamed down Grace's cheek. Alex sat in thought for a moment, then straightened, breaking their embrace.

"New galaxies? I could be part of a star or life on another planet or something?" His voice held the excitement that only a child could bring to such a morbid topic. "That's not too bad--better than some of the stories I've read. Zombies and vampires and stuff." He shot a look at Jimmy. "And ghosts. But for a ghost, you're all right."

"Thank you," Jimmy acknowledged the boy's approval with a nod and a smile. "But you know, I'm pretty special for a ghost. Only a few are strong enough to return at all and only a very, very rare breed can find their body again. Of course most of those are driven crazy by the shock of it all."

Alex's eyes went wide. "Crazy? You mean there are crazy ghosts walking around? Doing what?"

"They go mad with desire to remain here on Earth," Jimmy whispered, two boys sharing Tales from the Crypt. "Jack the Ripper was one."

"Whoa," Alex breathed out. "I don't want to be one of those. How do we know you're not like them?"

"Stop it, you two," Grace interrupted. "Jimmy, tell him the truth."

"I am," Jimmy protested. "It's all true. And I'm not like Jack the Ripper," he assured Alex.

"How come a bad guy like him isn't in hell?"

"It's all one and the same universe."

Alex almost bounced with indignation. "No way. That's not right. That's not fair!"

Jimmy's chuckle rang through the room and Grace was reminded of her own similar protestations earlier this evening. She still didn't understand, some part of her wanted there to be a righteous ending for people like Jack the Ripper and Lukas Redding. Or people who misuse their power over innocents, like Eve Warden. A painful, righteous ending.

"I'm told that there's no provision in creation to guarantee fair," Jimmy replied, his brogue thickening as if he were mimicking someone else. "But there is free will. And those who use their freedom to make wrong choices--"

"Like Jack the Ripper," Alex supplied.

"Like Jack the Ripper. And others," Jimmy added, his eyes staring into Grace's. "Ones who choose to harm, to squander their life, their hope." Grace wrinkled her nose at him, assuring Jimmy that his not so veiled reference to her thoughts of suicide hadn't gone unnoticed. "Those people don't just slide into the pond of the hereafter, gently separating, dissipating into eternity."

"What happens?" Alex asked, his hands scrunching the blanket into a tiny ball. "They get burned up, right? Wham, bam, shazamm! And they're gone, they can't ever come back again after. Right?"

Jimmy nodded, considering the boy's words. "Aye. Vaporized, atomized, vanquished, vanished--"

"Banished, smashed, crashed, squashed--" Alex joined in the litany of destruction. "Eroded, corroded, exploded, ka-pam!" He bounced his fist off the bed with the last, a look of glee on his face as if he alone were responsible for vanquishing all evil from the universe.

"Ka-pam!" Jimmy echoed.

Grace sat in silence, shaking her head at her two boys. Only men could consider this any kind of rational conversation to be carrying on at three in the morning. Of course, who was she to judge rational?

"So how did you make it back?" Alex persisted in his questioning. "Will I be able to do it?"

"I dunno. I came back under special circumstances. With the help of an old friend and Grace and the spring solstice, I have just one day left on this earth."

His words echoed through Grace's heart as if with each beat, she was losing him for good.

Alex's breath whistled out in a wheeze. She ran her fingers through his hair, re-adjusted the oxygen that had slipped away in his excitement. There wasn't much time left for either him or Jimmy. Hours for the one, days, maybe weeks at most for the other. And still they sat there, grinning and conniving, trying their best to outwit death.

As if it were a game. Her mouth tightened and she swallowed hard, then reached for Jimmy's hand once more.

"After all that trouble, that's all?" Alex sounded disappointed. "Only one day?"

"One day. Sunset to sunset. Then I'm gone--back to the void."

Grace shivered. "That's enough. No more talk of death or voids."

CHAPTER 31

Deal with the Devil

Vincent woke with the salty taste of leather in his mouth. He blinked, felt the grit of sandpaper beneath his eyelids, and blinked again. He was staring at a blood-red leather pillow. He opened his eyes fully, rolling over to better survey his circumstances.

And toppled to the plush carpeted floor. At which point he realized he was naked and that he wasn't alone.

Sounds of a woman singing off key could be heard over the rush of a shower. He rubbed his eyes, shrugged into a wrinkled, sweat-stained scrub top that he supposed was his, and scooped up the matching pants.

Eve. Although he'd never heard her sing before, it was easy to recognize the faint southern accent. And this was Eve's office. He leaned on the desk, searching below it for shoes, socks, any stray articles of clothing.

His head swam as he straightened once more. The room burst into a kaleidoscope of fragments. His stomach lurched, then settled down once his vision cleared. He licked his lips. Damn, he was thirsty. Parched.

His stomach rumbled. Hungry too. How could he be nauseated and starving at the same time?

He remembered dinner last night--surely he hadn't stayed after? He couldn't have, he was on call.

Nevertheless, here he was.

His body ached, in a pleasant way. Had he and Eve...No, not while he was on call--could he have? He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remember. Tantalizing fragments teased his memory: a woman's laugh; breasts, thighs, hands stroking him; a woman on her knees, begging.

He stepped into his shoes, found further evidence of the night's debauchery in the scattered remnants of Eve's desktop paraphernalia. God, had he taken her on the desk? A whisper image of a woman on her knees, calling his name--the floor as well? And had she really done that for him, to him?

His head pounded as the random pictures flashed through his brain, a private porn video produced just for him.

Except he couldn't remember a damn thing. The feelings that came with the images weren't pleasurable. Rather shame, as if he'd betrayed someone.

He moved to the open bathroom door, heard the water stop. He stole a glance inside, trying not to feel embarrassed as he watched Eve step through the glass shower door, her back to him. Two mutually consenting adults, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Then he saw the bruises on her porcelain skin. Fresh bruises. Bite marks, hand prints, scratch marks.

Vincent backed away in horror. Had he done that to her? Why? How?

His gaze darted around the room, returned to his rumpled and disheveled appearance. What the hell had happened here last night?

Without a word to Eve, he turned and fled.

After a quick shower and changing into clean clothes, Vincent still had no answers but felt closer to normal. His head pounded every time he moved too fast and despite brushing his teeth twice, he couldn't escape the lingering taste of stale, acrid dried venison. A childhood treat he'd learned to despise with time.

Coffee. He needed coffee. He stumbled down the steps, the elevator was far too noisy and his stomach far too queasy, and approached the cafeteria. Then saw a familiar figure in a pair of rumpled scrubs.

Grace Moran. Heading toward the ethics committee meeting. Headache or not, he rushed forward to grab her by the arm. "What are you doing here?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, then turned and squared her shoulders as if willing him into oblivion.

"We need to talk," Vincent told her as he pulled her into a side corridor.

She allowed him to steer her, but from the steel bands of muscle tensing beneath his fingers he knew he couldn't keep her there if she didn't want to stay.

"What happened to your promise? You said you would wait for me in Alex's room."

She remained silent, merely staring at him with those disconcertingly blue eyes. Her expression made him wince, feel ashamed again--as if somehow she knew more about what he'd done last night than he did, as if he'd somehow betrayed her.

He tore his gaze away, spun on his heel to pace the confined space, from the janitor's closet to the main corridor and back, hands fisted in his pockets, head down until he came toe to toe with her once more. "I don't understand you. Why torture yourself for four years by clinging to the house your husband was killed in? You're a doctor, you of all people know that death happens and life goes on."

She jerked back, head raised high at his words. It wasn't the question he'd meant to ask, but it was the question he needed answered. Her gaze blazed into his, then softened a bit as if she realized that he wasn't condemning her actions but rather was desperate to understand, to learn.

"Life does go on," she said, her voice ringing clear through the small area. "People return to their routines, rejoin the world. Leave their grief behind. That's what's supposed to be healthy, right?"

"Of course."

"Not for me. I'd rather live alone with my memories of Jimmy--the good and the bad--than risk losing him forever. Risk waking up one day and not being able to remember his voice, the color his eyes change to when we make love, the touch of his hand--"

"So you've what? Made yourself a living shrine to a man dead and buried for years? What are you, Grace? A walking tombstone?" His words emerged sharper than he'd intended but he didn't care. He was sick and tired of hearing what a saint Jimmy Moran had been, how no one alive could measure up to the man.

"At least I fight for what I hold dear." Her glare almost forced him back, but he took a deep breath and held his ground. "Anyway, better that than to go back." Her voice dropped and her gaze tore away from his, darting around like a trapped animal seeking an escape route. "Go back out there. To the so-called real world."

Suddenly she seemed diminished, dwarfed by the fear that had consumed and ruled her these past four years. She sank back against the wall, hugged her arms to her chest like a little girl.

"Maybe I can't do this," she whispered, her gaze fixed on a spot between her feet. "Just forget that you found me, let me go."

He reached a hand out and gently stroked her hair away from her face. Her silent weeping resonated through his fingers.

"You're not afraid of losing Jimmy. You're afraid of living." He pulled her close for a long moment, his hand caressing her hair. "But that's life, Grace. The pain and the risk and the not knowing and the glorious hope that it will all work out in the end. You won't find any answers trapped behind the walls you've built."

She was silent. He knew it sounded weak. Hallmark sentiments versus the love of a lifetime. How could anyone compete with the legend she'd built Jimmy Moran into?

By her reasoning, no one would leave their nice warm beds in the morning and venture out into the cold, cruel world.

"What about Alex?" he tried another tact. Guilt. It always worked for his mother when she wanted to motivate Vincent. "He needs you to stay with him. You can't abandon him now."

She pushed back from his arms and snapped her head up to meet his eyes. "Why not? You did. He thought you cared enough about him to respect his choice."

"I do care. But he's just a kid--"

"He knows what he wants."

"No, he doesn't. Besides, there's still hope."

"Now who's living in the fantasy world?"

He moved away from her, regained his balance. A bottomless chasm separated them. She tried to push past him, heading toward the conference room, but he blocked her path. "Helman is on the committee. If he sees you, he'll have you committed, force you to have the surgery."

"Maybe he won't recognize me."

"The man's been inside your brain, I think he'll recognize you."

Grace looked up at Vincent. "Could you--I know it's a lot to ask--"

He shook his head and would not meet her eyes. "Please, don't ask me to. I can't go in there and argue for them to let Alex die. Not while there's the slightest hope--I just can't do it."

"Vincent, it's what he wants, you know it is. He's been through so much pain. You would let him keep suffering?"

"Grace, we've had this argument before. You know how I feel. Alex is too young to make this decision himself. There are new drugs and treatments every day. I like the kid, I really do, but I can't let him throw his life away like this. Not when there's a chance I can save him."

"So your god complex overrules Alex's right to decide his own fate?"

"That's not fair and you know it."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm going to the Ethics Committee and you can't stop me."

"You won't let Helman operate on you for your own sake, but you'll give yourself up to him for a kid you didn't know until two days ago?" His voice took on an edge.

He trapped her against the wall, caged between his arms. Why couldn't she do this for him? See what she meant to him--a real man, not some imaginary ghost. "Would you do it for me? Have the surgery? Buy us some time to get to know each other better?"

Her brow creased into a frown and she looked away, giving him his answer. He sucked in his breath, gave it one last shot.

"I think I love you, Grace. God help me, I have no earthly idea how it happened or why, but I do." As soon as he said the words, heard them aloud, he realized how foolish they were.

"You don't love me. You love the idea of someone you can save." She raised her head, her eyes wide with defiance. "I don't need saving, Vincent. I know what I have to do. I don't need your help or your approval."

She pushed his arm aside and stalked away. He jogged after her. "Let me go first, explain to Helman how I found you--"

"Are you more worried about me or your job?"

"That's not fair. I could have told him who you were yesterday."

"If you go in there, will you tell Helman I won't have the surgery unless he makes sure Alex gets his DNR?"

"I can't do that, talk to him that way. He's the Chief of Neurosurgery, for chrissake."

She tossed her head. "You may not have the guts to make a deal with the devil, but I do. Probably because I've got nothing left to lose but my soul."

She halted in front of the door to the conference room, her palm spread flat against it as if testing for flames. Then she raised her head and turned to him. Her eyes were clear, resolute and he knew he had lost.

"Goodbye, Vincent." She turned the knob and plunged into the inferno that waited beyond.

He shook his head and started after her, wanted to pull her back, to save her from the fire. But then he stopped, chewing his lip as he regarded the solid panel of wood between him and her. She didn't want saving, not really.

And that was really the heart of the matter, wasn't it?

He now knew what he had to do. Time to leave fantasy-land and return to the real world, the one where he was facing a malpractice suit, had bills to pay, and a living to earn.

He turned and walked away, tugging his lab coat by the lapels, the mantle of responsibility settling on his shoulders. This is what doctors did. They made decisions, weighed the evidence, knew what was best for their patients and acted upon that knowledge.

When he reached the information desk in the front lobby, he used the house phone to call Eve Warden. He licked his parched lips, hoping that she would speak with him, help him. She was his last hope to salvage the career Grace was about to send up in flames.

Leaving Jimmy snoring in the company of the children, sneaking out before any of them woke, had been one of the hardest things Grace had ever done. She didn't think she'd have the strength to go through with this. Just the thought of losing precious time with him made her desperate to run back upstairs to him.

But Vincent's words had strengthened her resolve. Someone had to be an advocate for the children, and it obviously wasn't the Chief Resident.

Grace pushed through the door to the conference room. Helman, seated in the chair at the head of the table looked up at her, eyes blazing at the interruption. A stack of charts sat before him and his mouth was open as if he'd been ready to issue a proclamation.

"What is it?" he snapped. The other committee members were a blur in Grace's peripheral vision. "This is a confidential meeting."

"And I have something to discuss with you in confidence, Dr. Helman." She swallowed hard and took the two steps necessary to reach his side.

"Who the hell are you? Are you on the agenda? Why wasn't I notified of this?" His gaze swept the table, raking over the huddled committee members.

"My name is Grace Moran," she said, sweeping her hair back to reveal the surgical staples in her scalp. "I would like to discuss an experimental surgical procedure with you. As well as several other matters." She turned to the others who were shuffling their papers nervously. "Alone, please."

The rest of the committee bolted before Helman had a chance to dismiss them. His cheeks blossomed with fury, but to his credit he said nothing, merely shifting in his seat to reach for the water pitcher and pour himself a glass.

"Do you realize the trouble you've caused me?" he asked after taking a sip.

"You mean like sending a stranger to rummage through my house? Like prying into my personal affairs? Dr. Emberek was most thorough in his efforts to find me," she said, taking the seat beside him and reaching for her own glass of water. She needed it, fear had leached her mouth dry. "Too bad he hasn't been as interested in protecting the welfare of his patients."

Helman bristled at that. "That's quite an inflammatory charge, young lady. Would you care to explain it?"

"First, I need your word that you'll hear me out. If you agree to my terms, I'll have your surgery, agree to any treatment course you want, no questions."

His chuckle rattled off the paneled walls. "You'll have the surgery one way or the other--with your psych history, I can have you involuntarily committed."

"I sincerely doubt it, Doctor. I know the law as well as you--maybe even better. Up until four years ago I was a physician in the ER here at Angels of Mercy."

That caught his attention. "All right," he conceded. "What's so important that you'll risk your life by making this ridiculous bargain?"

"First, your word. I want you to present Alex Weiss' case to the ethics committee and get him the DNR he wants. And I want Katherine Jellicle to remain on Peds until her surgery. You have to promise that she'll never have to go back to the ECU or be under the care of Eve Warden again."

His eyes squinted into a suspicious stare. "Eve? What's she got to do with this?"

"Everything." Grace inhaled, forced her voice to remain steady, and told him about Warden's abuse of Lucidine and what was going on up in the ECU. When she was finished, he shook his head.

"Basically it boils down to the girl's word against that of a renown and respected physician," he said. "You can't blame Eve if her night staff has gotten slack, allowed a few loose cannons to roam--"

"Loose cannons! They attacked me and Kat."

"Ah, but you said yourself, you're the one who used the pool stick against them. You're lucky they don't press charges." He frowned. "I'll have to ask Eve about that. You might have placed the hospital in a very difficult position. One patient assaulting another--"

"You mean five against one, don't you?" Grace pushed her chair away. This had been a huge mistake, coming here.

"Sit down, young lady." When she didn't comply immediately, he pounded his fist on the table. The stack of glasses jumped, the top one falling over, shattering on the polished oak tabletop.

As the echo of crashing glass faded, Grace remained standing, leaning against the table, palms flat, forcing all the weight of her anger and frustration into her glare.

"Last chance, Dr. Helman. Will you give Alex his DNR and guarantee Kat's safety, or do I go to the press? Spread it far and wide how you not only lost a desperately ill patient, but then allowed that same patient to be assaulted in your hospital?"

Helman rose to his feet, towering over her, his face ruddy as he tried to stare her down. Grace planted her feet, refusing to bow.

He blew his breath out, his lips twisting together as if he were swallowing something unpleasant. "You'll have the surgery?"

"Yes. If you agree to my terms."

"That's all, just the DNR and moving Jellicle to Peds?"

"And investigate what's going on up in the ECU."

He gave a small nod of his head. "You realize, of course, that to prepare for the surgery, you'll need to be admitted to the ECU yourself, undergo the brain mapping procedure? With Lucidine?"

It took every ounce of her strength not to let her voice quaver. Sweat pooled at the base of her spine, but despite it she was shivering. "Yes."

The corners of his mouth turned up in a feral smile. "All right then. Done."

He extended his hand across the table. Grace reached out with her own and took it. His grip was crushing, but her own fingers were strong enough from climbing to squeeze back with a force that obviously he hadn't expected. To her surprise, the wasps were silent--there was no crawling under her skin, no dampening of her vision.

"Let's go," he said as he released her.

"Now?" No, she needed to get back to Jimmy before his time was up. But what was she to say? Excuse me while I return to my dead husband's ghost?

"Of course now. You don't think I'm going to give you the chance to run away again, do you?" He marched around the table and took her by the arm. "Come on, we've work to do."

He opened the door and propelled her out into the hallway. As they crossed the lobby to the elevators, a gleeful voice sounded behind them.

"Jonas, thank heavens you've found her!"

Grace pivoted. Eve Warden was emerging from the stairwell, her face beaming as she approached Grace. She took Grace by both arms, ignoring Grace's attempt to pull away. For one awful moment Grace thought Warden might try to kiss her on her cheeks, European style. But instead the physician merely held her at arms length, inspecting her as if she were damaged property.

"Thank goodness you're all right, Grace. I've got everything ready for your treatment." Eve turned to Helman, her smile widening. "I should have known you'd find her, bring her to me, Jonas. Now we can make sure that everything goes smoothly for your surgery." She released one of Grace's arms to stroke her hand against Helman's. "I'm so proud to be part of this. You're going to make history, Jonas."

The words came to Grace in a blur as she fought to remain standing. Wasps buzzed, encircling her heart, squeezing tighter and tighter as they stung. Her lips and hands were numb, as if parts of her body were already dying beneath Eve's touch.

CHAPTER 32

Sweet Dreams

Alex slept, his arms wrapped around Jimmy's chest. It was the first time since he'd left his mother's womb that he'd had the chance to sleep with the heartbeat of another person echoing his, rocking him into his dreams.

In his dreams, the sky was a brilliant blue, its colors shimmering in warm sunshine. The breeze was sweet with the scent of honeysuckle and new spring grass rustled beneath his bare feet. Alex sighed. This was his all time favorite dream.

Made better now with the addition of a family. Warm arms surrounded him, cradled him when he dropped to the ground. A woman's laugh--Grace's--circled around him, snuggling him in its embrace. She was answered by Kat's mischievous chuckle and he closed his eyes, content to drift in the joyous harmony.

Grace's voice soothed him as his breath caught and a quick spiral of pain shot through his chest. Kat held one hand and Grace the other. Sunshine warmed his face, danced in bright plumes of crimson through his closed eyelids.

Alex allowed himself to fall into the blissful realm that beckoned.

Lukas was reliving his favorite dream. The day he met Grace, the day they fell in love. He remembered his embarrassment, a man his age--twenty-eight he'd been back then, six years ago--shouldn't lose control like that, punch a wall just because his mother had left him again, extending her stay in Washington.

After all, he had a job to do, so did she. Together, she had promised, they were going to change the world. Just the two of them. Because Lukas was special, so very special.

He'd taken the bus to Angels of Mercy. Actually two buses and a walk of almost a mile. But he didn't drive and couldn't stand to ask George, the chauffeur and handyman who was responsible for Lukas when his mother was gone. Sure, George pretended that he was really watching out for the estate, that he and Lukas were buddies--but Lukas knew better. He'd seen the gleam in George's eyes whenever his mother handed him an extra-bulky envelope before she'd leave for a lengthy trip.

It was the same look his father's whores had when Earl had plied them with free drugs and cash. That same measuring look that they'd cast over Lukas as if weighing if allowing him to watch was worth the payoff, deciding if they were selling their special services too cheap.

George had been particularly condescending, laughing when Lukas had become immersed in his mother's latest assignment--a feasibility study of a re-introduction of a bill designed to circumvent Roe v. Wade. Lukas had wandered out of his room in search of food, unaware that he'd passed almost two days in cyberspace without bathing. Which in itself was not unusual, but Lukas had also forgotten that he wore the Toy Story pj's his mother had bought him for Christmas. Or that he'd fallen asleep at the keyboard, clips of naked women lying spread eagled on kitchen tables playing in the background, and had a wet dream.

Lukas had not said a word when George had looked at him and his wet Buzz Lightyear pajama bottoms and burst out in laughter. Instead he'd pulled himself up straight, shoulders back like his mother had taught him, and returned to his room.

He'd emerged, clean and suitably attired a half hour later, his fury simmering, ready to confront George. But George was gone, busy on the grounds somewhere and Lukas was left alone with his anger. Soon, as was all too often the case, he found himself in his father's bedroom, a red rage blurring his vision as he searched for something, someone, anything to hit.

But all that had faded into distant memory the moment he saw Grace. Ah, Grace. Those deep, blue eyes of hers had promised him so much, the healing touch of her hands, so gentle yet so strong.

The way she'd listened with interest, never challenging his story that he was a brown belt in Karate. The way she'd looked at him--really, truly at him--like no one else had ever, ever done.

Love at first sight.

Of course, Lukas was too shy to approach her directly. And she was far too reserved to ever tell him how she felt. Besides, she was a doctor, had her code of honor, she couldn't overtly get involved with a patient.

But she found many little ways to show her affection for him, to prove her love. Lukas began to volunteer at Angels of Mercy, a hardship since he didn't drive and refused to allow George or anyone from his past to cloud the perfect future he was building.

Every time he was there, Grace would do something to communicate with him. She'd taken to wearing a special pin, an enameled blue ribbon that matched her eyes, on her lab coat and he knew it was to show him how much she cared. Another time she thanked him for wheeling a patient to X-ray for her.

Once she'd even been so bold as to smile at him as they rode the elevator together. There were other people, so he couldn't return her affection, but he still remembered the warm, tingling feeling it had ignited inside him. He'd skipped the rest of his shift, hiding in the bathroom on the surgical floor and masturbating, unable to wait until he returned home to the privacy of his room and fantasies.

He began to follow her, she lived in a bad neighborhood, not far from the hospital, so he'd watch over her, frighten off any men who tried to bother her. There was one, a big guy, old--much too old--who kept coming back despite Lukas' best efforts. Moran.

The name made him grimace in his sleep. Then he smiled. He'd shown Moran who was boss. Moran had somehow convinced Grace to leave Lukas. It had been months before he'd found her again, living at Moran's house. He knew there was nothing going on, Grace would never betray him and besides, Moran was too old for her. It was Lukas she loved, Lukas she wanted.

He finally built up the courage to approach her, invite her home with him. But Moran was too fast, he took Grace with him out of the country, far away from Lukas.

For six weeks Lukas had watched and waited for them to return, collecting gossip from the ER until he finally had news that Grace was coming back. The people in the ER said she'd married Moran, but he knew that was a lie. A vicious lie Moran spread to keep her under his control. Grace would never betray Lukas or their love.

He remembered waiting, it was dark and raining. Waiting for Grace to come back to him…that's when his dream collapsed into nightmare.

Moran and Grace kissing passionately on the stoop under the bright spotlight, Grace leaving, and Lukas knowing it was his one chance to save her from Moran. Then blood, blood everywhere, raining on him, spurting up at him, splattering his mouth, his hands, his face until everything he saw was clouded in red and the world tasted of copper, the sound of a man's cries swirling around him in a crimson tsunami.

Then Grace was there. He turned to her, to show her what he'd done for her, how he'd protected her.

She had screamed, ran to save Moran. He tried to swallow his rage, to understand how Moran had confused and brainwashed her. But she'd begged for Moran's life, offered herself in his stead.

Then he saw the gold wedding bands on her finger. The evil emerald winking at him in the lamplight, the newer bright gold band woven through with foreign runes and spells.

He knew then that it was too late; his Grace had crossed over to the other side. Moran had won.

The roar of a man's spirit erupting, being torn from his body, had filled all his senses. Lukas had no idea how much time passed before he looked down at Grace's limp, bloodied, ravaged body and realized that he had lost everything.

Blood steamed through Jimmy's veins, skimming through the dark alleys of his body to return to his heart, filling his atria and ventricles with rich molecules laden with iron, heme, and oxygen--the essence of life. It was a miracle. A heart beat where it shouldn't, when it shouldn't, but with unfaltering rhythm as if it might continue to beat forever.

Despite his steady heartbeat promising a long life to come, Jimmy was more exhausted than he'd ever been in life.

Sleep did nothing to revitalize him, instead it sapped him further, stealing his breath, his strength. Jimmy groaned in his sleep, unable to escape the weight crushing his chest, caught in a desperate search for sustenance. He was starving, body and soul, time racing away from him.

His dreams were dark and desperate. A dank London alley where the rancid smell of rotting fish barely made a dent in the stench of unwashed humanity. A dark cloaked figure searching, needing, wanting...then finding what he looked for in the figure of a half-dressed woman, wheedling to him from a butcher's doorway. Jimmy tried to run, to turn away but he was caught in the bloodlust.

Rich, steaming crimson bathed his senses, filling his nostrils with the welcome smell of copper and terror, quenching his all consuming thirst. Her warm, glistening entrails slipped through his fingers while she moaned, exhaled her last breath. He took his time, reveling in the moment, in the power, the sensations crashing over him, squelching the hunger.

The woman called out his name, opened her eyes, and it was Grace writhing beneath his fingers, Grace's blood drying in a sticky dark sheen on his face and hands, Grace's cries for mercy which had fed his soul.

He rose to his feet, towering over her, inhaling her essence and despising the mere mortals who huddled in their dark caverns, unknowing and unseeing, and he howled at the moon. This, this was life. This was why he returned. This primal hunger, this passion, this power.

The corpse in the gutter at his feet began to cool. His bloodlust grew, consuming him, vanquishing the man he once was. Now he was a creature of the night, beyond the laws of man or God.

CHAPTER 33

Half-past Dead

Jimmy forced himself awake, fought to banish the nightmare. He was pinned to the bed by a heavy weight, crushing him, stealing his breath. He panicked, his eyes flew open, and he saw the weight was Alex. How the boy's frail body could have seemed a crushing force he had no idea, but it had brought him back to reality, so that was all that counted.

He blinked, surprised that somewhere beyond the grey clouds scudding through the sky visible through the window, the sun must be up. He wanted to raise his head, look at the clock, but it took all his energy merely to keep his eyes open. And to breathe. As if his time on Earth had dwindled to the point where it was now measured in every beat of his heart.

The swoosh of the machine that kept Alex's lungs inflated mixed with the boy's raspy breaths. Jimmy inhaled and the stench of death and decay nearly choked him.

Then, before he could stop himself, he drew another breath in, this one shuddering through him, and tasted the fresh energy of youth and innocence, of a life about to be cut short, of rich blood waiting to be shed.

Jesus Mary Patrick, no! He pushed himself upright, trembling hands gently rolling Alex off his chest, freeing himself from the boy's embrace.

His palms left sweat marks on Alex's pajama tops. Then he realized his entire body had broken out in a cold sweat, drenching the sheets, turning them into clammy swaths that clung to him, holding him fast.

Jimmy reached for Grace, her touch would banish these insane feelings that threatened to devour him. She was all he needed.

Grace was gone.

That jolted him from bed. He staggered across the floor, bracing himself against the wall, as far from the sleeping children as he could get. His stomach lurched in anticipation as his gaze fell on Kat, curled up on the chair, the faint, silver light escaping the clouds bathing her in a glow of innocence.

He licked his lips, tasting blood once more, knowing the thrill of encircling her throat with his hands, squeezing the life out of her, capturing her last breath as his own.

"No!" The single syllable escaped his lips in a strangled whisper. He stumbled through the door, pulling it tight behind him, a flimsy barrier between him and madness.

His gaze darted down the hall. Where was Grace? His entire body shook with need, his legs threatened to dump him onto the floor he felt so weak.

A familiar figure beckoned to him from the janitor's closet across the hall. Jimmy slitted his eyes at the silver-haired man, now outfitted in a green custodian's jumpsuit. Leo. The devil himself.

As he staggered across the hall, he wondered how the blood of an immortal and conniving Jesuit would taste.

"Now you know why so few make it as far as you have," Leo greeted him with a knowing half-smile. "It must be difficult being here, surrounded by all this easy prey."

"You could have warned me," Jimmy said through gritted teeth. So this was how the others before him had lasted more than their allotted time--they had bought their way with the blood of innocents. Not merely blood, but devouring their energy, stealing away all that remained once they died.

"You wouldn't have believed me if I had. Besides," Leo's smile widened, "stubborn Irishman that you are, would you have really changed your mind? Turned your back on Grace when she needs you most?"

Jimmy choked back his desire to see how well his fingers fit around the monk's scrawny neck. "You know I wouldn't. But at least I would have been prepared."

Leo merely shrugged. "Too late now. Just like it's almost too late for Grace. She made the wrong choice. Sealed her fate." He scowled as if Jimmy were to blame. "And maybe, mine as well."

"What? Where is she?" Jimmy straightened, fought to clear his mind, focus on what was important, on why he had returned. How could he have allowed himself to fall asleep, to lose her again? He was meant to watch over her, protect her.

"On her way to the Tower. She broke her promise to Vincent, made a pact with Helman."

Jimmy spun on his heel, ready to bolt after Grace. "If he hurts one hair on her head, I'll throttle the man."

Leo pushed a mop and bucket against the doorway, blocking Jimmy's escape. "Now, now, Jimmy. Haven't you learned anything? You shed blood, anyone's blood, while you're here and you'll never see Grace again. You'll never be again--except as trillions of subatomic particles blasted into the void."

"Kabaam," Jimmy breathed, remembering Alex's colorful description of hell and those banished there.

"Kabaam indeed," Leo said in a dry tone. "The end of existence as you know it. The end of any hope you or Grace have of being together ever again."

He stared at the Jesuit. Hell, this was no priest, no man of God. Vampire was more like it. "But you do it. And you're still here."

Leo shook his head. "I've never killed. I merely take what is there to take already."

Now Jimmy understood. "All those years, giving comfort to the dying. Those missions to war-torn countries, to relieve suffering you said. But that's not really why you do it. You surround yourself with the dying--absorbing their energy, hoarding it, using it to keep yourself alive."

"I do what I must. I told you, I have a destiny to fulfill. One that Grace is currently jeopardizing. Only you can stop her, save her."

Jimmy nodded soberly, tilting the mop out of his way as he faced off with the so-called priest. "Save her from what? For what?"

"If you don't go now, you'll never know. Never see her again."

Grace sagged against the corner of the elevator, eyes tightly shut in an attempt to make the world stop spinning around her, ready to hurl her out into darkness. Eve's voice droned on beside her, undercutting the deafening buzz of the wasps that now spiraled through her brain, her chest, into every private crevice of her mind and body.

"I thought you were a doctor," Eve said, her fingers squeezing Grace's arm with bruising force. "How can you turn your back on all the people you could help? Even if Jonas' technique doesn't save you, he could use it to save hundreds once he perfects it. You know as well as anyone that medical breakthroughs take trial and error."

A breath of fresh air and swoosh of sound told Grace that the elevator doors had opened. Her stomach still lurched upwards. Before she had a chance to regain her equilibrium, Eve tightened her grip on Grace's arm, hauling her out of the metal box.

Grace stumbled and opened her eyes. They were at the Annex doors to the Skyway. The helipad door across the way shook as a gust of wind slammed against the building.

Pounding footsteps echoed from the stairwell beside them. The door flew open, banging against the wall with a shotgun crack.

Jimmy raced out. He stopped when he saw Grace, hands up before him as if bracing himself for a blow.

He looked so pale, as if he'd lost weight overnight. Wraithlike.

Grace shuddered at the words and wrenched her arm free of Eve, falling into his embrace. The wasps vanished, replaced by the warm constancy of his heartbeat thudding against her.

"Christ almight." His breath stirred her hair as he lowered his head to hers. "I thought I'd never see you again. Thought I'd lost you for good."

She said nothing, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back as she strained to pull him closer still. He was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as if it took all his energy to remain here with her and for the first time she realized what his return had cost him. They clung to each other, shrouded in their separate mortalities until Eve's mincing drawl sliced between them.

"Excuse me, but y'all need to say goodbye now. Grace is a very sick woman and she needs to begin her treatment. Now," she added in a commanding voice when Grace didn't relinquish her grip on Jimmy.

Grace inhaled his scent, drank him in as if he had what she needed to sustain her through eternity. His lips caressed her head, christening the shaved area where Helman had tunneled into her brain, then his fingers framed her face, raising it to meet his. Their kiss was deep, like falling into a star-filled night, familiar and comforting and passionate and magical.

Finally they parted.

"About time," Eve said, reaching a hand to take Grace's arm. No buzz of fear, not now with Jimmy holding her. Grace effortlessly shook free of the woman's grasp.

"I'll meet you on the Skyway," she told Eve, marveling at how steady and firm her voice was.

"I don't believe that's a good idea."

"You can watch me through the windows. Make sure I don't run away."

Eve gave Jimmy a long, hungry look, then shrugged her agreement. "All right, but you could just bring him along. I'd make sure he feels right at home."

Jimmy dismissed the other woman with a chuckle that rekindled Grace's resolve. "In your dreams."

She nodded to the glass door, relegating Eve to the role of spectator. "I'd like a moment with my husband."

Eve arched her eyebrow. "Didn't realize you had remarried."

Grace and Jimmy were silent, staring into each other's eyes, the other woman already forgotten. The clatter of Eve's heels echoed against the linoleum then faded away.

"I've been thinking," Grace started, leaning her body against Jimmy's, her head tilted up to meet his eyes. "All that mumbo jumbo talk about voids and dissolution, it really boils down to simple laws of physics doesn't it?"

Jimmy waited a moment before answering, busy nuzzling her hair. "If you say so. You're the scientist, the one who needs answers."

"Matter cannot be created nor destroyed, merely changed in form."

He traced a finger up the side of her body, caressing her breast. "Aye, but this is a nice bit of matter, don't you think? I'm rather partial to your form just the way it is."

"Stop it, I'm serious. If we can change from one form to another, if we can learn to do it once--why can't we do it at will?" His thumb stroked her nipple, rubbing the fabric of the scrub top over it and she sucked her breath in. How could she let him go without some hope that she might someday have him again?

He frowned, the cutest little worry line digging its way into his brow. "Something to think about, love. Anything is possible. If anyone could do it, you could."

She pressed her hips against his, turned her head to kiss the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. "I'm not talking about me, fool. I'm talking about you."

"Ach now, I'm not too sure on that. Not too sure how I got here in the first place exactly. And if I try to stay--well, let's just say the price to pay is mighty high."

She grabbed his hands, held them between them, a bridge between their hearts. "But you did get here, Jimmy. If you could do it once, you could do it again."

Silence. Her heart stuttered with disappointment. Maybe she would never see him again. No, she couldn't accept that. Not after everything they'd been through. "At least promise me you'll try?"

"For you, love. Anything." He sealed their bargain with another deep kiss that resonated through her, almost crumpling her resolve. How could she possibly leave him, face a world without him?

A sharp rapping on the Skyway door brought her to her senses. Jimmy took her hand and walked her through the doors.

She remembered their wedding day, Brother Leo beaming down on them, presenting them to a church filled with Jimmy's friends and family who had embraced this stranger from a strange land and welcomed her into their home. She'd felt so light that she was certain that her feet had never touched the ground as Jimmy led her down the aisle, proudly presenting his wife to all.

The best day of her life. No matter what had happened after, she would never forget the way he made her feel that day or regret her love for him.

She squeezed his hand, saw the gleam of tears in his eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing. Reaching her left hand up, she stroked her fingers along his cheekbone. He turned his face to kiss her palm, leaving a warm reminder of what once was.

"Watch over the kids. Keep them safe."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and nodded. Her fingers lingered against his lips for a moment before she turned to follow Eve across the Skyway.

Every step brought a thunderclap of agony. Grace felt her legs shake uncontrollably as her body was wracked with nausea. She fought to keep her back straight, refusing to allow Jimmy to see her pain.

"No matter what he did," Eve was saying as she held the door to the Tower open for Grace, "Lukas Redding truly loved you. He still does. He's waiting for you."

A savage howl of agony crashed down on Grace as the door slammed shut behind her. She took one more step and fell to the ground, drowning in a black tide of pain.

CHAPTER 34

Rebel Cry

When he heard Eve Warden's words, realized what truly awaited Grace in the Tower, Jimmy catapulted himself across the divide that separated him from Grace.

And was immediately slapped back. The universe dissolved into red-hot daggers of pain.

He was hurled back along the length of the Skyway, propelled with such force that he crashed through the Annex doors and landed in a heap on the floor in front of the elevators. He rolled to his feet, shaking the sense back into his sight, ignoring the booming in his ears, and rushed through the helipad door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Grace, to somehow bring her back.

Instead, all that greeted him for his efforts was a dank, swirling mist and leaden clouds shaped like anvils pressing down so low from the heavens they felt ready to crush a puny human such as himself. He cried out, demanding attention, recourse, vengeance. Thunder swallowed his shouts of desperation and rage.

Finally, his energy spent, he sank to the grit-covered roof, his body drenched, shivering with fatigue and anger. Rain pelted him from every direction and the wind had no mercy. He gulped in deep draughts of frigid, bracing air. What was the good of coming all this way only to lose her?

Warm tears of frustration thawed the frozen skin of his face as he pounded a fist against his thigh.

Where was Leo, cursed bastard, now?

No, it was as much Jimmy's fault as Leo's. When he'd held her, she had reeked of terror, he'd tasted her fear in every kiss. Fool that he was, he'd thought it was the same old fear that had driven her into hiding for the past four years. Idiot. Arrogant bastard. He'd thought she was afraid of losing him again, of re-opening wounds still festering.

Jimmy got to his feet, pacing along the parapet parallel to the Skyway. It was painful to admit, but some small part of him had delighted in the fact that her love for him was so strong, so all consuming, that she'd sacrificed everything for it.

She'd built a life around his memory, refusing the rest of the world entry. He stopped at the edge of the roof, the closest to the Tower he could physically go, and stared across the void.

But today, it wasn't losing Jimmy that Grace was afraid of. It was facing the man who had destroyed their lives, who had almost killed her once.

Redding, the murdering bastard.

"No!" Jimmy shouted into the sky so dark that it could be noon or midnight. "I won't let you. You'll not be getting your hands on her, not again!"

The wind scudded layers of clouds aside for one brief moment. A rose-tinged shaft of golden light pierced the grey, a beacon of hope at Jimmy's feet. He stretched his arm out, the light playing off his wedding ring.

To hell with Leo and his plans to save the universe. Bugger that. He would find a way to save Grace. This time he would not fail her.

The thin sliver of light was banished as quickly as it had come. Thunder bounced off the buildings, echoing through Jimmy's head along with Leo's words. There are rules, me boy. Rules that no one can break.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!" The shout of emancipation renewed Jimmy's strength. "Fuck the rules and the universe and everyone in it! I'm not letting him win again!"

Lightning crashed between the buildings, raising the hair on Jimmy's head and blinding him for a moment. He held his ground, refusing to bow.

Then he turned. At first, his steps were the slow jerking of a marionette rebelling against its master.

Wind lashed at him, trying to force him back from the doorway, prevent him returning to the battleground, but Jimmy kept pushing forward. His legs stretched out into lengthy, purposeful strides. Then he was jogging, sprinting through the door and across the lobby, down the steps to Pediatrics.

She had told him to look to the children, keep a watch over them. She had sacrificed everything for the sake of the children.

Maybe they were Jimmy's last hope to save Grace.

Vincent should have been making rounds, but Eve had invited him to help her with Grace's brain mapping.

"A chance to see Lucidine therapy in action," she had said.

She'd seemed fine, hadn't mentioned the strange occurrences of last night. In fact, she seemed to be the only person around here who was acting normal today.

He grabbed coffee, stopped by medical records to sign some charts, then took the Tower elevator up to the ECU. He wasn't stalling because he was nervous about facing Grace, he told himself. No, not at all.

In fact, he wanted to see her, to follow her treatment course. Once the tumor was gone, things would be so much different. Maybe they could even start over...

The elevator doors slid open. Grace lay in a heap on the floor in the lobby, Eve bowed over her, trying to revive her.

"What happened?" He rushed to Grace's side. Her breathing was normal, but her color awful, skin clammy, and pulse thready.

"She fainted," Eve said, brushing wrinkles from her tailored linen slacks as she stood. "Back home we called them the vapors."

"You sure it's not the tumor? Maybe we should call Helman."

Grace stirred beneath his fingers, her eyes fluttering open. He flicked a penlight into her pupils. Equal size, reactive. She began to push herself upright and he guided her to a sitting position, his arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Her muscles rippled beneath his touch but she nodded. He helped her to her feet and together they entered the ECU, following Eve into the first treatment room.

"Go ahead, get her into a patient gown and on the monitor," Eve said. "I'll need a line started as well." She left, relegating Vincent to duties usually performed by a nurse or med student.

He watched the door swing shut behind Eve, then turned to Grace who sat on the exam table, her feet dangling off the floor. She looked at him with an expression of disgust.

Guess he deserved that after betraying her to Eve. Not to mention putting his job before her needs. Even if those needs were irrational.

"Do you have any idea what you're getting into?" she asked, making no move to change into the patient gown he handed her.

"Helping Eve prepare you for Helman's surgery." He stared at her in concern. "You do remember about the surgery? The brain mapping?"

She said nothing but shook her head at him as if he were an idiot or worse. Then she kicked her shoes off, stood barefoot on the tiled floor and began to strip out of her scrubs. He turned his back, fumbling with the IV supplies.

"This is the best thing," he said, his back still to her.

"For who? You or Eve Warden?"

"For you, of course." He spun around. She was tying the gown behind her, but somehow she didn't look dwarfed or weakened by the change from a physician's garb to the revealing patient's gown. Somehow she managed to make the usually humiliating costume appear regal. Her eyes blazed across the room at him, challenging him.

He lowered his gaze, approaching her as she settled back onto the table. "I need to hook you up to the monitor."

She lay back on the thin mattress, watching him with those intense blue eyes as he pulled the adhesive backing off of the monitor leads and skimmed his hands under her gown to press them against the skin near her breasts.

"Helman is giving Alex his DNR," she finally said.

He pivoted, turning the monitor on. The steady beat of her heart echoed through the room. His own pulse was racing, he realized. He reached out to lower the volume on the machine.

"So you won," he said, surprised at how bitter his words emerged.

She grabbed his hand, her grip tighter than he'd expected from such a small woman. "No, Vincent. I didn't win. Alex did."

He met her eyes, overwhelmed by their fierce intensity. Finally he looked away, trying to ignore the trembling of his hand when she released him.

She remained silent as he began an IV in a vein on the back of her left hand. The bright fluorescent lights made her emerald ring seem to wink at him, as if it shared a joke with its owner--a joke at his expense. Damn it, why did he have to feel this way about her? She'd never give up Jimmy Moran. A mere human like Vincent had no hope of competing against a ghostly legend.

Eve returned, now wearing a lab coat over her ruby colored silk blouse and black slacks. She hadn't pulled her hair back this morning, it cascaded over her shoulders in a gleaming shower of pure light. Fragments of memory from last night flew through his brain as she brushed pass him and he inhaled her shampoo. For a moment he was drowning in the rich fragrance of orchids, felt her hair skimming over his naked flesh, heard her cries of passion.

He stepped back, out of range of Eve's intoxicating scent, and saw Grace watching him. He felt himself flush and swallowed hard to regain his composure.

Eve deftly drew up the Lucidine and began the infusion. "I'm using a higher dose than recommended. She broke through last time," she told Vincent, ignoring Grace who lay beneath her, still awake, although now immobilized by the Lucidine.

"Last time?"

"During her biopsy. Woke up just as Helman was drilling into her brain. He was not pleased."

He could imagine. He could also imagine how terrifying that would have been for the patient, but Eve made no mention of that. Instead, she watched as Grace's vitals stabilized, her body totally flaccid. Eve raised one of Grace's hands, allowed it to drop without resistance onto Grace's face, then flop off to hang at her side.

Eve looked over at him. Grace lay beneath them, between them, able to hear everything they said, although unable to respond. "She's a skinny bitch, isn't she?"

"Aren't you going to put the goggles and head set on her? Control her stimuli for the mapping?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation back to professional ground.

Instead Eve grabbed his hand, forced it down over Grace's breast.

"You like them scrawny with boy-tits like her, Vincent?" she asked, her fingernails digging into his skin. "Is that why you called out her name last night? When I was giving you the best fucking orgasm of your ever-loving fucking life?"

Vincent tried to pull away, used his free hand to wrench her fingers back. Eve's face filled with pain and she cried out. He immediately released her, remembering the bruises he had caused last night. What the hell was wrong with him? He backed away from the table, from both women.

"Eve, I'm sorry."

She rubbed her wrist and he saw red marks already forming there. Then she looked up at him with a smile, her white teeth glistening in the bright lights. "That's all right, Vincent. We'll work things out."

She whirled around, stepped to the door, and opened it. Vincent watched in surprise as the woman he'd met in Eve's office yesterday pushed a gurney inside, drawing it up along the far wall. A male patient lay on it, a man in his thirties, his head shaved, eyes closed, a sheet drawn up to his chin.

Eve whisked the sheet away to reveal the man beneath. He wasn't a large man, but both his arms and legs were secured to the gurney with leather restraints thick enough to hold a rampaging guerrilla in place.

Lukas still wandered the halls of nightmares. No, not dreams. Memories, a woman's voice insisted, her words punctuated by the scream of brakes, the shriek of metal colliding with metal. Remember. Listen to me. This is what really happened.

He obeyed. But felt as if he were a stranger in his own mind, watching as he steered a car through the night. Right. Driving home from the airport. His throat tightened. With Grace. He looked down, saw her left hand resting on his thigh, her platinum diamond engagement and wedding rings gleaming silver in the dashboard lights.

Why couldn't he feel her? He looked up in panic, caught a glimpse of her smile, the rest of her face shrouded in shadow. Married, they were married, she was his. She loved him.

The thought should have soothed, instead it created more panic. He tried to move his hand, reach out to touch her, to prove that she was real but he was frozen in place.

Then came a mind-splitting crash. As he watched, Grace flew face first through the windshield, glass and blood raining down on him. He heard her screams, tasted her blood splattered on his face, felt her flesh give beneath his fists.

No, no. It wasn't like that. He opened his hand and the bloody chair leg he'd been holding vanished, replaced by the seat belt buckle as he fought to get free of the twisted wreckage to get to Grace. To save her. He had to save her. He was her only hope.

Then a man's face intruded. Moran. At first staggering with a drunken gait, grinning like a maniac at the chaos he'd wreaked. Lukas felt the howl of rage and fury thunder through him. Moran sat down on the asphalt beside Grace, dared to touch her. Then Moran lay below Lukas, his face ravished, shattered. Lukas tightened his grip around the man's throat, ignoring the blood seeping onto the oak floor.

No--not oak, asphalt. Then Grace died in his arms, reaching for him, her wedding ring gleaming in the headlights. Silver and diamonds casting rainbows in the mist.

He hadn't been able to save her.

A single tear slid from beneath his eyelid, but Lukas couldn't raise a hand to wipe it away.

Jimmy bolted through the door to Alex's room then stopped short. Seated on the chair, playing cards flying from his hands as he dealt them onto the bedside table, was Leo. Attired now in black turtleneck and black jeans, he looked like a silver-maned David Copperfield.

"Ah, Jimmy," he drawled, cards flying seemingly in random directions, "glad you were able to join us." He paused in his movements to toss Jimmy a towel, then turned back to Alex and Kat. "I was just explaining to Alexander and Katherine that they shouldn't blame themselves for Grace deciding to have her surgery. That it was her own free will."

Jimmy chucked the towel back at Leo, disrupting the intricate design of the cards.

"You bastard," he thundered, stalking past Alex's bed. The children both looked up at him in surprise that quickly changed to fear.

"Jimmy, what's wrong?" Alex asked.

He ignored the boy, stepped closer to the monk. "You knew what was over there, waiting for her."

Leo stood, met Jimmy's glare with a placid gaze, his dark eyes mirroring Jimmy's scowl. "The point, my boy, is that so did she." His voice was as cold as an Arctic breeze. "Grace knew what was waiting for her, yet still she chose to go. Believe me, it's not the outcome I'd hoped for. I brought you here to prevent all this. But," he shrugged, "free will."

"Free will my Aunt Minnie's ass! You drove her to this. Keeping her here, involving her with them." Jimmy jerked his head at the two children. "Bringing me in when she almost broke free on her own. You set her up from the start."

Leo smiled, and Jimmy's blood ran cold. It was the smile of a man who had nothing more to lose, the grin of a madman.

He nonchalantly fanned out the remainder of the cards between his long fingers. "I guess your love wasn't as strong as you thought. Welcome to my world. You'll get used to the frustration and impotence after awhile if you stick around. Maybe a few hundred years or so. Pick a card, Jimmy. Any card."

"To hell with you and your parlor tricks. I'm getting my wife back."

"You mean your widow, don't you boyo?" Leo thrust the cards into Jimmy's face. Kat joined Alex on the bed, was holding him tight as both children listened to the argument. "Go ahead," Leo continued. "No more tricks. Pick a card and see your future."

"Bugger my future. Show me Grace's. Prove to me that she'll be all right."

"No guarantees. Just likelihoods. That pesky free will again, you know. Okay, two for one. We'll let the children do the picking." Leo spun around. Kat and Alex drew back as far as they could, their faces growing pale. "Alexander, you chose for Jimmy."

Leo followed his command with a stare. Alex reached a trembling hand forward, his breath whistling as he exhaled.

"Bloody hell." Jimmy's heart wrenched at the sight of the two terrified kids. He cursed himself for starting this in front of them. "Leave them out of it."

He grabbed a card and flipped it face up onto the table. The Joker, his fool's cap flying from his head as he peddled his bicycle furiously through empty air, falling. The ground below was an inferno of greedy flames reaching up, trying to snatch him from the sky.

"I guess this means I will see you in Hell. Or what passes for it." Jimmy practically spat the words at Leo. "Now get out of here. Someone needs to be with Grace and you know I can't go."

Leo seemed to appear honestly dismayed, his dark eyes pulling away from Jimmy, searching the room. "Would that I could, Jimmy. Would that I could." His voice was so wistful Jimmy almost believed him. "My power goes no further than yours. That's why I needed Grace in the first place."

Jimmy blew his breath out in frustration. He turned to the children. "Do either of you know Dr. Helman? I need to talk to him, convince him to bring Grace back."

"I know him," Kat said, her voice emerging as a tremulous squeak. "He's my doctor."

"You're not going to convince anyone of anything looking like that, man," Leo put in, nodding to Jimmy's soaking wet scrubs and disheveled appearance. He tossed the cards aside and stood, suddenly full of energy as if Jimmy's words had brought him new hope. "You go. Wait and watch for Grace. I'll take the children and discuss the issue with Jonas. Yes, Jonas is the perfect one to approach, Vincent will listen to him."

"Jonas? So now you two are mates? How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can trust us," Alex said. His words cut through the air like the chime of crystal. Both men spun to face him. "We won't let anything happen to Grace. I promise."

"Dr. Helman will listen to me," Kat added. "He always listens if you tell him what a good doctor he is and make him think something is his own idea." She spoke with the authority of experience.

Jimmy sighed, turned his gaze on each child in turn, searching their earnest faces for reassurance. He nodded. He was trusting Grace's future to two babes barely out of nappies, but he felt the trust was well-placed. Besides, he had nowhere else to turn.

"All right, then. But hurry. Please," he added, not caring that the last came out a sorrowful plea.

"Wait," Leo said. "Don't you want to know Grace's future?"

Jimmy spun back and stared down the infuriatingly less-than-omnipotent monk. "I know her future already, you bastard. Find someone else to play your bloody games with because I'm going to save her!"

"Vincent, meet Renee's son. Lukas Redding."

The strange tone of triumph in Eve's voice almost distracted him from the name. Then it sank in. He whipped his head around to stare from mother to son. Lukas Redding appeared harmless, strapped to his gurney with four inch leather restraints, his face slack and innocent in sleep, a small dribble of drool slipping from his lips.

"Lukas Redding?" he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "The man who--"

Renee's hand stroked her son's head as she met Vincent's gaze with a sharp-edged glare. "The man who needs your help, Dr. Emberek," she said in a calm, commanding voice. "The patient you and Dr. Warden can save."

Vincent stared at her, saw only grim determination in her expression. The warped visage of a mother's love, driven to sacrifice anything or anyone for the sake of her child.

Even if that child was a monster.

He backed away from the Reddings, turned to find Eve busy draping ice packs over Grace's face and hands. Grace's eyes were wide open, staring unseeing at the ceiling, but her heart rate on the monitor had sped up, and he realized that she had heard everything, knew exactly who she now shared her room with.

"Eve, what the hell are you doing?" Vincent demanded. "Wake her up, bring her back. Now."

Eve finished tucking the last ice pack against Grace's cheek and looked up, tossing her hair back. "Don't worry," she said. "She'll be fine. A touch of beta-blockers to slow her pulse and Lukas will think she's dead. He'll finally be able to say his good-byes, let her go for once and for all."

"You can't--Eve, you can't do this to her. I won't let you."

She arched an eyebrow at him, rounded the gurney and stepped close. She placed a hand on his chest as if she were pushing him away, but her fingernails dug in with a steel grip. "You won't let me? Vincent, this is the answer to our dreams. The ultimate validation of Lucidine therapy. Not to mention your way out of the mess your life has become," she paused. "With Renee's help."

"You mean with Renee's money. Blood money."

She narrowed her eyes as she tilted her head up to stare into his. "Does it matter whose money it is? If it buys you the future you've always dreamed of?"

Her voice was hypnotic, a siren's song. The beeping of Grace's heart rate on the monitor sped up, drawing his attention back to the woman who lay helpless on the gurney. All that she had suffered already--how could he let Eve put her through this?

"I can't," he stammered, his gaze fixed on Grace's still form. "I won't let you."

Eve's laughter surprised him. He returned his focus to her and saw that her cheeks were now blossoming with crimson. Her grip on his shirt and chest tightened, became painful. He circled his hands around her arms, tried to break free, but instead she forced him back against the wall.

"I think you will," she whispered as her free hand stroked his thigh and her body pressed up against his. "If you want to save your lady, Grace. A hospital can be such a dangerous place, after all."

Vincent stared down at her, amazed that this she-devil had ever seemed attractive to him. His flesh crawled beneath her touch.

"You might want to think about saving yourself as well, Vincent," she crooned, her hand moving between their bodies to slide beneath his waistband. His breath whistled as the heat of her touch flared through him. "The patients aren't the only ones recorded--my office has a camera as well. No audio, but the video will speak for itself after I go to Helman and tell him how you raped me last night."

He tried to push her away, but her fingers tightened on him. His hips rocked as she coaxed him into involuntary arousal. "I never," he whispered. "That's not what--"

"That's exactly what happened. They'll investigate, find drugs in your call room. Drugs like rohypnol, the date rape drug. Of course, I'll have to tell them how I've found you in Kat's room when she was sleeping, watching her. And Grace--why else would you be interested in a crazy woman, near to death, the perfect victim, a woman who no one would ever believe if she told them of your perversions."

He shuddered beneath her touch and gulped for air. Sweat broke out all over him, his chest constricted as he worked to breathe.

"When I'm done with you, Vincent," she continued mercilessly, "you'll be labeled a sexual predator, a rapist, pedophile. Losing your career to a malpractice case will be the least of your worries."

She stepped back, her hands leaving his flesh, and he found air to breathe again. He realized that he was still clutching her shoulders. His vision cleared enough to look past her to the blinking red light of the camera behind her.

He dropped his hands. She smiled in triumph. To the camera it would look like he had grabbed her, pulled her to him, maybe even against her will. She gave him a wink and he knew she had won. She had manipulated him, Grace, Helman--twisted reality into something macabre and bizarre.

Eve's version of the truth would be the only one anyone saw. Or believed.

"What do you want?" he asked, the words burning in his throat, making his stomach churn with loathing and disgust.

"Simple. I'm going to wake Lukas, allow him to say good-bye to Grace. You play the role of the pathologist, explain to him how she died of her injuries in the car accident." She gave him a mock frown of concern. "Be sure to tell him that she didn't suffer, that she went fast. Show him the body. Then Renee and I will take it from there. I'll put him back under, he'll wake up in his room, thinking that all this," she gestured to Grace and the room, "is a distant memory, happened four years ago."

"At least give Grace a sedative," he pleaded, his vision watching Grace's heart beat racing along the monitor. "There's no reason to torture her. A little midazolam, something to let her forget."

"You idiot. You really do care for her. Even after she nearly ruined everything." She pursed her lips in consideration. "You behave yourself, do exactly what I say and I'll erase her memories. She'll never remember today, never remember Lukas or what happened."

"You can do that?"

She laughed once more. "Honey, with Lucidine, I can do anything. Give you ideas you never dreamed of and make you think they were yours, convince you how to vote, what kind of car to buy, help you forget any little bad thing that's been nagging at your conscience."

Vincent watched in silence as she gleefully removed the ice packs. Grace's face was even paler than before, her skin almost transparent. He touched her cheek. Ice cold.

"It will be all right," he whispered to her as Eve disconnected the monitors and the sound of her heartbeat vanished. Eve pushed more drugs into the IV, then disconnected it, folding Grace's hands over the sheet that covered her body. Vincent felt for the pulse in Grace's neck, it was almost non-existent.

Eve backed away, gazed on her still-life arrangement and nodded in approval. "Time to wake up our boy," she told Renee.

CHAPTER 35

Faith in Nothing

Grace was helpless, more helpless than she'd ever been in her life. Unable to fight, unable to talk, unable even to blink.

And she was mad as hell. Mad at Eve, mad at Vincent, but most of all furious with herself for not finding another way before it came to this. She'd given up, believed that since she soon would be dead, nothing that happened to her mattered anymore.

She was wrong. Dead wrong.

At least Jimmy wasn't here to witness her surrender. Never before in her life had she given up, not even when Lukas--

Then he was there, his flat brown eyes staring into her unblinking ones. Her chest was tight, the muscles paralyzed so that she could barely draw in any air, but his presence made her feel like she was drowning. She fought her panic almost as much as she fought the drug that kept her helpless.

"Grace," Lukas cried out, tears streaming down his face, splashing warm against her chilled skin. His fingers stroked her hair, pulled it back. "Oh my God, Grace."

She almost felt compassion for the man hovering above her body. He truly was grief-stricken, brainwashed into believing that her death was an accident, that she had loved him. Lies woven so seamlessly into his own delusions, she doubted if Lukas had any earthly idea what was reality and what was illusion.

Another thing Eve Warden had to answer for. Lukas was a monster and curing him of his obsession with Grace would only free him to fixate on another innocent woman. How could Eve have ever believed that this was a good use of her research, her talent?

"She didn't suffer, Mr. Redding," Vincent's voice came from beyond her vision.

Lukas took no comfort in the words. He fell sobbing to the floor, his head resting on Grace's chest. His tears soaked through the sheet that covered her, his weight adding to the pressure against her chest. Her vision darkened as she struggled for air.

What if Lukas heard her breathe? Felt her heart beat? Grace froze, trying to still her vital processes as much as the Lucidine had stilled her muscles.

Vincent must have had the same thought because she saw his hands reach out to pull Lukas away. Two pairs of high heels clattered on the floor and Eve appeared on Lukas' other side, accompanied by another, older woman. Lukas' mother, Grace recognized from the preliminary hearing four years ago. Back then the woman had stared across the courtroom at Grace with the venomous glare of a death adder.

"Come now, Lukas," she said in a tone of fake condolence. "Come home with me and everything will be all right."

"First," Eve added, maneuvering a syringe from her pocket, "let me give you something to ease the pain."

Lukas ignored the women, shoulders bowed as he wept. Eve reached for his arm and he shrugged her away. "No. I don't want any drugs."

"Lukas, it's for your own good. Now, be a good boy and do as the doctor says."

Grace held her breath, prayed that he would obey his mother and leave. End this nightmare. He nodded slowly, his head moving as if it were too heavy for his body. Then he reached for her hand once more.

His fingers tightened on hers. At first a gentle pressure, then with a force that sent waves of pain down her arm. He wrenched at her ring finger, twisting the two gold bands there, tugging them free, revealing the thin ribbon of scar tissue they hid.

"Not gold," he shouted, examining her wedding band in the bright treatment light that glared down on her. "It's supposed to be a diamond." Her emerald engagement ring flashed as he waved it in Eve's face. "I gave her a diamond."

Lukas' voice grew louder, his face flushed scarlet with fury. Eve took a step toward him, touched his arm.

"Calm down, Lukas." Grace saw Eve's hand, the syringe ready to go, reach out toward him.

Lukas spotted the movement as well, shoving Eve so hard that she skidded up against the door. He scowled down at the two rings in his hand and then hurled them across the room into the utility sink. They hit the porcelain with the clash of bullets.

"Lukas, please," his mother reached for his hand. "Don't do this. Let me help you."

"You lied to me," he spat out the words. "You all lied to me!"

He raised his hand to strike his mother, but Vincent rushed him, pulling him away from Grace's field of vision. She heard the clatter of an instrument stand toppling, the crash of metal on the tile floor. The Lukas re-appeared, holding the metal tray over his head like a club.

Grace had no choice but to stare helplessly into the face of her killer.

Mrs. Redding intervened, tugging at her son's arm. "Lukas, they'll put you in jail again."

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving Grace's face. He lowered the tray. "Why did you tell me she was dead?"

Mrs. Redding drew close enough that Grace could see the lines of her lipstick feathering past her lips as she sneered. "She's as good as dead anyway. Forget about her, Lukas. You don't need her. All you need is me."

"You'll be there for me? Just like you always are?" His voice emerged shrill, a child begging for attention.

"Of course, Lukas. I'll always be here for you. You know that."

"Yes, mother. Yes I do." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

Grace fought against the drug, felt as if she could almost move her fingers. But then he raised the metal tray over his head once more and she knew that wouldn't be enough.

"Put that down and listen to me, Lukas!" Renee shouted. "Do as I say or I won't let you come home with me. I'll leave you here forever!"

Lukas blinked hard, his eyes still locked onto Grace's. Then in one quick motion he whirled and slammed the edge of the tray into his mother's throat. Blood spurted out in an arc as she dropped to the floor.

"Stop your lying, Mother. I can't take any more lies!"

Blood splattered her face and body, the smell of death filled the air as the gurgled sounds coming from Lukas' mother faded into silence. Grace managed to blink away the blood burning her eyes. She tried to move her lips, to speak but only a small squeak emerged.

Lukas dropped the tray with a clatter. "I would never hurt you, Grace," he cried, tugging the blood-soaked sheet away from her and gathering her into his arms. "I love you. I'm here to save you."

He gathered her into his arms and fled.

Vincent saw Eve sidle out the door and hoped she was getting security. Then Lukas threw him against the wall and everything went blurry for a few seconds. He lay there, his head throbbing, watching and listening as Lukas attacked his mother and took Grace.

He staggered back to his feet. He could run after them, should run after them. But the look in Lukas' eyes...

The corpse at his feet made up his mind. He cared for Grace, but he wasn't about to die for her. He tried to avoid the blood puddling around Mrs. Redding's body as he moved to the phone on the wall. Before he could dial, Eve pushed through the door, brandishing a large gun.

"Where'd he go?" she demanded. Her face was flushed with streaks of angry red and the force of her glare made him lose his voice for a moment.

"He took Grace," he finally stuttered. "I don't know where." He pointed to the gun. "You don't need that. We'll be safe here until the police come."

She tilted her head, staring at him with a half smile as if he were a strange creature from another planet that she'd stumbled upon. "I didn't call the police, Vincent. Lukas is our problem. We need to protect the Lucidine project." She nodded to the still recording camera. "Once I take care of him, we'll make sure there's no evidence that any of this happened." Her smile widened. "At least not this way."

"Eve." He almost choked on her name, his throat was so tight. "A woman's dead. A patient kidnapped--maybe dead as well if we don't stop him."

She hefted the gun. "Don't worry. We'll stop him. Too bad that Grace might accidentally get in the line of fire. But wouldn't that just solve all our problems, lover?"

He stood frozen as she planted a quick kiss on his cheek and spun back out of the room. She was going to kill Grace, the words repeated through his mind, barely penetrating the pounding of his pulse. He dropped the phone, held his breath against the thick scent of death threatening to choke him and pushed through the door.

He took two steps toward the lobby, following Eve and Grace. Then stopped. Eve was right about one thing. What happened here never happened. Not if Vincent ever wanted to practice medicine again. To ever have the life he dreamed of.

The faint sound of a shot pierced his awareness.

Vincent turned and ran the other way.

CHAPTER 36

Leap of Faith

Grace fought against the urge to blink. Slowly, control of her muscles had returned, but she remained limp in Lukas' arms, waiting until she was certain she was strong enough to escape.

This time she would escape, she vowed as he ran across the Skyway and into the Annex. He pushed through the open door leading onto the helipad, knocking her head against the metal frame.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he muttered, swinging around as he searched for an escape route.

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be," Jimmy shouted, barreling from the shadows and plowing into Lukas.

Lukas stumbled back, slamming into the wall. Jimmy locked his hands around his neck, Grace pinned between them.

"Remember me, laddy?" Jimmy sneered as his fingers tightened.

Lukas dropped Grace. He brought his hands up, squeezing Jimmy's throat.

Grace rolled free. Clouds piled high around them, spewing torrents of sleet and rain on the two men locked in mortal combat. Wind whipped the clouds aside for a brief instant, a stream of pale sunlight lancing through the air, pinning the two men in a spear of light.

"Jimmy!" she called as Lukas reared back, then with the roar of a cornered animal, butted his head against Jimmy's face.

"Run, Grace!"

Lukas forced Jimmy to take a step back, then rammed his knee into Jimmy's groin. Jimmy's grip on Lukas's neck faltered. Lukas brought his arms up and forced Jimmy's hands away.

"She's mine. You'll never have her, you devil," Lukas shouted.

Jimmy charged once more while Grace tried to find her footing. Finally her muscles were obeying her command. But there was nowhere to go. The two men blocked the only exit.

She looked around for a weapon, anything she could use to help Jimmy. He tore his attention away from Lukas. "Forget about me, Grace. Get out of here. Damn it, don't let the bastard win again."

Lukas charged him, sending them both to the ground. The two men grappled, rolling in the puddles and gravel coating the rooftop. The exit was still blocked. But there was another way.

Grace flexed her fingers. The helipad sat about ten feet below the rest of the rooftop. If she could climb the brick wall up to the main roof, she could drop down to the Skyway's glass roof. There was a hatch halfway along. From there she could get back inside, find help for Jimmy.

She ran to the parapet and clawed her way onto the bricks. The mortar joints were rain-slicked and she was out of practice, but momentum and sheer determination kept her moving from finger hold to finger hold until she was able to swing herself over the top. She stood, easing her cramped and iced fingers. Jimmy and Lukas were both bloodied now, but Jimmy appeared to be losing the fight. Lukas was on top, straddling Jimmy, his knee against Jimmy's windpipe.

Jimmy turned his face away from his attacker to look up at Grace. Her eyes welled over with tears. She was going to lose him. Again.

Then Lukas would come for her. The wasps swarmed as her stomach roiled with terror. She side-stepped until she was just above the midpoint of the Skyway's flat glass roof, then swung herself over the edge. She dangled for a moment, at the mercy of the wind and rain. Sleet, sharp as daggers, lanced into her from every direction.

She dropped onto the glass, the impact knocking her breath away. When she looked back, she saw Lukas following in her path, already to the top of the roof above her.

Her breath came in panicked gasps as she rolled onto her belly and began crawling along the sleet-slicked glass. The thud of Lukas's landing rattled the glass beneath her body. She clawed for any purchase on the unyielding surface, finding only widely spaced thin-rimmed metal supports.

"Grace!" Jimmy's voice ripped through her panic. She turned her head and saw that he'd made it to the rooftop above them. Lukas was close, too close. As Jimmy leapt onto the Skyway, Lukas snaked a hand out toward her.

Jimmy slammed against the glass, the force of his landing almost rolling him off the edge. Grace kicked against Lukas' grip. The madman's mouth was open, the wind shredding his words as he grinned at her in delight, as if this nightmare was the answer to his prayers. He reached his other hand to grab her ankle and began to haul her toward him.

Grace allowed herself to slip back close enough to aim a kick against his face. His grip loosened for a moment and she clawed her way forward. The hatch was only a foot or so away, if she could reach the handle...

A shot tore through the air. The glass beside Grace's hand splintered into a small star. She raised her head and stared across the void at the helipad.

Eve Warden stood there, a very large black gun resting in her hands. She looked confident as she raised it once more and took aim.

"No!" Lukas cried, leaping forward to cover Grace's body with his own. The sound of another shot rang out. Lukas' right arm dripped blood. He looked down at the blood and then into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Grace. I should have loved you better."

He turned and climbed to his feet, straightening to his full height, shielding her from Eve's deadly aim.

"I'll come back," he shouted to Eve. "I'll do what you want, if you leave her alone."

Jimmy got to his feet on the other side of Lukas, while Grace eased her way forward. She grabbed the handle to the hatch and twisted it with all her might. The frozen metal burnt the torn skin of her palms and refused to budge.

"Sorry, Lukas," Eve said. "It's too late. For both of you." Another shot sliced through the night, ricocheting off the steel housing of the hatch, narrowly missing Grace's face. Grace pulled back, turned her head away. She wrenched her weight against the handle.

It groaned, began to turn, then stopped again. Grace yanked once more, felt it give. She pulled herself up to a crouch and hauled the small glass door open.

"Grace, look out," Jimmy called as she felt Lukas's hands push against her back. A fourth shot sounded.

Grace caught her balance before she could fall through the opening. She twisted to look around. Lukas stood, towering over her, his chest blossoming blood. "I was only trying--"

His words were swallowed by the wind as Jimmy stampeded into him, launching both men to the edge. Lucas's arms wind-milled wildly, his expression one of surprise and terror as he plummeted into the void.

Jimmy landed on his belly but his momentum toppled him over the edge of the icy surface. Grace watched, her throat tight with fear. At the last moment he grabbed hold of the edge, his fingers clawing into the metal framing.

Grace ignored the crack of another gunshot. She hooked her feet on the hatchway's inside rim, using it as an anchor, and flattened herself out on the roof as if it were an icy pond and Jimmy had fallen through. Stretching out to her full length, she was able to grab onto Jimmy's right wrist with both of her hands.

Blood dripped from his nose, one eye was already swelling, but still he looked up at her with a smile. "Isn't this where we started, love?"

"Stop talking and start climbing," she said between clenched teeth. "Don't know how long I can hold on to you."

"S'all right, Grace. Let me go."

She stared at him in horror. "No, never. Jimmy, don't ask me--"

Another shot interrupted her. He slipped further from her reach. Grace clamped her fingers tighter, her arms trembling from the effort.

"My time is soon up," he crooned softly. "Let me go, love."

"No," she sobbed. "Please, no. I can't lose you again, I can't go on."

"Sure you can, Grace. You always could. And our love will never die." His smile widened to a grin. "We've proved that, haven't we? Outfoxed them all. Even that bastard, Leo."

He released his left hand from the roof edge. Laid it on top of her hand, his fingers stroking her naked ring finger. Then he opened the fingers of his right hand. "Let me go, Grace."

Her shoulders burned in agony as she fought to hold him. He kept his eyes locked onto hers and in them she saw no regret, only peace.

She blinked back tears and opened her fingers.

Jimmy slipped away from Grace. It seemed in slow motion at first, the gold of his wedding ring capturing a stray spark of sunlight. He plummeted into the shadows, his body spiraling, tumbling, spinning out of control. Spinning into...nothing.

She craned her head over the edge, saw Lukas's battered body on the pavement seven stories below, surrounded by a crowd of people. But there was no sign of Jimmy.

CHAPTER 37

Wheel of Fortune

Grace lay on her belly, her thin patient's gown sodden, bunched up around her legs. Rain ricocheted from the glass surrounding her, dripped from her hair into her eyes, chilled her to the marrow. She didn't care, she couldn't move.

Pain spiraled into her gut, twisting and burning like a red-hot poker, finally lodging in her heart. It hurt so bad she couldn't breathe, could only swallow ragged gasps of oxygen that cut like broken glass.

There was a thud against the roof beneath her followed by the sound of ice cracking. She rolled to one side. Eve Warden stood below her, inside the Skyway now, aiming the gun straight up, trying to shoot through the reinforced glass.

Grace blinked away her tears, was almost too tired to fight, to move. She watched as the small-star shaped crack in the glass beside her where the first bullet impacted began to widen, spreading fingers out in every direction, reaching beneath Grace's body.

Eve's shout of glee broke through to Grace. The glass exploded. Grace plummeted through the roof and into the Skyway. She flailed her arms, heard Eve's scream as glass flew, then she hit the floor with a thud.

Grace rolled to her feet. Shards of glass surrounded her, blinking in the overhead spotlights. Rain cascaded through the broken roof, rainbows shimmering in the air between her and Eve. Eve's face and arms were covered with small cuts and glass glittered in her blonde hair. She raised the gun and aimed it at Grace.

After everything she had been through, facing this arrogant, homicidal, egomaniac who had no right to call herself a physician or a healer unleashed all the pent up rage and frustration Grace had been burying for four long years. Anger, hot and bright as lava surged through her.

"You bitch!" Grace straightened, strode through the glass, ignoring its bite against her bare feet.

Instead of pulling the trigger, Eve took a step back, the color draining from her face, her aim wavering. Before Eve had a chance to regroup, Grace lowered her head and leapt across the short distance that separated them, slamming Eve against the wall. The gun flew from her hand, skittered to a stop in a pile of jagged glass.

The sound of footsteps and voices came from both sides. Grace twisted her head to see Jonas Helman standing at the Annex door, a breathless Kat pushing Alex in a wheelchair beside him.

"Grace, are you all right?" Kat called.

Eve shoved Grace back and started to run toward the Tower. Blocking her path was Vincent, flanked by two security guards. Eve stumbled, whipping her head to stare at Grace then back at Vincent. Grace swayed, gulping frigid air blowing in with the sleet, wiped a stream of blood away from her eyes.

"No." Eve's voice came in a harsh whisper, her eyes narrowed to two dagger thin steel ribbons. "Not like this."

She surged forward, lunging for the gun sitting on the floor beside Grace. Grace pivoted and dove for the weapon as well, but Eve got there first. Glass cracked and snapped as Eve rolled, bringing the gun up. Grace braced her weight against the other woman's arm.

Eve's first shot went wild, sending Vincent and the unarmed guards scrambling for cover. Eve kicked out at Grace, trying to free her gun arm. Their bodies tumbled together, glass shards slicing into them, leaving streams of blood in their wake.

Lightning shook the Skyway. The thunder that followed boomed through Grace's head, exploding it with pain. Eve's form wavered before her as she tore at the other woman's hand on the gun.

Eve's finely honed talons darted out, aimed at Grace's eyes. Grace barely ducked in time, the claws raking her neck. The gun went off again as Grace slammed Eve's wrist against the window pane. Eve grabbed Grace's fingers, cruelly twisting them to the breaking point, loosening Grace's grip.

Scarlet plumes clouded Grace's vision. Her hand grew numb. Eve's two hands twisted the gun barrel, aiming it at Grace's face. Distant voices, men shouting, running, swirled around her. Eve's lips parted in a snarl, white teeth glistening as another bolt of lightning streaked through the night.

Grace threw her weight forward. A crack tore through the air. The coppery scent of blood and cordite choked Grace's throat, gagging her. The rattle of a last breath escaped, collapsing into a sigh.

Then silence.

Grace found the strength to open her eyes. Rain puddled on the carpet beside her. Vincent reached her, rolled her off Eve's still body. The two guards rushed forward, kicking the gun from Eve's lifeless hand.

"Grace, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?" Vincent asked, wrapping her in his arms.

She pushed free. "Don't you touch me. Don't you dare."

"You've been through a lot," he said in a low, rushed voice. "When you come to your senses, you'll realize that I didn't have anything to do with it. I did everything I could to protect you."

"Dr. V, is she all right?" Alex's voice cut through the roaring in Grace's head.

"No one will believe you, I have the videos." Vincent's grip on her hand was tighter than a vise. But it was the thundering in her head that made Grace wince. She tried to speak but the words wouldn't come. "I'll give Alex what he wants," Vincent continued his urgent whisper. "Do you understand, Grace? You need to tell them it was Eve, all Eve."

He released her hand. Footsteps thudded all around her and another man joined them. "I don't like her looks," Jonas Helman's voice crashed down on her like a tsunami. "Her pupils are sluggish."

"Her pulse is thready," Vincent said, his voice now coming from a very far away place.

"Damn tumor must be hemorrhaging."

Grace struggled to focus on Kat and Alex. In the darkness beyond them she swore she saw Jimmy standing over them. Then everything went black.

"Pick her up, Emberek. We're operating. Now."

CHAPTER 38

Eye of the Storm

Grace opened her eyes to a haze of colors swirling in a mist around her. Her head pounded, her throat was dry and scratched, and she couldn't feel her body. A tall shadow clouded her vision then slowly resolved into the form of Brother Leo.

So she must be alive. Right?

"Head hurts," she mumbled.

"I don't wonder," he said with a smile. His silver hair seemed to swirl with the other colors of the mist that surrounded her. "They've been poking around in that brain of yours for going on four hours now."

"Now?" She tried to frown but couldn't feel her face. "Where am I?"

"Nowhere," came a girl's voice as Brittany appeared beside Brother Leo.

"Everywhere," Heather added.

"The in-between," Tiffany pronounced.

Grace was growing dizzy from the whirligig of colors blanketing her. "Who are you?"

"Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, those are our real names," Tiffany said. "But we like Tiffany, Brittany, and Heather just as well."

"Now girls, don't go giving it away," Brother Leo said in admonishment.

Heather arched an eyebrow and shot him a glare. "Who made you boss all of a sudden?"

"You know there's no boss," he stammered.

If her head didn't feel like it was about to explode, Grace would have laughed at the sight of the ever-impervious monk being intimidated by the young girl.

Or not so young. Clothos, Lachesis and Atropos were the names of the Three Fates in Greek mythology. Grace's mind whirled with confusion.

"We all play our part," Brittany said, stepping to Heather's side.

"And we all pay our price," Tiffany finished. The girls stood shoulder to shoulder and appeared very formidable indeed.

Brother Leo spread his hands wide. "I know, I know. But there's only so far you can bend the rules. Jimmy knew what he was doing, he made his choice. There's no saving him."

Grace's stomach reeled and she choked down acid bile. "No. He saved me. Isn't that why you sent him?"

"I'm sorry, Grace. He can't come back--not after killing Lukas. Some rules can't be broken. Jimmy knew that."

She blinked back tears. "No. I killed Lukas, not Jimmy. Punish me, not him."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I know. Infinity of nothing, Hell, call it what you want. It's no worse than what I've already lived through."

Leo's face grew grim. He lowered a hand to her shoulder. "No. Grace, it's worse. Much worse. I'm sorry. It's impossible. Jimmy's gone."

"Get a grip," Tiffany said, turning to Grace. "Don't listen to him. Anything is possible."

Grace smiled, hope speeding her heart. Jimmy's exact words.

Heather broke free of her sisters and cupped Grace's hands in both of hers. A flash of light danced between their joined fingers. When they separated, Jimmy's wedding ring lay cradled in the palm of Grace's hand.

"Remember what Jimmy promised, what you both promised each other," Heather whispered, folding Grace's fingers around the warm band of gold. She straightened and rejoined her sisters. "I cut Lukas's life thread before he fell."

"Before Jimmy pushed him," Brittany added.

"So Jimmy didn't kill him. Eve did," Tiffany summed up, fists on her hips as she squared off against Brother Leo. He gave in with a grudging smile and mock bow of surrender to the three little girls.

Grace clutched Jimmy's ring in her hand, the rest of her body relaxing now that she was certain his future was safe.

"I know who you are," Grace told Leo, staring at the man who was the only father she'd known, the man she'd once called friend. "Jimmy said you were the devil incarnate." She couldn't stop the half smile that twisted her lips. "But he beat you, didn't he?"

"That's the problem with molding extraordinary people to live extraordinary lives. They tend to be too smart for my own good."

"Spare me the false flattery. This is all just a game to you--some kind of cosmic chess match with us puny humans as pawns. I hope you had fun."

"I always try to follow my bliss, Grace. Didn't I teach you that? It's not a game. And I'm neither god nor devil."

"Then what are you?"

"Just a man, trying to find redemption. I thought with you I had a chance to save the future, my future."

Grace felt her head spin, her vision darken as she struggled to understand his words. The three girls lined up on her other side, glaring up at the priest. "I don't understand. I stopped Lukas, stopped Eve. What more--"

"There are evils greater than Lukas Redding or Eve Warden," Leo said with a bitterness she'd never heard from him before. "But you chose to save the children instead of--"

"Instead of who?" she asked when he faltered. Who else was left? Vincent? Was she meant to have chosen Vincent over two children?

"She's not to blame," Tiffany spoke up.

"Not for your decisions or your fate," Brittany continued.

"Look to yourself to save what you love," Heather finished.

Leo's face darkened and he raised a fist as if to curse or strike the three girls before him. Grace felt her heart speed up in panic. This wasn't the Leo Augustine she'd known and loved. What had happened to him?

Before she could either ask or receive any answers, Leo's form blurred into a whirlwind of light and color and he vanished. A quiet calm descended onto Grace. She turned to look at the girls. "Who are you? How does this all work?"

Brittany pursed her lips as if searching for the right words. "Think of us as a catalyst. Something that never changes but helps to propel events, guide them along the way. You're a scientist, you understand the entropy effect. The universe has been on a collision course with chaos since the instant it was born. Without an opposing force--a counter balance if you will--to hold that chaos in check, everything, time, space, matter, would have spun its way into oblivion eons ago."

Tiffany broke in. "We're one of many. Even Leo has his place. His uses. He brought you to us, to Alex and Kat, didn't he?"

"So you're trying to tell me it was worth it?"

"It was," Heather assured her. "But we know you better than that, Grace. We know you of all people won't take anything we say at face value."

"So we're going to bend the rules a bit. Again. We're going to give you a glimpse into the world as it would have been if you had chosen differently."

For a moment Brittany's lips were moving but Grace could no longer understand the sounds emerging, then like fine-tuning static from a radio, she could comprehend once more. But the sensation of being lost, unable to function stayed with her. "What's happening?"

Tiffany frowned, looking past Grace at something she couldn't see. "Ahh, I was afraid of that. Helman's chosen to be aggressive. He's approaching Wernicke's area, the communication center of your brain."

"I know what Wernicke's center is," she said, but the words emerged an incoherent stream of nonsense syllables. As if she were speaking in tongues.

Heather reached down, stroked her brow and suddenly the pain and confusion was gone. "It'll be all right, Grace. And," she smiled once more, "I don't say that to everyone."

The girl's touch was soothing but Grace wasn't certain she could trust her words. "Will Alex and Kat be all right?"

"Kat's surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. She'll grow up to be a beautiful and charming woman, mother to many strong children, and champion of the innocent. Thanks to you. If you had left, she would never have finished the download, would have died from a seizure. But you chose to stay and saved her. And by the way, her father was one of the original farmers who took Maeve's seeds and harvested them, multiplying a few sackfuls into food enough to feed nations." Tiffany grinned at her. "We told him it would be a nice way to give something back after we arranged for Kat to have her medical care here for free."

"And Alex?"

"If you hadn't chosen to stay, Eve Warden would have finished her treatment of Lukas. She and Renee Redding would have used Lucidine to change the world in their image. Lukas would have had access to Lucidine and would use it to destroy countless lives," Brittany said.

"Alex, what happens to Alex?" Grace still heard her words emerging in a jumbled stream, but they seemed to understand her without difficulty.

Heather leaned down, her face so close that she could see her own reflected in the girl's fathomless eyes. "Do you remember your wish? For Alex and Kat? Alex had a wish as well." Grace stared into Heather's eyes and felt like she was falling. "But first you need to make a choice. You must decide: remain in this world long enough to see it revealed or move on to rejoin Jimmy now. It's your choice, Grace."

Choice? That was no choice--there was no way in hell she could face this world without Jimmy. Much less bear the pain of losing him again. She opened her mouth to tell them that, but Alex's face, his eyes bright with a smile, intruded itself. His laughter joined with Kat's, a joyous music.

"Now, Grace. You need to chose. Now."

Grace tried to shut out Heather's face, her voice, the dark void that had replaced the girl's eyes, drawing her in. She was falling, spinning out of control. Somewhere the blare of an alarm sounded.

Then she heard Jimmy's voice, felt his hand in hers. "I'll be waiting," he whispered. "I'll always be waiting."

And she made her choice.

CHAPTER 39

In the Mourning

"Grace, can you hear me?" Vincent's voice broke through the haze that shrouded her mind.

She struggled to open her eyes. He wore scrubs, a surgical mask dangling from his neck. She realized she was in the ICU, a ventilator doing the work of breathing for her, IV's dripping fluids into her veins.

Grace closed her eyes. Vincent was the last person she wanted to see. Her brain might be foggy, but she still remembered his betrayal.

"I'm so sorry." His words came in an earnest whisper, rustling the hairs on her cheek. "I really do care for you, Grace. But Eve gave me no choice. Don't worry, though. I'm taking over as Director of the ECU. Things are going to change. Lucidine has so much potential. That was one thing Eve had right. I'll do better than her, I promise." He paused, cleared his throat and she felt his hand squeeze hers. "Maybe then, we can, you could--"

Grace pulled away from his touch, and he sighed. She opened her eyes long enough to watch him walk away, then allowed the drugs to do their work and transport her into a blissful slumber. To her dreams, where she could be with Jimmy--until it was time to be with him again forever.

Vincent twisted his wrist, glanced at the new Rolex there. Leonard Augustine was three minutes late. He tugged his silk tie straight and paced to the wide expanse of windows overlooking the small park beside the hospital. It was a bright April day, marking his one month anniversary as Director of the ECU and the Lucidine project.

He placed his hand against the glass warmed by early morning sun. The forecast called for record highs, it was already in the fifties when he'd driven his new Saab convertible into work this morning. He covered a yawn with his other hand.

Eve had left a legacy of private clients who kept growing as word of Lucidine's success spread. And, like Leonard, these clients insisted upon meeting with him in private for their treatments, always before and after business hours, giving him little time for anything except work. Despite moving into a comfortable Shadyside townhouse, he practically lived here in the ECU.

His gaze zeroed in on an unusual group traveling down the sidewalk into the grassy expanse of the park. He watched with a pang of regret as Grace spread out a bright plaid blanket. Despite her rejection of him, he still dreamt of her some nights. At least her operation had freed her from the prison of her fears and agoraphobia. He could take comfort for his role in that.

Kat pushed Alex in a wheelchair. He'd meant to visit the children, check in on them. He'd heard from Helman that Kat was almost done with her rehab, would be going home in another week or so. Also that the ethics committee had approved Alex's DNR and Grace had been appointed his guardian ad litem. No small feat, considering Grace had lost her ability to speak during the surgery that saved her life.

He watched her with the children, her graceful movements striking even from this distance. Kat threw her head back and spun around with glee, wavering a little when she put her weight on her left leg.

Despite losing her voice, that hypnotic angel's voice that had first attracted him to her, Grace had no difficulty communicating with the two children. He watched as she gently lifted Alex from his chair and made him comfortable on the blanket.

Then he realized Alex had no oxygen with him. Grace held Alex on her lap, pointing out the early budding forsythia, crocus and daffodils while Kat sat on his other side, blowing bubbles from a small bottle.

Vincent closed his eyes on the scene, his hand still pressed against the glass, trembling as he realized what he was witnessing. Alex's death. And Vincent's failure.

"All right, Emberek." A man's voice broke through his reverie. "Let's talk turkey. What's it gonna take to get rid of these lousy feelings? I don't have time for all that talk-therapy crap, can't afford to lose my edge because of Prozac or any of that other shit. So tell me, what can you bring to the table? What's this new wonder drug of yours I heard about?"

Vincent opened his eyes, the tableau below him blurring as he blinked. He spun around, a wide smile creasing his face.

"Lucidine," he told Leonard Augustine, a powerful Hollywood advertising executive, certain to be another success story for Vincent. "It will change your world. Forever."

About CJ:

As a pediatric ER doctor, CJ Lyons has lived the life she writes about in her cutting edge suspense novels. She has assisted police and prosecutors with cases involving child abuse, rape, homicide and Munchausen by Proxy and has worked in numerous trauma centers, as a crisis counselor, victim advocate, as well as a flight physician for Life Flight. CJ credits her patients and their families for teaching her the art of medicine and giving her the courage to pursue her dream of becoming a novelist.

Her first novel, LIFELINES (Berkley, March 2008), received praise as a "breathtakingly fast-paced medical thriller" from Publishers Weekly, was reviewed favorably by the Baltimore Sun and Newsday, named a Top Pick by Romantic Times Book Review Magazine, and became a National Bestseller. LIFELINES also won a Readers' Choice Award for Best First Novel.

Her award-winning, critically acclaimed Angels of Mercy series (LIFELINES, WARNING SIGNS, URGENT CARE, and CRITICAL CONDITION) is available in stores now. Her newest project is as co-author of a new suspense series with Erin Brockovich. To learn more about CJ and her work, go to www.cjlyons.net.

Books by CJ Lyons

ROCK BOTTOM with Erin Brockovich, coming 3/11

Angels of Mercy Series:

LIFELINES

WARNING SIGNS

URGENT CARE

CRITICAL CONDITION

BORROWED TIME

NERVES OF STEEL

BLIND FAITH

Shadow Ops Series:

CHASING SHADOWS

LOST IN SHADOWS

EDGE OF SHADOWS, coming soon!

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39