Ownership Disclaimer: These characters originated in the deep dark recesses of my mind, and thus belong to no one but me. Copyright © 2000 by Advocate. All Rights Reserved.

Violence/Profanity/and Sexual Content: This story contains moderate levels of violence as well as profanity. This is a work of alternative fiction that depicts two women as well as an opposite sex couple in both a physically and emotionally loving relationship.

Thanks: I've got the best beta readers a bard could hope for. These guys (Barbara, kd, Ellie and Medora MacD) simply rock. They kindly supplied any semi-colons, or other such funky punctuation. Kamouraskan, your editing suggestions were greatly appreciated. In addition to my wonderful beta readers, several friends offered me their support and encouragement. To them I offer a heartfelt thank you.

Dedication: This is dedicated to the one I love. If I had more than my heart to give... it would already be yours.

Comments or Questions to: advocate8704@yahoo.com

"Take her to the stables. I won't have her vile presence infecting my home for another second!" Cyril motioned for several of the officers to remove his sister from his sight.

"I'll show them where to go, Father," Elizabeth said helpfully, smiling at her aunt's obvious pain as she was unceremoniously yanked to her feet by her hair.

Cyril nodded, stroking his thin mustache with fingers still shaking with anxiety from the day's events. "Of course, my dear. Excellent idea." A slight frown flittered across his face before disappearing completely. "Then see to Judith. It seems your sister is distraught at the thought of her Aunt being a witch." He focused dark, gray eyes on Bridget and spoke in the arrogant tone that had grated on her nerves since childhood. "I'm off to speak with my wife to inform her that her presence is required at tonight's... festivities."

His words caused a small growl to erupt from Bridget as she was jerked toward the door. She stumbled but two pairs of strong hands kept her upright. Bridget tried to project a warning into her brother's mind, but her own thoughts were such a jumbled mess she wasn't quite certain whether she was coming or going. How many times had she been hit on the head? Her brows contracted as she tried to concentrate. After a while she simply lost track.

Elizabeth glowed under her father's meager praise. "Father..." Her mouth shut with an audible click when Cyril walked past her as though she wasn't even speaking to him, ignoring her completely. The girl's back stiffened and her lip quivered for just a split second before twisting into a slight sneer, but she said nothing, donning a heavy cape as she quietly escorted Bridget and her guards to the stables. She purposely left Bridget's cloak hanging on a hook by the door, chuckling to herself as her Aunt was ravaged by the cold autumn rain that had been drenching the island in misery all afternoon. The girl took the long way to the stables, navigating the puddles carefully so she wouldn't soil the hem of her dress.

Bridget was roughly pushed down on the coarse wooden surface of an empty half-barrel then securely chained to one of the stable's support posts. She hissed under her breath as the manacles were tightened further, digging into tender, raw flesh.

"I won't be but a moment," Elizabeth assured two officers who were waiting at the door. "I'd like a word with my Aunt... before her execution." She let a brief flash of sadness creep into her expression before smiling sweetly and batting her eyelashes at the men, both of whom perked up under the attentive stare of the pretty young girl.

Bridget's execution had been scheduled for midnight. Elizabeth's mouth shaped a wry grin as she turned away from the door, kicking aside stray wisps of fragrant hay as she walked. The witching hour -- how wonderfully appropriate.

Bridget faintly heard Elizabeth's words and wondered fleeting whether the girl had said them or merely thought them.

As soon as the stable's door creaked closed, Elizabeth roughly pulled the gag from Bridget's mouth, causing the woman to cough and choke. Dropping the filthy rag, she strode across the stable, her back to Bridget, stopping only when she reached Apollo's stall. "He's a beautiful beast, really," Elizabeth offered conversationally, watching the stallion prance and stomp, puffs of stream escaping his nostrils. The steed snorted and danced nervously, seemingly disturbed by her very presence. "I'll see that he's well cared for..." She left unspoken the word 'tomorrow' -- when Bridget would no longer be able to care for him herself.

Bridget didn't know what to say. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion, as thoughts that had been ephemeral only moments ago seemed to come into focus. The icy rain had awakened her senses and chased away the thick fog she'd been wandering through since her last beating. Elizabeth's behavior confused her to no end. At times, the girl was almost contrite then, a second later, she seemed to revel in Bridget's torment, goading her with cruel words and crueler deeds. "Thank you," she finally offered hoarsely, licking cracked, dry lips.

Elizabeth scowled when the young stallion backed away, refusing to allow her to pet him. She felt an icy rage grab hold of her heart and tug at the darkness within. Momentarily pushing it down, she turned and studied Bridget, taking in the almost imperceptible slump of her shoulders, her slightly sagging head, with grim but determined satisfaction. "Oh, I don't think you'll be thanking me, Auntie." Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement. "Not after what I'm about to tell you."

"Why are you here, girl? It is most certainly not to say goodbye," Bridget said acidly, not wanting to waste these precious hours in the company of her spiteful, malicious niece. "Or, are you merely here to gloat?"

Elizabeth tipped her head back and let out a shrill laugh that caused Bridget to wince and wonder at the girl's sanity. "I suppose you're right, Auntie. I am mainly here to gloat. But I must admit, I am rather proud of myself. Opportunity beckoned and... well... I'm sure you can figure out the rest. But there was something I wanted you to know before you were reduced to a smoking pile of ashes." The girl approached Bridget. Bending at the waist, she placed her palms on the taller woman's knees and leaned forward until they were nose-to-nose.

Bridget blinked, feeling as though she was looking at a much younger, far more disturbing version of herself. The obvious familial resemblance caused Elizabeth's actions to cut even deeper.

The girl smiled. "You. Don't. Exist."

Bridget jerked her head away, annoyed at her niece's close proximity but held captive by her shackles. With a violent thrust, she yanked her legs forward, sending a bolt of pain through her lower back. But she was held firm. "What?" she ground out.

"You heard me!" Elizabeth straightened, making a conscious effort not to stamp her foot and appear like a peevish child, although her efforts were very nearly undone by the expression on her face alone. She took a calming breath and began again. "You don't exist. Just like Henry won't. It will be as though you were never born." The slim girl paused a moment, letting all the hate and resentment she felt for Bridget show clearly in angry gray eyes. "Consider it a token of my affection," she muttered as she placed an entirely cold kiss on Bridget's cheek, her own stomach roiling at the smell of Bridget's unwashed clothes and infected wounds.

"Be gone, brat! You make no sense!"

Elizabeth stiffened, more than a little disappointed. She was so hoping her Aunt would figure out what she was saying on her own. It would have been so much more delicious to see realization dawn across that battered face. The girl sighed dramatically. I should have told her before her last beating. She really did seem much more coherent then. A long streak of golden light shot across the floor then disappeared, drawing Elizabeth's attention to the fact that the rain had momentarily stopped and that late afternoon sun was trying to peek under the stable door. She knocked one fist against her Aunt's forehead as though it were a piece of wood. "Think! You have no heirs. Where is the only place your memory would live on, once this day is through?"

I pray God, in Faylinn's heart. A shudder of pain lanced through Bridget as her utter failure regarding her beloved hit home. …Months ago, she anguished. I should have spirited that bright young thing away from this horrid island and my despicable brother the moment I laid eyes on her. Tears welled in bloodshot blue eyes, blurring Bridget's already cloudy vision as the accumulation of the events of the past week came crashing down on her. Her own kin were orchestrating her execution and despite her best efforts, Henry was dead. And Faylinn, whom she loved above all others, had failed to believe in her when it mattered most. Confused green eyes haunted her dreams and tormented Bridget's waking moments. She felt like she was drowning.

Elizabeth cocked her head slightly to the side. "Have you figured it out then, clever?"

The tall woman just shook her head from side to side as her defenses began to bottom out and she felt herself sink deeper into misery. Her breathing hitched as a sob threatened to escape and unexpected tears stung her eyes. "Where is Faylinn?" she muttered, trying desperately to maintain at least a shred of dignity and not break down in front of Elizabeth. I canno... I... I cannot fall apart now!

The girl frowned. How was she supposed to torment her Aunt if Bridget was too consumed with her own misery to pay attention? Elizabeth threw back slim shoulders and stated proudly, "I am the history's Guardian." She ignored Bridget's question, forging ahead with her own agenda. "And as far as future generations will ever know, our family consists of Father, Judith, my TRUE mother, and myself. No one else." The harsh inflection of her voice, emphasized her last words.

Bridget looked up at her niece in pure disbelief, her mouth opening slightly, but no words coming forth.

Elizabeth's eyes lit with glee and she clapped her hands together, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "I'm so glad you decided to pay attention, Bridget," she said excitedly.

"You... you can't do that!" the older woman sputtered.

Elizabeth's smile broadened. This was the reaction she'd been hoping for. "Ahh.. but who would stop me? Certainly not you." She spun around in a circle, her arms clasping her skirts as they billowed. Bridget wondered briefly if the girl would actually take flight. But as quickly as the euphoria came, it was replaced by Elizabeth's usual, somber mask. Drawing nearer to her Aunt she whispered, "In the end, who was the more powerful one, Bridget? You or I?"

Bridget's face reddened with fury. Was that was this was about? By God! She would desecrate the histories out of jealously and spite? "It is a sacred duty to properly and accurately maintain the histories! You know this, Elizabeth! They exist separate and apart from us to guide the future and chronicle the past."

The dark-haired girl looked completely unmoved and simply crossed her arms over her chest as if bored, awaiting a more convincing argument.

Bridget's fists clenched, causing the manacles to dig deeply into her wrists. "I have been documenting the family's powers in a journal for years. Its contents must be properly recorded. It is an obligation to pass on the knowledge!" Bridget cursed her fool brother and his incompetence when it came to instilling the true importance of the histories in his daughter.

"Oh," Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, "your journal, I'm afraid, has been... misplaced..." she smirked then added, "... permanently."

"Bitch!" Bridget seethed, closing her eyes at the grating sound of her niece's laugh that somehow seemed to shift into a cackle. "And what of your brother?" she tried again. "You would deny him his place in history?"

"My HALF brother was the son of that sniveling slut my father married for no other reason but to obtain this island. She is a business arrangement."

Elizabeth's thoughts veered toward her stepmother. "She is not nearly good enough for him! And still she dares to think she can replace my mother!" she ranted, pacing back and forth in front of Bridget liked a caged animal.

A challenging sneer twisted Bridget's face. "It seems, my dear, that you've developed a rather unnatural obsession with your father."

SMACK!

SMACK!

Bridget's head snapped backwards with the force of the second blow. "Do not pretend to lecture me on what is natural, you perverted whore!" Elizabeth nearly screamed, her eyes flashing dangerously as her slender frame shook with unsuppressed rage. "My father may have chosen not to act on what you arrogantly parade before his very eyes. But where he failed... I did not!" Elizabeth suddenly sobered. "Judith will never forgive me," she said softly as she licked her lips, her face easily conveying pain at that notion. "But I did what I had to do... for all of us," she finished somewhat somberly as if she had merely done her duty and nothing more.

Bridget spat a mouthful of blood onto the straw near her feet. She didn't bother denying her niece's implied accusation concerning her about Faylinn. That she and Faylinn hadn't slept together didn't really matter. She was in love with her just the same. But Bridget tried not to dwell on thoughts of the redhead. These thoughts were private, and she'd just as soon not share them with this girl turned monster.

"Oh, sweet Aunt." Elizabeth smile was full sympathy. "You may have your last, fleeting thoughts of Faylinn only because I must see to Judith and I choose not to share them."

Elizabeth turned on her heels; satisfied that she'd made her point. As she began to move toward the door, Bridget's ragged voice caught her attention.

"Ask Mary to come here with a change of clothes and wash basin, won't you? Wait. Never mind." I wouldn't want my stench to offend Cyril or those bastards he calls partners, now would I, she thought sarcastically.

Elizabeth had her refusal poised on the tip of her tongue when Bridget's thought made itself plainly known in her mind. "I'll send Mary in," she said happily. Tilting her head toward Bridget she wrinkled her nose and made a show of sniffing the cold afternoon air. "You do stink."

Bridget's lip twitched but she managed to nod silently, trying to look annoyed and keeping her mind as blank as possible until Elizabeth left the room.

********************

"Faylinn! Faylinn, open this door before I break it down!" Cyril demanded, pounding on the heavy wooden slab, causing it to shake on its hinges.

Somewhere deep in the back of Faylinn's mind, Cyril's insistent pounding registered. But she simply ignored it, not caring whether he broke the door in or not. You can burn this monstrosity of a house to the ground for all I care, husband! her mind cried spitefully, but she lacked the will to say the words out loud.

After a few more seconds of furious pounding Cyril apparently gave up, and the house went deathly quiet.

The sun had set hours ago but Faylinn hadn't bothered lighting a lamp. Why should she? There was nothing to see. In the shadows of the room, she was alone in her misery and self-hatred. The room's quiet, empty darkness matched the aching hollowness in her heart perfectly.

It was her fault. All of it. Her lack of faith in Bridget had delayed Henry's rescue and cost her son his life. She had cost her son his life. What kind of mother lets her own fears and doubts override what is best for her child? I didn't deserve him or Bridget, and now they're both being taken away from me one at a time, she thought miserably. Oh God. They both loved me and I repaid them with stupidity and betrayal!

Glistening green eyes were riveted on the small pale child lying in a pool of sheets and disheveled woolen blankets. His hair reminds me of yours, Bridget -- so soft and shiny. Rising from her chair, Faylinn sat on the edge of the bed beside Henry, brushing her fingertips through soft, curly locks no longer sweaty from fever. Her glance dropped to his still chest, where she stared with morbid fascination, part of her still expecting to see its gentle rise and fall as she always did when she sneaked into his bedroom to check on him each night.

"I'm so sorry, Henry. Pu.. please forgive me," she pleaded brokenly, her knuckles grazing his downy soft cheek, its unnatural coolness causing her heart to twist painfully in her chest.

With a groan, Faylinn dropped her hand and moved to the window as a strong gust rattled the glass in its frame and a soft rain began to pelt the house again. She leaned her forehead against cold glass that was slick with moisture. He's dead because of me. Her life is in danger because of me. Guilt and unrelenting anguish sent her guts churning, and dropping to her knees, she emptied the meager contents of her stomach into a chamber pot alongside the bed until dry heaves racked her body, and an acrid taste burned her throat. With a shuddering breath she pushed the pot away, and scrambled back to the wall. Pressing her shoulders against the cool wooden surface, she drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face. Grief and loss overwhelmed her and she let them, embracing the pain with the sure knowledge that that was all she had left.

Oh, Bridget... I am so... so very sorry. Had I not questioned you none of this would have happened. You hold my very soul! How could I fail to believe in you, trust you, when you have always shown me only the greatest dedication and affection? She closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward, hot tears spilling down her cheeks, as she thought of the woman who was charming, and strong, and who like a force of nature simply swept her off her feet, leaving her breathless and confused.

But this time, Faylinn refused to back away from her feelings, accepting her loss as the punishment for her own lack of faith, and admitting to herself for the first time what her heart had been whispering all along. She didn't just care for Bridget as a friend and companion. She loved her with a completeness and devotion that was nearly frightening in its intensity. At times, it all but robbed her of rational thought.

The older woman's bold, lusty laugh, riveting pale eyes, and gentle touch, had filled her dreams and ignited her passions from the very start. She craved Bridget's touch as one lover craves another, suddenly not fearing the eternal damnation that was the subject of so many sermons of her youth. Tear-filled eyes turned to the small bed in the center of the dark room. For a long terrifying moment she truly considered her life and future, a future without her son and very likely Bridget, a life without hope or love or peace or even faith. Anguished eyes widened as waves of unbearable sorrow washed over her, making her heart lurch. She wondered darkly why it still bothered to beat at all. Why should I fear hell? She snorted bitterly, paying no heed to the silent tears scalding her cheeks and neck. I'm already in hell.

Faylinn's chest heaved as her body convulsed with helpless sobs, shattering the silence. Her spirit ached desperately to find its way to the only place where she knew she would receive comfort and forgiveness -- Bridget's arms. The thought that Bridget probably couldn't stand the sight of her only added to her misery.

Long moments passed before Faylinn's cries quieted and her pounding pulse slowed, allowing reason and grim determination began to replace fear and grief. I've got to talk to Cyril and help her. She needs me now and I can do no more for my baby. I failed Henry. I've already failed her once. I'll die myself before I do it again.

Sniffing, the redhead grasped the windowsill and shakily pulled herself to her feet, wiping her tears and lips with the back of her hands. Throwing open the window, she drew in a deep lungful of tangy, salty air and the scent of wet leaves, the night's breeze scattering long, red-gold hair around her shoulders. The difference was immediate as the gut-wrenching nausea she'd been plagued with for days slowly began to ease. Her body greedily absorbed the freshness as the foulness of death and illness was whisked away. God, how many days have I been in this room? During Henry's illness, she'd simply lost track of everything.

A loud clank below Henry's window drew Faylinn's gaze to several soldiers who were working by lantern light, loading a small cart with wood, hay, shovels, coils of rope, and... Faylinn squinted, trying to peer through the ever-increasing raindrops... a tree trunk? With a shake of her head she closed the window, easily dismissing the slave trader's nasty business as none of her concern.

Moving back to Henry's bed, the young mother bent down and placed a long loving kiss on her son's cheek, wiping it away with a gentle thumb out of pure habit. "You were truly my heart," she said in a hushed voice as she nestled the boy's stuffed bear tightly against his shoulder and wrapped his limp arm around the bedraggled little beast. Faylinn lingered there, not nearly ready to say goodbye.

So she didn't.

Unshed tears glistened on pale lashes as she pulled the sheet up over his head. A solid lump formed in Faylinn's throat and she swallowed painfully, gathering her courage. "I love you, Henry," she whispered softly before disappearing into the dimly lit corridors of the house.

********************

Liv absently chewed the inside of her cheek as she strolled onto the porch carrying two tall glasses of lemonade, minus ice, her thoughts centering on the section of the history she'd just completed. They had stopped reading, even though they were very close to the end, to take a break.

Afia's words were affecting both woman and Liv finally admitted that she'd had enough for a while, even though her natural curiosity was nudging her forward toward completion. Kayla seemed to be brooding angrily about the tragic events while Liv found herself experiencing a mix of empathy and outright frustration. God, I feel as though I know those women. I hate what's happening to them! She sighed quietly, pushing the history out of her mind for the time being.

The sight of Kayla leaning forward slightly, forearms on the porch railing, staring intently out over the sun-drenched waves, stopped Liv dead in her tracks. Green eyes fairly glowed with an appreciation and affection as she happily indulged a long, leisurely look at the lanky ghostbuster, realizing, not for the first time, how much of their time together had been spent in darkness. Which is so not fair. She shook her head as she admired how the sun's bright rays brought out rich, burnished highlights in hair the color of midnight.

Kayla shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, every twitch causing lean calf and thigh muscles to stand out in vivid relief against tanned skin. A small smile that was on the verge of being an outright leer plucked at Liv's lips, but a pensive look soon replaced it as she began to wonder whether Kayla's body language might indicate more than simple impatience or boredom. What's going on behind those baby blues? I could always just come out and ask her. I think she'd be a lot more receptive to my questions now that we're... Hmm... now that we're what? Friends? She gently chided herself, knowing her feelings ran deeper.

This being-in-love thing was different, she decided. Different from how she'd felt with other women. Things that were truly frightening, like telepathy and spells, were somehow made manageable while everyday emotions like insecurity, or affection, or lust easily spun out of control. The feelings were curious and compelling and she found herself more than willing to simply let them envelop her. It was time. Liv chuckled to herself as she willed her feet to start moving again, thinking how she'd gone half way around the world looking for something that would make her feel… complete. Whole. How ironic that she found what she'd been looking for practically in her own back yard -- right here in Virginia.

"Penny for your thoughts," the linguist prompted as she sidled up to the railing and passed a glass to Kayla. The younger woman's pale eyes were firmly trained on the surf; her cell phone dangled loosely from her fingertips.

The brunette shrugged as she took a long drink then set the glass on the wide railing. "They're free for the asking, Liv," she finally offered, following Liv's expectant gaze to her hands. "I um... just got a call."

"I see that," Liv murmured, squeezing herself between Kayla and the railing and smiling when long arms immediately wrapped around her waist. "Was it the kids?" She knew the answer before the words left her mouth. When her lover hesitated for several seconds, Liv felt an unexpected sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

A dark head shook. "No." Kayla frowned as though she were puzzling over her exact words. "It was... a friend, I guess..."

"You guess?" A pale brow arched sharply. Liv wrapped her own arms around a trim waist, an unfamiliar surge of jealously surprising her. "What kind of friend?" she asked carefully, knowing full well it was none of her business but asking anyway.

Kayla shrugged, preferring not to talk about the phone call at all. Couldn't I just tell you later? Liv's gaze pinned her. Guess not. "The old kind."

"Uh... huh." Liv nodded speculatively, her eyes turning to slits. "Old as in 'I've fallen and I can't get up' old or old as in you've known them for a long time old?

The taller woman grinned. She's jealous? There is no way that should make me feel as good as it does. Blue eyes twinkled. "Old as in we've known each other for quite a while."

Hmm... no gender yet. Brat! "Did you meet in school? Study partners? Or..." Liv unclasped her hands from Kayla's back and laid a flat palm against the sun warmed fabric of Kayla's T-shirt, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath her fingertips. "A sorority sister perhaps?" she continued innocently, tracing a small pattern across Kayla's chest but not daring to look up.

Kayla burst out laughing. "I was never in a sorority!"

"Kayla!" Liv finally whined as she slapped Kayla's shaking belly, which only made it convulse more. Liv glanced up at Kayla from behind long pale lashes, poking her bottom lip out for added effect, trying not to laugh. "Puuleeeez, tell me! You know damn well, I'm dyin'!"

Kayla grinned broadly. "My friend's name is..." a slender eyebrow danced playfully, "... Pat."

"Liar," Liv accused flatly, hands now on hips.

"Robin?"

Green eyes glared.

"Glen?"

"Kayla! Enough!" This time her voice was a low growl but she couldn't stop her smile. Kayla didn't seem too upset so whatever it was couldn't have been that bad, right?

"Okay," Kayla relented, chuckling at her friend. "It was about work. But her name really is Glen."

"Sure it..." Liv's words were interrupted by the ringing of Kayla's phone.

Kayla jumped at the sound of the ringing, fumbling the phone. After a couple of seconds of bobbling the small machine was deftly snatched out of the air by Liv, who refused to relinquish it.

"Hello, this is Kayla's phone speaking. Kayla is unavailable at the moment, but how can I help you? Ouch!" the shorter woman squawked as Kayla gave her a sharp pinch on the rump.

There was a long silence before the voice hesitantly asked, "Is that you, Liv?"

"Dougie?" Liv's gaze immediately swung out over the water. While it wasn't as placid as when they'd arrived on the island, the crashing waves from the day before had been replaced by much calmer seas. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

Kayla bent down and pressed her head alongside Liv's so she could listen, placing a gentle kiss on the shorter woman's cheek. Liv nuzzled closer to Kayla and tilted her head to the side so she could return the kiss, happily noting they were both grinning at each other like love-struck teenagers.

Doug cleared his throat. "We're... um... good, I mean fine..." Another long pause.

Liv sighed at the awkwardness between them. "It's gonna be okay, Dougie. Don't worry, okay?"

This earned a disbelieving stare from Kayla whose eyebrows disappeared behind windblown bangs. Liv cringed, knowing Kayla wouldn't appreciate what she was doing but continuing to reassure her brother nonetheless.

"Really," she promised softly, smiling at the audible sigh of relief from Doug. "We'll work it all out, so you and Marcy can both relax a little."

A relieved chuckle. "Thanks, Sis, we're getting ready to leave for the island in a little bit. We docked by the boat rental shop and the guy who works there said we should be able to take the boat out after lunch."

"Are you sure it's safe?" Kayla interrupted in a no nonsense voice.

"Yeah, the guy wouldn't risk his precious... Kayla?" Doug squeaked. He felt much safer talking with Liv. It had taken Marcy an hour of begging to get him to make the phone call and he had nearly cried in relief when it was his sister that answered.

"Mmm...hmmm...." That's right punk, you're not off the hook yet with me.

The boy gulped and Kayla's grin broadened. "You guys feel like shit, right?" she asked knowingly.

"Umm... yeah," Doug admitted, the remnants of the previous night's drinking escapade still very fresh in his mind, despite the fact that Marcy had considerably brightened his morning.

"Well, that's too bad," the tall woman growled. "'Cause you and I and Marcy are going to have a little chat when you finally get back to the island. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," the teen obediently replied.

"Be careful coming back," Liv chimed in, sensing this conversation was about to be over.

"Okay... bye."

Liv pushed the phone back into Kayla's hands after Doug hung up. "That wasn't nice, Kayla."

Kayla's jaw clenched and her back stiffened. "What in the hell do you think you were doing?! Of course it wasn't nice. It wasn't meant to be nice. How could you forgive them so quickly? They haven't even explained themselves OR apologized for worrying us sick!"

"I know." Liv exhaled very slowly, trying not to respond to Kayla's obvious anger. "And I haven't completely forgiven them. But one of us needs to stay calm," she reminded reasonably, instinctively knowing that Kayla would have trouble reining in her temper. "It's not like it's the end of the world, and the most important thing is that they're safe."

"Bu... bu...but," the younger woman began to stammer uncharacteristically. "Of course I'm glad they're safe! Don't you think I know that's the most important thing?" Her voice was rising. "But you still shouldn't have included them 'both' in your little pep talk. You had no right! I'm damned mad at Marcy and she should know it!"

Liv visible flinched at Kayla's words, feeling well and truly chastised and hating the fact that Kayla was right about this. She was about to apologize when Kayla started again.

"Fine!" the taller woman groused as she stomped across the porch, sending a spray of water up around her calves as she splashed through the shallow puddles. "You can deal with things your way, and I'll deal with them mine," was all she could think to say as she sat down heavily on the porch swing, pushing the chair into motion and deliberately not stopping its swinging when Liv stood in front of it, obviously waiting to sit down.

Liv's own anger bubbled to the surface and she turned to leave, not knowing exactly where she was going. She spun around but before she could even take a step she heard the swing's motion stop and Kayla's soft voice.

"Don't go."

Liv spun back and opened her mouth to...

"I'm sorry."

The blonde threw her hands up as the air drained out of her lungs and her anger began to melt away. "Bu... bu... what?" she finally asked in confusion, letting her hands drop to her sides and plopping onto the sheet-covered swing beside Kayla.

"I shouldn't have yelled."

"You're right. You shouldn't have," Liv said stubbornly but grasped Kayla's hand and kissed her knuckles, trying to take the sting out of her words. "I don't like to be yelled at," she added quietly.

Kayla nodded, still not looking at Liv. Her guts were in knots over these few cross words. "Then I'll try not to do it again."

"I shouldn't have included Marcy in what I said to Doug. I'm sorry too." After a long silence she finally added, "Are we finished being mad?"

"I um... I think so."

"Good," Liv muttered as she pulled Kayla into a warm embrace, feeling the other woman's pounding heart against her own chest. "S'okay," she whispered, squeezing Kayla a little tighter. "Do you want to finish the history now? 'Cause when the kids get here I want to jump on the boat and get the hell off this island." A pale head tilted in entreaty. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Kayla agreed after a deep exhale. "That's more than okay with me. There's some decent hotels in Jacksonville about 30 miles away. We could get a couple of rooms there tonight?"

Liv's smile turned wistful. "I wish it was me who would be sharing your room tonight."

With a gentle hand Kayla guided Liv's lips to hers, kissing her softly but deeply, and tasting the sweet tang of lemonade. "I'd love to be sharing a whole lot more than the room with you, Liv," Kayla mumbled against Liv's lips, drawing a groan from the linguist.

Kayla pulled back and pressed her forehead against Liv's. "Maybe the kids will want to go to a movie or something tonight."

Liv nodded and smiled brightly. "Maybe we can find them a double feature."

********************

"Bundling myself against the miserable rain, I brought Mistress Bridget a pair of soft doeskin pants, a rabbit fur-lined, leather shirt, and her cloak, knowing she would be cold and praying to Allah that I would be able to offer her at least the smallest measure of comfort. I also brought bathing and medical supplies to tend to her numerous wounds but the child stubbornly refused them, insisting that we had no time to waste.

"She explained what Mistress Elizabeth intended to do as Guardian and what that meant. And only through the power of my own faith was I able to stifle the urge to run out of the stables and turn the malevolent brat over my knee. But as much as it would ease my own guilt, for I as much as the next inhabitant of Cobb Island had a hand in raising the child, I cannot say that Mistress Elizabeth was oblivious to the consequences of her actions. The girl knew what she was doing every step of the way, although an important facet of her motivation was unknown to me at the time.

"Mistress Bridget tasked me with remembering her words and recording them, telling me of the events contained in this history from her own perspective and painting a picture so vivid that I sat spellbound for hour upon hour. She spoke in low tones with a steady voice, and I opened my mind and soul to her words, knowing their importance simply by the tone in which they were spoken.

"Bridget also asked that I speak to Mistress Faylinn, for even though Henry could not impart his own knowledge concerning the family's abilities, he and his mother were Reddings, just the same. And their place in history would be assured despite Elizabeth's evil intent. It is because of Elizabeth, and what she would do if she ever found it, that this particular history will not be kept in the library but secreted away, hidden deep within the walls of the house on Cobb Island.

"Though her request was not without personal risk, I could no more deny her than deny my own breath. The rest of what you are about to read is that which I witnessed with my own eyes, or heard with my own ears, for what I learned specifically from Mistress Faylinn, that only she could have known, has already been incorporated into the pages of this text.

"Within the infinite loop of beginnings and endings I am unable to reconcile the events of that cold November. I only know what I saw and heard and what I believe in my very soul to be true. That these events are inconsistent is but another layer of mystery in an existence fraught with uncertainty but characterized by hope."

 

********************

Afia and Bridget became silent when they heard voices outside the stable door.

Tears filled dark eyes, and Afia's lower lip began to tremble. In the midst of Bridget's tale of love and magic, she'd nearly forgotten what was to take place this night.

"Shh... Fear not, old friend," Bridget soothed in a gentle manner so at odds with her normally fiery personality. "It simply must be time. Do you understand all that I've told you?" Bridget's steady voice held no fear, calming the slave who was fighting back a sudden wave of nausea.

"I... I think so, child." The wiry woman wiped her face with shaking hands. "Your history will be safe. By Allah's name, I swear it."

Bridget nodded, satisfied that she had done all she could to preserve a sense of duty to family that she feared would die with her. "Thank you, Afia. You deserve a better fate than that of a slave. That I did nothing to change that is to my everlasting discredit."

"Hush, girl!" the dark skinned woman scolded. "That was not your doing, and we both know it."

The stable door flew open and three soldiers marched in. Afia stood tall, blocking the men's view of Bridget. "You'll have to remove the shackles so I can finish dressing her. Her clothes can't be fastened over the chains. Master Cyril ordered her cleaned and dressed!"

Bridget smiled to herself and shook her head at the absurdity of Afia standing vigil, protecting her virtue from the prying eyes of the naval officers.

"Alright," one of the men said, nervously picking up a coiled rope that lay alongside the stable wall. "But step away." The men fashioned two nooses at the end of two long lengths of rope. They slipped each noose around Bridget's throat and then held the ropes taut -- pulling in opposite directions.

Exactly the way you break a colt, Bridget thought to herself as the third man tossed the keys to the shackles to Afia, his sword drawn and pointed at both women.

Once Bridget was dressed, one of the soldiers tied her hands in front of her body but, to her surprise, for the first time in days she wasn't shackled. The man saw the question in her eyes and simply commented, "The fire would ruin the locks, I'll warrant. Up with you, witch," he ordered once her wrists were secure. When Bridget didn't move, each officer gave his rope a sharp tug, causing her to gasp and choke.

Afia opened her mouth to protest but Bridget silenced her with a look of warning.

"It's nearly midnight and we've got to make it across the island," the youngest of the men said firmly, hoping his hands weren't shaking. Surely, God would protect those who send a witch to hell, wouldn't He? He worried his bottom lip nervously. "Cyril asked that the execution take place as far from the house as possible so that no evil ashes be allowed to soil his home."

"The north cliffs, then?" Bridget snorted, knowing it was the highest and most distant point on the island. The rocky ledge was over 40 feet high, the cliff's bottom a mass of jagged, sea-washed rocks and crashing waves. She suspected her brother's penchant for drama had him imagining himself scattering her remains into the sea from its rugged edge.

He nodded. "We've a cart and mule ready outside. Your family and the rest of the slaves are already on their way to the cliff to witness your execution."

A rough burlap bag was shoved over Bridget's head and her world went black.

********************

Sheets of rain were making it difficult to see, as a violent storm erupted around them sending bolts of lightning streaking across the night sky. A small group of people stood safely back from the cliff's edge, clustered around a wooden post that had been dug into the muddy ground.

Bridget, whose head was still encased in the darkness of the sack, sat motionless in the cart as a whirlwind of activity spun around her. She had tried to make her escape on the way to the cliffs only to be recaptured in the tangled woods and finally beaten into submission. She cursed her injuries, knowing that if she were healthy, these sad excuses for men would have never been able to subdue her. Afia heard the angrily muttered phrases but remained silent, unable to think of any words that would comfort Bridget now.

The pounding in Bridget's head was nearly intolerable and for the first time she began to crave the peace that death would surely bring. She told Afia as much as hot tears spilled over the slave's cheeks, mixing with the cold rain. Unable to hold back any longer, the dark-skinned woman reached back to wrap a comforting arm around Bridget.

Spotting the movement, a zealous guard slashed his sword down against the cart wall between them. The loud, but dull, thud of the blade against the sodden wood caused Afia to flinch, her heart skipping a beat. Black eyes bored into the soldier's as she slowly withdrew her hand.

Bridget could hear Cyril's and Elizabeth's voices along with some of the soldiers and slaves. She listened quietly as Elizabeth explained that Judith had refused to attend the execution, locking herself in her bedroom.

"Is she here?" the tall woman asked brokenly, tilted her head to the side and listening intently for just one voice.

Dark eyes scanned the drenched crowd then turned downward. Afia's silence was Bridget's answer.

The senior officer, who had acted as Bridget's judge, marched up to Cyril, his mind more on the storm and his ship than the execution. "Cyril," he began, "even the mostly dry wood from the barn won't burn in this storm. We're barely able to keep our torches lit, no matter how we try to cover them. Why not simply run the witch through and be done with it?!" he suggested impatiently.

"That murdering witch deserves no such mercy!" Cyril spat.

The officer shifted angrily, adjusting his sword belt beneath his cloak. "Cyril, we must leave for the mainland tonight if we're to moor the ship in a harbor safe from the worst of the storm."

"My family shall have its justice! This storm be damned! It is nothing..." A bolt of lightning hissed loudly drowning out the rest of his words.

"And your wife?" The plump man scanned the slaves and soldiers, his eyes lingering briefly on Elizabeth before moving on. "She didn't feel the need to be present at the execution of her son's murderer?"

Cyril blanched but smoothly explained that she was too distraught over Henry's death to attend.

The officer nodded, his gaze drifting to Bridget and the ropes already around her neck. "Hanging then? It's a more than acceptable method of execution."

Cyril pulled his cloak more closely around his body as flashes of lightning bathed the ground in silver and reflected brightly off the pools of standing water, illuminating the macabre execution scene. "Very well," the eldest Redding grudgingly conceded.

"Father," Elizabeth interrupted, pointing to Bridget who was coughing and pawing weakly at the soaked bag covering her head. "If she chokes to death on wet burlap, there won't be any need for an execution."

Cyril jutted his chin toward a nearby soldier. "You there, remove that and pull her from the cart. Make sure her back is to the cliff's edge," he directed, smiling internally at how the soldier immediately obeyed him. Yes, he'd only needed a catalyst to earn his business partner's respect. This was it. He would for evermore be considered a man to be reckoned with. He could see the fear and awe in their eyes and savored it like a fine wine.

Bridget was hauled to her feet after being pulled from the cart and sent head first into a deep mud puddle. When she emerged she squared her shoulders, standing proud. She'd stopped shivering long ago. Now she was just numb. The ends of the long ropes around her neck were uncoiled and tied to the post from where she was to have been burned. The sack was ripped from Bridget's head just as she heard the furious pounding of hooves and the sounds of splashing water and mud. She jerked her head from side to side, willing the one eye that wasn't completely swollen shut to adjust to the faint light of the torches and the nearly constant white flashes from the lightning.

Apollo, in all his glory, reared and danced, while Faylinn, her dark cloak whirling in the wind, maintained her seat atop the stomping beast. Every set of eyes turned towards them as the young woman kicked the horse into motion and he galloped right up to Bridget.

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. This was a Faylinn she had yet to see.

Faylinn slid smoothly off the stallion, her boots splashing loudly when they hit the ground. Panting, she simply let go of the reins, sending Apollo galloping freely away as the lightning worked the young steed into a near frenzy.

Small hands pushed back a rain soaked hood revealing a mass of wet red-gold hair. "By God!" A tortured moan was torn from her throat as eyes darkened with anguish and fury widened. "What have they done to you?" she asked as she gaped helplessly at Bridget's bruised and bloodied face, flashes of light from the sky illuminating every cut and bruise out in vivid, sickening detail.

"Faylinn!" Cyril moved over to his wife, desperately hoping to keep things from spiraling out of control. "I'm glad you came to your senses and decided to attend the execution of Henry's murderer," he announced smugly, in a voice loud enough for his partners to hear as they looked on with interest. Even Elizabeth shifted nervously as she sensed impending disaster.

Cyril was promptly ignored by his wife as Faylinn shrugged out of his grasp and focused on Bridget.

"I am so so sorry," the young woman said softly, her heart pounding so furiously she was certain it would beat out of her chest. "I... I... I've been looking for you. I just spoke with Judith." Disbelieving green eyes darted wildly to the men and their flickering torches and the pile of planks and straw around the wooden post. They're going to burn her alive? The when the sky grew bright again, she noticed the nooses around Bridget's neck. Or hang her? God! Faylinn's eyes slid shut and she groaned as if in pain. "I didn't know, please believe me!" she begged, trying not to dissolve into tears.

"You came," Bridget whispered, her voice catching on the words as the pelting rain streaked the blood and mud that covered her skin and clothes. "I... I... was beginning to give up hope. I thought... I thought maybe you believed..." Bridget's jaw worked silently as she tried in vain to continue.

Faylinn lowered her head in shame before lifting her gaze to meet Bridget's head on. The insecurity and pain in Bridget's voice shredded her heart and tore at her very spirit. "Never!" The redhead's tone brokered no disagreement and Bridget felt her doubts about Faylinn's love melt away like ice in springtime. "I would never believe such monstrous lies! I will not forsake you!" she said hoarsely. The word 'again' was added in the barest of whispers.

The hum of murmurs could barely be heard above the rain and waves as the slaves and soldiers alike sucked in shocked breaths at Faylinn's words and began to talk among themselves.

"Faylinn..." Cyril laid a hand on his wife's shoulder, still clinging to the hope he could somehow manage to save face.

"Bastard!" Faylinn seethed, knocking away Cyril's hand. "Get your filthy paws off of me!" The man stiffened at the words and Faylinn immediately saw her error. I cannot directly challenge him. Not here in front of these men. "Cyril, I'm begging you," Faylinn tried again but this time her voice was calm and pleading, meant for his ears only. "Think, husband! It was Bridget who tried to save Henry! If she had a part in the slave's escape she would have come with me to the wrong part of the island instead of looking for Henry and actually finding the boy. There was never any plan for ransom, it was YOU who gave Henry to the slaves."

Cyril's brows drew together in confusion so Faylinn pressed on. "Stop this madness before it's too late! She is your sister for God's sake. This will be an error you can never undo!"

Cyril stared at his wife as if looking at her for the first time. "Why do you defend her, after all that has happened, against me, your own husband? The woman... she..." he paused then his jaw simply dropped. "You're in love with her?" he whispered incredulously. He had seen a doe-eyed look of devotion in Faylinn's eyes many times when she looked at his sister. But he thought it nothing more than a schoolgirl crush. His sister was undeniably a beautiful, if wild, creature. But now... now he saw things clearly and it stung as though he'd been slapped in the face. "What has that unnatural witch done to you?!" he whispered harshly, his lips so close to Faylinn's ear that she could feel his hot breath tickling her wind-burnt cheek.

He would never relent. She knew that now. Faylinn could see the challenge and fury growing in his eyes as she pulled away from him again. Her gaze was icy cold as her eyes pinned him and they stared at each other for several charged seconds, the hatred between them growing as the heavens opened up, and the rain turned to hail. "She has made me feel more with a single glance than you in all your fumblings have accomplished in over three years."

Cyril paled at the words, knowing he was not the only one that heard them. He turned away from his wife to see several soldiers who were uncomfortably looking away, refusing to meet his glance, and others still whose gaze was filled with pity. A few snickers from the slaves in the background caused him to lose control completely and he whirled around to face his sister. "Hang the witch!" he shouted as he glared at Bridget with undisguised loathing.

Faylinn turned on her heels and flew to Bridget, nearly knocking over the already unsteady woman with her zeal. The younger woman crushed her lips against Bridget's in unrestrained passion, pressing a small dagger in her love's hands. "I love you!" she whispered fiercely against Bridget's lips as she kissed her thoroughly, smiling through the kisses when she heard her words echoed. "Please live!" she whispered again as Cyril tore her away from Bridget and the tall woman tucked the dagger underneath her cloak, out of view.

Bridget staggered back, touching her lips with trembling fingers, not believing what had just happened. When she found her legs she took a menacing step towards Cyril, her eyes hard as diamonds, her body reinvigorated by hope. Her reason to live had just risked her future to save her. From Bridget, Faylinn would get no less than her very soul.

"The witch has enchanted my wife!" Cyril cried, dragging a kicking and screaming Faylinn away from Bridget as quickly as he could manage. "Destroy the demon before she claims your souls as well!"

Several soldiers drew their swords at Cyril's words. This seemed to spur the other men who were standing in stunned silenced, shocked by what they had just seen. In a matter of seconds all ten soldiers were gingerly approaching Bridget, blades drawn, hearts in their throats as they feared for their immortal spirits. They fanned out and began stalking Bridget as they would a rabid beast. Each time one of them moved to pick up one of the ropes binding her, she would step forward, scaring the man off.

The hail shifted back to rain and Bridget tilted her head back, opening her mouth to the icy liquid. She let out a loud feral laugh, sending chills down the men's spines and causing several men to step backwards in terror. She knew she couldn't defeat all of them, but she would die fighting, taking as many of them with her as she could. Faylinn would not see her hanged.

Bridget tightened the grip on her blade, preparing to take out the closest man when she saw something that caused the blood to drain from her face. Cyril had Faylinn firmly in his grasp, his sword at her throat. Brother's and sister's eyes locked and in her heart Bridget was certain that Cyril would do it. He would slit his own wife's throat, all the while righteously claiming he was saving her soul from damnation.

The men were only a few feet from Bridget, her back to the cliff. Her breathing came in short pants as adrenaline coursed through her veins; pale eyes gone silver quickly studied the endless darkness that lay beyond the cliff's edge, then they swung back at Faylinn, whose own eyes widened. The smaller woman's struggles redoubled as she sensed what Bridget was about to do.

Faylinn shook her head wildly, heedless of the blade at her throat. Then she stopped abruptly, viciously stomping Cyril's foot with the heel of her boot, causing the man to release the hand he had clamped over her mouth, though his sword held firm. "No, Bridget! NOO!!" she cried out, confusing the men who had heard no more words pass between them.

For the women the moment was timeless. There were no more words. None were required as everything that needed to be said had finally been spoken. Bridget would not be executed nor would she cause Faylinn's death. She had no choice. After one last glance into panicked green eyes Bridget hurled herself over the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the rain and wind and blackness, Faylinn's screams still ringing in her ears as she plunged to her destiny.

All eyes darted to the wooden post as the long ropes snaked out after Bridget, every man and woman holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable. A few seconds more and the ropes reached their limit, going taut for a brief instant before abruptly going slack and falling limply to the muddy ground.

Faylinn hit her knees sobbing as the men sheathed their blades, too stunned to even speak. Suicide was the last thing they had expected from Bridget Redding.

Afia closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward, saying a prayer to the background of Faylinn's soul-shattering cries and rolling thunder.

*******************

"The men from His Majesty's Royal Navy left the island without even going back to the house, promising to return shortly after Christmas when another shipment of slaves was due to arrive. None of Cyril's business partners mentioned Faylinn's behavior directly, but their looks of pity and disgust were undisguised. The respect that he had worked so hard to gain had been shattered. Master Cyril's humiliation and devastation was complete. To say that he was angry is akin to calling Mistress Elizabeth a 'mischievous' child.

"Not two hours after his sister's death, Cyril ordered his wife locked away in one of the rooms hidden deep within the walls of this house, far out of his sight. I knew of these secret places, for I was here when the house was build and part of my duties include changing the bedding regularly, and storing fresh water so the rooms are ready for use at a moment's notice. When the house was built, I simply thought Master Cyril mad or eccentric or both. Now, however, I believe Master's primary motivation was fear of being hunted. On an island there is no good place to hide.

"I followed along silently, carrying a glowing lamp as Cyril led Faylinn to what was to be her jail cell for an indefinite amount of time. The young woman neither cried nor fought her internment. She simply walked into the dark room and didn't look back. Her apathy tore at my heart more than tears ever could. For in my soul, I truly believed her soul died along with Bridget that very night.

"After I turned down the bed and lit a small candle, I was ordered to leave the room and not to return under any circumstances -- not to bring food or water or remove the chamber pot. His words chilled me to the bone and I knew long before he finished speaking that I would not, could not, obey him. Even passively, I would not assist Master Cyril in doing to Faylinn's body what had already been done to her heart. I had had enough of death. But more than that, I had a promise to keep to Mistress Bridget.

"That next evening, while Cyril was more occupied with his brandy than anything else, I snuck into the secret room with bread and cheese hidden in the folds of my skirt. If Faylinn was surprised to see me, she didn't show it, remaining mute as I explained that with which I had been tasked by Bridget. By the end of my short tale, her cheeks glistened with tears. She even managed a weak laugh when I repeated a humorous phrase that Bridget had used just the day before.

"Then something happened that I shall never forget. Mistress Faylinn dried eyes that suddenly possessed a measure of wisdom far too ancient for someone barely a woman herself. Squaring her shoulders, she gently cleared her throat, launching into the story of young Henry's life. She told the tale with a mother's pride that caused me to long for my own children, now grown and so very away.

"Next, she spoke of Bridget with a lover's intensity and I found myself riveted to her every word, her voice painting a tapestry so brilliant it stole the very breath from my chest. I smiled at her sweet words, stretching muscles that I'd had no reason to use in recent memory.

"Despite all that had transpired, it was obvious that a fire still burned brightly within Faylinn. And in a moment of blinding clarity, I saw something about the young woman that I doubted she even knew about herself. She was a survivor.

"Our time together was interrupted by the sound of boot steps echoing in the silent hallways. To my shame, I flew into a panic, knowing that Cyril would not hesitate to have me beaten, or worse, for my disobedience. Mistress Faylinn remained eerily calm, shuffling me into her closet after extracting a promise that I wouldn't emerge no matter what I heard. I agreed with a bob of my head as the closet door shut tightly behind me.

"Reluctantly, in the pages that follow, I have attempted to record only that which I heard and nothing more, for I am mindful that my own desires may have colored my perception of what happened that night. The narrative is as free from bias as my memory will permit, allowing future generations to judge for themselves exactly what took place. In my heart I know the truth and that is enough.

"I had assumed the horrors of the last few days were over, ending with Bridget's suicide.

"I was wrong."

 

*******************

Afia pressed her ear to the door, though, she reflected grimly, it really wasn't necessary. Cyril's slurred words and Faylinn's emphatic ones were more than loud enough to burn their way into her brain.

"My son is dead," Cyril garbled, his sword clanking loudly against the chest of drawers that sat alongside the canopy bed.

"How nice of you to finally notice," Faylinn shot back coldly, walking away from the closet.

Cyril laughed without a hint of humor as he drew his blade, wildly slashing apart the bed's canopy as he spoke. "No longer resigned to your fate, I see. What a pity. I rather preferred you with your mouth closed."

"You're drunk."

"How nice of you to finally notice. Now come here!" he commanded, his voice dripping with anger.

"Why should I come anywhere near you?" Faylinn moved again, her shoes making a soft clicking sound on the hardwood floor. "Get away from me!"

Get out of this room, Mistress Faylinn! Afia thought frantically. The slave's hand moved to the door handle, when suddenly something slammed against the wood then dropped limply to the floor. Afia gasped, clutching her chest as she tried to remain quiet. The initial boom had nearly given the dark-skinned woman a heart attack.

"What in the devil do you think you're doing?" Faylinn's voice held a note of surprise and disgust and Afia felt her own breathing quicken in response.

Cyril responded with an arrogant snort.

"Why…" Faylinn's swallowed audibly, "Why are you taking off your boots and jacket? Surely you don't intend to sleep here tonight?"

The sound of what Afia assumed was Cyril's second boot hitting the door sent her scurrying to the back of the closet. She closed her eyes, already guessing what Cyril wanted and debating whether to break her promise to Faylinn. Allah protect her, she prayed silently.

"Shut your mouth!" Cyril marched over to Faylinn and thrust her against the closet door with such vicious force that the walls shook.

The older woman wondered if her pounding pulse would give her away as a cold sweat broke out across her back and face. Their voices were quieter now, but they were so close that it didn't matter, she could hear every word.

"I will have a male heir!" Cyril slurred harshly.

This time it was Faylinn's turn to laugh. What began as a light chuckle, soon turned to near hysteria. Afia's eyes widened at the unexpected sound.

The faint golden light coming from under the closet door faded in and out as Faylinn and Cyril's feet shuffled on the floor in front of the door. The wooden slab shook again as Faylinn tried to push Cyril's body from hers.

"I will die before I sleep with you, you murdering pig! I would sooner lay with Lucifer himself. You can go…" Her words cut off as her head was slammed back.

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!!!" Cyril roared so loudly that Afia flinched, her hands flying to cover her ears.

The pressure on the door eased and there was another shifting of light as Faylinn and Cyril began to struggle.

"Did you fight my sister like this, slut? Did she enjoy it?" Cyril grunted against Faylinn's neck causing the young woman to hiss in pure revulsion at his proximity.

"Get… get off me," Faylinn ground out, her voice shaking.

The bodies swung away from the door, taking the struggle to another part of the room where Afia heard the ripping of material and curses as furniture was knocked over and blows were exchanged. She wiped a sweaty palm against her skirt then lifted a shaking hand to the door handle once again. She had to do something!

Grasping the cool knob, she had just begun to twist when she heard another door fly open. The room went deathly quiet for several agonizingly long seconds and Afia held her breath wondering what had happened.

"Oh my God!" A loud sob escaped Faylinn's chest and the sounds of struggles intensified, becoming more violent and frenzied. Afia told herself to get out of the closet. But an icy fear gripped her, leaving her hand frozen on the knob, her breaths coming in short pants.

"Die bitch!" Cyril screamed frantically, his voice unnaturally high.

The wiry slave jumped at the sound of his sword swishing through the air, striking at the furniture and occasionally the walls and floor.

Faylinn howled, "Nooo!" And two heartbeats later a blade clattered noisily to the ground, followed by a tortured groan and the dull thump of a body crumpling to the floor.

There was a slight pause before rapid footsteps skittered across the floor and Faylinn's sobs began again, only this time they were muffled.

Afia clasped her hands together, praising Allah for his mercy. Soft, broken murmurs and the sound of more crying drew the slave's ear back to the door but she couldn't make out any words. Soon even the murmurs disappeared and Afia heard footsteps then nothing more.

The slave finally gathered the courage to escape from her self-imposed confinement. Cautiously, she opened the door, its creaking ratcheting her own fear up another several notches as she peered around it, looking out into the quiet room, not at all certain what she'd find waiting for her.

Several pieces of furniture were strewn across the floor or tipped over, while the bed's canopy hung in tatters. In center of the floor, Cyril lay face up in a pool of dark blood, a knife, buried to the hilt, protruding from his still chest. His gray eyes were open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling and glinting dully in the muted glow of the candlelight. His sword lay several feet from his outstretched hand.

Faylinn was nowhere in sight.

Afia approached Cyril warily, poking him with the toe of her shoe, half-expecting him to jump up and frighten her like an apparition from a child's story. She exhaled shakily when a closer look at the man's face left no doubt that he had passed over. Afia bent and examined the silver knife sticking out of her owner's chest; it was his own, though she didn't recall him wearing it as of late.

"Mistress Faylinn?" the small woman called out, peeking into the black hallway. She was greeted by a cold silence. Afia swallowed reflexively, wide eyes scanning the room again, her mind replaying every word, every terrible sound.

"Mistress Bridget?" she whispered incredulously. But there was no one left to answer her question.

*******************

"I sat on the bed in the secret room staring at Cyril's stiffening body, trying my best to dredge up an ounce of pity for the vile man, and failing utterly. My first thoughts were to hide his body in the closet. I threw his boots and blade into the tiny, dark room and began to drag the big man across the floor. I was nearly finished when something made me stop and reconsider my actions. Shaking my head, I admitted to myself that Master Cyril's daughters should not have to endure never knowing whether their father was dead or alive.

"I left the secret room with every intention of finding Mistress Faylinn and trying to concoct a story to cover how Cyril died so that neither she nor a slave would be blamed for his death. But the young woman had simply vanished. And while I didn't know it at the time, I would never lay eyes upon Mistress Faylinn again.

"Hours later, just past dawn, I set a hastily formulated plan into action by removing the blade from Cyril's chest, stitching shut his wound, and changing his clothes to remove any traces of blood. I poured a little more brandy down his throat and sprinkled his clothes with the liquor for good measure, trying my best to recreate the condition he was in when I left him in the library the night before, despite the fact that I'd just spent an hour cleaning him. Then, with the help of two strong slaves, who were more than willing to oblige me, and a well-tied noose, I hung him from the rafters in his bedroom and hoped all would believe it was a drunken suicide.

"When the scene was complete, I sent the cook, who I found lighting the stove in the kitchen for the morning meal, to ask Cyril what he wanted for breakfast. The oblivious woman agreed easily, thinking it wise to appease our volatile Master.

"Her screams woke the entire house.

"I watched from the doorway as Mistress Elizabeth ran into her father's room to find him hanging by the neck, his limp body twisting ever so slightly as the beams straining under his weight let out an occasional creaking groan. She stared at the body for several long moments, lips quivering and silent tears streaking her cheeks. I took this opportunity to slip away, knowing that if she tried to invade my thoughts I would be powerless to stop her from finding out the truth.

"As I knew she would, Mistress Elizabeth questioned the poor cook until the woman was in tears, but as she knew nothing, she had nothing to share. Elizabeth never even inquired about Faylinn and spent that entire next day locked away in Judith's bedroom with the new head of the Redding clan.

"The day after that, seven slaves went missing, presumably leaving the island on one of the several rowboats that Master Cyril kept chained to the dock. Among these men was the slave foreman whose job it was to prevent escapes. I, myself, contemplated my own opportunity at freedom. But my genuine affection for Judith prevented my leaving.

"Slave or no, other than her sister and a few distant cousins, I am the closest thing to family she has. I have no reason to fear being resold, for I am certain when Cyril's business partners return to the island, arrangements will be made to send Elizabeth and Judith back to England, and I will surely follow.

"In the days after Cyril's death, when no amount of searching could produce Faylinn, Elizabeth began to speculate that her stepmother had simply flung herself off the cliff after Bridget. To Judith's and my distaste, Elizabeth seems rather fond of the gruesome notion. But Judith accepted the idea and let the matter drop, though I suspect the real reason is because she believes her sister is somehow responsible for their stepmother's mysterious disappearance.

"Bridget once warned me that Judith would never be free of Elizabeth's influence, though her words were spoken without rancor. For as Bridget and Faylinn needed one another for balance and completion, so do Judith and Elizabeth. What I found out that New Years Eve morning shouldn't have shocked me. But it did."

 

*******************

Afia, Judith, and Elizabeth sat together around the breakfast table eating hot porridge and drinking sweetened tea as the winter snow continued to fall, blanketing Cobb Island in a thick cover of pristine white. They were the island's only remaining inhabitants, every single slave having escaped to the mainland on one of Cyril's rowboats or on the homemade rafts they had fashioned openly.

There was no conversation between the sisters. Something was wrong, and no amount of prodding by Afia could get Judith or Elizabeth to explain themselves. To the woman's surprise, it was Elizabeth who snapped first.

"Would you like to read together today, sister?" Elizabeth asked hopefully, sorely missing the afternoons she and her sister would spend engrossed in a collection of novels that had belonged to their mother.

Judith refused to answer, slowly taking another mouthful of porridge, her eyes never leaving her bowl.

"Judith, did you hear me?" Elizabeth ground out, her patience with her sister having long since worn away to nothing. "By God! Is there no forgiveness for me?!" the girl shouted, rising to her feet and throwing her napkin across the table at her sister.

Judith flew to her feet as well, knocking her chair over in the process and throwing her own napkin back at her twin. "Why should I forgive you? You didn't have to do it!"

"I did it for you! And it cannot be undone, nor am I sorry! You were in danger!"

"Stop saying that!" Judith covered her ears as if to drown out Elizabeth's words. "Don't ever say that to me again!" she cried. "What you did was for yourself and no one else."

"My enjoyment was my own," Elizabeth admitted without shame. "But that doesn't change the fact that it had to be done."

"No, no, no!" Judith burst into tears and fled the room, leaving her distraught sister behind.

Elizabeth fell back into her chair with a loud thud. Wrapping her arms around herself, she began to sway forward and backwards. "She's never going to forgive me. She's never going to forgive me," the girl chanted quietly, her eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Can you blame her?" Afia finally inserted, her own temper flaring as she thought of Elizabeth's horrid treatment of her Aunt and how Judith plainly adored Bridget.

Gray eyes swung toward the black woman, and widened slightly. In her anger and misery Elizabeth had completely forgotten the woman was even in the room. "You don't understand," she complained softly, her usual arrogance and cockiness replaced by genuine anguish. "Someone would have found out."

"You're right, child. I don't understand. How did you do it?" Afia had wondered about this from the very start. "When your father asked you to take the soldier upstairs and search Bridget's room, you left immediately with the wretched little man. You had no time to place the 'evidence' of witchcraft in Bridget's room! I know Bridget was no witch."

Elizabeth continued to rock, ignoring Afia's question, and allowing the words to roll over her.

"You led them to your room, didn't you?" The black woman looked at Elizabeth with growing apprehension. "You're the witch!" she accused in a startled whisper.

Elizabeth chuckled softly, her eyebrow quirking. "Slave, you're not nearly as clever as you think." The tall girl stood up and wiped her eyes, staring longingly at the staircase where Judith had disappeared. "It was not my room that I took Officer Richards to that night." Gray eyes pinned Afia. "It was Judith's."

Elizabeth shook her head at Afia's gasp, sensing her disbelief. "They wanted blood... and would have searched the entire house to find 'evidence' that Bridget conspired with the escaped slaves or of her sorcery." Tears welled in beseeching eyes. Someone had to believe her! "It would have been Judith tied to the stake if they'd gone into her room, knowing it was hers!"

Afia looked away, trying to process what she'd just learned. "And the night of Bridget's execution..." she asked weakly.

Elizabeth sighed. There was no reason to hold back anything now. "I told Judith that father refused to free Bridget even after knowing the truth. She locked herself in her room, wailing and chanting, and calling up that blasted storm!"

"Oh Allah!" Afia groaned, finally understanding the depths of Judith's pain, guilt and power.

"That's right, pray to your heathen god, slave," Elizabeth laughed sadly. "There is, most assuredly, a fearsome witch on Cobb Island..." The girl began making her way toward the stairs and her sister, though her steps appeared weary. She spoke without looking back at the dumbfounded slave. "It's just not me."

*******************

"What I learned that morning both sickened and enlightened me. Judith and Elizabeth are far more alike than I ever suspected. Each, though in vastly unequal proportions, possesses a measure of dark and light. From that day forward, I never thought of them as 'Night' and 'Day' again, for that was much too simple a characterization for these complex young women. It did neither one justice.

"The rift between sisters carries on as of the writing of this final page. But in the end, I am certain that neither will wholly abandon the other. They simply cannot. Though at times, I believe they both wish it were possible.

"I told Judith about Elizabeth's plans as guardian and of the secret history Bridget asked me to prepare. I explained that the book would be hidden in the house but left it at that, glad when she didn't inquire further. The reasons for this disclosure are mine alone, but it is enough to say that I trust the child and wanted her to know that her brother would have his rightful place in the annals of the Redding family. She did not disappoint me. I had only hoped for Judith's understanding and agreement. What I received was much more.

"For her beloved Aunt, and for generations to come, Judith made two vows, both of which I am certain she will keep. First, she promised that Cobb Island would forever remain a part of the Redding family estate. I do not pretend to understand the legalities of ownership. But if it possible to achieve it, it will be done.

"Next, although I argued vehemently against it -- for its basis surely springs from the darkest part of the human spirit -- Judith informed me that she intends to protect the house, and thus the history, with a spell. She admitted that her powers as a witch are wild and unreliable. But Judith is convinced that she was meant to exploit these powers for the greater good. And what she cannot accomplish now, she has a lifetime to achieve.

"The thought of what powers Judith may realize as an adult makes me shudder in amazement. She and her sister, although for different reasons, will both be forces to be reckoned with.

"I expect Cyril's partners to return to the island any day now. If they hope to know exactly what happened to Master Cyril then they are bound for disappointment, as no living soul on this island, myself included, can explain the true happenings of that fateful night. They will simply have to live with the story they will be told. But as you have no doubt already gathered, I entertain my own notion of those events.

"It is my fondest hope that as I pen these words, Bridget and Faylinn are alive and well somewhere on the mainland, having secured one of the rowboats for themselves. I can offer no rational explanation as to how Bridget could have possibly survived her jump off the cliff. All I do know is that two halves of one whole are simply not meant to exist apart.

"Call my belief the fanciful hopes of an old woman, if you will. You would not be mistaken. But things that are meant to be... have a way of happening. They exist on a plane all their own, and somehow, just sometimes, they manage to defy the laws of man and nature alike.

"Love is one of those things."

Afia, Recorder of the Redding Family History, January, 1691.

 

*******************

Liv slowly closed the leather bound book, running a reverent hand over the tooled cover. "Wow," she finally breathed, unable to think of anything else to say. "You were totally right, Kayla."

"Huh?" Kayla dragged herself out of her own deep thoughts to respond to her lover.

With a quick smack of her hand against her forearm, Liv murdered her millionth mosquito. "I said you were right. That was dry as hell," she said wryly, hoping to lighten the somewhat somber mood.

Kayla dissolved into surprised laughter, sliding her arm around Liv's waist and squeezing tightly. "Okay, okay. But didn't you already give me a bad time about that, darlin'?" the tall woman drawled.

Liv smiled wistfully as the gentle lilt of Kayla's voice caressed her eardrums. She'd missed hearing a sweet southern accent during her travels in Africa.

"Yeah," Liv sighed. "I guess I did." Her fingers innocently drifted to Kayla's ribs where they began a merciless tickling campaign. "I wouldn't want to go around repeating myself, right?"

"Riiiight," Kayla squealed as Liv found a particularly sensitive spot beneath the soft cotton fabric of her T-shirt. But when the questing fingers finally threatened her bladder control, Kayla grabbed them, giving each digit a sloppy kiss before relocating them to a more manageable spot on her lap.

Two sets of eyes trained themselves on the sun-kissed, rolling waves of the ocean as a silent peace stole over them, each woman once again lost in her own thoughts. After several quiet moments where the sound of the water, the wind whistling through the trees, and buzzing insects were all they heard, it was Kayla who spoke first. "What do you think happened?" She didn't need to be more specific for Liv to know what she meant.

Liv exhaled slowly, thinking hard about what she really thought and how, deep in her soul, she could believe something so improbable with utter conviction. "It would make the most sense to assume that Faylinn tried to escape the hidden room while she and Cyril fought and that was why Afia heard a door open," she began with an almost clinical air. "Afia never actually said she heard anyone other than Cyril and Faylinn in the room. Then somehow Faylinn got a hold of Cyril's dagger, killing him and, later, herself."

Kayla frowned at the thought, knowing it was the most logical explanation but hating it nonetheless.

"But that's not what I think happened." She shrugged a little. "I wanna believe they made it," Liv told Kayla.

Kayla nodded in thought. "So do I. But do you actually believe it..." The dark-haired woman laid a warm palm on the skin directly above Liv's heart. "... in here?"

Liv sucked in a breath at the unexpected touch. Placing her hand atop of Kayla's she absently began to stroke the soft skin on the back of Kayla's hand. "Yeah." She smiled gently. "I guess I do." Liv turned to face her friend, biting her lower lip. "Does that make me nuts?" she asked, curious about how Kayla's analytical mind might have interpreted things differently from her own.

Dark brows furrowed briefly before Kayla shook her head and smiled broadly. The hand on Liv's chest began a gentle rubbing motion. "Nah. I don't think it makes you nuts. It makes you a hopeless romantic at heart." Kayla lightly pinched the spot on Liv's chest above the organ in question.

Liv grabbed the tweaking fingers and flattened Kayla's palm against her chest. "Just like you," she marveled in a surprised voice, catching a glimpse of something she had yet to see in the quiet woman.

Kayla tried to frown but failed completely. Instead, pale eyes twinkled and she let out a long-suffering sigh. "Just don't tell anybody, kay?"

Liv laughed and leaned forward for a kiss, taking a deep breath of her lover's indefinable scent. "I won't." The blonde brushed her lips lightly against the full red ones that were so tantalizingly close. Pulling back slightly she asked, "Is this little bit of information something that your friends would be surprised to hear about?"

The tall woman chuckled. "You have no idea." The smile abruptly slid from Kayla's face when Liv's comment reminded her of the phone call she'd gotten earlier. "Umm... Liv... we should really talk about that phone call before the kids get here."

"O....kay," Liv said slowly, feeling her guts immediately knot up with tension.

Kayla closed her eyes as she absorbed a wave of sensation that was coming from Liv. She frowned. "Hey." Her hand dropped to Liv's belly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Liv covered quickly. "Nothing's wrong." Fuck! I'm sitting here trying to lie to a mind reader. You know she can feel it, just like you're feeling her nervousness and concern.

"Nothin', huh? I don't..." Kayla's words were interrupted by the faint hum of an engine.

"Looks like they made it." Liv eased her way out of Kayla's embrace causing the porch swing to protest with a loud creak. Jumping to her feet, she stalked her way over to the railing, glad for the reprieve. "We should go help them, Kayla. I don't think that charred dock will hold their weight." Leaning over, she waved at the teenagers who were nearly to the shore.

"Liv."

"C'mon, let's go." Liv took two quick steps, stopping abruptly when she realized that Kayla hadn't moved.

"We weren't finished talking," the researcher chided firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and stretching out her legs in front of her, wincing slightly at the soreness still present in her knee.

Liv nodded as she padded back to Kayla, stopping right in front of her. She sighed to herself. "I know. But I have a feeling I'm not going to like what you're about to say and I'm trying to avoid it." Liv put her hands on her hips and cocked her head slightly to the side. "You're not making it very easy, ghostbuster."

Kayla smiled weakly. "That's the whole idea. And even I don't like what I have to tell you, not to mention the fact that my sister is going to wish me dead."

Liv took a deep breath, shoving down her uneasiness. "Okay, what is it?"

"I have to cut short our vacation." Kayla's gaze suddenly dropped to the deck's wooden slats. "It's business, Liv. I really don't want to go so soon," she finished in a rush.

"I see." The words were colored with disappointment, despite Liv's attempt at sounding neutral.

"Come with me?" Kayla blurted out, her eyes darting upward to pin Liv's. She wasn't certain she'd have the nerve to ask until the words were already out of her mouth.

Sea-green eyes widened. "Wha...What?"

"Liiiivvvvv!" Doug called from shoreline. But the teen's words were completely ignored.

"Will you?" Kayla's heart was pounding so loudly she barely heard her own voice. Say yes, dammit!

Liv hesitated for several excruciatingly long seconds that made Kayla realize just how much she was counting on Liv's answer. The smaller woman began on a slightly shaky breath, "Kayla..."

"Please," Kayla interrupted as she stood up, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her well-worn denim shorts to keep herself from grabbing Liv and kissing her senseless until she agreed.

Liv ran a nervous hand through her hair as she tore her eyes away from Kayla's. "I can't just pick up and go to... to..." Her hands flailed as she waited for Kayla to fill in the blank.

"Edinburgh."

"... right... to Edinburgh with you." Liv looked back up and was immediately swallowed whole in a pleading blue gaze. "Oh God, Kayla, don't look at me that way," she begged. "You don't understand."

"I understand that you're the partner I haven't been looking for because I didn't even know I needed one until I met you," Kayla corrected gently and with a deep breath decided to go for broke. "I'm tired of working alone... being alone. You're a natural researcher, Liv. I could see that when we were hunting for the missing history." She licked her lips nervously. "It's not like your education would be wasted or anything. Your skills as a translator would come in handy all the time." Kayla took Liv's smaller hands in hers, absorbing their warmth and squeezing them tightly. "Give it a chance," she urged, watching Liv's face intently, searching desperately for any sign that Liv wanted this as much as she did. "We'd be a great team. Give us a chance to be together."

For a moment Liv stood speechless, the sound of the sea and the wind blocked out by the rhythmic thumping of her own pounding pulse. Her heart had already agreed with Kayla when her head reminded her differently. "Look, Kayla, I'm.... well... I... do want us to stay friends..." She paused, trying to ignore the immediate look of hurt that sprang into riveting blue eyes. Looking away, she tugged a strand of gently blowing pale hair behind her ear. "I really... I mean I think I... lo... lo… like you... but..." Liv winced internally as her words spilled out in a jumbled mess. Oh God, that sounded so bad. I didn't mean for that to come out like 'kiss off'!

Kayla's felt the blood draining from her face as she worked her jaw silently. "You like me?" she finally managed to repeat, an emotionless mask dropping over features that only seconds before were both vulnerable and hopeful. "I understand," she replied automatically, feeling a stab of pain at her horrendous miscalculation. How could I have been so wrong about this? Sweet Jesus, I'm in love with her... and she 'likes' me. Argggghhhh! Fuck!

Liv's regarded Kayla seriously. "No." She shook her head adamantly. "I don't think you do understand, Kayla. I..."

"There you two are!" Doug panted as he climbed the last stair, pushing sweaty bangs off his forehead with one hand. "I thought I saw you heading off the porch. What are you guys…ahhh…err…" Doug's mouth clicked shut as his footsteps ground to a halt.

Kayla and Liv's gazes were still locked and their hands tightly gripped together when Marcy joined her boyfriend on the top step. "Oohh boy," the teenage girl said awkwardly as she glanced at the women then back at a nervously shifting Doug. "We are sooo interrupting something," she breathed gravely. Good Lord, if the looks they're exchanging get any more intense they'll both spontaneously combust.

Doug's curly head bobbed vigorously in agreement.

Liv's mind raced, knowing she'd just given Kayla a very wrong impression, but wanting more than a few seconds to explain herself. "Can we talk about this later? Please," she pleaded with growing agitation. The look on Kayla's face was scaring her.

Kayla clenched her jaw and gave Liv a curt nod. "That's fine, Liv. Don't worry about it, I guess there's nothing to talk about. I was arrogant to presume... assume... Well, anyway..." her voice trailed off as she dropped Liv's hands, taking a large step backwards when the smaller woman tried desperately to recapture her hands. "No hard feelings, okay?" Try as she might, Kayla couldn't keep the hurt and sarcasm out of her last statement.

The researcher pushed down the ache that had developed in her chest. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Kayla's internal voice screamed. "This was just a fling," she remarked to herself in a strained voice that everyone still managed to hear. Then she leveled a cool glare right at Liv. "Just sex, right?" Wait a second, Liv… give me a moment to move my heart out of the way of your stomping feet.

Liv caught the subtle twitch of muscles that indicated Kayla was about to bolt. The darker woman turned but before she could take a step, two hands roughly grabbed her T-shirt, spinning her around to meet raging green eyes.

"How can you even think such a thing?!" Liv growled, an angry flush already coloring her cheeks and neck. "You know it was more than that! It is more than that!"

"And just how would I know, Liv?" Kayla lashed back sharply. "You just wanna be buddies, right? Christ, I've used that 'I still want us to be friends' line myself! I know what it means!"

"That's not what I meant!" Liv pounded her fist against the wooden railing, scattering water droplets across the porch and gaining several splinters in the process. "I was trying to say that I'm in love with you, you idiot! It just came out all wrong!"

Doug and Marcy's jaws hit the floor simultaneously. Marcy turned to Doug and silently mouthed the words 'love and sex' as though she were asking a question. Doug shrugged and shook shaggy blond curls, raising his palms to acknowledge his own confusion and mimicking Marcy's startlement.

Blue eyes widened to an almost comical degree and Kayla took a step closer to Liv. "You… you…" Her throat was suddenly dry. "What did you say?" she asked softly, begging any god listening that she'd heard right.

For some inexplicable reason, Doug choose that very inopportune moment to interrupt. "Listen, guys, we... Oooff!!" He blew out an explosive breath when Marcy elbowed him in the gut.

Liv's head snapped up, her glare causing her brother to take an unconscious step backwards and teeter precariously on the edge of the porch. She'd completely forgotten the kids were there. "YOU listen to me, young man!" The frustrated linguist marched across the porch and poked Doug in the chest with an irritated finger, forcing him a step lower. "Now is NOT a good time for you to be interrupting me. Your ass is grass as it is."

"But you said..." Doug swallowed hastily, wisely deciding to stop while he was still alive. "Nevermind."

Liv crossed her arms in front of her chest; her eyes were now even with his. "I . Changed. My. Mind," she enunciated slowly. A sharply raised eyebrow and tapping foot dared him to complain. She pointed a slender finger toward the door, arm fully outstretched. "You get your butt into this creepy, Godforsaken house and get our bags," she ordered, watching intently as Doug began nodding furiously. "They're all packed and waiting in the living room. I want you back out here in one minute. Understood?"

"Yeah, sure, Liv." The boy was still nodding. "No... no... problem. I understand."

In the blink of an eye he was tearing into the house as fast as his feet would carry him.

Marcy was reluctant to leave but felt compelled when Doug began wildly signaling for her to join him from just inside the door. "You need to do something, Kayla!" the girl whispered to her sister as she passed by her on the way inside the house.

Once the teens were out of sight Liv focused on her lover. "That was a horrible thing to say, Kayla." Green eyes that had already gone glassy filled with tears. "And you couldn't be more wrong," she whispered brokenly, suddenly sounding more hurt than mad.

The researcher closed her eyes in pain and confusion as the look on Liv's face and the sound of her sniffles as she tried not to cry caused a pang deep in her chest. Okay, now would be a good time for divine intervention. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here!

The shorter woman squared her shoulders and consciously allowed her anger to bleed back into her voice. "That's some kind of ego you have, ghostbuster, expecting me to uproot my life on a whim." Liv began nervously picking at the railing with blunt fingernails.

Kayla winced at the ice in Liv's words, feeling more socially retarded than ever. "It's not a whim," she asserted defensively.

Liv flicked the tiny shavings of wood she'd scratched from the railing over its edge, watching as they were picked up by the fragrant summer breeze. Turning unseeing eyes out toward the horizon she wrapped her arms around herself. "I came back to the States for Dougie. I have responsibilities, Kayla. I just can't just pick up and leave him again."

Kayla nodded, her own misery mixing with Liv's until she wasn't sure who was feeling or thinking what. "Of course." She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a killer headache as emotions, words, and images that were not her own bombarded her senses. There was nothing concrete to grab hold of, nothing she could use to help herself or Liv. They were a tangled mass, confused and raw.

Her mind is racing, Kayla realized. With an effort that left her covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, she painstakingly separated Liv's thoughts from her own, slowly tuning them out one by one. "I'm... I only... I'm an asshole," she admitted freely after nearly a full minute where she was too distracted to speak. "And I'm sorry. When you said that thing about us staying friends... I thought…"

"That I was just out for easy sex… a fling," Liv finished angrily, wiping an unshed tear from the corner of her eye, hoping Kayla didn't notice her shaking hand. God, what is wrong with me?

Liv didn't have the ability to block out Kayla's thoughts and feelings and when they combined with her own, a strong wave of frustration, anger, and fear washed over her, settling heavily in her chest and in her stomach, making her want to throw up.

Kayla lifted her hands then let them fall to her sides helplessly. "I'm sorry. I was embarrassed and angry. It was a stupid thing to say."

Liv's glance flicked up to the taller woman's face, not ready to let go of her anger. "If that's what you really think of me, Kayla..." she said, doing her best to control her roiling stomach and effectively ignoring Kayla's attempt to explain herself, "...we don't have anything to talk about."

Kayla's back stiffened and she swallowed a few times. She's not accepting my apology? Fine! "I guess you're right," came the stubborn but slightly raspy reply.

There was a loud creak and two sets of eyes reflecting equal parts hurt and anger swung toward the doorway to find Marcy and Doug waiting sheepishly with their bags piled haphazardly at their feet.

"Oh man," Doug groaned pathetically. The tension between Kayla and Liv was making his brain want to explode. They were interrupting something big. Again. I told Marcy we needed to take longer! But noooooo.

"How long were you eavesdropping?" Kayla demanded, pale eyes snapping as she scrambled to collect her scattered emotions. How many times does Liv expect me to apologize?!

"We weren't eavesdropping," Marcy answered sharply, her frustration at Kayla and Liv's pigheadedness showing clearly in her expression.

"We need a few more moments… in private," Kayla ground out impatiently.

"No we don't," Liv corrected coolly, breaking into the conversation but then refusing to meet Kayla's intense stare. But not looking at her friend didn't keep her from sensing the other woman's edginess and frustration, or from knowing the exact heartbeat when Kayla's mind cried 'enough' and her urge to bolt won out.

Liv looked at Marcy helplessly, a fist tightening around her heart.

"I'll go," the girl immediately responded, running after her sister who had made it a surprisingly long distance in what seemed like only a few seconds, despite the fact that she was limping.

*********************

Marcy caught up to Kayla quickly, her footsteps crunching loudly as she made her way over the masses of fallen branches that littered the island's floor after the fierce storm. When Marcy reached Kayla's side she stopped her, pulling her into unexpected, heartfelt hug. With only a second's hesitation, Kayla returned the tender embrace. When they broke apart, they started down the shoreline, Marcy's rapidly moving hands and Kayla's rigid stance easily telegraphing the seriousness of their conversation.

"Damn, she's gorgeous," Doug commented honestly, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun with a cupped hand as he watched the Redding sisters disappear between a tiny break in the twisted, low hanging branches that formed a wall around the island's edge.

Doug's gaze dropped and he studied his sneakers. "I can't think straight around her sometimes. It's not Marcy's fault." The boy sighed, absently scratching a fresh mosquito bite. "It's like my body goes on hyperdrive while my brain is still stuck in park."

Despite herself, a small smile crossed Liv's lips at Doug's apt description.

"Do you have any idea how worried we've been about you two?" she finally asked, her voice laced with remnants of fear but devoid of the burning anger she'd turned on him only moments before.

"I... um... I think so." Doug wrapped his arm around Liv's shoulder, guiding her over to the porch swing and allowing her to sit down first before dropping down next to her. "How did you handle the storm?" he inquired worriedly.

"It sucked. How was the motel?"

Doug blushed to the roots of his hair.

Liv closed her eyes briefly. "Dougie." Her tone was slightly reprimanding but resigned.

"We were safe, I swear it."

Liv let out a long breath. "That's not the only consideration, and you know it." She paused, wondering just who Doug needed her to be, his mother or his sister. Deciding they both wanted to know the same thing, she continued. "Are you guys okay?"

Doug patted her knee, hoping she and Kayla hadn't been arguing the entire time they were gone. "We're okay, Liv." A deep breath. "And I was wrong to make you worry. I'll try my best not to do it again. That was a stupid, immature stunt and I'm very very sorry."

Liv's eyebrows shot skyward. "Holy shit, Dougie! Have you been practicing that?"

"Umm… Only if it worked," he admitted hesitantly, innocently peeking at his sister from underneath fair lashes, looking very much like a scolded puppy seeking a reprieve.

Liv rolled her eyes and simply gave up trying to be mad. The truth was, she'd forgiven Doug the day before. It was Kayla that she was truly angry with. But then Kayla's confused eyes and multiple apologies came flooding back and even that anger began to fade away.

"I'll say it again if you want," Doug prodded.

A light chuckle. "Yes, you butthead, it worked. But don't ever do that to me again, Dougie. I mean that," she commented sternly. "You won't get off so easy next time."

Doug smiled and crossed his heart. With his free hand he laced his fingers through his sister's. "What happened with Kayla?"

Sea-green eyes gazed seriously at their twins. "We had a misunderstanding. How much did you hear?"

Doug winced. "Waaayyyy more than I should have."

It was Liv's turn to blush. "Does it bother you?"

Doug grinned engagingly. "Nah... I don't see how you could resist her. She's almost as pretty as Marcy." And the sparks you two were giving off… damn! I couldn't tell whether you wanted to kiss her or kill her!

A little laugh escaped Liv's throat as she shook her head at her brother. "You're such a pervert, Dougie. Are you in heat 24 hours a day?"

"You already know the answer to that question. And I'm right, aren't I?" he pressed, wiggling fair eyebrows.

"Yeah," Liv conceded grumpily. "Most of the time she's pretty irresistible."

"So what happened?" he repeated, straightening the crumpled sheet that covered the still damp porch swing.

"She asked me to be come to Edinburgh with her and help her with her research." Liv considered what had happened next, deciding she really didn't understand herself. "And well, things sort of went downhill from there."

Doug's forehead creased. "Research? She finally told you what her job is, huh?" Damn, I was gonna ask Marcy about that, too.

Liv shook her head, still not believing there really was such a job. "It seems Kayla is a ghostbuster."

"NO WAY!!" Doug jumped to his feet, passing into one of the new shadows created by the slanting sun. "For real? THAT IS SO TOTALLY COOL!!"

Liv's lips twitched. "Yeah." She shrugged one shoulder. "I guess it is sort of cool."

"So when are you leaving, and can I go somewhere with you guys during Christmas break, and does she have any pictures of actual ghosts?" he asked in an eager rush.

Liv's brow creased. "I told her I couldn't go." Ughhh… And I totally overreacted to what she said.

"What?!" Doug crowed, shaking the swing. "Why wouldn't you go? It's not like you have another job yet."

Liv's eyes went round. "Bu...bu... I thought..." She paused. "You mean you wouldn't mind if I took off again?"

"Let me guess... All my whining and complaining finally got to you, so you thought you'd just ignore anything that came your way so you could baby-sit me?" Doug wasn't sure whether to feel shitty or flattered or both.

"Awww, Dougie, it's not like that." Liv bumped shoulders with her brother.

"Do you want to go?"

"I want to be with you." Without hesitation.

"But you need to be with her."

Liv's jaw sagged and she looked at Doug with narrowed eyes. "Who are you and what have you done with my baby brother?"

Doug smirked. "It's not so tough to figure out. It's the same with Marcy and me." He affected a look of mock indignation. "Stop looking at me like I'm an alien! Geez! I thought girls were supposed to be in tune with this kind of crap."

"Okay," Liv laughed. "I'm starting to believe it's you again."

"Listen, Sis, to be totally honest, when I came on this trip I was thinking of asking you if I could come to D.C. and live with you again."

Liv held her tongue. Doug didn't need to know she'd figured that out the very first day.

"But I've talked to Marcy about it and I've decided I'm going to stick it out with Aunt Ruth for another year." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "I'm doing really well in school and if I play my cards right I should be able to get an academic scholarship to college."

A broad smile split Liv's cheeks. "Mom and Dad would so be so proud of you, Dougie. I'm so proud you," she added warmly, her eyes twinkling. "Even though sometimes I think you're doing your best to make me prematurely gray."

Doug nodded, feeling a warm flush cover his face. "I know." He squirmed as Liv ruffled his hair. "Quit it, Liv!" He slapped her hands away, clearing his throat, and shooting her an annoyed look that still managed to be full of affection. "Anyway… changing schools might mess up my grades. So I'm going to stay right where I am."

Liv chewed the inside of her cheek. It wasn't what she wanted but this was Doug, after all. "Maybe I could move…" she began earnestly.

"Are you nuts? There is no way you're moving back!"

"But…"

"Call more. Get on the damn computer every once in a while and say hi. That's all it'll take to make me happy."

Liv studied her brother's face for a long time. "You really mean that." It wasn't a question.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled charmingly. "I just said it, didn't I?" His face grew serious. "You said you loved her. Is that true?"

Liv nodded miserably, she hadn't mean to blurt it out like that. "That still doesn't mean she can just snap her fingers and expect me to drop everything and run off to Edinburgh with her," she said resentfully, even as her heart was urging her to do exactly that.

Green eyes danced with mischief as Doug took in his sister's obstinate demeanor. Oh, yes it does. You're as whipped as I am! "Of course it doesn't," he lied smoothly. "But it's at least worth thinking about, right?" The young man grinned again. It was about time that his sister found someone to love. "So which one of you owes the other some chocolate?"

Liv scratched her jaw, replaying the argument with Kayla in her mind. Each of them had hurt the other's feelings and allowed their original conversation to get so sidetracked it wasn't even recognizable. She sighed. "That's a good question."

*********************

Nearly three hours had passed and Marcy and Kayla still hadn't returned to the house. Liv worried her lower lip, figuring they had less than an hour of daylight left before they'd be forced to spend another night on the island. Boating to the mainland in the dark wasn't an option. But neither was staying.

The island, with its gnarled ancient trees, inky black soil, and overgrown vines that insidiously wove themselves across every conceivable surface, held a note of foreboding that hadn't disappeared with the rain and lightning. Liv felt an anxious uncertainty that was only intensified by Kayla's absence. Her pulse increased in response. No. She wouldn't stay here another night.

"I'm going to find them," she announced over her shoulder, trotting down the porch steps, and making her way along the steep, winding path that led to the shore.

"Not without me, you're not," Doug called, racing to her side as they both moved in and out of the uneven shadows painting the muddy, branch-strewn soil.

"I think they went in here." Liv pointed to a slender opening in the foliage that lead them away from the clean, salty smell of the sea, and further into the darkness beneath the island's massive trees. She examined the ground. "It looks sort of like a trail… almost."

Doug's eyes flickered from the trees to the forest floor. The rustling of branches and leaves as some unknown critter skittered beneath the undergrowth in front of them caught his attention. Doug really didn't appreciate the outdoors and wondered wistfully why they couldn’t go on vacation to Disney World like everybody else in the known world. "Liv, maybe it's not such a good idea for us..." Doug's words were cut off when he turned a blind corner and ran directly into Marcy. "There you are!" he exclaimed, grasping the girl's shoulders, noting the slightly dazed look in steel gray eyes. "Are you okay, Marse?"

She nodded quickly but Doug wasn't convinced.

"Where's Kayla?" Liv asked, looking over Marcy's shoulder. She looks the way I looked when Kayla told me I had psychic powers that I didn't know about.

Marcy gave Doug a reassuring pat and addressed his sister. "Keep going about another 50 yards and you'll hit a small meadow. She's there."

Liv looked at Marcy in question, moving closer and giving her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. Being a teenager was hard enough without adding the extraordinary to the mix.

"She said she'd only be a minute or two behind me," Marcy explained, reaching out and taking Doug's offered hand. Her face turned serious, making her look much older than her sixteen years. "She's still pretty upset, Liv."

Liv swallowed, ducking her head and acknowledging her role in that. "Did umm.... did you guys have a nice talk?" She drew her eyes up to meet Marcy's gaze, watching as it dawned on Marcy that Liv knew at least part of what she and Kayla had discussed.

Marcy gave the smaller woman a small, slightly unsettled smile. "Yeah, I... well, we had a very interesting talk."

Doug crinkled his nose, confusion coloring his fair features. But despite his immediate worry for Marcy, he decided now wasn't the time to press. He'd get the details later.

"You kids go on to the boat." Liv gestured back toward the house and dock, which although hidden by the trees, wasn't very far away. "We won't be long."

Doug hesitated, not wanting to leave his sister, but Marcy began tugging him along in the opposite direction. "Are you sure, Liv?" he questioned even as Marcy gave his arm another firm yank, causing his sneakers to slide across wet leaves.

Liv shook her head as she focused on her feet, trying not to stumble over the moss-covered rocks and slick, twisting vines. "No. But I'm doing it anyway," she answered dryly, slowly making her way deeper into the woods. After several moments she began to wonder if she'd somehow missed Kayla. Marcy said to keep going straight. She spun in a circle, taking in her surroundings with a frown, noting that the path seemed to disappear a few feet behind her. Could I have somehow gotten turned around?

Several tentative steps further, and Liv found herself pushing through what appeared to be a solid wall of ivy. She poked her head through the bruised, wet leaves, and moving forward she emerged into the small clearing that Marcy had described. She immediately spotted a familiar form perched on a large stump in front of a pond, head tilted skyward, observing the first streaks of crimson and violet that streaked the evening sky.

Liv made no attempts to hide her presence and by her next step Kayla's slightly wary gaze had settled firmly on her face. She approached Kayla in silence, pausing several feet directly in front of the seated woman, not sure how welcomed her close presence would be. From the very start, the usual physical boundaries that separated relative strangers didn’t seem to apply to them. A subtle ache formed in Liv's chest as she considered that a few harsh words in a relationship so new might change that.

When Liv was nearly close enough to touch, Kayla took a deep breath then held out her arms with a childlike uncertainty that caused Liv's heart to lurch. In utter relief, she surged forward, allowing those long, strong arms to wrap tightly around her and pull her so close she could feel Kayla's pounding heartbeat and warm, unsteady breaths against her chest. She laid her cheek atop Kayla's head, stroking her fingers through silky tresses, greedily absorbing the heat and raw affection pouring off the darker woman. With her very next breath, Olivia Hazelwood made a decision that would forever alter her life's path. She tightened her hold on Kayla and decided that she wasn't letting go.

Ever.

Kayla mumbled a heartfelt, "I'm sorry," into the slightly damp fabric of Liv's shirt, hearing Liv's softly uttered, but slightly wordier apology at the exact same time. Well, Kayla gave Liv another long squeeze; at least she accepted it this time. Maybe I still have a chance.

Soft lips kissed Kayla's head before the pressure eased, and Kayla felt Liv pull away. Kayla turned her head up to speak and was immediately swallowed in a pair of soulful eyes, whose penetrating gaze affected her so deeply she felt her knees go weak, even while sitting down.

Liv lifted her palms to Kayla's face, lightly running her thumbs over well-chiseled cheekbones. "The argument was my fault, Kayla. I knew I'd given you the wrong idea and then I overreacted when you got angry. I'm so sorry I hurt your feelings," she whispered sincerely, her eyes conveying more than her words ever could.

"I'm sorry I let things get so out of hand," Kayla immediately countered, shifting nervously on the stump and closing her eyes. "I couldn't think straight." She touched her temples as if rubbing away a headache. "Your thoughts were mixing with mine… And we were both upset and… well, I... I should be able to control my 'ability' better than that but..." But my mind was all over the damn place, she thought disgustedly.

"It's really okay." A palm grasped Kayla's chin, lifting it upward and forcing eye contact as Liv tenderly brushed dark bangs out of Kayla's eyes with her other hand. "I know exactly what you mean."

Of its own accord, Kayla's hand lifted and threaded itself in soft pale hair, rolling the strands between its fingers. Eyes still locked, Kayla's other hand began to roam, finding a spot on the small of Liv's back and drawing the smaller woman closer. Their lips met in a surprisingly passionate kiss that immediately set Liv's blood aflame before it shifted into one that was slow and deep and achingly tender.

Liv moaned in pleasure, relishing every second and savoring Kayla's mouth as though it might be her last opportunity. Her lips stopped cold as realization hit her squarely in the gut. That's exactly how Kayla was kissing her, too.

Liv used the hands still on Kayla's cheeks to break the kiss, pushing away slightly and studying Kayla's face with an unnerving intensity. "Are you kissing me goodbye, Kayla?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice even despite the fact her stomach had twisted into a solid knot.

Kayla suddenly rose to her feet, a look of pain marring her features for only the briefest of seconds before vanishing. "Not permanently," she hoped aloud… "Not unless you want me to." Kayla's heart stopped beating as she waited.

"God, no!" Liv's hands dropped to Kayla's shoulders, giving Kayla a shake for emphasis. "That's not what I want at all!"

The taller woman's breathing hitched before she exhaled explosively, her relief so profound she actually felt light-headed. "Then it won't be goodbye," she vowed, the crinkle between her brows disappearing along with her tension. "I'll come back to the States as soon as I can and we can arrange to see each other and..."

Liv shook her head. "That won't be possible."

Blue eyes blinked several times in rapid succession. "Bu... but... You just said..." She was silenced by two fingers pressing tenderly but firmly against her lips.

"No more misunderstandings." Liv smiled wryly, gently removing her fingers. "My heart just can't take it today." Slender fingers laced themselves together behind Kayla's neck, not nearly ready to give up the delicious contact. Rising up on tiptoes, Liv brought herself nose-to-nose with the tall woman. "It won't be possible because I'll already be with you." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Assuming your offer for a partner is still good," she teased, the look on Kayla's face answering for her.

Liv's eyes slid shut at the warm explosion of undiluted happiness that flooded her senses as Kayla literally swept her off her feet, pulling her into a crushing embrace.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Liv laughed delightedly when she was finally deposited back on the forest floor, her face becoming the blissful recipient of dozens of wet kisses.

Kayla let out a small grunt when she deposited Liv back on the ground.

"That hurt your knee, didn't it?" Liv scolded gently after an exasperated chuckle.

A kiss on the tip of the nose. "My knee is... well, you're right..." Another kiss, this time on the chin. "That hurt like hell and I won't be doing it again anytime soon." Kayla's lips brushed the corner of Liv's mouth but disappeared before Liv could move to increase the contact, earning Kayla a frustrated whine.

"And you can take it anyway you like, Liv," Kayla mumbled, nuzzling the baby-soft skin on Liv's throat and showering it with kisses more playful than arousing. She laughed as Liv began to squirm under her tickling lips. "As long as you don't take it back." She stopped her kisses so Liv could catch her breath and offered her a lop-sided grin with just a trace of worry. "You won't do that, right?"

Liv shook her head adamantly. "I won't. I talked with Dougie and he doesn't want to come to D.C. with me for at least another year… when he starts college. And seeing as how I'm currently unemployed..." And so in love with you I'd follow you anywhere…

"You're hired," Kayla drawled, her eyes gleaming brightly in the rapidly fading light.

Liv cocked her head in question. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." A dazzling smile as the dark head nodded. "It's one of the perks of being self-employed." She sobered, trying in vain to dampen the rampant enthusiasm that was spreading an enormous, but undeniably goofy grin across her face. "You do believe it's a real job, doncha?" she teased. "I mean… you'll get a salary and your own room when we travel." When we have a room, that is, she mused, deciding she'd let Liv discover the joys of research herself.

Liv frowned, pretty sure she wasn't pleased with that last bit of information. She put her hands on her hips, playfully glaring at her new partner. "Don't think I'm gonna be sleeping alone in some spooky, haunted house, ghostbuster. Been there, done that... and except for an admittedly exceptional dream..." She smirked then laughed when a light blush turned the tips of Kayla's ears pink. "I didn't like it."

A trickle of laughter escaped Kayla. "Well then, I guess I'll be forced to spend as much time as possible with you and do everything in my power to insure your continued supply of erotic dream fodder," she purred, letting her voice take on a sensuous edge that rumbled down Liv's spine.

Liv's eyes darkened slightly and her throat went dry. "See that you do," she croaked blithely, the soft hooting of an owl drawing her gaze upward.

Kayla's eyes tracked hers. "Don't worry. It's only about a half an hour trip to the mainland. Even after sunset, we'll still be able to travel for a while before it's actually dark." She smiled reassuringly. I am definitely going to have to get her over her dislike of the dark. Her mind was already spinning out pleasant nighttime activities when she added, "We'll be fine."

Both women began making their way out of the clearing, doing their best to avoid the larger puddles. When they passed the clearing's halfway point, Liv stopped and asked, "What happened with Marcy? I know you told her something. After all that reading, are you any closer to being able to help her?"

Kayla nodded, swatting away a buzzing dragonfly that seemed particularly fond of her. "I told her as much as I thought she could handle, leaving out Papaw's warning completely." She shifted her weight to her good leg, whose muscles felt tired and strained from overcompensating. A small sigh escaped her throat. "After this trip to Edinburgh I'm gonna come back and spend a little time with her... see if we can't reconnect a bit. Besides, it'll give us a chance to study the history in greater detail. But even if it doesn’t end up helping me, Marcy's gonna be okay." This, said in a voice lacking the uncertainty and dread that had, up until then, always managed to spill into Kayla's words when discussing Marcy's abilities. "We'll work through whatever we have to... together."

Liv quietly considered her partner's words as Kayla reached up and tucked a strand of gently blowing pale hair behind her ear. The smaller woman wrapped her arm around Kayla's waist as they turned to regard the sunset that was too magnificent to ignore. But as lovely as it was, her attention was drawn downward, to the meadow and pond... to the island itself. It was changing again, she realized. Damp air mixed with cooler evening temperatures had formed a layer of mist that was slowly but steadily creeping between the trees and into the meadow. Liv grinned in wonder, a bit surprised that she didn't find it spooky or haunting. Instead, it was beautiful, containing a mystical, ethereal quality that called to her. Like Brigadoon, she mused silently.

As they stood, pressed tightly together, Kayla's thoughts drifted to the neatly written passages and the woman whose voice had brought people centuries-dead back to life. After everything, she didn't really believe the true lesson in the history would ever be found in the pages describing techniques for telepathic control.

Kayla imagined Liv could come up with something beautiful -- moving prose about love lost and opportunity squandered -- suspecting that anyone so enchanted by the written word probably had literary tendencies themselves. But she was a scientist, not a poet. But even to her logical mind, the carefully scribed events held undeniable meaning. Kayla smiled at her final conclusion. All the love in the world wasn't worth squat without the courage to reach out and grab it and make it your own. It wasn't quite poetry; but it still worked.

Long arms shifted Liv in front of her and with a gentle hand against Liv's cheek, she garnered the shorter woman's undivided attention. Kayla's smile warmed when the face opposite hers broke into a brilliant smile. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts and projecting outward with all her might... Before she could open her eyes, hands had found purchase in her hair and soft lips covered her own.

"I love you too," Liv whispered fiercely, an errant tear streaking her cheek.

More kisses were followed by more sweet words until, reluctantly, the women separated and crossed the final feet to the meadow's edge with Liv leading the way.

Something strange tickled Kayla's senses causing her feet to slow then finally stop. A chill traced up and down her spine, causing her nape hairs to stand on end and goose bumps to break out across her limbs. Blue eyes darted from tree to tree trying to catch a glimpse of... something...

"You okay back there?" Liv asked over her shoulder as she tried to find the spot where she had pushed through the vines earlier.

"Yeah." Kayla's brow creased. "I… um… I just thought I heard something." Shaking her head, she took a couple more steps and drew even with Liv, quickly finding the opening they were looking for.

Liv dropped a quick kiss on Kayla's cheek as she moved past her. "Must have been a deer. They come out to feed at sunset, right?"

Puzzled blue eyes glanced back at the meadow one final time before turning and focusing forward. "Right. Ready?"

"To go with you?" Liv grasped Kayla's hand, threading their fingers together. "Always."

*******************

Two hidden forms, one tall and dark, the other shorter and fair, emerged from a blanket of rising mist at the far end of the clearing, watching silently as Kayla and Liv disappeared into the forest.

"She felt us."

A blonde head nodded. "I know." An indulgent shrug. "But she had more important things to attend to."

A sardonic eyebrow twitched knowingly. "So do we."

The fair head shook again, but this time with laughter.

A larger hand tightly wrapped itself around a smaller one as the figures traveled across the meadow, stopping to share a kiss in the dying rays of the summer sun before vanishing into the murky shadows of Cobb Island.

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