Disclaimer: All concepts and characters belong to L.J. Smith and her publishers. They are borrowed here for non-profit entertainment, and I promise to clean them off when I'm done. Barred from the preceding statement are those characters which do not appear in her books or her head.

Rating: R (Language, violence, sex, homosexual undertones, other mature content)

Spoilers: All my previous fan fiction, as well as the Night World series before Strange Fate.

The Chosen Battle

Part One: Terry

The weight on Lord Thierry's shoulders was almost unbearable.

He didn't know his exact birthday, and probably wouldn't have been able to count the years of his life if he had anyway, such was the incredible span of the number. His face and form never changed, but that was a mere scientific matter and inconsequential. His experience could not have been catalogued in an entire encyclopedia set, or a dozen sets, or a hundred sets, and he could have spoken the length of his life over again and not properly explained everything. He had seen beasts extinct for thousands of years, witnessed events that had altered history, walked over every inch of sand in the Sahara. The seasons changed around him almost palpably, so fast the time flew, and he had barely gotten into the habit of writing one year at the top of each page before entering a new one.

And he was exhausted.

The work had gone on without a stop for eight days. Various types of work, this and that, a little of him and a ton of her. His attention was concentrated on a dozen different projects at once, while his various secretaries and assistants pushed themselves to keep up until they were almost sleepwalking and he ordered them to bed.

The night the change came it was the beginning of autumn. Thierry was in his office upstairs, the one with the terrace that ran its length and the plush leather couches where everyone assembled. His desk was the size of a queen-sized bed, polished rich and glossy by the maids during snatched moments when he was away.

He was doing several things in the minutes before his perception began to shift, before the moon rose up beyond the open terrace doors and stunned him. One hand was dialing phone numbers, picking up a pencil when necessary to mark on the manuscript. His eyes were focused on this paper, on finding the various typos and breaks in the King's English, as well as revising some of the prose in the first edition of "Circle Daybreak's Official Guide to Vampirism." His mouth was talking, almost on its own, to various people; field operatives, undercover teams, the idiot chef who had tried to make Jell-O with some of Thierry's finest vintage blood. The other hand was typing out a letter to a friend in Monte Carlo, asking her to keep her wereleopard pard from wiping out the feathered farrett.

There was a knock on the door. "Excuse me a moment, Elle," he said, tucking the phone under his chin. "Come in."

Bernard, a wobbly, nervous assistant Thierry had taken out of pity, stuck his head in the office. "Sir, Mrs. Lauren Rochell is here to see you."

Thierry hit the intercom to his outer office. "Gen, does somebody L Rochell have an appointment right now?"

"She does, sir."

"Thanks. Send her up, Bernard." He nestled his head back against the phone and wondered if Jez had meant to put a colon instead of a comma in the middle of that sentence. "Elle? Are you still here? I'm sorry, I've lost my train of thought."

"We were talking about the drain your people are causing in the Tucson area blood banks. I know humans aren't your main priority, but they do need blood occasionally, too."

He knew Jez was restless as a cat in the pillow case, but she really needed to find something else to do if she couldn't get the grammar right. He'd already seen her spell "their" wrong at least twenty times.

"Yes, sir," Bernard said. "And it's Lauren, sir."

He glanced up in surprise. "Lauren's here? I thought she wasn't arriving until next week."

Gen beeped in on the intercom. "Sir, I have Mona Mastry on line six."

"Tell her I'll get back to her."

"Sir," Bernard said, "she did make this appointment a month in advance."

He decided to leave it a comma. Colloquial English was different in these times.

"That doesn't mean she can show up a week early," he told Bernard. "Never mind, show her to her room."

"Now look," Elle began. "I've been trying to get a hold of you since June. This is a serious issue and you can't just brush it aside."

"Mona just asked me to tell you that the crisis at the compound has been resolved, and your personal attendance won't be required," Gen said.

"She'll be staying then, sir?" Bernard asked.

Thierry glanced at him again, awed by his incompetence. "Of course she'll be staying. Didn't she bring any bags?"

"Circle Daybreak is ignoring its basic message if it decides to put vampire needs for blood ahead of human needs," Elle was saying.

"No, sir," Bernard replied. "She was under the impression that this meeting would only take twenty minutes."

He grabbed his pencil and circled "alright," then wrote, "sp." in the margin.

"Sir," Gen said over the intercom. "Mrs. Rochell would like to know if she should come back later."

"Who's Mrs. Rochell?" Thierry asked.

Bernard sighed. "Lauren Rochell, sir. The woman waiting downstairs."

"Then where's our Lauren?"

"Miss Cambridge will be arriving next week, sir, as planned."

"Then what have you been talking about for the last ten minutes?" he snapped.

"I thought I was trying to make my point-" Elle began again, and Thierry felt his control snap.

"Dammit I'll call you back!" he shouted into the phone, before slamming it down so hard in its cradle that it shattered into bits of plastic.

Bernard jumped back, taking refuge behind the thick office door, and the room went suddenly silent. The manuscript fell out of Thierry's hands, and Gen said hesitantly over the com, "I'll reschedule."

Thierry closed his eyes, feeling how dry they were. He didn't think he had blinked in at least half an hour, and now his corneas were burning.

"Sir?" Bernard asked in a small voice.

"I'd like a few minutes alone," Thierry told him, and the man quickly scrambled away, closing the door carefully after himself.

Thierry breathed in the quiet and then reached over to turn the computer screen off, feeling the guilt come as quick as the relief. He was disregarding his duty, dumping his responsibility. People needed him. Not just to answer phones and proofread final drafts--although they did need him to do that--but to be the boss, be the one they could rely on, trust in, turn to. He was their figurehead.

He was crumbling.

There was so much to be done, and he had to do some much of it himself. Perfection was important, professionalism a must. He could barely trust his own assistants sometimes, sure that the moment a project left his hands it was falling to pieces.

He opened his eyes, shaking his shoulders, trying to clear his head as he began the next round of phone calls and letters and visitors.

And then he saw the moon.

It was the biggest damn moon he'd ever seen, so big that for a moment he entertained the absurd idea that someone had hung a big paper moon off the roof to get his attention. He rose halfway out of his seat in an instant, staring, mesmerized. The sphere filled the entire double doorway to the terrace, and without realizing what he was doing, Thierry walked until he was leaning against the rail.

Pure light, not the grainy yellow kind that came from all the lamps in his office, shone down on him. His eyes followed the gray creases along the planet's surface, folds in the white silk, canals in the pearl. The illumination filled the whole yard below, turning everything into pale and dark contrasts, and directly below him was the swimming pool with its silver water and sparkling tiles.

Oh god, he thought. What are you doing, Thierry? Look around at this place. You live in paradise and you never even look out the window any more.

Hannah had come to visit....two months ago? Heavens, two months couldn't truly have passed so quickly. When he'd kissed her goodbye in the front hall, he'd asked if she had had a good time. "The weather's beautiful," she had replied, before adding gently, "Wish you were here."

She hadn't meant it cruelly, but Thierry knew he would have deserved it if she had. He had practically ignored her the whole time she was here, not because he wanted to but because there was constantly something that required his attention more than his own love life. Hannah had understood, hadn't complained.

Well, not with words, anyway. But the one time Thierry had gone to take her in his arms, to let his mind meld into hers, he had felt her fighting not to pull away. He knew it was because of his memory, his sense of duty and obligation, those over-powering feelings that ten thousand years of existence could create. She just didn't want to be crushed again.

Suddenly Thierry realized he was standing on the railing. A human would have fallen in seconds; he, with his unnatural balance, could have done a double back flip and landed without trembling. The office was three stories up, but he still couldn't reach the moon. It seemed so close, loomed almost feet away, beckoned him.

He closed his eyes again, trying to open himself to the light, to let it pour into him. So long since you've done this, he thought. So long since you've noticed.

If only I could fly away, he added. He had flown on occasion, levitated a few times during moments of extreme power, but changing locations wouldn't help any now. He would still be Lord Thierry, protector of humans, patron and Prime Minister of Circle Daybreak.

He didn't want to be a Lord anymore, with a mansion to look after and people to help. He wanted to go swimming with Hannah and spend Sunday evenings in bed with a pile of foreign newspapers to browse through and get rid of all three of his cellular phones.

One of them began ringing in his back pocket. He had forgotten it was even there. Hmm, this was the one that connected to Asia, he noted, pulling it out. That probably meant Rivnova had another lead on Ghost...

While he was turning it on, the phone slipped from his hand.

Of course, "slipped" is the wrong word. Lord Thierry was the epitome of vampire strength and coordination; he hadn't "dropped" anything since the last crusade. No, this was an act of subconscious desperation, a last ditch attempt by his inner child to make him wake up and smell the Kool-Aid.

The phone hit the surface of the pool with a faint splash and then sank under the water. It stopped ringing.

He glanced at the moon, then back at the cell phone. With his vampire eyes, he could see its form coming to settle against the concrete floor. No vibrations came from its earpiece. It was silent.

You could be like that, the moon seemed to say. You could make it all stop.

He realized he was learning far too forward on the rail and decided not to correct his balance. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and tumbled headfirst into the swimming pool.

Hannah Snow was dreaming of sand and Hawaiian elves mixing tropical drinks when her mother shook her awake. "Yeah?" she mumbled, lifting her face out from the depths of a feather pillow.

"There's a phone call for you, honey," her mother said, turning on the bedside table. The room was suddenly splashed with piercing light.

"What time is it?"

"Five thirty. They said it was an emergency."

Hannah sat up and took the cordless phone her mother handed to her, fingers still weak with sleep. "Five in the morning?" she asked.

"Lady Hannah?" a voice at the other end of the line questioned.

"Um, yeah. Who is this?"

"This is Gentle Wind, I'm Lord Thierry's secretary. We met a few months ago when you came to Las Vegas-"

"Wait, I remember." Hannah took a deep breath, getting her bearings. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed, looking anxious. "Sorry, Gen, I was asleep."

"Yes, I apologize for waking you, but there's a bit of an emergency her at the mansion that I'm not sure how to handle, and I thought you would want to know of the situation."

Now she was awake. "Is Thierry okay?"

"Well....that's of some debate. He was working earlier this evening and then asked to be alone for a few minutes. When Bernard returned to the office, he found it deserted and assumed Thierry had gone out to hunt. However, when he didn't return after a few hours, we became concerned that something might have happened to him. We made a quick search of the grounds, and found him in the swimming pool."

"He drowned?" Hannah asked. Her mouth would barely work, and her vision had separated before misting over. He couldn't have, she would have felt it, could a vampire drown?

"No, he's very much alive. It's just that....he doesn't seem to remember who he is."

It took her several seconds to come up with the word. "Amnesia?"

"Exactly. Not total amnesia, he remembers the world and everything in it, he just seems to have forgotten his own identity."

"How...how is that possible?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of a vampire getting amnesia. We've called the witches and they'll be here soon, but we'd like you around as well."

"Of course."

"A plane will be ready for you at Billings Airport in half an hour. The piolet will be available as soon as you need her."

"I'll get there as fast as I can."

She said goodbye and slowly hung up the phone. "Honey?" her mother asked, and Hannah glanced up. She had forgotten the older woman was even in the room.

"It's Thierry," she said slowly. "He's been in an accident, and his family would like me to come right away."

Her mother knew about Thierry. He'd even come over for dinner one night. She thought he was a nice young man in his early twenties, getting a degree in history and enjoying the life of the utterly filthy rich off money his computer genius father--Bill Gates's ex-partner, supposedly--had made before he and Thierry's mother were killed in a freak biking accident. As long as he was encouraging her daughter to go to college, she didn't mind.

"They want me to fly to Las Vegas," Hannah said.

Her mother nodded after a moment's thought. "It's...it's not good, is it?"

She thinks he's going to die, Hannah realized. "No," she replied weakly. "It's not." She didn't know if she was lying or not.

They told him his name was Thierry Descouedres, and this he accepted at first. He had to have a name, of course, that was kind of a given. And while he felt more like a Mickey or a Rick at the moment, he would be satisfied with Thierry if that was what every one else was used to calling him.

The sir's and Lord's would have to go, though.

He wandered around the mansion, mesmerized by everything he saw within. "I think this is simply the most beautiful place," he told the flock of vampires who followed him around with expressions like those of nervous new mothers.

Yes, he remembered vampires, but at the moment it hardly seemed important. There was marble everywhere, white and green and orange threaded with blues and browns and reds. He was so entranced by the floor that he didn't even notice a rather large pedestal displaying a porcelain bust until he had walked into it. "Oh," he said, startled, and stepped back to admire the piece of art.

It took him a second of contemplation to realize that the bust itself was white, and that the blond hair and gray eyes had been placed there by his mind's eye. "I think I know that girl," he mused, and then noticed an incredible painting hanging above the stairwell.

Do I really live here? he wondered.

They told him he had amnesia. That was fine, cool, whatever. He felt pretty damn good for a guy who had supposedly damaged his brain. The lack of distinct memories didn't bother him in the least, he felt comfortable surrounded by mist. Contented. Happy.

"Am I a happy person?" he asked, turning to face the gaggle of vampire nannies.

One of them, she'd introduced herself as Gentle, which he thought was a wonderful name, stepped forward and said tentatively, "Happy, sir?"

"Don't call me sir please. It's very stiff."

"Sorry, si- Thierry. Yes, Thierry, you seem happy."

"Thierry," he murmured, turning away. There was a library down the hall, he could see it through the open doors. If it lived up to the rest of the house, there must be incredible books there. "Are you sure my name is Thierry?" he asked, looking back at Gentle.

She pressed her lips together. "Yes, si-."

"What kind of name is Thierry?" he mused.

"I believe it's French, sir," one of the other nannies said.

"But we are speaking English, aren't we? This is America, isn't it?"

"Nevada, sir," the nanny replied.

"What is your name?"

"Marco, sir."

"Thank you, Marco, but don't call me sir. And don't call me Thierry, either. This isn't France."

Marco leaned forward slightly, concerned. "What would you like me to call you then?"

His eyes caught on a window and he saw brilliant lights in the distance. Las Vegas, wasn't it? Definitely America. "Terry," he heard himself say. "Just Terry."

Gen met her at the door. She was slender and dark-haired, and her usually pretty and composed face was pale and lined with worry. "I don't know what to do," she stammered. "He's wandering around the house like he's never seen the place before, asking all sorts of questions he should know the answers to."

"Like what?" Hannah eased out of her coat and handed it to Nilsson, noting the same worried expression on his face.

"Everything. He wants to know who lives here, when the place was built, where all the furniture and art came from. And then, oh Hannah, then he asked how he made his money!"

Hannah glanced at her as they started up the stairs. Gen sounded absolutely horrified. "What did you tell him?"

"What could I tell him? None of us know how he makes his money, it's the biggest secret he has. But it gets worse. Now he wants to know why there aren't any pets around, and what all these bedrooms are here for if no one stays in them."

Frankly, Hannah had wondered that once or twice herself. "Does he remember the Night World?"

"He seems to. He recognized me as a vampire, even specified me as made and not lamia, talked about Circle Daybreak and requested a glass of warmed O negative from the kitchen, but when I asked what he was going to do about the fourth Wild Powers he just looked at me funny and said he didn't know what I was talking about. Bernard took him into the office and he said it wasn't as comfortable as the rest of the house."

"How did he end up in the pool in the first place?"

"I don't know, and neither does he. He didn't even know where his bedroom was, Bernard had to show him where his dry clothes are."

The reached the fourth floor landing and Gen led Hannah down a side hallway. "The witches arrived only a half hour ago, they've been in with him since."

"Should I wait until they're done?"

"I don't think it will matter. But I should warn you, he isn't at all himself."

She pushed open the heavy study door and Hannah ducked inside. It was one of the long, ornately furnished rooms that the house had in such astounding number, this one decorated with a polished hardwood floor and at least a dozen elegant fish aquariums. Aria Plaja and two female witches Hannah didn't recognize were sitting on a couch at the end of the room, and Tobias O'Bach, out of place among the women but holding his own, was resting on the arm of a chair. He saw Hannah and flashed her a quick smile.

Then she saw the back of Thierry's head.

For some reason she was surprised to find it the same as the last time she had seen him, two months ago. The strands were still beautiful, still white-blond and falling neatly over the back of his neck. The cut was the same, although it had dried a little funny without brushing.

Then he turned, as if sensing her presence, and she saw the first difference. It was in his shoulders. They slid, limber and easy and without tension. If she gave him a back rub, she knew she would find the muscles as soft and pliable as yarn.

He saw her and a smile broke out of his face. The smile was the second difference, bright and genuine and without corners. He moved swiftly to his feet, then hopped over the back of the couch like a sixties teeny-bopper would have hurtled over a convertible car door. Aria broke off in the middle a sentence, startled.

"Hi," Thierry said, ignoring the house staff, which had gathered along one wall. He smiled at Hannah again, and she felt confusion rush through her. He looked great, he looked incredible, better than the day she'd met him. There was something different, but should couldn't tell what except that all the little things that usually caught his attention were ignored, when he looked he saw only her.

The last time she had visited, he had seemed so over-worked. She'd told him it was time for a vacation but he said there was too much to do and she didn't push it. Now it appeared that everything she'd hoped for him had come true.

But then he said, "My name is Terry," and she felt the floor drop out from under her.

He saw the change on her face and frowned, but no lines appeared. "Wait, don't tell me, you're....Annette?"

He took her inability to answer as a no.

"Honni? Anna? Oh, wait, it's Hannah! You're Hannah."

He smiled again, so pleased at having remembered. "Hannah Snow. We're friends, you and I, right? We go way back."

"Yeah," Hannah said faintly. He didn't recognize her. He seriously didn't recognize her and he thought...

"But your name isn't Terry," she began.

"I know," he interrupted. "They," he gestured to the house staff, "told me. But what kind of name is Thierry when you're living in America in...what is this, the twenty-second century?"

"Twenty-first."

He laughed, and the sound effected Hannah terribly. He sounds so happy, she thought. I hardly ever hear him laugh like that.

"You want to get out of here?" he asked.

"Huh?" she managed to reply.

"Go take a walk or something. The witches can't find anything wrong with me, and one of my baby-sitters informs me that I own a hundred acres surrounding this place. We could go walk around, talk for a while."

Tobias caught Hannah's eye and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay," she said, and Thierry caught her hand.

The chord lit up between them and he stumbled back without letting go. His face clouded for a moment as his thought, and then he said softly, "Oh, I see how it is," and sighed deeply, as if satisfied. "I love you, don't I?"

Well, Hannah thought, at least all's not lost.

The grounds were almost as beautiful as the house was, even with the morning sun coming up. The light didn't bother Terry terribly, he was too old a vampire to be truly sensitive to its rays, it was just a matter of instinct.

But walking through the gardens with Hannah, the sun didn't seem so bad. Large coy fish darted between the interconnected fountains with their tiled bottoms and limpid water. Warm breezes carried the heavy scent of flower blossoms through the air, and the potted trees created wonderfully cool alcoves where he and Hannah sat and talked.

She relaxed as the time passed. He asked a lot of questions, and after a while she began giving more than basic answers. She talked about life at home, college, her friends, her plans. He listened eagerly, only talking about himself when she asked.

"How long have you lived here?" she questioned.

"You know the answer," he replied, and she looked started.

"But I want to know if you do."

He breathed deeply, tasted the dry dusty air, and said, "I'm not an idiot, you know. I may not remember, but I've haven't become a happy-go-lucky moron."

"I didn't think you had," Hannah said, uncomfortable.

"It's all right. Everyone else thinks so, too. They assume that since I'm not Thierry anymore I must have lost all my senses."

Hannah turned away to look out over the garden as she thought, and Terry saw the birthmark on her cheek for the first time. How lovely, he thought. It accented her cheekbone beautifully, and drew attention to the refined shape of her mouth.

"I've been thinking of building a stable," he told her.

Her heather-gray eyes, soft but wise, turned on him. "Why?"

"Wouldn't this be a wonderful place for horses? Do you ride?"

Hannah nodded slowly.

"You could come here and ride with me, through the hills, all the way to Vegas. We'll go gambling, throw money away. See that show with the synchronized swimmers and trapeze people."

She smiled in spite of herself. "What would we do with the horses while we were watching the show?"

"I'll give the valet a wad of money to hide them in the bushes. You know Vegas, there's shrubbery everywhere."

"So you remember Vegas."

He sighed and lay down on his back. The cool sand felt good through the fine silk shirt he had on.

"You won't answer?" Hannah asked finally.

"I'm not trying to be ornery. I just don't see the point in answering. I mean....No, I don't remember Las Vegas. But I know of it. See the difference?"

"Yes, but I don't understand how this works," she said. "How did you end up in the pool?"

He shrugged, choosing not to answer. Instead, he plucked a grape from the basket of food the kitchen maid had insisted on sending with them and held it up to her chin. After a moment, Hannah parted her lips enough for him to feed it to her. She chewed, swallowed, and said, "This is crazy, Thierry."

He smiled. If this was the life of the mentally unstable, sitting in the shade under a beautiful tree in a flourishing garden feeding grapes to his soulmate, he would gladly have himself committed.

"What does it matter?" he asked. He touched her hand, where a golden bland set with a black rose circle one finger. "Are we married?"

Her eyes touched upon the ring and then met his. "Sort of. Not legally, but for all practical purposes."

"Are you worried that I don't love you now? If you need it made legal to feel safe-"

"No, Thierry." She stood up suddenly, walked a few feet away, into the sunlight, and then turned back to him. "I don't think you're understanding how this looks from everybody else's perspective. You aren't just some nobody."

Resting his weight on his elbows, he chuckled. "I figured that out from the house."

"Right. You're a Lord, Thierry, a really important person. You're the head of Circle Daybreak, and we're in a cold war right now. If it gets out to the Night World Counsel that you're out of it, they may decide that now is the perfect time to strike at us. And without you around to tell us all what to do...."

"No one else is capable of making these decisions?"

"It's not that they're incapable, that just isn't how the system is run. You're the boss, Thierry-"

"Please, stop calling me that. It makes my skin crawl."

Hannah pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. Terry got to his feet in one easy move and then put his arms around her, going slowly to make sure she had the chance to protest. "It's all right," he told her. A feeling of warmth surrounded him, and his focus deteriorated. He couldn't tell where his body ended and hers began.

"It isn't all right," she replied. Her voice was slick with anger. "You don't even know what the hell you're talking about."

They stood quietly, Hannah still covering her face, and Terry stared over her shoulder at the garden. Between the iron bars of the front gate, he could see a swirling driveway, and a long black limo. What parties they must have here, he thought. What wonderful parties, with the house all lit up and the lawns covered in candles. Champagne and O negative, a fifty-piece orchestra. Swans in the fountains and rubber ducks in the pool.

He smiled again and lay his cheek against Hannah's hair. She smelled incredible, like the warm heart of the desert and sun-baked flowers. "How can you be so unconcerned?" she asked. "Things will fall apart without you around."

He released her, knowing that if he didn't step away he would kiss her, and that wouldn't be very appropriate at the moment. "Will you stay here?"

"Stay?" She rubbed at her eyes again and leaned back against the edge of a raised flower bed. "You mean stay at the mansion?"

"Yes. Stay with me for a while. We could go buy some horses, hang out in Vegas, maybe catch an opera, if you like that sort of thing. It would be...." He suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious. "Nice," he finished lamely.

"I....That's..." Hannah appeared more confused than ever. "Thierry," she blurted out forcefully, "you have work to do. You don't have time to go to the opera or sit around wining and dining me. The fourth Wild Power is still rumbling around out there someplace, everybody's freaked since Grandma Harman died, and the Night World Council is having seat elections this weekend that you have to monitor."

"So catch the Wild Power, calm everybody down, and tell Gentle to watch these elections. I swear, Hannah, you talk like I never leave this place."

Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she said, "You don't."

Terry thoughtfully replied, "Well, then I guess things will have to change."

Nilsson brought the mail up to Gentle's desk at three fifteen in the afternoon, the same time he brought it up every day. Usually they chatted politely and remarked on the weather and how the world never stopped turning, and then Nilsson returned down stairs to watch General Hospital and Gen dug into the mail.

Today, how ever, he glanced around to make sure no one was in eavesdropping range, leaned over Gentle's desk, and whispered, "Any change?"

Gen took her pen out of her mouth and told him, "Nothing. He's in the library now, footsing with the CD player. What have you heard?"

"Well...." His eyes darted around again and he grinned conspiratorially. "I was talking to Mia," Mia was one of the maids for the first three floors, "and she told me that when Terry and Hannah returned from their walk, Lady Hannah said she wanted to take a nap and retired."

"So? Humans sleep a lot, Dan, that doesn't mean anything. And don't call him Terry, it's too...cryptic."

"It's not that she decided to take a nap that's significant," Nilsson went on. "It's that she asked Mia to make up a guess room for her."

Gen felt her jaw drop and quickly covered her mouth with one hand. "You're serious?"

Nilsson nodded. "Mia said she hasn't made up a room for Lady Hannah since her first visit to the mansion."

Gen shook her head, amazed. "This must be worse than we realized if even Hannah can't snap him out of it. You don't think that, I mean, if she....with Terry, and then Thierry-"

There was a loud cough from the doorway, and Nilsson spun around so fast he knocked the mail off the desk corner. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Robertta, the housekeeper for the second three floors, said. She looked twelve, but she talked like a general and had an iron stare. "I came just to inform you that Lord Thierry would like all staff to attend dinner at seven-thirty this evening," she told them, flashing an admonishing glare. "Idle hands are the devil's work," she muttered as she went back out the door.

Nilsson rolled his eyes and vanished down the hall.

Gen contemplated the mail thoughtfully. Usually she divided the mail into three stacks, letters Thierry would have to handle personally, things she could either take care of herself or throw away, and messages that required replies which she could probably handle but would need his approval on. Today she wasn't sure what to do. Thierry himself, or rather, Terry, had suggested that she go swimming and maybe do some shopping, but if she left there would be no one to answer the phone, which was ringing off the hook. Not only did he have today's business to attend to, but was behind because of last night's inattention.

Finally she went ahead and separated the mail. Those letters which she could get out of the way she did so with, and while she was working Bernard came in and sat down on the edge of her desk.

He was a very skinny vampire, the thinnest Gen had ever seen, and back in the days before Lord Thierry was too busy to call them anything but, "Get in here!" he had referred to Bernard as a stray kitten. Gen found him amusing and sweet, although at the moment he was being somewhat inefficient.

"This is a mess," he said, grabbing a jeweled letter opening and tearing into a thick package. "I've been wandering around for hours, but I don't know what to do."

"Did you ask Lord Thierry?"

"Yes. He suggested I watch a movie. He's discovered the satellite dish and hasn't budged in an hour. There are just pictures in the envelope, what do you want me to do with them?"

Gen took the 8x12 glossies from him and examined them. "Put them in the pile for Thierry to look at."

"He told me not to call him Thierry again, so I called him Mr. Terry, and he said, "No, it's just Terry.' Then I asked him if he wanted to work on the manuscript anymore, and he said, 'No, why don't you do it?' even though it was clear he had no idea what I was talking about."

"Well, there you go. Do some proofreading, if you haven't got anything better to do."

His stringy hair fell down around his face, accenting its delicate features. "What if tomorrow he's back to normal and he gets mad at me? You know how he likes to do everything himself."

"He can't get mad at you for doing something he told you to do. That's contradictory." She sighed and chucked a couple of Victoria's Secret catalogues into the trash, fully aware that Nilsson would fish them out later. "Look, Bern, the book has to be to the publisher by the end of the week. Regardless of whether Lord Thierry or Just Terry is present. We've got to get the book out, and you're a college graduate for christ sakes, aren't you? I'm sure you know where to put your periods."

Bernard fiddled with the letter opener a little longer and then put it down. "Okay, you're right. Should I take the manuscript down to my room?"

"Why bother? Terry hasn't been in the office all day, you may as well help yourself to the desk."

Bernard looked guilty but faintly exhilarated as he opened the office door very quietly and snuck inside. Gen chuckled low in her throat and picked up another piece of mail.

Hannah didn't wake up until late that evening, and found herself groggy and thick-headed. Stepping into the gray-tiled bathroom, she discovered a spray of Queen Anne's Lace tied to her tooth brush, and a piece of soap carved like a rose put out beside the hand towel. Cute, she thought, turning on the cold water to wash her face.

Shadows gradually began to spread out around the grand house like a dark stain, and the atmosphere within picked up as it happened. Hannah wandered into the front hall to find the witches departing.

"We couldn't figure out a thing," Tobias told her, as Nilsson brought the car around. "Want to hear my theory?"

"Sure."

He leaned close and lowered his voice so the other witches wouldn't hear. "I think Thierry lost his memory because he wanted to."

Hannah lifted her eyebrow. "Wanted to?"

"How else do you figure it? He's the strongest vampire on earth, a little dip in the pool isn't going to hurt him. No, I think it's some mental discipline we can't even begin to understand. Besides, look how happy he seems all of a sudden."

After he left, Hannah asked Gen where Thierry was. "Damned if I know," Gen told her. "He came around for dinner with the staff, that was quite an adventure, and then he went off wandering again. For a while he was in the library on third, but Mia said she saw him going upstairs again."

Hannah noted the stack of folders Gen was shuffling and said, "Is everything okay?"

"We can hardly run Circle Daybreak without him, Hannah. Nothing is going to be okay if he stays this way for long."

She found Thierry on fourth, in a rec room she'd never even seen before. He was fiddling with a control panel set into a desk, touching buttons and then going to the CD player nearby.

"Hannah," he said, turning around when she came in. "Feeling better?"

She nodded and sat down on a leather couch. This room had a decorative motif of patterned elegance. The walls were papered in dark colors and huge photography books covered the coffee table.

"Do you know how to operate this?" he asked, gesturing to the control panel.

Hannah shook her head. "I've never been in this room before."

He frowned. "How much time do you spend here?"

"Weekends, here and there, and I come up on breaks."

"So I usually go to see you," he said, trying to put the pieces together.

"Not often," she said delicately. "You don't have a lot of spare time."

"So I've gathered."

He sat gracefully down on the floor and opened a huge drawer full of CDs. "Some of these haven't even been unwrapped," he mused, opening one. "By the way, those pictures on the far wall, do you recognize any of those people?"

Hannah got up and walked to the display he was indicating. Two dozen frames covered the wall behind another leather couch, the arrangement carefully balanced and tasteful. Most of the photographs were posed shots of young-looking people, but there were many whose eyes spoke of age.

"This is you," she said, "with Hunter Redfern. Maybe some one should take that down, it isn't great publicity. This woman is Grandma Harman, and these are her granddaughters."

As she spoke, Thierry came to stand beside her. "What are their names?"

Hannah pointed. "Blaise, Thea, Sylvia, Gillian, and Iliana. That's Aradia with Mother Cybele. This," she touched her fingers to the frame of another photograph, "is your best friend, Grahme. I've never met him, but you used to talk about him a lot. I don't know who the woman with him is. Over here is Ana, I don't know her last name. You were friends for a long time, she died a few years ago."

"What about this one?" Thierry pointed to a photograph of three red-haired girls, all smiling and with their arms around each other.

"That's Cristona Patterson, Lauren Cambridge, and Zorina Faer. You call them your granddaughters, although there's no real relation. This is Zorie's mother here, Cele, and her aunt Jada."

He found an older photograph of people in bright gaudy dresses. "And these?"

"This is the Redfern family, back in the early eighties, I guess. I don't recognize most of them, but that's Hunter again, and there's his daughter Lily. That's Ash with his parents, there's Jasper with his son James, and those two girls are Kestrel and Rowan, I don't know which is which. That baby is probably Jade, and I think the woman over here's name is Sapphira."

Hannah walked him through all the names she could remember, even surprising herself at times. She felt like she could have compiled this year's "Who's Who in the Night World," by the time they were done.

Thierry stared at the photographs for a long time, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. "I think Lauren was going to come visit next week," Hannah mentioned. "And Gen mentioned calling Grahme if your memory doesn't come back in a few days." She glanced at him. "Is this bringing anything back?"

"No." He lifted one photograph from the wall, a crumbling black and white that must have been taken in the days of horse and carriage. "Who are they?" he asked.

"That's Quinn, with Violet Yarrow."

"Are they still around?"

"Quinn's with Circle Daybreak, and I don't know about Violet."

He turned the frame over and used his fingernails to pry the metal prongs securing the back up. Carefully, he removed the stiff black cardboard and peeled the photograph itself away from the glass.

"There's a note," he said, removing the paper backing from the picture. Hannah watched him gently unfold it, thoughtful of the aged paper. "'Dear Thierry,'" he read. "'You made me promise not to burn them all, here's the last one. Quinn.'" He handed the page to Hannah. "That's odd."

"How did you know it was there?" Hannah asked as he began putting the frame together again.

He shrugged. "I just knew."

"What else do you 'just know'?"

He hung the picture back on the wall and turned to her, having caught the slight note of challenge that had crept into her voice. "That something's very wrong in this house."

"What do you mean?"

His eyes were different, she realized suddenly. The age that had made them so deep and weighted was gone. He looked...truly young.

"I've walked around here all day doing normal things. I played the piano downstairs, I read in the library, I watched the television, I did some painting in the studio."

"There's a studio?" Hannah couldn't help asking.

"That's what I'm talking about. Do I use that room so rarely that you don't even know it exists, the way you don't know about this one? Gentle was stunned when I told her I was going to take a shower, and Nilsson appeared confused when I asked if he wanted to play chess with me."

Thierry took her hand and guided her slowly back to the sofa. "What kind of life do I lead here? Bernard is always asking what I want him to do. There are other things as well, little hints that keep coming back to me, making me feel anxious. That I'm overlooking something, that there are secrets here. Some sort of lingering danger." His voice softened. "And it appears that I hardly ever see you, even though you told me that for all practical purposes we were married. Am I wrong, Hannah, or am I a workaholic?"

"You...." What was she supposed to say? Yes, you neglect our relationship because of your job. Yes, you're all work and no play. Yes, you figure you'll take care of business in this life and catch me the next time I come around.

She didn't want to hurt his feelings. "You work harder than anyone I've ever known. To do the job you do, and to do it as well as you have, you need to put all your energy into it."

"That's no excuse," he told her.

"And I never complain," she added.

He leaned close and smiled faintly. "Then maybe we're both to blame."

He was still holding one of her hands, rubbing the backs of her fingers with his thumb, and she came to a quick understanding of something. This wasn't some multiple personality disorder, he hadn't split into Thierry and Terry. He was still himself, just without the obsessive working. Still Thierry of the gentle heart and noble mind.

"Would you like to go out to dinner tomorrow night?" he asked. She couldn't help smiling. "Sure."

"Good. Any favorite restaurants, or should I ask Dan?"

"Dan?"

"Nilsson, the doorman."

"I didn't know he had a first name. I don't care where we go."

They were still leaning close together. God he has beautiful eyes, Hannah thought. When they aren't covered in clouds and throbbing with thoughts, they're really beautiful.

"I'll find a place," Thierry told her.

"Okay."

She wanted him to kiss her, she realized. For a moment it looked as if he would, but then he was up and moving back to the control panel. "Watch this," he said, flicking a few switches.

Suddenly music burst into the room from unseen speakers hidden in the walls. A few measures of low base gave way to a sudden rush of violins. "This is the music from that diamond commercial," Hannah realized.

"Is it? The box just says 'Diamond Music.'" He reached for her hand again and pulled her into the hall, where the music was playing. "It's all through the house," he told her.

"What the hell?" Hannah heard one of the fourth floor maids mutter as she came out of a room with a duster in her hand.

"Can you dance?" Thierry asked.

"Not a chance," Hannah said, laughing.

They headed for the stairs, where Thierry found Gen and caught her around the waist. "You're a hundred or so, aren't you, Gentle? Surely you learned to dance as a child."

She looked utterly mortified. "I don't think so, Lord Thierry."

He shrugged. "Then I guess you'll just have to learn, Hannah."

He swept her down the stairs and onto the great expanse of floor in the front hall. Hannah saw the staff coming down the stairs like mice creeping from the woodwork, astonished at the music and the sight of their boss in jeans and a sweatshirt.

He put placed one of her hands on his shoulder, and stretched the other out beside them. "No time for the mamba now," he said, "just follow my feet."

Hannah looked down and the music picked up in volume. Thierry started moving, graceful even in stiff cross-trainers that looked as if they'd never been worn before. She stumbled over her feet, but he just laughed and lifted her up in the air so that her legs swung out behind her. Hannah yelped and the staff broke into a round of applause as the piece finally ended.

Thierry bowed, smiling deeply. "I'd like to thank the Academy," he told them as the crowd began returning to work.

"Lor-I mean, Terry," Gen said as she walked over. "I know that this is an....unusual situation, but there are things that need your attention."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, you were in the midst of writing a letter to the Gorganna Three when your accident, or whatever it was, occurred, and that really needed to be sent out a few days ago to begin with. There's a deadline on the book you're editing, which Bernard has mostly taken care of but has a few questions about. You've also received a number of letters concerning a Circle Daybreak safehouse that burned to the ground last week. The man in charge of that, Berry or Fern River, I can't remember which one, wants to know where to send the refugees. Then there's Elle Mairson, who you were very short with yesterday evening, who still needs to be called back. Not to mention your reconnaissance teams-"

Thierry held a hand up. "All right, I think I see. Let's go upstairs and take a look. You coming, Hannah?"

She hardly ever went into his office, and never when he was working. The atmosphere was too intense. "Uh, okay," she agreed. She had remembered the names attached to all those faces in the rec room, maybe she'd be able to help with some of this Night World business, too.

"Why aren't there any lights in here?" Terry asked, after the one office lamp had burned out as soon as it was turned on. He pushed the curtains back from the terrace doors, but found that the stars hadn't come out yet.

"You can't see?" Gen asked, startled.

"I can see fine, it just strikes me as sort of gloomy."

"You usually say that too much light distracts you," Bernard mentioned, shuffling a stack of papers in his arms.

Terry watched Hannah walk into a coffee table and smack her shin in the dark. "Maybe someone could bring up a few lamps," he suggested meaningfully.

"Right away," Gen promised, ducking back into the outer office where her desk was.

"What was it you needed me to look at?" Terry asked Bernard.

"Oh, here sir." He held up the papers. "This is the final draft of 'Circle Daybreak's Official Guide to Vampirism.' I've gone through and corrected all the typos and spelling, but there were a few things I wasn't sure about...."

Terry sat down on the couch and guided Hannah to sit next to him. She couldn't see six inches in front of her face in this darkness. "Fire away."

Bernard sat clumsily down on the arm of a chair. "Well, first off, it gives here Brie as an example of a lamia name. Would Brie really fit, since it's the name of a cheese and not an actual object found in nature? If we're talking natural components here, we might as well say lamia children can be named Plastic."

"Take it out if you think it's misleading," Terry told him.

"What do I put in place of Brie?"

He glanced at Hannah. "How about Snow?"

Bernard nodded, scribbling on a pad of paper. He went down a list of at least thirty similar questions, all things Terry was surprised he couldn't answer for himself, while Nilsson arrived and plugged a few lamps into the wall.

"Wait," Terry said, as Bernard finished one note and moved on to another. "Your judgement in these matters is very good, I'm sure you can be trusted to make the right decision. Just go through and change whatever you feel needs changing."

Bernard's eyes grew rather round. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Gentle came in and began talking about other things. "I heard from Muler, Muler, and Rivnova yesterday about the Sandrine case, and they won't take it."

"Wait," Terry said. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sandrine needs to be eliminated and we don't have anyone to do it. Your options, they way I see it-"

"Hold on." He leaned forward, frowning. "Why are you killing Sandrine? What's he done?"

"She. She's a Night World spy with potentially dangerous information concerning the Wild Powers."

"So you're just going to off her?"

"Of course not, sir." Gentle pushed a stray lock of hair off her face and explained patiently, "Osseraund is an undercover agent who works in Eastern Europe. She keeps track of who's doing what, and she made a recommendation that Sandrine be eliminated. It wasn't made lightly, believe me, we rarely hear from Osseraund, and if she says it needs to be done, then it needs to be done. Now, I think your best course of action would be to contact Kevin Jules to hunt her down, and Heartshot to kill her. The two of them will be a little more expensive than some of the teams who will do both, but they're very reliable."

Terry said nothing, watching her talk without hearing the words. There were flaws in this system, unless he was missing something. How did he know Osseraund was even working in his interest if she hardly ever checked in? For all he knew, Sandrine was on his side and he was going to have her killed simply because Osseraund said so.

Uncover teams that needed directions seemed to be Gentle's main concern, and she was greatly distraught when Terry had no opinion on them.

"I don't know the situation," he told her. "You're probably more familiar with it than I am."

After they'd been arguing over it for an hour, she put her head in her hands and said, "I can do what I think you'd want me to, but I have no way of knowing if that's really what you'd want me to do."

"Then call in someone who knows the situation and knows what I would want."

Gentle stood quickly, her cheeks faintly flushed with anger. She started toward the door and then stopped and turned. In a carefully controlled voice, she said, "I'm going to call Faren Grahme and ask him to come right away."

Terry nodded. "I think that's a wise decision, for all it matters."

A few hours after dawn, he found himself wandering the mansion alone again. His clothes were smudged with soot in several places; he'd been playing with the furnace in the basement and changing dust filters. Sunlight trickled in through the long windows, and the staff had slowly wandered past to their beds for the noon hours, just a few unbothered werewolves hanging around for security. Terry touched this and that, lost himself for long, rich moments in the incredible works of art hanging about, and explored everything. Desks, he found, were often stuffed with tid bits from his earlier life, everything from voo doo dolls to bundles of letters to small mummified animals. There was a trunk of baby clothes on the fifth floor that he had no clue as to the owner of, but when he lifted them to his nose and inhaled he was swept by a stunning wave of deja vu.

He passed Hannah's bedroom door again and paused. She'd been asleep for two hours, after helping him sort through a bunch of letters Gentle wanted him to look at. Apparently it would be a few days before Grahme would be able to reach Las Vegas, he was in Poland on some kind of emergency.

Unconsciously silencing himself, he touched the door knob and turned it. From inside he could hear Hannah's deep, evening breathing, and the warm stuffiness from closed windows. He relaxed slightly and went in.

The bedroom Hannah had taken was small, but full of huge furniture, a four-poster bed with tapestries hanging on three sides and an eight-foot headboard at the other. Scenes of lions with huge heads and unicorns with tiny ankles came out of the threads with medieval grace. The curtains were open in front of the bay window, and Terry could feel the heat pooling on the carpet from several feet away.

Hannah hadn't bothered unpacking; her open duffle bag lay on the floor. It looked like a volcano frozen in time, shirts and pants jumping half out. Terry touched the roll-top desk and carefully shook each drawer enough to tell that it was empty. Then he moved on to the chest of drawers, and after that the trunk in the corner. All were empty. This must be a frequently used guest room, he thought, and the maids know better than to stash things in here.

He walked to the bed and pushed the tapestries open a little. Hannah was curled up inside with her head at the foot of the bed, twisted in a sheet. She frowned slightly while she slept, and Terry could see the minute movements of her eyes beneath their thin lids as she glanced around her dream world.

Carefully manipulating the mattress so that it wouldn't squeak, he stretched out beside her. The tapestry fell back behind him, turning the bed into a dim alcove.

She smelled of sweet soap flavored with witches' herbs and Terry lay his face near hers, tried to melt into her sleep. She said they had been together through her multiple incarnations; he wondered if it was possible to recall those if he looked hard enough. His mind reached back but something stopped him, something older and wiser than he was.

Thierry, perhaps?

You don't want to remember, it seemed to say, and he didn't argue.

A hand closed around his and he heard Hannah whisper, "What are you doing here?"

Without opening his eyes, he told her, "Basking in your aura."

Somehow he could feel her smile without seeing it.

"Gen's in a tizzy, you should really sit down and help her for a while."

He could hear multiple phones ringing from her office. "I did that already today, and for far longer than I wanted to."

"Is this what you want, to lay here and watch me sleep?"

He blinked lazily and said, "It's not as nice as having you awake, but I enoy it."

He doubted she could see him in the darkness, or the soft expression on his face; her eyes searched as if trying to make out features, her mouth turned in an ernest frown.

"I want to paint you," he said.

"Right now?" she asked, surprised.

"Or later. I can see you in pastels, asleep at the top of the stairs in the front hall."

"Curled up on the steps like the littlest Von Trapp kid, huh?"

"Something like that. And I'd like to paint you in the garden, wearing one of those incredible ball gowns the women in perfume ads wear. Yards and yards of gauze. Or in the chapel, passing notes with Gen during the service, trying to look like you're paying attention."

Hannah finally stopped searching the darkness for him and let her eyes rest on the cloth ceiling, but he could tell she was listening carefully.

"I didn't know you painted until today."

"What a coincidence, neither did I."

She laughed very softly. "I don't know how you can make this all so easy," she said. "Everyone else is in a panic, worrying about when you'll get your memory back and how to jog it and which psychiatrists to call, and you just want to paint and go horseback riding."

"Is that too much to ask from life?"

"No. When you've worked as hard as you have for so many years, I don't think it's too much to ask at all. But Gen didn't have any warning, and she doesn't know how to do this on her own. You get two hundred phone calls a day, all of which she has to handle."

"Maybe I should hire an assistant for her."

"I think she'd rather have a boss. Gen doesn't want to make the decisions, if she did, she wouldn't be a secretary."

Terry frowned, glad Hannah couldn't see it. "Maybe Grahme will be the boss she wants, when he gets here."

"You still don't remember him?"

"No. But I like the look of his picture." And I love the way you smell, he interjected silently before saying, "Hannah? Everyone keeps telling me what my life is like, and what I do with my time, and what I never do, but I still don't understand. At the heart of it all, why I am doing this?"

Her brow creased as she thought, and her hand tightened around his. Finally, in a voice full of admiration, she said, "You're doing it because you have a good heart, and you know it's the right thing."

Secretly he had hoped maybe the reason was something like blackmail, or an agreement, something that could be broken or dissolved. "That's all?"

"Isn't that reason enough?"

He rolled onto his side, and she heard him even though she couldn't see him. "The shoemaker goes barefoot so that he can make his children shoes, is that it?"

"I didn't know you resented them," Hannah said painfully.

"I don't think I do. But I try to remember them and all I feel is obligation and exhaustion and....some omnipresent unease. Maybe this shoemaker has burnt out."

Before he knew what was happening, words were coming out of his mouth in a slow, steady stream. Not all of them came from the past twenty-four hours' experiences, some seemed to rise up from that deep gray well within him, gliding through the mist that surrounded its opening and tumbling out into the warm, stuffy air of the canopied bed.

"I love you, Hannah, something in me knows that. When you aren't in the room I worry that something will happen to you that I won't be there to stop, and there's comfort in just watching you sleep. It's one of those feelings that has taken possession of me, it's commanding me and pushing me around. But I don't know why I feel this way, just like I don't know why I work so much. I want to take the time to get to know you, in every way. In all the simple ways. I want us to talk about meaningless things and watch television and waste time together, as if we have an endless supply. I want to take you shopping and buy you dresses you'll probably never wear, just so I can see you in them once or twice. I'd like you meet your parents and your brothers and sisters and pretend to be a visiting student at your school for a day. Or watch you clean out your closet."

"Thierry," she broke in.

"I know, I know, I'm rambling and being ridiculous. They told me that you have to get back to school and I know Gentle will have a nervous breakdown if I don't do something she considers useful. And maybe it is all silly and childish, but maybe that's why this happened. Why Fate decided that I should lose my memory, so that I can take the time to just be with you. Because....as strange as this sounds, I have the nagging feeling that you might vanish at any moment."

Hannah had closed her eyes, and now she reached up a hand to brush the tears from her lashes. "I'm sorry," Terry said. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

She laughed again, letting a little choked sob escape at the same time. "It's not your fault," she said. "I'm a girl, girls cry. This is all so confusing."

He rubbed the hand he was still holding between both of his. "Has something happened between us that I'm no aware of?"

"No. Yes. Lots of things, but not the kind I think you mean." She wiped her face with the corner of the sheet and took a slow breath. "You tempt me so much," she said. "I feel like I could just call Mom and tell her that I'm going to take the rest of the semester off to help you recover, and then stay here with you like this for days on end. And all those things you talked about, the little, inconsequential ones....you're right, we've never had a chance to do them, and I want to as much as you do. But the fact remains that I'm thinking pretty selfishly here. The millennium is creeping up on us, you still have a Wild Power to find, and people are counting on you. You're Circle Daybreak's rock, you always have been. I can't jeopardize the fate of the whole human race because I'd like to hang out with you more often. It's not fair."

By the time she was finished, her voice had grown strong and determined. She still clutched Terry's hand, but her jaw was set.

"What if I don't remember?" he asked.

"You have to. Billions of lives are in your hands."

But I'm so small, he thought. I'm just a little vampire laying in a bed. From space I'm not even a dot. I'm nothing, in the scope of things. How can I be so important when I feel so tiny?

"So you want me to do whatever it takes to remember?" he asked.

"I want you to do whatever it takes to save the world," she replied. "And then, when it's over, I want you to call me and tell me to ditch school so that I can fly up here. And I want us to spend the rest of our lives crawling through all the rooms in this house and doing nothing for as long as we like."

A hush fell over them, and without questioning, Terry rolled up onto one elbow, leaned down, and settled his mouth on hers. Hannah kissed him back immediately, and he gathered her body up in the sheet as he pulled her close. He could hear it working, the lungs expanding and contracting, the blood swishing from one vein into another, the zap sounds of nerves sending their electrical pulses racing toward her brain.

What a miracle, he thought. It all just works like this, these pieces of tissue rushing together, and somewhere inside there is her. She's an angel inhabiting this strange work of art.

"I missed you," Hannah whispered against his mouth.

"You won't leave, will you?"

"Not yet," she promised. Her hands clung to his shoulders and he felt the lines between their bodies blur the way they had the day before. He touched her hip but wasn't sure it wasn't his own hip, or even that he wasn't touching it with her hand. His sight drifted from precise and clear to foggy and gray as he slipped into her mind, then out again. Hannah moaned very softly, the sensation--of him being a part of her and then separate again--was almost erotic.

Terry lost his breath as her heart began bleeding into him. Her emotions were a rush of water he couldn't escape and found himself sinking into.

It's okay, Hannah told.

Yeah, he agreed, and went about making strange, wonderful love to both her heart and her body.

Everything had changed, Hannah decided. By Tuesday morning she felt happier than she had in months, paddling on her back across the length of the pool. The water was bursting with morning chill and she shivered even as she stroked, staring up at a gently clouded sky.

Terry was sitting in the shade on a patio chair. There was a book in his hand, but his eyes followed Hannah more often than they did the words. He had been surreally attentive of her the past three days, in small, thoughtful ways, like arranging for the kitchen keeper to actually fix her meals so that she didn't have to do it herself. In an hour his private jet would fly her home so that she wouldn't miss her Wednesday morning class. They had gone on long walks in the desert and talked about everything and anything.

For the first time, she was discovering the comforts of simply having him there. She didn't have the heart to be angry at him for his work load; she knew how important his job was too him. But she had always been aware of the missed opportunities and little insensitivities that couldn't be helped. Now those were gone. When Gen got him to do some semblance of work, which was rare, he took Hannah with him. When she needed to sleep, he found ways to amuse himself in nearby rooms, or sat beside her on the bed with one of the endless books he was flying through.

She wasn't letting him go home with her, much to both their disappointments. "You have stuff to do here," she said. "I'm distracting you from taking care of business."

"You're my business," he'd replied. "What could be more important?"

She'd been into his mind seven or eight times in the last three days, had searched it and found his amnesia honest and complete. He no longer understood his obligations to anything.

"The lives of billions of humans are more important," she had told him.

But she had agreed to return as soon as she could.

Hannah had her eyes closed and was drifting peacefully, half submerged, when the huge furry mass landed on top of her. Her eyes flew open as she went under, just in time to recognize the face of a massive tiger before the image was distorted. One of its paws was one her chest, huge and iron-fisted, and the other brushed her arm as they sank quickly down.

Hannah accidently screamed, letting all her air out, and twisted away. Her feet hit a thick pelt of wet fur as she kicked, and there was another splash added to the confusion.

Swim, her mind said urgently, and she let her animal instincts take over as she dashed away from the huge cat.

She almost hit the side of the pool, she was moving so fast and so frantically. Not bothering with the ladder, she heaved one leg over the side and then scrambled to her knees. "Thierry!" someone called from the other end. "For God's sake, Thierry, let her go!"

Hannah turned to see Terry in the water, wrestling with the beast. It was unclear who was winning. Terry had the cat in a headlock, but it had sunk a paw-full of claws into his side and the water was beginning to turn pink with blood.

"Are you okay?" a man asked, grabbing Hannah's wrist.

She looked at him and was stunned by his appearance. He had seafoam green eyes and the most incredible hair she'd ever seen. Better than a model's, better than a wig's. It was thick and creme blond, and it fell in perfect satin ringlets to his hips. She actually reached out to touch it before she realized what she was doing.

"Thierry," the man called, then brushed Hannah aside and dove into the shallow end of the pool. He surfaced a few feet from where Terry was still wrestling with the tiger, and Hannah was amazed to see him dig a collar out of the mass of black and orange fur.

"Abebi!" he cried, working to jerk her away from Terry. "Dammit, Abebi, let go! I'm friends with this guy!"

The tiger let out a huge roar and Terry began trying to get away, now that he had realized this thing was a pet. The stranger wrapped his arms around Abebi's neck and pressed his face against hers, then made some cooing sounds. The beast slowly calmed and began to purr as loudly as a motor boat engine.

Terry swam to the edge of the pool and let Hannah pull him out. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Suddenly Gen and Nilsson were on the patio. "Sorry," the stranger said to Hannah, releasing the tiger and swimming over. "She's been cooped up for two days while we drove and flew and drove some more. I think she just got really excited when she saw the water. I hope she didn't get you."

"Get her in what way?" Terry demanded, his eyes narrowing in a rare showing of temper. "Your stray just tried to eat my soulmate."

The man just smiled sheepishly. "You must be Lady Hannah." He took her hand and kissed it, chlorinated water running from his chin to her fingers. "I beg your pardon, milady, and yours as well, milord, since it appears you don't remember me."

"This is Faren Grahme, Terry," Gen said, walking up to the group. "You've known him for almost six hundred years. Grahme, Just Terry and Hannah Snow."

"And you've both met Abebi," Grahme added. He glanced over his shoulder at the tiger, who was rolling sideways through the water like a log in the current. "I thought you'd like the name, Thiers, it's Yoruba for 'We asked for her, and we got her.'"

Thiers? Hannah wondered, as Gen handed her a cloth robe. Who ever calls him Thiers?

Well, no one anymore. The entire staff had taken to calling him Terry, and Hannah was starting to catch herself thinking of him that way. Just Terry.

"I should probably get changed," Grahme said. "I hear you have quiet a mess around here, with your memory gone." He boosted himself out of the pool and shook his hair, much the way his cat probably would in a few minutes. He accepted the towel Gen held out and wiped his face, then ran it over his hair. His face was very fair, absolutely unmarred by freckle or scar, and thick creme lashes fell on either side of his large green eyes. His mouth was wide, lips a perfect pastel pink, and his body was large and strong, sturdy without being disgustingly well-built. He stood a full foot taller than Thierry on his long legs.

"Do you mind if I leave Abebi out here?" he asked. "She should probably dry off before she comes inside."

Terry wrapped one hand protectively around Hannah's waist and guided her toward the patio door. "Fine," he said, although his voice was beginning to warm. "I have to see Hannah off, she's heading for the airport in a few minutes. Why don't you meet me in the living room on third in a half hour, and we can discuss the situation?"

Grahme nodded, smiled, and scampered inside. "Robertta," Terry called. "Could you have a room made up for Mr. Grahme-"

"That's all right," Grahme broke in. "I already have a room here. It's up on fifth."

Hannah watched him turn and mount the stairs with movements amazingly light for a man of his size. "He seems nice," Hannah said.

Thierry nodded, putting his other arm around her waist. "Orchid is bringing your things down. Are you ready to go?"

"I should probably put something on over this bathing suit," she told him, and he smiled.

"I hadn't thought of that. I suppose sending you out into a crowded airport looking so delectable is just asking for trouble, isn't is?" He held her eye a moment and then lay his forehead slowly on her shoulder. "Be careful, all right?"

Hannah ran her fingers over the back of his head, straightening the strands of hair. "Careful of what?"

"Anything, everything. Are you sure I can't come back with you?"

She was tempted, especially with Grahme here. But there were a thousand reasons she didn't want to get into again why the Night World needed Thierry and no one else, and he wasn't going to get his memory back if he was hanging out at her house, watching TV and helping her with homework.

"I'm sure. But I love you."

"That's something," he agreed, and lifted his face to kiss her.

Hannah slid her arms up around his neck and let herself get lost in the feel of him. He was infinitely gentle, every touch a ghost caress, and she sensed again that she fit here, beside him, part of him. This separation couldn't go on forever, she might have to think about switching colleges or something. She needed his voice in the day and his body in the night and his presence in between.

"I have to go," she said, breaking the kiss.

Terry nodded. "Would you call when you get home?"

"I will." She paused, stalling, aware that Nilsson was waiting outside with the car and Izzy had a set of clothes for her to hop into.

"Terry," she said suddenly. "Whatever happens, with your amnesia and Grahme and everything, I'll still be here for you."

His smile was so tender she felt like an idiot for having ever opened her mouth. "I know," he said. "But it is very sweet of you to remind me."

She hugged him close one more time and kissed his cheek. "I'll call," she said, and raced for the bathroom to change her clothes.

He's very beautiful, Terry thought, watching the tall, solid vampire speak. No wonder I changed him, with hair and eyes like those. So beautiful even in his youth.

Terry was seated on one of the numerous leather couches in the parlor, and Grahme was sprawled out on a brocade fainting sofa. Gen was perched nearby in a wicker chair, and Bernard and Izzy shared a love seat. The windows were open--Robertta was forever complaining about Terry's obsession with open windows--and the hot, spicy taste of the desert floated inside.

He's not terribly old, Terry went on silently, but I think there is wisdom in him. Something about the way he looks at me, as if he is analyzing everything he sees. Not just with modern-day psychology, but with great understanding. He makes allowances, he looks for all of me.

Grahme was answering Terry's question about how they had met, which Terry now realized he was hardly listening to.

"We traveled together to Prague in 1412, which is where you found Lady Hannah again, and when she died you were incredibly upset. You took after Maya like some human on a bad opium trip, just left me there alone in Prague with no idea of what to do or where to go. We bumped into each other twenty or so years later, this time in Paris. I was traveling with the opera, you had gotten yourself elected as some sort of state official, and that's where we found the three Annes. There was Anne and Annie and Ana, and we all moved into a huge house down by the river with this Romanian lamia couple, Noapte and Maslina. Maslina had gotten her arm cut off somehow, she was very sensitive about it and I think felt rather inferior to everyone. They fought constantly, Maslina was forever accusing Noapte of cheating on her with the Annes, and one night, while you were hosting this incredible dinner for Parliament, Mas grabbed Annie and broke her neck, right in the kitchen with the cooks and maids running around. All hell broke loose, the massive roast you had planned to serve burned to a crisp while you were trying to explain to the Prince of France himself what had happened, and Noapte and Maslina were still fighting like cats and dogs in front of the guests. Hunter's great grand-father was there, too, his name was.....Jules, I think. He was furious with you-"

"Excuse me," Gita, the day-time secretary, said, knocking lightly on the door. "Mr. Grahme, there's a phone call for you. It's an emergency."

Grahme frowned. "Excuse me," he said, accepting the phone Gita held out to him. "Hello?....I see. No, don't cry, I'll have it taken care of. Of course it wasn't, I'm not saying that it was-" He hung up, shook his head, and dialed. "Heidi? Yes, she's done it again. She's in Montecarlo." He rattled off an address and then added, "Send bail and a ticket back to the States. Tell her to take a vacation in Vermont or something, I hear it's beautiful this time of year. Thanks, dear."

He hung up and passed the phone back to Gita. "Sorry for the interruption," he said.

"Casey?" Gen asked.

He nodded. "Casey is..." Terry prompted.

Grahme shrugged as if it were unimportant, but his face changed subtly. Lines Terry had not seen rose to the surface, and he tucked one corner of his mouth. Terry reached out without realizing what he was doing and grasped a thread of thought, an image of a stunning young woman with voluminous red hair and a direct, elegant stare.

"You know how it is," Grahme said. "Same old story. Love of my life, thorn in my side. Impromptu destroyer of all things sane, simple, or domestic. A beautiful, passionate, overly sensitive vampire I made fifty some-odd years ago with a self-destructive streak and enough anger to power the city of New York for a week." He sighed again, and Terry could see him forcing all thoughts of Casey out of his mind. Such wonderful mental control, Terry thought, that he can just push it away like that...

He stopped suddenly. That kind of control came with age in a vampire. To simply ignore a thought as if it didn't exist in order to concentrate on other matters was a trick every hunter learned. Grahme was obviously very good at it, and he was only a fraction as old as Terry.

Which means I might be able to ignore my entire memory, Terry thought.

"Thierry?" Grahme asked, looking intently as his friend.

Terry blinked. "I'm sorry, I was distracted." Grahme nodded, but didn't ask. "And please, call me Terry."

"All right," Grahme agreed readily. "But never mind about Casey, she's being taken care of. You asked me how we met and I went rambling off on an entire life history. So tell me, what on earth happened to you?"

Terry saw Gentle lean forward with interested, and felt distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't like the secretary, they just hadn't been on very good terms the last few days. She had this mental image of him as a man with nothing to live for but his work, and Terry wasn't living up to it.

"Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?" he asked, looking not just at Gentle but at Bernard and Izzy as well.

"Of course," Izzy said. She was the well-mannered one with the impenetrable eyes. She drew Bernard and Gentle out of the room along with her, and her surface facial expression was one that apologized for having ever intruded in the first place. God only knew what she was thinking underneath.

We must know each other, Terry thought. Otherwise I would never let her work so close to me.

Now he was alone with Grahme, and fell to studying him again with both his mind and his eyes. When Terry's hand reached for thoughts, Grahme merely lowered his head and opened his memories to Terry's gentle probing.

He didn't spend long inside, only the moments required to assure himself that Grahme was in every way a genuine friend. Everything he had said about their time together in Prague and Paris was true; Terry couldn't help smiling when he saw himself through Grahme's eyes, trying salvage a dinner party gone to chaos.

When he opened his eyes, Grahme had one hand on his wrist and their faces were only a few inches away. "It wasn't just the hair," Grahme said, "that made you want to change me. Between us there's...some connection that the witches probably have a name for, but I can't describe properly. Whatever it is, we are, and have always been, the closest of friends."

He saw now the chambers of seafoam hidden in Grahme's eyes, rooms where emotions held under check sat. "When we first met, you thought I was Hannah. It was....amusing, to say the least."

"And I made you a vampire."

"Right away, I was already nineteen and you were worried I wouldn't make it through the change. But I did, and six hundred years later, here we are."

"Here we are," Terry echoed.

"In any way," Grahme told him intently, "I'm here to help you. You have always had my loyalty."

Terry nodded slowly. "And you have my protection, and my guidance."

Grahme smiled beautifully, lighting up his whole face. "And they say you don't remember me."

Sometimes Grahme felt impossibly young. His own stamina was a wonder. How he could be so old, and have so much energy, and still wake up in the evening hungry to touch and taste and walk among, amazed him.

He sat in the upstairs office with Gentle, Izzy, Bernard, and Gita as they described the state of disarray the office had fallen into. After a full half hour of Gen's non-stop speak, he put a hand up and said, "I'm confused. Are you telling me that Thierry has been running all of Circle Daybreak himself, with only the four of you as his immediate help?"

"We're quite capable," Gen told him indignantly.

"I didn't mean to imply that you aren't," he said, smiling to soften his words. "But you must know what a huge job this is. He has the Council and the Wild Powers to deal with, plus prophecies to dig through and the everyday matters of organization. I don't think it's possible for five people to take care of all that."

"You haven't been here long," Izzy said with a delicate smile.

He leaned back in his chair and considered the situation. Terry was apparently out of commission; Gen said he couldn't stay concentrated on one thing without someone constantly looking over his shoulder. Even as they discussed the matter, Gita was comparing numbers between two memos and Izzy was opening mail. Gen looked as if she had given up on getting anything done and Bernard was too tense to spit a sentence out without stuttering.

Izzy frowned at a letter and stuck it in a garbage bag labeled, "Thierry Only." It was already more than half full.

She didn't know what to do with it, and wasn't in a position to take over the job. Somebody needed to step in and put things back in order.

The job was enormous. It would mean days without pause, drinking stale, refrigerated blood from a milk cup, feeling at every moment as if a tornado was on its way and it was up to him, solely him, to organize the evacuation. The panic ignited a fierce pleasure in him, the same vicious burning that drove him to attempt impossible feats of danger, battling wild animals and swimming across seas. He lived for these adventures, these chances to push himself further than he'd ever excepted to go.

And besides, he was Thierry's best friend.

"All right," he said. "Here's what we're going to do: I'll set up in the office, first off. Gen, I need you to call my secretary, Heidi, and fly her in, along with Abebi's trainer, Carol. Heidi will need an office when she gets here. Izzy, make up a list of all Circle Daybreak issues and situations I need to be aware of. Bernard, go talk to everybody on staff and see if there's anything they need addressed, then get back to me. Gita, put in calls to the heads of all the Circle Daybreak departments and let them know I'm taking over until Thierry is back to himself."

They all headed for the door, smiling and relieved. Grahme reached over and flicked on Thierry's computer. Time to get to work.

To Be Continued…..