The early morning hours went from ungodly to something more manageable. The higher the sun ascended, the more Jane woke. A silent alarm, her internal clock went off. She pried her dried, irritated eyes open and stared out against the far wall of the room. She blinked sedately and didn't move off of her stomach. She didn't really know what time it was, but she knew it was morning.

Jane wasn't the type of girl to stick around for breakfast.

As quiet as a mouse, she slid off the bed. She took her time as not to disturb the mattress; no telltale disturbance in the springs to announce her escape. Coffee-ground brown hair stood up at odd angles, knotted in a rat's nest tangle of matted half-curls at the back of her head. The first thing she found as she crept around was her dress. The rayon cotton blend was forgiving when it came to wrinkles. Next was her purse.

Crap, she thought harshly to herself, don't tell me I've lost another one? Jane rubbed her hand briskly over half her face. Her eyes were killing her. She'd fallen asleep in her contacts, again. Her head swam. If she was still drunk, she was definitely less drunk than she had been a few hours before. And then she saw it, her clutch-styled purse half obscured by the black lace of her panties. Score.

Her knees creaked when she crouched to retrieve the pair, panties and purse both. The magnetic latch of her purse released with a sharp snap that seemed bullhorn loud in the quiet of the room. The first thing she checked in the jumble of junk inside was her watch. Horror settled onto her face. She was late. Really late. Balling her panties into her purse, she looked at the bed. She wasn't sentimental, but she'd had a good time. The guy was new. Nick, her memory told her. That was his name; at least she hoped it was since she had already written it down on the back of a receipt. The pen and the slick paper weren't being friendly. The ink skipped from here to there along the shape of the letters as she wrote. Jane shook the pen aggressively and scribbled in the corner.

Nick, thanks for the fun. Good luck. Jane.

She started to put it down on the pillow and stopped. The point of her pen pierced the paper when she added her phone number. The ink laid on thick in the beginning, fading until the last number was more an indent in the paper than anything else. She could live with it. Whether he called or not, it was no skin off her nose. But she did feel better leaving it than not. Satisfied, she left. Work wouldn't wait forever.

Jane hated home. Home was a bunch of sparsely decorated walls and quiet. Home was a rarely used bed and a fridge with expired milk and rotting vegetables in the crisper. The only thing Home had going for it was the location. It was convenient to the bus, and within reasonable walking distance of a killer falafel joint.

The neighborhood wasn't a bad one, either. Located within the Metro, it was a two block stretch built by displaced nexus travelers. Like called to like, way back they'd come together and built themselves a slice of home. Gingerbread multifamily Victorians lined the street in their gumdrop colors and lush victory gardens. Everything was neat and tidy. People sat on their porches and played dominos, or watched the kids play.

"Morning, Mrs. Conway," Jane said with a very tight smile. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the early sun. She wished she'd thought to bring sunglasses. Her hand raised, she waved to the mid-fifty-something woman with her keys.

"Long night, Jane?" Mrs. Conway asked. Her voice was gentle, but curious. The inflection in her tone invited Jane to gossip there on the porch. She patted bottle blonde curls with a good quarter inch of dark roots poking through.

"Aren't they all?" Jane answered with a laugh, but she didn't join Mrs. Conway. Her head was pounding. What she needed was a glass of water and a handful of aspirin. At least those were two things she had in abundance. She was thankful, then, that she had the lower level. Jane didn't know if she could handle any more steps. Her heels were murdering her feet. She struggled with the keys and the lock, but eventually they both gave in to her demands. The door opened, and she waved to the older woman and stepped inside.

Jane was a morning person. Not everyone was disposed to waking early, but despite the obstacle (or due to) of her schedule she enjoyed it. At least Jane did when she wasn't walking dead from a night of drunken debauchery. The last few nights all she had going for her was booze. The depravity was at a standstill. It made waking up and staying awake marginally easier.

The morning was fair and warm. Puffy white swirls obscured the blue of the sky and danced occasionally before the sun. There was a caf" Jane liked to visit when she had the time, Mignardise. It was located sixteen blocks from her flat, but she took a winding path that made the trek an invigorating stretch of her legs. Jane loved to run.

Running in the city wasn't always fun. There were windows of opportunity scattered through the day: Before everyone was up to get to work, after they had, but hadn't gone out to lunch, and then again in the evening after everyone had gone home but hadn't yet gone out for entertainment's sake. Her schedule didn't always mesh, and she frequently found herself battling other pedestrians for a clear stretch of the sidewalk. Outside of the congestion, there was the heat. Summer, beautiful and enchanting, was hot. Oppressive was a word that came to mind.

Sweat rolled down Jane when she finally made it to Mignardise. She plucked at her tank top, billowing air beneath to cool her down. The free bits of her rebellious, indecisive coffee-ground brown half-curls stuck to her. They clung to the sides of her face and to her back. Breathing hard, she paced circles in front of the open patio with its weather faded green awning, and stretched. Jane spent several minutes attending her cool down routine before she moved inside.

The d"cor was agreeable to her sense of style. Bare brick in washed-out reds provided a pleasing back drop for blackboard rectangles and black and white stills. Dark stained wood and chrome invited the eye to follow a path to covered glass pedestal salvers laden with carefully arranged pyramids of sweets and a large half-domed case that bloomed from an earthen tile floor. Behind the counter, all the noise of chrome and brass was broken up by teetering stacks of bone colored ceramic and bottles.

Jane was not surprised that there was a line at the counter, nor that a majority of the tables were occupied. She waited like everyone else for her iced coffee and macarons. While she waited, she admired the playful spots of pastel color in their tidy rows. It was the specialty of the house, and Jane's favorite. When it was finally her turn, she ordered one light brown with its creamy dulce de leche filling to accompany her iced caf? au lait. Since she couldn't keep her eyes off the pale purple lavender-scented or the chalky green pistachio, Jane ordered a couple more to bring home. The almond based sandwiches were dropped into a white paper sack, and handed over with the flimsy plastic shell of her iced coffee cup.

Jane fished some coin out of the low profile wallet strapped to her wrist. Money exchanged hands, and she took her well deserved treats. She turned in a small circle and looked around. While she had been waiting, the dining room had continued to fill. Juggling her treasures, she snatched a paper from beside the garbage bin and headed for the door. It was a nice day. She'd try her luck with the patio.

"Rhy'din Telegraph and Telephone Company: Jane speaking, how may I direct your call?" Jane's tone was generically pleasant. She kept a warm sunshine smile in her voice, even if the rest of her felt like warmed over death. She thought"and it might have been her imagination'she could smell just the bare hint of sour vomit in her hair. Her grand idea of waking up early enough to take a shower hadn't worked out as she'd envisioned.

"Jane, it's important, don't hang up. Please, don't hang up. I have to see you."

The unmistakable gravel-rough voice shocked her into a heart-pounding silence. Adrenaline warmed Jane's chest. "How dare you," she hissed into her headset. "Don't you ever *&^ing call me at work. Got it?" Click. She flipped the toggle and disconnected the call. Jane's mouth felt dry and her hands shook. Nervous sweat wet her clothes.

"What the hell was that?" Bernie whispered her hand curled over the mouthpiece of her headset.

"More like who, Bernie," Jane sighed, her shoulders collapsing. She slouched and pulled her headset off. The ear piece snagged in her hair. Wincing, she picked the tender strands of hair from the end. "I don't feel well. I'm going to get some air."Her voice was clipped and tired.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Bernie asked nervously. She leaned back and searched for Catherine. The shift supervisor was at her desk. Their whispers disappeared into the click-clack noise of a wall full of toggle switches, plugs, and overtly friendly operators.

"Right now, I don't really give a *&^%." Jane said with feeling. The explicative forced past her teeth and felt connected to her bones. They could fire her. Catherine could do whatever she wanted to do. She'd just tell her to eat a &%^# and be done with it. Jane reached under her station. She found the limp body of her hobo bag. She tossed the headset indifferently on the switchboard and left

# # #

Jane knew how to get things started. On the way home from work, she'd stopped over at the package store. A kid in a candy shop, she'd filled a paper bag with glass-clad goodies. And like a kid, she hadn't waited to get home to break into her newly acquired stash. There had been a shiny gift box of miniature single malts next to the register. Its delightfully tiny travel-sized bottles hadn't lasted the trip.

Jane dropped her keys in the dish on the table beside the door after she swung it closed. She dropped the bag off in the kitchen. The bottles inside danced dangerously together; a medley of hollow thunks that reminded the careless of the potential of breaking glass. Jane hooked a finger over the bag and peeked inside. It was dark and crowded. She couldn't see much, but then, she didn't have to. A reddish purple stained the bottom of the thick brown paper. It wicked up the side and puddled forlornly on the pale, speckled counter.

"Of course,? Jane sighed and growled in an exhale. Annoyed, she swept the length of her coffee-ground brown half-curls from her face. The need to scream and thrash bubbled inside her belly, but she wasn't a kid any more, and the idea was embarrassing. Jane let the strap of her soft-bodied purse slide down her arm. The accessory fell to rest beside her foot. She kicked it aside and away from the slow trickle of wine that splish-splashed onto the floor.

Jane rescued the other two bottles of wine from the bag. Drinking alone always felt more acceptable when it was wine. It was a poor, and less industrious, woman's Valium. She dropped the carcass of the fallen and the bodies of the single malt sample pack into the trash. Jane opened and closed drawers. Her underused kitchen was a mystery. Utensils jangled together and wheels whirled over runners. She found the key and stripped the foil from the bail. The pop of the cork leaving the bore made her heart skip. Her fingers curled around the neck. The taste of plums and pepper filled her mouth. After the first hard swallow, she guzzled greedily from the bottle. She chased away the memory of the gravel-rough voice with its sweetness.

Jane was exhausted. Being poor sucked. She spent three days in lock up, waiting to see a judge. Either the city wasn't able to grow with the ever-shifting population, or there were just way more criminals than she previously thought. It was probably a bit of both. In the end, she'd been given a fine and community service. She was really looking forward to cleaning the litter off the roadways.

Her flat smelled musty, and the air was old. The wine spill she'd ignored had stained the counter a hollow impression of maroon. Later she'd try some bleach to try and lift the stain. If that didn't work, there was always magic. Jane scratched a nail against the stain. She'd love a drink. A pity there wasn't any.

Even if her home barely qualified as one, Jane was happy to be there. She double checked the front bolt before she undressed and showered. She scrubbed her skin raw. When she was done, she was a healthy lobster red and smelled like lavender. Wrapping herself in the comfort of her robe Jane threw her dress in the trash. It wasn't worth saving, and she didn't like the memories attached to it.

When she went into her bedroom and was greeted by the flash of her neglected answering machine. Jane wasn't surprised. She threw herself onto the bed and slapped the button. She listened to the messages as she towel dried her hair.

"Jane, it's me, Bernie. You won't believe what happened. Call me."

"Jane, it's Bernie"again. Where are you? I'm getting worried. He better be worth it. I want details. Call me!"

A crooked smile tipped Jane's mouth. She wished mind-numbing sex was the reason she'd been missing work. No such luck. She sighed and picked at a knot. She really didn't know what to tell Bernie. The truth was too depressing.

"Jane, are you screening your calls" What the eff" Call me already!"

"This message is for Jane Bunbury. It's Catherine. Don't bother coming into work. You're on suspension without pay starting today."

Jane was not surprised. Great. She ran a hand over her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sincerely doubted the truth would work with Catherine, either. It looked like her and the classifieds were about to become real good friends. Jane pressed her lips into a hard line and forced short bursts of air through them. God, life sucked.

"Don't you &^%#ing delete this message, Jane."

She froze. Crispin. Her eyes, for once just plain brown, narrowed. Defiantly, she reached for the button. She was still pissed off at him. How could he bring Graham there to see her" Anger bubbled in her veins. He was lucky she didn't stab him in the face on principle.

"Since I"we'didn't get a chance to tell you, I have no choice but to do it here. I wasn't talking about Chloe and William. Your mom, she's dead. She died. You did such a good job ignoring everyone; no one got a chance to tell you she was sick. You missed her *&%$ing funeral, by the way. I'm sorry, but I hope you feel like &#%$."

And she did.

Fifteen Years Ago

She had been told to behave, but her parents were always telling Jane to behave. Sometimes, it felt like they spent all their time making her into a ghost'something to neither be seen nor heard, and only rumored to exist. Yet, they delighted in her younger sister's spirit. They laughed and cheered at her sister's antics. Disrespect on Chloe was gamine. On Jane it was vulgar.

Jane spent a lot of time hating her sister.

One day, her parents bundled her up and took her away from their high, skyscraping nest. Jane loved the sleek town car. Any excuse to ride in it was a welcome one. It skimmed along the rough roads. It made her feel important when she peered out of the dark windows at the citizens who weren't as lucky. Jane wasn't thrilled when it was abandoned.

She hated people, in a general sense, and the moment they entered the Tube; they were pressed all around her. Hot breath and body stink. Not only did she hate people, but she hated going to Old Towne. Once there her parents hired a carriage and it took them to the posh outlying manors hidden behind stone, branch, and twisted iron.

Harcolt Place unfolded before her in rolling manicured green and spots of tasteful floral. Old, the estate was a mesh of crumbling stone and sun-bleached wood kissed with dank mold. It immediately captured her twelve-year old imagination. It was the inside, however, that won her heart. It was a novel come to life. Her parents left her in the foyer with its dark wood floors, tapestries, and austere straight backed chairs while they were taken off to speak with the Master of the house. It was important business, and she wasn't permitted to participate.

The house was very boring; no matter how romantic it looked.

Without any one to watch her, there was no one to stop her when she crept away to explore. Jane stole through the corridors and into the kitchen. From there she exited to the side garden. She was a very good ghost. No one paid her any attention. She followed the low garden wall into the grounds. It was her grand adventure. She only meant to be gone for a little while, but that was before she spotted the folly. The structure was richly ornate. It reminded her of a castle, like a child's playhouse. Maybe, she thought, it was one.

Thirteen Years Ago

In the years that followed her first trip to Harcolt Place, Jane visited the estate many times. Her father and William's were very busy. She no longer hated the tedious trip from Metro through Old Towne to the outskirts of the City. William and Crispin were her only real friends. And it was a place that Chloe was blissfully absent. She didn't have to worry about her sister stealing them away.

They were close in age. Jane was the youngest. Crispin was the eldest at seventeen. Will was smashed right in the middle. They both lived at the manor full time. She told stories of the City and school life with pompous flare. They might be older, but Jane felt more experienced; Worldly. She felt less like a child and more like a woman.

The three of them were as thick as thieves"even if Crispin still liked to tease her. It was just as Will had told her. He was a jerk. There was nothing anyone could do to change it. To her joy, there was always Will with his easy smile and throaty laugh to soothe her feelings afterward. Even though they looked like brothers, they weren't. Crispin was William's second cousin. A distant relation, but one his father felt obligated to help. William's father was grooming him to the family business. What it was, Jane wasn't sure. If it was anything like her father's, she didn't want to know. She didn't need to know.

Everything was perfect, until her father died. Her mother crumbled like the old walls at Harcolt Place. Jane and Chloe just weren't enough to hold her up. Six weeks after his passing, her mother called Jane to her room. It was dark and ill-kept. Her mother had stopped caring. Cordelia had been lovely, once. Age sat heavily on her face, tucked into the lines until they sagged. Jane and Chloe had both inherited her dark hair"though Chloe wore it better with thick bouncy curls. Jane's was always a half-curled snarled mess.

Cordelia's grief-thin figure was draped in a gossamer dressing robe. She sat Jane down at her vanity table. The silver and bone handled brush was awkward in her bony hand. "Look how grown up you are," she whispered to Jane. The boar bristles rasped through Jane's thick hair and caught on a knot.

"Not really," Jane mumbled. She watched her mother's reflection with morbid fascination. Fourteen didn't seem all that grown up to her. Not when she still got in trouble over her homework and talking on the phone late at night. Cordelia pulled the brush down through her hair and Jane winced.

Her mother set the brush back down, long strands of dark hair hanging off the edge. Jane watched the movement of her hands. They danced from spot to spot. Eventually, they settled on the mostly empty bottle of Shalimar. Opening it, Cordelia wet her finger tip and dabbed it behind Jane's ears.

"All good things come from love," Cordelia murmured to her daughter. "Even this," she set the bottle squarely down before Jane. "It's named after a famous garden on another world. There was couple who loved each other very much." Cordelia's brow knitted as she searched for the threads of the tale, but they were lost somewhere in her memory. She shook her head. "Anyway, when she died, he built a monument to her. Her favorite place was a garden named Shalimar."

Jane's dark eyes cut from one side to the other. "O-okay." She drawled slowly. "That's nice." She kept her voice pleasant. Jane was at a loss for what to say.

"Your father loved us like that. Everything he did was for us. It's only right that we sacrifice for him."

"Um, he is still dead?" Jane asked slowly, gnawing at the inside of her lip. Her sadness was still fresh. It bled beneath the surface. They lived in a wondrous place. It was possible he was not exactly dead. But then, again, it was just as possible that he was. It could leave a person with mixed emotions and strange hopes when none should exist.

"Yes, Jane," Cordelia sniffed, "he is'dead." Her voice hitched, caught on the finality of the word. "But," her mother continued and the word held within it a dark foreboding. "He left behind a large amount of debt. Everything, Jane, it's all been such a farce." Her mother began to cry, and Jane didn't know what to do. "I'm sure it'll be okay, Mom." She turned on the vanity seat and wrapped her arms around her mother's legs. She pressed her cheek against her hip. "We just need to see what Will's dad wants us to do."

"About William's father," her mother paused, choking on her words. "This isn't going the way it's supposed to, Jane. We were going to tell you when you were older."

"Tell me what?" Her heart sank. What now" Was she adopted'some strange fae-child they found under a cabbage leaf" Or maybe, some enchanted princess like Briar Rose" For a brief moment, her dread flew on the wings of adventure.

"Your father promised you to Graham."

"What?" Jane released her mother and stood up. The vanity seat cushion fell onto the floor. "What do you mean promised" Like marry?"

"It was the only way," Cordelia said, "Graham is from another time and place, it was the only way to secure the partnership."

"This is"oh my god; this is like something we learned about in school." Dumbfounded, Jane stumbled over her words and sat down on the edge of the vanity table. "No, I won't do it." She dropped her hands to her lap.

The sharp echo of skin to skin stayed like the ghost Jane was always meant to be. Red fingers blazed on Jane's cheek and her mother cradled her stinging hand. "You will, Jane. You will honor what your father did."

"Why should I" No one bothered to ask me!"

"You will do it for me and Chloe if not for yourself. Graham is a good man. You will be taken care of. We all will."

"And that's what this is all about! You. You and Chloe! It's always about her, never about me!"

"If you don't we lose everything, Jane. There will be no money, no house, no anything. Do you really want to see us out on the street' And that's what will happen. There won't be anyone there to save us. Forget for a moment your stupid jealousy, Jane, and grow up."

"Of course I don't want that to happen, Mom." Jane shook her head. Her thoughts crashed together incoherently. "When?"

"The wedding" In two months, after the mourning period is over."

Her jaw clenched and released. Jane wet her lips. All her dreams had turned to dust and they left a bitter taste on her tongue. "Fine. All right. I'll do it." Tears trembled on her lashes.

"Oh, Jane," her mother reached out for her. Her fingers touched against her sleeves.

She flinched away from the touch. "Please, don't. Just leave me alone.? And since no one else was going to do it, she cried for the future she wasn't going to have.

Thirteen Years Ago

"Jane" Jane, are you listening to me?"

"Hm?" The sound left her in a short burst of sound. Turning away from the window, Jane looked back at her mother. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I was thinking about something else," Jane admitted. Her mother had been talking to her for a good ten or so minutes. She had tuned her out after the first two.

"It just isn't seemly, Jane. People will talk, and you don't want them to talk," Cordelia chastised. She fussed with the table linen as she watched Jane arrange flowers.

"Talk about what?" Her nose scrunched up in a childish display of ignorance. Indifferently, she clipped a daisy stem and wedged it back into the vase. Now that she was married there was little for her to do. Graham didn't approve of her going to school. In his opinion, all she needed to know was how to read, write, and simple arithmetic. Jane knew how to do all those things already. Consequently, he considered her to be well educated. It also left her with nothing to do. She never realized how long a day could be. Her days stretched on as far as the horizon. From the moment she woke to the moment she slept, it was filled with nothing.

"About you and Will."

"He's my step-son," Jane said with airy nonchalance. Brown eyes rolled up dismissively and she trimmed another daisy. Her heart fell to say the words out loud. She'd only been wed to Graham for a few weeks. It was something she was still adjusting to.

"He's a year older than you. People will talk. You mustn't embarrass Graham"for your sister's sake."

Jane's jaw tensed. The muscle jumped and she willed a smile to her lips. "Of course, anything for Chloe," she answered. Wonderful buoyant Chloe. Jane's lips thinned as she watched Cordelia. Her mother relaxed. She was accustomed to Jane giving her, her way. "But I still don't see what the big deal is," Jane retorted and touched her fingers to her hair. Per Graham's request, since she was a woman now (or something like that), Jane had braided her hair. The dark brown half-curls were plaited into a thick coiled bun at the back of her head. It made her scalp itch and hair hurt.

"You need to listen to reason," Cordelia coaxed.

"And what?s so reasonable about it' He's my friend, Mom. I'm not going to stop being his friend because I'm his"," Jane made a feeble movement with her hand before tearing a leaf off a flower stem, "mother." Emptiness panged inside her chest again. It lurched heavily and slid in a slimy track to her stomach. "I've known him forever." She continued hurriedly.

"Known who forever?" A familiar voice asked from the side door.

Jane looked toward the door and smiled. The expression was thin. "Crispin!" She called in greeting. The sound was happier than she felt. "I was talking about Will. I've known him for like ages." Her gaze darted to her mother and she pointed at the woman with a daisy stem. "My Mom thinks I should stop spending time with him. She thinks it will make people gossip. I say it's stupid." Jane dropped the flower and stepped away from the table to give Crispin a hug. Marriage had made him her cousin, too. Funny how things worked out. "Tell her she's being stupid, she won't listen to me."

"It probably wouldn't be a bad idea."

Crispin's clothing and breath smelled like smoke and cherries. Jane frowned and angrily returned to her flowers. "Oh my god, you, too?" She hissed at him. "Let me guess, you two been the ones talking, I'm sure." She said snidely. "I don't even have to wait for the gossips when they're here already."

"It would be different if you weren't *&^%ing his father," Crispin observed coolly. He fell effortlessly into one of the table chairs. His legs stretched out before him.

"Crispin!" Cordelia gasped aghast. Her hand pressed to her mouth in shock.

"It's true, isn't it' If she wasn't getting banged by his dad this would be a non-issue," Crispin argued as he fished his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He tapped the crumpled box to his palm a few times before pulling a smoke out and wedging it between his lips.

Jane admired Crispin's ability to turn her mother speechless. She had always secretly admired his inability to care for anything but himself. Now it was fully fledged hero-worship. She ignored that in order to do so he had to completely humiliate her. At least Will wasn't there to hear it. "He's my step-son," Jane bit out.

Crispin snorted as he struck a match. "Jane, hate to break it to you, but Will's never going to be your son." He drew in a breath, sucking the flame into the tip of his cigarette. A moment later he shook out the fire and exhaled. He flicked the match onto the table. The head smoldered. "And I seriously doubt he wants to be."

Jane forgot, for the moment, that her mother sat at the table near her. She stared instead at Crispin. All she could see was his smirking mouth. Her words were colored with teenage angst. "You act like I had a choice."

"Didn't you?"

"No!" She spat.

"Sure, you did. You just made this one."

"Oh my god, stop pretending like this is some stupid book or a movie or something!" She ground out to Crispin. "It's my life!? She kicked the leg of his chair and threw a handful of daisies at him before swarming off, leaving her mother and Crispin behind.

Twelve and a Half Years Ago

Under Graham's watchful eyes Harcolt Place came alive. Cobwebs and grit were cleared from the corners, replaced with bright streamers and buoyant bunches of balloons. There wasn't a dead flower or a blade of grass out of place in the garden. People Jane didn't know milled around the grounds. They fished for sweets from the banquet tables and chatted over punch. She did her best to play hostess. She hadn't had a slumber party in years, and she'd never thrown an actual party before. Part of her felt like Graham expected too much from her.

But it was Will's birthday.

The only saving grace was that she didn't have to say anything meaningful. She could laugh and talk about the flowers. She didn't care if they thought she was stupid. Most of the people there were old enough to be her parents (or grandparents). They didn't expect her to be a rocket scientist.

There were a few teenagers, Will's friends. She watched them with envy. They strutted in their short pants and spring dresses. Chloe, effervescent, was at the center of them. She was younger than them, but they didn't care and neither did Chloe. Her sister was a flame and they burned their wings on her. Jane choked on the sour taste of her resentment.

Graham had insisted she wear a smothering full length dress with long split sleeves and a modest long-sleeved chemise underneath. It was the style where he was from. It had taken some doing, but she had convinced him that it wasn't strictly necessary that she cover her hair. The braids were plenty.

Their guests were an eclectic mix of human and not. Jane thought they were Graham's business associates. Some of them had known her dad. It was awkward. They extended both condolences on his death and joy for her wedding in one breath. It was insincere, but polite. For the most part they kept themselves segregated.

A servant tugged at her elbow. Graham wanted to serve the cake. Jane looked around the garden. But where was the birthday boy' She stood on tiptoe and shielded her eyes from the sun. Her gaze bounced from group to group. No sandy blonde mop. The servant was still talking. The troll by the punch bowl wanted more canap's. Jane shooed the servant off.

Where could Will be?

Nine Years Ago

The early years of her marriage passed without incident. Jane stayed at Harcolt Place. The estate was an island at the edge of a busy city. It was untouched; unmoved. The days were marked by the bleaching of crumbling stone beneath the sun, and the growth of a twisted wisteria trunk over a trellis.

They fell into a routine of doing and not-doing. Graham, despite of his austerity, treated her kindly when he was home. When he wasn't, her mother came in from the Metro and kept her company. In Jane's opinion, her mother was overly preoccupied with keeping face. Cordelia would crawl into the bed she shared with Graham and sleep beside her.

At first, Jane resented it. Her mother was her jailer. Then she realized, after a few years, Cordelia was afraid of losing Graham's money. Money; it always came back to it. Her parents traded her to Graham for more of it. Her mother dogged her footsteps to keep it.

Harcolt Place was lonely. She didn't have many visitors. Graham was often away on business and took Crispin with him. Jane had tried to keep correspondence with her friends from school, but teenaged stay-at-home brides and trend-obsessed schoolgirls, she found, soon exhausted their conversation. Begrudgingly, there was Chloe.

Her sister"it was probably their mother's idea at first"would write her twice a month. Chloe wrote to Jane about her new school. She wrote about her friends (and boys). And eventually, Chloe wrote about her hopes and dreams. Without even trying, Jane grew up and started to hate her less.

Will wrote, but not to her, and never often. His letters came to Crispin, but he would include a small trinket from his travels inside for her. The first had been a traveler's good luck medallion. When Graham was away, she wore it on a ribbon tucked against her heart. Her mother thought she wore it for Graham, but it was always for Will. Each new treasure was kept in a small box hidden behind a loose stone in the folly. He might not have anything to say (what was there to say?) but he thought about her. Jane thought about him, too.

Jane found a way to be happy. Naturally, it didn't last

"Nice," Crispin said around his cigarette, his face distorted with revulsion.

Jane mopped the back of her hand across her mouth. She was a mess. Wisps of coffee-ground brown hair clung to her face and vomit speckled her sleeve. The ghost of her sick remained in a thin film over her cheek. "Crispin, if you love me at all—&^%$ if you have even an ounce of pity in your bones"you will take me to the clinic," Jane declared with heartfelt enthusiasm. It had taken forever, but they had finally crossed from Old Towne to Metro. She hated the experience. The moment they popped across, she'd found a large trash can to empty her guts into.

"What the &^%* is wrong with you?" Crispin asked as he looked for and found a water fountain jutting from the tunnel wall. "Clean yourself up a bit." He up nodded toward it.

"I'm *&^%ing pregnant," she snapped at him, washing her hands under the lackluster dribble that fell into the water fountain basin. Cupping her hand, she splashed a palm full at her mouth and washed her lips and chin.

Crispin stared at her. One beat. Another. Finally, he exhaled and sucked the smoke back up his nostrils. "Does Graham know?" His tone severe. He appraised her shrewdly.

"Of course not," she answered. "And he won't," Jane added with determination.

"I really don't see how that's going to work. Eventually, your *&^ is going to get fat." He took another puff and flicked the forming ash onto the ground. "Along with the rest of you."

"Just take me to the clinic. I have the address. I'll take care of the rest once we get there."

"What the *&^%, Jane, you aren't—."

"It's not your business, Crispin."

"It is if you want me to keep my mouth shut."

Jane gritted her teeth. She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth and spat into the water fountain basin. "I will die before I have this baby, Crispin."

"You are so *&^%ed, Jane."

"Am I" I don't think so. Sorry if I'm not running to give Will a brother or a sister."

Crispin combed his fingers through his sandy blonde hair and pulled at the short length. "Jane." He pressed his knuckle between his eyes. Turning away from her, he paced a track along the platform toward the stairs. "This isn't something you can just undo, Jane. Once you do it, it's forever."

"I don't love him. I will never love him. He married me for business. He shouldn't expect too much in return."

"How about the baby, Jane" Should it expect anything?" He shook his head and started to smoke again. Smoke streamed from him like a steam engine. "How are you going to pay for it?"

"You are."

"You're one crazy c&%$," he exhaled at her.

"Graham will notice if I don't come home with anything. It's not like I can have them bill him."

"Why the &*^% should I help you?"

"Because you're the only friend"probably my best friend"that I have, Crispin, and if you don't I'll try and find a way to do it to myself."

"If I'm the only friend you've got, you're in a bad place, Jane."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I don't know if I'm okay with this."

"You don't have to be."

"He's been like a father to me."

"Then you *&^% him."

"*&^%, I think, all things considered, I'm about to."

"Then you'll help me?"

"This is the one, only, time, Jane. Next time—whatever it is—you're on your own.?

A frown creased Jane's brow and tugged harshly at the corners of her mouth. Idly, she gnawed on the corner of her right thumb nail as she tucked the letter in her left hand across her abdomen. Earth-brown eyes rolled in continued annoyance. Her irritation persisted even after she crumpled up the letter from her sister. She tossed the balled paper across her desk and sat smartly down on the accompanying chair. Chloe knew how to wriggle under her skin.

Jane flicked the end of her abused nail against the edge of her tooth as she reached for a sheet of vellum. She then opened the inkwell and took up an ink-stained quill. She preferred modern instruments, but her husband did not. She had little say in the matter. Jane dipped the tip and began to write.

Chloe, No, you don't have to write Graham. Tah-dah. Here I am. Look no further than this page.

Jane returned to chewing on the corner of her nail. Frayed, a sliver worked free and she spat it out onto the floor. She wasn't exactly sure what to say to her younger sister. In the years they had exchanged letters, they were sporadic (on Jane's behalf) at best. She found it hard to believe that her sister actually needed to hear from her, let alone talk to her. Jane would have placed good money on the odds that her sister had a close female friend at school, or work. How could it be possible that Chloe was lonely"

Crispin is doing well. I guess. It's hard to tell. He's not a bigger jerk than normal. He went with Graham to the Southern Territories. He brought back some new tobacco. We didn't really talk too much about it. Will—

Jane crossed and uncrossed her ankles. She shifted in her chair and reached for the traveler's medallion, but remembered as her fingers settled on the high neck of her dress, that it was hidden away. She missed it. Jane curled her hand briefly into a fist and started to write again.

Will is doing well. He wrote Crispin not too long ago"maybe a couple of months ago. The letter was old. Apparently, he has been working his way through the Syth"marian Isles. At the point of the letter, he had already visited five of the eight. He was on Isurillo and on his way to Chatar. It sounds exciting, doesn't it"

She stopped again and wet her lips. Jane pressed her hand against the tight weave of her coffee-ground brown braids. Her scalp ached. It was hours before she could take them down. Will had sent her a translucent pink shell. It had broken in transit, but it was still beautiful. It, and its pieces, was safely in her treasure box hidden in the folly.

Jane thought about the shell and felt sad and jealous. Will was off having adventures and so was Chloe. Granted, they weren't on the same scale. But still she resented them both for living their lives. She knew they weren't bragging, but sometimes, it felt like it. Jane didn't want to hear about any more parties, or boys, or adventuring. She didn't want to read another word about anyone being excited about anything"especially not the future. It just wasn't fair. She didn't want to have to fake it with them like she had to with Graham, like she had to with anyone who wasn't Crispin. But she did it because she had to.

I'll talk to Graham about visiting you. We can make a day out of it. What's your schedule at the clinic look like" Do you think you can get a free day to spend with me?

Your Sister, Jane

Even though she knew it was a jerk thing to do, Jane left her mother in the doctor's office. She didn't try to contain her hurt and anger. She thudded along with the grace of a rampaging gorilla. Her slipper-clad feet hit hard against the floor, and then the steps, and later the pavement as she searched out Crispin. The hem of her somber ankle length wool dress swirled against her legs. Jane turned abruptly. Her gaze whipped side-to-side.

"Crispin?" She cried into the busy Metro-side street. The whirl of engines and tires pulled the sound away. Jostled by the crowd, she swung her elbows and made a path closer to the curb. She skirted the edge of the gutter until she found a free spot. Jane looked again for Crispin. She stood on tiptoes and leaned into the street. The slight weight of her hand bag bounced against her side. "Crispin?" Jane's lips pinched over her teeth in frustration. She abandoned the sidewalk and returned to the front of the building. She listened to the pit-pat of her shoes against the steps. It filled her ears and washed away her thoughts. Jane stormed back into the building's foyer; retracing her steps. "Crispin?" She waited a beat before calling out for him again.

"Done already?" Crispin asked, a paper coffee cup in his hand. He swished a wooden stirring stick inside it. He cast his pale gaze around the foyer. "Where's your Mother?"

"I really don't care. We're leaving; Now."

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" He sipped at his coffee.

"Later," she growled as she grabbed the cup of coffee from him. The steaming fluid dribbled over their hands and splashed onto the floor.

"Hey!" Crispin growled in return. Sandy blonde brows hooded his eyes as he fought with her for the paper cup. It crumpled and collapsed. Jane wrestled it from his hands and threw it against the floor. The brown, richly scented beverage pooled against the wall seam. "What the ^&%*, Jane!" Crispin cried. He licked some of the coffee from his fingers, and explored the extent of their injury. The coffee had been fresh. His skin glowed cherry in protest. "You're buying me a new one you &*^%ing crazy $&*^%."

"Crispin, I promise, later." She pleaded. Jane grabbed his sleeve and started to pull Crispin toward the doors. They were collecting an audience. She looked toward the elevator bank. They needed to be gone before her mother came down.

Crispin yanked his arm out of her grasp. He rolled his shoulders and fixed the lines of his jacket. "You might be Will's mom, but you are certainly not mine."

"Look, I'm sorry." She wrung her hands. She rubbed them against her face and against the edge of the pale whimple that concealed the tight plait of her coffee-ground brown hair. "I don't want to see my Mom right now. I don't think I ever want to see her again. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do right now, but we can start by getting the *&^% out of here."

"Where's Cordelia?"

"Probably still in the doctor's office, or waiting for an elevator. Maybe she's in the toilet. I have no *&^%ing clue. What I do know is that I want to *&^%ing leave." Her voice rose and broke. The tone touched on hysteric.

"What the *&^% happened up there?" Crispin asked as he felt over his jacket pockets. He fished a worn pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out of the box. He followed Jane outside. The smoke was tucked into his lips. The pack was dropped back into his pocket.

Once outside Crispin took point and Jane followed him down the street. He hailed a taxi. She stayed silent. He waited. It was near lunch. There were plenty of cars on the street. They found a ride easily. "Metro station." Jane told the driver as she climbed over the back bench seat. She sank into it. The leather squeaked. She closed her eyes and sighed. Crispin closed the door and the car began to move.

"Were you ever going to tell me, Crispin?" Jane asked softly. She stared at the back of the driver's seat.

"Tell you what?" He pulled the unlit smoke from his mouth and rolled it in his fingers.?"

"About the sort of man I married."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"How does he do it' Does he pick them up in bars or off the street?" She twisted in her seat and leveled her eyes on him. "Or does he send you out to get them?"

"Get what?"

"His whores."

Crispin coughed. She'd taken him by surprise. "Why do you think—."

"He gave me a STD, Crispin. Probably because he can't cross a realm without *&^%ing every woman in it." She interjected, cutting him off before he could convince her otherwise.

"Oh. Wow. That sucks."

"Gee. Thanks." Jane replied drily. She pulled the whimple off her head and stuffed it into her purse.

"Well, he is away for weeks at a time and he does have needs." Crispin's tone was reasonable.

"Really, that's what you've got to say' He's got needs." She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth and felt her ire turn fitful in her stomach. "I'm damaged, Crispin. He"he'damaged me." She enunciated with feeling. "I can't have babies."

"Are you sure that's not because of the," he paused and leaned slightly toward her, "you know."

"Considering all the tests and finally a real doctor telling me so' I'm pretty solid in thinking it's his fault." Jane pulled at the pins in her braids. She worked one after another free until the tight crown of hair unwound. "It's not like sex is that great—."

"Then you're doing it wrong," Crispin snorted.

"Fine, when I was a kid...," Jane swallowed. "That's just gross to say. When I was a kid. *&^%." She exhaled and unplaited the left braid. "When I was a kid, he used to try and make it fun'so I wouldn't be scared or cry."

"OH MY GOD," Crispin cried. "This is the worst conversation, ever. Thank you, Jane. I need to boil my brain."

"I was a child. He had no business, Crispin. My mother should have found a job instead of selling me. And now, look." She made a vague gesture. "I get to go home and try and tell my husband that he should really see a doctor." Jane combed her fingers through her partially undone hair. It stood out at crinkly angles from her head. She looked out the window. She could just make out the sign for the station. "Then I get to pretend like this never happened and be a wife to a man I never want to touch me again."

Four Years Ago

"I still say it isn't right."

Chloe's tone was both admonishing and pleading, and Jane wasn't sure which was worse. She watched the youngest Bunbury fuss around the kitchen but her attention was divided with the television; the blessed, wondrous box she used to dream about after her move to Harcolt Place. She only half watched Chloe as she stacked the dishes in the sink, cleaning up after Jane.

Serves her right, Jane thought. She hadn't come to visit to get preached at. It was a welcome change of pace staying at her sister's. It was cute and her neighbor was deliciously nosy with ripe tidbits of gossip just waiting to be plucked. It wasn't as grand as Harcolt Place, naturally, but the television more than made up for it.

"She's your mother and it's been a year"a whole year, Jane."

"You can talk "til you're blue, Chloe. I won't see her. I hate her." Jane pressed her fingers against her stomach. "Way down deep. I wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire."

"Jane!" A glass rattled around in the sink. "You can't mean that."

Jane looked at her sister's perfect chocolate-coated almond eyes set her marvelously heart-shaped face and milky complexion. Chloe made mad look so good. Especially when the twin spots of pink hit her cheeks. Jane felt the very familiar twinge of jealousy dance over her aggravated nerves. She looked away from the lovely twist of her sister's dark curls and focused on the show she had been watching.

"Have you been watching T.V. all day?" Chloe changed the subject. "You're still in your pjs." She dropped onto the sofa cushion and pushed Jane's feet off onto the floor. "What are you watching?" There was laughter in her voice as a melodramatic trill of notes drifted from the speakers.

"Shush!" Jane gasped. "She's about to find out that that guy over there really is a doppelganger and her husband was kidnapped by a cult that think that if they sacrifice her it will bring back their moon god."

"Their moon god?" Chloe giggled and reached to tickle her sister's knees. "Oh, noo! How scary!"

"Don't believe him! He's not who he says he is!"

"It is!" Jane squeaked and hit away her sister's hands. "And see that girl in the corner, she is actually that girl's sister and they were separated at birth. That guy's supposed to be helping her get her legacy, but I don't trust him."

"Do any of them have names?" She teased and slapped at Jane's hands that were slapping at hers.

"But Riven"*sob* no—!"

"Well, yes," Jane huffed, "now be quiet or I'll miss it!"

"Miss it' Oh, no! Dun dun DAH!" She laughed at Jane's expense.

Jane pressed her hand against her sister's mouth. "Shut. Up." She laughed in spite of her irritation. "You're the worst. I bet no one takes you to the movies."

"Plenty of people take me to the movies," Chloe retorted after Jane dropped her hand.

"Do you think he's a real vampire, or he only plays one on T.V.?" Jane asked. Chloe shrugged. "Don't they teach you how to tell at that school of yours" I mean what would you do if some bat turned into some hunky naked guy' I'd totally let him nibble on my neck. Look at him. He's really hot."

"You mean if I was working on an animal that wasn't sedated?"

"Sure," Jane answered.

"Because I'm not afraid of rabies or Kingsington's Disease?" At Jane's blank look, Chloe elaborated, "It's the magical variation of rabies named for Doctor Alfred Kingsington. We see it in some Weres and other shifters, and just some really unlucky enchanted mundane animals."

"Yeah, if you weren't afraid of that," Jane replied.

"I would probably scream for help."

"You're really no fun, Chloe. You're single. You should be all swoony or something. I'd love a sexy vamp to chomp down on me."

"I'm sure Graham wouldn't want some vamp chewing on your neck."

"Hey, I've got it pretty good. Once he found out sleeping with me was pointless, I hardly see him AND I got my own room. It was a double win. He probably wouldn't even know if one did."

"Jane," Chloe sighed.

"Oh, stop it." Jane said. "There are worse things in the world. Before all this, I'd never have been able to come and stay for so long. Now, it just doesn't matter. It's really liberating."

"Fine, but it sounds pretty sad to me." Chloe reached and gave a section of Jane's indecisive half-curls a tug. "What do you want for dinner" It's your last night here. We should have something good."

"I really liked that falafel place we went to last week. How about there?"

"Ice cream after" I love their halva flavor. They make it there."

"Sounds like a plan." Jane smiled, but the joy she'd shown earlier had melted from her voice and her expression hung on her lips like a forgotten ornament.

Crispin was wrong. It wasn't fun. It didn't even have a passing resemblance to fun. It was, actually, painfully awkward. Maybe, Jane thought, it was Crispin's idea of a good time. But it was more likely that it was just Crispin being a dickhead, again. Jane leveled a sulky glare over the table at the man in question. She met with icy blues and he smiled, tipping his champagne flute in a silent toast.

Jane looked back at her plate and stabbed a green bean with her fork. Directly opposite of her, at the other end of the table, was Graham. To his right sat Will and his left Cordelia. Chloe sat across from Crispin. She tried not to stare at Will. The years"his adventures"had changed him. The boy was gone completely. He and Crispin still looked like brothers, but there were subtle differences.

One, he was tan. Jane had never seen anyone so golden. His hair was more blonde and short enough to stand at quirk angles from his scalp. He looked like he smiled and laughed more than not"and the way he talked! Jane marveled at it. He had acquired an accent, gentle and lilting. And while he did not spend much time talking to her, she listened to the sounds of his voice like they were alone in the room.

Will did, however, spend much of his time talking to Chloe. And her sister, with her perfect curls, sparkled.

Jane stuffed the green bean in her mouth. Annoyed, she looked at the most neutral part of the table: back at Crispin. He lifted his brows and shrugged before mouthing the word "cake" over his glass. Jane stabbed a piece of carrot. The tines scratched against the porcelain. She didn't want any cake.

She did want Chloe to stop laughing. The peal of sweet laughter made her grimace. It made her cringe to see the way Will leaned into her. The expressions he made as he shifted the conversation between Graham, Chloe, and her Mother were enthusiastic and enthralling. Chloe, she could see, was captivated.

Jane felt the familiar wave of jealousy. The night was nothing that she wanted it to be. She grabbed her champagne and looked at Crispin. "This *&^%ing sucks,? she said through a sigh and finished her helping in a single gulp.

Jane wasn't trying to spy. At least that was her story if anyone asked. Spying" Goodness, no. She was in the garden to take in the night blooming white flowers and the stars. If she followed the combined sounds of Will and Chloe's voices; it was a coincidence.

Jane tiptoed at the edge of the garden walkway. That part of the garden was low profile. She had no place to hide. She was thankful for Graham's practical fashion aesthetic. The dark wool fabric made her a shade among shadows. As she walked, her breath quickened and then stilled. Jane didn't want them to be alerted by her nervous panting. The moment she began to hold her breath her heart began to pound. Her gaze darted back and forth. She checked the path behind her several times.

For all her paranoia, there was no one there watching her. Nor did it appear that Will or Chloe noticed her. The combined sounds of their mirth floated on the breeze. Chloe's head was tossed back and her hand balanced on Will's arm. Jane harrumphed grouchily from her the sidelines. No one laughed that much. It was ridiculous. It was shameful.

Jane wanted none of it. It hurt to watch and worse to listen, but she was glued in place. Anxiously, she chewed on her nail. The pair was on the move again and to her dismay they were headed for the edge of the garden. There was only one thing that direction: the folly.

Jane could think of no conceivable reason why Will would take anyone there. Wasn't it special" It was special to her. They spent so much time there together when they were younger. It wasn't as if Chloe hadn't seen it before, because she had; Several times. Jane longed to be close enough to hear them clearly. She sucked in a breath and pulled up her skirt, prepared to give chase.

"Jane?"

"Damn it," Jane hissed softly to herself. Worst timing, ever. They were getting away! Her expression crumpled and she was divided. They were in the folly. Alone. Together. She released the hold she had on her dress and turned toward the house. "Yes?" She pitched her voice to cut through the night.

"There you are," Graham admonished. "Cordelia is looking for you. Be a proper hostess, Jane."

Jane's jaw worked. The muscles there jumped. "Of course," she said flatly. "I just needed a little air." She looked back to the folly. She ached to know what was going on?what they were doing (and not doing, too). But her window of opportunity was gone. Graham's hand curled around her elbow and he led her back inside.

"Jane?"

At some point, her anger had given way to emotional exhaustion. She'd fallen asleep tucked into the curve of the stone wall. She dreamed of Will. She frequently did.

"Jane?"

She woke with a start. Disorientated, she fumbled around her; gasping. Brown eyes blinked rapidly as she put her surroundings in order. "Will?" She asked her tone incredulous. Was he real or was she still dreaming" She looked at the ruin surrounding her. *&^%, he was real. "What do you want?" Bitterness crept into her voice.

Will crouched down beside her. His knees popped. His summer-sky blue eyes turned down on her and he pulled a tuft of feather from her hair. "So this is where you've been."

His voice was soft and lilting. His accented words flowed seductively over Jane's ears. If he noted her hostility and resentment, Will gave no indication of it. "I come here a lot. I would have thought you'd have remembered that."

"I remember." He righted the box that had once held her treasures. The few that remained rattled around inside. "You kept them. I always wondered if you did."

"Obviously not anymore," Jane spat at him. She brushed shredded postcards off her sleeve and pushed the nearby bits on the floor away.

Firm lips thinned and a frown pulled at the angular lines of Will's face. "Why?"

"Why?" She sputtered. Jane hit her hand to her chest. "You ask me why?" Her angst bubbled over. "Let me ask you why, instead!" She flung a hand out, pointing in the general direction of the house. Her expression was formed by her anguish. "Why did it have to be her?" Jane cried, her pain leaking through her voice.

"Jane—."

"She's my sister." She threw the words at him like a weapon.

"And he's my father." Will countered. His retort equally jagged.

"I didn't have a choice, but you do. Please, Will, anyone, anyone in the realm just not her," Jane implored. She roughly dragged her hands across her cheeks, wiping away the salt-tracks from her tears. "Not Chloe."

"What because she and I get along, I shouldn't talk to her" You're being unreasonable. I've just come home. There's no reason to be so dramatic."

"Dramatic?" She laughed, harsh and sharp. "Do you think I'm *&^%ing blind" Maybe I didn't go and see the world, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Unlike you, I actually know Chloe. I know what?s going to happen." Jane's jaw set and her nostrils flared. "Why did you even bother coming home?"

"It felt right." Wide shoulders lifted and fell in an indifferent shrug. "It's been a long time, Jane. I've done things, been places. It just felt like time to come home. I hope someday you can go and do all the things you wanted to do, Jane; that you can go out and be the person you always wanted to be. Then, maybe, you'd understand how important home can be."

"Will," she wept. Her hurt and disappointment worn easily on her sleeve, "my whole life there has only ever been you."

"Shush, now. Don't say such things." He murmured soft and soothing, his calloused hand cupping her cheek. He smeared away the dampness on her face. His expression made Jane's heart hurt. "You know, and I know, we are something that can never be.?

"It's really cool," Chloe explained. Her thick, bouncy curls exaggerated the movement of her head. The chocolate-coated almonds of her eyes were expressive. "You should come and see it. I'd love to show it to you."

Jane bit her tongue. Metallic sweetness mingled with her spit and wicked along her teeth. She kept her head bowed over her needlework"one of the only pastimes Graham deemed appropriate for his wife. She watched the dance of thread through the weave: in, out, over, across. Repeat. Things were not nearly as awkward between her and Will as one might expect. Unfortunately, that did not mean everything was great.

"It sounds like it," Will's voice rose and fell with the current of his acquired accent. "I'd really like that," he replied with a smile. He leaned and his blonde-capped head tipped toward Chloe's darker one.

Her fingers tightened on her embroidery frame. Casually, she shot daggers at Will from beneath her lashes. He could like it all he wanted. Jane stayed silent. It was not her place to say anything to the contrary. That did not mean she liked it, because she most definitely didn't.

"Well, why don't you come back to Metro with me" I've got a spare room. You can stay there a few days and see how the world has changed since you've been gone." Chloe's voice was laden with poorly concealed excitement. It bled through to her expression and the hopeful flicker of her eyes.

"What a fabulous idea," Cordelia replied, joining their conversation. "Don't you think so, Jane?" She queried in another attempt to get her daughter to recognize her existence.

Jane looked blandly at Will. "Yeah, fabulous," she parroted her mother, but with a definite lack of enthusiasm.

Chloe clapped; a small triple collision of her palms. "Then it's settled. You can come back with me and mother, tonight."

Jealousy and fear gripped Jane's heart. She put her hoop down and felt her heart fall into her guts. "S-shouldn't you talk to Graham first?"

"I'm sure he would not mind. Would not mind at all," Cordelia went on in the background, happy that Jane was not outright snubbing her. "We needed an escort anyway, and I'm positive Crispin will be glad he did not have to do it."

Disappointment made Jane's limbs feel heavy. "Of course," she murmured, "you're right." She didn't think about the fact she was actually conversing with Cordelia. Her attention was fixed on Will. His summer-blues were likewise trained on her.

"Jane's right," said Will. "I should talk to my father."

She relaxed as Will tried to gracefully refuse the invitation. Reclaiming the needle, she continued the stitch. Perhaps, it was selfish of her, but after all their time apart, she wanted"needed"him close. With all things considered, she needed him in other ways, too.

Chloe was not easily put off. She reached and touched his arm with a laugh. "You're all grown-up now, Will. I think you can go to the Metro without talking to your father." Her eyes twinkled. "Come on, it'll be fun."

Will laughed and rubbed his hand across the short crop of his sandy blonde hair. "Yeah, you're right." His tone was sheepish, and he ducked his head down. "Sure. It'll be fun. I'll just pack a few things. It won't be a big deal."

"Yay!" Chloe chirped. "I knew you'd see it my way." She leaned back and self-satisfied grin cut across her perfect face.

Crispin should have known better, Jane thought. There was no threat to the hallboy he could make that Jane could not trump. She was the Lady of the House. If anyone could make or break the boy's employment, it was her. All she had, had to do was convince the hallboy of it. He was just an apprentice and half her age. It was easy to bully him.

Hiking up her skirt, she ran down the steps; half skidding over each rise and run. Jane was breathless by the time she reached the foyer. Everyone was outside"though everyone only really meant Graham and Crispin and a few of the staff. The groom was attending to the Rider's mount. Graham was in heated conversation with the man she supposed was the Rider. Crispin saw her first. He broke away from the crowd and intercepted her.

"I told you to stay inside."

"And you are not my dad."

Crispin's face was red and his eyes damp. "Listen to me, Jane," he said quickly.

"I always listen; I just don't always pay attention."

"Jane, shut up. Now's not the time. The Rider," Crispin started and stopped. He fought for composure but was failed. "There's been an accident."

"What' Where" I don't understand." She searched his face and tried to divine the events from his expression. Worry closed her throat and a sickly feeling crawled through her stomach. "What happened" Crispin, tell me, what happened?" Her voice rose, shrill and uncontrolled.

"There was an explosion in Old Towne the day before last."Crispin struggled. His jaw flexed tight and pain flit across his features.

"Where's Will?" Jane's breath caught. Since he was the most dear to her, her mind immediately went to him. She knew it couldn't be true, but she had to be sure that he was safe. There could be someone else—some other reason for their grief.

"Jane, my son," Graham's voice was weak, and for the first time since Jane had met him, lost. Crispin turned to the side. He held his nose in the pinch between his fingers and tears dripped from his eyes. His shoulders shook. "My son is dead.?

Present Day " Two Weeks Later

Jane was drunk. Mind-numbingly trashed, but this was nothing new. Not for Jane. This was old hat. Any excuse to drink was a good one. The perceived end to Harper's life was just a convenient one. Why anyone would get married on purpose was beyond her comprehension. It wasn't her place to say, but Jane knew in a year or two, Harper would realize her mistake. But by then she'd be stuck.

She tightened her slack fingers around the neck of her bottle. Stars like shattered glass on velvet twinkled in the near-winter sky. She spoke to them like they cared. "Hope she didn't have any dreams, am I right?" Jane slurred; giving a voice to the thoughts running around in her inebriated skull. Minutes ticked by, draining unused through the hourglass of her life. Maybe, she even fell asleep (which was likely). Her eyes pulled open. "Cause they're done now. OVER," she said into the night as if no time had lapsed from the beginning of her conversation with herself to that moment in it.

Irritated, Jane rolled over onto her side and moved a rock that had been digging into her back. She threw it. The chunk went high, but lacked arc. It landed near her leg. "Mother *&^%er." She kicked at it ineffectually, and only nudged it with her shin. "Fine, *&^%ing stay. I don't care," said Jane to the rock. She flopped back flat on the ground.

It was cold and moist. She could see her breath, and the sky was hazy. Luckily the spirits kept her nice and cozy folded in the plush warmth of their deception. Remembering the bottle that kept her company, Jane pulled it up. It dribbled down the side of her cheek to puddle in the mess of coffee-ground hued hair. She cursed and wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

"Goddamn, this place is quiet." Jane sighed. She reached behind her to grab at the top of the tombstone behind her. Chipped nails scraped against the front and caught on the recessed ridges of carved letters. She put the bottle down. It took a few tries but she managed to keep it from falling over. Grave dirt clung to the synthetic fibers of her cherry red party dress as she rolled over onto her stomach. Indecisive half-curls fell across her face, and obscured her eyes.

Jane let her head fall forward. She rested her brow on the cool marble and set her palm flat on the stone. "I think you would hate it, but there wasn't much of a choice," she whispered. Tears pricked and stung behind her colored contacts. She'd worn a candy pink to compliment her dress. Not that anyone was there to notice. It was just Jane and her ghosts, and the same lonely conversation to go with them.

The pads of her fingers pressed into the grooves chiseled into the tombstone; first the name and then the date of his passing. Her mouth felt thick with spit. "I miss you, Will." She blinked and tears dropped from the seam of her lashes. Jane could feel her chest tighten and her throat close against a burgeoning sob.

Her cheek slid down the stone and she wept on the ground. "Crispin always said I built you up in my head; that no one like you could really exist." Her tears ran into her hair and mixed with the trace of whiskey. She began to bawl, and snorted back snot. Guilt wriggled inside Jane and she felt sick with it. "He lied." Jane pulled back her hand and reached for her bottle. Her fingers grazed the shoulder and knocked it over. The amber fluid spilled out over the ground, and rolled beyond her reach.

##

Three Years Ago

Jane found that when it rained, it poured. It was clich", but true. The pain the Rider brought when he came to Harcolt Place was never ending. She felt punished by it. How could it be Will" It had to be a mistake. She'd vomited all over the peony bush in the throw of her misery. It would have been daintier to faint, but she wasn't as refined as she would like. Who could judge misery, anyway"

She'd sat on the ground in the splatter of her sick, dazed. Will was dead. Her mother had identified the body"her mother" Jane's mind whirled. Why had they contacted her" Nothing made any sense. Not until she realized that Will hadn't been alone. She had only thought about him. She choked on her guilt-tinged grief.

Chloe; why hadn't Jane thought of her" Her nemesis, her friend (at times), her sister; yet she hadn't thought about her for even a moment.

Jane was numb. Her maids led her back into the house, supporting her completely. Her legs refused to work. They changed her clothes and washed her face. They murmured their apologies and encouragements. Then they shoved her into a much too small coach with Graham and Crispin. Together, bound by their anguish, they set out for Old Towne.

Graham checked them into a hotel while they waited to put Will into the ground. The building reminded Jane of her childhood home, before her father died. It reached up high into the sky, but unlike home it came complete with a docking pad for dirigibles. There was one that she liked to watch. It came three times a day and traveled from the hotel to the spaceport and back again. A beautiful, luxurious ferry the airship moved fat and lazy across the endless blue, humming through the clouds.

Hotel M"rchen, true to its name, was a place fit for fairy tales; steam, copper, leather, and wood so dark and rich that she could smell the faint pepper notes that seeped out from the polished grain. Its opulence was overwhelming"and unexpected. Graham was not a man given to extravagance. Their temporary home, three rooms in a neat line on the twelfth floor, made Jane's stomach flip. Jane had left her sky-high nest long ago. The windows were too high and the elevator made of glass. She would have been much happier closer to the ground.

The days that followed their temporary relocation blended together. Graham met with contacts in the city. Crispin dogged his footsteps. Jane spent her time at hospital with her mother, and beautiful broken Chloe. They waited for word"for anything to fuel the fire of their hope"but the Mages wouldn't let them see her. Chloe was too fragile. Her sister was a ruined porcelain doll with which they were not allowed to play.

When they put Will into the ground, the casket was closed. No one would let her view inside. She didn't even know if she wanted to see, but the choice had been taken away. Jane stood bitter and alone; her hair in skull-tight braids and clad in a high-neck charcoal gown. Her eyes had become hollow pits inhabited by shadows. She wore her grief raw and exposed on her sleeve. Her guilt knitted together the shards of her broken heart.

After the funeral, they returned to Hotel M"rchen. Her mother was there. They played nice and dined in the lobby restaurant. It was pretty and mundane. A quartet played an inoffensive tune. The four of them circled the white tablecloth and ate with golden cutlery. Jane rarely looked up from her plate. She cut her meal into tiny bits and pushed it around to give the appearance of consumption.

If she was transparent, Jane didn't care. What did it matter if Graham knew she loved his son' A decade of her life spent under his roof, and she couldn't cobble together anything to say to him. She was the creature he trained her to be. She was seen and not heard. It was a surreal moment to look upon his face, aged (and he was already so much older than she) by sorrow like the rest of them, and see a complete stranger. There was not one personal fact she could pull from her memory. Did he like red or blue" What was his favorite flower" She laughed into her glass of watered down wine. She did know one thing about him, but knowing his *&^% had near rotted off from disease hardly counted.

Her husband lifted a brow and wiped his mouth with a dab of white linen. "Something amuse you?"

Jane tipped up her glass and slouched in her chair. "It was just a memory."

"Oh, Jane, please share it. We could use some levity," her mother replied from her right.

"N-no, it was nothing." She made a vague gesture with her fork, and guiltily averted her gaze. Her eyes settled on Crispin; Neutral territory. "I thought you spoke very well today."

Crispin smirked. The expression was at odds with his red-rimmed ice blue eyes and hawthorn berry-hued nose. "Will was a good man. There was plenty to say." He lifted his scotch and let the conversation die.

That was how dinner went. Each fledgling attempt at connection left to wither on the vine, impotent and unused. It was awkward, and Jane did nothing to alleviate it. She didn't want to make it better. When the meal gasped its last breath, wheezing and grasping for something to cling to; Cordelia took her leave. To Jane's relief, Graham left with Cordelia to escort her back to the hospital.

Jane stayed behind. She drank the dregs from the carafe of diluted wine, and ordered a bottle that her husband would not approve of. She was no stranger to drinking, but they did it rarely at Harcolt Place. They did not entertain often nor was Graham in residence long enough to be a drunkard (at least not in Jane's presence.). Crispin, on the other hand, drank regularly. He stayed and kept her company, and when the wine ran low; he replaced it with spirits.

They drank scotch. It was rare and imported from Earth, one or another, and probably cost Graham a pretty coin. Jane filled the void in her belly with its intoxicating warmth. She looked into her empty glass and wondered what the true cost had been. If she traced the bottle back, would she find someone like her dad lurking in the shadows"

"Come on, Jane," Crispin said at her elbow. He pried her fingers off the glass.

She struggled with him for it, tipping it to catch a drop dripping of the lip. "I'm not done."

"Yes, you are," he said patiently while he signed for the check, charging it to their rooms.

Jane ran her finger inside the tumbler and sucked at her finger. "Let's get some more." She looked around for the waiter, and lifted her hand; waving obnoxiously. Crispin grabbed at her hand and pushed it down. Her other hand sprung up. "Yoo-hoo! Hey." She hissed at Crispin, "he's ignoring"IGNORING"me," said Jane to Crispin and the dining room all at once.

Crispin groaned beneath his breath and "helped" Jane forcibly from her seat. "You've had plenty, Jane." He plucked the scotch glass out of her hand again, and put it back onto the table. "Stop it," he chided.

"I was just getting started, Crispy."

"Don't call me Crispy." He was not amused. His hand closed on her arm. She leaned away from him to lookie-lou at a nearby table.

"Are you drinking tha"hey, Crispy, not so fast," Jane complained loudly as he pulled her away from the table and ushered her toward the door. The couple there looked at the pair of them appalled. Their waiter was having hushed words with the Ma"tre d'H"tel. "You're causing a scene," she hissed in a stage whisper to Crispin as she tripped over the hem of her sober gown. They were quickly becoming the center of attention.

"I am going to murder you, Jane." Crispin promised low and sinister as he helped her up.

"It's about *&^%ing time." She said to the Ma"tre d'H"tel as he approached. "We need more—." Crispin gave her a bone rattling shake. "Hey, stop, that hurts." She complained.

Crispin pressed a hand to his eyes and dragged it down toward his mouth. "She's not feeling well. Allergic to," he looked around, "mushrooms." He said finally pointing back at their plates. "We are very disappointed. Now, if you would pardon us, we were just leaving." His hands closed firm on Jane's arm (again) and he wrenched her toward the lobby. "No, we don't need an ambulance. Thank you." He said cutting off the man before he even began to talk. "But you should talk to your chef. You need better descriptions on the menu." He used his words to keep the man at bay, and wrestled with Jane until she was out the door. Her fingers stuck like an octopus" suckers to the frame edge. He slapped at her hands until his stung.

Jane giggled. It shook the whole of her body. She released the door and sagged in Crispin's arms. Her head lolled backward like her neck was broken. "I'm still thirsty."

He tried to make her walk. It was hard. Jane refused to help. Accordion-like, her legs bent. He got her into the lift. She clung to his waistcoat. "Oh my god, make it stop." She groaned as it sped upward to their floor at stomach fluttering speeds. The world outside whisked past the clear panes of glass. She turned green around the gills and belched when the conveyance stopped. The doors opened with the soft ringing of a bell.

"Don't you *&^%ing dare," Crispin warned. "I will leave you right here," he swore.

They staggered down the hallway to their rooms. Her head was spinning from the elevator ride, and she was no longer having fun. "Will wouldn't," she chastised, "he would stay with me." Crispin fought with the door. Unlocking it, he helped Jane inside. Tears'she didn't think she had any left, but she had been wrong"wet her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. "He wouldn't ever"."

"Jane," Crispin helped her to the bed and sat her on the edge. He wiped the tears from her cheeks, and felt fresh ones brewing in his eyes. "He's gone. He's not coming back." He said patiently.

She didn't feel sick any more. She didn't feel the giggly warmth. What she did feel was empty inside, again. There wasn't enough spirits to keep her full. Not for long. Crispin eased her back onto the bed, and she clung to his lapels. "Please, make him come back. I love him so much, you have to tell him." She hiccuped and sniveled. "Make him understand, he can't leave. Not again."

"I'm sorry, Jane, but he already has."

Once she saw, she couldn't unsee.

Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. She had not been adequately prepared. *&^% adequately'she hadn't been prepared at all. Perhaps, that was his intention all along. If it was, he was a complete jerk in Jane's estimation. As the thought filtered through her mind, she shot the good doctor a scathing look.

"That"oh my god," she swallowed. Her mouth was too dry, "is that Chloe?" Her voice broke. It wasn't a anything that she had expected; nothing that she had imagined. It"not she"was a mishmash of flesh and blood. It was a body with the chest cracked open and packed with gauze, all red and oozing. It was bandages and tubes. It was stitches on swollen discolored skin and startling bulbous mounds.

It was not perfect, sparkling Chloe with her bouncy wood-dark curls and chocolate-coated almond eyes. It was not the effervescent darling that twisted everyone around her finger. It was not the selfish girl who had turned into a soft-hearted woman. It was not her sister.

The world felt small. It pressed in against Jane from all sides and angles. She couldn't breathe. Her fingers hooked under the high neck of her dark gown. The doctor was talking again. It's heart"Chloe's heart"kept failing. They had to keep her open for all the operations. Her organs weren't any better off. They were fighting to keep her alive, because he mother wouldn't let her die. It didn't matter that she didn't respond to any of the tests; that no telepath could find a whisper of a thought in the recesses of her battered brain.

Doctor Birchwood needed Jane's help. He needed her to get her mother to let go. Chloe was never coming back. Whether Cordelia accepted it or not, it made no difference. The hospital would end her life, eventually. It was inhumane not to. It would just be easier if she let them; faster. Jane felt woozy and her head felt light. She didn't want the responsibility, but she didn't have much choice.

"Fine," Jane conceded, "I'll do what I can.?

Present Day " Post Yule Holiday

She had a head for time, even when she drank. There had been too many years on a schedule for her to throw the clock out the window. It was still dark out when she pulled open her swollen, gritty eyes. Jane winced. Her head was pounding. Between the tears and drink; she'd had far too much of everything the night before. What day was it" She wasn't sure right off. Did she have to work" There was a sneaking suspicion that she did.

Slowly, Jane sat up. The room was cold. She wondered how long it would take the water to heat for a shower. What she really needed was a fresh hot water charm, but magic was expensive. Maybe, she'd put a collection jar in the kitchen for motivation to pinch her coppers. Maybe; It was one of the dozen little things she should do, but wouldn't.

Jane didn't move quickly. The ache in her head was unforgiving, and the hollow feeling in her gut only made it worse. Tears brewed fresh behind her lashes. Swallowing thickly, she clutched her blanket around her to protect her from the vision and her memories. Had it been a dream" A waking one, perhaps, or maybe there had been more to her drink than whatever Katt had been serving"but she didn't fancy Katt was that kind of girl.

Her mouth and nose scrunched. No, not that kind of girl, Jane decided; definitely not that kind of girl. What then" She wondered. Jane had the notion that everything was going well. She was employed and had a roof over her head. There was Levi"maybe that was it. She stood and cocooned her blanket around her body and mermaid-walked toward the kitchen. Had it been too much, too soon' Going to his home for the winter holidays was rash. Still, was it reason enough to be cruel"

Guilt panged in her chest and she wet her mouth with a sweep of her tongue. Maybe, it was. What did it matter anyway' It was only flight-of-fancy. It wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't even real. Jane tucked her chin into her blanket. Her eyes were raw and the tears hurt. "A world without you, what sort of question is that anyway?" She grumbled beneath her breath. "Stupid philosophical nonsense," she asserted, even if the queasy feeling winding through her middle didn't agree. What she needed was coffee and more of the dog that bit her. That was what would get her through the day, she decided.

**

Jane stared stupefied at the hourglass that sat on her kitchen table like it belonged there. The object was ridiculously simple; innocuous. Jane's drink-twisted memories from the night before painted the offending trinket in a different light. It had been larger and way more swirly; otherworldly. It could have been the drink, or it could have been the disgusting skeleton hand that held it"either way, it had been different the night before. Now it was just an hourglass with the sand granules dripping through the cinched middle. She didn't want to admit it was real. There was a dim recollection circulating through her brain. One in which she took the hourglass from the bar because it belonged to her. Why the *&^% would she want to own it' Why would she even believe it was hers to begin with"

A world without"

The question echoed through her psyche. Jane pressed the curl of her fingers against her mouth. Was it true, then" She uncovered her hand and reached for the artifact. Was that what a world without her would be like" Sorrow creased her worn features; pulling lines into her still youthful visage. She blinked and fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Why the *&^% did the world have to be better without her in it"

Present Day " Post Yule Holiday

Jane was trying to work. It was just an unsuccessful endeavor. She slid her hand across the stack of papers in front of her. They spread in an arc like playing cards. What was she trying to do again? She couldn't remember. What she could remember was the vision from the hourglass. It ate away at her; her thoughts return to it time and again.

The shipping yard was busy. She didn't have to see if to know it to be true. Jane could hear the echoes ricocheting off the warehouse walls up into the small second-floor office Connor gave her to use. She carefully placed her quill back onto the stand it shared with the ink well. Standing, she walked to the large window that overlooked the first floor. She caught a glimpse of the Boys"Paddy and Seamus"but not a hair from Angus. Where had he gotten off to"

Jane leaned against the glass, searching what she could easily see. Her gaze skimmed over stacked pallets and stray crates. A smile curved her mouth when she saw Connor and Angus exit the first floor delivery office; their heads bent over a shipping slip. Everyone appeared occupied. It gave her opportunity, and Jane was very thirsty.

Returning to her desk, she reached underneath and pulled her soft sided hobo bag into her lap. Pressing the side of her forefinger to her mouth, she bit lightly at the bend of her second knuckle. Should she" Adrenaline burst into her veins at the question. She didn't allow herself another thought; she opened the bag and gazed down at what was hidden within.

She tapped her fingers to her mouth. The hourglass wasn't what she wanted, but there it was softly shining beneath the office light. She wanted the miniature bottles that rattled around beneath it. Why hadn't she left it at home" Nervous, she chewed at her barely recovered thumbnail.

The bitter taste of polish, carried by the flecks, stung her tongue. For some reason, she just couldn't leave it behind, couldn't leave it alone. At the last moment, practically out the door, she put it in her purse. Now there it was beckoning to her. God, she wanted a drink. Trembling, she rubbed her fingers hard against the center of her brow, just above the bridge of her nose. To get her drink, she'd have to touch the thing"again?and she had touched it far too much already.

Desperate, Jane caught her lips in the pinch of her fingers. A decision; she had to make one.

Connor talked to Anya the day Jane left work early.

"What do you mean she was distressed?" Anya started at Connor.

"She didn't say much lass, only saw her run out of here upset. I sent Phillip for her, but he lost her. She's not been back in two days. Figured with all the shyt* going on you should know." Connor wasn't a lady's man, hell he didn't know much about women aside from what he knew between the sheets. He was smart enough to know when a lass was crying it was either a man who upset her or something she can't control.

"Thank you Connor." Anya knew where Jane lived and decided to go hunt her down. Maybe this was the one time she wished she had one of those cell contraptions to call Jane's numbers. She knocked on the door, but nothing. Came back a few hours later, nothing and finally after two days of trying to track Jane down, she left a note under her door and on her door.

Jane, please come and see me at the Nest. I need you to find me, I miss you and I think you need me too. I had a horrible feeling something bad has happened to you, I don't know why, I really don't know why. Please come and talk to me, I've been looking for you for three days, and I do not know where you have been. I met the Brit and he said you were safe when you left him the other night. Whatever is going on, you have to know people care about you. Please Jane.

Love always, Anya.

Three Years Ago

Cordelia didn't put Chloe into the ground. She went beneath the flames. Her perfect bouncing curls and chocolate-coated almond eyes turned to ash. Jane was not invited. She didn't see her go into the box. She didn't say good-bye. It wasn't until she went back to hospital, stumbling and stinking of debauchery, that Doctor Birchwood told her"but didn't she know already? Chloe was gone. Everyone was sorry'so sorry"but it was for the best. She was in a better place.

Jane was tired. It had seemed prudent, at the time, to give her mother space; room to make the right decision. She hadn't considered, however, that she might come to a decision swiftly. In her fanciful notions, Cordelia was laboring against the will of Doctor Birchwood all the while. As it turned out, that wasn't true. Her sister was finally dead. The rest was a formality. Had Cordelia taken her up on her offer" Did she blame Jane for her beloved's demise" Jane didn't know. She didn't know if she cared. She didn't give herself a chance to. Instead, she writhed beneath disco lights and drowned herself in drink.

A few days after her trip to hospital, Jane looked around her sister's flat; an ice pack pressed to a mysterious goose-egg knot that had popped up on her forehead. Sobriety peeked timidly through the fog of her hangover. She sat on her sister's couch and ate the last of her sister's food. The cabinets were bare. A lukewarm feeling of indifference had settled through the core of her, and separated her from what was real. Jane ate dry ramen noodles. The brittle stuff rained down onto her lap.

It was easy to forget, back at Harcolt Place, that she wasn't as old as circumstance demanded she behave. So many years spent playing house bound in scalp-aching braids and smothered in somber wool. Jane was young, and she wanted to act like it. Chloe was gone. Will was gone. Her excuses were spent.

It was time to go home.

Anya was gone and Angus wasn't sure when she was coming back, she said a week, but if she decided to leave and not come back, he knew what he was supposed to do. He hired a local kid around Jane's apartment to watch when she came back. Early in the morning the kid got him a message she was there. As per Anya's instructions, Angus headed over there.

He had groceries, a bottle of Sansyin, socks, baked goods from another bakery and some money. Connor gave him the money, Anya didn't. It was Jane's pay check from when she left. Angus knocked on the door, he knocked until she answered. If she didn't answer, he tried the door and found it open.

"Jane, Anya said you need these. Don't argue with me lass. I'm not sure when she's going to be back, but until she's back she said it was my job to make sure you eat and if you need help with anything, let me know." He filled her cold box with some food and left the bottle for her.

"Connor said here is your money from when you last worked." It was more than he normally paid her. Angus waited to see if she needed anything else before leaving.

Three Years Ago

It was warm the day she left. The sky was blue and the clouds looked like dragons skimming over the woodlands that ringed the city proper. Leaf-heavy branches, brilliant in the colors of life, swished and swayed beneath a sweetly scented breeze. Birds sang. It was beautiful, marred only by the knowledge that Jane was going home.

She only had the one bag and it rattled around on the floor of the hackney coach. The conveyance rumbled over the uneven ground, rickety and ill-suited to the journey. It was a merchant road riddled with deep tracks from the rainy season. They weren't the only ones on it, but the further they went from the perimeter the more scarce company became. It wasn't that Jane actually spoke to anyone. Her only real companion was the bottle she had taken from her sister's closet.

Harcolt Place; Jane hadn't known what to expect. She viewed the decaying structure with detachment. It was a home as much as any place could be anyone's. Her heart did not soar with relief. She did not thank her stars or her husband's God to see the familiar lines and garden. Indifference, it beat fitfully through her veins in time with the beat of her heart.

As the hack came to a stop at the end of the drive, the groom grabbed the harness of the snorting, pawing pair. The driver swung down from his box and opened the door. His hand out, he assisted her down and helped her with her bag. The butler and housekeeper were already descending the front steps. Her bag was handed off to the first footman who handed it to the third housemaid. Everyone was a buzz of activity swarming to and fro at their Mistress" arrival.

Jane could have done without all the hoopla. She was rarely away from the grounds. Maybe it was an occasion that warranted a full turn out. She was unconvinced. The first footman remained behind as the groom saw to the horses. The driver would be fed and paid, and his horses rested before he was dismissed. The butler and housekeeper stayed with her, keeping pace as they climbed the front steps. The second footman opened the door and admitted them to the foyer. They took turns filling her in and the goings-on of the estate while she and Graham had been absent, dogging her footsteps.

She stopped short, halfway up the stairs to the upper floor. The housekeeper collided with the butler in a soft murmur of apology. "When is my husband due to return?" Jane inquired.

"Day after next, Mistress," the butler supplied.

"Thank you," Jane responded. "You're dismissed."

"But Mistress?"" The housekeeper began. Jane's return had upset her day, and now she needed instruction.

Jane hefted up the bottle she had been nursing since she left town. She could have sworn their eyes were going to pop right out at the sight. She laughed, spirits dripping down the front of her somber gown. "Look, I don't really care. You go ahead and do whatever. Tell the cook to make whatever you want for dinner. Serve it when it's done," Jane continued. She snapped her fingers. "Bam; all taken care of. I don't really think we need to talk any more about it." She tipped the bottle at the butler. "I'm pretty sure you know your duties already. I'm not expecting guests." Jane took another drink. "Now you're both dismissed."

"Y-yes, Mistress," the housekeeper answered. The butler did as well, but with a curt nod. They both turned and went back to the main floor.

Jane continued on to her room. She opened the door and looked, but did not go, inside. A neat chamber with little that was actually hers and not handpicked by Graham. Boo. That was not where she wanted to be. She drifted, disgust and restlessness penetrating her limbs along with the warmth of the drink she carried. She did not want to be there. Harcolt Place's walls felt like a trap. A clever cage constructed to mimic a real home.

From a first-floor window she spied the stone folly. The folly, her precious hideaway; her secret place built up with all her hidden treasures and dreams. The emptiness she'd carried since learning of Will's demise lurched warmly in her chest. Tears sprang fresh to her eyes and she turned away from the sight. Jane did not want to be at Harcolt Place, and she feared she'd never leave it. The thought made her angry. Her sorrow was replaced with fury. Why should she have to stay"

Jane stormed back downstairs all movement and determination. She went to the kitchen. The cook and the kitchen and scullery maids were busy preparing for dinner. Vegetables in various states-of-preparation filled bowls and colanders. There was a pie crust floured and rolled out on a block. They looked at her in alarm. "Is the driver still here?" She asked. She was answered with stupid looks. "Is he still here?" She asked firm and loud.

"Yes, Mistress," the cook answered, cleaning his hands on the bottom of his apron.

"Where?"

"In the servant's hall," the cook explained, indicating the narrow door at the end of the kitchen that led down to the subfloor that also housed the wine cellar, several of the servant's rooms, and the butler's office.

"Very good," Jane said and turned to the kitchen maid. "I want you to tell him that he is taking me back to town when he leaves.?

Present Day

If she had thought it once, Jane had thought it a million times: Life sucked. Whenever she thought she had one over on fate, it just flipped her over and gave it to her without lube. Snot dripped from her raw nostrils and her eyes felt like they were full of sand. Her guts hated her. She hated her guts.

Nigel and his *&^%ed up ideas.

Jane clenched her jaw. Weakly, she swung back her arm. Coffee-ground half curls clung to the sweat that beaded down her drawn face. "Let me the *&^% go," she demanded, her voice rough from what seemed like nonstop vomiting. A nurse hovered at her elbow. At least she thought it was a nurse. Nigel had said that the people he hired would help. They were experts. If they did it for a living, Jane thought, they sucked at it. Genevieve, she thought the woman's name was, clung to her arm with a surprisingly firm grip.

"You're okay," Genevieve said soothingly. Her voice was even and calm and fit with her petite stature. Her blonde hair was cut short and her eyes were gray. "Let's just see if we can walk over to the bathroom, shall we?"

"I'm not some kid and you know what? Your hair makes you look ugly." Jane said petulantly. The fire stayed only in her voice. She couldn't force her body to cooperate.

"I just thought you might like to throw up in the toilet this time."

"Oh, just shut the *&^% up." Jane growled. It wasn't going to work. She could feel the world pressing in against her skin. There was a breath tickling her neck and Doom was right around the corner. Each time a shadow moved, she was sure that it was the end.

It wasn't like Jane hadn't tried. She had gotten further this time than the one before and the one before that. But she was weak. Clear thoughts evaded her. Dragging her hand over her gummy lips Jane could only think about how thirsty she was. She swallowed reflexively at the idea. Her tongue rubbed against the gritty contour of her mouth.

It had all seemed like a good idea at the time. Nigel would understand. He had to. She was weak. It was okay. No one was perfect. Her heart throbbed and Jane fancied she could hear it as the blood filled her head. It didn't seem like the stuff had anywhere to go. It just pounded angrily in her skull, pulsing like the lights in the disco.

Jane was pathetic. She pushed away from Genevieve with all the strength she had left. It would have been easier, Jane thought, to move a mountain. Still she twisted and thrashed, she fought for her freedom. Stumbling into the hall wall, she pressed against the contour. She dug her fingers into the surface. A nail broke. She didn't care. It kept her from sliding down to the ground. Jane didn't want to sit.

She wanted to stand. She wanted to walk. She wanted to find something to drink. Experience told her that if she could only get a drink, everything in the world would be right again. Darkness flickered at the corners of her awareness, scuttling like carapaces in and out of her periphery. Frantic, Jane scrambled back away from the wall. Fingers tightened on her arm. Screaming, she lashed out at them. "Let me go!" She howled.

"It's all right," Genevieve said softly. "You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you." The woman continued stroking sweat-knotted coffee dark hair. Her fingers dug in to the arm she held and she coerced Jane and her unpredictable gag reflex toward the lavatory.

((From this point the interlude Digital Dispatch and A Girl Just Wants to Have Fun will have content/situational overlap. The bulk of what happens in this time period will transpire in the thread Digital Dispatch.))

Jane yanked open the front door. The persistent rap of knuckles against the door was echoed by the throbbing in her head. She was hung over"again. Death was what she felt like and she swore she had only just fallen asleep. Now she was awake. Awake and pissed off.

"What the *&^% do you want," she spat, collapsing against the inner frame of the door. She kept the door close to her, ready to close it again if the source of her annoyance was more irritating than she could bear. What she saw on her doorstep was surprising. Confused, she blinked sedately and rubbed the film from her sleep-hazed eyes with her balled fist.

The heavy-set workman put his gloved hands up. "Hey, I'm just working here," he said.

The man had an accent that Jane couldn't quite place. It was familiar, but unnameable. When he spoke the heavy lines in his cheeks moved as much as his mouth did, disappearing beneath his thick, chest-length beard. To Jane's eyes he was all hair: thick brows, full beard, and a wiry, plaited brown mane. "I think you've got the wrong place," she replied.

When she started to close the door, his hand went out and got in the way. "Hey, now, I'm at the right place. Just cool it a minute." He kept his fingers curled over the side of the door and with his other hand pulled out a folded paper. "This is the right place." He said with certainty.

Jane took the teeny square of paper. She watched him cautiously as she unfolded each bend. There were many of them and it took an uncomfortably long time to unfold it completely. Dark brows knitted as she skimmed the sheet. It was her address. Dread sank like a stone in her guts. "You're mistaken," Jane informed him. Her voice shook. "I'm not moving. I don't know who hired you or what they said, but I'm paid up for the next six months in advance." She tried for dismissive authority. Unfortunately, she didn't think she managed it.

"This here says—," the man objected. She cut him off with a wave of her hand. He took a step back away from the door when Jane stepped out of the apartment.

The porch was cold beneath her bare feet. She was dressed for lounging, and crossed her arms over her chest to protect herself from the morning chill. From her vantage point she looked out into the usually sleepy street. There was a cart and more men. They worked at angling a wooden plank against the back of the conveyance. At the head of the vehicle someone tended to a team of mules. Her dread was joined by panic.

It was happening too fast. Her thoughts tumbled clumsily over one another. "I don't give a *&^% what it says," Jane shrieked as she backed toward the threshold, reaching out to grab the side of the door. "I'm not moving. You're not coming in and I don't care what anyone has to say about it. I sure as *&^% don't give a damn about whomever paid you to come here and steal my stuff."

"Look, lady," the Workman said, "if you want to take it up with him, you can." He looked at his watch. "He's supposed to be here." He explained and held up a finger. "You just stay right here." Then he walked back toward the street and the cart.

"Oh, I plan on doing exactly that,? Jane informed his back.

Present Day

The metallic burst of blood filled her mouth. The coin-like taste was secondary to the pain that radiated through her face. She spat out a mouthful of the stuff. She'd crumpled when he'd hit her. He'd rang her bell and she was down. The blood didn't have far to go, splattering on the slick mat beneath her hanging head. Focused as the brunette was on the ringing in her skull, Jane didn't notice his next move until it was too late. Back in some misguided place inside her head, she'd thought he'd let her recover. She had been wrong.

Nigel followed the punch with a solid kick to her unprotected gut. The breath left her body. Jane curled like a pill bug. Tears stung her eyes and the sour taste of gastric juice burned her throat. He hadn't held back. All she could do was hurt.

She felt helpless, and was, for a long time. Her eyes stayed on Nigel as much as her concentration (and tears) would allow. "Don't like be afraid to like hit me like I've got a *&^%," Jane complained when she had control of herself again. Working her jaw, she cautiously explored the damage to her mouth with the probe of her tongue. The sanguine-coat made her stomach turn. Unfolding herself, she propped herself up on one elbow with her other arm curled over her stomach; cradling her gut. The tail of her dark colored pony tail dragged through the puddle of bloody spittle.

"Anyone who wants to hurt you won't be," Nigel countered matter-of-fact, aloof and cool. He stood above her a tower of indifference. "You should be ready for it. Anticipate it. " His knees popped when he knelt down beside her. He rubbed a smudge of blood away from beneath the split in her swelling lip. "I'll tell you one thing, Jane, you let them get this close," he paused and his knee dropped to the mat, "and you're dead."

Jane was unsettled. She stared out into the dark, lying on her side with Nigel sprawled behind her; tangled in the sheets. The soft sound of his breathing mixed with the rush of blood in her ears. Her chest was tight. No matter how she tried, she could not escape the feeling of impending doom. It had settled on her breast and slowly crushed her.

Deliberately she drew in a mouthful of air, expanding her chest. Her lungs and ribs stretched, but the feeling of dread lingered. It made her feel frustrated and angry, but most of all, afraid. She blinked and saw Chloe. It had seemed real. That if she had wanted to (and she hadn't), Jane could have reached out and felt the grotesque lump of swollen meat her sister had become.

She wouldn't sleep in that bed again. There were plenty of empty rooms. She'd just pick another one and move. No one would mind. If they did they could *&^% themselves. Worrying her bruised lip beneath her teeth, she thought about the last time she had seen her sister. Thoughts of the hospital filled her mind"the scent, the sound,and taste that despair and sickness gave the air. She thought about Cordelia, too. The hospital was the last place she thought she'd seen her mother. Now she was dead just like Chloe. Jane wondered if Graham had put her in the ground or burned her. She had never bothered to find out.

"...wretched disappointment...."

Adrenaline hit her blood and Jane held her breath. The mattress creaked and Nigel shifted position. Fear made her tongue feel like it was swelling in her mouth, ready to strangle her. In the dark her already unreliable field of vision narrowed. "N-Nigel?" Jane whispered, but didn't turn around. Was he awake and *&^%ing with her or talking in his sleep" She wanted either one to be true, but the voice had been feminine and familiar.

She felt the mattress sag near her knees. Her pulse jumped. Terror gripped her. Her breath was short; shallow puffs that made her head feel light. It was a hallucination, Jane told herself. Brown eyes owlishly wide, she gave darting looks toward the foot of the bed. Like a bunny caught in the grass, she stayed perfectly still.

It was all in her head.

"...so much better from you." The voice continued, reed-thin and disappointed. "...all my planning. All my effort...wasted on you...base, stupid whore." Each word took effort as if, like smoke, each sound was pulled apart by the air that moved in the room.

A chill ran the length of Jane's spine and she trembled. She could just make out a shape beside her legs. A shadowy outline of gray against black. Why did this keep happening to her" Why couldn't she be like everyone else? It was a figment of her imagination and of a time way long past—wasn't it"

The shadow reached for her. It wasn't real.

Jane felt the parchment dryness of a withered hand on her face. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

Her eyes closed tight. Jane tried not to move, even as she shook. Tried not to breathe. Tried not to exist.

"Jane?" Nigel's sleep-thick voice asked from behind her. "Feck, lass," he mumbled, almost incoherent. He tossed the edge of the blanket over her side and pulled her up against the half-curl of his body. The moment his eyes closed he was back asleep. His breath fell warm across her shoulder.

She waited in the night-shadowed room. Her and her heart beat. She waited for the ghost (or was it her own mind") to torment her again. Nigel, the lucky bastard, was asleep. Jane wished she could do the same. Sleep was not going to be her friend any time soon. The shadowy figure was gone'dispelled when Nigel spoke"but like Chloe, the memory of the apparition lingered. Cordelia dominated the thoughts in her sleep deprived brain.

((influenced by this playable))

Jane was drunk.

She hadn't been drunk in a long time. Thirty-odd days felt like a life time. The booze felt good going down. It warmed in her veins like a liquid hug. It'd happened faster than she remembered. Maybe it was the pills. They said she wasn't supposed to drink on them. Jane just didn't care. She was tired of the jumble of conflicting realities. Duel realities that had once been so clear and concise, now a knot of indistinct possibility. She felt crazy. Maybe it was time she acted crazy, too.

Part of her knew Nigel would be disappointed. It was her lot in life to let down everyone that knew her. It was her one super true talent. She wouldn't be surprised if he tossed her to the curb. He was supposed to be helping her, but how could he help someone who couldn't even help themselves"

Jane dropped onto the ground. It was soft, thawing from the winter freeze to welcome spring. The snow was gone but the grass was yellow and withered. She wished, for a moment, that she hadn't done it; that she hadn't had the shots. That she'd stayed sober. Jane had worked hard for her sobriety. Now it was gone. Poof, just like that, all the effort amounted to *&^%.

"You left me all alone," she complained to the tombstone. Jane leaned against it and caressed the front. "All the time," she sniffed, "all you've ever done is leave." She swallowed back the spit and blinked away the tears. "I love you so much, Will," she whispered, "and you threw it all away." Jane wrapped herself up in her sorrow and self-pity. She was getting really good at feeling sorry for herself.

The air around her changed. There was pressure on her skin. The nerves pricked with a tingle of anticipation. Her heart ached. She could smell him on the air: sea spray and sun, warm spice and earth. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. Of all the torments her *&^%ed up brain had wrought on her, this was the worst.

Her expression contorted, shaped now by the longing ache at the core of her being. He was dead and she still loved him. He was a part of her that would always be missing. Would anything ever replace that void he'd left behind" Jane rubbed the butt of her palm hard against her chest and tried to make the empty place inside her stop hurting. "You should have stayed with me," she said to the stone.

Jane felt the weight of arms wrap around her. It was surreal and left her feeling like she longer knew her own skin. "I know," whispered his long unheard (and nearly forgotten) voice. The sound of it intimate and sincere. It embodied all the longing Jane felt inside her. "I'm sorry."

Hiccuping, Jane tried to remember that it wasn't real. It was just something that lived inside her head, like her mother and Chloe. Like the twisted realities that showed her what could have been but wasn't. "So am I," she wept against the curl of ghostly arms, slouched heavily against William's tombstone.

((relates to this playable and this one, too))

Three Months Ago (Give or Take a Week)

"I wasn't trying to break my hand," Jane said peevishly. Her nostrils flared and her lip curled in the beginning of a discontented snarl. Coffee-ground brown half-curls cascaded in a carefree tumble from a low ponytail over her shoulder. Frizzy-almost-curls tickled the side of her face. She leaned with her back against the kitchen counter, trying to keep the movement of her swollen hand to a minimum. As long as she didn't move it, the pain wasn't too bad. That could also be the pain killers kicking in.

"Feck, lass, that does not change that you did," Nigel admonished in his clear, cultured accent. "Boxer's fracture," he said as he filled a bag with ice, "at the fifth metacarpal." He closed the freezer and tied a hefty knot in the bag he held. His chin went up as he approached her. "A healer will be over in the morning," Nigel continued as he gently took her hand and re-explored her injury with familiarity. "We just need to clean up these cuts." He skimmed a finger over the abrasions on her knuckle. "I will tape it for you. That should hold you until the healer arrives."

Jane bit her lip; swallowing the whimper that came when he touched her fingers. "It *&^%ing hurts," she complained. As much as she wanted to be a hard *&^, Jane couldn't keep the whine out of her voice. "He'll get here before I have to leave for work, won't he" I can't go to work with a *&^%ing broken hand." She said crabbily.

"Want me to go to work with you and help you get off?" Nigel smirked. The expression marred his otherwise aloof, composed features.

His piercing blue eyes settled on Jane. Color flushed warm across her cheeks. Her gaze cut to the side as she rolled her eyes. "Shut the *&^% up.? The brunette exhaled a laugh that tripped through her words. Jane didn't want to be amused. She wanted to take her hand away and swarm off in a tiff. Damn him, she thought, for making her laugh anyway. Nigel's smirk stayed, mocking her in the cool depth of his eyes. It was like he could read her mind. Maybe, her expression had given her away.

He gave her the ice before he left to find the first aid kit. Gingerly, she settled the bag over her knuckle. The chill penetrated the swollen skin that had begun to discolor; another injury to add to the growing list.

It was a shame that it wouldn't be the last.

Two and a Quarter Months Ago (Give or Take a Week)

Jane didn't know what help looked like, but she was beginning to think that, maybe, this wasn't it. Aqua-tinted eyes settled on the distorted reflection that curved around the prominent crystal ball. Bruises peeked out from beneath the layer of cover-up she had smeared on before she left the Compound. "Bleh," she said in distaste. Scrubbing her hand against her face, she blended the make-up over her cheek, feathering it out toward her ear. Next time she would leave Nigel's earlier. Then she wouldn't need to slap-and-dash to catch the bus.

The scent of (supposedly) Chakra balancing incense made Jane's head feel heavy. Crystal and mirror accented fabrics in purple, aquamarine, and orange draped from the walls and covered the table. A beaded curtain protected a hallway from casual perusal. She wiped the foundation off on the leg of her loose yoga pants and reached for her soft-sided hobo bag. Pulling it across her chest she found her borrowed phone inside it and checked the time. It felt a little rude, but Jane operated on a schedule.

"Um, hey?" Jane inquired loudly as she walked around the table. The phone was dropped back into her purse when she came to stand behind one of the chairs. Awkwardly, she settled her hands onto it. "I don't really know how long something like this takes," she continued, beating a soft rhythm on the chair top, "or like what I'm supposed to be doing?"

The Mystic Montgomery Temple swept back the beaded curtain. Jane had a hard time deciding how old the man was supposed to be. His tawny hair was straight and long. A crystal studded circlet pinned the silky length to the sides of his narrow face. His brown eyes were docile and patient and matched his fluid mannerisms. "Breathe deeply, Miss Bunbury." His voice was whisper-thin, as if he was trying to emulate the sound of the wind brushing through the trees when he spoke.

"Um, sure," she said. Jane let the weight of her purse pull her hand down to her side. Her expression was dubious, but she took in deep herbal-scented breaths. Successful or not; she was paying for the Mystic's time. She might as well try.

"Did you follow the diet I provided for you?" He asked as he set out several crystals and stones. Yellow topaz, moonstone, several different quartz, and a chunk of lapis lazuli made a half-moon arc on one side of the table. This procedure was followed with the lighting of two candles. He set them out to flank the crystal globe centered on the table.

The air whistled through her nose as she inhaled. "Yes," Jane answered. It had been a hellish week of eating spinach, kale, lemon, and water. She couldn't wait to have a cup of coffee"glorious, glorious caffeine"and sugar. She could kill for a doughnut. "I brought the things you asked for," she said uneasily. Pulling her bag up, she searched inside and pulled from the coral-colored purse her box of ruined memories. Her hand tipped side-to-side as she decided what to do with it. Finally, she held it out to him.

Montgomery took the small box and set it on the table above the stones. "Thank you." He bowed his head and gestured to the seat that Jane lingered behind. "Please, Miss Bunbury, sit." Montgomery pulled his hand back in against his chest, the flat of his palm over his heart. With his other, he pulled out a chair and sat.

Jane dropped her purse onto the floor beside the table leg and settled into the chair. Her hands folded in her lap. Her lips rolled in. "Ah, now what?"

He closed his eyes and took a deliberate and loud breath that flared his nostrils wide. "Breathe."

"Breathe," she said with a droopy eyed look at the man. Her words stretched with her continued indecision. Hadn't she already been breathing" Whatever, she thought, and let the perfumed air fill her nose and lungs until she could taste it. Jane couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was stupid and she was wasting her time. But she was desperate, wasn't she" Though, in reflection, maybe she wasn't so desperate that she had to give credence to advertisements stapled to phone poles.

"Close your eyes," Montgomery directed. Jane complied. "Repeat after me," he intoned and launched into a repeating chant of vowel sounds composed of "a", "o", and "e". Clumsily, she joined the mantra, and remained half a beat behind in the musical vibrations until Jane's ears were buzzing with the sound. Her body started to relax. The feeling of generally appearing ridiculous faded into the background. Her mind cleared. Sure, it took a few minutes, but she got there.

Mr. Temple held the last note until his body could no longer sustain the tone. "Open your eyes," he said quietly. Her eyelids twitched and she opened them obediently. "Look into the crystal ball. See how it reflects. What do you see?"

"Myself," Jane answered.

"Accept it and then move past it. See through your reflection. Imagine yourself swimming through the ball. You start at the edge, and move toward the center, and like water there is resistance; Push against it. Find the heart of the crystal." Montgomery took a purposeful breath. "Remember to breathe. Take the air in; feel it expand your lungs, stretch your ribs, and travel through your blood. Feel the warmth as your blood goes into your heart and out again, like your breath. In and Out."He released his breath as deliberately as he took it in.

In and out; Jane tried to keep her brain out of the gutter. She let her thoughts drift away from herself and found the flickering glow at the heart of the ball. The Mystic's voice stayed at the edge of her awareness like a song she couldn't quite hear. Had he begun to chant again or maybe it was an incantation' She wasn't sure. Something inside her lifted and dropped, rolling with the sound of words she didn't understand. She searched the radiance that pulsed and flared beneath her eyes. It expanded until it filled the crystal. Heat kissed against her face. It crawled up her arms and crackled in the frizzy indecisive mess of her dark hair.

Jane was swallowed in the flames and, belatedly, remembered to breathe.

Two Weeks Ago

"I think I'm ready. It's *&^%ing time we got this started," Jane asserted. She pulled her hands through her hair and twisted the dark mane into a loose top knot. "Waiting won't do anything but waste more time," she said with growing heat. Passionate, her heart beat frantically in her breast and she felt her mouth turn gritty from nerves. "I've got to put myself out there. I just gotta."

"Jane, love, this is a dangerous undertaking. You may have learned some fundamentals, but you are still a novice. I do not foresee you surviving should they discover your intentions."

"You'll be there, won't you?" She asked. Her brown eyes widened and her breath hitched. Panic poked at the edges of her resolve like a child prodding a tethered dog. Didn't he understand" This was something she had to do, whether he helped her or not. It was just going to be more successful if he did. Scrubbing her knuckle against her nose, Jane moved away from Nigel. Her heels clicked on the snow white marble floor. The loose twist of her hair unwound, spiraling down her back. "I've picked a place already. I'm not going to do anything stupid. Well, not too stupid, like you know incredibly moronic, but maybe a little ill-advised."

Nigel's tea cup paused just before his mouth. His sip interrupted. He tracked her pacing over the gold-leaf edge. "Feck, Jane, was that supposed to give me confidence?"

"I'm just going to make a few friends. We both agreed that was the best way to do this. I even bought some new clothes so I could blend." She rolled her hand smoothly through the air like an undulating wave. The bangles hanging from her wrist rattled together.

"I do not like it. What if you catch someone's attention before you are ready for it?"

Biting her lip, she let her gaze fall from its confrontation with his icy-blues. His question was a good one. It was one she had only given a passing thought to. What did it help to dwell on particulars" She'd never be completely ready for everything. Sink or swim: that was going to be her philosophy. "Just say you'll be there, Nigel. Tell me that you'll help me," Jane implored.

He took his sip and set the cup back on its saucer. "On the condition we do it right." He looked calculatingly at her. "And you do it the way I tell you: my rules, Jane."

The brunette was a sucker for accents, and Nigel's was no exception. Her mouth pressed into a hard line that scrunched to the left hand side as she thought about it. "Fine, whatever, just as long as we do it and we do it soon." Jane trailed her hand over the back of chair. "The sooner the better."