Chapter Ten

The arch of the main door is still standing. I pass through it tentatively, part of me afraid that it will collapse. Around me rise the broken and fire-blackened walls of Miranda's mansion. The ruins were ugly enough by day when I saw them months ago (that is, the morning after they became ruins). By night they are positively eerie. I keep hearing things scuttling over the rubble. Probably just rats or mice that have made their homes here, but I keep jumping at the sounds nonetheless, thinking that they may be people, or ghosts.

Darkness, hardly mitigated by the bright three-quarter moon, makes this a nightmarish place: even more so because of my memories of its former mistress. A chimera of past memories, present fears and the surrounding desolation conjures up phantoms in the corners of my eyes and nibbles at the edges of my sanity.

I look around for the exact spot where the ley-lines converge, where Danik said he would meet me. In my mind I try to match up the ruins with the mansion that once stood here. After some thought, I pick my way through the broken stones and beams towards what I think was the main hall. I hope the general area is good enough – otherwise I shall have to comb the ruins for the exact spot, and I don't think my nerves will hold out that long.

Something shifts under my feet, making me stumble and fall forward. My outstretched hands meet broken, fire-blackened tiles – good thing I elected to wear gloves – and my collision with the ground sends up a thick cloud of dust, which gets into my hair, eyes and nose. I sneeze violently, dislodging my already skewed hat from my head. In my flailing attempt to retrieve it I accidentally send it rolling away into the darkness. "Drat," I mutter as I try to wipe the dust out of my eyes and off my face, "Why wasn't I smart enough to bring a light?"

As if in answer to my question the area around me is suddenly bathed in soft yellow light, emanating from a source above and a little ahead of me that, upon closer inspection, turns out to be a yellow orb about two feet across hanging in the air overhead. With this illumination I see that I am on the edge of a relatively clear, circular area of ground, which upon closer inspection turns out to be fire-blackened stone. This must be the epicentre of the blast of blue fire that destroyed the mansion many months ago – which means it is also the spot where the ley-lines converge. Danik is standing across the clearing from me, impassive as always, which makes my already undignified position all the more embarrassing. I clamber to my feet, brushing the dust off my skirts.

"So, you told Simon everything," Danik says. Not a question or an accusation or a condemnation – just a statement.

Nonetheless, I feel that I have been commanded to explain myself. "I…I had to."

Danik shakes his head. "You felt you had to – even though you knew the danger of telling him the truth. But do not be concerned: you accomplished your objective. What you told him matters little now."

"On the contrary," a new voice breaks in, "I'm afraid it matters a great deal." Simon.

I whirl around to see him stepping out from a pile of rubble not far behind me. He strides over the carpet of shifting debris beneath his feet as if it were smooth ground. My sense of calm resignation to my fate shatters at the sight of him. I left without you to save your life, you idiot! How could you do this to me?

What makes it even worse is that he may have caused himself harm by following me. I walked all the way here by a circuitous route so as to avoid being seen and thus arousing suspicion. That proved somewhat fatiguing for me: Simon's injuries must have made it extremely difficult for him. He could be on the verge of collapse, for all I know.

Simon's cold, level stare never leaves Danik, even as he comes to stand beside me. "You gave in too easily, Emma. I knew you'd come here on your own." And I told him my destination, too, which made it that much easier for him to follow me unseen. I should have known he'd do something like this: even if I couldn't have done anything to prevent it, I should at least have known.

Simon lays a hand on my shoulder, though whether to comfort me or gently restrain me from protesting I am not sure. "I believe you owe us an explanation," he says, addressing Danik now. Something in his voice does not quite ring true: it takes me a moment to realize what it is. Simon is afraid, perhaps even terrified – but he does not approach any problem in the same way that an ordinary person would, and that aspect of his nature makes no exception for fear. Where others must be forced to wrestle their demons, Simon must be forced not to – if indeed forcing him not to do something is even possible.

Danik does not seem surprised or perturbed by Simon's presence, but a slight narrowing of his eyes indicates that he is irritated. "You already have your explanation."

"I would prefer a more truthful one," Simon says, removing his hand from my shoulder.

I can't let this go on. "Simon." He turns his attention to me. "Danik lied about giving you the Prism because you'd been doing the same for years – by which I mean that since he'd placed such a burden on you, he felt obligated to abide by your decision not to tell me the truth."

Simon peers at me for a moment – not angry, but puzzled. "Is that what he told you?"

"No. It's just not his way to…" I fall silent when I realize what I'm saying. All things considered, I don't actually know Danik that well, and after what Simon told me I should not be so eager to defend him. And yet some part of me is certain that Danik can be trusted, that he is honourable in the end – as it has since I first met him.

What I find very disturbing is that I have never questioned that conviction until now.

Simon's feelings echo my own; there is something unnerved in his eyes as he turns back to Danik. "I trust that Emma really believes that to be your motive." Do you really mean that, Simon? I wouldn't blame you for thinking that I had lied to you myself. "For the sake of convenience, let us pretend that I believe the same. There are some other things I think you were less than honest about."

"Such as?" Danik asks, putting Simon on the receiving end – for once – of a dry, slightly contemptuous look.

"According to you, your friend Andra had chosen Emma to play for her in this game, as you chose me – yet Emma has never met Andra, though we have both met you. You also said that limits had been placed on both Andra's mind and powers as part of her punishment, so that she does not even know that she is a prisoner."

Danik nods. "That is correct."

For a moment Simon turns to look at me, with something sad and perhaps even apologetic in his eyes. "Emma is Andra, isn't she?"

Simon's theory fits perfectly, as his theories almost always do: it explains the gaps in Danik's story, and my powers, and why I thought the name Andra familiar when Danik first mentioned it to me. The hidden truth always sounds so simple and obvious when Simon reveals it; but it has never, to me at least, sounded so terrible.

Even Danik betrays mild shock upon hearing this, though at Simon's perspicacity rather than the revelation that it brought forth. "Yes. She is," he confirms. "That is why she must come back with me."

The world is spinning around me, but I manage to keep my feet. "No," I whisper, flat denial being the only reaction I can manage although I cannot maintain it within myself. "How could I possibly…?"

Danik closes his eyes and lowers his head for a moment, either feeling put-upon by the task of providing an explanation or saddened that he has to give it under these circumstances. From what he told me the other night I suspect it is the former, but another part of me – perhaps the part that is Andra – argues that it may indeed be the latter.

"It is not my way to deceive," Danik says. "I was concerned, however, that you would tell Simon if I told you the truth, or worse, that knowing the truth might cause you to revert before you were ready and lose control of your powers. Had that happened, the consequences would have been disastrous. That is the real reason why I wanted you to meet me in this isolated place, where nobody would notice a little more destruction if it happened."

"So she hasn't lost her powers?" Simon asks.

"They have only been shut off: I believe there was some sort of safety mechanism – "

"Wait," I interject sharply. "Start from the beginning. I want to know the whole truth about the wager…experiment…whatever it is, and what parts Simon and I play in it. I" – I glance at Simon – "we deserve that much at least." Simon, after all he has gone through because of Danik, deserves much more, but the truth may be all he can get. As for me, if I cannot choose my future, I want to know the reason why.

Danik regards us thoughtfully, and for a few moments I fear he will refuse, but he does not. "Most of what I told you was true. You already know or at least suspect my outright falsehoods. Otherwise I deceived you through omission. Apropos of that matter, let me defend myself: where I deceived you, I had good reasons for doing so."

"Don't bother," Simon demurs. "I've heard that defence far too many times to treat it with anything other than disbelief."

I bite my lip and wonder whether Simon actually lacks a sense of self-preservation or whether he simply won't allow any instincts towards prudence to suppress his truculent nature.

Much to my surprise, Danik neither ignores nor rebuts Simon's remark. "It sounds as poor of an excuse to me as it does to you," he says, "even though it is honestly meant."

This does not, of course, mollify Simon, whose slightly narrowed eyes tell me that he's wondering just what Danik's game is. At least he refrains from goading him further.

"In any case," Danik continues, "there is no further point in deceiving either of you. The experiment is over, after all." He looks at Simon for a moment, and then at me. "One of the things I did not tell you was the full purpose of the experiment," he says, switching tracks.

"My people had all given up our emotions as part of the Transition process; Andra, who was not supposed to make the Transition in the first place, kept hers. She believed that we, herself included, had failed to make a full Transition, because we had not embraced our intuitive and emotional powers as well as our rational ones. She insisted that humans were the key to rectifying our mistake. The idea that humans could help us in any capacity was offensive to most of my people – not only because you were mortal, but also because we saw you as our own wayward and disowned progeny."

Before I can ask if Danik's people created us – a notion which, at this point, does not seem as strange to me as it probably should – I recall his implication that his people were not yet that powerful when humans first appeared. So I revise my question accordingly. "You were…trying to help us become like you?"

Danik nods. "Your species, like mine, originated on a world called Earth, which is located in another part of this galaxy. Another thing you had in common with us was the gift of rational thought, which we recognized many millennia ago. We fostered your species in its infancy, secretly helping you take your first steps on the path of sentience, so that you might one day evolve as far as we had. While you far exceeded our expectations in terms of your material and scientific advancement, your moral development was alarmingly slow. You of all people," Danik says, looking at Simon intensely, "should understand just how savage and depraved human nature can be."

Simon does not answer immediately. I don't think he's concerned with what Danik is saying so much as he is with why he might be saying it. "That is true," he says. His tone of voice seems almost conversational now – although I have the distinct feeling that that this is only because he's decided to hold his indignation (I hesitate to say anger) in check until he's satisfied his curiosity. "But surely your own people are not free from the vices you ascribe to us."

"I am not implying that," Danik objects. "We have shameful episodes in our own history. I consider the treatment of Andra to be the latest of them. But in our records, which go back a very long way – even to before the time when we were at a level of scientific and technological advancement comparable to yours – we have far fewer outbreaks of violence, problems with poverty, and incidents of destructive exploitation in the course of a millennium than humans do in a century or less."

I always regard statements such as this with extreme scepticism. "The past is often altered to suit the purposes of the present," I say, quoting one of my father's favourite maxims.

"Andra said much the same thing," Danik says quietly. "The rest of us thought that humans were by nature so corrupt that even our tutelage had not been able to redeem them. Andra argued that we ourselves were to blame – that we had pushed the human species too far too fast, concentrating on the advancement of their material culture and expecting that moral development would follow accordingly, as had presumably been the case with us."

Simon raises an eyebrow. "So Andra took some humans and put them here – or perhaps created her own – and left them for a few millennia to see what would happen, is that it?"

Danik seems caught off-guard by Simon's guess, which means that it's correct. I, on the other hand, am not at all surprised, for I had been thinking along similar lines myself. After all, had we been the descendents of settlers from Earth who arrived via some contraption of the sort one encounters in certain fanciful books, we would have the technology ourselves, or at the very least some record of our origins. Since we don't, Andra's agency is a better explanation of our presence here.

Or maybe, if what Danik says is true, I was not surprised to hear the truth because some part of me already knew it.

Danik recovers himself quickly enough. "On this world, yes, that is the case. After her imprisonment, still driven by the theories she had clung to but could no longer understand, Andra engineered several barren worlds in such a way that they would support human life, which she caused to evolve upon them. This world, of all the ones she engineered, bears the closest resemblance to Earth in terms of its diversity of environments, climactic patterns, flora and fauna. Arcadia is her control sample – after moulding the biology of the native humans to her satisfaction, she left them to develop cultures and technologies on their own. On her other worlds, she intervened as she pleased."

"That begs the question," I interject, "of how we measure against the humans of Earth."

Danik's answer sounds a bit rehearsed; at the very least it has been carefully thought out and polished, probably in anticipation of just such an inquiry. "You are marginally better," he says. "You have been slower to develop technologically, but you are not quite so depraved. Although" – Danik gives me a significant look – "I do not think I should include you when I speak of humans."

I do not appreciate the reminder that I am something other than what I have considered myself to be for all my life. Simon does not seem to appreciate it either. "For the sake of clarity, let us include her in that category," he says. I am not offended by his having made the objection for me.

"Very well," Danik says. He picks up the original thread of the conversation once more. "I was assigned to guard Andra. I watched her as she occupied herself by creating these worlds and populating them with new humans, as well as other beings. In the course of my observations I realized that there might be something to her theories after all. So I proposed a game to her – we would see if our own rational thought could be balanced with human emotions.

"She wanted us both to try living lives as humans: we would be born as human beings, live without knowledge of our true selves, and be restored to our original forms when our mortal bodies perished. We would retain the memories of our lives as human beings, and thus have a better idea of how to regain balance within ourselves. I argued that we should work from the other end first, by finding human test subjects and making them more like us."

Danik pauses, as if expecting a response, but Simon does not provide one. Though his expression does not change, he stiffens a bit – I would say with shock, except that I am almost certain that he expected to hear something like this.

"In the end, we opted for a combined approach. I found you" – he nods at Simon – "while Andra placed herself on this world, as a mortal."

This time I make the connection. "And she knew somehow – even if she didn't remember who she really was – that she had to teach and protect whoever you chose," I say, very deliberately not looking at Simon. "That's what you told me to do – and I would have done it even if you hadn't."

Simon's look is an uncomfortable weight, even though I can't see his eyes.

"I wasn't sure you would behave as planned. You were not supposed to be able to use your powers at all, but they manifested anyway, although they are severely limited. It might have been some unanticipated problem with the suppression mechanism. On the other hand, it might have sprung from a subconscious drive that pushed you in the right direction at the right time. Had your powers not appeared, you would not have come back to Partington.

"You have the concept of a subconscious, though it has only been recently developed in your world. That is where your true self – Andra – is. Your subconscious has influenced your decisions throughout your life, and, yes, caused you to recognize your charge. In our original plan, you would have been restored to your true self at the death of your mortal body, but something has gone wrong. The Enigmatic Prism has injured you, and rendered you unable to draw upon the energies necessary to restore yourself. On some level you know this, which is why you made such haste in coming here. If you die as you are, I am almost certain that you will die permanently, and I cannot allow that." After a pause, he adds, "Unfortunately, restoring you to your true self will necessitate the destruction of your mortal self. I have tried to find an alternative, but there is none."

Danik is equating me with Andra again (more than that, he is sometimes addressing me as her!), but – being so overwhelmed by what he has just told me – I don't object this time. Neither does Simon. There's no way either of us can deny it now. Simon, you shouldn't have come here. You shouldn't have heard this.

"You gravitated towards the person I chose," Danik explains. He turns his attention once more to Simon. "I had a few other possible candidates, but you were my first choice. Fortunately you accepted my…"

"I didn't have any other choice," Simon snaps, causing me to flinch. "What I want to know is exactly what you did." In my mind I append his unspoken 'to me.'

"You lack the capacity to fully understand it," Danik answers, "but I shall try to put it in terms you will comprehend. First, I made some physical alterations to you that would help insure your survival. You will enjoy exceptional good health and freedom from congenital defects and debilitating diseases for most of your life – and it will be a long life by human standards. That is, however, insignificant compared to my enhancement of your sensory and cognitive capabilities."

Simon's expression, when I glance at him, is unreadable. I get the sense that Danik wants my full attention before he continues; I grant it, turning to face him again, though I watch Simon out of the corner of my eye.

"In the long term I achieved my object, which was to maximize your inherent capabilities and your use of them. In the short term…there were problems, and that I must apologize for. My modifications caused some incompatibility problems."

"Is that what you call it?" Simon asks in a voice that almost provokes a fight-or-flight response from me.

"That is the explanation, not the result to which you are referring," Danik contends. "I eventually resolved the problem by imparting to you a little of my own intuitive knowledge, from the days before the Transition. You contain a small piece of me."

"I'm glad it's only a small one," Simon remarks.

I no longer flinch when Simon insults Danik: I know by now that Danik will not seek retribution for it. Not because he is benevolent; he simply doesn't care. Simon's words cannot hurt him, and I sense that the only reason for the current apologia is that he is strictly adhering to some moral code from back in the day when he had the feelings of sympathy and shame to build it on. Danik no longer has those, nor does he have anger or indignation.

He does seem to have at least the memory of pity, though, for there is something like it in the look he gives Simon. "I know I placed a terrible burden on you. And I know that for the past ten years, you have not ceased to wonder why. It was for a greater cause – not only the survival of my people, but of this entire universe. I hope you can understand that, and forgive me."

Why does he care about being forgiven? Perhaps he is not so devoid of feeling as he thinks. I wonder if that's me thinking, or Andra. If I can really make that distinction.

The wind has been picking up for some time know, although I have not been paying attention and so do not know when it changed from a faint breeze into fitful gusts. A particularly strong one sweeps through, filling the silence between Simon and Danik with a low, whistling howl. My stomach knots and I feel that time has frozen around me, never to resume – that we will three will be standing at this impasse for an eternal moment.

At last Simon nods. "I understand," he says, his voice shaking a little around the edges, "but I cannot forgive." To my gaping astonishment, he takes a few steps towards Danik and holds his cane out to him in his upturned palms, as if surrendering a sword. No…not surrendering. No gesture with that much defiance in it could be called a surrender.

Danik looks at the cane, then back into Simon's eyes. "What I did to you cannot be undone without causing you grave harm, Simon," he says.

"Of course. I thought as much," Simon replies, his voice more even now. He is still holding out the cane.

"I was under the impression that you were strongly attached to this," Danik says. So was I.

"That was when I didn't know it marked me as your pawn," Simon replies. "I cannot possibly keep it now, but I cannot throw it away either. I am taking the only appropriate course left to me."

Danik looks Simon in the eye for several moments, giving him a chance to back down. Simon glares back at him, not taking the offer. At last Danik gives a resigned nod and reaches out slowly, plucking the cane from Simon's hands. Both of them take a step back from each other. Danik hefts the cane and holds it like a sceptre. "You should leave," he tells Simon. The words come out a little too quickly, as if Danik is nervous. "What I am about to do is dangerous – it would be best for you to leave the ruins first."

Simon acknowledges this with a nod, but does not move. Instead he looks at me questioningly. The shock of what I just saw, and my surprise at being called upon to act, cause me a moment's confusion before I understand what Simon is waiting for.

"Danik," I say, quietly but not meekly, "I must say goodbye first. Then you can…do whatever it is you must do." I don't wait for him to give or deny me permission: I beckon for Simon to follow me, which he does. We head towards what's left of the main door, the way we both came in, leaving Danik behind us.

Danik does not object, because he and I both know that I will come back. Not only because I have no hope of resisting him, but because I know on some level that Andra's revival and my own consequent obliteration – or something equivalent to it – are inevitable, even right. It is a fate I cannot escape any more than I can escape the pull of gravity. Danik does not have to worry about letting me out of his sight. I will be back soon enough.

As soon as we are out of Danik's line of sight and, I assume, his range of hearing (I try not to think about what supernatural senses he might possess), I turn to Simon and say, "You're an idiot."

"On this occasion, yes, I have been," he confesses as we detour around a fallen pillar. This far from Danik's orb, we must rely on the inadequate light of the moon to help us see our way over the debris. I follow in Simon's footsteps, as he seems to be finding his way with little difficulty.

"Were you trying to get yourself killed?" I ask.

"I thought we'd established that I didn't care one way or the other."

"But, for God's sake, why not?"

Simon takes a moment to frame his response. "I spent the last ten years wondering why I had been saved from certain death and made the guardian of the Enigmatic Prism. Why I spent most of the subsequent few months in a nightmare. It gave me some comfort, I suppose, to think that I had been chosen to fulfil some monumentally important – dare I say divine – duty." He takes my hand and helps me over a pile of charred timbers. "If not for that, I wouldn't have had faith in anything. Now I know I was just part of someone's experiment, and that my faith was as false as any other."

"Simon…"

"Not only that, but I am about to lose the only…" He stops walking, so suddenly that I almost bump into him, and looks at me for a span of heartbeats. "The only real friend I've ever had," he finishes quietly. "That sort of thing is bound to provoke suicidal tendencies in anyone." Simon resumes walking, at a slightly faster pace than before.

I scramble to catch up with him. "Thank you," I murmur, because I can't think of anything else to say.

"For what?" he asks, as if he's forgotten what he said a few moments ago. I almost want to strangle him for his affected nonchalance.

"For calling me your friend," I say.

"It doesn't mean much now."

No, Simon, it means everything now. But I don't say that.

We stop just inside the arch of the main door, through which we can see the overgrown lawn of the estate, the surrounding trees, and the twinkling lights of Partington two miles away. Though I cannot make out the towers of the Residence in the darkness, I know where they are, and I stare towards them for a few moments.

"What are you going to do now?" I ask Simon.

He looks in the direction of the city. "Carry out that subterfuge we devised," he replies, "and find where Helena Romanelli hid her ill-gotten gains."

"I mean after that," I clarify.

He glances sideways at me. "What you're really asking me is whether I am going to look for a new partner."

I can't deny it. "Yes."

"The answer is: I'm not sure." I see Simon make his geste de pense. "Ophelia would make a good assistant, but she does not have the learning or investigative skill to make a good partner." Not to mention that a pint-sized bearded lady wouldn't exactly be a socially acceptable partner – though I doubt Simon's concerned about that. Still, Ophelia will be helpful to him; I can concede that much.

"You should find one," I say. "Not just someone with the requisite skills – somebody who thinks of detective work as more than just a job…"

"That goes without saying."

"…who will show some concern for you, and speak up when they think you're wrong about something." After a moment's thought I add, "And they shouldn't be easily offended. That's essential." Too late I realize that he might – quite understandably – misconstrue that as a bit of teasing, which isn't how I meant it at all.

Simon, though, misconstrues very little. "Emma, I'm actually disinclined to look for a new partner. After all, I found you more or less by accident." He gives me a sharp look to silence the protest I'm about to make. "I will be quite all right on my own. I was fine before we…"

"No, Simon. You weren't."

He doesn't argue with me. He doesn't even make much of an effort to stare me down – he simply looks at me, lost for words.

I take his hand and, uncomfortable with the silence, I try to fill it. "Promise that you'll find a replacement for me." Such a promise won't make me feel much better, in the brief time I will still be here to feel anything, but at least I will know that I have spared him some guilt.

Simon shakes his head. "I can find someone you'd approve of, perhaps," he says, "but a replacement for you is too much to ask."

I surprise both of us by embracing him tightly. But I suppose that under the circumstances it was the only appropriate course of action to take. Simon holds me for some unmeasurable time without saying anything. In the end, I'm the one who breaks it off – and when I do the gusting wind chills me as it never did before.

"I should go," I say quietly. "I…we both have our duty to attend to."

Simon looks at me for a few moments, then nods. "Goodbye, Emma." He steps back and sideways, putting him on the other side of the archway.

"Goodbye," I say quietly, half-sad and half-relieved that we've finished saying our farewells. I turn around a little too abruptly and start making my way back into the ruins. Behind me I hear Simon's footsteps as he heads back in the direction of Partington. Perhaps one of us ought to stand and watch the other leave, storybook-style, but I can't bear to do that. I don't look over my shoulder and can only wonder whether or not Simon is looking back at me.

"Are you ready?' Danik asks when I step back into the clearing, as if there had been no interruption. I notice that the cane has vanished.

"Just one thing," I say, stopping a few steps short of him. I realize that I feel remarkably calm, even with the knowledge of what's about to happen. "Was your experiment successful?"

Danik's gaze drops for a short while as he considers my question. "I would say yes, though not in the way I expected. There is much to be done…" Danik extends his right hand, palm up. "…when you are restored."

I take a few steps toward him, looking at the offered hand, which pulls me in like a lodestone does iron filings. I reach out and touch my palm to Danik's, and his fingers gently curl around mine. "It's time to wake up, Solusandra."

And the world is obliterated by blinding yellow light…

I wake up on some hard surface, and open my eyes to huge, vague, malignant shapes somewhere above me. A terrible beast is roaring in my ears. I move to put my hands over my ears, which causes me excruciating pain; I'm wrapped in a sheet of woven razor wires that cut into my skin. Every breath feels like a thousand tiny knives in my lung. I become aware of a sharp, somehow familiar noise that periodically cuts through the ambient roar. There's something running rampant in my head, ricocheting around my brain. It's too big, too fast, to be contained by my mind, and it plays a cacophonous full-orchestra symphony on my emotions. Maybe it's a thought, or a collection of thoughts, or shreds of nightmare; whatever it is, I know it did not originate with me.

Mercifully the terrible sensations fade – or rather, my senses slowly dull to a normal level. The roar is reduced to the forlorn howl of wind. The razor wire becomes sackcloth, and then the cotton and wool of my clothing. The sharp sound I heard, which is still repeating itself, is Simon calling my name. Not the name Danik called me – which I can't remember now – but my real name.

I open my eyes, sit up quickly and almost black out as a result. Simon bounds into the clearing to my left. "Emma," he chokes out between gasps for breath. He takes two steps towards me, then stops. "Are you?" he asks warily.

Am I what? It takes me a moment to understand the question. When I do I snap, "What kind of silly question is that?"

Simon is visibly relieved. "Yes, it certainly is you." He covers the rest of the distance between us in a few steps and offers a hand to help me up. When I take it he pulls me to my feet, and I almost fall down again. The strong wind pushing against me doesn't help. I stay as I am for a few moments, remembering how to balance, taking deep breaths, getting my strength back. "I'm all right," I assure Simon.

With that established, he seems to regain his composure, and is all business as usual. "What happened?" he asks.

I can't answer that question. Somehow, in those terrible seconds after I first woke up, I knew what had happened. Now I have forgotten. "There was…I…" I give it up and shrug. "I don't know. I can't remember. Maybe whatever Danik tried didn't work."

"If that were so, he'd be back by now." Simon glances at a pile of rubble, bends over briefly and picks up something, which he hands to me. It's my hat, which I lost when I first came here. With muttered thanks I accept it and put it on, hoping the wind won't just blow it off again.

Simon looks up at the sky, then back at me. "Can you walk?" he asks. I nod. We start making our way out of the ruins again. I lean on Simon's arm for support. Only then am I hit by the full realization that I am, by some miracle, still alive.

"What made you come back?" I ask.

"As I was walking away, there was a burst of light from the ruins." He adopts the same manner and tone of voice that he does when giving the summation of a crime. "It went upwards. Then, a few seconds later, there was another one, going in the opposite direction. When I saw that I went back…"

"…and found me," I say. I wish I knew what happened. No…maybe I don't. "I can't believe it," I mutter to myself.

"Can't believe what?" Simon asks.

"Everything that happened in the past hour. The fact that I'm still here." I squint at him in puzzlement. "I think what I find least believable is that you gave up your cane."

"That was a little impulsive of me, yes."

"Simon, it was 'a little impulsive' the way water is 'a little wet.'"

Simon smiles at me. "I'm glad you decided to come back." We're coming up on the arch now. Frankly, I'll be glad to get out of here and never see the place again.

"Well, after I thought about it somewhat, the prospect of being a goddess lost its appeal," I say conversationally. "It would have gotten boring after a while."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. And…as difficult as I find it to live with you, I…it would be impossible for me to live without you." I can't believe I just said that.

At this Simon stops walking, as do I. We're just outside of the arch now. He looks at me with his brow furrowed in puzzlement. In the light of the moon I can just make out the amused glint in his eyes. "I hope that means what I think it does," he says.

"Why?"

"Because," Simon murmurs, gently cradling my face in his hands, "If it doesn't, you're going to be very upset in a moment."

And then he touches his lips to mine.

Oh, my…

I close my eyes, twine my arms about Simon's neck and pull him closer, feeling about as far from upset as one can possibly be. He gathers me up in his arms, redoubling the intensity of the butterflies in my stomach, the thrill singing in my nerves, the rapid beating of my heart.

Oh, yes.

A booming crack of thunder (perhaps not the first, but the only one so far that's managed to catch our attention), startles us into looking upward just in time to catch the first few drops of the coming rainstorm on our faces. "Oh hell!" I exclaim.

Simon makes an odd noise; after a second of alarm I recognize it as a chuckle. His chuckle quickly grows into a laugh – a wonderful sound I haven't heard in months. It takes him near half a minute to calm down. "Though I don't have much experience in these matters," he says, "I'm quite sure that isn't an appropriate thing to say after a first kiss."

A flush of embarrassment blooms in my cheeks. "Sorry. What would you prefer me to say?" I ask, having to raise my voice over the noise of the rain, which is well on its way to becoming a downpour.

"I don't know. As I said, I have little experience in these matters." Another thunderclap sounds above us, accompanied by a bolt of lightning. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere drier?" he suggests.

"Let's," I agree. Simon steps back and takes my hand; together we run across the lawn towards the city and home.

THE END