The Fire and the Rose

By Edith Crowe


Catherine finished her notes with a flourish, pleased with herselfat having completed her morning's work with twenty minutes to spare.Now if she could just pack up in record time and escape before somecrisis reared its ugly head...

"In a big hurry, aren't you, Chandler?"

Catherine's heart sank. She faced her boss with a look calculatedto wilt a cactus.

"Hey, don't worry, you'll get your afternoon off, and tomorrowtoo. Before you left, though--I just wanted to tell you I've finallygot you figured out."

"Oh?" Catherine eyed Joe suspiciously as he made himself at homeon a corner of her desk. "What will you do for a hobby now?"

"Sarcasm doesn't work on me, Radcliffe--I know you just do that todistract me; to keep me from discovering your deep dark secret."

Only long practice enabled Catherine to keep her voice even. "Andwhat might that be?"

"Well, let's look at the evidence." Joe was obviously enjoyinghimself and had no intention of coming to the point anytime soon.Catherine reminded herself to breathe slowly and concentrated onrelaxing her grip on the pencil she clutched in her hand.

"From day one on this job, you started digging up leads--andwitnesses--that streetwise, experienced investigators kept missing.How, I kept asking myself, does somebody who spent her life in poshschools and an upscale corporate law firm do that?"

"Joe, you promised me the afternoon off, and that's only fifteenminutes away..."

"Ha! That was the clue! That's how I figured out your secret."

"What?" Catherine was torn between fear and utter confusion.

"Chandler, you are the only person on this staff who seems toconsider Halloween an official government holiday. For the past twoyears, you've asked for that day off, and the day after."

"You keep telling me I don't go out enough, now you take exceptionbecause I take the day off instead of coming in and trying to workwhen I haven't had enough sleep--like several others around here Icould name."

Joe looked faintly guilty but plunged ahead undaunted. "This yearclinched it. Chanukkah and Christmas are almost at the same time.Everybody in this office started pestering me in September to letthem take off the week between Christmas and New Year's--except guesswho?"

Catherine attempted, with reasonable success, to look affronted."You should be grateful that I'm so accomodating, Mr. Maxwell.Someone has to mind the store."

"OK, Radcliffe, you get a gold star. It's not when you're willingto work that interests me, it's when you want off. Christmas week, noproblem--but you insist on having the week before Christmas--or atthe very least, you've got to start your vacation on December 21st."

"OK, I confess, I didn't ask for the same vacation as everyoneelse. What does that make me guilty of-- unpredictability in thefirst degree?"

"Exhibit A: She gets results nobody with her background should beable to get. Exhibit B: She always takes off on Halloween. Exhibit C:She takes off on the Winter Solstice." Joe pointed at hertriumphantly in his best courtroom manner. "Chandler--you're awitch!"

Catherine stared at him as the sense of his words sank in. With anexaggerated moan, she dropped her head in her hands. It was thereaction he was expecting, after all; it was part of the game. Italso kept him from seeing the relief that was too overwhelming tohide.

After a moment Catherine raised her head. "All right, Counselor,you've got me. I should have known a brilliant legal mind such asyours would figure things out before long."

Joe smirked happily. "I might be persuaded to forget it, actually.All you'd have to do for me would be work like a slave, give me allthe credit, maybe season tickets to the Yankee games..."

Catherine looked at him speculatively as she put on her coat.Picking up the pencil, she pointed it at him in her most threateningmanner. "Joe, when you try to blackmail a witch, consider this--whowould vote for a frog as Mayor of New York?"


As Catherine let herself into her apartment she wondered if thecab driver was even now calling to report an escaped lunatic. Surelyhe wondered why his fare kept chuckling to herself at odd moments forno apparent reason. She sank onto the sofa gratefully and kicked offher shoes. Then again, this was New York...cabbies probably were usedto that sort of thing. Maybe he would have noticed if she hadhysterics in the back seat, which she had been sorely tempted to do.Even now, remembering the fear Joe's words had first roused in herleft her weak. Catherine was very glad she had given herself plentyof time to get ready for Peter's party tonight. She needed time torelax and calm down. What a year it had been...

Bridget O'Donnell would be pleased with me, Catherine thought.I'm starting to think like a pagan Celt. Some months after theirfirst meeting Bridget had sent her a book on the Old Religion, andCatherine was intrigued to discover that Samhain was the first day ofthe old Celtic New Year. Like all Celtic holidays, it ran from sunsetto sunset, so Halloween was really its beginning. A few years ago itwould have seemed strange to think of beginning a year at time thatmeant "summer's end," when the world was well on the way towarddarkness...but darkness meant something very different to Catherinenow than it had in the days when a carefree summer full of sun andshining water seemed the high point of the year.

Darkness was much more complicated now. It was Vincent'sprotection when he ventured into her world. Since meeting him shewelcomed the lengthening nights because they gave him more time tospend with her, more time for him to escape the confines of theTunnels that were at once refuge and prison. Summer meant she wentBelow more and more--like Persephone in reverse--so they could betogether without endangering him. Especially this summer. Nothingseemed as important now as keeping Vincent safe. Suddenly cold, sherose to light the fire. Appropriate to the season after all; lightthe Samhain fire so the sun would have the strength to return, thatdarkness would not swallow the light forever, that the balance wouldbe preserved.

Comforted by the warmth of the flames, Catherine let her minddrift back to the previous spring, when the delicate balance hadalmost been lost. No threat she had ever faced, not even to her ownlife, had frightened her as much as the threat of losing Vincent.Those weeks had been the hardest she had ever known, because watchinghis pain was so much harder than suffering her own. Blow after blowhad rained down on them, almost toppling the fragile structure oftheir life together; a structure that had been built so carefully, soslowly. Catherine sighed. Life had certainly taught her by then thatdestruction was much easier than creation.

After Spirko's expose had been thwarted and Paracelsus had died,she thought they could begin the work of building again--only to findthe fiercest dragon remained to be slain... or tamed. The descentinto the darkness to bring Vincent back to himself, and to her, wasthe the most important journey she had ever undertaken, perhaps everwould. The work of healing was slow after that, but she wasdetermined. She had come too close to losing everthing that mattered.No task was more important. She remembered the Summer solstice ...


"Catherine! I didn't expect you so soon." Vincent rose quicklyfrom his chair to greet her.

"Absolutely no one at work seemed inclined to stay late today, noteven Joe. Must be because it's the first day of summer. I've neverheard of summer fever, but I think the DA's office has it." Catherineput down the book she carried to take the hands Vincent offered her.

"The longest day of the year," Vincent said softly, averting hisface. "You should not be spending it underground."

Catherine captured his chin in her hand and turned him to faceher. "Sunlight," she said firmly, "is vastly overrated. It's evenhazardous to your health--ask Father." Her voice turned serious. "Iam exactly where I want to be, Vincent. Don't ever think otherwise."

Vincent looked at her for a long moment, then dropped his gaze tothe book she had returned. "The Hero with a Thousand Faces.You've had that a long time."

"Actually, I still do." She curled up on the bed while Vincentsettled himself in the chair beside her. "I decided to buy my owncopy. I think I've become Mr. Smythe's best customer." She smiled atVincent. "It's hard to believe that only a little over two years ago,all I needed to guide my life was a collection of corporate law textsand the latest issue of Vogue. Now, Joseph Campbell seems muchmore to the point."

"You exaggerate, Catherine," Vincent admonished. "You have alwayshad a great love for books." He stared at the book he held, turningit over and over in his hands. "Catherine..." His voice was rough andhe didn't look at her. "No hero of legend was ever braver than you.What you risked, to follow me into the dark..."

"Vincent!" Her voice was soft, but very determined. "I told youonce there was no darkness, as long as I was with you. I've never hadcause to change my mind. Oh, I was afraid, terrified--of losing you.I was afraid for you, but not of you. I knew you wouldnever hurt me."

"How could you know something I don't know myself?" Vincent cried,rising from the chair and turning to face her from across the room.

Catherine gazed at him steadily. "You always told me to follow myheart." She chose her words as carefully as she knew how, trying toproject her conviction to him. "Vincent, this is something both myheart and my mind tell me. This bond we have-- you told me it'ssomething unique, something you've never had with anyone else."

"Yes."

"When Paracelsus gave you that drug..." she winced at the painthat memory brought to his face, but forced herself to go on. "Youwere lost then, too. No one could reach you, not even Father. But Icould. Vincent, have you ever wondered what our bond is for,why it is?"

Vincent looked at her like a drowning man who sees a distantshore. "No... perhaps I was afraid that it would disappear if Ilooked at it too closely ... that it was somehow presumptuous toquestion a miracle."

Catherine held out her hand and Vincent slowly moved toward her totake it as he returned to his chair. "I believe that bond is veryspecial," she said earnestly. "I don't think you could ever loseyourself so far that you wouldn't know me. I don't think you couldever hurt me."

Vincent looked at her for a long time, then sighed--but offered nofurther argument. Catherine drew his hand to her lips and kissed it,gently as a whisper. "Come on." She rose from the bed and pulled himto his feet. "I brought a large box of utterly sinful chocolatecookies. If we hurry, maybe we can snag a few before Mouse eats themall."

Vincent smiled. He seemed glad at the lightening of the mood, butthoughtful. Catherine tucked her arm in his and allowed herself amental sigh of relief. One small seed, she thought to herself. Onebrick at a time...


The collapse of a log in the fireplace brought Catherine out ofher reverie. Glancing at her watch in chagrin, she moved quickly tothe bedroom and began shedding her clothes. She hadn't taken theafternoon off to sit around lost in thought, but to give herself timeto get ready without having to rush. As she entered the bathroom shehad a sudden vivid memory of running to the door on this same nighttwo years ago, rushed and damp, to greet her father. The memory wasso startling and so vivid it brought tears to her eyes. This was thenight when the wall between living and dead grew thin, sheremembered. Blinking back the tears she remembered her last sight ofher father, in the Tunnels below. More and more since then she hadcome to believe that was no dream or hallucination brought on bywishful thinking and grief, but a true vision. She drew strength fromthe memory. Oh, Daddy, she thought. I've discovered you don't justhave a happy life, you have to build it for yourself, piece bycareful piece. And you can't ever stop, or let your attention wandereven for a minute. It's very hard... but I'm trying... Steppingunder the soothing water, she remembered last June ...


The New York summer had not yet turned into steam bath that woulddrive everyone but overworked Assistant DAs out of town. Joe shouldstill be in a good mood, Catherine told herself as she approached hisoffice door. "Joe--got a minute?" Catherine knew perfectly well hehad, because she had sneaked a surreptitious peek at his calendar andtimed this carefully.

"Sure, as long as you promise not to ask me for vacation. TheRamirez trial is coming up next week, and I want you in on it."

"Actually, the job is what I want to talk about, but I promise Ihave no vacation requests and I was hoping you'd want me in court onthe Ramirez case."

"Oh, great," said Joe, somewhat taken aback. "You're not going toask for a raise, are you?"

"No ..." Catherine smiled. "Although I probably deserve one. I...I've been thinking, in a few months it will be two years since Istarted this job. I want to talk about where I go from here."

"There are a lot of places you could go from here, Cathy--as longas it's not to Providence."

"I promise you, there's absolutely no chance of that! I don't wantto leave New York."

Joe looked like he was dying to ask her why, but instead he saidcarefully, "I think you do very well in court. I was hoping you likedit well enough to switch to the trial division and do lessinvestigation." He took a deep breath and plunged in. "Look, you'vedone great as an investigator. I know in the beginning I had a chipon my shoulder about you and you felt you had to prove yourself, butyou've done that ten times over. You take too many chances sometimes,it's not worth it!"

"I know. I agree."

"Don't give me a hard time about my big brother complex, Chandler.We've got plenty of other people to... what did you say?" Joe snappedhis head up and his mouth shut.

"I said I agree. When I came here I didn't just need to prove toyou and myself that I could do the job. I also had to prove to myselfthat my assault hadn't paralyzed me, made me afraid to ever takerisks again, even when it was important."

"Sort of like getting back on the horse right away after you'vebeen thrown off?" Joe asked gently.

Catherine nodded. "It was very important to show myself I hadn'tlost my nerve. But I think maybe I over-compensated. This year...well, I've just come to close to the brink too often." Joe watched asshe struggled for the right words, fingering the crystal she worearound her neck while she stared out the window. "Maybe I realized Ican't act as if I exist in a vacuum... that if I put myself indanger, I'm not the only one who could get hurt."

"What exactly do you mean?"

As Catherine turned from the window she seemed to pull herselfback from far away. "I mean ... well, look what I put you through. Iknow that I kid you a lot about acting like my brother, but don'tthink it doesn't mean a lot to me that you care. The doorman told mewhat you did after my father died."

"I just wanted to make sure you hadn't fallen and cracked yourhead or something ... most accidents happen in the home you know,and..."

"Joe ... it's OK. Really." Her tone became more businesslike. "Ithink I'd like to do more trial work, maybe concentrate on childabuse and battered women. It's not like there isn't enough miseryhere to go around. Let somebody else investigate murderers and drugdealers for awhile."

"Like maybe the cops? That is their job, you know."

"Promise to remind me if I forget? And if I find out aboutsomething or stumble across valuable witnesses, I promise I won't goto meet anyone alone in a dark alley."

"You've got a deal, Radcliffe!" He leaned back in his chair,grinning from ear to ear. "You know, I think you just made my life alot less complicated."

Catherine smiled at him in return. "Mine too, Joe," she repliedfervently. "Mine too."

Leaving Joe's office Catherine decided she deserved an early lunchin a quiet corner. It had been easier than she thought, but anyserious conversation with Joe these days was full of unasked andunanswered questions lurking beneath the surface. Bless him for notasking.

Next to the threat of losing Vincent, the most frightening thingabout the events of last spring was the fear that she had articulatedto Father. It had never occurred to her before she said it, but onceuttered it preyed on her. Was it possible that, unconsciously, sheput herself in danger because she knew it would draw Vincent to her?Why would she do such a thing? In some ways, answering that questionwas the hardest task of all those she'd had to face in that darktime. Slowly, she worked her way to the heart of it.

When did she first begin to know that her love for Vincent hadpassion in it? Maybe that first magical Samhain they spent together.For a long time afterward she told herself that she ran after Vincentbecause she feared for his safety, but in retrospect she could admitthat a little twinge of jealousy had something to do with it. Sheremembered the knowing smile Bridget gave her. Maybe it was trueabout the Irish having second sight. Bridget certainly knew what kindof love it was before she did.

When Vincent almost died in that cave-in, there was no way toavoid facing the truth. This was no platonic love, no matter how muchthey talked about it as if it were some third party apart from them.She admitted to herself it was there, but neither of them seemed tobe willing to face the issue of what to do about it, until theanniversary of her mother's death sent her into that emotionaltailspin. That was a painful time, but being born is not a processwithout pain. She looked on that time now as the end of thetransformation--from the old Catherine Chandler to the new ... andthe new had no doubts about what she wanted.

At first she thought the slow progress of their relationship wasdue to Vincent's innocence. From things he and Father had said it wasclear to her that neither of them had ever expected such a love waspossible for Vincent because of his difference. It had been hard forher to understand how he had escaped as long as he had. There wasmore than one woman in the Tunnels in the right age group. It hadn'ttaken her very long to decide that Vincent was the most beautiful andwonderful man in the known universe, how could it escape theattention of those who grew up with him? She decided that very facthad made him seem too much like a brother to them and concluded someunconscious incest taboo was operating.

Then Lisa appeared, and Catherine knew that her task would beharder than she had thought. She was glad and honored that Vincenttold her what happened ... but she also knew that half a lifetime'sbelief would not be eroded overnight. She was determined that itwould be eroded; that he was as wrong in this fear as in his otherfears that he would hurt her.

After Paracelsus died she had a dream ... disjointed images ofVincent's painful confession about Lisa; of his killings to protecther; images of fire, from a raging forest fire to the comfort of ahearth. Waking suddenly in the middle of the night, she had heranswer. She knew that her first step had to be the one she had justtaken, to cease putting herself in danger when it could be avoided.The second step was to tell Vincent what she had learned, and get himto believe it ... but she knew he was not yet ready to hear it.


Emerging from her shower, Catherine decided that she would neverbe ready in time unless she forced her mind to remain in the present.That was not an easy task, with so many vivid memories of the lastsix months to dwell on, and so many hidden hopes for the future thatshe guarded in her heart like seedlings still too fragile to beexposed to the outdoors. Constant vigilance was necessary, but shewas successful enough that she was able to finish her preparationswith time to spare. Eyeing herself critically in the mirror, shedecided she made a passable Maid Marian, as long as she had RobinHood beside her to suggest something beyond generic medieval. Earlythough she was, she left her apartment and headed Below. No sensesitting around getting the dress wrinkled; she could always spendextra time admiring the children's costumes ... Laughing at herfeeble attempts to hide her real motivation Catherine swept down thehall to the elevator.

"Catherine--you are a vision." Father greeted her with a flourishas she entered his chambers.

"I know I'm early, Father, but I didn't want to just sit around myapartment," Catherine admitted. "Do you think Vincent will be readysoon?"

"I fear you may have quite a wait." Father shook his head. "Mouseinsisted on helping Vincent don his 'getup,' as he puts it, so itshould take at least twice as long as it would have otherwise."

Laughing, Catherine settled into a chair, arranging the voluminousskirts of the gown around her. "That's quite all right. It's nice tohave time to visit with you, since you won't be coming to the party."

Father leaned forward in his chair. "I'm very glad Peter offeredto have this party. I admit I feel better knowing Vincent will bethere rather than on the streets, even on the one night he can beseen Above with some measure of safety." He sighed. "I suppose it wasinevitable that he would begin to feel trapped Below, especially ashe got older."

Father rose to retrieve a teapot from his desk and offered some toCatherine. Settling again, he addressed her in an apologetic tone. "Iregret how often I blamed you for his restlessness. The truth is, hiswanderings Above began well before he ever met you. He never wouldhave found you in the first place if he hadn't been on one of hiscustomary explorations."

"And I regret many of the arguments we've had about it in thepast," Catherine told him. "The truth is, you and I are both firmlywedged between a rock and a hard place. We love him, and want to keephim both safe and happy ... but as long as the world is as it is, andVincent is what he is, there's no way he can be completely safewithout shrinking his horizons more than he--or we--could bear."

Catherine laughed ruefully and leaned back in her chair. "Today myboss accused me of being a witch. I wish I were, so I could solve thewhole problem with magic."

"How would you do that?" Father asked her, intrigued. "TurnVincent into a handsome Prince?"

"No!" Catherine cried. "I wouldn't change a hair on his head, oranywhere else. Vincent is the closest to perfect of any man I've evermet, or hope to. What I would do ... " Her voice turned wistful. "I'dchange the world, so he could live in it without fear. Not only wouldit be good for Vincent, it would be a damn sight better world."

"O brave new world, that has such creatures in it," Father quotedsoftly.

"Well put. Vincent always claims Shakespeare knew everything."Catherine laughed. "Here we sit, rebuilding the universe to our orderover cups of tea."

"For the present, at least, " Father smiled, "we shall have to dowith Peter's party. It's really an excellent idea. It will make theolder children feel very grown up and daring to go to a party Above."

And Vincent can indulge his well-developed sense of responsibiltychaperoning them with me, in an environment where everyone knows him.Just the children, some Helpers, and quite a few Tunnel 'alumni.' "

"You know, Catherine ..." Father fixed her with a steady gaze. "Itreally was remarkably fortuitous that Peter came up with the idea forthis party. You and I were so concerned about ensuring Vincent'ssafety this year without making him feel too confined, and then thisideal solution presented itself. Nothing like it ever occurred toPeter before."

"It's lucky he thought of it when he did," Catherine agreedinnocently.

"If one had a suspicious nature one might question the source ofhis inspiration."

"How fortunate," Catherine responded with a smile, "that you don'thave one."

As they talked of less consequential things, Catherine reflectedthat one positive result of recent events had been the deepening ofher relationship with Father. Especially since Charles Chandler'sdeath, Vincent's family had become more than ever her own. More thananyone else it was she and Father who suffered through Vincent'sagonies, and their love and care that guided the long, slow healingthroughout the summer and fall. Some of the wounds he suffered wereso deep they might never heal completely, but Catherine wasdetermined she would always be there whenever the scars plagued himwith remembered pain.

Catherine had spent more time with Father in those months thanever before. Many times, after Vincent had finally achieved sleepless troubled by dreams, they would sit in the next room and talksoftly far into the night. Father seemed to have decided Catherinehad the right to know more about Vincent's past. He told her manystories of Vincent's long and often heartbreaking stuggle to becomethe man they both loved more than any other.

As she learned more and more from Father, and as she reached herown conclusions about the meaning and possibilities of herproblematic relationship with Vincent, Catherine began to understandhow strongly Father's assumptions--not always conscious, not alwayswell examined--influenced Vincent's view of himself. She began to askquestions of Father, as subtly as she knew how, that might lead himto question some of those assumptions. Perhaps, given a nudge in theright direction, Father might come to the same conclusions she had,or least be more receptive when she finally felt confident enough toarticulate them.

"Maid Marian, Robin and his Merry Persons have finally arrived!"Catherine turned at the sound of Jamie's voice to behold a sight moreglorious than ever graced Sherwood Forest.

"Vincent, you look magnificent!" she exclaimed in appreciation."Jamie, Mouse, you've outdone yourselves. The costumes arewonderful."

"Mary helped sew," Mouse was forced to admit. "But Mouse helpedJamie with gizmos." Catherine smiled at the thought of medieval"gizmos," but agreed the archery paraphenalia was beautiful as wellas authentic. Jamie had insisted on making a bow that was suited toVincent's stature. It was a work of art.

"Vincent's tunic is really too long," Jamie complained, "but hesaid if I made it any shorter he'd refuse to wear the tights."

Clearly uncomfortable with this discussion of hosiery in front ofCatherine, Vincent hastily suggested they should go find the youngerchildren right away. He wanted to read the first round of ghoststories before turning the task over to Father. Since Jamie and Mousewere clearly eager to show off their handiwork, Catherine acquiescedwith good grace and tried not to mourn the loss of the shorter tunictoo much. Patience was, after all, a virtue. She reminded herselfthat the Grand Canyon started as a humble stream bed.


"Vincent," Catherine exclaimed with satisfaction, "I would saythis party is a rousing success."

Vincent emphatically agreed. "I've never seen Mouse act so..."

"Civilized?" Catherine suggested.

"I was about to say, mature," Vincent admonished her as he slippedan arm around her velvet-clad shoulders.

"Of course you were," Catherine replied without conviction as sheleaned contentedly into his embrace. She let her gaze drift aroundthe room, enjoying the variety of costumes and people. "I'm so happyMichael is doing well," Catherine said fervently. "I may neverforgive myself for being so blind about him; I should have realizedwhat was happening. I caused him so much pain ... "

"Catherine, stop." Vincent admonished her. "You can hardly holdyourself at fault for the natural course of adolescent hormones. Themost innocent actions can seem like cosmic transgressions at thatage."

"But he felt so guilty about it ... " Catherine stole a carefulglance at Vincent's face.

"A guilt quite disproportionate to the nature of the offense. Asif loving you could be considered an offense."

As Vincent smiled down at her tenderly, Catherine began to find itincreasingly difficult to give this conversation the concentration itdeserved. Turning her face reluctantly back to the room, Catherinekept her voice casual. "Michael is so sensitive ... I hope he's beenable to put the whole thing into perspective."

"He talked to me about it more than once," Vincent informed her."I think I was able to help him see that he was blaming himselfunduly."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Catherine said with satisfaction."Very glad." She turned to him and smiled. "And now, good Robin, mayI have this dance?"


It was well after midnight by the time the Tunnel contingent hadbeen rounded up and escorted Below by their sympathetic butimplacable chaperones. It was several hours after that beforeCatherine reluctantly agreed it was time to go home, while she wasstill conscious enough to climb the ladder to her building. She andVincent walked very slowly along the familiar route.

"Vincent ... " Catherine asked uncertainly, "did you mind too muchthat we didn't spend the whole night Above like we have before? It'sso unfair, when it's the one night a year that we can do that, butthe children did enjoy the party so much ..."

"And, coincidentally, it was much safer for me." Vincent looked atCatherine with a raised eyebrow. "How fortunate Peter's alternativepresented itself so ... fortuitously."

"Perhaps Peter did have an ulterior motive." Catherine tried withall her might to project feelings of total innocence. "He is veryfond of you, and Father. He's concerned for your welfare."

"And yours as well," Vincent pointed out. "Catherine, of course Iwould have preferred to spend the night Above with you again, butit's too dangerous for me to be seen in your company. After theevents of last spring it would be too great a risk. Too many peoplemight make the same connections Spirko did." His voice became roughwith pain. "It would have been bad enough before. People in yourworld might have regarded me mostly as a freak. Now they would viewme only as a dangerous killer. Which, of course, I am."

Catherine stopped and, pulling with all her strength, turned astartled Vincent around to face her. "Don't you dare talk aboutyourself that way!" Her voice held equal parts of pain and fury. "Youhave never killed anyone that wasn't trying to kill you at the time,or me, or someone you loved!"

"And what of Paracelsus, Catherine?" Vincent asked her roughly."You were there. You saw. I killed an unarmed man in anger."

"You killed a man who was trying to destroy you, using words ashis weapon. Oh, I admit that would be the hardest to justify incourt, especially to anyone who didn't know Paracelsus." The hatredin her voice startled her as much as it did Vincent. "I have neverknown anyone so thoroughly evil as that man. He was a consciencelessmurderer many times over, including of his own wife. He was a masterof manipulation who could have driven a saint to kill!"

"Still, it was I who did kill him ..."

"Vincent!" She was almost shouting in frustration and anger."Don't you think anyone else wouldn't have killed him, given thechance? William? Jamie? Me? Don't think any one of us wouldn't. Butas usual, it was you who got to do the dirty work--despite the painit brings you. How can your people keep doing this to you?" She wasalmost in tears.

Vincent pulled her close to him, and she buried her face in hisneck, trying to regain some measure of calm. "Catherine," headmonished softly, "do you think you're being fair? It has alwaysbeen my choice to make."

Catherine clung to him for a long moment, then stepped back enoughto see his face. "What would they do if you didn't exist?" Her voicebroke a little at the mere contemplation of such a possibility, butshe plunged on. "They'd have to do things for themselves. What I'mtrying to say is, what you've done is no different from what anyoneelse would. You just get stuck doing it more often because you'rebetter at it. Like the 'artistic' kid in school who always ends updoing the bulletin board."

"The the two are hardly comparable." They resumed their walktoward her building, hands tightly clasped.

Catherine's tone was very serious. "Vincent, you attribute so manythings to your difference--even if there are other, simplerexplanations. Lately I've been thinking how hard it must have beenfor Father, how heartbreaking, to curb a child's natural trust andfearless curiosity. He had to stress your differences to keep yousafe; I don't see what else he could have done. But sometimes I thinkhe did his work too well."

"You can hardly deny I am different." Vincent drew theirhands up in front of them as if to emphasize that difference.

Catherine drew his hand toward her to kiss his fingers. "No, Ican't deny that," she admitted softly. "But most of that is adifference of degree, not of kind. Great power brings greatresponsibility. You've had a harder battle than most, because you areso powerful. Your responsibility is a terrible burden, but you'veborne it in a way that no one else could. Killing to defend yourselfor those you love is something anyone would do. Including me."

"What of the times my power has been used to hurt those I love,not defend?"

"Are you thinking of Lisa?" Catherine's voice was very quiet.

"Yes. And Father, the time I broke his arm. When I was under theinfluence of Paracelsus' drug."

"Let's take the last case first." Catherine slipped into herlawyer mode. She needed something to keep away the tide of feelingsthat would overwhelm her, given the least chance. "If you had takenthe drug on purpose, with your strength, that would have beenreprehensible. You would be responsible for the consequences ofunleashing unpredictable and potentially deadly power withoutcontrol--like a drunk driver. But you didn't take it on purpose; youdidn't even know what was happening to you until it was too late. Theresponsibility for what happened is all on Paracelsus' head."

"Perhaps that wasn't a good example," Vincent conceded, "since anoutside force was involved. But what of Lisa? Only I was responsiblefor what happened to her. My failure of control. My selfishness."

Catherine steeled herself against the pain and bitterness in hisvoice. She had to keep alert; what followed might be the mostimportant words she would ever say. "All right," she said carefully."Let's look at that. How old were you when it happened. Sixteen?Seventeen"

"I had just turned seventeen."

"And Lisa was even younger, right?"

"Yes."

"So ... two adolescents with all those overwhelming hormones and abackground of near-total innocence. I get the impression that sexeducation was not Father's forte...hardly surprising considering whenhe grew up. I expect he hoped that if the issue was ignored itwouldn't arise. I'll bet he didn't prepare you at all well for whatyou were feeling, at least in any way specific enough to be of muchhelp."

"I ... I suppose it could be seen that way," Vincent admittedreluctantly. "But I think neither Father nor I believed it could everbecome an issue for me."

"Which supports my contention that you've always given too muchweight to your differences." Catherine waited for a moment, butVincent was silent.

"Vincent," she continued, "You've obviously assumed two things.First, that Lisa pulled away from fear or disgust directed towardsyou, personally--because of your difference--and that you held onbecause you were overwhelmed with selfish desires you couldn'tcontrol."

"And wasn't it true?" Vincent asked hoarsely. "It happened. I hurther."

"Vincent, what happened between you and Lisa could have happenedbetween any two people your age. Lisa wasn't afraid of you, she wasafraid of a whole new and frightening world of sex and desire. That'spretty powerful stuff." Catherine fought to keep her voiceimpersonal. She was treading on dangerous ground, approaching theplace of his greatest fear.

"Any large, strong male would be frightening to someone asunprepared as Lisa was. And you were even less prepared. You'll neverknow what would have happened if Lisa hadn't panicked. I'm sureyou've always assumed the worst, but for all you know she could havegotten through to you if she'd kept her head a little longer. Pleasedon't think I'm blaming her, it wasn't her fault any more than it wasyours. But the truth is you'll don't really know how that would haveended. You've been castigating yourself for half your life on thebasis of a possibility, attaching more significance to the wholething than Lisa herself ever did. Do you remember our talk aboutMichael?"

Vincent lifted his bowed head in confusion. "Michael?"

"Yes, Michael. What happened between him and me was different indegree, not in kind. The way he hung on to me, if he'd had claws I'dhave scars on my back right now. You refuse to let him condemnhimself for that, nor should you. Why are you so hard on yourself?"

Vincent stopped dead in his tracks. "I ... I never looked at it inthat way before. Perhaps ..."

Catherine wondered if she really saw the distant glimmer ofunderstanding in his eyes, or was deluded by her own hope.

"Perhaps?"

Vincent took her hands, but was reluctant to look at her."Catherine ... dear Catherine ... I admit my fear is all the greaterbecause it is a fear of the unknown. To risk myself is easy for me,perhaps too easy. To risk you ... I could not live with myself if Iever harmed you. Your love for me is the most precious thing in mylife, more precious than my life." His voice shook withemotion as his hands entwined with hers. "I know you have great faithin our bond. I know I have always told you to follow your heart, butI am afraid to trust my own in this. How can I know if it tells metruth, or what I so desperately want to hear?"

"I understand," she reassured him. "If you're afraid to listen toyou heart, then, what about listening to your head? I've beenthinking ... thinking a lot lately about the times you've come tosave me, to protect me. I've developed a theory about it. I'd likeyour opinion."

As she had hoped, her words brought him a little out of his pain.The look he gave her was dubious, but intrigued. "What theory?"

Catherine breathed a silent prayer that she could find exactly theright words. "From what I've seen, and heard from others, yourcontrol is much easier when I'm not directly threatened. Those peoplethat were after Lin and Henry--you dealt with them like a soldierwho's doing something he may hate doing, but that has do be done. Youdid what you had to do efficiently, intelligently. With thoseoutsiders, you were able to hold back even when they were threateningMary and Father; you held back until they gave you no choice. Andeven then, you didn't really begin to ... lose yourself at all untilthey found me. It's only when I'm being directly threatened that yourcontrol slips, like it did with Stephen... "

"Catherine, that still haunts my dreams. I didn't need to kill himto save you, but I would have if you hadn't stopped me..."

"But that's just it, Vincent, I was able to stop you. I've alwaysbeen able to stop you." Her voice was almost shaking with thestrength of her conviction. "Like I did when you were lost afterParacelsus drugged you. Like I did when you ran away from us all intothe dark. I've always been able to pull you back from the brink,haven't I, even when no one else could?"

"Yes," Vincent whispered. His eyes were fixed on her face, and hiswhole soul was in them.

Catherine gently touched his sleeve. "Don't you find it curiousthat I seem to be the one that can trigger the greatest rage in you,and am also the one that seems to able to bring you out of it?"

"I never realized it before ... perhaps there is a pattern in it... but what could it possibly mean?" His longing to understand wasalmost palpable.

"When we were going through that terrible time with Spirko, I toldFather I was afraid that I was putting myself in danger because Iknew you it would make you come to me."

"Catherine!" Vincent was horrified. "How can you think such athing? You would never ..."

"Not on purpose, not consciously, anyway." Catherine admitted."But in the dark depths of the mind ... I had a dream, you know, notlong after Paracelsus' death. I dreamed of all the times you'd killedfor me, and then I dreamed of fire. Two kinds of fire--volcanoes,forest fires--the kind that kills, destroys. But I also dreamed ofthe kind that gives life, like sunshine, or hearthfire."

Vincent seemed confused at her change of direction. "I don'tunderstand ..."

"Neither did I, at first. Then I realized it was telling me thatfire is an impersonal power, that can be used equally well forcreation or destruction."

Vincent's reply was thoughtful. "That is true of most things.Fire, water, even tools ... "

"Or our own passions. You and I have a great deal of passion inus, Vincent." She felt the hand she held tense suddenly and thenrelax as if by an effort of will. "Passion isn't something good orbad. Like fire, it's a power that can express itself in many ways.Some people have a passion for justice, or a passion for God; somehave a passion for death that can only be fulfilled in war."

They had reached the entrance to her building. Catherine turnedher eyes to the shaft of light, not daring to look at Vincent."There's a lot of passion between us, Vincent, but we've prevented itfrom seeking its most creative outlet. You won't let yourself use itto love me, only to kill for me. And I let you, because I want,because I need that passion so much. I give you opportunites todemonstrate your love for me in the only way we've allowed ourselves.We've chosen Thanatos over Eros, without realizing what we've beendoing."

Risking a look at Vincent's face, Catherine had no need to askwhat he thought. He looked stunned, stricken. His eyes held hers,beseeching. "Catherine, I ... I don't know what to say."

"I don't want you to say anything," she told him gently. "Justthink about what I've said. It took me a lot of very ... painfulself-examination to work it out; I don't expect you to take it in allat once. Just think about it. Maybe ... maybe what you think is aproblem is really the solution." She turned her face to the light,then back to Vincent. "It's late, you should go back to your chamber... we're both dead on our feet." She carefully refrained fromtouching him.

"Take care, Vincent." Her voice was almost a whisper.

Vincent looked at her a long time, leaning against the wall if hemight forget to stand upright without its help. He nodded slowly."Take care, Catherine. Good night."

Climbing the ladder to her building, Catherine wondered if shewould have the strength to make it to the top. She found herself inthe elevator, hardly knowing how she had gotten there. Leaningagainst the wall, almost weeping with exhaustion, she realized shehad just delivered the summation in the most important case she wouldever argue in her life. All her seeds had been sown. All she could donow was wait--and hope as she had never hoped before.


The year continued its downward turn into the dark, andCatherine's life moved quietly along. Her new work was rewarding, butemotionally draining. She was still seeking a balance between thedemands of all the people seeking her professional help and the needsof those who had become her true family. Especially the one who hadbecome the center of everything. Vincent made no more references towhat had happened on Samhain, and she did not press the issue. Whatshe had planted would flower in its own time, or not at all.

Many people had invited her for Thanksgiving, concerned about howshe would feel on the first such holiday after her father's death.She was touched by their caring, and assured them all that she wouldbe spending the holiday with some good friends. Everyone took this atface value, except Jenny. After the episode of the watcher, Catherinefound it increasingly difficult to keep things from Jenny, beginningto suspect that it was more than the demands of her double life thathad kept her from seeing more of her old friend in the past twoyears. She remembered just how frighteningly intuitive Jenny couldbe.

Jenny was understandably curious about the mysterious stranger whostayed with Catherine the night she was rescued from her nearestbrush with death. Gradually Catherine told Jenny a version of thestory she had given Nancy Tucker--vague enough to protect Vincent andhis secrets; detailed enough to satisfy Jenny's curiosity and assuageher concern. Catherine had no illusions Jenny would be satisfied withthat forever. Given her friend's track record, Catherine halfexpected a phone call any day, and Jenny's voice telling her about aremarkable dream ... Catherine half feared an event like that, andhalf hoped for it.

The rain and cold of a New York November meant that Catherinespent a lot of time Below. When Vincent came to her, needing toescape, he no longer confined himself to her balcony. Those threedays spent inside her apartment--though he remembered only fragmentsof that time--seemed to have broken the spell at last. Tentatively atfirst, then with increasing ease, they spent many evenings by herfire. They talked of everything from Jung to Asian music to theoscillating universe. She shared with him the pain of all the woundedfamilies she dealt with in the course of her day, and his quietsympathy helped her bear all their sorrows. Despite the strangefeeling of being suspended, waiting for something to happen, in manyways it was the happiest time of Catherine's life.

Thanksgiving Below was quieter than Winterfest, and lesselaborate, but very moving to Catherine. Although there was nodenying she missed her father terribly, she had but to look aroundher to be reminded how much she had to be thankful for. Her familynow was actually bigger than she'd ever had before, and no lessloving for the lack of any ties of blood. Father regarded her ratherspeculatively when Mouse commented--in his inimitable way--on theunusual bounty of this year's dinner. Catherine had wondered how shecould bring that about without being too obvious about it. In amoment of inspiration she enlisted William as her secret ally. It hadbeen like offering Michelangelo some choice pieces of marble. Whatartist could turn down the means to outdo himself?

Vincent seemed to be inundated by children for most of the day,moreso than usual. Catherine thought she understood why. The Tunnelchildren were a part of the community in a way few children of theirage in her world were. They knew only too well, she was sure, howclose they had come to losing their favorite teacher, confidante, andsurrogate big brother ... or perhaps surrogate father would be moreaccurate. Many of the younger children could easily have fathersVincent's age. At that thought, Catherine had to look away and steelherself against the emotions she could feel welling up from the deepplace where she kept them hidden.

As each day grew darker, the city became more dazzling, adorningitself for all the festivals of light that converged at this time ofyear. Catherine had never enjoyed Christmas shopping more. SantaClaus was going to be exceptionally generous Below this year if shehad anything to say about it, and hang the consequences. Father wouldprobably lecture her afterwards about spoiling everyone, but thatwould come later. After all, how could he possibly criticize SantaClaus in front of the children?

For the most part, she tried to choose gifts that were beautifuland meaningful without being too impractical- -hand-carved knittingneedles for Mary, paints and brushes for Elizabeth, a gloriousvariety of "gizmos" for Mouse. She tried not to think too much aboutwhat he might concoct out of them. Practicality went out the windowin an obscure little shop in the Village, where she found a gift forVincent she was utterly unable to resist. As Catherine went about herholiday business with a growing sense of joy and anticipation, thewheel turned inexorably until it was the longest night of the year.


"Peter! Come in--I'm almost ready; I just need to give my cloak agood brush and get my candle, and Vincent's present."

Peter Alcott looked at her appreciatively. "Cathy, you looklovelier every time I see you, but tonight is exceptional. That dressis spectacular."

"Do you like it? Panne velvet does seem to be a Tunnel kind offabric, doesn't it? And this color made me think of snow bycandlelight--very appropriate for Winterfest."

"It will certainly put Vincent in the holiday spirit," Peterchuckled.

"If you say anything embarrassing in front of him I'll neverforgive you. It's bad enough when you tell everybody that I was nakedwhen you first saw me ..."

"Just part of my persona as the quaint old family physician,"Peter insisted.

"I shudder to think what you and Father say about us when we'renot around. No, don't say a word, I'd rather not know."

"Cathy," Peter said as he helped her into her cape, "I have toldhim more than once that he should never underestimate you. I wish I'dbeen there to tell him from the beginning. When I think of youcarrying that secret all alone for so long ... "

As the left the apartment, Catherine tucked her arm in Peter's."I'm just glad I finally did find out that you were part of it too; Ionly wish we could have made the discovery under happiercircumstances. It's been wonderful to have someone from my own worldto talk to, especially since ... "

"Especially since you couldn't tell Charles?"

"Yes. I'll always regret he never really got to meet Vincent. I'llnever know for sure what he would have thought," Catherine saidsadly.

Peter patted the hand that rested on his arm. "Knowing my oldfriend Charles, I'm sure he would have accepted anyone his daughterloved so much. Of course, he might have been a bit startled atfirst."

"Might have been?" Catherine laughed.

"All right, would have been," Peter admitted. "But Charles couldrecognize quality when he saw it. After all, he married your mother."

Catherine smiled gratefully. "Yes, he did, didn't he. And hecertainly had good taste in friends."

Catherine and Peter had decided to use the basement entrance andfind their own way. The Tunnel community would be spread thin,preparing for the party and escorting Helpers Below. By now Catherineknew this route by heart, and could find her way around most of theTunnels unaided. She never even thought about it anymore. As theyapproached Father's chamber, they encountered more and more peoplebusily moving about. Some carried musical instruments, othersplatters of food; festively wrapped bundles poked surreptitiously outof many a pocket. Catherine and Peter found their journey took longerthe closer they got to the central chambers. One of the originalHelpers in the company of the almost legendary Catherine could not beallowed to pass by without effusive greetings.

Catherine and Vincent arrived in Father's chamber at the same timefrom different directions. Although both were greeted with holidaywishes from the small crowd assembled there, neither could haverepeated a word that was said to them to save their lives. Catherinewas aware of nothing but the look on Vincent's face when he saw her,and the look of Vincent himself. He wore the ruffled "specialoccasion shirt" she loved, but everything else seemed new--or as newas anything ever got Below. His pants were a green so dark as to bealmost black, the fabric softened by many washings. The black bootswere ones Catherine couldn't remember having seen before; they werelighter than those he usually wore--dancing boots, she hoped. Themost impressive item of his new wardrobe was a long vest made of avelvety fabric that had probably begun its life as curtains orupholstery. Time had mellowed the red and gold pattern to a mutedrichness that would make anything new look garish.

The effect of all this on Catherine was sufficiently obvious thatthe greetings of those assembled soon tapered off and changed toill-concealed grins. It wasn't until Vincent approached her and tookher hands that she realized they were the center of attention.

"You look ... wonderful," she managed to stammer.

"Thanks to my Winterfest gifts," Vincent said with amusement."Mouse claims he found the boots quite legitimately, and I have notbeen willing to ask him any questions. The rest is from Mary, whoinsisted I needed something more festive for such occasions." Vincentheld Catherine a bit away from him, drinking in the sight of her likehe could never get enough. "I'm glad she did--though it still makesme barely worthy to escort such a vision."

"If you two are through discussing which of you is the moredazzling," Father chuckled, "we should start toward the Great Hallsoon."

"We'd never agree, anyway," Catherine admitted. She turned back toVincent. "I thought I'd wait until Christmas to bring my presents,but I couldn't wait that long for yours. Could I just put it in yourchamber for now, and we could exchange gifts after the party windsdown?"

"I was about to suggest the same thing myself," Vincent agreed."But you must promise not to examine my gift to you too closely. Nounfair advantages in guessing."

"Vincent, passing up an unfair advantage goes against all my legaltraining. But I promise."


Catherine had been enthralled by her first Winterfest. There was apower in the ritual that seemed to tap the very roots of meaning,roots that reached back to the first time humans watched the sundwindle and prayed for its return. Above, that primal meaning barelysurvived under layers of superficiality and commercialism; Below, itwas stripped to its essentials.

This year it seemed more powerful than ever. As Vincent took herhand to lead her into the dark, she could not help but rememberleading him out of his own ... and she knew he was remembering too.Sitting at the great table, Catherine held her breath, waiting forFather's voice to emerge from the gloom.

"The world above us is cold and gray. Summer--a distant memory.Our world, too, has known its winters. So each year we begin thisfeast in darkness, as our world began in darkness ..."

The words seemed to bore into her. The memory of this particularsummer would stay with her forever. Her world had almost ended indarkness; without Vincent life would be cold and gray forever.Catherine had absorbed more losses in her life than she would havebelieved she could bear, and they had only made her stronger in theend. But that was one loss she knew could not be borne. As Vincenttook up the ritual, she let the sound of that matchless voice washover her, and found comfort in the sight of his face emerging in thecandlelight.

As Father, Mary and Vincent spoke the familiar words and the lightgrew around her, Catherine marveled at the difference a year hadmade. At the last Winterfest she had been overjoyed because it seemedto signify a new degree of acceptance of her, a public recognition ofher Helper status. Now, her life was so interwoven with this worldits very center had shifted Below. Especially since her father'sdeath.

"We are all part of one another. One community. Sometimes weforget this, and so we meet here, each year, to give thanks to thosewho have helped us ... "

Lifting her head, Catherine saw that Father's eyes were on her."And to remember: even the greatest darkness is nothing, so long aswe share the light."

Catherine had loved last year's Winterfest, despite Paracelsus'attempts to ruin it, but this one put it to shame. The sense of joyand freedom was almost palpable. Although no one said it so manywords, Catherine knew why. With Paracelsus' death, a threat that hadhung over this community for over thirty years was gone. He still hadfollowers, but without his brilliance to organize them and hisobsessions to give their malice direction, they were only a minorworry. All knew who was responsible for lifting that threat, and theyknew what it had cost him. Everyone seemed to be taking theopportunity to shower Vincent with love and attention.

Catherine came in for her share of attention as well. Most knewwhat she had risked to save Vincent, and remembered how many otherrisks she had taken over the years to keep their world safe. From thebeginning she had been an object of consuming interest as "Vincent'sCatherine;" now she was loved and honored as their Catherine.

It seemed that every male Tunnel resident taller than her waistwanted to dance with Catherine, and the female contingent was equallyattentive to Vincent. Since his stamina was greater than hers,Catherine felt only a little guilty abandoning him to his fatetemporarily and joining the spectators on the stairs. The scene belowher made her think of Fezziwig's warehouse. The candlelight, themusic, the dancing all conspired to give the scene the feel ofsomething from another time. Catherine smiled. Vincent, of course,made it seem even more magical than that. His golden hair seemed topick up all the light in the room as he swung a worshipful Samanthaaround the floor. So entranced was Catherine she didn't realizeanyone was beside her until a delighted baby-shriek brought her outof her reverie.

"Lena! I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were there." Catherinesmiled apologetically. "It seems little Cathy is enjoying her firstWinterfest."

"Little Cathy is so excited she may never calm down. Sarah saidshe'd put her to bed for me so I could stay at the party. I hope shedoesn't change her mind," Lena said mournfully.

"Sarah's got a low tolerance for large parties, according toFather," Catherine reassured her. "He said she never stays very lateat Winterfest. It was nice of her to do that for you, though."

"Yeah. I thought Sarah was pretty scary at first, but I figuredout she just likes to look that way. She's really nice underneath."

"I'm glad you'll have the chance to stay till the end, especiallysince it's your first one. Winterfest is wonderful," Catherine saidenthusiastically.

"I'll bet you'd say the same about National Pickle Day as long asyou got to spend it with Vincent," Lena laughed.

"Is there really a National Pickle Day, or did you make that up?"Catherine retorted. "Besides, I hear you may have ulterior motivesfor spending a lot of time at this party ... like dancing with Julioall night?"

Lena looked a little flustered. "I guess it's pretty hard to keepsecrets in this place. He's wonderful, Cathy. He loves the baby, hedoesn't care about my past ... and he loves me. I just can't believeit all. After all the trouble I caused you, all the bad things I'vedone ... how can I deserve to be so happy?"

Catherine put her arm around Lena's shoulders and hugged herfiercely. "Lena, you had the courage to change your whole lifebecause you loved your baby, and wanted things to be better for her.And as for loving Vincent ... well, I've never understood why therewasn't a line down the block ... or down the Tunnel, in this case."

Lena turned serious. "I'll bet Vincent had a lot to do with that.You know, at first I thought it was your fault that you and Vincentweren't together. But I've learned a lot since I've been down here. Iguess it's a lot more complicated than I thought."

Catherine sighed. "Complicated is one word for it."

"Mouse told me all about that Burch Tower stuff, how you got himout of trouble. And I heard a lot of other things, too. I guess it'spretty important to everybody Below that you are where you are. Youcan help them a lot more up top than you could down here."

Catherine nodded, but said nothing. Cautiously, Lena went on. "Youeven helped Lisa."

Catherine turned her head sharply to look at Lena. "How did youknow about that?"

"I talked to her a lot while she was down here. Nobody would tellme much about her, but I kind of got the idea Vincent, uh ... likedher once. Guess I was curious."

"What did you talk about?" Catherine asked carefully.

"Well, she mostly liked to talk about herself," Lena admitted."And she liked to talk around things, if you know what I mean. Butshe said enough to make me think maybe Vincent's the one who'skeeping you and him from getting together."

Catherine stared at the dancers below her in eloquent silence.

"Cathy, I know it's none of my business, but after all you did forme, I really want you to be happy. And I still love Vincent alot--he's my best friend. I want him to be happy, too."

"Well, that makes two of us," Catherine said ruefully. "At least."

Lena turned as she spotted Sarah in the distance, coming to takethe baby. "I just wanted to say you shouldn't give up. Vincent's beenreal quiet lately, like he's thinking hard."

Catherine took Lena's free hand and squeezed it. "Thanks. It meansa lot to me, that you care so much." She watched as Lena moved awayto meet Sarah. Lost in thought, she turned her eyes to the revelersbelow without seeing them, until she realized that Vincent was comingup the stairs toward her. Reaching her side, he leaned against thewall and closed his eyes.

"I have felt less exhausted," he complained, "after carving outchambers."

"You do seem to have a full dance card," Catherine laughed, takinghis arm. "The stairs are apparently recognized as a sanctuary,though. We should be safe if we stay up here."

"I had hoped to dance with you once in a while," he saidhopefully. "Just for the novelty of doing it to audible music." Bothsmiled at the memory of last year's silent waltz. Catherine leanedagainst Vincent as he put his arm around her. "Soon the children willbe herded off to bed," she announced. "Maybe once the competitionlessens I can get you to myself. Right now, it's nice just to watcheveryone being so happy. I know this is only my second Winterfest,but somehow it seems--special."

Catherine turned toward Vincent for confirmation and found himlooking down on her with an unreadable expression on his face."Indeed," he agreed softly. "I think we shall remember it for a longtime."

For the rest of the evening, Vincent stayed close to her, fendingoff his remaining admirers as best he could. They moved through thecrowd, talking to the many people they knew, sampling the food,admiring Sebastian's new tricks, even getting a chance to dancetogether now and again. This year's festivities lasted far into thenight; no one seemed willing to let it end. Finally, though,Catherine found herself in the circle between Vincent and Father,hearing words that were now burned into her soul.

"Darkness is only the absence of light ... and all winters end."

As usual, Vincent was the last to leave, putting the huge woodenbar across the doors until the next occasion the Great Hall might beneeded. The Helpers had long since returned to their homes above, andmost of the Tunnel residents had stumbled into bed, except for theclean-up volunteers. Even the pipes were quiet as they approached thecentral chambers. Only a few candles burned in Vincent's chamber asthey entered to retrieve their gifts.Catherine sank gratefully in thechair as Vincent sat on the floor beside her. Her feet had gottenquite a workout tonight. She handed Vincent his present.

"Happy Winterfest, Winter Solstice, Chanukkah, Christmas,Saturnalia, Feast of Sol Invictus, and et cetera," she smiled.

"You have been reading a great deal of Joseph Campbell," he saidfondly as he accepted her gift. It felt heavy. Carefully removing thebeautiful wrappings intact he opened the box and smiled. "Sekhmet."

"It's a nineteenth century copy, of course," Catherine admitted."You don't find genuine Egyptian antiquities in little GreenwichVillage antique shops. But I just couldn't resist her."

"I wonder why?" he inquired. He turned the lion-headed bronzefigure over in his hands. His eyes returned to Catherine's face. "Shewas a war goddess."

"She's a very strong goddess, a warrior's goddess. I decided youneeded somebody very powerful to watch over you when I'm not there."

"Are you comparing yourself to Sekhmet?" Vincent asked.

"If anything threatened you, I could give her a run for hermoney." Catherine pointed to herself. "Though she be but little, sheis fierce."

Vincent laughed. "Your ability to quote Shakespeare grows by leapsand bounds."

Catherine reached out a hand to stroke his hair. Her voice grewserious. "Perhaps it's my way of telling you I love all sides of you.Before I told you there was no darkness, as long as you were with me.Now that I think about it, I realize it's not true. There's alwaysgot to be darkness, and that's not a bad thing. How else would werecognize light? It's the balance that's important."

"Light is the left hand of darkness, and darkness the right handof light," Vincent quoted softly.

"Exactly," Catherine agreed. "It's not that there is no darknesswhen we're together--but that I'm not afraid of it. There can betreasures buried in darkness."

Wordlessly, Vincent handed Catherine her gift. She also unwrappedit carefully, knowing the paper still had many lifetimes of useBelow. Nestled in tissue paper was something that seemed nothing buta piece of stone at first, until she tilted it and the light flashedfrom its glittering heart.

"Oh, Vincent, it's beautiful! I've never seen a geode this color.It's like a crystal flame."

"A small thing--for your belief that there was treasure in mydarkness."

The love in Vincent's voice was so strong Catherine could not bearto look at him for a moment. She stared at the red-gold heart of thestone in her hands, wondering if Vincent could read her mind as wellas her feelings. Often, in her own mind, she had compared his desirefor her to a geode. She thought of his passion, as fiery and pure asthis crystal, locked inside impenetrable stone. Sometimes shedespaired of it ever seeing the light.

"Catherine--are you all right?"

She raised her head to face him. "Just overwhelmed. It's sobeautiful."

Vincent took her hand and held it to his cheek for a long moment."Not as beautiful as you." Still holding her hand, he searched herface for a moment. "It's very late ... would ... would you stay Belowtonight?"

For a brief moment, the imagery of the geode still in her mind,Catherine's heart leaped. Could he possibly mean--no of course not."Where could I stay?"

"There is chamber free that you should like. It's somewhat distantfrom the others, you would not be disturbed."

Concentrating hard on hiding her feelings of disappointment,Catherine nodded. "Thank you. To tell the truth, I don't feel muchlike going Above tonight."

Vincent rose, still holding her hand, and blew out the candles.They walked a long way, past doors behind which only quiet could beheard. As they passed the chamber where she had stayed when herfather died, Catherine idly wondered if someone had moved into itsince. Finally, at the end of a branching corridor, they came to adoor with a heavy tapestry covering it. Pulling it aside, Vincentmotioned Catherine to precede him.

It took a moment for Catherine to make sense of the scene beforeher. When she did, she seemed to lose all power of motion and couldonly stare. At first, she saw only fire and roses. The flames soonresolved themselves into countless candles--smaller ones in nichesand on the tables; large thick ones in tall holders at each corner ofthe huge bed. The roses remained roses, huge bouquets of them onevery surface, and two perfect blooms resting on the pillows.

Catherine whirled around to search Vincent's face, afraid tobelieve that all this could mean what it seemed. His face would havetold her all she needed to know, if the tremor in his voice did not."Catherine--I would stay here with you--if you will have me."

She could not speak, but the surge of joy and desire she no longerneeded to hide was answer enough. Vincent almost staggered at theforce of it, a look of astonished wonder on his face. Throwing herarms around his neck, Catherine buried her face in his chest andburst into tears.

"If I will have you? Oh, Vincent!" Her voice was a mixture oflaughter and tears as she lifted her head to look at his face. "Areyou sure about this? Don't do this for me; it has to be whatyou want."

"I have wanted this almost from the first moment I saw you, eventhough it was a long time before I admitted it to myself. And once Ihad done so, I mocked myself for thinking, even for a moment, thatyou could ever think of me in that way. Painful as that was, Iconsoled myself with the thought that it was all for the best, sinceit was impossible anyway."

"And when did you admit that I did think of you that way?"

Vincent looked down at her face with a reminiscent smile as hecombed her hair with his fingers. "One disadvantage of the bond Ihave with you--it makes it very difficult to maintain ignorance ofsomething like that."

Catherine leaned her head againt his hand, closing her eyes. "Whendid you decide it wasn't impossible after all?"

"I have thought long and hard these past months about your words,and your faith in me. You have finally given me the courage to trustwhat my heart tells me. Even now, I can't be certain ... can't besure this is without risk."

Catherine opened her eyes at the undercurrent of fear she heard inhis voice. Turning her head, she kisses the palm of the clawed handthat had been buried in her hair. "Remember--some risks are worthtaking." Wordlessly, Vincent traced the tracks of tears on her facewith his fingers, then bent his head to let his lips follow theirpath.

When those lips finally found her mouth, Catherine buried herhands in Vincent's hair. She knew then he had been right to deny herthis before. It was like putting a match to straw--once begun, therewould be no stopping. Finally, they broke apart to look at eachother, breathing as if they run a long way. Catherine tried to calmher raging feelings a little bit. She had waited so long for thismoment, she intended to make it last- -for her own sake as well asfor Vincent's.

Vincent seemed glad of the temporary respite. Finding his voice atlast, he spoke seriously, not looking at her. "Catherine--it isunlikely I could ever give you a child. But if there is any chance atall, it is not a risk I am prepared to take ... it is too dangerousfor you, and not fair to the child."

Touched by the undercurrent of sorrow in his voice, Catherine puther arms around him and held him close. It's a risk I would takegladly, she thought, but that was a battle for the future. Shehad expected he would feel this way. Paracelsus' poisonous lies haddone their work.

Stepping back, stroked Vincent's cheek tenderly. "You don't haveto worry about that, love," she reassured him. "A little while ago Idecided it might be a good idea to ... uh ... be prepared for ...anything," she finished lamely. Catherine was relieved at the quickunderstanding that showed in his face. Being the son of a doctor hadits advantages.

Vincent's voice was teasing. "You were that sure of me?"

"Oh, no! God, no," she answered with feeling. She looked deep intohis eyes. "I was that hopeful," she whispered, her voice breaking.Seeing her own longing mirrored in his eyes, she rubbed her hand onthe velvet of his vest for a moment, before slowly beginning to untieit. Laying it aside, she toyed with the ruffled collar of his shirt,and suddenly smiled.

"What is it?" Vincent asked her, bemused.

"I was just thinking--when I first saw you tonight, I thought ofthis as your 'special occasion shirt.' I had no idea just how specialan occasion it would prove to be." Catherine took his hands andpulled Vincent forward. "Come on, sit down on the bed a moment.There's something I've been dying to know."

Afraid to ask, Vincent allowed himself to be led. At this point,he could refuse Catherine nothing, no matter how inexplicable. Whenhe was seated, Catherine knelt to take off his boots, then his socks.When she was finished, she looked up at him, grinning.

"Catherine, don't you dare say it."

"You are awfully tall for it. But you do live in a hole in theground, although I've never seen you smoke a pipe. Do you eat sixtimes a day?"

"Catherine, I have been hearing this sort of thing from thechildren all my life."

"Do you mean," she asked in mock indignation, "everybody aroundhere knows you have furry feet except me? How did they all find out?"she asked him suspiciously.

"Father has always insisted we all learn basic survival skills,including swimming. I have never been comfortable doing so withothers around, but I could hardly put anyone to the trouble ofteaching me separately. Word spread."

Catherine rose to sit on the bed beside him. She put her armsaround him and hugged him fiercely for a moment. "Vincent-- there yougo dwelling on your differences again, and assuming the worst. Didn'tyou ever think that people might actually find them delightful? Ihope you don't think I love you in spite of them. I love youbecause of them, because they're part of your wonderful,unique self."

To reinforce her words, Catherine traced the shape of his lips,first with her fingers, then with her tongue. Somehow among thehungry kisses that followed, the ruffled shirt ended up on the floor,and Catherine almost lost herself in the feel of silky fur againsther hands. With an effort, she pulled away and stood up, Vincentfollowing as if mesmerized.

"Your turn," Catherine whispered, indicating the dress.

For a moment, Vincent did not move. Then, taking a deep,shuddering breath, his finger moved along the chain of her necklaceto touch the crystal where it rested between her breasts. Catherinekept her eyes on his face as he reached behind her. Unzipping thedress slowly, he eased it off her shoulders. As it slid to form agleaming pool around her feet, her drew in his breath sharply.

"Vincent?"

"I ... I had expected you would be wearing more underneath it," headmitted hoarsely.

"It's a heavy fabric," she explained. "I thought it would be toowarm with the dancing, and all the people ... it's not the first timeyou've seen me this way," she reminded him gently.

With obvious effort, Vincent raised his eyes to her face. "All Icould see then was the blood and the bruises. I could not understandhow anyone could bring himself to mar such beauty ... it seemed adesecration."

As he spoke, his hands moved tenderly over her skin, as if theyhad a will of their own. Pulling him close to her, Catherinewhispered into his ear. "Then it's past time you had some bettermemories to replace that one."

Catherine knew full well what it cost Vincent to take this step,and what fears still remained. Despite all her words in the past, alittle core of doubt lay deep in him, doubt that she could reallylove, really desire, a body such as his. Having no doubt herself,Catherine simply let her feelings show him the truth as they slowlyfinished undressing each other. He was more beautiful even than shehad imagined, and she could feel the joy growing in him as his doubtdissolved under her touch.

As they lay together in the great bed, she slowly discovered whata feast he was for the senses, as he learned how strongly sheresponded to his discovery of her. Sensing Vincent's remaining fearof losing control, Catherine used her own growing passion,transmitted through the bond, to lead him onward until the last ofhis barriers crumbled. They both discovered, as Catherine had knownall along, that the fire inside him was hearthfire, keeping themwarm; the fire of the sun, giving life.

As they moved together, Catherine seemed to lose all sense ofboundary between herself and the world. There was nothing but thefeel of Vincent inside her and around her, and light, and the smellof roses. Just before awareness dissolved into pure sensation, itseemed she could sense a great wheel turning. It poised for a momentat the still center of the world, and then began its inexorable climbback toward the light.

 

And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
--T. S. Eliot
Four Quartets


"The Fire and the Rose" © 1989 byEdith L. Crowe
Comments & questions to
ecrowe1228@aol.com


First published in Definitions ofLove 2 (1989), edited by Kay Simon
Reprinted (with its sequel, Candle to Candle), inBondstories 11 (1996), edited by Joyce Fuller Kleikamp


About the Author: Edith Crowe isan academic librarian who has been involved in various fandoms(starting with Star Trek) since 1972. Beauty and theBeast, however, is the one she's most emotional about and thefirst (and so far only) one to inspire her to write fiction. She hadseven "continuing classic" stories published in the late 80s andearly 90s, in zines now out of print. New stories include the ratherracy "My Furry Valentine" in the A Kingdom by the Sea conzineand several others in issues of Sanctuary.