§ § § - August 15, 2006

Miranda ventured from her room about an hour later, feeling restless and fidgety, and almost tiptoed down the stairs. The big house was quiet, though she could still hear Rory outside playing. The kitchen turned out to be deserted, and she let herself out the back door and strolled across the yard, hoping the boy would be too engrossed in his playing to take any notice of her there.

"Hi, lady," he called. She stopped short, mentally cursing her bad luck, then pasted on a smile and turned back to him.

"Hello, Rory," she said, forcing a pleasant tone into her voice. She was amazed at how angry with Rogan she still was.

"Are you staying with us, or Uncle Roarke?" Rory asked.

"With you," she said, just as an inspiration hit her. "But I thought I'd go and visit Mr. Roarke. Could you show me the quickest way to walk there?"

"That path right over there," Rory said, pointing across the dirt lane that ran past the B&B. "Just stick to it and you'll get right to the house."

"Thank you," Miranda said, forced another smile and hurriedly took her leave, walking as quickly as she could and hoping it didn't look too obvious that she wanted to get away. Fortunately, Rory evidently dismissed her from his mind; when she glanced back upon gaining the path entrance, she saw that he'd gone back to his dinosaur game.

Satisfied that she was alone and unheeded, she allowed her mind to run in its own direction while she wandered down the path. Her whole life seemed to have gone upside-down in the last four or five weeks. First the awful news, then little Soraya, and then Josh; and now, her father. She might be able to forgive Josh someday, but not Rogan, not after the way he so callously seemed to dismiss their father's demise. This Mr. Roarke had been her father's cousin, she thought, remembering what her brother had told her. What feelings did he have over her father's death?

It was hard to believe it had happened the way Rogan claimed it had. He said he and Leslie, whoever she was, had witnessed it, but Miranda wasn't sure whom she should believe. She knew nothing about Leslie, and she was mad enough at her brother that she was prepared to dismiss anything he said as a lie. That left Mr. Roarke, but she wasn't any surer about him than anyone else. Her own father had been the last person left on earth she'd felt she could really talk to about what had happened lately in her life. She had grown up with Cal and Harry, but their whereabouts were a mystery; and she had never really been at ease around Ariel. Maybe it was that sinuous way she had of turning herself into something else, anything at all. She had never known what to expect from Ariel. So who was left, really? If nothing else, at least maybe she could find out more from her father's cousin. He seemed very nice, she thought, courtly and courteous and warm.

It occurred to her that she probably should have reached the main house by now and she stopped in the pathway to look around. She was surrounded by jungle. That wasn't particular cause for alarm; her father's island had its share of jungle too. But this was terra incognita, and she began to wonder whether Rory had deliberately led her astray. Her forehead furrowed into a scowl, and she plunged ahead on the trail, which at least was clearly demarcated, if nothing else.

By the time her feet began to ache in their dressy flats, she had the good fortune to find herself standing on the edge of a paved road, which was curiously empty of traffic. Is this place that primitive? she thought, glancing one way and then the other. Directly across the road from her stood a metal post, painted red, with a small white rectangular sign bearing red letters that spelled out BUS STOP. Very well, scratch "primitive", but I still haven't a clue where I am. Oh, how I miss Daddy…

In the distance she heard an engine, and then a few seconds later, a car came around the corner—a late-model hybrid station wagon with two figures in the front seat. On a wild impulse, Miranda leaped into the middle of the road, waving her arms; the car came to a nearly screeching halt, its occupants looking shocked. She smiled, hoping she looked apologetic, as she approached the driver's side. The man at the wheel lowered the window and she leaned down. "I do apologize, but I was hoping perhaps you could…" Her voice trailed off as she recognized the man for who he was. "Oh my God, it's Prince Christian."

The prince released a resigned laugh. "I almost dared to hope for a second that you wouldn't know who I am. Yes, you've identified me correctly. Are you all right? Do you need any help?"

"I'm afraid so…I was going to the main house, but I seem to have lost my way. Have you enough room to…" She glanced into the back seat and let her voice trail off: there were three car seats filling it, all of them occupied by toddlers. "Oh yes, the triplets."

"There's a fold-down seat in the back," Christian offered with a raised eyebrow and an inquiring smile, "if you don't get carsick from riding backwards."

Miranda had to laugh. "Unless I'd rather walk, I suppose I haven't much choice. I do appreciate this." She peered across him to the woman sitting in the passenger seat, and new realization hit her. Somehow she hadn't connected Roarke's adopted daughter with the wife of Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö. "So you must be Leslie, Mr. Roarke's daughter."

Leslie looked very surprised indeed. "It's been a long time since someone recognized me for that reason, instead of for being a princess. How do you know?"

"My name is Miranda," she said deliberately, "Miranda Roarke."

Leslie stared at her with shock blooming in her eyes; Miranda had an odd feeling of self-satisfaction before her conscience gave her a sharp jab. It wasn't Leslie she had a quarrel with, after all. "To clarify, my father is your father's first cousin."

"Ohhhh," Leslie murmured, her face clearing. "Rogan's sister."

"Yes," Miranda muttered grudgingly, causing Christian and Leslie to exchange a look. However, neither commented on it; instead, Leslie got out of the car and opened the back door for her, folding down the seat there and waiting for Miranda to climb in before shutting her firmly inside. Miranda sat at a diagonal, feeling foolish enough being all the way in the back without riding completely backwards. However, she was now in a position to deal with three pairs of curious little eyes staring unabashedly at her, and her heart contracted so suddenly that it seemed to hurt. It's not fair, it's not fair, her brain chanted, as it had done so many times for so many days.

"So how long have you been here?" Christian asked conversationally, resuming the journey east along the road.

"About two hours, I imagine," Miranda said. "Mr. Roarke took me to my brother's home, and we…talked. For a little while." She saw the prince and princess trade looks again and admitted through a small sigh, "Truthfully, we argued."

"I see," said Christian. Leslie didn't speak, for which Miranda was grateful. After that, there was silence all the way to the main house, while the triplets went on staring at her as if she'd sprouted a new head from each shoulder. Miranda stared back, studying each child's face, wondering what might have happened if…

The car came to a stop, interrupting her thoughts. "We'll be a few minutes getting the kids out," Leslie said. "Go on ahead if you want, Miranda."

"Thank you," she murmured and took Leslie up on the invitation, glancing back once at the family in the lane and forcefully squelching another useless wish. Instead she focused on her objective, letting herself into the study and managing a polite smile for Roarke's benefit when he looked up at her entrance.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said bluntly, "you can tell me what happened to my father."

The smile and some of the warmth died from Roarke's features, leaving Miranda with a suddenly empty, frozen feeling. She watched him very slowly sit back in his chair and interlace his fingers across his stomach, his gaze going a bit distant before he frowned slightly. At last he said, "I don't know much. Your father and I had two or three confrontations before his…untimely passing. I was very ill and spent most of my time asleep, or perhaps comatose. Leslie would know more than I."

"I would? About what?" asked Leslie's voice just then, and Miranda and Roarke both looked around to see the Enstads just coming into the foyer. Roarke's smile came back and he pushed his chair away from the desk, just in time to greet the happy triplets with open arms as they flocked to him.

"About what happened to my cousin," Roarke told her. "You and Rogan were the only witnesses." He looked at Miranda. "Haven't you spoken with Rogan about it?"

"Briefly," Miranda said. For a moment her lips flattened into a grim line. "Let's just say I didn't like his attitude."

Roarke looked a little surprised, but said only, "I see. Well, perhaps Leslie will be willing to explain events to you as she remembers them."

Expectantly Miranda looked at Leslie, who cleared her throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. She drew in a breath while Christian and Roarke watched, then met Miranda's gaze and said firmly, "If I do, you're going to have to keep in mind that all I knew of your father was what I saw—what he allowed me to see. I know how Rogan felt about him, and from my point of view, I thought he might be justified. All I can say is, he must have treated you very differently from how he treated everyone else."

Miranda's first instinct, again, was to defend him. "He loved me, and I always knew it. He wasn't the horrible person everyone else seems to think he was. I never knew anything but love and kindness from him. If you've problems with that, then I'm sorry."

"You need not be so defensive, Miranda," Roarke said gently. "I, too, remember your father when he was a much happier man. At some point we fell out of touch, and when I saw him again, something had happened to change him. He seemed bitter about some event in his fairly recent past, but when pressed, he refused to explain."

Mollified, interest piqued, Miranda focused on him. "Have you thought about what it might have been? Do you suppose it had anything to do with Rogan?"

"It's possible," Roarke allowed. "I do know that he was very much in love with Rogan's mother, many years ago. Rogan tells me that his mother died of tuberculosis when he was fourteen, at which time he was sent to live with his father, who found his presence a very unpleasant surprise for some reason. It's my understanding that they did not get along very well, so that Rogan went out on his own as soon as he was old enough." Roarke paused for a moment, then focused sharply on Miranda. "You tell me you were adopted by my cousin?" At her nod: "Have you ever given thought to where you ultimately came from?"

"Very little, I'm afraid," Miranda admitted, for the first time feeling sheepish about this fact without understanding why. "I guess I just didn't care. I was always so happy with Daddy, and growing up on his island was so glorious, I had no reason to wonder."

Roarke smiled. "You'll find that you and Leslie have that in common, although I adopted her at a much later age. In any case, I well understand your point of view, but you realize I had to ask."

"Of course," Miranda said, feeling unaccountably generous. Overall, to her surprise, she felt a little more normal, for the first time in weeks. There must be something about this man that inspired trust, calm, even hope. She considered his question, then looked back up at him and suggested tentatively, "Perhaps, if you don't mind, you could find out for me."

"I could certainly try," Roarke agreed with a smile. "Tell me what you know of how you came to live with my cousin."

"Daddy was wandering along the shore one morning after an unusually powerful storm…perhaps a hurricane or something like it. In any case, he noticed a large wooden ship foundering some distance off the coast of his island, and there was debris all along the waterline. I was an infant at the time, wrapped in a blanket. Daddy picked me up and took me home, and I grew up as his daughter. That's all I know."

"You had no identification of any sort with you?" Roarke asked.

Miranda shook her head. "Apparently not, or else Daddy might have made inquiries. Just me, in the blanket and a nappy and sleeper, that's all. I don't even know my birthdate. Daddy and I used to celebrate it as the day he found me on the beach."

Roarke nodded contemplatively. "Very well. It's little to go on, but I can try. If you will tell me the year your father found and adopted you, I can research shipwrecks in that part of the world at the time, and that will be a beginning."

"I'm thirty-seven, born in 1969. Daddy said it was a wooden ship, as I recall. I thought all large vessels were built of some type of metal, rather than wood."

"That would certainly be unusual," Roarke agreed. "It may even be of some use in my search. Thank you, Miranda, you've given me a good clue to begin on. In the meantime…" He looked past her, and she realized that Christian and Leslie had corralled their children and were preparing to take them upstairs. "You might enjoy talking with Leslie, getting to know her a little. You two may find you have quite a bit in common."

"I'll be upstairs with the children," Christian said. "I have some preliminary sketches to make for a website design anyhow, so I can pass my time doing that and watching them. You two enjoy your talk. If you need me, my Rose, you know where I am." He and Leslie smiled at each other; then he ushered the triplets across the room and up the stairs, enticing them with promises of toys to play with.

Roarke secured refreshments for the two women, then excused himself and departed the house, leaving them alone in the study. Uncomfortable with each other, Leslie and Miranda sipped their beverages and smiled reservedly at each other when their eyes met, but otherwise there was silence for a few minutes.

Then Miranda sighed loudly and put down her glass with a thunk. "This is ridiculous! We're two grown women, we should be able to talk."

"Yeah, at least about superficial things," Leslie agreed placidly, watching her. "So how's the sangria? Mariki's is the best anywhere."

"It's very good, thank you…" Miranda let her voice trail off and stared back at Leslie, then felt her face heat. "You're right, this is very stupid."

Leslie laughed, and Miranda followed suit, relieved for some reason. "Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way…I think it's really good to meet you, after all this time. Rogan mentioned you in passing here and there, but he didn't say much. I used to wonder what you were like. I mean, even though we're both adopted, we're still cousins."

Miranda nodded, turning this over and finding she liked it. "So we are. I can't say I've ever had a cousin before. It could be interesting."

"My thoughts exactly." Leslie grinned.

Curiosity finally reared its head. "How did you come to live here?" Leslie's ensuing story fascinated Miranda so that she soon forgot any animosity she might have had towards her new cousin, till Leslie finished and Miranda shook her head. "That's the stuff of fairy tales. Your mother sounds lovely. I'm sorry for what happened to her and your sisters."

"Thanks," Leslie said and drew in a breath, sitting up to refill her glass. "I've always been glad she prevailed upon Father to adopt me. Otherwise I might be sitting in some women's prison somewhere, being bitter and hating the world. I sure wouldn't have met Christian and had the triplets." She smiled. "Between Father and Christian, I learned that not all men were like my birth father. I had a chance to grow up and be a decent person, and I had gifts that most girls couldn't even dream about. I was very lucky." She eyed Miranda with interest. "You must have had an idyllic childhood with Father's cousin."

"Oh, it was wonderful," said Miranda, her memory unspooling countless happy recollections of days gone by. "Daddy doted on me, and I loved him to distraction. He was such a kind and giving father, and he always treated me with love, so I never really cared one way or another where I originally came from. It never truly occurred to me to ask. I loved where I was and who I was, and I didn't want to be anyone or anywhere else. We were all each other really needed, and Daddy taught me so much about his world. I grew up thinking magic was normal and the outside world was strange and backward. It always amazed me to see the way Daddy's guests, and even Cal and Harry, reacted whenever I did some magic around them…as if they couldn't accept what their eyes told them." She paused because Leslie had an odd look on her face. "Is something wrong?"

Leslie blinked and hastily shook her head. "Oh no, nothing at all. I was just thinking it sounded…well, perfect. Anyway…" She cleared her throat and took a long sip from her glass. "It must have been an awful shock to find out what happened to him."

Miranda nodded soberly. "It was. Even worse than that, Rogan's attitude about it leaves much to be desired. Rogan says Daddy resented him and didn't like having him around, but I have to say, that makes no sense to me. Everything everyone's been telling me is utterly opposite of what I know, what I grew up with. Why? What happened, really?" She leaned forward when Leslie's expression became reluctant. "Please tell me."

Leslie shifted in her seat and wrapped both hands around her glass, then looked directly at Miranda. "Before I do, you need to remember that I'm telling you things exactly as I experienced them. It's not meant to be a slight on your father or anything else; it's strictly memory and nothing more. No judgments."

Miranda nodded. "I understand. But I do have to know."

"Okay. Well, this was a little more than seven years ago. My father had been involved with a woman named Paola LiSciola. I didn't like her from the start; I suspected she was up to no good. I won't get into it here, I'll just say that eventually we found out what Paola's true intentions were, and we banished her from the island. Within a couple of weeks, Father came down with some illness nobody could identify. Julie and I had to take over the fantasies one weekend because by then, he was so sick he was practically comatose and unable to do anything at all. We might have failed completely if it hadn't been for Rogan. He walked in out of the blue and threw a bomb at us—said he knew what Father had, and that Father was going to die from it because there was no cure."

Miranda broke in, "Rogan called it the 'bone-eating disease'."

Leslie nodded. "Yeah, that's what he told us. It's something only Father's people can catch—your father and any others with the same extraterrestrial origins. Paola LiSciola had those origins too, and she was the one who passed the disease on to Father. We had a little bit of palliative medicine in the house that I was giving to Father, but Paola's disease had been so advanced when she transmitted it to him that it was very severe in him, and he spent most of his time sleeping. Just being awake and talking could totally exhaust him. In the middle of all this, your father came here, and he seemed antagonistic from the very start. He wasn't happy to find Rogan here; it wasn't exactly a wonderful father-son reunion.

"Rogan and Julie were falling in love even then. He gained our trust by helping us resolve that weekend's fantasies to our guests' satisfaction, and then suggested we put up a notice on the island website that we were suspending fantasy-granting for a while so that we could figure out what to do next. Julie invited him to stay at her B&B. I had to go over there and get him because Father wanted to see him, and then after he did, Rogan mumbled something about getting the cure out of your father. I almost flipped out. I demanded that your brother explain himself once and for all, and he told me that he had arrived on your father's island a few days before Paola LiSciola's death. When Father banished her from this island, she went to your father's, and that's where she died. Rogan said she rambled a lot before she died, and he discovered that she was in love with your father—unrequited, as it turned out, and she'd been hoping to impress him by killing my father and turning this island over to yours. Rogan went through her things after she died and found a jar of amakarna, and kept it so that nobody else could do something heinous with it."

"Amakarna? Isn't that the odd spice that your husband's father and brother and nieces have had to take?" Miranda asked. "I heard about it when I read about your marriage to Prince Christian."

Leslie nodded. "It's too long a story to tell here. Anyway, he brought the spice with him to the island, thinking maybe to make up some more tonic for Father. We knew it wouldn't cure him, but it would help keep him alive at least. I just couldn't bear…" She paused, cleared her throat and took another breath. "But Rogan said only your father knew the cure and wasn't about to tell anybody."

Miranda felt punched in the gut. "That's not like Daddy…" she said, dazed.

"Not the father you knew…but I'm afraid it sounded like the one Rogan knew," Leslie said gently. "We never found out what happened to your father that made him resent Rogan's existence, or my father having what he does, or anything else. Maybe you were the only thing that brought any happiness into his life."

Miranda's eyes stung with tears and she squeezed them shut; a second or two later she felt Leslie take her hand and squeeze a little. "Are you okay?"

"I'll…I'll be fine." Miranda swallowed, squinted at the table and grabbed her sangria glass, draining a healthy percentage of the contents. After a moment she looked at Leslie and forced herself to request, "Please go on."

Leslie released Miranda's hand and swirled her glass a bit. "Rogan told me later on that he'd overheard your father plotting with no less than Mephistopheles to take Father's soul once the disease finally killed him. At that point I think I started to give up all hope. At the time, Christian was still trapped in his second arranged marriage—to Paola's little sister Marina, believe it or not—and I was trying to think of some way to explain everything that had happened when your father wandered in and found out my side of the story of his and my relationship. Paola had told him from her point of view already, so he was aware that Marina also had the bone-eating disease and expected to perish of it. He suggested to me that all I had to do was wait for Marina to die, and Christian and I could finally be together. The only problem with that was that not only would Marina die without the cure, so would Father. And Christian and I ultimately agreed that we'd never be able to be truly happy if we had bought that happiness with Father's death—that's the way he put it. He advised me not to let up on trying to get the cure from your father."

Miranda was convinced she was having trouble breathing. "Obviously you did, since your father is alive and well. But…how did it happen?"

Leslie stared at her worriedly. "Are you really sure you want me to tell you?" she asked at some length. "I mean…you don't look as if—"

Miranda made a slashing motion with one hand. "I have to know. Rogan says that Mephistopheles took him. But I don't understand how."

Sagging a little in acquiescence, Leslie nodded heavily. "Yes. The way Rogan told me later, it seems your father came on him and Julie together, making plans for their wedding; Rogan had just proposed to Julie and she'd accepted. I guess their conversation gave your father something to consider. At any rate, he came to the main house and asked Rogan and me to accompany him to his meeting with Mephistopheles, when he was supposed to turn over Father's soul to him. Except…he didn't. I'm not sure what motivated him, but he did say that he had been given too much time to consider things, and to observe what was around him, and he refused in the end to give over Father's soul. As I recall, he said, 'What sort of family does something like that?' "

Miranda felt a smile spreading over her face; this sounded more like the father she had known. "I knew he couldn't do it, I knew it…"

Leslie smiled too. "Unfortunately, Mephistopheles wasn't impressed. Your father gave Rogan and me each a copy of the recipe for the cure and told the devil he wasn't getting my father's soul. Then he offered himself in Father's place; and Mephistopheles was so angry he wasn't going to get what he thought he'd been promised, he just grabbed his arm and threw him right over a cliff, then leaped off it after him. And we've never seen nor heard anything of him since then." She wrapped Miranda's hand in hers again. "I'm so sorry, Miranda. But in the end, your father did something incredibly noble."

"That's Daddy," Miranda whispered through tears. "That's the Daddy I know."

"Rogan was upset," Leslie said. "He knew your father had chosen to do things the way he did, but it infuriated him that your father sacrificed himself. I think he wished there could have been a chance for them to reconcile and get to know each other."

This seemed to startle Miranda, and she stared at Leslie with several emotions playing tag across her pretty face. Finally she said, "Do you really think so? I just thought Rogan hated Daddy. Daddy never talked much about him, and I never really met him…not till my wedding." The last word made her flinch, and Leslie's head jutted forward a little, her eyes widening.

"Rogan was at your wedding? Did you talk with him then?"

Miranda nodded jerkily. "Only for a moment…he wished Josh and me the very best, and said he was going to try to see Daddy as soon as he could…" She closed her eyes, lowered her head and let the tears fall. Thinking of Josh was enough to utterly undo her composure; she no longer cared that this cousin of hers was practically a stranger.

"What's the matter?" Leslie asked, her soft voice anxious. "If you'd like to tell me…I promise not to spread it around."

Miranda brushed ineffectually at her tears. "It doesn't much matter. Josh left me last month. He said he was just too tired of trying…trying to, to…" She gulped back the sobs that wanted to explode from her and put a hand to her forehead before looking up at Leslie with streaming eyes. "Leslie, I can't have a baby. I just found out. Josh and I had been trying ever since our wedding night to get pregnant, and I finally discovered I'm infertile. That's why Josh left me. I could have lived with being childless if he'd been willing to stay with me and see it through—we could have adopted, just as Daddy adopted me. But he didn't want to stay around and hear that, he just walked out one day while I was at work."

Leslie winced. "Oh no. I'm so sorry."

"But the last straw…one of my patients died. You see, I'm a pediatrician. One of my favorites was a little girl named Soraya. She had leukemia, and everyone was so certain she would beat it. She was always upbeat and bright and cheerful, and made everyone around her so happy. You had to smile when you were around her. But then something happened, she took a turn for the worse and just…just died. Right after Josh and I found out about my infertility and the very same day he walked out. All this h-happened in j-just one w-week…" At last it was just too much for her and she crumpled, giving in to her misery.

She felt Leslie's hand on her shoulder and heard her gentle voice say, "And you needed your father to talk to, in the absence of anyone else." Miranda nodded hard, unable to speak, and Leslie's hand tightened on her shoulder. "Did you tell Rogan about it?"

"I c-couldn't," Miranda got out, nearly choking on her tears.

"Okay," Leslie said and gave her a quick hug. "It's okay. Just go ahead and let it out. Sometimes crying helps clear your head and you can start thinking better once it's over, so go right ahead and let it happen."

Miranda wasn't entirely convinced of this; all crying had ever done for her was give her a stopped-up nose and a terrific headache, and never seemed to make her feel better at all. But she couldn't hold back the emotions this time; it felt as if she'd been damming it all up for years, and the dam had finally burst, no longer capable of holding anything back. She let her head fall onto Leslie's shoulder and allowed the tears to have their way.

Leslie, for her part, held her newfound cousin, wondering how Miranda's Josh could have been so insensitive and shortsighted. She thought again about how lucky she was to have Christian, always so open and understanding—she remembered how he'd been willing to consider alternatives in the event they couldn't have their own children—and found herself wishing that Josh could be summoned to the island, so that she could read him the riot act for his lousy treatment of his wife. Miranda seemed so vulnerable, and Leslie wanted to help her.

But something Miranda had said came back to her then: Miranda had been taught to do magic. Her father actually gave her magic lessons? Leslie wondered. And they stuck, and even worked? Why didn't Father try to do that for me? If Miranda's just human and mortal like I am, and she could do magic, there's no reason I couldn't do it too. Is it just that Father won't teach me for some reason? Does he think I'm not capable? Is there some weird ethical code he has that's beyond my comprehension, that prevented him from teaching me, or did he simply decide I don't have the ability? She stared into space, frowning, barely aware now of Miranda's gradually ebbing sobs, trying to decide whether she should bring up the subject with Roarke and risk hearing a reason she just couldn't accept. Ask him or don't? What if I do and I'm sorry I did?