I was spoiled. I realize that now. My job in the Army was cushy, a bed of roses compared to this, my years at the PD, a romp in the park. Somehow, when I went into business for myself, being my own boss held a lot of appeal. I imagined working only when I wanted, spending weekends hip deep in a trout stream. I found out very quickly it doesn't work that way. When there are only two of you, delegating the work only goes so far, and a relief shift is nonexistent.

Which explains why I'm sitting in Blair's Wagoneer in the woods just north of Vancouver watching an abandoned cabin, wondering why I ever thought doing a few bounty-hunting jobs to supplement the regular PI stuff was a good idea. I consider asking my partner that question, but I don't want to wake him. I glance at him as I grab a tissue from the box on the dash and blow my nose. Did I mention I have the cold of the century too? Sandburg stirs at the noise, but doesn't wake, instead snuggling deeper into the layers of blankets he has wrapped around himself. At least he has finally been sleeping through the night, though right now I could do with a little conversation to keep myself awake.

Checking the luminous numbers on the face of my watch, I notice that in about fifty more minutes the old millenium will be gone, and the next thousand years will begin, despite Sandburg's protests that it doesn't officially begin until 2001. After the year we've had, we could use the fresh start. Yawning, I crack my window a little, hoping the cold air will clear the cobwebs from my brain, keep me alert for any sign of our bail jumper.

Blair moves in his makeshift nest, tucking the covers closer around him. I consider closing the window if he's really uncomfortable, but he remains oblivious, which I suppose is a good thing. Perhaps if he sleeps through the change of years, the moment won't be so painful.

Who am I kidding? I still hurt whenever I think of that awful day. There's still a big aching place in my soul, in the bond between myself and Sandburg, a place that had once been filled by the Champion and her Companion. I find myself slipping into another level of awareness, checking the bright, golden band that connects me to my guide. It's still there, as strong and steady as ever, perhaps a little brighter than it had been eight months ago when we were blindsided by the whole mess with Blair's dissertation. But missing from the spiritual cloth are the blue and green threads that symbolized Diandra and Megan.

Damn Alex Barnes! If she wasn't already dead . . . .  I let the unfinished thought go with the breath I've been holding, forcibly unclenching my hands. Blair murmurs something low, pained, and nonsensical. Even asleep he's picking up on my ugly mood, and I try to think pleasant thoughts so as not to disturb him any further. He's been through enough, we both have. Try as I might, though, my mind keeps pulling me back to those awful weeks following the most horrific experience of our lives.

Blair had been numb at first, in shock. Who wouldn't be after having his heart figuratively ripped out of his chest, taking a big chunk of his soul with it? It wasn't until after the memorial service that it really hit him, that they were really and truly gone. It was then he had reached out to me, and for once in my life, I knew the right thing to say, the right thing to do. I couldn't afford to be afraid anymore as it hit me for the first time he needed me as much as I need him. So I let him cry and scream and work through all his anger, and when he was done, I did the thing I should have done weeks before. I resigned from the PD and devoted myself to us, to working on the Sentinel/Guide thing, to making a mutual decision about where we were heading with the rest of our lives. Somehow, though, I hadn't pictured this exact scenario when we had decided to open Champion Investigations.

The tickle thatís been sitting at the back of my throat for several minutes turns into a hacking cough. Sandburg shoots out of the blankets as if he's been bit, digging automatically for the thermos between his legs. He pours me some kind of herbal tea he's been forcing down me all day, and I accept it with a nod of thanks, wrapping my fingers around the warm cup, watching the steam rise in the cold air. I swallow the stuff, the bitterness disguised with a liberal dose of honey, reflecting on the fact that I don't protest nearly as much as I used to at his native remedies. Somehow I no longer feel the need to question his motives. If he insists on dosing me with something that tastes like the bottom of the Everglades, I know it's because he genuinely thinks it'll help.

A voice drifts out from the cocoon. "What time is it, man?"

I glance at my watch again. "Five minutes 'til midnight." He's silent for a moment then I hear a small sigh escape his lips.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this, Jim." I know exactly what he means. "I was going through some of Dee's papers, and found a reservation she'd made last January, when we thought we had all the time in the world." I reach over and squeeze his shoulder through the layers of fabric as he continues. "We were supposed to be in the Fiji Islands, the four of us, ringing in the New Year together."

"I'm sorry, Chief," I say for probably the billionth time since it happened.

"Not your fault, Jim. Not anyone's fault but Alex's." He turns his face toward the side window ostensibly staring out into the night, but I know better. The glass is completely fogged over and I can feel his thoughts turn inward, just as mine have been doing for the past hour.

I squeeze his shoulder again. "It's not your fault either. Alex played us, played all of us. She had a death wish from the start."

His voice is quiet as he answers me. "I know, Jim, I know. And when you think about it, she failed. We're both still alive; she didn't take us down with her."

He doesn't continue, but I know what he's thinking. He's thinking maybe it would be better if she had, at least then we would all be together on the spirit plane. Some nights I would have to agree with him, but this isn't one of them. I tug at a curl poking out from under his hat. "Everything happens for a reason, Blair. Dee believed that. If we were meant to be with them, we would be."

He nods as my watch beeps. "Happy New Year, Chief."

"Happy New Year, Jim," he answers, but there is no joy in his voice.

"Things will get better, I promise."

Sandburg turns toward me, the hint of a smile on his lips. "They have been, they have been, but tonight I'm giving myself permission to be sad for a little while, you know? It wouldn't feel right to be anything else." Wiping some of the condensation off the window, he changes the subject. "Any sign of our fugitive from justice?"

I shake my head. "Not a thing."

"Then why don't you try and get some rest. I'll keep watch for a while."

I smile my thanks at him and stretch out as best I can. He pokes me as I start to close my eyes.

"Get in the back and lie down, man, or you'll be adding a stiff neck and sore back to your cold."

"Yes, mom." He thumps me in the arm as I crawl over the seat and into the sleeping bag we keep in the back for just such a purpose. It doesn't take me long to fall asleep.

"Jim, Jim, man, wake up. Someone just drove up to the cabin." Sandburg follows this announcement by shaking me.

"I'm awake, I'm awake." Opening my eyes, I sit up. That was a mistake. While I was asleep, someone opened a bowling alley in my head and is now throwing strikes with the back of my eyes as the pins. I make a noise.

"Headache?" Blair asks. At my glare, he offers this advice, "Dial it back, man."

Swallowing past the jagged shards of glass now lining my throat, I do as he tells me, then climb back into the front seat of the Jeep, turning my attention on the small cabin. A faint light can been seen through the windows. Extending my hearing, I pick up the noise of someone moving about, the sound of a match being struck and the crackle of kindling catching fire. "Someone's there all right. I can't see in from here; I'm gonna go for a closer look."

Blair starts to untangle himself from his blankets. "I'll go with you."

I shake my head and regret it immediately as the bowler upstairs picks up a spare. I cover well, though. "I'm not going to try anything. I just want to get an angle where I can look in the window. No sense in both of us freezing. I'll only be a minute," I promise.

He frowns at me, then nods. Getting out of the truck, I head through the trees slowly, the cold wind cutting through my heavy parka. The snow is deep here, and it hinders my progress. I figure I must be running a fever by now; I can feel sweat trickling down my forehead. For a few seconds I consider going back to the truck, then decide against it. Just one look inside to ID our fugitive is all I need, then once morning comes, we collar the perp and head back across the border. To my left I spy a small frozen pond, the ice swept clean by the wind. If I walk out on the surface a little way, my line of sight should be even with the cabin's window. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get out of the elements.

I test the ice first, of course. Be pretty embarrassing if I took a step out onto it and find myself ankle deep in cold water. It supports my weight with no sign of cracking, so I work my way out about 20 feet, and turn to face the house. Damn, I really feel like shit. Blinking sweat and wind-caused tears from my eyes, I focus in. There's a curtain in the way. I take one big step to my left, and plunge through the ice. Frigid water closes over my head, and I panic, breathing in a mouthful of H2O.

Kicking hard with my legs, my head breaks the surface as I cough and sputter. I grab for the edge of the ice only to have it crumble under my hands. I think I'm in trouble. My waterlogged clothes start to pull me down and I go under once more, struggling to shed my heavy jacket. I do so, but the cold saps my energy and I fight to rise again. Air rushes into my lungs, and I tread water, trying to gather enough strength to yell for Sandburg, even though I know he's too far away and safe inside a closed car to hear me.

"JIM!"

I don't even question how he knew I was in trouble. Just one of the benefits of having a Guide, I guess. "Over here!" I manage to yell before my body ignores my commands and I sink again. This time I let myself go all the way to the bottom, forcing my nerveless legs to push off it, to give me a boost up. My head surfaces and he's there in front of me, sprawled on his belly on the ice, stretching something out to me. Lifting my arm out of the water is too big an effort for my frozen body.

"Damn it, Jim! Don't do this to me! Grab the staff!"

I'm so tired, so fucking cold.

"Jim! You gotta help me here! Grab on!"

I lift my hand out of the water and try to close my fingers on the pole. They're so numb I can't feel it and they slide off.

I hear the terror in his voice. "Damn you, Jim! Don't you do this to me! Don't you leave me too!"

Somehow I find the strength to reach out again, and this time I manage to hold on. Blair pulls me to him, grabbing my shirt as I reach him, hauling me onto the ice with no help from me. He forces me to crawl with him toward the shore, even though all I want to do is lay my head down and sleep. Finally we are off the ice, both of us collapsing in the snow. My eyes begin to close, and suddenly Blair is shaking me, slapping my face, yelling at me to stay awake, to get up.

Dragging me to my feet, he throws my arm over his shoulders and we head for the Wagoneer. Or at least he does. My frozen legs aren't listening to my brain and refuse to move. Blair swears in some foreign language, and I feel myself being lifted in a fireman's carry. He staggers for a moment under my weight, muttering something about too many visits to Wonderburger, then begins to walk. Hanging upside down is driving the mad bowler in my head nuts, and I barely have time to realize we're heading in the wrong direction before he rolls a turkey, and everything goes black.

I awake to indescribable agony. It's as if a thousand needles are stabbing into every inch of my body at once. Muscle spasms shake me uncontrollably and I can hear my teeth chattering. There is a prickly furnace pressed against my back, though it does little to warm the deathly cold inside me. My eyes stubbornly refuse to open more than the barest of slits, and all I can see is a dancing kaleidoscope of light and shadow. I blink, and the world coalesces slowly. I can see a face, short, dark hair framing delicate features, deep violet eyes peering into mine. I realize this is not Blair, but before I can act on this thought, I descend into darkness again.

Consciousness is not quite so unbearable the second time I wake. The pins and needles are gone, and all that's left of the spasms is a deep ache in every muscle of my body. The blast oven is still there next to me, and I turn my head slowly to see what it is.

Sandburg's face swims into view. "Hey, Jim, you're awake," he whispers, considerate of my sensitive ears. I realize his body heat is the furnace I feel and I have the sneaking suspicion that underneath the blankets covering us, we are not wearing any clothes. He guesses my thoughts. "Don't worry, man, I won't tell anyone we got naked together."

I groan and turn my head to the other side, blinking a couple times as I recognize our whereabouts as the interior of a cabin, probably the one our escapee from justice was using, since it is the only dwelling in the vicinity. It's small and spartan, a fireplace with a roaring fire takes up one wall, the door is opposite it, and the cot Sandburg and I are sharing takes up a third wall. A table sits in the center of the room, four straight backed chairs around it. One of the chairs is occupied by a petite woman who rises and crosses to the fireplace, taking a kettle off a hook over the flames, then pouring the hot liquid into an earthenware mug.

She moves to the side of the bed, holding the drink and gazing down at me expectantly. Sandburg moves behind me, helping me sit up against the rough pillows, tucking a scratchy wool blanket around my shoulders. He crawls over me to sit on the edge of the pallet, and I can see his skin is covered in angry red hives from where it's come in contact with the blanket. "Sorry, Chief," I murmur, wincing in sympathy.

"It's okay, Jim. A small price to pay." He starts to scratch, then gives me a grin. "I know, I know, don't scratch." The woman hands the mug to him, and he gives it to me, or rather, he holds my hands around it, helping me raise it to my lips. The dip in the pond and my cold have knocked out my olfactory sense, and I don't realize it's one of Blair's vile concoctions until I've taken a large mouthful. I manage to swallow it with a grim smile, feeling it working its magic on my raw throat.

He makes me take a couple more sips, then sets the mug on the wooden box that serves as a night table. Getting up, he picks up his clothes from one of the chairs and dresses before sitting back down next to me again. His hand goes to my forehead, and he tsk tsks. "You have a fever."

Turning his attention to the woman, who had returned to her seat after delivering the herbal drink, Blair asks, "Do you have any aspirin?" She nods shyly and goes to a cabinet built into the wall, returning with a bottle she hands to Blair. "Oh, hey, Jim. I'm being rude. Esme Cooper, Jim Ellison. Jim, Esme." So he did find our bail-jumper. Figures he would charm her into helping him. She gives me a little wave, but doesn't say a word, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

He shakes two tablets into his hand and makes me take them. I wash them down with the remains of the tea and give the cup back to him rather unsteadily. Exhaustion is creeping up on me, and I can barely keep my eyes open. He helps me lie down a little bit, not completely flat to aid my breathing, then he makes sure the blankets cover me snugly. I poke my hand out and take hold of his, needing suddenly to know that this is real, that he is real, and not some oxygen deprived dream of a drowning sentinel. The physical connection reaffirms our spiritual bond, and I drift off to sleep knowing he will watch over me.

The sense of something missing draws me out of my fitful rest. That, and a vicious round of coughing. Someone holds a cup to my lips once the spasms in my chest have stopped, and I find myself swallowing more of the nasty tea. I lean back against the pillow, then realize I can't hear Blair's heartbeat. For the first time since I woke, I open my eyes, wincing at the light, even though it is dim by normal standards. "Chief?" The word is a cracked whisper.

"He'll be back soon." Her voice is low and musical, and I wonder if she's speaking quietly because she heard my partner do it or if that is her natural voice. Either way, it's nice. I close my eyes against the light and feel her lay a cool, damp cloth across them.

"Blair just went to bring his truck closer to the cabin. He said he has dry clothes for you and more medicine." I can hear the curiosity in her tone, but I don't have the strength to respond to her unasked questions.

The door opens and closes as Blair enters amid a blast of frigid air and a swirl of snow. Esme rises from the edge of the cot, and I hear her tell Blair I am awake.

Another fit of coughing grips me. When it finally ends, Blair is next to me, poking and prodding, making me stick out my tongue as he peers at my throat, pressing his ear to my chest and telling me to breathe deeply. He doesn't need sentinel hearing to notice the wheezing rattle in my lungs. I pull the cloth away from my eyes and stare at him.

He is chewing on his thumb, his expression pensive. Absently he feels my forehead again. "Fever hasn't gone down," he says more to himself than me.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" I croak, giving him a smile to let him know I trust whatever decision he is about to make.

He flashes me a quick grin. "Let's hope whatever's going on in your lungs is a reaction to the pond water you breathed in and not the onset of pneumonia. The dirty water combined with your cold is most likely turning into a nasty case of bronchitis. How does your head feel?"

"Like it's about to explode and shoot my eyeballs across the room."

"Whoa, that's a bit over dramatic, but it sounds like sinus congestion to me. And lucky for you, I packed for every contingency. But first, let's get you into some warm clothes." Unzipping the carryall at his feet Blair pulls out sweats, thick socks, and bless his little Boy Scout heart, thermal underwear.

Esme busies herself on the other side of the room as Blair helps me dress. I'm disgusted to find I'm weak as a newborn foal, my arms and legs going every direction but the one I want them to. The effort exhausts me, and sweat is pouring down my face as I finally sink back onto the bed.

Blair tucks me in, then heads for the table and the first aid kit/herbal remedy case he made out of a large tackle box. I watch through drooping eyelids as he begins to combine ingredients, realizing I'm in for a long night of tea drinking. With a yawn I manage to keep from becoming a cough, I slip into a feverish sleep.

I'm back in the jungle. The heat surprises me, though I don't know why that should be. I've been here many times before and it's always the same. A low growl from my spirit guide greets me, and I follow as he leaps from the low hanging branch where he was reclining and pads off through the foliage. I smile to myself, remembering a time when I would have resisted his call, wanting to know the wheres and whys and how comes before I ventured forth. Now I simply wind my way after him

The jaguar leads me to a secluded glade, a place where a small waterfall cascades into an inviting pool. The cat crouches at the edge to drink, and I drop to my knees beside him and do the same. The taste is crisp and cool, and I suspect fed by an underground spring. Giving into temptation, I strip off my fatigues and dive into the water, swimming in lazy circles, finally just floating, watching the wildlife that abounds here.

My spirit guide has spurned the water in favor of a branch in the shade. The flapping of strong wings catches my attention and I see a glossy black raven come to perch on a tree limb. It caws raucously then begins preening. A few moments later, a wolf slinks out of the bushes, not the great silver beast I've come to recognize as Sandburg, but a black wolf with a thick ruff and soulful dark eyes. He laps at the water, his eyes on me. Big as he is, he's still growing; he has the big feet and gangly limbs of an adolescent. Having drunk his fill, the wolf plops himself underneath the tree where the raven is sitting, his pink tongue lolling.

I wonder about these new creatures, trying to figure out their meaning. Before I've gotten very far, the underbrush rustles, and the black mare appears. She pauses at the edge of the clearing, one hoof raised, ears swiveling, nostrils flaring. Evidently our motley group passes her inspection, as she comes to the pool's edge to drink, lowering her great head slowly, her blue eyes on me.

The scream of an osprey diverts my attention for a moment, and I watch the black-and-white hunter dive toward me, pulling out of her stoop just in time to avoid hitting me. I can feel the draft from her powerful wings as she lifts skyward, circling the glade once to land next to the raven. I feel like Alice--curiouser and curiouser.

Something enters the water behind me with a faint splash. I turn, but the pool is perfectly calm and silent for several long seconds. Then a familiar head breaks the surface, long dark hair slicked back by the water, blue eyes sparkling, a welcoming smile on her face. "Hello, Jim."

For a moment I'm speechless, then I manage to stutter, "You're dead."

Tossing her head back, she laughs, the same throaty chuckle Blair had once confided to me he found incredibly sexy. "Am I?" she finally answers me. "You're here. Are you dead?" She swims a circle around me, and I feel like I'm being sized up, being judged worthy.

"If you're not dead, thenÖ" I don't know how to finish my sentence.

"You know I can't tell you." She laughs again. "That's not the nature of this place. There are no cut and dried answers here, Jim. You should know that by now. It's all a matter of interpretation. Though I can give you a hint as to the answers you seek. Would you like a clue?"

I feel frustration building inside me. Now I remember why I found her so infuriating. I growl her name. "DiandraÖ"

"We nest with the raven and run with the wolf." Her expression is perfectly somber for a moment, then she snickers. "They want you to be so damn formal here, don't you think?"

"That's it? That's my clue?"

"Yep." She backstrokes away from me.

"Can I buy a vowel?" I ask for Sandburg's sake.

"Sorry, but no. One riddle is all you get. Oh, but as with all animals, we are creatures of habit. Nice seeing you again, Sentinel." She slides beneath the surface of the water, then explodes upwards, showering me with spray, shifting form in mid-air so that it is the mare who lands on the shore. She trots into the jungle without a backward glance, the wolf at her heels, the raven and the osprey both taking flight.

As quickly as they had come, they are gone, and I am alone once again with the jaguar.

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