DECISIONS

The small assembly in Father's study was unaware of Catherine's quiet approach. From the tone of their voices Catherine could tell that they were discussing something rather disquieting.

"Someone must have taken her," she heard Vincent say as he placed a small rag-doll on Father's desk. "She would never let go of her favorite toy if she'd had any choice."

"We've been searching for the child for six days now, and all we have is a doll?" William complained loudly.

"Where did you find it?" Mary inquired, the quiver in her voice betraying her deep worry and fear for the missing child.

"A few steps into one of the tunnels branching off beyond the Chamber of the Winds," Vincent explained. "Amy would never have walked that far on her own."

His words were like a punching fist in Catherine's stomach, and the horror of what she had just overheard stunned her into rigid immobility. Instantly, Vincent's head snapped up and with a few large steps he was at her side, seizing her elbow to support her.

Leaning heavily on his stick, Father hobbled over to where she was standing. "We are devastated, Catherine," he said. "We have been doing everything we can to find her."

"How long has she been gone?" Catherine finally managed.

"Since Wednesday morning," Vincent replied. "I was told on my return from my visit with you. We have been searching for her all the time, but that is all we found." He pointed over to the doll on Father's desk.

Catherine allowed herself to be led over to a chair, but refused to take a seat. "Why on earth didn't you tell me?" she complained, looking at Vincent accusingly.

Lowering his eyes, Vincent responded, "There was nothing you could have done."

She was in no condition to refute him, and so she simply asked, "What happened?"

With few words Vincent relayed the story of Amy's disappearance. "And now the only possible conclusion is that she was abducted from the nursery by Paracelsus."

"How can you know that?" she inquired.

"I smelled it," he said and at the puzzled look she gave him he added, "I could never forget the scent of his powdery drug, even though there were just traces in the air, too faint to do any harm. It lingered in the tunnels every step of the way. It must have clung to his clothes. Frankly, I refuse to think that he instilled it on the child. Paracelsus is an evil man, but not a stupid one. He would possibly give her some sedative in order to be able to transport her more comfortably, but not anything as...stimulating, and agitating, as that drug."

"That still leaves the question how he managed to get into the Hub without being seen," Father interjected.

"Paracelsus has his ways," Vincent responded, "but so have I."

Alarmed, Catherine tried to hold on to his arm as he pivoted to leave the chamber, but he gently extricated his sleeve from her fingers. "Please will you excuse me," he said determinedly, "I have to go now."

"Vincent," Father called after him, "you can't go there alone."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Vincent turned with excruciating slowness. "How many lives do you think I will risk?" he asked in a deceptively even voice.

"That is not your decision alone," Father argued. "We must call in a council meeting, and then we will decide..."

"There is no time," Vincent cut him off and was gone.

"I will go after him," Catherine said, and when Father wanted to dissuade her, Mary caught his 
arm and shook her head.

"Vincent?" Catherine called out before entering his chamber, but he was not there. Where could he have gone? She turned and went back down the corridor she had come when the full impact of what had happened hit her, and a belated reaction set in. She stumbled against the rocky tunnel wall and froze, suddenly feeling dizzy. Her child. Oh, God, Amy! Dropping to the ground, she leaned against the wall and hugged her knees to her body. She wished fervently that there was something she could do. Now.

It took several moments until Vincent's voice got through to her at last.  

"Catherine, are you all right?" came the question again. "Catherine, talk to me!"

She grasped his arm, tugging fiercely. "I need to go with you. You must let me, Vincent. You must."

He pulled her up to her feet, shaking his head resolutely. "I'm sorry, but this is out of the question. Catherine, please understand..."

"But you must take me with you. I can't bear waiting here without knowing what is happening to either of you. Vincent, it's going to kill me!"

"Catherine," he all but shouted, "pull yourself together!" And then, more softly, "Please. We need clear heads. Both of us. I cannot focus all of my strength on Amy when I have to take care of you at the same time."

"You don't have to take care of me. I'm not a child!" she yelled, and it sounded quite hysterical, even to her own ears. Taking a few deep breaths in order to calm herself, she added, "I won't be a bother, Vincent. Please don't do this to me. Please let me come."

But Vincent would not be swayed. "You are not thinking clearly," he observed in an almost detached manner. She had never seen him so inaccessible, so resistant to a plea of hers. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"All right then," she muttered and turned away from him, beginning her walk back to Father's study.

"Catherine," he called out to her, but she didn't stop, hoping against hope that he would come after her, telling her he'd been wrong, and that she should come with him. But nothing like that happened, and when she finally turned to look for him, he was gone.

*

Messages from sentry posts at the outer perimeters of the home tunnels came in on the pipes in Father's study. Vincent had just passed them and was now heading for the catacombs.

It was well past midnight, and a handful of people were still sitting together in silence, just waiting, hoping, and praying.

"How long will he be able to reach us across the pipes?" Catherine inquired.

"Not for much longer, I'm afraid," Father responded. "Once he reaches the lower levels, we won't be able to communicate with him."

"No pipes there," Mouse explained.

"How far down does Paracelsus live?" she asked. "How long was Vincent gone when he last encountered Paracelsus?"

"Last time Vincent wasn't much deeper than the catacombs, and those can be reached in a few hours. That is not where Paracelsus lives," Father informed her. "Paracelsus' realm, as he himself pleases to call it, is a system of tunnels two levels below the pipe levels, far off to the east. It will take Vincent about two days to get there if he travels alone, because he can do with very little rest. Even he has to sleep, though. Otherwise he'd probably make it in twenty four hours. With the proper stops one would need approximately three days. Assuming that you don't have to carry much." He fell silent then, studying his hands contemplatively. The fear for his son was written plainly all over his features. Mary rose and walked over to him, gently beginning to massage his rigid shoulders.

"Vincent knows what to do," she consoled. "He always does."

A sudden staccato on the pipes made their heads snap up, and Catherine jumped to her feet. "What do they say?" she asked, looking at Father pleadingly.

"Vincent has returned," the old man said with disbelief, "and he is bringing Amy."

"Didn't you say..." Catherine began, but Father was already reaching for his bag and heading for the exit.

"I don't have any explanation for this either," he called back over his shoulder as he climbed up the small metal staircase on his way to meet Vincent.

On impulse, Catherine ran after him, intent on following him as quickly as possible.

They had walked in silence for about two hours when Vincent's tall figure appeared around a bend ahead of them. He was carrying the child, and Catherine cried out in fear at the sight of the limp form in his arms.

"Please don't worry," Vincent hurried to reassure her. "She just seems to be very tired. I found her in the catacombs, not far from the mouth of the maze. She was wandering toward me. My sudden appearance startled her, but once she recognized me she came into my arms and cried. I took her up and carried her. The rhythm of my gait probably lulled her to sleep."

Catherine rose on her toes in order to get a better look at the child, and Vincent bent to surrender the small figure into her arms. She went down on her knees and cradled the tousled head against her breast, tracing the smudges of dirt on Amy's face with her thumb. "Oh my baby, what did he do to you?" she whispered, heedless of the tears that ran down her cheeks.

Father knelt awkwardly down beside her, quickly checking Amy's vital signs and deftly feeling along her limbs for injuries. "She seems to be fine, so far," he said, releasing a small sigh of relief. Vincent supported him as he struggled to get back to his feet again. "Of course, I shall have to take a closer look at her as soon as we are back in the hospital chamber."

"If there isn't anything urgent that needs to be attended to," Vincent remarked, "I would very much prefer to take her to my chamber. The familiar surroundings will most likely have a calming effect on her. After what she has probably been through, she will need as much comfort as she can get." He stooped again to help Catherine up, supporting the weight of the child as best he could. "We'd better go now," he said with a strange faraway look that didn't go unnoticed by either Catherine or Father.

On their way to Vincent's chamber they passed by several unobtrusive onlookers, and Catherine was grateful for the sensitivity of the tunnel folk who heeded their unspoken request for privacy.

Once in the chamber, Father examined little Amy thoroughly, finding nothing but a small bruise on her forearm and a few scratches on her palms. He was a little concerned, though, about the deep sleep she was still in, and he voiced his suspicion that Vincent had probably been right about the sedative. Yet, all of her vital functions were normal, and so he simply advised that Amy be given the chance to sleep it off.

*

After having been washed and changed into fresh nightclothes, Amy slept through the rest of the night and the entire morning. All the while Vincent was sitting in his chair, resting his chin on steepled fingers and apparently deeply in thought. Catherine didn't feel like talking either. So she simply curled up on the bed beside Amy, occasionally dozing off, but always alert for any move the child would make.

Some time during the early morning hours Catherine briefly left the chamber to have Pascal send a message to Peter, asking him to call Joe and tell him she wouldn't be able to go in for a couple of days. Catherine trusted Peter to tell the truth without giving away any secret. This was an emergency, and her family needed her.

It was almost noon when Amy began to stir and finally awoke. "Mama?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Yes, darling, I'm here," Catherine soothed, sitting up to make room for Vincent as he eased down next to them on the bed.

"Good morning, Amy," he said warmly. "How are you feeling today?"

Amy scanned the room with huge eyes, the way she lifted her brows very much reminiscent of Vincent. "He's not here?" she asked timidly.

"Who, honey?" Catherine prompted with a quick side-glance at Vincent.

"The man," Amy replied gingerly.

"The man who took you away from the nursery?" Vincent asked.

But she just shook her head vigorously.

"Then how did you get out of your bed?" he inquired.

"I climbed," she said simply.

Catherine cast her a stern look. " You know that you're not supposed to do that."

Amy hung her head guiltily, and instantly Vincent reached out to tousle the russet curls reassuringly.

"She called me," the girl defended herself, and when she noted the puzzled look Vincent and Catherine exchanged, she added, "The Fairy."

"Was that who she said she was?" Catherine asked carefully.

Again Amy shook her head. "She didn't talk. Just made me come."

"How would she do that?" Catherine coaxed gently, by now thoroughly mystified as to what could possibly have happened in the nursery almost a week ago.

The child only shrugged.

"Where did the Fairy take you?" Vincent resumed the interrogation.

 "To the man," came the reply.

Catherine exchanged another look with Vincent, and she could see her own dread and concern reflected in his troubled eyes.

"What did the man do?" Vincent finally asked.

Amy shrugged again. "He watched me."

"And then?" Catherine prompted carefully.

"Then I slept, and the Fairy took me back." With a smug grin in Vincent's direction she added, "Vincent scared her. And then she was gone."

Catherine could feel Vincent's anger roil beneath his tightly controlled composure. "Well, how about some breakfast?" she offered brightly, stroking Amy's head.

"Cocoa?" Amy asked hopefully.

"Cocoa," Catherine confirmed with a smile.

"Let's go," Amy enthused, but Vincent's large hands caught her when she was just about to jump off the bed.

"Not so fast, young lady," Catherine laughed and took the child from Vincent's arm. "Let's get you dressed first." A fleeting look at Vincent's face told her of the turmoil he was in, but he was quick to re-establish his guarded expression.

"Won't you come with us?" she asked as he retreated a few steps and busied himself by replacing a few candle stumps on his writing table.

"No," he declined reservedly, and her heart sank even further as he added, "I have some thinking to do."

Once outside the chamber, Catherine pressed a kiss on Amy's cheek, asking, "Do you think it would be all right if I asked Mary to take you to breakfast? I'm afraid Vincent is going to need my help."

"Okay," Amy said simply, bouncing up and down on Catherine's arms impatiently.

As soon as the child had been surrendered into Mary's expert care, Catherine hurried to get back to Vincent. She stopped just outside his chamber when emotion charged voices reached her from inside.

"There is nothing you could possibly achieve by that," Father entreated. "He didn't harm the child after all. In fact, he took good care of her for the time she was with him."

Vincent gave a scornful laugh. "Like he took good care of me when I was little," he retorted, his voice tense with pent-up anger. "And besides, we do not know, yet, what kind of harm he may have done to the child. Maybe she just can't remember. Maybe he just put some kind of...spell on her."

"But he did release her in the end," Father reasoned.

"Then, what do you think we should do?" Vincent countered, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Are we supposed to fold our hands in our laps and wait and wonder whether Paracelsus deigns to leave us in peace? Paracelsus is unpredictable and dangerous. We cannot take such a risk. This has to stop once and for all."

"And you are going to stop it. Aren't you?" Father gave back with exasperation.

Vincent's voice dropped to a low murmur when he responded, "How can I do anything less than at least try?"

"Vincent, this is insane!" Father exclaimed. And then both men turned toward the entrance when Catherine took a few hesitant step into the room.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I didn't want to interrupt your discussion either."

"You mean our argument," Father amended with a rueful smile.

Catherine's gaze wandered from Father to Vincent who stood there motionless with downcast eyes, his face hidden behind the curtain of his hair.

"I'm sorry, Catherine," he said tonelessly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You intend to seek out Paracelsus anyway," she stated the obvious.

With an impatient gesture of his hand, Vincent turned to leave the room. "Please understand that I will not discuss this further," he tossed out, his jaw set in determination as he passed her on his way out.

Catherine looked after him in utter bewilderment, and when she finally turned toward Father, she could see that he wasn't feeling any better.

"Do you think his encounter with Paracelsus changed him?" she asked, walking over to the tunnel patriarch who stood there with hanging shoulders, leaning heavily on his cane.

"You must know, Catherine, that -- even though you may never have seen Vincent acting that way -- this is not an unusual behavior for him. When all comes down to protecting his world, and those that he loves, there is this stubborn quality about him, this relentless determination. Please know that he will do everything within his power to keep us all safe."

"But at what cost?" she exclaimed desperately.

Father's shoulders slumped even more, and his only response was a hopeless sigh.

*

Father had left, and Catherine was sitting alone in Vincent's chamber, brooding. She knew by now that it wouldn't do any good to ask him to take her with him, but the thought that he would be exposed to Paracelsus' whims once more, almost killed her. She had no doubts whatsoever that the Alchemist would evade any direct confrontation, that he would use the most vulnerable spots in Vincent's character and ruthlessly turn them against him. She had to be there with him when that happened. Why couldn't he just allow her to help him, for a change?

Images of Vincent, and what he had been like the night after his first return from Paracelsus, drifted through her mind. How he had needed her without even knowing that she was there. How she had held him, supported him, loved him. A familiar resolve grew within her, and as she pushed herself from the chair, she suddenly knew everything about that stubborn quality, that relentless determination Father had mentioned to her.

*

"You can do it, Catherine," Jamie said, holding out one hand through a narrow opening in the rock. "I know this crevice is very small, but if I fit through you will, too."

Catherine clenched her teeth and, exhaling firmly, tried again. But she finally had to take off her quilted jacket, and even her heavy sweater, lest she get stuck in that damn hole.

"I guess a diet would be in order," she gasped when she emerged on the other side.

"You're not serious," Jamie laughed, helping her don her clothes again and shoulder her backpack.

"Have you ever been down to where Paracelsus lives?" Catherine inquired as they retrieved their lanterns and walked on companionably.

"No," Jamie responded with a shudder, "and I don't have the slightest inclination to."

"How come you know the way down there so well?"

"We know that way so well in order to avoid it," the girl explained solemnly.

"I see. And after what we've just been through, and I mean that literally," Catherine joked with a glance in the direction of the crevice, "I also understand why Vincent wouldn't use this path."

They both laughed, imagining Vincent trying to squeeze through there.

"You know, it was actually Vincent who showed me the path through the crevice," Jamie told her. "He said that he had discovered it when he was still a child."

"And small enough to fit through," Catherine added, and they laughed again.

"It's a fabulous shortcut," Jamie said enthusiastically. "It saves us almost a half day's journey. Otherwise you could forget the hope to ever catch up with Vincent."

"How can you be so sure that he will set up his camp where you told me he would?" Catherine asked anxiously.

"Because it's where we store some firewood. And because there's water there to cook and to wash. And for some other reasons. But don't be so fidgety. We catch him. You'll see."

"Thank you, Jamie. I really appreciate your help. I owe you."

"Think nothing of it," Jamie said without stopping or turning around. "Men have to be shown that they are better off with our help, far better than they care to admit."

I just wish Vincent could see it that way, Catherine thought with a wry smile.

*

After a brisk walk of about ten hours Vincent reached the bank of the underground river that served as a campsite for those who would come this deep on their explorations of the mysterious world of the tunnels and caverns far below the light of day. From here one could travel along the river to the sea, a laborious journey but a rewarding one. Descending the last few steps to the smooth, even floor of the bank, Vincent recalled with a fond smile how he and his brother Devin had gone on that journey once -- without Father's blessing, of course -- but it had been worth even the lecture that had followed on their return. Oh, the sense of freedom when the tunnel had opened into the endless scope of the sea and the sky, and the joy at the sailing clouds and the soaring seabirds....

Finding himself getting lost in dreams of yesterday, of sunlight and flying, Vincent stooped to put down his lantern. He shrugged out of his backpack and busied himself with setting up his camp for the night. Actually, he was not really tired yet, but it was late, since he had only set out on his journey in the early afternoon hours, not in the morning which would have been more favorable.

When the fire was built, Vincent extinguished the lantern and unwrapped a flat pallet that would serve as his bed. Preparing a simple but nourishing meal, his thoughts wandered back to his and Devin's trip to the sea. They had camped right here many times, because this was the starting point for other journeys as well. A little farther down the corridor ahead of him, several other tunnels branched off, one of which led to a system of crystal caverns, a breathtaking sight for everyone who cared to take the hardships of that trip upon themselves. And then there was the path that he would have to take. It led down a number of twisted staircases and shafts that could only be descended by means of ropes or ladders. It was the only path he knew that would take him to Paracelsus. He had never actually been there before, but he had explored the vicinity once. That had been many years ago, when he had first heard of another group of people living Below. It had not only been curiosity that drove him, back then. It was also his deeply ingrained sense of being responsible for the safety of his world. He'd simply found it unbearable to know that there was something unknown and unpredictable close by that might pose a threat to his home. All he had been able to accomplish, though, was gathering information to complete the maps. He had not encountered anyone. But then, he hadn't ventured directly into the hub of that community either.

It was a dark path that was lying ahead of him, and he shuddered at the thought of walking through barely known territory with no possibility of evading dangers or threats. If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that it was almost like walking into a trap. For the first time, he truly allowed himself to understand Father's objections to this endeavor and he felt a deep empathy toward the old man. But this was not the moment for doubts and uncertainties. He had to do something! He had to see it through.

After finishing his meal and cleaning and putting away the dishes, he acquired a cross-legged position, palms resting on his knees, and started to empty his mind. It was vital that he maintain a clear head and a certain balance of his emotional state. It was a bit difficult, though, to conjure the image of the calm surface of a pond with the sound of the running river nearby, but finally the perfect picture of a full moon swam upon the undisturbed mirror of the water before his inner eye.

Vincent sat there, inwardly listening, for a long time. But suddenly something stirred within the silence, sending ripples across the water and alerting him instantly. He cocked his head, trying to make out any sounds in the darkness beyond the dim glow of the dying embers. But aside from the running river there was nothing. And yet...

Catherine! Instantly he got to his feet, tiny needles pricking his legs, since he had remained in one and the same position for so long. He could sense her close by. But how could that be?

The realization that she had come after him was quickly followed by annoyance. How could she do that to him? How could she be so stubborn? And how had she managed to catch up with him in the first place? She must have come along the only shortcut he knew, the one he hadn't been able to use since he was a child. His mind raced, displaying his options before him. There was still enough time to clear the area and disappear before she found him. That would certainly discourage her and she, and whoever was helping her, would have to give up and walk back.

But at the same time he knew that he would do no such thing. Dropping to the ground again, he sighed resignedly and reached for a stick to stoke the embers of the fireplace. Light and warmth was what she would need after her long walk, for, although it was a shortcut, she would have been on her feet for hours. He sighed again. This was not going to be easy. Not at all.

*

"There," Jamie said triumphantly, pointing her finger at something Catherine could not yet see. During the last two hours she had fallen behind on their hike, and Jamie had tried not to make it too obvious that she'd had to slow down a couple of times in order for Catherine to catch up with her again. Under different circumstances Catherine would have found this rather embarrassing, but now she was simply too tired to mind at all. Although she jogged regularly to stay in shape, she was in no way prepared for the physical exertion of an underground hike.

Pulling herself up to the ledge Jamie was sitting on, Catherine peered through the opening in the stony wall.

And there he was, the back of his head and broad shoulders silhouetted sharply against the flickering light of the fire. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight she had so desperately craved.

"Thank you, Jamie," she breathed hoarsely. "Thank you so much."

"I told you we would find him," the young woman whispered back. And with a somewhat uncertain glance toward the imposing figure down there she added, "I guess I'd better leave the two of you alone now. If I hurry, I can be back before morning."

Catherine was fleetingly aware of Jamie's doubts as to whether Vincent would be as grateful for her help as she was, but she only murmured, "That's all right. I can manage on my own from here."

With a nod Jamie retreated into the cave and was out of sight in an instant, and Catherine couldn't help but marvel at the girl's perseverance.

Slowly, wearily, Catherine gathered her remaining strength about her and pushed herself to her feet. With one last wistful look at the peaceful scene by the fire, she cast away her sudden doubt about the wisdom of her actions. It was too late anyway. Gingerly she stumbled down the rocky slope toward Vincent.

*

Vincent pretended not to hear the whispered voices behind him. He remained in his unmoving position, concentrating on the emotions he picked up from Catherine. He had to admit that he admired her courage and determination, and the depth of her trust in him all but overwhelmed him. For she must trust him a great deal to put herself into his hands and at his mercy, knowing very well that he had to be anything but pleased by her action.

Only when her hesitant footfall told him that she was right behind him, did he raise his head and turn to acknowledge her presence. If matters hadn't been so serious, her appearance would have made him smile. Her hair had escaped the confines of the ribbon she had tied around it, and now framed her dirt-streaked face in loose strands. Her hands were clenched around the shoulder-straps of her backpack, and her posture betrayed her fatigue and exhaustion.

"Don't you see," she pleaded, "I had to come."

It touched him that she felt she must defend herself against his judgement, and his features softened just a bit. He did not speak, though. He just stood up and reached out to free her from the heavy backpack. She slumped down on the stony ground and wordlessly took the bowl of broth that he handed her. Noticing that her hands were shaking just a bit, he could not help but cradle them between his large palms, solicitously supporting her while she drank.

When she had finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand, obviously unaware of the gesture and the additional smudge it put on her face.

That made him smile at last. "You need to rest," he said as her eyes widened into his and her features brightened with relief. She wanted to say something, but he put a gentle finger on her mouth. "Later," he advised, pulling her sleeping bag from her pack.

He grabbed a piece of cloth and an empty bowl and went to fetch some water for her to wash at least her face and hands, but when he returned, she had already shed her outer garments and was fast asleep in her bag.

He shook his head with a fond smile and knelt down to wipe her hot and sticky face with the cool cloth. She sighed with contentment, but didn't awake. Watching her sleep, Vincent wondered when his anger had left him, for all he was feeling now was his fathomless love for her and a deep peace.

*

The sound of the running river was slowly seeping into Catherine's sleep, and when she awoke, she opened her eyes to the total, impenetrable darkness of the world Below. Turning onto her back, she tensed and strained her ears to make out any sounds apart from the noise of the flowing water that gurgled and splashed against the rocky confinements of its bed. There was nothing -- nothing but her own breathing -- and she was instantly seized by panic. She was not even able to reach out for her pack and grab the flashlight to dispel the paralyzing darkness that engulfed her. Clenching her teeth, she tried to struggle against the panic, to resist the haunting images that were beginning to intrude on her mind; images of all kinds of ghastly things creeping through the dark, torturing and terrifying her, until she was helpless to stifle the cry that tore from her throat.

A soft, warm glow emerged from the blackness across the cavern, revealing shapes and objects and a tall figure holding up a lantern as he crossed the space between them in large strides.

"Catherine," Vincent gasped, kneeling down beside her and releasing the lantern in order to grasp her shoulders with both hands.

She became aware that she was still shaking like a leaf as she sat there, clutching the front of her sleeping bag to her chest. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I guess I have a problem with this total darkness."

He nodded understandingly. "I didn't mean to leave you alone in the dark," he apologized. "I was just taking a quick morning bath and had hoped to be back before you awoke."

"Is it morning already?" she asked, already quieted by his presence and the light of the lantern. "How can you tell down here?" At his indulgent smile she continued, "Well, never mind. A bath sounds wonderful. Do you think I could take one as well?"

He tilted his head, looking at her from beneath still damp bangs. "Of course, you could, Catherine. It's just that the water is rather cold, as is the air in this cavern."

Only now she took notice of his wet hair, cascading in unruly tendrils over his shoulders. He endured her wandering eyes patiently, as she ran them over his mane and face, and finally dropped them to his neck where his hastily donned shirt was still unlaced, presenting her with the sight of a profusion of tawny curls. She felt her face grow warm, and when she lifted her gaze, he was looking at her solemnly, his eyes steady and intense.

"I think I'll give it a try," she stammered, and he rose to his feet, busying himself with lighting the fire he must have built while she'd still been asleep. She realized that he meant to give her privacy for leaving the sleeping bag, since her jeans and heavy sweater lay clearly visible on the floor beside her.

She hurried to slip into her clothes, for the air was rather cool, indeed, and when she laced her boots he stepped up to her, holding a bundle of blankets and towels.

"I'll show you the way," he said, offering his free hand to help her up. She took it, and the touch of his warm palm brought back the memory of his revealed chest, making her wonder uneasily if he was able to pick up on the emotions that accompanied the image in her mind. By now, his shirt was firmly laced, and he was also wearing his quilted vest again. She followed him across the cavern and into the corridor beyond, all the while seeking for the right words for asking him to stay close by while she bathed. She knew that her anxiety was ridiculous, and finally she decided to say nothing.

When the corridor ended, the rocky path sloped gently down to the river. Catherine squatted down and held a probing hand into the water, finding that the temperature exceeded her worst expectations by far. Well, all she'd said was that she'd give it a try, she thought wryly.

"I will wait in the adjoining tunnel, so I hear you in case you need anything," Vincent offered quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"Thank you," Catherine said gratefully, touched once more by his empathy and sensitivity.

*

Leaning against the rough, stony wall of the corridor, Vincent listened to the splashing sounds in the water below. The first thing he had to do was see Catherine safely home. Of course it was out of the question that he take her with him to Paracelsus. That had never been an option. He would simply return another time. As expected, Catherine didn't take long to finish her bath. He smiled at the sight of her, teeth chattering despite the heavy blanket she had wrapped about her shoulders. Wordlessly, he walked her back to the campsite, where he took a pot with boiling water from the fire and poured it over two teabags in waiting mugs.

"Sugar?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she replied, taking the steaming liquid from him and curling her icy fingers around the mug. He scooped a spoonful of sugar into her tea and stirred it for her, lest she would have to relinquish the much craved warmth. He also offered her some bread and cheese, but she declined, claiming she wasn't hungry.

"You will need your strength," he insisted. "We will have to return on the long way. I'm afraid it is impossible for me to take you back the way you came."

"Return?" she asked, her surprise evident in every line of her features.

Concentrating on stirring sugar in his own tea, he said, "Did you really think that I would put you at risk by resuming my journey down there with you? No, Catherine, I won't do that." Twisting his mug between his palms, he inquired softly,

"What did you hope to accomplish by following me?"

Catherine lowered her face, studying her tea, before she responded, "I didn't have clear plans or intentions, Vincent. All I knew was that I wouldn't let Paracelsus harm you again. What he did to you last time..." She shook her head, unable to continue.

As much as it touched him that she cared about him so deeply, her inclination to plunge herself headlong into some unknown dangers for him, obviously without thinking twice, also worried him a lot. Apparently, all he could do to keep her safe was remain in safety himself, and the irony of that caused him to smile.

"What?" she asked, raising her eyebrows curiously.

Leaning over to her, he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. His heart ached with the intensity of his feelings for her, and with his concern for her. It was his fault that she was here in the bowels of this inhospitable world far beneath the surface. He should have been more patient and considerate. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and so very susceptible to his emotions that he became painfully aware of their being alone together in this remote and solitary place.

"We better go now," he said simply, tearing himself from the yearning in her gaze and starting to pack up the blankets and supplies. He heard that she had risen as well, helping him as best she could, but he didn't have the heart to look at her and see the longing and confusion that he could sense across the bond all too clearly.

"I'm sorry, Vincent," he heard her murmur behind him, "for imposing myself on you. I didn't mean to..."

Instantly he leapt to his feet, meeting her troubled eyes.

"It's all right," he soothed, drawing her into his arms. "I understand. I really do. I must apologize as well, for being so insensitive toward your fear for me. And Father's as well. You had both every reason to dissuade me from my intention, but I was too stubborn to listen. It is just that I..." he cast a desperate glance up to the vaulted ceiling of the cavern, "...I had to do something. It scares me that Paracelsus is able to make me feel so helpless."

Her warm lips on his throat almost startled him, and he lowered his head to look at her in surprise.

"I know," she whispered huskily. "That's why I wanted to be here for you. So you wouldn't be helpless anymore."

"I'm helpless now," he rasped, taking her mouth in a tender kiss.

Somewhere in his mind a voice told him that this was probably wrong, that he should not let it happen, that he must not.

But her lips were so eager beneath his, so inviting as they parted slightly, allowing his tongue entrance. His heart pounded frantically as he explored her warm softness, tasting her, needing her like never before. Every point of contact between them was sparking with electricity, and he groaned as she pressed into him more firmly. She was so willing to receive him, so trusting, and her yielding flesh beneath his palms stirred a hunger inside him that drowned out any rational thought. Blurred images of how he would possess her swam before his eyes, of how he would use her for his own gratification....

A strangled sound tore from his throat, and his hold around her body slackened.

Again! He had done it again!

Dreading to meet her gaze, and ashamed of the tears running down his face, he threw back his head, staring blindly up at the shadows above them, which were rapidly growing, now that the fire was dying.

"See where I've brought us," he groaned. "I only meant to kiss you, to gently show you how deeply your words touched me, how much they mean to me."

She took his hands in hers, tugging softly to gain his attention. "You brought us to the brink of ecstasy," she said, her voice firm and steady, "and I would follow you there again, anytime, even though you're not yet ready to spread your wings."

Her reference to his dreams of flying made him flinch. "Sometimes I remind myself too much of Icarus," he murmured wistfully.

"Who fell because he burned his wings?"

"Because he flew too high and got too close to the sun," he amended.

"The fire of our love won't burn your wings," she whispered, pressing lingering kisses on the backs of his hands. "You won't fall."

"I might," he returned. "Catherine, I cannot bear the thought of pulling you down with me."

She gave him a confident smile. "Don't worry, Vincent, we will fly. Believe me. I know it." Brushing a fleeting kiss against his chin, she released his hands and went to resume her packing.

For a long moment he could only stand and stare at her, too stunned to move. The sparks of his arousal were still tingling on his skin and in his veins, and as he briefly closed his eyes, he could feel the whisper of some distant breeze caressing his face and ruffling his wings as he floated effortlessly through the air.

His eyes flew open as Catherine grasped his arm. "Vincent, are you all right?" she asked. "You were just looking a little dizzy."

He smiled and slowly nodded his head. "Thank you, Catherine," he spoke quietly, "I believe I am. And now, let's finish our packing. It is time to go home."

THE JOURNEY HOME