Part I
Rosemarie Hauer
Resolutely he pushed his feelings aside and returned his attention to the book. He had followed every single instruction to the letter. The potion was ready for him to consume. His gaze wandered to the black onyx chalice and he remembered the first and only time he had tried this particular magic. As he extended his hand to reach for the cup, a shudder ran down his spine. Pain, madness, and a near brush with death had been the result of that experiment almost twenty years ago. With an odd sense of detachment, Vincent watched his hand as he held it over the chalice. Slowly he curled his fingers into a taut fist to keep them from shaking. It was better not to think of the past. He had been far too young then, too inexperienced in the ways of magic. His need to transform himself, to become an entirely human being, had been too great. This time he would do better. This time he would not allow his desperation to interfere with the procedure of magic. Everything was ready. All he had to do was light the incense, drink the potion, and invoke his body's atoms to rearrange. He had studied the scriptures meticulously. If he truly was what he appeared to be -- a creature between the levels of man and animal -- there were only two directions the spell could take. Either it would render him human or he would be tossed into the oblivion of the beast. Even the latter was preferable to what he was now: A semi-human being with the moral sense of a scholar and humanitarian and the instincts of a predator.
Suddenly there were voices in his head, distant screams intermingled with his own inhuman roars. A chill went through his soul and he leapt to his feet and spun around, claws flexed and ready to strike. For long, breathless moments he expected to see the ghosts of those who had died at his hands coming at him, but aside from the frantic pounding of his heart everything was quiet again. He took a few calming breaths and staggered back to his chair, slumping down with a growl. How could he ever hope to regain some measure of inner peace? How could he ever look in Catherine's eyes again? She had seen him kill before, but never like that. Never before had his rage been so terrible, so inhuman, as when he had lost himself in destroying those who had become a deadly threat to his family and his world. And to her.
The memory of Catherine in the arms of those men brought a hoarse groan from him and he threw back his head, staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.
Gradually he calmed and his reason for being in his secret chamber came back to him. He had to make another effort for Catherine's sake as well as his own. He knew he was very close. He could feel it. The power was there, energizing everything within and around him. He knew that it was this very power which also lent increased strength to his nightmares, but once he drank the potion, those would be easily overcome.
He struck a match and lit the incense, inhaling deeply of the resinous scent before his hand closed around the shiny black stem of the goblet. This time he would step into the unknown, even though it might be the last thing he would ever do.
The bitterness of the liquid made it momentarily impossible for him to concentrate on the mental part of his work, and as he struggled to focus on his goal, his body responded with a series of violent shivers. Gripping the edges of the table, he tried to anchor himself as, slowly and with utmost accuracy, he began to recite the words that would carry him through the transformation.
Vincent was about halfway through the procedure when a sudden flicker of the candles diverted his attention. There were no drafts so far below the pipe levels, at least not in this section of the lower tunnels where his secret study lay. He pushed himself from the chair to investigate the cause of the unusual disturbance. Ducking through the low entryway, he sniffed the air outside his hidden chamber. There was nothing out of the ordinary, yet the hairs along his spine bristled as if charged with electricity. A dark foreboding swept through him and he whisked around with sudden agitation. He had received warnings like that before and he knew better than to ignore them.
Returning to his chair, he retrieved his pouch from the table and put the leather thong around his neck. The moment his hand closed around the small object the pouch contained, he knew with absolute clarity that Catherine was close by.
There was no time to consider the possible damage an interrupted sorcery might wreak. All he felt was that Catherine was in danger and he knew he must act immediately. Grabbing his cloak, he swung it around his shoulders and ran to where the bond guided him.
With long, swift strides Vincent moved through the tunnels toward the source of emotion that lured him so insistently. Catherine had to be very close for him to sense her this clearly. How had she been able to find her way so far below the home tunnels? No one had ever found him there before when he hadn't wanted to be found. His heart pounded as if it would shatter to pieces. She shouldn't be here in the first place, and to make matters even worse, she was coming through the maze, a dangerous place even for those accustomed to the perils of the underground world. Breaking into a run, Vincent berated himself for having been so insensitive as to send her away and then simply disappear without a word when things between them were so fragile.
Suddenly a powerful premonition erased all thought and drove him relentlessly toward his goal. An earth-shattering rumble filled every part of him as he rounded a bend and caught sight of Catherine's familiar shape at last. The ground beneath his feet was rising like an ocean wave. With a roar he launched himself toward her and pulled her with him to the floor, spreading his cloak over them both as he shielded her with his body from falling rocks and debris. Instinctively he moved just enough to prevent them both from being buried completely.
Gradually the rumbling subsided and the earth grew quiet again. Vincent raised his head, careful not to drop any of the debris onto Catherine's face as he assessed the damage. A dull pain throbbed along the bond and his probing fingers encountered a warm, sticky liquid at the back of her head. Quickly scanning his surroundings, Vincent saw a large boulder which was so deeply embedded in the rock wall that it remained unaffected by the cave-in. He expelled a forceful breath as he lifted Catherine from the rubble and carried her to a small sheltered alcove beneath the boulder. There he placed her carefully on the floor and studied the extent of her head wound.
Extending his hand as if in a caress, he held his palm slightly over the bleeding and closed his eyes. His inner senses told him the wound was rather superficial, and the only danger was that it might become infected. Without thinking twice, Vincent removed the canteen Catherine still had strapped to her shoulder and poured some water on a tissue he produced from her bag. Gently cleaning the wound as best he could, he concentrated his entire willpower on the bright shine of life force surrounding her. Closing his eyes again, he exhaled and spoke a quiet word of command. When he looked at her head again, the gash had closed and only a crust of dried blood betrayed that it had been there.
Vincent removed his cloak and spread it on the floor with a powerful sweep of one arm while he supported Catherine with the other. He laid her down gently, studying her with concern. She hadn't moved since the moment he pulled her to the ground. Aside from the gash in the back of her head he hadn't been able to detect any injury, yet her unconsciousness worried him.
She moaned softly, and he reached for her wrist to feel her pulse. To his relief it was steady and strong. Heaving a sigh, he raised his gaze to the tenuous beam of light that filtered in from somewhere high above them. It was highly unlikely that the cave-in had created a shaft all the way up to the surface, but of course that wasn't entirely impossible. Catherine moaned again and his attention snapped back to her immediately.
Her face was pale and drawn, and Vincent experienced a stab of intense guilt. It wasn't her fault that she had been forced to come this far below in search of him. Of course, she would worry when he had been gone for so long. He should have known her better than to believe she would simply stay away and patiently wait for his return. She had told him she loved him and he had closed his heart to her out of his selfish need to hide from his shame. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he cursed his own inability to respond to the enormity of her confession and her commitment.
Suddenly he heard her whisper his name and, bending closer, he reached for her hand. "Catherine?"
She stared up at him with a frown. "What happened?" Her voice was so hoarse that it all but deserted her. Swiftly he reached for the canteen and supported her head while she drank.
"You're safe," he soothed. "I'm here. Everything will be all right."
"Vincent?" she croaked. "Where are we?"
"How much do you remember?" he asked carefully.
A deep furrow formed between her brows as she tried to concentrate. "I...was searching for you," she began, "but I can't remember finding you."
"You didn't," he said, recapping the canteen and storing it away. "I found you."
"And just in time to safe my life it would seem," she added wryly, struggling to sit up. Looking around her in the dim light from above, she asked, "What happened?"
"I'm not sure," he replied, trying to ignore a sudden stabbing pain in his joints, "but you chose a dangerous path down here. The maze is known for occasional cave-ins."
Her eyes grew wide. "You mean we're near the place where you and Father were trapped that time?"
Rubbing his wrists, he nodded, uncertain how to proceed without making her feel guilty. "How did you get this far?" he asked finally.
Catherine shifted her weight and leaned back against the rocky wall of the alcove. "You mean without help?"
He just stared at
her silently, waiting for her to explain. She met his gaze with something
akin to defiance before she began to speak.
"When...I didn't hear from you for so long, I came below to ask Father and
the others about you, but all they told me was that you had gone away and
that it was something you always did when you needed to...find yourself again."
He dropped his gaze and swallowed the bitter taste rising in his throat. "Yes," he said, his voice raw with the effort to appear calm. "Whenever I...lose myself, I seek out the solitude of the dark."
"To hide?" she asked, and he flinched involuntarily.
"Sometimes," he conceded reluctantly, wincing with the pain in his knees as he settled down beside her.
"And at other times?" she persisted.
He avoided her eyes, trailing his fingers across the sandy floor. How could he explain this to her? How could he possibly expect her to understand?
"But I haven't answered your question yet," she said into the silence, and he relaxed, grateful for the respite he'd been offered. When he raised his eyes to hers again, the compassion and understanding he encountered there took his breath away. He gave her a slight nod of encouragement, and she continued. "I followed the bond, Vincent. I wasn't sure I could do it, but it worked."
Vincent wasn't even surprised. He had suspected that much. The bond between them had been steadily growing throughout the last few months, a fact that excited and worried him at the same time because it posed a source of constant danger for her. A shudder ran through him and he looked away. Almost. He had almost been too late this time.
Her arm stole around his shoulders, and he tensed. How could she wish to touch him after all that had happened? After what she had seen? His neck felt suddenly cramped and he shifted his weight in an attempt to relax.
Finally she withdrew her arm and continued to speak. "Once I started concentrating on you, it was as if there was something like a thread of...energy between us. I felt a tingling warmth in the pit of my stomach and knew that I was coming closer to you. At other times I had a feeling as if a coolness passed through me. I knew that was when I moved away from you because as soon as I changed direction, it grew warm again. It was like a game I played when I was a child. Isn't that strange?"
He shook his head. "Not really. In order to achieve something in the realm of the unknown, our mind draws upon familiar experiences and translates the new impulses into a language of the known."
She gazed at him pensively, and he thought how desperately he had missed looking into her eyes. Shaking himself mentally, he asked, "Do the others...know that you came down here?"
She shook her head. "Only Zach, since he was on sentry duty when I passed the outer post, but I swore him to secrecy."
"Then they won't miss us for a while," Vincent stated, staring down at his aching hands. Catherine placed her warm palm on his wrist.
"You mean Zack will be...'subtle' again and make sure that we have privacy?" she asked, and he felt a tingle of amusement rippling through her. Casting her a furtive glance, he saw a smile play around the corners of her mouth, and a sharp pain went through his heart. She was so beautiful, and all he could do to prevent himself from touching her was to get to his feet and put some distance between them.
"Vincent?" she called out and the concern in her voice tore at him. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He spun around in sudden agitation. "You should never have come after me!"
She flinched, and before he knew it he was kneeling beside her again. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's not your fault. I will get us out of here. Don't worry."
She looked at him apprehensively. "Are you telling me that we're trapped in here?"
"I'm afraid so," he replied, meeting her worried gaze with forced calmness. Her eyes widened in shock. Reaching for her hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We aren't in as much danger as Father and I were back then," he said, and pointing up to the small ray of light overhead, he added, "We can see and we won't run out of oxygen, so we have time to think and find a way out."
"And we aren't hurt," Catherine remarked, stretching her arms and rolling her head to emphasize her observation.
Vincent watched her silently, glad she couldn't see the caked blood in her hair. "Yes," he replied at last, returning her smile despite the sudden cramp in his stomach.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, willing the pain to the back of his mind. "I should have told you that I needed to go away for a while. And most of all, it was wrong of me to send you away when..." He paused, squeezing his eyes shut.
"When we needed each other so much," she finished for him.
"After all that happened," he murmured, avoiding her gaze, "I needed to regain my perspective."
"About what exactly?" she asked, and he felt her eyes on him as she waited for his reply.
He swallowed. "About...what I did."
"What you had to do," she amended, and he jerked his head up to meet the challenge in her eyes at last.
"Maybe...but not like that."
She gave a helpless shrug. "Vincent, I've seen you kill before. I know how hard it is on you. It always has been. Why did it affect you so much more this time?"
With a suppressed groan, Vincent rose and ducked out of the alcove, needing to stretch his suddenly cramped muscles. There was a tight feeling in his chest that wouldn't let him breathe. He knew she deserved the truth, but how would she receive it? He sighed heavily and turned to face her again.
"Because this time I made a conscious decision to kill them like that," he said. "I knew that otherwise I wouldn't have had a chance against them. And yet..."
He paused and watched her getting up on her knees. Sitting back on her heels, she stared at him intently. "I thought you had no control at all when you kill," she finally said.
He sighed again, studying the tips of his dirt-covered boots. "The truth is that I can't access that extraordinary strength within me as long as I'm rational," he said at last. "So it was my decision to drop rationality, and that's what caused the...rage...in the end." He half-expected her to comment on that, but she didn't. She made no sound at all; she just sat there waiting for him to continue. But as much as he would have liked to explain it to her, the words wouldn't come. Slowly, he shook his head, instantly regretting it as the room began to spin about him. He had to get away from her in order to be alone for a moment. "Catherine," he said, kneeling down before her, "this is very difficult to express. Please let's talk about it later. Right now we should be concerned about finding our way out of here."
She looked up at him solemnly, and he felt her disappointment all too clearly.
"All right," she murmured. There was something in her gaze that made him want to weep. He didn't deserve so much trust, didn't deserve her concern for him, and least of all, her love.
Her voice all but startled him as she asked, "What can we do?"
"At first, I'll try to find out where the light comes from," he said, pointing upward as he straightened. "Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a little while? You're safe here."
She nodded mutely and his heart went out to her. There was so much she didn't know about him, far too much. A chill swept through his heart as he realized that there seemed to be no way the chasm between them could ever be bridged.
"I won't be long," he promised, forcing an encouraging smile on his lips.