Then came the flood. All the promises, the optimism, the laughter, the joy of being together, the dreams, everything Finn's death had cut short and which she thought she had to exorcise from the rest of her lonely life now held the sweet taste of possibility again. The finality of her loss, the desolation. That weight which crushed her spirit a little more each day was lifted, if just for a moment. She looked heavenward, hoping against hope that what she thought was true, and that her Finn hadn't burned to death so horrifically, alone. Even if she never got to see him again, if her fate was to live the rest of her life apart, she believed she could die in peace just knowing that he still had a chance to grow old, that her prayers could be for a good life for him, instead of pleas for mercy on his soul.

It was the most unselfish moment of her life.

But it was just a moment. Now she had to figure out what was going on. Was Finn truly alive, and if so, was it him that was contacting her? Or was he dead, but reaching out to her from the grave? And in either case, why was it done in such an oblique way? Were others involved? Was this all some unspeakably cruel prank? By whom? Who hated her that much? And why, of all people, would Giulia DeMarco be involved? Surely her mentioning The Magus was no coincidence.

It was too much to sort out all at once. Fortunately, at dinner she could probe the Giulia connection a bit more, so she decided to focus on that first. Discreetly, of course; she didn't want to do anything to adversely affect Judah's career.

There were still a few hours before having to get ready. She picked up the book again, and an hour-and-a-half later, reached the end. She closed it with a sigh. Giulia had been right: the Latin quote did hint at what happened between Alison and Nicolas.

And, for the first time since Finn's death, Rachel cried tears of hope.

XXXxxx

"Try the Fuller's ESB", Dave said, "It's on tap here". They were at Queen and Country, a restaurant specializing in British foods and beers. Rachel had been pleasantly surprised at the choice; it meant relatively casual attire. Dave was wearing his corduroy jacket and jeans. Giulia looked fresh and younger in jeans and a dark blue shirt. Her hair was down, thick and wavy. Rachel had dressed similarly, but in heels instead of flats. The two women looked remarkably alike. Judah was the odd man out in a black blazer and khakis.

"Sounds intriguing," Rachel said, settling in on their side of the booth, and getting a look from Judah.

"I've never seen you drink beer before."

"What can I say?" she replied, breezily, "I'm a complicated woman." She had never told him that she had enjoyed beer with Finn, and since his death had never wanted to. Until now. Judah laughed.

"Four pints of ESB", Dave ordered.

They perused the menus. Dave recommended the fish and chips. "Almost as good as the kind we get back in LA," he said, going on to explain that their favorite restaurant was The King's Head, in Santa Monica. ("Best fish and chips in the city!")

"I'm having the Shepherd's Pie," Giulia said. "They make it here with lamb, and serve it with mashed rutabagas, like I used to get in Australia." She looked over at Rachel and winked. "Their Vegetarian Shepherd's Pie here is good too, I hear."

Rachel felt Judah's hand squeezing hers under the table. He must have told them.

"Then I'll have that!" she said.

Judah was still studying his menu. "Steak and Kidney pie? What the hell?"

"It's good!" Dave enthused.

"Pommy bastard," Giulia grunted, and he laughed. They exchanged a loving look.

"His parents were from England, so he likes all of this stuff."

"I think I'll go with the fish and chips too," Judah decided.

Half-way through the meal, after they had discussed Judah's part and the play, Rachel decided to bring up The Magus.

"Giulia, I finally finished The Magus this afternoon."

"Excellent," Giulia said, without a trace of nervousness, or whatever Rachel could imagine would be some tell that she was in on a conspiracy.

"Did Giulia tell you that is one of my favorite novels?" Dave asked, pleased. That confirmed what Giulia had said. And how probable was it that both of them were in on this?

"Yes, she told me."

"It's not one of hers, though." He grinned, and Giulia shook her head. More confirmation.

"I liked it a lot. And you're right—that quote at the end makes it pretty clear what happened to them. But it also seemed pretty clear without it."

"You must have the revised version," Dave said. "Fowles rewrote some passages, including the ending. I like the original better—the language is powerful, more muscular—the quote firms up the conclusion."

"Sorry, Rachel, I forgot about that." Giulia added, then grinned. "I'm not much of a Fowles scholar." She leaned over towards Dave, and, adorably, rested her forehead against his for a moment, exchanging an intimate look.

They both seemed so natural. Rachel was of a mind to rule them out as suspects. It was probably a coincidence. She started to relax and enjoy their company.

The conversation shifted to her show.

"Dave says you're friends with Tom Foley," Giulia noted, "And that he wrote the Sally Jones part with you in mind."

"Yeah. Selfish and narcissistic. That's me."

"Here we go again," Judah groaned, rolling his eyes. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

Dave and Giulia exchanged a fond glance at Judah's jump to her defense.

"You didn't know me in high school, or even when Santana got the part as my understudy in Funny Girl. I could be insufferable." She paused, thinking about how Finn had been able to bring out the best in her. But she gave Judah a soft look.

"You help smooth over my rough edges," she told him, truthfully, and leaned against his shoulder.

They ordered another round of pints. Rachel liked the ale: it had a complex, nutty flavor, and left a delightful aftertaste that lingered. She was surprised at how modest both Dave and Giulia were when talking about their work; she had to bring up his Pulitzer Prize-winning play, The Weight of Events. She loved the story, about a recently-divorced couple who are forced to drive together, from Kansas City to Los Angeles, for a funeral when their flights are cancelled due to 9/11.

"I adored that play. My dads took me to see it on one of our Broadway trips when I was in high school." She noticed Giulia's adoring look at Dave.

Dave smiled. "Glad you liked it." He looked at her closely. "I could see you as Emily."

"Hey, what about me?" Judah pretended to protest.

"Nah, you'd make a lousy Emily," Dave deadpanned, and everyone laughed.

By the end of the evening, Rachel was fairly convinced that their involvement through The Magus was a coincidence. She told Judah that on the way home to her place.

"But you think all the rest of it, including the rest of the book is legit?"

"I know, I know—it sounds—" She left off the word for him to fill in.

"Crazy? Maybe. Even if it is, though, what are you going to do next?"

Well, that was the question, wasn't it?

"I don't know," she said, miserably. She had ended up enjoying the evening, but was still no closer to figuring out the mystery.

He knew that she would need something to distract her so she could sleep. She shook her head at his suggestion, but later, as he was falling asleep, he felt her pull close to him, wordlessly needing him after all, against the night and its restive ghosts.

XXXxxxx

Work occupied her for the next couple of days. She still scanned the crowd waiting for her after each performance, and felt a rush every time she saw a very tall man with dark hair, only to be disappointed on a closer look. And she was almost afraid to look at the front row of the audience, after that dream. It might as well have been empty, as far as Rachel was concerned; the same for the entire theatre. There was now only one person in the whole world that she wanted to be there, watching her, so proud for her, the one person to which she had once pledged her love and her art, and he had been taken away from her. Whatever the spooky stuff was that had happened seemed to have been just that—ethereal , ectoplasmic, as substantive as candle smoke.

She felt her hope fading again.

It was comforting to root for Kurt and Judah. And she had lunch with Santana, who had a small role in a promising off-Broadway musical. Losing herself in dance and singing classes. Rachel let the day-to-day routine of a Broadway performer envelop her, like a warm robe.

Talia asked if something was bothering her during warm ups before the Saturday performance.

"Not much, really," Rachel replied. "I think I'm getting tired." Which wasn't a lie.

"Would it help if I took the matinee tomorrow?"

"Could you? I'll ask Erik." God, how good it was to have a professional understudy.

Judah was at her place after the performance. She told him about Talia taking the matinee on Sunday, and smiled at his honest surprise. When she explained how tired she was feeling, he fed her the supper he had prepared, and instead of watching a movie with her, as they had planned, encouraged her to get ready for bed while he cleaned up. Then he joined Rachel in bed. They snuggled close, spooning.

"If you wake up horny, don't hesitate to wake me up," he whispered. "But for now, get some sleep."

She smiled in the dark, and wriggled her ass against him. His arms pulled her closer.

"When I wake up, I'm going to rock your world," she promised.

Rachel ended up sleeping, dreamlessly, through to eleven. Judah had gone—she knew he had some errands to run, so it was no big deal. By the coffee maker was a note, saying he was sorry to miss her, and another piece of paper that said "IOU—One good shagging", with an "X" where she should sign. Giggling, she signed it with a flourish, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast.

The sleep had cleared her head, somewhat. For a while she pondered the mystery again, glad for the rest. It all seemed, in the light of day and with a cup of strong coffee, so…tenuous. She supposed it was possible that someone had only wanted her to feel better with the quote, and that the actual plot of the novel itself may never have been intended. And the sighting, well, let's face it: she had been thinking about Finn more than usual, and just may have fallen back again into old patterns of grief. No, Rachel thought, sipping coffee at her kitchen table in the spring sunlight and after a good night's sleep, it just wasn't good for her to dwell on this for much longer. Until something else happened, and she wasn't going to assume it ever would, she was going to treat this as nothing more than a phenomenon without deeper meaning.

She called Talia after the matinee to thank her, saying that she had had a restful night, and was raring to go for the evening show. Talia said she was glad, and would see her for the warm ups later on.

It was a perfectly normal Sunday evening show. Appreciative applause, some fun joking around with the cast afterwards; it all seemed perfectly normal.

And then. In her dressing room.

The single pink tulip.