My Brother's Keeper

by sohna

When Virginia and Wolf return to the 9 Kingdoms to find out why their story was shown on TV, they must find the origins of an age old curse, which leads them to the 2nd Kingdom, Red Riding Hood III, and Wolf's erratically dangerous brother. Cover by Luna Llena Rivera.

14. XIII To Break a Curse

XIII - To Break a Curse

Wolf stared down at Virginia, who lay asleep on her side facing him in the dim light of the sliver of moon shining in through the tower window. Despite the virtual lack of illumination, he had no trouble at all seeing her sweet face, or watching the rise and fall of the great swell of her nearly ripe womb with her breath. As it usually did, the mere sight of her lying in his bed, gravid with his child, overwhelmed him; it was almost impossible to remember that less than a year ago, he'd still been imprisoned in the Snow White Memorial Prison, with no real hope of ever leaving. He needed to think of that, he told himself, whenever he started thinking of the Wizards' Citadel as too confining, as he'd thought of it too often in the past two or so months, ever since the siege of Wendell's castle had begun. At least here he had Virginia with him, a comfortable bed, and good food.

He looked over at the covered platters of steaming meat, fresh vegetables, and hot bread he'd gone to get for his beloved (and, well, also for himself – he couldn't very well not keep her company at the table, now could he?). Around three weeks ago, she'd no longer been able to sleep completely through the night without waking up to eat. And although she'd told him that it was perfectly fine to just bring up a snack for her midnight meal before they went to bed, he loved preparing something special for the occasion. It also gave him something to do besides think about what they'd decided his sentence for practicing magic without permission had been and – worse – how his child was going to grow up in a land ravished by war, neglect, and hate.

They were, in fact, incredibly lucky to be stuck in the Citadel for now at all, as Virginia had pointed out to him several times. Food had become quite scarce in the kingdoms; the war had essentially started right before planting season, and with no new crops sown, the prices of previous years' stores had placed even basic food out of most peoples' reach. Starvation had become common for the first time in several hundred years. And while they could have gone to live in New York, he had to admit it was probably safer for the baby to come in the kingdoms: his wife's description of what the hospital's reaction to a wolf-cub being born would probably be made him want to avoid it as much as she did. After all, they did have Doctor Oberon here with them. Considering what he'd been able to do – actually give them a look at their daughter before birth (with the assistance of the wizards, of course) – Wolf had no doubt that Virginia was completely safe with him.

He looked back over at her sleeping form, drenched in the silvery wash of the moon. She really is huge, he thought, envisioning his tiny daughter curled up inside his wife's bulging womb. Succulently huge, like a ripe, juicy piece of fruit about to burst. He smiled, remembering Virginia's reaction when the doctor had finally been able to tell them why: she'd been incredulous, and then she'd laughed until tears ran down her face. He didn't really understand why; it had made perfect sense to him: Because Virginia was not a half-wolf, her metabolism was not able to keep up with the baby's, so the placenta had grown to enormous proportions in compensation. He was, however, very glad that she stopped worrying so much (as he knew she had). Now if only he could stop worrying, himself.

Not that he was worried about Virginia or the baby. Well, not exactly. What worried him, and had ever since he'd heard his sentence pronounced, was that he might not be there when Virginia went into labor. Why this was desperately important to him he couldn't say - rationally, he told himself that plenty of people would be there to help her - people far more knowledgeable than himself (including both his auntie and the doctor), and that, while it would be preferable to share the moment with his beloved, the world would not end if he were elsewhere. Virginia had even told him she understood. None of it did any good; he knew in his heart that he simply had to be present, with a feeling nearly as strong as the one which had overpowered him when he'd first met Virginia face-to-face in her grandmother's house and had known instantly that from that moment he had to be the best person he could be.

The trouble was, he couldn't fulfill the obligation of the imposed sentence until the siege of Wendell's castle ended, and because a lengthy time was involved, they'd decided he should learn an additional spell to help him in his quest - and it was taking too long for him to master it. Virginia might still be six weeks away from delivery, but even if the siege ended tomorrow, he'd be stuck spending extra time still learning the spell. And he knew they'd expect him to begin the quest immediately, as soon as it became possible, regardless of Virginia's condition (although he granted that they'd probably make an exception and let him wait for the birth to take place if she were already in labor).

His exceedingly succulent sweetheart stirred restlessly in her sleep. He placed a hand tenderly on the curve of her tummy, feeling the even more restless struggling of his child. Virginia's eyes opened.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she whispered, laying her hand atop his and smiling wanly. "She's ready for her nightly feeding."

He smiled. "Her daddy's got the food ready," he told her.

"It'll have to wait a minute until mommy makes a little detour," she returned.

He helped her stand, then watched her waddle to the bathroom. Another good thing about being here, he reminded himself. The plumbing's very similar in appearance to what's in New York. It occurred to him fleetingly that the New York toilets didn't magically dispose of their waste, but that wasn't a line of thought he really wanted to pursue.

"It smells delicious," she told him when she came back, as she dropped herself into a chair at their little table.

He described each dish in detail, but she didn't bother waiting for him to finish before helping herself to a little of everything. He took only a small portion of each himself, to make sure that Virginia would have as much as she needed, but as usual, she ate only what he considered a tiny bit.

"Oh, I'm stuffed," she declared.

"You hardly ate," he insisted.

"I had two helpings of corn pudding," she informed him.

"They weren't helpings, they were teaspoonfuls," he countered, continuing with the teasing banter which had become their habit at their nightly feasts.

She was silent a moment, thinking.

"You know," she finally said, "We should really try candlelight for these meals. It's dark out, the whole place is quiet and asleep . . ."

"Oh, yeah, I'll get some candles for tomorrow," he replied, trying to maintain his enthusiasm for what he sincerely thought was a very good idea, but it waned as the feeling of something going wrong overcame him again.

"What's the matter?" she asked gently. "Is it still that sentence they imposed on you?"He nodded. She didn't bother to ask any details or repeat her reassurances. They'd discussed it several times before. But he knew it was letting it consume him more and more the closer they got to the due date.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

She stood up and took his arm.

"Come here," she murmured, leading him back to bed.

They lay down and she drew him as close to her as she could and held him. He fell asleep in his wife's arms, feeling his daughter's knees and feet thumping against him.

The next morning he led Virginia down to an early breakfast. To his surprise, Grandmaster Roscoe was already present, along with his teleportation instructor. He stopped when he saw them, the dread he'd anticipated welling up within him. But when they told him the siege of Castle White had ended, he merely nodded.

Virginia was already starving, even though she'd eaten in the middle of the night, so she simply helped herself to the buffet that had been set out by the staff of apprentices, knowing Wolf understood completely why she couldn't wait for him. When she sat down, he was still deep in conversation with the two master wizards, and she bit her lip in consternation. She'd heard them say the siege had ended, and while she was glad of that for Wendell's (and New York's) sake, she knew they were talking about the quest Wolf had been dreading.

The actual task they'd set him was not really that bad, she thought as she ate, assuming that what everyone thought was true - that the Swamp Witch was really and truly dead. Samantha'd reported to everyone exactly what had taken place in the cellar of the little cottage and the general consensus had been that the old witch had been destroyed with what was probably the only weapon that could have defeated her: the truth. But there was still a lot of unfinished business for the wizards to take care of concerning her. Wolf's task was to return to the cottage in the swamp, and identify and collect all the magical artifacts the witch had possessed - chiefly her mirrors. But that was all: if he unexpectedly discovered that the Swamp Witch still lived (so to speak), the other wizards would come to his aid. It was actually quite simple, considering what his sentence might have been, but Virginia knew it wasn't what the task entailed that was bothering her husband. He was worried that the baby would come while he was gone, and no amount of reassurances she could give him about it not mattering to her (although it did) had helped.

She'd have dismissed it herself, however, as something they'd no longer care about a year from now, if he hadn't been so insistently upset. At first, she'd thought it no more than Wolf's normal over-reaction to everything in life, but for the past week, she'd begun to wonder if maybe there weren't more to it than that; that there was some reason he had to be present other than just the wanting to be. Unfortunately, it had done no good to ask - he was either unwilling or unable (she suspected the latter) to give an answer.

And now the siege was over and he'd be expected to fulfill his quest as soon as he completed the training class he needed in order to transport the mirrors, and she knew it wasn't something he found easy to master. Teleporting the mirrors, he said, was identical to teleporting a living being, and took far greater care than what was necessary to move, for instance, a couple of crates from one place to another.

Her plate empty, she put down her fork and rested a hand lightly on each side of her oversized, protruding belly as she gazed down at it. The timing did seem as if it were going against them, she thought. Ostensibly she had six more weeks to go before delivery, but she thought it was quite possible, as she was now quite a bit larger than most women were at full term, that the baby might come at any time. They'd already had a little scare with it not quite three weeks before when she'd first started having to get up in the middle of the night to eat: She hadn't realized what was happening at first, and had suffered through about five early mornings of steadily worsening nausea, justifying it to herself as long-overdue morning sickness. Then, on the sixth night, she'd awakened at three a.m. with stomach cramps so bad she'd thought it was early labor and they'd called the doctor in. And although he was able to tell fairly quickly what the problem really was (he'd already gone through the process of finding out exactly why she was so huge), it had taken quite a bit of convincing from both him and Wolf to get her to swallow even a bite. Even then, the cramps were so strong she didn't dare eat more than a tiny bit (of dry cracker) at a time, and it took her the better part of three hours to finally consume enough to completely quell the pain. Ever since, she'd had to wake in the middle of the night to eat, and she'd wondered if the baby might come early if her body became unable to provide what it needed, oversized placenta or not.

Wolf sat down, setting a bowl of melon salad in front of her as he placed his own meal - of bacon, ham, and kipper - on the table. Embracing her with his now-free left hand, he gently brushed his right hand over her swollen abdomen and kissed her on the temple. Tears formed in her eyes and on impulse, she threw her arms about him and hugged him hard.

"What did they say?" she asked. "Do I have to leave?"

"Oh, no," he told her between mouthfuls. "You can stay as long as I do."

She thought he was going to say more, but he quietly applied himself to his breakfast instead. She let it go for the time being, glad at least of the reprieve which let her stay with him; the wizards had been able to answer her questions about what had gone on at Castle White - they were simply against any interference in it - so she knew, for instance, that her grandmother had returned to New York, and that Wendell had supplied the castle residents from the other side of the mirror during the siege as well.

Finally, Wolf added, "They're letting Queen Riding Hood stay, too."

"Really, no kidding?" she exclaimed, although she understood why immediately: The queen was considered necessary to breaking the curse, and if they'd sent her back to her own kingdom, which had, unsurprisingly, allied with the Fifth Kingdom and declared war on Wendell's over the wolf pardon issue, she and Rafe would be unlikely to get together again. Virginia wondered if this couldn't be considered political interference, no matter that they thought it justified, but it wasn't as if the queen's kingdom had missed its ruler much. She supposed they thought she was still off at the "cottage," awaiting the birth of her son, not languishing in a sickbed, suffering from severe depression as she actually was.

But while Virginia pitied the woman for her loss, she felt, as did everyone else, that the queen's relationship to her brother-in-law was simply a fluke. Even Wolf, who had maintained that the two must be lifemates to produce a child in the first place, thought it unlikely that his brother could ever emotionally resolve what he knew about Queen Riding Hood enough to remain sane, after at last having heard the entire tale of what had happened to Rafe's family from his aunt. In her husband's opinion, the curse had taken advantage of Rafe's emotional agony over his lifemate's identity to use him for its purposes, but while their mating was unusual, he'd remarked with sheer doggedness that if the solution to breaking the curse was their union, it still didn't answer the question of why the traveling mirrors all led to New York City. Virginia had agreed, but without much enthusiasm. She knew she was being selfish, but since hearing that breaking the curse might turn all the wolfs human, she preferred a solution which could never occur; she was too afraid Wolf would change so much he'd no longer love her, although she hadn't spoken of it to anyone, even her husband.

He finished the last of what was on his plate and turned to her.

"Yes," he said, belatedly answering her question about the queen being able to stay. "They want her to go to Wendell's with us when we leave. And they'd like you to talk to her. Today."

Wolf knew the wizards had tried to convince Queen Riding Hood to help them hopefully break the curse, but hadn't been satisfied with the results. They'd decided that Virginia might be able to succeed where they had failed. Being an expectant mother herself, they thought that she might entice the queen with the possibility of conceiving another child. Wolf, however, knew it was not that easy, and that even if she were suddenly to agree, it was unlikely in the extreme that his brother would cooperate.

Not long after they'd all arrived at the Citadel, he'd been allowed leave to go with his aunt to bury Claire's and his brother's dead baby. Millie'd thought it appropriate to bury him with Rafe's other children. The sight of the small graveyard where the two small children were buried next to their mother, within view of the small cottage Rafe had once shared with his family, made the events which had happened far more real to Wolf than the simple explanation Millie had given him earlier. And he felt it all the more when, as he dug the grave, she finally told him the complete story, as she knew it:

Rafe had heard his mate's howl for help and come running home as quickly as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. When he'd gotten there, he'd found his mate, Elie, and daughter, Melody, dead, killed by a passing Red soldier (as they were known), whom Elie had managed to kill before she died. His son Charlie lay a short distance away, unconscious, with a head injury. Rafe had focused on Charlie, as he was still alive, picking him up and running the several miles to Millie's house for help.

He'd burst in her door, she said, frantic with anxiety, the boy limp and bleeding in his arms. Rafe had barely been able to speak, and she'd had to prompt him for clearer explanations of what had happened, trying to calm him while she examined her nephew - and trying to remain calm herself for Rafe's sake. Unfortunately, she could tell fairly easily that there was nothing which could be done for Charlie, and that it would be a mistake to try; his skull had been crushed and the brain visibly damaged. And while she knew it would kill Rafe to hear such a pronouncement, she also knew it would be worse if she lied about it. Rafe, however, took the news far worse than she had expected. He'd called her a liar and accused her of siding with the queen - upon whom he said he would avenge their deaths - and wanting her nephew to die. She'd known he was overcome with grief and denial and had no idea what he was saying, but even while she tried to calm him, Charlie went into convulsions and died. Rafe had stared at his dead son, his face twisted in rage and grief, but didn't speak. After a moment, he'd gathered the boy's body gently into his arms and darted out the door the way he had come. The next day, Millie found the three graves, but no sign of Rafe. She hadn't seen him again (nor had his sisters) until the day of Wolf's wedding.

Wolf knew that if he were ever put through such a thing with Virginia and their children, that he'd want to die himself; that the only thing which would keep him alive would be the thought of taking revenge on whoever was responsible. He'd have no interest in breaking curses or anything else which might be of benefit to the living - his sole focus would be on his quarry. But he was unable to even imagine what he would feel if he found his quarry were also his lifemate. The two concepts were so opposed that he doubted he would remain sane. He knew Rafe had not.

---

Virginia knocked on the queen's door and waited. She wasn't at all comfortable with what the Wizards' Council wanted her to do - in fact the idea gave her butterflies, but she couldn't very well refuse to help them break the curse when so many lives were at stake, no matter if she herself wished everything could somehow remain as it had been. She just didn't see how having a woman as obviously pregnant as herself going to talk to the poor woman about having another baby would help. She thought that if she'd been in the queen's position, such a visit would only upset her (and, in fact, she had avoided the queen entirely until now just for this reason), but she hadn't been able to convince the Council of that; worse, Dr. Oberon had agreed with the Council.

There was no answer to her knock from inside the room, but the wizards had told her to expect that and to go in anyway after waiting a reasonable time. Steeling herself, she turned the knob and opened the door.

The queen lay in her bed, her long, somewhat tangled blonde hair scattered across the pillows which partially propped her up, her face turned to the window. Pale grey light from the overcast day streamed in, illuminating the coverlet and the side of her face that Virginia could see.

Virginia cleared her throat.

"Hello," she began somewhat quietly. Getting no reaction, she forced herself to talk a bit louder. "I'm Virginia; they asked me to come talk to you ..."

Still, the queen did not stir. Virginia bit her lip and walked over to the bed. At close range she was shocked to see how thin Queen Riding Hood had become. The bones of her face stood out prominently, her pale and now somewhat sallow skin making her watery, swollen, red-rimmed eyes huge. She wasn't crying at the moment, but it was evident that she had been recently and probably would be again soon. But still, she gazed out the window at the grey, cloudy sky and didn't look at Virginia at all.

Taking a deep breath, Virginia walked around the bed and deliberately placed herself in the queen's line of vision.

"Hello," she said again, "I'm Virginia, and they've asked me . . ."

"Yes, I heard you," the queen whispered numbly. Her eyes met Virginia's, directly in her line of sight from the window, then dropped to her obvious pregnancy and stayed there.

"Okay," said Virginia, wondering what she was supposed to actually say next. She stood uncomfortably as Queen Riding Hood resumed staring listlessly past her. Oh, I knew this was a bad idea, she thought. What am I supposed to say, anyway? Come on to the Fourth Kingdom and have another baby? What if she doesn't even want anything to do with Rafe? Or, what if she does - do I tell her he's locked up in a dungeon cell, probably insane? She sighed.

The queen seemed to hear Virginia sigh and looked back over at her belly. After a moment, she said, still whispering, "You're big."

"Oh," exclaimed Virginia, not really expecting such a comment after all the silence. "Yes, well, um . . . Yes, I am. It's because the baby is a half-wolf and I'm not, so they tell me." She wasn't worried about mentioning the half-wolfs in front of the her; it had been obvious by her previous reaction to the Council's telling her that her kingdom was at war that she no longer agreed with their prosecution. In fact, the only thing Virginia had been asked not to mention was the war - it had taken a long time for them to calm the queen after she'd heard about it.

"Oh," was all the queen said, her eyes returning to study the edge of the window. But Virginia saw her left hand stray to her own flat stomach.

"I, um . . . I know the wizards have talked to you about going to Wendell's castle," she continued, intending to get her pitch in and over with, but she was interrupted again by a question from Queen Riding Hood.

"Does it move?" she asked. "Can you feel it?"

"Well, yes," said Virginia, surprised again. Then, on an impulse, she said, "Would you like to feel her kick me?"

Getting no answer, she picked up the queen's hand, and when the woman didn't pull it away, pressed it to the side of her abdomen, where the baby was jabbing her most noticeably at the moment. Some emotion Virginia couldn't identify flickered momentarily on the queen's face.

"It's alive," she murmured tonelessly.

"Yes, very," Virginia assured her.

Queen Riding Hood's hand dropped and she looked away, her reddened eyes filling with tears. Virginia felt immediately guilty.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have . . ."

"He's there," the queen said.

"What?" asked Virginia, confused by the sudden change of subject. "Who?"

"They said he was at Wendell's . . . that the curse had gotten him . . . that he was a prisoner in the dungeon." Tears tracked down her face unheeded as she spoke, staring intently past Virginia's side at the window frame.

"Oh, yes, Rafe. Yes, he's there." Virginia had no idea what she could say after that..

After a moment the queen said, "They want me to go there."

"Yes."

The queen looked down at her lap silently for several moments.

At last she said, "I will."

---

A little more than three weeks later, Wolf found himself running towards the Deadly Swamp as fast as he could. He knew he'd have to slow down once he got there, so every moment he could save before then was doubly important to him. His instructor had finally been satisfied that he could teleport the mirrors - if he concentrated hard enough on the process - and even though he himself felt he could be better at it (especially if they let him wait until after Virginia had the baby), the pressure from the Wizard population for him to get on with his punishment had forced him to leave.

Not that he had left by himself - Virginia had come back to Wendell's with him, as had her father, Samantha, Dr. Oberon, and Queen Riding Hood. Samantha, he knew, had been under as much pressure from the Wizard Council as he was, probably more; they did not approve of her attachment to Tony - he was too close to Wendell, and they felt she would be too politically influenced. Wolf hadn't waited around to see what everyone else was doing, however, just given Virginia a quick kiss goodbye and run out the door.

He tried to tell himself he shouldn't be so concerned about possibly not being there when his cub was born, but it did no good - he was worried, and although he knew that worry was sort of a natural state for him, he was a lot more worried than he thought he should have been. It was silly, he knew - Dr. Oberon was there with Virginia, as was his Aunt Millie, who had returned from the Second Kingdom, where she'd gone to be with his sister Deirdre after the burial. The wizards had at least allowed that much - they'd provided transportation back for her specifically so she could stay with Virginia while Wolf was gone. And while this didn't stop him from wanting to be there, what he felt went beyond that somehow.

He stopped suddenly and sniffed the air. The odor of unwashed bodies came to him on the wind, too strongly for it to be a single person, or just a family. Warily, he cocked his head and listened. Far off, he heard horses neighing and the faint background rumble of many voices. The army that had besieged Wendell hadn't left after all, he realized. They'd simply pulled back, waiting. For what, he didn't know, but there was really nothing he could do about it except hurry with what he had to do and get back to Virginia as quickly as he could.

---

Although he had known King Wendell's castle had been besieged, Dr. Oberon was shocked by how different everything looked when he at last returned from the Wizards' Tower. Plaster dust still lay thickly on everything and guards standing at stiff attention stood in virtually every room and corridor. Paintings had been removed from the walls and the carpets rolled up and stored away. Wendell himself, contrary to his custom, did not come to greet them all but sent an attendant back with a message of welcome, conveying his apologies and explaining that there was still a tremendous amount to be done to restore order to his kingdom.

The thin woman beside him, although the queen of a kingdom herself and no doubt used to being greeted with pomp, seemed more relieved than anything at King Wendell's absence. Tom remembered that her kingdom had declared war on Wendell's, and even though it had been without her leave, he thought he understood her reasons. His thoughts, however, were not so much on the queen as they were on the woman beside Virginia, who had been introduced to him simply as "Wolf's aunt".

She was a striking woman, he thought, but that wasn't the reason for his interest. Although he presumed that she must also be a werewolf, she had a kind of manner in speaking to others he'd previously seen nowhere except among the abused. This, combined with her obvious limp, had caused him to imagine all sorts of past histories for her, the most fanciful being that she had been hurt repeatedly by a member of her own kind (an uncle of Wolf's?) during full moon frenzies. That also made Tom wonder anew what the ramifications would be to Virginia when the full moons started affecting Wolf again. Was she in danger of ending up the same way?

"I'd like to see him at once," the queen stated quietly, interrupting his thoughts about Wolf's aunt.

Everyone knew who she meant. No one tried to talk her out of it, but, as Tom looked at them, all except the aunt seemed bothered by her statement. She came forward, a bit hesitantly even for her, he thought, and deprecatingly asked the queen to please follow her. He and Virginia had followed the two women halfway down the stairs to the dungeon before it occurred to him that the aunt's attitude around the queen could easily be explained by her being one of the queen's subjects. Lost in thought, wondering if something this simple could account for all of her distant behavior, he passed the turnoff to where the mirror was kept, now flanked by a pair of guards, and suddenly brought up short.

He had completely forgotten about how long he'd been away from his office in New York. True, he'd notified his associates that he'd be gone for an indefinite length of time, but he'd never realized it would be months. And while it was true that he'd thought of New York - occasionally - in terms of what might happen should Wendell's castle fall and the mirror be discovered, he wondered if he should be surprised at how little it mattered to him that he'd been gone for so long. Somehow, the events happening on this side of the mirror seemed more real to him than his life in New York of work and emptiness.

Here, as he neared Rafe's cell, he realized he wasn't the only one who was empty, although he thought the old saying 'misery loves company' not the sentiment he was looking for. He'd heard - as had everyone who'd returned to the Fourth Kingdom - what had happened to Rafe's family two years ago. In certain respects it was much like his own story, only worse - at least Tom hadn't had any children to lose. He felt vaguely guilty for how he'd thought of Rafe before - as a rather common criminal. But this time, as they turned the corner and the man came into view, he recognized too well what Rafe was feeling. He'd been there himself and still was. The only difference between them was the false decorum Tom had adapted to placate others. In his soul, he and Rafe were one.

Wolf's brother sat on the cot in his cell, his bony knees hugged to his chest, and stared at a point somewhere in the air in front of him. His dark hair was matted and filthy, as were his clothes. An odor of sweat and human waste emanated from the cell; looking closer, Tom could see the bucket he used for excretion, which, in his apathy, he no doubt left alone until it was full. No servant would venture in to get it, he knew, and would wait until he set it within reach before emptying it.

The woman beside him stiffened at the sight of him and stopped, her hand flying to her breast. Tom knew, from listening to her raving while she was delirious with fever after they'd first found her, that she blamed herself for his family's death. He also knew that she loved him desperately. It was this, more than the (in his opinion) not too well thought out method for breaking the curse that had caused him to agree that she should see him as soon as possible. Knowing would be better for her than the torture she was putting herself through in her imagination, or so he thought. He admitted, however, that he had no real idea how Rafe (who, by certain things Wolf had said, he believed returned the queen's feelings - or at least he would have, had circumstances been different) would react to seeing her. Would he blame her as well? Tom was uncertain himself about how he'd feel if he found himself in love with someone he later discovered had been instrumental in Julie's death. He doubted Rafe himself knew.

Queen Riding Hood squared her shoulders and stepped forward, her hesitation lasting only seconds. For the first time since Tom had known her he thought she looked like a queen, tall and dignified. Silently, Wolf's aunt motioned for the guard to unlock the cell door. As she entered, alone, Rafe remained in his place on the cot, not looking up, or even seeming to acknowledge that any of them were there, unmoving. Then the lock clanged shut behind her, and he sprang.

Virginia shrieked in Tom's ear as Rafe's lunge brought the queen to the floor with a snarl, his eyes wild. Her head hit the stones with a thud, but she barely flinched at the pain and didn't look away, just stared up at him, unresisting, as a shudder passed through his body. Then, as if he were suddenly unsure of what he was doing, he stopped, though he didn't let her go. For a moment, neither of them moved, then the queen began to struggle, ripping at his filthy clothing.

"Kill me!" she ordered him, "Go ahead, kill me! You should! I deserve it, I . . ." Her cries dissolved into wailing sobs, punctuated with screams of "Kill me!" as she struggled harder, hitting him and scratching him with her nails.

In front of Tom, Wolf's aunt reached for the latch to the cell door. Without thinking, he pulled her back, getting another shock as she recoiled from his touch so violently her shoulder banged into the iron doorframe. He had no time to dwell on this, however. Rafe had fought to collect his assailant's flailing arms, and holding her by the wrists, he shook her violently, screaming "Stop it!" over her cries. Tom heard Virginia murmur "Oh my God"; saw the aunt covet the latch, her features twisted with compassion, though she didn't touch it - he'd moved himself close enough to it that she'd have to brush him to reach it, though he couldn't have said why it was important to him that she not interrupt the scene within the cell. In fact, he was just about to give in and let her pass when Rafe shrieked "NO!," his voice breaking on the word as he dissolved into sobs himself and gathered the now weakly protesting queen into his arms, her entreaties of "Kill me," now mere murmurs, repeated over and over as if in ritual, to receive his response, also repeated, whispered and rough, "No."

They had still been sitting on the floor in that same position when Tom and Virginia had returned to the main floor of the castle, leaving Rafe's aunt to - finally - care for them.

"Did you know?" Virginia asked suddenly.

He looked up.

"Know what?"

"Know what would happen," she explained. "You stopped Mi... Wolf's aunt from going in there."

"Oh. Well, I . . . Maybe. I think . . . no, I don't know," he faltered..

Virginia regarded him with astonishment.

"I wouldn't really have forced her to stay out if she'd insisted," he hedged.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, obviously not fooled by his change of subject. "Uh huh," she said dubiously.

"Why did she . . . recoil like that?" he asked. "She didn't just jump because I startled her. And it can't be some social stricture the wolfs have about touching others, since she had no problem touching either you or Queen Riding Hood. The only time I've ever seen a woman react that way was when she'd been abused."

"No," sighed his patient, "She wasn't abused, not in the way you think."

She surveyed him as if weighing whether or not he could be trusted with her information, causing him to recall the time, not too long before, when he'd seen nothing except that look from her. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "What happened was that she and her husband were attacked by some idiot wolf-haters. I'm not sure of the exact details, but it ended with him dead and her just barely alive. She's apparently been like that ever since. I know I've never seen her really happy. Even when she smiles, it never reaches her eyes."

He'd stopped, surprised by her answer, although it apparently wasn't obvious to her; she'd gone on ahead by herself to wherever she'd been headed. But he was still thinking about it that night as he went to bed. As much as he'd have liked to blame her attackers or society or anything else, he'd never been able to get over blaming himself for Julie's death. He thought he'd been able to identify with Rafe and the queen so strongly because he'd been able to see both their sides, and knowing them, had applied them to himself. Yet he'd seen Rafe – at least in some fashion – come to terms with such knowledge, and now Virginia had revealed that his aunt had been through an experience virtually identical to Julie's – and it had made no difference that her husband had been present, or that he'd possessed abilities Tom had been sure should have made him invincible – in fact, far from saving her, by dying in the attack he'd ensured that she'd have a life of loneliness. Was that what he'd have wanted for Julie? Certainly she was no half-wolf and might get over his loss sooner, but supposing she could not? Wouldn't she be living much as he was now, feeling somewhat responsible for his death (for after all, if he hadn't been there when she was attacked, he'd be perfectly safe as he was now)? He couldn't help feeling slightly guilty for entertaining such possibilities; they seemed to smell vaguely of sophistry, as if he were reasoning with a circular argument. But it genuinely had never occurred to him to even think of how Julie would feel if he'd succeeded in saving her at the cost of his own life. Would that be any better, for her to live in the hell in which he was now trapped? Unable to resolve the problem to his satisfaction, Tom fell asleep still thinking about it.

---

Virginia awoke, startled at first to be in bed alone, until she remembered – again – where Wolf had gone. She sighed, feeling the baby, ever restless, fumbling against her side, and wondered, not for the first time, if she would ever get any sleep once it was born. Even now she had to interrupt every night just to get up and feed her.

She sighed again and heaved herself into a sitting position on the bed, the vaguely queasy feeling she'd come to associate with extreme hunger threatening to overtake her.

Didn't I already get up and eat, though? she wondered, reaching for her robe. Or did I dream that? Not that I'd be surprised if you started wanting to eat twice a night now …

She padded downstairs to the kitchens in the dim light of minimal candles. Although servants kept the palace lit to prevent accidents in the night, the recent siege meant the lighting was only of the dimmest and most necessary sort (as at stairways and intersections), and that blackout curtains were drawn in every window. But once in the kitchen, Virginia found that the nightly snack she'd prepared for herself before going to bed was already gone.

"I did eat already," she said to no one in particular. Her queasiness seemed to step up a notch with the declaration. "Okay, okay, I'll eat again. Geez, do you have to be this much like your dad?"

Wanting to hurry and get back to bed, she chose some handy fruit – strawberries, grapes, and two bananas - Where did Wendell get those? Oh, I forgot, he's shopping in New York now – and ate quickly. Halfway back upstairs, however, she decided that had been a really bad idea. What had started as a slight queasiness before she'd eaten had suddenly blossomed into downright nausea. With one hand on the banister, she slid the other into the crease between her breasts and the baby in a vain attempt to hold her protesting stomach. She felt overheated, as if the air were closing in around her. Maybe if I go for a walk outside, she thought.

The slight breeze that wafted through the gardens helped some, but Virginia discovered quickly that she felt best if she kept walking, so she lifted the latch to the inner gate and continued on out to the formal grounds. It was a dark night; no moon lit the walkways, though with their surfaces of white gravel they remained visible as ghostly trails. In a way, she was glad not to see the rest of the outer garden – it had been trampled heavily by the invading army and still lay in shambles; she'd seen it in the daylight earlier. As it was, at night she could imagine it the way it had been. By now, the lilacs would have been finished and the roses started blooming. Not that she dwelled on the subject overly much; it only served to remind her of the sleep she was missing.

Why did I have to eat so fast? she demanded of herself. To hurry and get back to bed? Right, that's a laugh. What's the matter with me anyway? I knew I was queasy when I got up. When did I start eating to solve a problem? A year ago I'd never have eaten if I felt like that. And I said you were like your dad. I'm the one who's turning into him! She tried not to think of how Wolf was not there and how much she wanted him to be, knowing it was useless to be angry that he was absent right when she was obviously getting sick, but a tear escaped her anyway. On a practical level, however, she wished she would just hurry up and toss her cookies so she could get back to bed.

It didn't take her long to realize that she was about to get her last wish. Breaking into a cold sweat, she veered suddenly off the white pathway, inanely not wanting to make a mess there despite the ruined state of the garden. She'd just reached the relative cover of some still-standing hedges when she finally lost the offending meal, and was still standing there shaking, trying to decide if she really felt any better, when rough hands seized her from behind.

---

The nearly overpowering stench of mildew and rot made Wolf want to retch as he eased open the door to the Swamp Witch's cellar. It had been bad enough upstairs in the close air of the little cottage; the odor of what lay beneath made what had been a psychological attack - the dread of what he might meet - into a physical one as well. With one hand rubbing the irritation from his now-watering eyes, he gritted his teeth and forced the door open all the way.

Rickety wooden stairs led down into darkness. He stood for awhile on the threshold, altering his eyes to their more light sensitive wolf mode and allowing them to adjust to the dimness. After a moment, he could make out the earthen floor below. Cautiously, he started down, testing the strength of the treads as he went.

At the bottom, a vague mist hovered near the floor, not thick enough to obscure the ground beneath it, but substantial enough to leave a film of condensation on his boots. An indeterminate background of static magic made his hackles rise, but he forced himself to stay calm and analyze it. After a few moments, he realized it was coming not from the mist, nor the now-empty bier which stood moldering in the center of the room, but from the many mirrors arranged around the room's perimeter. His eyes grew huge and round as he stared at them, their clear and unfogged glasses, here in this humid atmosphere, hinting at their nature even to those who could not feel the magic's presence.

"So many!" he exclaimed softly, distraught at the thought of the overwhelming task he faced. A few mirrors! he thought, mentally repeating what he'd been told. There have to be at least fifty!

"Ooohhh," he moaned to himself. "I'm never going to get finished – well, not in time, anyway – my cub will be going to school by the time I finish here . . . well, of course she won't be going to school yet; it won't take that much time, but . . ." He scratched his head fitfully, staring at the mirrors as if they were a jury ready to convict him. "I have to be back in time for the baby to be born," he explained to them reasonably, as if they had inquired about it. Suddenly realizing that some might actually be capable of genuinely questioning him, he tried to look away, but succeeded only in seeing his reflection multiplied tens of times in the frames behind him. Two cast his image back subtly altered, though he couldn't have said exactly what had been changed, only that the results sent goosebumps down his spine.

His eyes snapped to the packed earth of the floor, studying the tips of his sodden boots. It was safe to look there . . . wasn't it, he wondered? Realizing he had started to hyperventilate, he tried to calm himself by chanting "The Swamp Witch is not here; the Swamp Witch is not here," since she obviously wasn't – her brand of magic was quite distinctive in . . . oh, he couldn't call it a smell or a feeling; it wasn't really like that at all, but well, it was distinctive. And not here. But the mirrors, though not evil, had been used for evil purposes, he couldn't help but think. Was there some miasma of residue . . . ?

"NO! Stop it!" he told himself out loud. "You're here; just do what you came here for. Move the mirrors, then you can leave."

A trickle of sweat ran into his eye and he wiped it absently away.

"Right!" he declared, looking up.

The mirror across from him, framed in an intricate network of carved vines, showed him his own sweat-soaked visage, and oddly, also the vapor condensing from his mouth as he spoke. Hadn't the room been cool – as a cellar would be – when he'd entered it, he thought? Humid, yes, but not hot. It had grown warmer as he'd stood there, though, until now it felt like a steaming jungle to him. He panted in the heat, dragging a hand across his burning forehead and the puffs of his breath ballooned before him.

It shouldn't do that, he thought. I could see my breath when I came in, but it was cool in here then. I shouldn't see it now.

"Never mind," he told himself sternly, "It doesn't matter. Just hurry up and move the mirrors so you can leave!"

Nevertheless, he didn't move; just stood there absently staring at the mirrors in front of him. Where to start? he wondered. With something simple; one that wasn't as powerful or dangerous as the others might be . . . but which one was that? He frowned worriedly. I should know, I should know that . . . but it was no use. He just couldn't think.

"No!" he barked in exasperation. "I can't think. How could I think in here; it's so hot, my clothes are sticking to me, I've got a kink in my tail . . ."

Well, that was something he could do something about, he decided. After all, who was going to see him here in the Swamp Witch's cellar? He reached down into the back of his pants and dragged the offending appendage free, sighing in relief for a moment before the awful realization hit him: His tail was much, much longer than it had been when he'd left Wendell's palace.

"What the . . . but it's not . . ." He thought for a moment. No, it isn't full moon. He'd made sure of that not too long before they'd left the Citadel. Not even the most militant wizards would have expected him to fulfill his mission in that condition. But not only wasn't the moon full, she was waning, and barely a sliver of her was left in the sky. Why then would the fever have come upon him, why would his cycle suddenly change so dramatically, he wondered? Then, with sudden clarity, he knew. Virginia was in labor.

---

Labor was, however, the farthest thing from Virginia's mind at the moment. She was curled up - as far as was possible - on the muddy ground of a small stockade, crying as quietly as she could so as to not attract attention. All around her, aside from an occasional guard, slept an army - one that hadn't left the Fourth Kingdom despite what the Wizards' Council had said. She had no idea what country it represented and didn't care.

The band of scouts had taken her, bodily, from the garden of Wendell's castle, and she hadn't been able to do a thing: as when Rafe had kidnapped her, she had been unwilling to put up too much of a fight for fear the baby might be hurt. As it was, the leader had backhanded her across the face – her eye was swollen already – because she had thrown up on him. Thinking about it now gave her a small amount of pleasure – it wasn't something she'd have been able to manage had she planned it, but she thought he really did deserve it just for being so stupid; surely he must have known she was sick before he'd captured her!

Her tears returned quickly as she thought about her predicament, wishing for the thousandth time that Wolf were there; wishing he had at least been at the castle to notice she was gone, but instead he was away on that business for the wizards. She could hope for no rescue this time; she'd have to rescue herself somehow. The trouble was, she had no idea how to accomplish such a thing: she was locked in the stockade, a small, muddy pit with high straight walls of pointed wooden poles. If she weren't pregnant, she might try climbing them . . . but then, if she weren't pregnant, she might have tried a lot of things to keep them from taking her.

She shifted position, grimacing as she soaked up yet more of the mud. What a stupid thing to worry about, she scolded herself, cried harder, tried to stifle the noise it made with her hand, and ended up smearing her face with the slimy stuff. She was just about to choke with self-pity when she saw, through the crack between the poles of the stockade fence, the captain who had captured her talking to a young guard. In the still darkness of the early morning, she could just make out the iridescent blue of fairy wings behind him. Forcing herself to remain quiet and still, not easy with her body aching from the capture and her illness, and insisting she change position every ten minutes or so (at least, she thought, her nausea had finally abated), she strained to hear what they were saying.

"You keep an eye on her," ordered the captain. "And make sure she stays quiet. She's our ticket to getting in that castle!"

"Yes, sir."

"Just remember, keep her quiet," he emphasized. "She makes one peep, you make sure she can't make another, is that clear?"

After a split second's hesitation, the young guard replied, "Yes, sir."

"You got a problem?" demanded the captain belligerently.

"I just thought that . . ."

"You aren't supposed to think, soldier! You follow orders!"

"Yes, sir."

"And don't worry. She ain't gonna be around long enough to need any of our food supply," he chortled. "What there is of it anyway."

Eyes wide with disbelief, Virginia watched him walk away.

He'd been out of her line of vision for only a few moments when she realized she was shaking violently. She couldn't think. What could she do? Not just let them kill her, but how could she stop them? There was no way, no way at all, nothing . . .

She began to sob in little gulping spasms that quickly turned into a frenzied gasping for air; all she could see a blur in front of her. The baby kicked her hard. She put her hand to the spot and cried harder, kneeling in the cold mud. Where is Wolf? I want him here, please . . . please, please, please . . .

"Please . . ." she moaned, "please . . ." and burst out crying, loudly.

The gate to her private stockade was abruptly thrown open, hitting the timbers behind it with a loud clatter of wood striking wood.

"Be quiet!" shouted a youthful male voice, still too high pitched to sound really authoritative. Virginia looked up at him, but could see only a blurry shape in the dark, holding a bright lantern. "Quiet, you, or I'll . . ." He turned the lantern and shone the beam upon her, whatever he would have done lost as his eyes fell upon her.

She wanted to say, "Or what, you'll kill me? You're going to do it anyway!" but no longer cared enough to bother. It wouldn't get her out; why waste the energy, she thought, sinking down farther into the mud, still sobbing fitfully.

---

The guard stared at the young woman groveling in the mud in front of him, pregnant almost to bursting, he thought. She didn't look like a threat; he'd been told earlier that they'd captured a major member of the pro-wolf faction. He didn't know what he'd expected - a half-wolf, maybe, or at least someone who looked wicked, as if they took some perverse pleasure from setting the wolfs on the respectable population of the kingdoms. Not this – not someone who reminded him all too well of his young aunt, whose unborn child would now never see its father. It had been his loss, in a battle of this foul war, as well as the loss of his older brother (the act which had precipitated his kingdom's march on the Fourth), that had spurred him to join the cause. His father already gone to lead the Eighth's army, he - Reginald, second son of Gregor, had left home despite his mother's protestations that he was too young and should stay in any case to protect the succession.

The battalion he'd found - away from his father's command (he knew his father would likely send him home as well) - must have known his identity; there just were not all that many blue fairies except those in the hybrid royal house, but they had gone along with the deceit he had invented to explain himself. He'd been ready for blood - to give those wolf-lovers what they deserved; what they were obviously asking for! - he'd been ready for anything . . . anything except this.

What possible reason could his commander have for killing a pregnant woman? So their rations wouldn't be stretched to feed yet another mouth (or two), he understood, but if she were to be held for ransom, as he'd been given to understand, why not let her go upon its fulfillment? Was she that much of a danger?

A small thought crept into his mind that she might be capable of practicing some magic to deceive him . . . even now, she might be influencing him in a bid to escape! Quickly, he averted his eyes from hers lest he be caught in the hypnotic spell, and backed up to slam the gate closed, then realized he hadn't yet gotten her quiet.

"Be qui . . ." he began, then realized it did little good to simply say the words. Captain Barston had given him orders to beat her into submission if necessary, but, seeing her, he doubted he'd be able to go through with it. Unless, of course, she was really trying to magically influence him; unless she was as evil as she'd have to be for them to want to kill her – then he could flog her until she lost consciousness, he thought, take revenge for his brother and uncle! But not unless he were absolutely sure – he could never look at her and do it unless he were sure.

Why? he argued with himself. Of course she must be a witch the enemy is using – why else order her death? Why claim her as a major member of the opposition? I should just beat her – beat her until she screams and bleeds and the baby dies in a bloody hemorrhage!

"No," he whispered. No, what am I saying? I don't have to guess, I can . . . but why should I bother when she's obviously the enemy or she wouldn't be here? Why waste time? Barston will hear her and come back and wonder why I didn't do my job; just slap her until she shuts up! Now! It'll take too long to do . . . No, just . . .

He made the gesture with his hand – an old one his mother had taught him as soon as he'd reached the age of reason, a simple fairy spell she'd said would be invaluable for a member of the royal family: a way to tell if someone were ensorcelling you, bending your will to theirs. With a snap of the wrist, he let it go, glancing furtively up at her eyes, the finger sign of warding ready.

He didn't need it. The woman stared at him through swollen blue eyes, frightened and guileless. Confused, he stared back, not even realizing his mouth was open until she spoke.

"Please let me go," she whispered breathlessly, little hesitating hitches between her words from sobs that hadn't completely ended. "Please . . ." There was no magic in the entreaty.

Oddly, in his head, he heard an argument telling him his mother's magic was useless and that he needed to kill the woman in front of him immediately or have his side face dire consequences in the war, but he pushed it away, knowing it was false, realizing then that he'd gotten it wrong, that the thoughts he'd had about saving the woman's life were his own thoughts and the others were false, not the other way around as he'd been led to believe. Frightened, both because of the power it would take to exert such influence on someone from afar, and by the sudden uncomfortable idea that the influence might extend farther than just over himself. It wasn't something he really wanted to think about, though, so he pushed that away too, and just focused on the woman.

"Please," she croaked softly, "Please don't kill me . . ."

Of course she'd heard that, he realized.

"No, shhh!" he said, realized it wasn't much different from everything he'd said to her before, and knelt down to face her. "Shhh! Can you walk?" he whispered.

She blinked, looking at him incredulously, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. He swallowed, himself, realizing only then what he intended to do and that it meant not only desertion, but treason. Or did it, he wondered? What was really going on? Were they in fact all being led? If so, wouldn't justice be his duty? He was risking a lot, true . . . his title, his position, his freedom . . . possibly his life. What if he were wrong?

No, that's that other voice!

Abruptly, he made his decision. "Let's go! Shhh!" he told her as he took her by the arm to help her stand. She stumbled for a moment, unsteady in the trampled mud and her own ungainly body. Her pregnancy was a lot farther along than he'd at first noticed, and he wondered if she could make it to where they had to go. He knew she'd try though; she'd have to – to stay here meant her death, and she knew it. With his finger to his lips, he led to the gate, and finding the way clear, closed it behind them.

---

Virginia followed her captor out of the stockade, still unable to keep from shaking. His hesitation when he'd seen her and the few murmured words he'd let slip as he considered his course of action giving her hope that he truly meant to set her free, but she couldn't be sure. It was possible he was only leading her to a punishment . . . or to her death - No! Don't think it! You'll start crying again, and you can't afford to make any noise out here! At least you're out of the stockade, which is better than inside it! She hoped that was true, anyway.

Still, she thought, the fact that the young guard had insisted she remain quiet coupled with his own noiseless progression continued to give her hope. When he set the lantern down at his post and began to walk away, gesturing for her to follow, she was almost certain he intended to lead her to freedom.

They threaded their way through the semidarkness of the camp, passing murky blank shapes she supposed were tents, zigzagging between them to better avoid the dim lanterns set out at the guardposts. Fortunately, the lanterns were shaded so that the enemy – Wendell's army, she realized – would not be able to detect them at a distance. They were barely visible here, used mainly as the guard had used his to observe her, with a panel that opened on one side, the way she might use a flashlight. Eventually they reached the edge of the camp and stepped out into the forest; a change she could not so much see as feel: The air grew at once cooler and more still, and the ground upon which she walked became littered with dead leaves and twigs instead of the heavily trampled earth. She stopped, cringing, as something snapped under her foot.

The fairy whirled at the sound and stood for a moment, listening to the darkness. Satisfied, he straightened up and she saw his hands form a slight gesture before he pointed at her feet. Fairy magic, she thought apprehensively, recalling the way the three sprite-like fairies in the Deadly Swamp had mischievously separated her from her father. The boy . . . man . . . teenager? who now led her was the only fairy she'd seen at the camp (though admittedly she'd seen only the four who had caught her plus this one). What if he . . .Stop it! Just . . . stop it! Quit thinking about it, just go!

When she did take a step she was surprised to find she could no longer feel the forest floor beneath her feet but instead felt as if she were walking across a thickly carpeted room. It made no sound whatsoever and she suspiciously wondered if her feet were even touching the ground at all, though she kept going as fast as she reasonably could to put distance between herself and the camp, slowing only when she felt a cramp in her left side and beneath her belly.

It wasn't the first time it had happened, and she pressed the light button on her watch, peering at it anxiously before letting her breath out. No problem, she thought when she saw it'd been a little over fifteen minutes since the last one, which had been eleven minutes fourteen seconds after the first. It can't be labor, they're getting farther apart, not closer. Must be that false labor whatever-it's-called or just gas from whatever made me sick before - that's what it really feels like. Oh, well, it's better than throwing up. Nevertheless, when it happened four more times in the next hour, though nothing so painful that she couldn't keep walking and in no real intervals she could set her watch by (which she'd imagined labor pains should be like), she began to worry just a bit, though she knew she was probably being silly about it. She still had another two weeks to go before her delivery date, after all, and these gas pains were nothing like labor . . . were they?

With the break of dawn, however, she suddenly forgot about trying to count minutes and seconds when she saw, far in the distance, across the mist-shrouded valley before her, the high, weather-scarred peaks of Dragon Mountain. She had something more solid to worry about now: they had come out on the wrong side of the army camp from Wendell's castle and were now well on their way to the Ninth Kingdom.

"We're going the wrong way!" she blurted out.

Her youthful benefactor regarded her with an air of assumed worldliness and patiently explained that no, they were going in exactly the right direction if they didn't want to be followed and captured: The army would assume that she'd head back for the Fourth Kingdom's capital, and the soldiers could go much faster than (he implied) she could in her condition.

Pursuit was not something she'd really thought about once they'd gotten clear of the camp without anyone raising the alarm, but he was right, they were bound to notice she was gone sooner or later, and if they had to guess in which direction, they'd be sure to choose the one back to the castle from where they'd taken her. Only . . .

"But why would they guess we'd gone that way?" she asked, starting to panic. "Wouldn't they just follow our trail and know which way we went?"

The boy smiled devilishly.

"We didn't leave a trail," he said smugly, wiggling his fingers suggestively.

"You used magic?" she asked.

"Fairy magic," he told her. "Not detectable. Not by them, anyway."

"Dogs can't even follow it?"

"They don't have dogs," he assured her. It didn't escape her notice that his reply did not answer her question.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He sounded exactly like a teenager that had been asked one too many questions by a parent. "Dogs have to be fed. There isn't enough."

"Not enough food?" she asked. When did this happen? she wondered.

"No, not enough food," he repeated as if she were a bit slow.

They walked in silence a few moments, picking their way down the gradual slope towards the valley.

"Of course, it doesn't mean that once they don't find us in that direction that they won't look this way anyway," he ventured.

Great,she thought, and tried to pick up her pace a bit.

By noon she'd learned he was Gwendolyn's brother - he'd asked her if his sister was being humanely treated as a prisoner, and she could tell he hadn't really believed her reply that Gwen was staying at the Wizards' Citadel by her own choice so as to stay out of the war (the wizards had convinced her that nothing she could do or say to her parents would be able to break through the effect of the curse). But although Virginia could tell from some things Reginald let slip that he suspected some sort of magical influence might be creating the reasons for the war - for which she was grateful, as he'd told her, when she'd asked, that this was the reason he'd let her go - she'd also been able to tell that he had no love for wolfs.

"A wolf killed my brother," he'd told her simply, if irrationally, since Queen Riding Hood III had described exactly how she'd found Gunther frozen beneath the ice. And when Virginia had tried to correct him, he'd acknowledged that the queen might have found his remains that way, but that nevertheless, the death blow had 'obviously' been struck by a wolf. 'Obviously', he'd said, because Gunther had been on a crusade to eradicate all the wolfs; therefore only a wolf would have the motivation to kill him. When she'd pointed out that his death could have been accidental, he brushed off the suggestion as extremely unlikely: His brother was an excellent horseman and outdoorsman – accidents didn't happen to him.

Ordinarily, Virginia would have sighed and patiently continued trying to chip away at his resistance - after all, she reasoned, he'd been able to see through the curse well enough to let her go; he might eventually be able to see through this part of it too - but by noon she'd come to realize that time was not going to be on her side. By then her contractions - she could no longer think of them as anything else - had narrowed to six or seven minutes apart; still not as exact as clockwork, since they varied by as much as twenty seconds either way, but strong enough - and steady enough - she knew they had to be the real thing. Still, she said nothing to Reginald about them, figuring it would do little except further burden him. He'd find out soon enough, she thought, wondering for the first time in a long time if the baby would look very wolflike at birth and how her wolf-hating companion would react if it did. Oh, Wolf, she thought, is this what you meant by 'knowing' you had to be here when the baby came? Did you foresee all this happening? She knew she shouldn't be thinking about him; it just made her cry, but she couldn't help it. Stifling a sob, she brushed away a tear that escaped as she thought, It's too late now, though . . .

Surprisingly, she made it to late afternoon before finally giving herself away. They'd gotten as far as the base of Dragon Mountain where Reginald had called a rest. Along the way, she'd been able to disguise the occasional gasps she'd let out when the strongest contractions had hit her as panting exertion from the exercise of constant walking. Now, however, she had no such excuse.

"What's the matter?" he'd innocently asked her.

As calmly as possible, she told him she thought she might be in labor, then steeled herself for his reaction. He stared at her for a moment as the information sank in, then surprised her by not flying into a panic. I watch too much TV, she thought wryly.

He bit his lip and glanced up at the mountain looming over them, then back at her.

"I don't suppose you could make it to the Ninth Kingdom, then," he said, "Which is too bad since the dwarves always try to stay neutral during any wars. We'd be safe there."

He paused, but she was having another contraction and didn't answer. How far apart were they now? she wondered. Two minutes?

"I guess we'd better head for Kissingtown," he decided, and stood up.

In the distance a wolf howled mournfully. Virginia's head snapped up as relief washed over her. She recognized that howl.

---

Reginald's head snapped around at the sound at the same time as Virginia's did.

"Oh, no . . ." he murmured, automatically taking Virginia by the elbow to propel her into quick movement before the beast could overtake them - if they had sufficient lead time, that is. He knew if all else failed, he did still have his sword, but though he didn't doubt his ability to save himself that way, he had no practice with trying to save another who could not fight. His thoughts of flight were brought up short by the inane grin that had suddenly spread over his pregnant ward's face, however.

What is the matter with her? he wondered irritably. Out loud, he merely said, "Come on!" knowing they had no time to spare for explanations now. Inexplicably, she yanked her arm away from his grip and stood her ground, still smiling.

Elf-sucking wolf lover! he thought angrily. She's going to get us killed! She'll find out soon enough why Wendell should never have signed that pardon when the beast gets here! He turned away, telling himself he could move faster without her and that she deserved what she was going to get for being a wolf-lover in the first place, but couldn't make himself actually leave: He knew his conscience would bother him for the rest of his life if he did. When the wolf howled again, much closer, he resigned himself to having to stand and fight it, and peremptorily drew his sword.

Virginia heard the ring of steel as it left its scabbard.

"No!" she shrieked, aghast.

"Listen!" he scolded her, "I don't care what you think you know about wolfs. They might be able to look like real people, but they aren't. They're evil. They kill for the pure pleasure of killing. They killed my brother. So just stay out of the way!"

She started to argue, but they were both interrupted by a rustling in the leaves. Reginald's eyes had no sooner darted to the spot when the wolf came charging out, moving at an unbelievable speed, his fangs bared. Mesmerized by its appearance - he'd never before seen one in the flesh, he thought - he stepped backwards and hesitated a split second before raising his sword. Still, he thought he might have been able to strike the creature a crippling blow if Virginia had not chosen that moment to shove him violently aside. His foot slipped and he fell heavily to the ground, his sword clattering away. Desperately, he turned back just in time to see Virginia open her arms wide to the beast as if to embrace her own death. He cringed, expecting her throat to be torn out, but incredibly, the thing hesitated for a moment, sniffing at her as a pet dog might, then knelt beside her as she sank to her knees, apparently in the throes of another labor pain, stroking her belly with its wicked claws so gently her robe did not even snag.

Reginald glanced at his sword, lying several steps away in the bracken. If he were quick, he might just make it before the beast could react, he thought. The trouble was, he couldn't make himself move, and though he tried to tell himself it might be because he was seeing something miraculous, he was afraid it was simply that he was too much of a coward: he remembered how the wolf had moved faster than he'd thought possible. But then, he reasoned, it's doing a lot of things I didn't think were possible . . .

His thoughts cut short as he watched its bones and muscles alter, its skin rippling with the change in a way that made him queasy. It took only a moment, then a man knelt in its place and he realized with a shock that it was no pet of Virginia's, but her lover. Reginald's confusion gave way to revulsion. How could she lower herself to couple with that thing? he wondered, realizing at that moment the exact nature of the baby she was about to deliver.

Involuntarily, he dove for his sword, his only thought that he had to rid the world of such an abomination. Grasping the hilt like a swashbuckling hero, he rolled over it to his feet, fully expecting the beast to be spit on the blade as it rushed him, but it had all but ignored what he was doing, focusing its attention completely upon Virginia. Still, it growled at him menacingly as he cautiously approached it, sword at the ready.

"Put that down!"

The command carried a surprising amount of authority, like a mother reprimanding an errant child.

"And you," Virginia continued, shaking the wolf's arm, "Stop that."

The wolf quit growling and whined, "But Virginia . . ."

"I said put it down," she repeated severely to Reginald. Reluctantly, he lowered his blade. "What exactly were you going to do?" she demanded.

With a shock, he realized that he'd risked his life to get the sword with the thought of killing her baby, though he didn't tell her so.What's the matter with me? he wondered. Even if it were necessary - of course it's necessary, the thing is a monster! – He gritted his teeth to hang on to his original thought, forcing the hate back down –Even if it were necessary, I couldn't do it until it's born; not without hurting Virginia! More evil thoughts assailed him - telling him he had to act now, quickly! - that he wasn't sure were really his, and he wondered if whatever had tried to influence him back at the army camp were at work again here. It was difficult to tell – obviously whatever it was wanted him to hate the wolfs, but that was something he'd always done . . . wasn't it?

Virginia had apparently not really expected him to answer her question. In the background, he could hear her explaining to her wolf how Reginald had saved her life. Strangely, the wolf seemed to accept what she'd said – in fact to act in all the respects that mattered as if he were a normal man. He seemed genuine, but was it really a trick as the voice (of reason or influence?) in his mind told him it must be? The fairy trick he'd used to determine Virginia's innocence was useless against the magic of nature beings . . .

Nature beings? he thought suddenly. Yes, they are! So how can they be evil? Nature isn't inherently evil . . . But the wolfs are; they always have been; it's just their nature! No, wait . . .

He was still dithering, trying to figure out which course of action was the correct one when a shadow fell across the small clearing and the forest grew ominously quiet.

Virginia caught her breath against the next contraction and followed both Reginald's and her husband's astonished gazes up towards the sky. What she saw nearly made her forget she was in labor: There, silhouetted against the evening sun was the unmistakable shape of a dragon, its leathery wings outspread as it circled their clearing. Despite the long, spade-tipped tail which sailed behind it, she was uneasily reminded of a vulture.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the fantastical creature, she watched as it dipped gracefully forward, plunged the distance towards the ground and alit no more than fifty feet away from them with no more sound than the rush of air past its wings and the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath a soft footfall. Yet the dragon was immense, towering over them even from that distance, watching them speculatively - at least it seemed so to her - as it carefully folded its wings across its back. On the ground, she was suddenly seized with fear - with its wings no longer outspread, it resembled nothing so much as a living dinosaur - one of the predatory types, its wicked teeth visible along the line of its great jaw. Behind its head, she supposed to protect the upper portion of its sinewy neck, rose a bony, plated crest, and from this, as well as from where she might have called them whiskers, trailed what looked like long filaments of black ribbon. The hide appeared black in the shadows, but in the light seemed to refract the colors near it, and as she watched, the beast began to fade into a thickening mist, the last remnants of what she could see its glowing amber-colored eyes.

The mist thinned and a man walked forward from it, the dragon no longer visible. She blinked, trying to make sense of what had happened but succeeding only in becoming annoyed as she felt another contraction building. She needed to concentrate and the constant interruption of labor made it virtually impossible. By the time she could once again think, the man was squatting in front of her.

In coloring he was much like her husband, with olive skin and thick black hair, though his fell well past his shoulders, and he wore a full but neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He was dressed all in black, but his eyes - of a hazel so pale it appeared to be amber - were kind as he said, "I am sorry for the interference but it has unfortunately become necessary," then gave a kind of cursory glance in Reginald's direction before stretching out a long-fingered hand towards her belly.

Wolf caught him by the wrist.

"I mean you no harm," the man said without struggling.

"Why are you here?" her husband demanded.

"Wolf?" she asked. Did he know who this was, she wondered? Or, could this be the person he needed to protect her from? What might have happened had he touched her?

"I am afraid there is no time for a complete explanation," the man told them, with a meaningful look at her middle. "You must come with me."

She felt Wolf stiffen. "No," he said decisively. Still, if the man were as much of a threat as she'd thought, wouldn't Wolf have reacted much more strongly, she wondered?

"The journey will do none of you any harm," the man insisted, "And it requires no acrobatics; in practice it will be much the same as the transportation you were about to give the magic mirrors – though hopefully a bit smoother." He smiled, showing prominent, but even, very white teeth.

"Where are you taking us?" Virginia asked, her voice querulous.

"To Dragon Mountain," came the reply. "A mirror is about to be born there."

"What does that have to do with us?" Wolf demanded. "Why don't you just take us back to Wendell's castle?"

The man sighed in exasperation. "Because I don't fit inside it," he said. "I am sorry it has to be this way, but you must hurry and decide. The babe will come soon." As if to lend support to his words, Virginia felt another contraction overtake her, though she wondered at his explanation. If he didn't fit, did that mean that he was . . . ?

Her thought was abruptly cut off by a panicked shout from Reginald: "No!"

The man glanced back at him.

"I'm afraid you will have to come along as well," he said apologetically.

Strangely, Reginald's wild-eyed fear gave Virginia courage; grateful as she was for his rescuing her, she'd had enough of his irrational attitude. Why not go to Dragon Mountain, she thought? At least the dwarves probably had midwives, which was more than she was likely to get out here.

No sooner had the thought entered her mind than they were suddenly inside a vast cavern full of screaming dwarves. She had just enough time to comprehend that the dragon was standing directly over them before she heard the man's resonant voice say, clearly and loudly, "I come not in challenge." Then the dragon turned to mist and once again vanished from sight. The man was nowhere to be seen.

After what seemed like a long moment of dead silence, a bell rang in the distance and someone shouted, "All clear!" As if on cue, the dwarves all gathered in the center of the room, surrounding them, but their attention was not upon the three newcomers.

"Comrades!" declared a voice, "The birth of the new mirror is upon us!"

Virginia looked up, deja vu overcoming her as she once again saw a mirror rise from the roiling depths of liquid in the incubator. Though rectangular in shape, and not oval as the Truth Mirror had been, it too was covered with a crust of roughly hewn metal. As she watched, the husk abruptly shattered, revealing the newborn glass beneath.

"Behold the first Traveling Mirror born since recorded times!" declared the announcer. "It shall be a gift to the firstborn child of the heros of the Nine Kingdoms, Princess Virginia and her husband, the noble Wolf."

The irony of having her child receive a magical, enchanted birthday gift while her actual birth went on in the midst of the gift-givers, unattended, was not lost on Virginia, as another contraction, stronger than the rest, had plowed through her on what seemed like the heels of the one before. She panted, feeling the next one starting to build already, staring in a daze at the image of New York City as the mirror was gently lowered to the floor. The baby was starting to really come, she realized soberly. She half-felt as if she ought to push and wondered if it would really do any good to try and delay it.

Wolf exclaimed, "Huff puff, could it be?" under his breath, and put his arms around her, though not in the most comfortable position. She wanted to tell him to move just a bit when she realized he was picking her up.

"No!" she cried, "Wolf, no, don't . . . don't move me!" But her words did no good. He caught her up awkwardly against her feeble struggle and dashed through the mirror.

---

Tom stared at the picture of himself and Julie for a moment longer before he transferred it to the cardboard box into which he was putting all the personal items he kept in his office. His heart still felt the pang of loss, but he was no longer overwhelmed with guilt for her death; not since he'd met Wolf's aunt. Yet he'd found he could no longer continue with his old life – he felt as if that Tom Oberon had died with Julie and a new Oberon had come into being with the discovery of the Nine Kingdoms - or at least he was about to come into being; Tom, after what he knew were an excessive amount of absences, had decided to turn his practice entirely over to his partner. He'd put his co-op on the market and was about to make the Nine Kingdoms his home permanently. They had a need there for good doctors with his skill, he thought. Smiling sadly, he placed the picture gently into the box.

A flash of movement outside the window caught his eye and he looked up, his jaw agape as he watched a cistern on the roof of a building across Fifth Avenue suddenly burst, spilling its contents. More incredibly, the cistern on the adjoining building split open at the same time. Two pigeons which had alit on his sill turned to bright spots of iridescent color in the corner of his eye. They had flown away by the time he turned to stare at them, but below, in the park, something winked, a momentary spark of light. He knew by its position what it was.

His box forgotten, he took the express elevator down to street level and dashed out the door. Tremors shook the ground as he left the exit and he stumbled for a moment, looking up and down the street. Fire hydrants spewed their contents onto the concrete, creating miniature streams which cascaded noisily into the storm sewers, but strangely no one he passed seemed aware that anything was amiss. People caught cabs, hurried across streets against the traffic, which honked its horns and swerved around double-parked cars as if the day were like any other, even when the singular cloud in the clear blue sky, hovering over the antenna atop the Empire State building, sent an abrupt bolt of lightning onto the structure and the walls began to crack and split.

On the corner, the facade of the Plaza Hotel suddenly altered, its spires spinning upwards towards the sky, its walls glowing whiter, until it seemed as if it intended to imitate Neuschwanstein. At the same time, the surrounding buildings began to slowly sink into the earth.

Tom ran across the street to the park, towards the mirror, knowing that somehow the magic of the kingdoms had crossed over to the world of his birth, but not knowing how. As he looked back, the Chrysler building blossomed into a gossamer rain of multi-hued stardust, and a giant striding down the East River stepped gingerly across the Brooklyn Bridge. Passing older men and women sitting on benches, and young couples throwing bread crumbs to ducks on a pond, all seemingly oblivious, he ran, head down, feeling rather than seeing the Empire State building transform itself into a growing mountain in the center of the city - or what had been the city - his only thought that he must find the mirror quickly.

He came upon it abruptly, shocked back to his own reality by the sight of Wolf and Virginia crouching before it. It was obvious she was in the last stages of labor. Feeling less lost, that at least there was something here he could actually handle, he ran up to them, panting heavily.

"Doc, Doc, you're here!" exclaimed Wolf excitedly. "The baby, it's . . ."

"Yes, I see," he replied, kneeling beside Virginia. The lower part of her nightgown was soaked; he could see a dirty robe lying in the grass a few feet away, closer to the portal, which remained waveringly open. Is that why this is happening? his wondered inanely. Should someone shut it off? With an effort, he forced himself to concentrate on the impending birth.

"You're doing fine," he told the mother. "I can see the head. Just push whenever you need to . . . yes, it's crowning, just one more push . . ."

Virginia yelped as the head broke free and Tom could hear Wolf whine in the background.

"Okay, don't push for a minute."

"Oh, right!" she retorted sarcastically, the way he'd heard all new mothers do.

Quickly, he made sure the baby's neck and throat were clear and then told Virginia to go ahead. The baby, a girl, plopped out into his arms, coughed, and began to wail. Just as suddenly he noticed that the ground was no longer shaking, but he forced himself to examine the infant carefully before allowing himself to look at his surroundings. After his experiences with Wolf, he was surprised to find that she looked in all respects that he could see, quite human.

Without preamble, he handed her to her waiting parents and purposely continued his regular procedure of taking care of the mother - waiting for the placenta to come and checking for any tears. Fortunately, Virginia required no stitches; he wasn't sure where he would have found anything to stitch her up with if she had. Only after all of that was done did he dare look up.

He was no longer in Central Park, but in a real forest which lay at the foot of a tall, snow-capped mountain. No trace of the city remained on the horizon except part of a spire of what had once been the Plaza Hotel, but which was now he didn't know what. A palace, perhaps, or a royal castle? The bustling noises of New York had faded into the soft caress of a breeze and the distant song of birds.

The mirror itself remained open; he wondered momentarily if closing it would break the spell, but it didn't look as if his patient or her husband could answer his questions or were even aware of what had happened: They had eyes for only their daughter.