It wasn't hard to find Catherine. Her anxiety was a powerful thing, drawing him to her almost without thought. She had drifted back to the park, where she wandered, waiflike, among the towering trees. Her cloak was stained, its edges torn and dirty—a bedraggled length of wilted fabric that dragged at her bent shoulders. He watched her for a moment in silence, his heart heavy. This sadness, too, could be laid at Gabriel's feet.

Softly, he called her name, the syllables floating across the distance between them on a gentle night breeze.

"Catherine."

She spun around, and he had only a moment to see the relief in her eyes before she launched herself into his arms. He caught her, lifting her off her feet as she whispered his name against his neck, her voice rough with exhaustion. He closed his eyes and held her close, desperately grateful to whatever forces had watched over her in his absence.

"I'm here," he said. "I'm here." He rubbed her back, his hand moving rhythmically up and down its slim length.

"I was so afraid."

"I know. I'm sorry."

When she pulled back, he saw the deep shadows under her eyes. Had she slept at all while he'd been gone? Had she eaten?

She touched his bruised face with a gentle fingertip. "You were on the Compass Rose, weren't you?"

He nodded. "Elliot sent me a note. He asked me to meet him."

"Elliot . . ."

"He saved my life, Catherine." He put his hand on her shoulder and wished he could spare her this fresh pain. "But it cost him his own."

"No . . ." She stared at him, her eyes wide with horror. "No . . ." He took her in his arms again, feeling her body shake beneath the weight of her grief. She had cared a great deal for Elliot, he knew, and though Vincent had sometimes envied the other man, he too felt the loss deeply.

They stood together for several minutes, hidden in the little grove of trees, far from street lamps and prying eyes. Vincent held her close, supporting her in her grief and ignoring the discomfort of his own injuries. At the moment, her needs were greater than his own.

Finally, she straightened and he let her go, his eyes searching her face as he sensed her growing weakness.

"I felt it, Vincent. I felt the explosion." She shuddered. "I came Above to find you." Her gaze drifted east, toward the river and the blackened remains of the Compass Rose. "Something drew me to the cemetery." She turned back to him, and he saw the confusion in her eyes. "Only you weren't there."

"Someone found me."

"Who?"

She swayed as the adrenalin and worry that had carried her through his absence began to ebb, and he took her hand, guiding her back toward the safety of the tunnels. "Her name is Diana. She's with the police. She's been investigating your case."

"The police . . ." Catherine stopped and turned to him. "Vincent—"

"I know." He nodded and tugged gently, starting her moving again. "I was afraid, too. But I've come to believe that we can trust her."

"You told her I'm alive?" Fresh concern in her voice, Catherine stared at him.

"No." He remembered those hours in Diana's apartment, and the difficult decision he'd made. "That's a risk I'm not yet prepared to take."

"How did she know where to find you?"

"I don't know." He thought about Diana, about what she had told him of her work. "She has an amazing mind, Catherine. In some ways, she reminds me of you."

"But if she could find you . . ." Catherine let the sentence trail off unfinished, but Vincent knew what she was thinking. If Diana could track him down, others might, too.

They had reached the tunnels, and Vincent looked around, making sure they hadn't been followed before leading her inside.

"I believe our secret is safe," he said as the barrier slid closed behind them. "And after Elliot's death … she may be our only hope."

Catherine stumbled, and he caught her, his arm going quickly around her waist. "You're tired," he said. "I'll walk you to your chamber. After you've rested and eaten, we will speak again."

xXx

xXx

Father couldn't bring himself to stay away from the Chamber of the Falls for very long, but even the familiar music of tumbling water gave little comfort as the hours continued to pass without news.

"Father."

At first Father thought he'd imagined the distinctive voice, but when he turned, Vincent was watching him from the chamber entrance. He looked tired, and his hair was matted and dirty, but he was alive. Ignoring his cane, Father got to his feet and pulled his son into his arms.

"Thank God you're alive." He stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. "Where have you been?"

"Healing."

The single word told Father both everything and nothing at all. "For days I've been wrestling with my worst fears. Trying to prepare myself."

Vincent bowed his head. "I'm sorry to have put you through so much worry."

"Have you seen Catherine?" Father sat back down, and Vincent settled beside him. "She left the tunnels at about the time you disappeared. I assumed she went looking for you."

"I found her in the park. She's resting now." He looked out at the waterfall, and there was sadness in his voice when he continued. "But Elliot Burch is dead."

"Yes, I know." Father said, his voice grave. "How did it happen?"

"He almost betrayed me. But in the end, he sacrificed his life for mine."

For a long moment, they were silent, lost in thought.

"There's something about the water," Father said at last. "The sound of the water. It drew me here when you were gone." He turned to Vincent, marveling at the man he'd grown into, at the difficulties he'd overcome with such nobility, such strength. "I never dreamed of you having a child. But now . . . so many things seem possible."

"One day he'll be raised here. In the world you created."

"Have you discussed it with Catherine?"

Vincent shook his head, and Father sensed his son's distance as his thoughts went elsewhere. "Not yet."

"Will you ask her to marry you?" The idea no longer unsettled Father the way it once would have.

The look Vincent gave him was thoughtful. "Perhaps."

Father suspected the idea of marriage hadn't occurred to Vincent until now, and he realized that in some ways he had himself to blame for that. He'd made mistakes with Vincent, mistakes that, if not for Catherine, might have cost his son a lifetime of happiness.

He couldn't change the past, but he could do something about the future.

"I would be honored to have Catherine for a daughter."

Vincent leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Father."

Father said nothing further on the subject. What Vincent and Catherine decided about their future was up to them.

First, though, the child must be found.

"I know I've made things difficult for you of late." He laid his hand on Vincent's arm. "But these past days I've come to understand what it is to lose a child." He shook his head, his eyes drawn once more to the water. "Let nothing interfere with your search, Vincent. Nothing."

xXx

xXx

Diana sat on the couch, facing Mark's anger with a steady calm that belied her churning stomach. He'd been running his hands through his hair, so that now it stood in unruly spikes, and his eyes were dark with pain and disappointment.

"I feel like I've been lied to all this time."

It was true that she'd occasionally kept things from him, but she'd never been blatantly dishonest. She forced a vivid memory of Vincent aside. There was no way she could tell Mark about him. "Lied to how?"

"Lied to. Made to believe one thing when something else was true. You used to talk about it all the time, remember? Growth? Growing together?"

"I remember." She'd been full of dreams then—naive, idealistic, girlish dreams with little basis in the harsh realities of life.

"Yeah, well I really thought you meant it. I bought it. You know, find someone. Start a life."

She cringed from the bitterness in his voice. "It is what I want." Just not on his terms.

"No you don't," he said. "Not with me, anyway."

"Mark—"

"It's okay." He gazed bitterly at her. "I'll get over it."

"You're making this more difficult than it needs to be."

"Well, I can't make it easy for you." He shook his head. "Took me this long to get the hint."

"I wasn't trying to give you a hint."

He knelt beside her. "You gave me these glimpses. Wonderful little glimpses. But you never let me come in. It was like somehow the shade always got pulled."

"I'm sorry." She really was. She'd never meant to hurt him. But no matter how hard she tried, she knew she'd never be able to be the person he needed. The person he deserved.

"You say that too often. 'Sorry' wears thin after a while."

A surge of frustration straightened her spine. "What would you like me to say?"

"Nothing. I guess I came to do all the talking." He straightened and walked over to hit the button for the elevator. Turning back, he looked at her, and she knew he was waiting for her to beg him to stay.

But she didn't say anything. There was nothing left to say.

xXx

xXx

The candles flickered gently in the cool tunnel air, their golden light warming Father as he turned the pages of his journal. So much had happened in the past year, so many tragedies and challenges. Would their small community ever be at peace again?

At a faint sound in the doorway, and he looked up, startled.

"Peter! What a surprise!" Father rose to meet him, but Peter waved him back down.

"Jacob, my friend. How are you?"

Peter looked tired, but so did they all, lately.

"I'm doing well, thank you. And you? How is your practice?"

"Busy." Peter sighed. "Actually, I'm thinking of retiring. I'm getting too old for this."

Father chuckled. "I'll believe that when I see it."

Peter had brought his briefcase with him to the tunnels. He'd never done that before, and now Father watched curiously as he opened it and lifted out a slim folder.

"Is Vincent around?" Peter set the folder on the table. "I need to speak with both of you."

There was something in Peter's voice that made Father uneasy. He nodded. "I believe he's in his chamber. I'll call him." He rose from his chair and crossed to the steam pipe. After tapping out the brief message, he turned back. "Can I get you anything while we wait? Tea, maybe?"

"No, thank you. I can't stay long." Peter hesitated for a moment. "How is Vincent?"

Father considered the question, wondering how much to say. "He's . . . recovering."

"That's a relief. I was worried—"

"Father? You wished to see me?" Vincent stood at the top of the steps. Sometimes he still surprised Father with how quickly and silently he could move.

Peter crossed to shake Vincent's hand. "Hello, Vincent."

"Peter." Vincent shot a questioning glance at Father who shook his head. "It's good to see you again."

"I only wish the circumstances were different," Peter said cryptically as he sat down.

"Oh?" Father asked. "What circumstances are those?"

Peter looked from one man to the other, took a deep breath, and gestured at the papers he'd set on the table. "Catherine's will."

"Catherine's—"

"—will. Yes." Peter nodded somberly.

Father was stunned into silence. This was a complication that had never occurred to him—to either of them, judging by Vincent's expression. Father played for time, stalling while he tried to decide what to do. "What about her will?"

"She appointed me executor," Peter said, sorrow in his eyes, "because of my connections with the world Above." He took a breath, his eyes meeting Vincent's. "But with the exception of a couple of endowments, she's left everything to you."

"No." Vincent's soft exclamation resonated with shock. "No."

"I know this is painful for you," Peter said, "but I witnessed the signing myself."

"But . . ." Father struggled to comprehend the enormity of what he was hearing. "As far as the world Above knows, Vincent doesn't even exist."

"Actually," Peter said, "he does."

Stunned, Father leaned forward. "How is that possible?"

Peter looked vaguely uncomfortable as he shuffled the papers in front of him without meeting Father's eyes. "When John first brought Vincent to the tunnels, everybody was so busy trying to keep him alive that there was no time to think about the future." He glanced up, looking from Father to Vincent and back again. "I filed the birth certificate myself," he said. "At the time, it was all I could think of to do to help. Then, when the papers came, I put them away. I felt a little silly, actually. I never thought he'd need them, living down here." He shook his head. "Apparently, I was wrong. I have it and his social security card right here."

He sorted through the papers in the folder and selected two, handing them to Vincent. "I'm sorry," he said, "I should have said something sooner."

Father looked at Vincent, at the shock on his face as he stared at the papers. What must he be feeling? Suddenly he wasn't just a denizen of a secret world, part man, part something else; he was a citizen of the United States.

"Anyway," Peter went on, apparently unaware of the depth of Vincent's shock, "Catherine set it up so that Vincent would never have to worry about taxes, and he can send a proxy to make withdrawals, so there shouldn't be any problems." He picked up the rest of the papers and offered them to Vincent, who backed away as though from a venomous snake. Peter gave him a sympathetic look.

"It's quite a large estate, Vincent. Handled carefully, it should be enough to sustain the entire community for a long time." He took a pen from his pocket. "I know this is painful," he said, "so if you'll just sign those, I'll be on my way."

"Father, have you seen—?" Three pairs of eyes swiveled in Catherine's direction as she froze at the top of the steps. "Peter!"

Peter's face went white, and for an instant Father feared he might faint. "Catherine?"

She hurried down the steps. She was dressed in clean tunnel clothes, her hair shining against the collar of a thick sweater. Swiftly, she crossed to Peter's side and bent to hug him.

He was smiling when she straightened, his eyes bright. "I don't understand," he said, "I went to your funeral!"

"I know." She knelt beside his chair and took his hand in hers. "And I'm sorry we misled you, but it was necessary."

"Why?" Peter looked from Catherine to Father and Vincent. "Somebody tell me I'm not about to see a white rabbit run through here with a pocket watch."

Vincent crossed to Catherine, taking her arm to support her as she got to her feet. "It isn't a dream," he said. "We've kept Catherine hidden to protect her."

"To protect her? From what?"

Father's own shock at learning that Catherine was alive was still fresh in his mind. "I believe we'll be needing that tea after all, Vincent. Perhaps you'd better send a message to William."

xXx

xXx

Diana sat at her computer. Her loft was silent and deeply shadowed, lit by only a single lamp. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. With a deep sigh, she began to type.

A week has passed. And nothing. Still no sign. I dreamt of him again last night. A strange dream. I held his face close to mine, but he couldn't see me. I spoke to him, but he couldn't hear me. I was with him. But he was alone. Impressions. Am I finally losing my mind? Probably. But his sadness has carried over into me. In these last few days especially.

She saved the file, then turned off the computer and stood up. Her eyes were drawn to the bulletin board, and she stared at the collection of photos and articles that seemed so different now that she'd finally met Vincent. He was right. Those images and words weren't who Vincent was, they were only shadows. Phantasms and half-truths.

One by one, she took down the bits of paper—the photos, the police reports, the newspaper articles and interview notes. She placed each item in a folder on her desk. When the board was clear, she turned away from it and closed the folder, putting it away in the cabinet and weighing it down with the graffiti etched slab of concrete she'd found in the tunnels. Then, with an air of finality, she latched the cabinet door.

xXx

xXx

Two pots of tea later, Peter rested his clasped hands beneath his chin, his mind reeling as he tried to absorb it all.

"You're sure Gabriel still has the baby?" He directed the question to Vincent, who was standing by the stairs, leaning against the railing.

"I'm certain of it."

"But you have no idea where?" A child. Vincent and Catherine had a child. It was unthinkable. Impossible. And miraculous.

"I only know that he is near."

"How can I help?"

Vincent shook his head. "Do not involve yourself. It's too dangerous."

Catherine put her hand on Peter's arm. "He's right. Gabriel has killed before. He won't hesitate to do it again."

"Surely you don't expect me to just do nothing." These people were like family to him. There had to be some way he could help.

"I'm afraid it's all we can do for now," Father said.

"What about this?" Peter tapped the estate documents. "And there's a death certificate on file at the courthouse. Should I start the paperwork to get it reversed?"

"No," said Catherine. "Gabriel knows I can identify him. If he learns I'm alive he'll stop at nothing to find me."

"Do you intend to stay down here permanently, then?" Peter looked from her to Vincent and back again.

"I don't know," Catherine admitted. "We haven't talked about it." She didn't look at Vincent as she said it, and Peter didn't envy them the complicated situation they'd found themselves in. By all accounts, Cathy's pregnancy had been a complete surprise, and events since then had been chaotic. Still, he knew how much they loved each other, and he sent up a silent prayer that everything would work out in the end. They'd been through enough.

"You're welcome here," Father said to Catherine, "for as long as you wish to stay."

She cast him a grateful smile, and Vincent crossed to stand behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. Peter watched her reach up to wrap her fingers around his. Something had changed between the two of them, something subtle and indefinable, but significant. He wondered what it was.

"The estate sale has already been scheduled," he said, returning his attention to the issue at hand. "If I cancel it . . ."

Catherine nodded her understanding. "It'll look suspicious. When is it?"

"Two weeks. Do you think this will all be over by then?"

"I don't know. We don't even know where he is, yet." Catherine tilted her head to look up at Vincent, who shook his head slightly.

"Well." Peter tucked the papers back in the folder and picked up his briefcase. "I'll be in touch with you in a few days. Maybe we'll know more by then. In the meantime, promise you'll contact me if there's anything I can do. Anything at all." He stood up. "Cathy, I can't tell you how happy I am to find you alive and well."

Catherine hugged him. "Thank you, Peter. For everything. And I'm sorry we deceived you."

He waved the apology away. "I'll expect an invitation to the naming ceremony."

"You can count on it," Catherine said, smiling.

Vincent put his arm around Catherine's waist, and she leaned into him, and Peter couldn't help thinking that they might have been any other couple—young and in love, and with a bright future ahead of them. His greatest hope was that they would finally have their dream. If anybody deserved to find happiness, they did.

xXx

xXx

Diana was tired of waiting for Vincent to come to her. Her dreams about him were waking her up at night, and during the day she couldn't concentrate on anything because she kept remembering the sadness in his eyes and the way his gaze had been drawn, again and again, to the windows. She needed to see him.

As soon as it was dark she pulled on her jacket, grabbed a flashlight, and headed outside. If Mohammed won't come to the mountain, the mountain will just have to go to Mohammed.

Central Park felt different at night, the deserted trails deeply shadowed, the outstretched branches of the trees somehow menacing. She was a trained police officer, proficient in three kinds of hand to hand combat, and yet she was still uneasy as she hurried along the familiar paths. At the tunnel entrance she looked around, checking to make sure nobody would see her slip inside.

A large figure sat huddled on the floor just beyond the bend. That so noble a man as Vincent should be reduced to living like this, dressed in rags and relying on the city's drainage system for shelter, seemed almost a crime against nature.

"Vincent?" She approached cautiously. She didn't want to frighten him. "Vincent."

The figure moved without warning, throwing aside a ragged blanket and leaping up to face her. It wasn't Vincent. This man was coarse and hard-edged, with cruelty in his eyes and a twisted smile on his thick lips. Before she could turn away, she heard footsteps behind her. He wasn't alone.

"Okay, guys." She took a step backward, lifting her hands to show that she was unarmed. The stupidity of that particular fact wasn't lost on her. How could she have been so foolish as to enter the park at night without her weapon? What was it about Vincent that made her forget her customary caution? "Look. I was just down here looking for a buddy of mine."

The man she'd mistaken for Vincent only grinned more widely. She tried to make a break for it, feinting left and then dodging right, hoping to evade capture, but it didn't work. Somebody grabbed her from behind, catching her wrists and twisting them behind her back hard enough to make her cry out in pain. A savage kick to the back of her knees knocked her legs out from under her, and she found herself on her face in the dirt with a heavy knee jammed into her back. The smell of unwashed bodies wafted over her.

"Give me the gun." The man on her back shifted, grinding his knee against her spine as he turned to one of his comrades. "Give me the gun!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Diana saw the glint of steel. She felt the barrel press against the back of her neck, heard the hammer click back. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart beating frantically in her chest as she struggled against her attacker and tried to muster a scream from a throat clogged with fear. This wasn't how she'd pictured her death.

A sudden fierce roar startled her, and for a confused instant she thought it was the subway. But it couldn't have been, not in a drainage tunnel. Somebody yelled, and she heard the sounds of battle, and then the weight disappeared from her back. There was one final scream, a sickening thud, and then silence. She rolled to her feet and turned to see Vincent watching her, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

"So," he said quietly, "now you see."

She brushed the dirt from her pants, catching her breath, buying time while she tried to make sense of what had just happened. She avoided looking at her would-be attackers, pretty sure she knew what she'd see anyway. "You saved my life."

"You should have stayed away." He was angry, though whether at her or at himself, she didn't know.

"I couldn't."

He turned away, apparently prepared to leave her alone now that she was safe.

"Vincent, it's not your fault!" She hurried after him. "You can't continue alone in this!"

"I'm not alone."

She froze. "What do you mean?"

He stopped and turned, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he hadn't meant to say it. For a long moment, he stared at her in silence.

"Vincent, you have to trust me."

"Yes," he said at last, "maybe we do."

It took a moment for the pronoun to register. "We?"

"You held my life in your hands," he said. "You could have turned me in, could have ended everything. But you didn't." He stepped closer, watching her carefully. "Why?"

"Because you were right," she said. "Those news articles and crime reports . . . what was it you called them? Shadows of the truth?"

He nodded.

"What you did, you did out of love. There's no crime in that."

Something of the tension in him seemed to slip away at her words. Still, it was several long seconds before he spoke again.

"Catherine is alive."

She thought at first that she'd misheard him. "What did you say?"

"Catherine is alive. And safe."

Shock reverberated through her. "But that's not possible! The coroner said she'd lost too much blood!" But he'd qualified the statement, saying that if Catherine had received immediate medical attention she might have survived her injury. Had Vincent somehow accomplished a miracle?

"Nevertheless . . ." Vincent watched her, keen-eyed, his body poised for action, and she sensed that he was waiting to see how she would react to his astonishing news.

"So she's been here all along?" Had they duped her, tricked her into wasting all this time chasing shadows?

"No." He shook his head. "Only since the hospital. Before that—" He paused, his eyes dropping away from hers. "Gabriel had her."

So the case was legitimate, or at least parts of it. For some reason, she was relieved. "And the baby?"

"Gabriel still has our son." Vincent turned, leaning his back against the wall. "There was a time, shortly after Catherine disappeared, when I found out where she was. I tried to go to her. To rescue her." He shook his head, his gaze distant as he remembered. "I was too late. But . . ." Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes. "Gabriel must have seen me. I believe it's why he kept her alive until after the child was born."

"Only she didn't die."

"No. But I didn't know that when I carried her home." There was remembered pain in his voice.

"How did you find out?" She couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like for him, first believing that the love of his life had died in his arms, and then discovering that, through some incredible miracle, she was alive.

"When she was in the hospital, my sense of her began to return. Somebody chased her. Threatened her. And I . . . felt her fear."

"Where is she now?"

"Safe. With friends."

Somehow she knew he wouldn't tell her more than that.

"Vincent, you have to let me help you. Both of you." She felt as though she'd slipped into some kind of alternate reality. The case had turned inside out, and she was no longer sure what was right and what was wrong. She only knew that a grievous injustice had been done.

Vincent shook his head. "No."

"Then you'll fail." She was angry again, frustrated that he insisted on pushing her away. "What chance do you have in a world where you can't even show your face? I can help you!"

"I cannot accept that responsibility."

"You're not responsible for me." She hated it when men assumed she needed protecting. It was a mindset she'd fought against all her life, especially as a cop.

"You don't understand," Vincent said, his own voice rising now. "Catherine is my world! I would give my life for her. But I could not protect her from Gabriel!" He paused, and she heard a distant clank of metal on metal. He tilted his head, listening. When he went on, his voice was softer. "How could I hope to protect you?"

"I'm not Catherine."

"Diana . . ."

"You need me." She planted her feet and glared defiantly at him.

"No!"

"Please, Vincent."

"You must forget me." He said it fiercely, almost desperately.

She shook her head. It wasn't even an option. "I can't."

"Then remember me as you would a dream."

He turned then, and left her standing there staring after him as he disappeared into the shadows.

xXx

xXx

Catherine waited for him just around the bend. She'd heard his conversation with Diana, and now, as Vincent approached her, she tried to decipher his thoughts.

"Maybe she could help us," she said as he reached her side and closed the barrier, shutting off the tunnel community from the outside world.

He fell into step beside her. "Perhaps."

"And yet you sent her away. Why?"

"Catherine, this battle is between Gabriel and me, now. It must be."

"No," she said. "You're wrong." She stopped and turned, putting her hand flat against his chest and forcing him to stop, too. "It's our battle. And Diana can help. I'm certain of it."

"You would risk her life?"

"No," she said. "But I would give her the right to choose whether she wanted to risk it."

"How can she possibly help us against a man like Gabriel?"

"She's a detective, Vincent. She has access to resources we couldn't hope to reach."

"And if something happens to her?" Vincent asked. "Could you live with that?"

We're talking about our son," she said, glancing back the way they had come. "I'll do whatever I have to."

He reached for her hand, and they walked on in silence. They were almost back to her chamber before he sighed and nodded. The decision was made.

They would accept Diana's help.