THAT NIGHT, THEY READ, AND FOR THE FIRST time in many pages, the first in the many months that had passed for Ann, she wrote of Giles and Twisse.

It is a new year. What was has passed into what is, and what may be. Giles asked that I wait until the new to make record of what came to be in the old. Do such turnings of time truly form shields to block the dark?

He sent me away before I ever had birth pangs. He could not do what he had determined to do with me besidehim. It shames me that I wept, even begged, that I would hurt him with my tears and my pleas. He would not be swayed, nor would he send me from him weeping.He dried my tears with his fingers, and pledged that if the gods were willing, we would find each other again.

At that moment, what did I care for gods, with their demands, their fickle natures and cold hearts? Yet my beloved had pledged to them before ever to me, and so I was no match for gods. He had his work, his war, he told me, and I-and he put his hands on my belly and the lives growing in them-had mine. Without me, his work would be nothing, and his war would be lost.

I did not leave him weeping, but with a kiss as our sons squirmed between us. I went with the husband of my cousin, away from my love, the cabin, the stone. I went away on a soft night in June, and as I did, he called these words to me.

It is not death.

There was kindness in my cousin's house, such kindnessI have written on other pages. They took me in, kept my secret even when it came. Bestia, the Dark. Twisse. I lay in fear and in pain on the cot in the small loft of their little house. It came in the lie of a man while my sons began their struggle toward life.

I felt its weight on my heart. I felt its fingers gliding through the air, seeking me, like the hawk seeks the rabbit.But it did not find me. When my cousin's husband would not go with him, would not join him with torch and hate on the journey to my love, to the cabin, to the stone, I felt its fury. I think I felt its confusion. It had no power here.

And Fletcher, dear Fletcher, would be spared what would come to the Pagan Stone.

It would be tonight. I knew it at the first pain. An end that was not an end, and this beginning. These tied togetheras Giles wished it, as he willed it. Let the demon believe it was his work, his will, but it was Giles who turned the key. Giles who would pay for opening the lock.

My sweet cousin bathed my face. We could not call for the midwife, or for my mother, whom I longed for. It was not my beloved who paced the room below, but Fletcher, so steady, so true. As the pain built until I could no longer hold back my cries, I saw my love standing by the stone. I saw the torches lighting the dark. I saw all that happened there.

Was this the delirium of birthing, or my small power? I think it was both, the first strengthening the other. He knew I was there. I pray this is not merely the wish of an aching heart, but truth. He knew I was with him, for I heard his thoughts reach for mine, and meet for one blessed moment.

Love, be safe, be strong.

He wore the bloodstone amulet, and those red drops gleamed in his fire, and in the torches they carried towardhim.

I remembered his words to me when he spelled the stone.

Our blood, its blood, their blood. One for three. Three into one.

Now I pushed, pushed, through the pain, through the blood, fighting my war for life. I saw the faces of those who'd come for him. And grieved for what had been done to them, what would be done to them. I heard young Hester Deale condemn him, and me. And still I pushed, and pushed. Sweat and blood and half mad from it all. I watched her run as Giles freed her.

I saw the demon in the eyes of a man, and the hate in the men and the women who carried its curse like a plague.

It came in fire, my beloved's power. His sacrifice came in fire and in light, and in the blood that boiled around the stone. Our first son was born while that light blinded me. While my screams rose with the screams of the damned.

As the fire blazed, as it scorched the earth, my son loosed his first cry. In it, and in the cries of his brothers as they left my womb, I heard hope. I heard love.

"It confirms a lot of what we knew," Cal said when Quinn closed the book. "Adds more questions. It can't be a coincidence that Ann gave birth as Dent confronted Twisse."

"The power of life. Innocent life." Cybil ticked points off on her fingers. "Mystical life. Pain and blood-Ann's, Dent's, the demon's-the people Twisse brought with him. Interesting, too, that Twisse came to the house where Ann was hidden, and got nothing. Even then, he couldn't infect the people in that house, or on that land."

"Dent would have made sure of it, wouldn't he?" Layla suggested. "He wouldn't have sent Ann away without knowing she was safe. Ann, and their sons." She glanced at Fox. "And those who came after."

"She knew what was coming." As he had no taste for beer or wine, even Coke, Fox drank water. "She knew anyone there when Dent made his move was dead. Sacrificed."

"Who gets the blame?" Gage demanded. "They wouldn't have been there if Twisse hadn't brought them. And if Dent hadn't made his move, they'd have torched him."

"They were still human, still innocent. But," Cybil continued before he could argue. "I agree with you, for the most part. We can add that if Giles had done nothing, or whatever he'd done hadn't worked, the infection would only have grown until they ended up killing each other and feeding the beast. Ann accepted that. Apparently, I do, too."

"She mentioned the bloodstone." Quinn picked up her neglected wine. "Three into one, one into three, all that's easy enough to get. Three pieces of the stone, to each of you. The trick is making one again out of three."

"Blood." Cybil scanned the faces of the three men. "He told her blood. Have you tried using your blood? Your mixed blood?"

"We're not stupid." Gage slumped in his chair. "We've tried that more than once."

"We haven't." Layla raised her shoulders. "Its, ours, theirs. We-Quinn, Cybil, and I-have its blood. Fox, Cal, Gage, that's the 'our blood' portion. It seems if you add them all, you get the theirs."

"Logical, smart, a little disgusting," Quinn decided. "Let's try it."

"Not tonight." Cybil waved Quinn back to her chair. "You don't just jump into bloodletting. Even at ten, these three knew such things required ritual. Let me do a little research. If I'm going to bleed, I don't want to waste it-or worse, call up the wrong side."

"Good point." Quinn settled back. "Pretty good point. But Jesus, it's hard not to just do something. It's been five days since the Big Evil Bastard has come out to play."

"Not so long," Gage said dryly, "when you've done a couple seven-year waits."

"It used a lot of juice-the fire at the farm, infecting Block." Cal glanced toward the front window, and the dark beyond it. "So it's juicing back up. The longer it takes, the harder it's going to come back at us."

"On that happy note, I'm heading out." Gage pushed to his feet. "Somebody let me know when I need to slash my wrist again."

"I'll send you a memo." Cybil rose as well. "Research time. I'll see all you handsome men at the O'Dells' tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it," she added, and gave Fox a brush on the shoulder as she passed.

"Cal, I need you to look at the toaster."

Cal's brows drew together as he glanced at Quinn. "The toaster? Why?"

"There's this thing." She wondered how an intelligent man could be so dense. Didn't he see it was time to clear the room and give Layla and Fox a minute alone? She grabbed his hand, tugged, rolled her eyes. "Come take a look at the thing."

"I guess I'd better get going, too," Fox said when they were alone.

"Why don't you stay? We don't have to... We can just sleep."

"Do I look that bad?"

"You look a little tired yet."

"Too much sleep does that, too."

And sad, she thought. Even when he smiled, she could see the shadow in his eyes. "We could go out. I know this nice little bar across the river."

He framed her face, touched his lips to hers. "I'm lousy company tonight, Layla, even for myself. I'm going to go home, and do some research. Of the kind that pays the bills. But I appreciate the offer. I'll come by, pick you up tomorrow."

"If you change your mind, just call."

But he didn't call, and she spent a restless night worrying about him, second-guessing herself. What if he had another nightmare and she wasn't there to help him through it?

And somehow he'd managed to get through much worse than nightmares for the last twenty years without her.

But he wasn't himself. She rolled in bed to stare at the ceiling. He wasn't Fox. The dream, the memories, the telling her about Carly-all of that had just snuffed out the light inside him. Comfort, anger, understanding, rest. None of those had brought the light back. When it came back, because she had to believe it would, would she put it out again if she told him her thoughts about Carly's connection? If her thoughts proved to be fact, would it be worse for him?

Because the thoughts and worries wouldn't stop circling, she got out of bed. Downstairs, she brewed herself a cup of Cybil's tea, carried it up to the office. While the house slept, she selected the correct color index cards to note down the key words and phrases she remembered from the reading. She studied the charts, the graphs, the map, willing for something new and illuminating to jump out at her.

She frowned over Cybil's notepads, but even after the weeks of working together she couldn't decipher the odd shorthand Quinn often called Cybilquick. Though she'd already told both her friends the details, she sat now and typed up a report on Fox's dream, another, longer one of Carly's death.

For a time, she simply watched out the window, but the night was empty. When she returned to bed, when she finally slept, so were her dreams.

FOX KNEW HOW TO FEEL ONE THING AND PROJECT another. His profession, after all, wasn't so different from Gage's. Law and gambling had a lot in common. Many times he had to show a certain face to a judge, a jury, a client, opposing counsel that might not reflect what he had in his heart, his head, his gut.

When he arrived with Layla, his brother, Ridge, and his family were already there, as was Sparrow and her guy. With so many people in the house, it was easy to deflect attention.

So he introduced Layla around, tickled his nephew. He teased Sparrow and hunkered down with her live-in, who was a vegan, played the concertina, and had a passion for baseball.

Because Layla seemed occupied, and he could feel her trying to scope out his mood, Fox slipped off to the kitchen. "Mmm, smell that tofu." He came up behind his mother at the stove, gave her a hug. "What else is on the menu?"

"All your favorites."

"Don't be a smart-ass."

"If I wasn't, how could I have passed the quality on to you?" She turned, started to give him her ritual four kisses, then frowned into his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Worked late, that's all."

Someone had talked Sparrow into picking up the fiddle from the music room, so Fox used the music as an excuse to dance his mother around the room. He wouldn't fool her, he knew, but she'd leave it alone. "Where's Dad?"

"In the wine cellar." It was a highfalutin name for the section in the basement where they stored homemade wine. "I made deviled eggs."

"All is not lost."

He lowered his mother into a dip as Layla came in. "I thought I'd see if there was something I could do to help."

"Absolutely." Jo straightened, patted Fox's cheek. "What do you know about artichokes?" she asked Layla.

"They're a vegetable."

Jo smiled slyly, crooked her finger. "Come into my parlor."

Layla did better when put to work, and felt very at home when Brian O'Dell handed her a glass of apple wine, and added a kiss on the cheek.

People came in and out of the room. Cybil arrived with a miniature shamrock plant, Cal with a six-pack of Brian's favored beer. There was a lot of conversation in the kitchen, a lot of music outside of it. She saw Sparrow, who lived up to her name with her sweet, airy looks, walking her nephew outside so he could chase the chickens. And there was Ridge with his dreamy eyes and big hands tossing the boy in the air.

It was a happy house, Layla thought as she heard the boy's laughs and shouts through the windows. Even Ann had found some happiness here.

"Do you know what's wrong with Fox?" Jo kept her voice quiet as she and Layla worked side by side.


"Yes."

"Can you tell me?"

Layla glanced around. Fox had gone out again. He wasn't able to settle, she thought. Just wasn't able to settle quite yet. "He told me about Carly. Something happened to remind him and upset him, so he told me."

Saying nothing, Jo nodded and continued to prepare her vegetables. "He loved her very much."

"Yes. I know."

"It's good that you do, that you understand that. It's good that he told you, that he could tell you. She made him happy, then she broke his heart. If she'd lived, she'd have broken his heart in a different way."

"I don't know what you mean."

Jo looked at her. "She would never, never have seen him, not the whole of him, not everything he is. She would never have accepted the whole of him. Can you?"

Before Layla could answer, Fox shoved in the kitchen door with his nephew clinging like a monkey to his back. "Somebody get this thing off me!"

More bodies pressed into the kitchen, more drinks were poured. Hands grabbed at the finger food spread on platters on the sturdy kitchen table. Into the noise, Sage walked, holding the hand of a pretty brunette with clear hazel eyes who could only be Paula.

"I'll have some of that." Sage picked up the wine bottle and poured a large glass. "Paula won't." Sage let out a breathless, giddy laugh. "We're having a baby."

She was still laughing as she turned to Paula, as Paula touched her face. They kissed in the old farmhouse kitchen while shouts of congratulations rang around them.

"We're having a baby," Sage said again, then turned to Fox. "Good job." And threw herself into his arms. "Mom." She swung from Fox to her mother, to her father, her siblings while Fox stood, a dazed expression on his face.

What Layla saw was Paula stepping through the excitement. As she had with Sage, Paula touched Fox's face. "Thank you." And she pressed her cheek to his. "Thank you, Fox."

What Layla saw was the light come back into his eyes. She saw the sadness drop away, and the joy leap into its place. Her own eyes went damp as she watched him kiss Paula, and wrap his arm around his sister so that the three of them stood for a moment as a unit.

Then Jo moved into her vision, stopped in front of her. She kissed Layla on the forehead, on one cheek, the other, then lightly on the lips. "You've just answered my question."

THE WEEKEND SLID INTO THE WORKWEEK, AND still the Hollow stayed quiet. Rain dogged the sky, keeping the temperatures lower than most hoped for in April. But farmers tilled their fields, and bulbs burst into bloom. Pink cups covered the tulip magnolia behind Fox's offices, and spears that would open into tulips of butter yellow and scarlet waved in the easy breeze. Along High Street, the Bradford pears gleamed with bud and bloom. Windows gleamed as well as merchants and homeowners scrubbed away the winter dull. When the rains passed, the town Fox loved shone like a jewel beneath the mountains.

He'd wanted a sunny day for it. Taking advantage of it, he pulled Layla up from her desk. "We're going out."

"I was just-"

"You can just when we get back. I checked the calendar, and we're clear. Do you see that out there? The strange, unfamiliar light? It's called the sun. Let's go get us a little."

He solved the matter by pulling her to the door, outside, then locking up himself.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Sex and baseball. The young man's fancies of spring."

The ends of her hair danced in the breeze as she narrowed her eyes at him. "We're not having sex and/or playing baseball at noon on a Wednesday."

"Then I guess I have to settle for a walk. We'll be able to do some real gardening in a couple more weeks."

"You garden?"

"You can take the boy off the farm. I do some containers for the front of the office. I'd plant and Mrs. H would kibitz."

"I'm sure I can kibitz."

"Counting on it. You girls could put in a nice little vegetable and herb patch in back of your house, some flower beds street side."

"Could we?"

He took her hand, swung it lightly as they walked. "Don't like to get your hands dirty?"

"I might. I don't have any real gardening experience. My mother puttered around a little, and I had a couple of houseplants in my apartment."

"You'd be good at it. Color, shapes, tones, textures. You like doing what you're good at." He turned off the sidewalk toward the building that had housed the gift shop. Its display window was empty now. Depressingly so.

"It looks forlorn," Layla decided.

"Yeah, it does. But it doesn't have to stay that way."

Her eyes widened when he pulled out keys and unlocked the front door. "What are you doing?"

"Showing you possibilities." He stepped in, flipped on the lights.

Like many of the businesses on Main, it had been a home first. The entrance was wide, the old wood floors clean and bare. On the side, a stairway curved up with its sturdy banister smooth from the slide of generations of hands. Straight back an open doorway led to three more rooms, stacked side by side. The middle one held the back entrance, and its tidy covered porch that opened to its narrow strip of yard where a lilac waited to bloom.

"You would hardly know it was ever here." Layla brushed her fingertips over the stair rail. "The gift shop. Nothing left of it but some shelves, some marks on the wall where things were hung."

"I like empty buildings, for their potential. This one has plenty. Solid foundation, good plumbing-both that and the electric are up to code-location, light, conscientious landlord. Roomy, too. The gift shop used the second floor for storage and office space. Probably a good plan. If you have customers going up and down steps, you're just asking one to trip and sue you."

"So speaks the lawyer."

"It needs the nail holes plugged, fresh paint. The wood-work's nice." He skimmed a hand over some trim. "Original. Somebody made this a couple hundred years ago. Adds character, respects the history. What do you think of it?"

"The woodwork? It's gorgeous."

"The whole place."

"Well." She wandered, walking slowly as people did in empty buildings. "It's bright, spacious, well kept, with just enough creaky in the floors to add to that character you spoke of."

"You could do a lot with this place."

She swung back to him. "I could?"

"The rent's reasonable. The location's prime. Plenty of space. Enough to curtain off an area in the back for a couple of dressing rooms. You'd need shelves, displays, racks, I guess, to hang clothes." As he looked around, he hooked his thumbs in his front pockets. "I happen to know a couple of guys very handy with tools."

"You're suggesting I open a shop here?"

"Doing what you're good at. There's nothing like that in town. Nothing like it for miles. You could make something here, Layla."

"Fox, that's just... out of the question."

"Why?"

"Because I..." Let me count the ways, she thought. "I could never afford it, even if-"

"That's why they have business loans."

"I haven't given any serious thought to opening my own place in, well, in years, really. I don't know where I'd begin even if I was sure I wanted to open my own place. For God's sake, Fox, I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow much less a month from now. Six months from now."

"But what do you want today?" He moved toward her. "I know what I want. I want you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy here, with me. Jim Hawkins will rent it to you, and you won't have any trouble getting a start-up loan. I talked to Joe at the bank-"

"You talked to them, about this? About me?"

"Not specifics. Just general information. Ballparking what you'd need to start up, what you'd need to qualify, the cost of licensing. I've got a file. You like files, so I put together a file."

"Without consulting me."

"I put together the file so I could consult you and you'd have something tangible to look over when you thought about it."

She walked away from him. "You shouldn't have done all that."

"It's the sort of thing I do. This"-he swept his arm in the air-"is the sort of thing you do. You're not going to tell me you're going to be happy doing office work the rest of your life."

"No, I'm not going to tell you that." She turned back. "I'm not going to tell you I'm going to dive headfirst into starting a business that I'm not sure I want in the first place, in a town that may not exist in a few months. And if I want my own business, I haven't thought about having it here. If I want my own, how can I think about all the details involved when all this madness is going on?"

He was silent a moment, so silent she swore she heard the old house breathing.

"It seems to me it's most important to go after what you want when there's madness going on. I'm asking you to think about it. More, I guess I'm asking you to think about something you haven't yet. Staying. Open the shop, manage my office, found a nudist colony, or take up macrame, I don't care as long as it makes you happy. But I want you to think about staying, Layla, not just to destroy ancient fucking evil, but to live. To have a life, with me."

As she stared at him, he stepped closer. "Put this in one of your slots. I'm in love with you. Completely, absolutely, no-turning-back in love with you. We could build something good, and solid, and real. Something that makes every day count. That's what I want. So you think about it, and when you know, you tell me what you want."

He walked back to the door, opened it, and waited for her.

"Fox-"

"I don't want to hear you don't know. I've already got that. Let me know when you do. You're upset and a little ticked off, I get that, too," he said as he locked up. "Take the rest of the day off."

She started to object, he saw it on her face. Then she changed her mind. "All right. There are some things I need to do."

"I'll see you later then." He stepped back, stopped. "The building's not the only thing with potential," he told her. And he turned, walked away down the bricked sidewalk in the April sunshine.