CHAPTER 2

Vincent finished the paperwork he’d been doing for the community and leaned back in his chair. Absentmindedly he recapped his pen and put it on the table. He was tired, but it was still a little too early to retire for the night. Normally on such an occasion he would have taken a refreshing walk in the park, but after the dreadful incident almost three months ago, when those men had tried to kill him, the council had determined that no one leave the tunnels alone and that he not leave them at all. At least for a while, Father had tried to console him. The thought of his parent brought a frown to his face. Father would be frantic with worry if he knew how difficult it sometimes was for Vincent to resist his inner urge to go Above. He needed the comfort of the open night sky desperately, as if to assure himself that rocks and darkness were not everything there was for him. But that was not the only reason. He wished to see how she was -- the woman who had saved his life. Catherine.

Since the moment he had turned his hand under hers and their palms had touched, there was a link between them, something inexplicable that enabled him to know deep inside when she was in turmoil or if something delighted her. The emotions had to be strong ones in order for him to pick them up when he was in the middle of his every day activities, but at night when everything grew quiet and he turned his attention inward, he was aware of even the most gentle hum of her feelings.

One night a few weeks ago, he had sensed her distress so clearly that it was as if she were sitting beside him, telling him about it. It had been difficult not to give in to the impulse to rush to her side and see if he could help.

Tonight, though, everything was calm and peaceful, and his need to go Above came solely from his desire to work off some excess energy that had been building within him during the day.

As he rose and reached for his cloak, his eyes fell on the blue-gray sweater that lay across the backrest of a chair. With a tentative caress he trailed his fingers lightly over the soft fabric before he swung the cloak over his shoulders and left the chamber.

*

Catherine kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh of relief. What a day it had been. Her new job at the district’s attorney’s office was demanding, but it felt good to be needed, to feel that what she managed to get done really mattered. Wearily she closed her eyes for a moment before pushing herself to her feet and heading for the bathroom, hoping that a shower and a change of clothes would help. She pulled open the closet door and surveyed the rack of clothing, searching for something comfortable to wear for an evening spent at home with paper work and maybe a little T.V. Rolling her eyes in mild amusement, she thought that such a prospect would have bored the daylights out of her only a few months ago. Tom was not amused, though, by the way the rhythm of her life had changed. On most evenings, she was simply too tired to go out with him, or with anybody else for that matter.

She reached for a blue t-shirt and white pants when her eyes locked on the off-white shirt she had bought for Vincent. He had never worn this one, she mused, but he had kept the other one, as well as the sweater and one pair of socks. She found it oddly reassuring that he had only taken with him what he’d worn on his body. To her in meant that he must live in circumstances that provided him with such basic things as clothes. He’d even donned his own worn-out pair of jeans, leaving the brand new sweatpants behind. Smiling, she shook her head, glad that the last shreds of resentment lay behind her. Now, whenever she thought of Vincent, she remembered the clear blue gaze of his eyes, the low, vibrant voice, and the way she had felt when she had talked to him and he had listened. That was something not everyone possessed -- the ability to listen.

Heaving a sigh, she set aside the clothes she had picked to wear and shut the closet.

"Be well, Vincent," she whispered breathily as she began to undress for the shower.

*

Summer had turned into fall and as Halloween drew near, the underground world had been buzzing with activity as the children had prepared their costumes for one of their favorite holidays.

Vincent smiled to himself as he washed his hands after carving pumpkins the entire evening. The sticky mass clung insistently to his fur and he had to rub at it quite vehemently to get rid of it.

Halloween was one of his favorites, too, because it afforded him the luxury of roaming the streets openly and meeting the admiring gazes of passers-by gladly, instead of having to deal with fear-stricken faces and sounds of repulsion.

Father knew how fond Vincent was of his Halloween forays up top, yet he had felt obliged to advise his son not to go Above this year.

"It is too soon yet, Vincent," he had warned. "They may still be out there, watching and waiting."

Vincent had said nothing to that and now he felt a little uncomfortable because he knew that his father had taken his silence for consent. But Vincent was very much determined not to miss this rare opportunity. He had remained Below obediently for more than six months now, and he didn’t believe that there was any threat to him or the community if he sneaked out this once.

The children, under the vigilant eyes of several grown-ups, were Above right now, trick-or-treating and taking great pride in showing off their homemade costumes. Fortunately he knew their planned route and would thus be able to avoid them.

Back in his chamber, he changed into a creamy white ruffled shirt and donned his cloak. Raking his fingers through his long hair, he settled it across his shoulders instead of tucking it into the collar of his cloak in order to hide it beneath the hood.

Carefully, he peered around the corner and down the corridor that led to the park entrance before he started off on his adventure in a world that was only able to accept him on this one night.

*

It was a stormy evening and Vincent enjoyed the wind ruffling his hair as he strolled along the sidewalks and down the avenues amidst a crowd of merry and colorful people. It was quite late, yet hardly anyone seemed inclined to call it a night yet. Vincent felt more alive than he had in a very long time. How he had missed his walks in the fresh night air outside the tunnels.

He rounded a corner and half turned to look admiringly after a couple in cat costumes when he picked up a voice that sent a shiver through his body. He whisked around and saw a group of four people walking towards him. The two men were dressed as pirates and the ladies wore long, flowing dresses and masks that covered the upper halves of their faces. One of them was telling something to the rest of the group.

Catherine. He would have recognized her voice anywhere, and the way she moved, her gait light and full of energy, brought a sad ache to his heart. He froze, considering stepping back to hide behind the corner of a building in the alley from which he had just emerged. There was enough time for that, and although he knew that it would have been the sensible thing to do, he simply couldn’t. So, he forced himself to move on until he was so close that he could hear her breathing as she listened attentively to an anecdote one of the men was relating. She threw back her head and laughed as she linked her arm through his.

Vincent felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he came close enough to be in the group’s line of vision. They stopped, and the two men eyed him warily as he stood before them, meeting their gazes defiantly.

Catherine’s arm slid from her partner’s side and with a quick movement she pulled the mask off her face, staring at Vincent in stunned disbelief. Her eyes were wide and her lips slightly parted as she struggled to rein in her excitement at seeing him. Her emotions ran riot, and in his own state of turmoil he had difficulty discerning her feelings from his own.

Time froze as he stood before her, his gaze locked to hers. He had always remembered her as warm-hearted and lovely, but what he was facing now surpassed his memories by far. She was beautiful in a way that made his heart sing with pride that he knew her, that she had talked to him, listened to him, accepted his being around her without discomfort or fear.

"Nice costume," one of the pirates said, obviously to test his ground. Vincent inhaled sharply, painfully, as he realized that this moment out of time was going to end now.

"Thank you," he managed hoarsely without taking his eyes from Catherine. The flush that tinged her cheeks touched places in his soul that had lain in darkness ever since he could remember.

Slowly he lowered his gaze and heard her releasing the breath she’d been holding. Taking a step aside, he let the group pass by him. His feet barely obeyed as he resumed his walk, and it took his last ounce of self-control not to turn around and look after her as she disappeared in the crowd. Tears stung his eyes as he crossed the street and headed for the park.

*

Catherine’s heart hammered wildly in her chest, and she fought to appear casual as they walked on. Once she stole a quick backward glance, hoping to catch a glimpse of Vincent’s retreating form, but he was already gone.

"Do you know him, Cath?" Jenny whispered in her ear.

Catherine shook her head. "How could I tell?" she retorted, trying to give her voice a teasing tone.

"He sure looked gorgeous," Jenny continued dreamily, and Catherine could feel the dark eyes of her friend studying her attentively.

Catherine stopped and stared into her friend’s amused face. Something about Jenny’s words had reminded her that, despite the changes she had accomplished in her life, despite her new job, there was something she missed sorely. Vincent. His quiet company, his unobtrusive counsel, his intriguing presence. At first, he had needed her help, and then he had given her his. Nothing and no one had ever made her feel the way he had. She had been convinced that she would never see him again, and now, tonight, he’d simply stood before her, regarding her silently, with that gentle strength of his that she had come to appreciate so much.

"What is it, Catherine?" Tom inquired with an impatient edge to his voice.

"I’m coming," she said, linking her arm through Jenny’s as they resumed their walk. Her heart was suddenly light with the confidence that she would see Vincent again.

*

Vincent snapped his journal shut with a sigh of frustration. He simply couldn’t seem to settle his thoughts and focus them on anything. His mind was a whirl of memories and images that eroded his peace of soul. He couldn’t explain to himself why seeing Catherine again should disrupt his emotional balance so thoroughly. He’d been thinking of her a lot before, but since happening upon her on Halloween night, he couldn’t seem to find a method of slowing down the restless pace of his thinking.

Rising to his feet, Vincent pushed back the chair and stood indecisively in front of his table before he made up his mind to go see Father. Maybe a game of chess would distract him enough to regain his equilibrium.

It had been such a tiny thing that had brought about his current state of unrest, he thought as he made his way to Father’s study. The children in class had been reading The Little Prince, and Vincent couldn’t help but remember the line about becoming responsible, forever, for the one you tamed. He had tried to resist the melancholy that had washed over him and hadn’t left him since, but to no avail. It was as if the very thing he’d been born for, was beckoning to him but at the same time remained forever out of his reach.

As he neared the entrance, he heard that Father wasn’t alone. Curious as to who might be visiting so late, Vincent rounded the corner and descended the stairs.

"Ah, Vincent," Father welcomed him, "look who’s here."

"Rao," Vincent exclaimed with joy at seeing their friend of many years. The old man rose and opened his arms, and Vincent accepted and returned his warm embrace.

Rao pulled back and gazed up at Vincent silently for a moment before a smile spread over his face, the brightest smile Vincent had seen in a long time.

"You have grown," the old man remarked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Vincent drew a breath in order to contradict. After all, it had only been about two years since they’d last met. But Rao only patted his cheek knowingly, a gesture that silenced Vincent and calmed him at the same time.

They exchanged a smile of deep affection before they released one another and sat down, talking long into the night.

*

Back in his chamber, Vincent felt pleasantly refreshed and recharged. It had been Rao’s presence, he was sure, which had accomplished that. Talking to the old man had always been a comfort and a source of inner strength to him, even when Vincent was still a child. Rao had been a helper for as long as Vincent could remember. Every few years, Rao left New York in order to visit with his family in India, but he always came back.

"I have a family here, too," Rao used to say, and those words never failed to warm Vincent’s heart.

While he was undressing for the night, Vincent pondered the purifying effect Rao still had on him. Maybe it is the way he looks straight to the heart of things, Vincent mused silently as he put on his night shirt. It’s probably because he knows himself so well that he is able to detect other people’s shadows and dismisses them so easily.

Vincent smiled as he lay back in his bed. Of course, Rao had unfailingly put his finger to the sore spot in Vincent’s life.

"What is it, son?" the old man had asked when they’d been alone for a few minutes. "What is keeping you away from your self?"

Vincent smiled at his own futile attempt to keep anything hidden from those loving eyes of wisdom. His words, as he’d finally revealed his secret, came back to him. "I should not long for things that are not meant for me," he’d said in a suppressed voice.

"Who decides what is meant for you?" Rao had retorted.

Vincent had known no answer to that. "It is just a feeling that won’t leave me alone," he’d replied. "I’m afraid I’ve lost the purity of mind that you’ve taught me. There seems to be no hope of ever returning to it."

Rao had smiled at that, a silent smile that tugged at Vincent’s awareness. "You are right," he’d answered eventually, "there is no returning to it. That purity is a living thing. You have to fight for it every step of the way. Your mind must become so still that no movement, no thought, can arise except those you yourself approve. Then your mind will have become pure, regardless of the objects you hold in it. It is the awareness that makes it pure, not the contents, or lack of them."

How like Rao, Vincent thought. He made it all sound so simple. But the question remained, did he himself approve of his thoughts of Catherine? Maybe he could simply accept them and learn to live with them?

The answer to that was brief and immediate, because thoughts of her would never be enough.

With a sigh, Vincent rolled on his side and closed his eyes.

*

"They came in the evening, then," Geoffrey read aloud to the class, "and found Jonathan gliding peaceful and alone through his beloved sky. The two gulls that appeared at his wings were pure as starlight, and the glow from them was gentle and friendly in the high night air. But most lovely of all was the skill with which they flew, their wingtips moving a precise and constant inch from his own."

Listening to the melodic rise and fall of the child’s voice, Vincent allowed his thoughts to wander. It hadn’t been mere coincidence that he had picked Richard Bach’s book for his reading class. Fortunately the children had loved Jonathan Livingston Seagull right from the start.

Vincent remembered browsing through Catherine’s shelves and discovering the book among others. He tried to imagine her sitting on the sofa and reading, and the picture made him smile. All the while he had been with her, he had never seen her read. Once he’d gotten up from the bed and had found her watching T.V. She’d invited him to join her, but he’d still been too dizzy to be up and about, so he had returned to bed rather than sit with her and risk a headache by looking at the bright screen.

"And Jonathan Livingston Seagull rose with the two starbright gulls to disappear into a perfect dark sky," Geoffrey finished the chapter and glanced at his teacher expectantly.

"Very well done, Geoffrey," Vincent acknowledged with a slight nod. Addressing the class, he added, "For homework, please read chapter two. Tomorrow evening, we will discuss it and then move on to chapter three." He closed his own copy of the book and dismissed the children with a gesture of his head. Vincent didn’t mind teaching his classes in the evening rather than in the morning. During the day he was frequently needed elsewhere, so a rigid schedule of morning lessons would have been interrupted far too often.

Soon the chamber was empty, and he rose from his chair, collecting his books and extinguishing the lamp, when suddenly the hairs along his spine bristled as if charged with electricity. Vincent froze in mid-movement and strained his ears to discern if there was an emergency signal on the pipes, but everything was quiet. So, he focused inward, searching within himself for the source of his alerted senses. There was a sudden tightness in his head that intensified to a throbbing pain the moment he turned his attention on it. A wave of nausea washed over him and he had to grasp the edge of the table for support. Suddenly the pain was gone, but it left an emptiness in him that made him gasp for air.

Catherine! It could only be her. Sick with worry, Vincent ran off to his chamber to get his cloak. It was still early in the evening, but fortunately darkness settled early during the winter months. Automatically he headed for the park entrance, but then he reconsidered and chose the direct route to Catherine’s apartment building.

*

Something cool touched her forehead, but Catherine was reluctant to return to consciousness and the pain that was sure to follow. The touch to her face was persistent, however, and slowly she opened her eyes. She became aware that she was lying on the floor of her living room, her head cradled on something solid. What in the world had it been that had just touched her forehead with soothing coolness? She tried to turn her head, but a gentle hand held her motionless.

"Try not to move too abruptly," a familiar voice said.

"Vincent?" She couldn’t believe her ears. Was that really him? Suddenly the pillow under her head shifted and she realized that it wasn’t a pillow at all, but his thigh that supported the nape of her neck.

"Shhh," he whispered, "don’t talk." Again she felt the cool cloth on her forehead and moaned with relief.

For a moment, she allowed herself to succumb to his gentle ministrations and forget about what had happened, but then her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up.

"Slowly," he admonished solicitously, bracing her back as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

"Are they gone?" she asked, casting a worried glance at the door.

Vincent moved into her line of vision. "What happened?" he asked in concern.

Catherine scrambled to her knees and reached for the edge of the sofa to get up. He rose in one swift motion and held out his hand to help her.

"A police officer was murdered," she explained once she was seated on the sofa. "I’m working on the case. There’s a main suspect but I don’t believe that it was him. It’s just a hunch, but obviously someone else isn’t happy that I’m trying to prove that he’s not guilty." She lifted one unsteady hand to feel for the swelling on her temple. "There were two of them," she went on, "and they wore masks."

Vincent sat down beside her. "What did they do to you?" he asked huskily, bringing up his hand as if to touch her, but stopping just before her face.

"I guess I got kicked and slapped in the face," she replied, feeling for her swollen lips. "But you, Vincent, how did you know? How did you get here? Isn’t it...?"

"There will be time for answers later," he interrupted. "First I ought to attend to your injuries." With that he rose to his feet, obviously intending to get something for her.

Looking at him directly for the first time, she took in his disheveled appearance.

"You shouldn’t even be close to this building," she said, concerned, "but I’m glad you’re here."

Squatting down in front of her, he gave her a warm smile. "I just wish the circumstances were different."

"So do I," she replied quietly, savoring the ensuing silence between them.

"Please tell me what I can do for you," he demanded softly.

"I’m afraid there’s not much you can do right now," she answered. "I have to inform the authorities and I have to ask for medical attention. I’d have a hard time explaining anything else."

"Then it’s best that I leave you now," he stated in a low voice, and she thought she detected a trace of disappointment in his tone.

"I’m afraid it is," she agreed reluctantly and quickly seized his wrist as he straightened. "But, Vincent, please don’t simply vanish again."

His gaze flickered slightly but he didn’t avert it. "I will come to you," he promised, "when this is over."

She knew she should have contradicted, should have told him that he mustn’t put himself in danger, but she couldn’t. With a frown, she watched as he walked out onto the terrace, melting into the shadows of the evening, and decided to simply trust his ability to take care of himself.

*

With a soft thud, Vincent landed on the tiled terrace floor. Uncertain of his next move, he paused for a moment and looked out over the city skyline. A week had passed since Catherine had been assaulted in her apartment and he had promised to come to her again. If not for that promise, he doubted that he’d have mustered the courage to return. Why was it that he suddenly felt like an intruder? He shook off the irritating thought and stepped closer to the door that led to Catherine’s living room. Wondering about a proper way to announce his presence, he fought the impulse to simply peer inside to see what she was doing. She was alone and her mood was tranquil, that was all he knew. He lifted one hand as if to tap against the door, but let it fall away again. Doubts about the rightness of his actions assailed him. He shouldn’t even be here, let alone consider spending time with Catherine alone in her apartment. He must have been out of his mind to promise such a thing. It had been one thing to be close to her in his weakened condition, needing all his strength for recuperating. But now he was in the best of health, and it was far more difficult to control his excess energy, to prevent it from slipping free and releasing darker feelings in him that he might not be able to control.

But she had asked him to come, had implored him not to disappear from her life again. That thought finally gave him the courage to gently rap his fingers against the glass.

Instantly her silhouette appeared on the other side of the curtain and the doors flew open.

"Vincent," she greeted him, "I’m glad you came." Her smile was warm and welcoming and he felt the tension leave him. His heart constricted at the sight of the purplish bruises on her face. Although they were fading already, they were visible proof of the dangers Catherine had to face daily.

She stepped aside to invite him in, and for a moment he hesitated. It still didn’t seem right to enter her private space without any immediate reason. But the expectant expression on her face was all the reason he needed to cross the threshold at last. Not to mention the cold of the clear January night.

Catherine reached up her hands to take his cloak. The gesture was matter-of-fact and inviting. He shrugged out of the heavy garment and handed it over to her. She stood for a moment, regarding the new patches that had been added, and he knew that she was wondering once more about the secret circumstances of his life.

To break the awkwardness of the moment, Vincent pointed down at his boots and observed, "I’d better pull these off before I spoil your carpet."

She laughed. "By all means, Vincent, make yourself comfortable. In the meantime I’ll get us something warm to drink. Care for some hot chocolate?"

He smiled. "Yes, please," he said, amazed yet again that she seemed so at ease with him. After he had placed his boots next to the terrace door, he walked over to the etagere to take a look at the beautiful pieces inside. There were new ones that he hadn’t seen before. A pyramid of clear amethyst and a sphere of citrine quartz caught his eye in particular.

Suddenly a bright light went on inside the etagere and he squeezed his eyes shut reflexively. When he looked again, the beauty of the sparkling gems took his breath away.

"Do you like them?" Catherine’s voice came from behind him.

"This is amazing," he replied, half turning to meet her gaze.

"I have a soft spot for these," she said, opening the glass door and reaching inside. She produced a small, facetted piece of clear blue aquamarine and held it out to him on her open palm. "This one is my favorite. It reminds me of..." Her voice broke off, and she reached for another piece, the ball of citrine quartz. "But I love them all. In the beginning it was the colors that drew me the most, but then I realized that the colors aren’t everything. The natural crystals and gems have something to them -- I don’t know how to explain it -- something vibrant that feels almost as if they were alive."

Only now Vincent noticed that most of the pieces of colored glass were gone from the shelves, obviously to make room for the new additions in Catherine’s collection.

"I believe that they are alive," he remarked solemnly.

"You do?" She beamed as she returned the two pieces to the etagere and closed the doors.

He nodded pensively. "It would be presumptuous if we only acknowledged life in things that breathe and move and grow in a way that is familiar to us."

"Crystals grow, too," she interjected.

"Yes," he agreed, "it’s just that their rhythm is different from that of other living things."

"And yet they are able to affect us so," Catherine said dreamily. "Maybe it’s that very effect they have on the human soul which makes them most alive." She paused, looking at him inquiringly. "Or am I being presumptuous in believing so?"

That brought a chuckle from him while he made a conscious effort to ignore the effect her radiant eyes were having on him. "I don’t think so," he said. "There’s never just one way to look at things."

She smiled, and his heart trembled once more under her gaze. He swallowed and glanced over at the coffee table where she had placed the tray she’d brought from the kitchen.

"Let’s have a seat," she offered, gently touching his arm. They sat down opposite each other, and she set a steaming mug in front of him. "Is it difficult for you to get up here?" she asked in a seemingly conversational tone, but he could feel her underlying concern.

"Not really," he answered, avoiding a look at his clawed, sinewy hands, the very means that enabled him to scale buildings with little effort. He knew what her next question would be, so he decided to give the conversation a different direction. "Have you been able to find the men who did this to you?" he inquired, indicating her bruises with a compassionate look.

She shook her head. "We have a lead, though. If we’re lucky, it shouldn’t be long now." Her eyes grew dark with worry as she continued, "And what about you? Have you ever seen those men again who hunted you down there?"

"No, fortunately not," he answered, his throat tightening because he knew they were treading dangerous ground again. "Catherine," he began, putting down the mug he’d been cradling in his hands, "we have to talk."

She nodded, and he continued, "I know that you’ve asked yourself many times where I might come from and where I might live. I’ve already told you how sorry I am that I wasn’t able to tell you more about myself. It’s just that the lives of many wonderful people depend on keeping their whereabouts a secret, people who chose to live apart from society."

"Like you," Catherine threw in.

"No, not like me, Catherine. I didn’t choose to live apart from society. They cast me out, and believe me, they wouldn’t want me back."

She rose and came over to sit beside him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "They’re fools," she said, and he could feel her intent gaze on his averted face.

"Maybe those with a good heart like yours are the foolish ones, because they put themselves in danger," he said evasively.

She gave his arm a slight squeeze. "If being foolish is the price for knowing you, it’s a small thing to pay."

Vincent half turned and gently seized her shoulders, locking his gaze to hers. "Catherine, I’m afraid this isn’t something we can put to the test. The price might be far higher than that," he whispered entreatingly.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and he knew that she had understood what he had hinted at -- that he would have to stay out of her life in order to keep her safe, or at least not to add to the dangers she had to face anyway.

"Vincent," she said in a voice that sent a tremor up his spine, "I can’t help but hope that you won’t just disappear from my life again."

He released her from his hold and slowly turned away. "Why would you wish to have someone such as me in your life?" he asked tonelessly.

She thought about that for a moment, and he regretted that he’d asked, but then she said, "Because you make me feel the difference between the mere glitter of colored glass and the pure shine of true crystals."

*

Vincent stooped to open the manhole cover in order to return to the tunnels. He put the cover aside and straightened again to look up at the sky. Although the darkness of the winter night was still wrapped safely about him, the pulse of the city was already fluttering to life. He could hardly believe that his evening with Catherine had been real. They had talked long into the night, their conversation interspersed with precious silences and moments of pleasant awareness of one another even beyond the verbal exchange of thoughts and ideas.

Catherine’s words about colored glass had struck a deep chord in him. The picture she had used reminded him of the stained glass window in his chamber Below. Only in that case, the colored glass served to turn candlelight into the impression of sunlight, something that could never be a part of his real life.

He slipped through the opening, and the cover fell in place above his head with a thud that had a strange finality to it. The darkness Below was suddenly so much darker after a night of sharing his mind and soul in a way he’d never been able to do before. He’d had wonderful talks with Father, or with his brother Devin, but nothing compared to Catherine’s intoxicating nearness, the vibrancy of her aura, her beauty without and within.

The difference wasn’t simply because she was a woman, although Vincent wasn’t so naive as to believe that sexual attraction wasn’t part of the magic. He couldn’t deny that, but he knew all too well that he must never allow himself to act on it either. That would surely mean driving her away, for Catherine was far from looking for anything like that, least of all with him. She had told him about the men in her life and about her disappointment in those relationships. She had sounded so relieved that she had managed to break up with Tom Gunther, the man her father had wanted her to marry. It was clear to him that her mind was set, that she wouldn’t allow a man into her life anytime soon, not like that.

As much as it warmed and honored Vincent that Catherine wished for this special friendship with him, the thought that she obviously didn’t consider him a possible threat in that regard stung a little. Actually, more than a little, he had to admit. Not that he’d ever dared dream of a woman looking at him that way. It was just that with Catherine everything was different. Things that had been completely out of reach for him, seemed possible now in the light of her friendship. Things like being Above, being looked at without fear or repulsion, and -- most of all -- the memory of awakening to the sight of sunlight streaming in through sheer curtains. He’d never been able to shake that image from his mind. He’d dreamed of it, dangerous dreams of impossibilities, dreams in which he hadn’t been alone in that bed. Catherine had lain beside him, warm and soft, her head pillowed by his shoulder, and her hand over his wildly beating heart.

Vincent broke into a run down the rocky corridors and dimly lit passageways. He hoped desperately that he would encounter no one for he didn’t want anybody to see his face before he’d had a chance to banish the last traces of foolish longing from his heart.

*

Catherine turned the pages of a particularly large volume that took up most of the remaining space on the already crammed writing desk in her living room. With a sigh, she scanned the pages for the information she needed. Maybe I shouldn’t take work home so often, she thought dismally, wondering how the others managed to cope with their workload during office hours.

Her eyes strayed from the book as her thoughts wandered and drifted to Vincent. He’d been a constant source of solace during the hectic months that lay behind her. She had come to count on his visits as her most important means to maintain her inner balance. When a week passed by without his showing up, she began to miss him, to worry even. The talks they had together were wonderfully stimulating and always provided her with new insight concerning general matters, literature, music, philosophy, or sometimes even her cases. With admiration she thought of the wide range of Vincent’s interests and the great variety of books he had read. He was a master at quoting, something she never tired of putting to the test. And he was blessed with a wisdom of heart that was unlike anything she’d ever encountered. He had even begun to trust her with tiny details of his life, of the community he lived with, and she cherished those stories above all else. She’d learned about Father and the children, and it came as no surprise to her to find that Vincent was a teacher in his world.

A gentle rapping from the terrace doors pulled her from her thoughts, and she leapt to her feet in order to let him in.

The intense blue of his eyes that reminded her so much of aquamarine, became visible as Vincent stepped from the shadows outside into the brightly lit apartment and pushed back his hood.

"Good evening, Catherine," he greeted her quietly. With a glance at her desk he added, "I hope my visit isn’t inconvenient?"

"I’m almost finished," she hastened to reassure him. "Please make yourself comfortable. It won’t take long."

"Maybe I should..." he began, but she interrupted him by grasping his sleeve.

"Don’t leave," she pleaded, pulling the door shut behind him. "You could listen to some music while I work. I’m almost done."

He gave her a warm smile, shrugging off his cloak and dropping it on a nearby chair. His hair was damp from the night air and framed his face in unruly tendrils. Smiling in return, Catherine caught herself wondering if the golden stubble on his chin and cheeks was as soft as it looked.

Vincent was the first to look away. "Maybe I should use the headphones," he suggested softly.

She nodded and went off to get them for him. He took them from her hands and busied himself plugging them in. She watched in mild amusement. It warmed her that he had come to feel so at ease with her. In the beginning he’d been more distant, always wary, and there was an underlying tension in his movements as if he were poised to bolt from the room any moment.

Slowly, gradually, he had eased into the friendship she’d offered and after a while he had even shed his reluctance to touch her things. Now he was standing in front of the shelf that held her CD’s, and the creases above his brows deepened as he concentrated on his choice.

She resented the thought of having to return to her work, but at least she’d been able to convince him to stay. They would have time to talk later.

The next time she looked up from her book, he sat on the sofa with the headphones on. His eyes were closed as he listened to the music with rapt attention. From the few things Vincent had told her about his world, she knew that there was very little electricity available there, so listening to music like this was a rare treat. He had mentioned that he listened in on concerts in the park occasionally, and she imagined him standing in the dark, becoming absorbed in the music and remaining on guard at the same time. She was suddenly grateful for the relative safety of her apartment. Here he could do things that he enjoyed and that were impossible at home.

As much as Catherine tried to focus on the task before her, her eyes kept returning to Vincent as he sat, his head reclined over the backrest of the sofa, lost in the music. Her gaze traveled over his throat that looked surprisingly vulnerable for someone of his build. His long, golden hair spilled out across the expanse of his shoulders, and she thought that the headphones appeared strangely out of place on him. His chest rose and fell softly as he breathed in rhythm with the music, and his hands rested on his thighs, completely relaxed. Something turned over in her chest as she regarded him fondly. She had never had a close friendship with a man before. All those so-called friendships had turned into something different which the men had thought to be more, but which had always proven to be less.

Suddenly an unbidden thought sprang to her mind and she asked herself for the first time if there was a woman in Vincent’s life. She knew instantly that the answer to that was no. Not because she thought it impossible for him, but because he wore such an air of solitude about him. Catherine wondered why she had never thought of him that way before. Undoubtedly, he exuded an aura of compelling masculinity, something that shouldn’t go unnoticed by any females living close to him. That gorgeous hair, those electrifying eyes, the powerful build of his body...

Catherine’s attention jerked back to the present as she felt Vincent’s gaze on her. He had taken off the headphones and was sitting up straight as he regarded her quizzically, his brows pulled into a frown.

"I am distracting you," he stated cautiously, but she denied it with a quick shake of her head.

"I’m done anyway," she fibbed and snapped the book shut. Switching off the desk lamp, she walked around the table to sit down opposite him. "I was wondering..." she began, feeling obliged to explain.

"I know," he cut her off softly. "I’m sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" she asked around the sudden tightness in her throat.

"Because I shouldn’t have stayed when you were occupied with your work," he replied evasively.

The tension was back in every line of his posture and the hands that had appeared so relaxed a few moments ago, were clenched tightly. When he noted her eyes on his fists, he forced them open. Catherine leaned forward and placed her hands on his, stilling the tremor there.

"Vincent," she said soothingly, "I apologize for making you uncomfortable." He sucked in a short breath as if to respond, but she silenced him by briefly squeezing his hands. "I know that you picked up something from me that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I was tired and my mind wandered uncontrolled. You must believe me that it won’t happen again. Your friendship is too precious to me to let anything come between us."

He stared at her incredulously for a moment before he dropped his head, studying her hands on his. She withdrew them, waiting patiently for him to speak, but his shaggy head remained bowed, his mane shielding his face from her view.

Suddenly he stood, looking down on her with an unreadable expression. "I must go," he said quietly.

She rose, gripping his shoulder in an attempt to keep him from turning away. "Please don’t," she implored him. "Can’t we talk?"

"I think we should," he replied, covering her hand with his warm, large palm, "but not tonight."

Catherine watched helplessly as he walked over to his cloak and swung it across his shoulders with a practiced movement. She went after him, stepping into his line of vision. "Please don’t go like this," she tried again. "I don’t even know exactly what it is that drives you away."

He reached for her hands and took them in a gentle clasp. "I need to think," he said softly, "that’s all." She stared at him, trying to grasp the meaning of what was happening. Enduring her wordless scrutiny with patience, he waited until she let her hands slip from his. With a half-turn of his body he pushed open the terrace doors and stepped out into the darkness, quickly becoming indiscernible to her brimming eyes.

*

Against his better knowledge, Vincent headed for the park. He needed the open sky above him and the fresh night air to clear his mind and his reeling emotions. He wasn’t sure what to think of the subtle shift in Catherine’s feelings toward him. Maybe it hadn’t really been a change, but her speculative gaze had disconcerted him deeply. The steady hum of her friendship had momentarily turned into a pulsing beat of something different, something unsettling, and all he could say for certain was that it had excited him beyond reason. But it had upset Catherine, and the way she had clamped down on it told him that she felt threatened by it.

Maybe that’s best for her, he thought bitterly. It wasn’t safe for her to think of him that way.

After the weeks of quiet and comfortable friendship, the most precious time in his life, Vincent hadn’t expected that Catherine could ever look at him as something other than a safe friend. But for a moment she had, and she didn’t like it.

His heart drummed in his chest and he broke into a steady run, drawing comfort from the increasing rhythm of his breathing.

Suddenly voices filled the air, shouts and commands, and Vincent perceived a rush of panic that drove him on. He sped down a slope, changing his direction, because he knew instinctively that now he had to avoid the tunnels at any cost in order to keep his community safe.

"Over there," someone bellowed, and Vincent ducked into the shrubbery, heedless of the twigs scratching his face. His mind worked frantically to come up with a strategy to get rid of his pursuers; there was no doubt now that they were after him. He dropped into a crouch behind a bush and peered down the path. Three men were running aimlessly across the lawn, pointing in various directions and calling out to each other. There were more men on the far side of the lawn. They were obviously combing the park in search of something.

What if they’re searching for me? Vincent thought with dawning comprehension. What if the men who shot me never gave up on finding me?

A chill crept up his spine and he struggled to fight off its paralyzing effect. How could he have been so careless?

There was no time for self-recrimination, though, for they were coming towards him and they were armed. All of a sudden, Vincent knew there was no way out for the man that he was. He felt his awareness shift as his instincts took over, unleashing a side in him that was not quite human. He waited in perfect silence, turning from prey into hunter, something he’d hoped never to experience again.

The branches of the shrubs rustled and twigs snapped as the three men forced their way through them. Vincent’s acute hearing made him aware of everything around him, even the labored breathing and accelerated heartbeat of his pursuers. His upper lip curled with distaste at the acrid smell of their perspiration, and a low rumble started deep down in his chest. The men froze, looking frantically about them in an attempt to make out the source of the sound. Something cracked in the distance and they spun around.

"Over there," one of them shouted and they changed direction.

The human side of Vincent would have felt temporary relief at the respite he’d been afforded, but the other side felt an irrational twinge of regret, and it was with reluctance that Vincent turned to resume his way towards the street.

"There he is," someone yelled, and Vincent spun around just in time to see them come after him, their guns raised and ready to fire. A roar broke free from his chest as he lunged forward and tore the three men to the ground. The moment the scent of blood touched his nostrils, all rationality drained away and all that was left was pure instinct, untamed super-human power that obeyed solely the raw hunger for survival.

Vincent’s movements were quick and effective. There was barely any sound to give away the fight that took place under the concealing cloak of the night. Like a bodiless phantom, Vincent slid away into darkness. The voices of the men who found the bodies didn’t reach him anymore.

Chapter Three