Please, please, please review: this one's nice and long to make up for the first one

My dad took me home a short while later and sent me to bed with firm orders not to "over exert myself". I wasn't inclined to argue. I grabbed my tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice and spent the next hour or so soaking in the bathtub with bubbles up to my chin and Joni Mitchell playing in the background. Then I pulled on my comfiest pajamas and curled up in bed to enjoy a restful slumber. At least, it was restful until Soula woke me up and asked me dumb questions, explaining that the nurse had given Baba instructions to do so every few hours to see if my concussion worsened. I was not happy about this, but tried very hard not to bite Soula's head off. It was a near thing, a couple of times.

I went back to school a couple of days later and was immediately accosted by people wanting to know if I was okay and what had happened and would I be able to play in the next soccer game and wasn't it lucky Jared was there? I merely snorted at this last but did not voice the opinion that Jared was a worthless poof. To the general public, anyway. I did voice that opinion to Jared's face and told him I'd be fine on my own from then on. He was not happy. He called me an ungrateful bitch and stormed off. I saw him two periods later with girls fawning all over him—comforting him, no doubt.

From then on, though, everything seemed to go downhill. Teachers refused to call on me in class and my teammates turned cold and distant. No one would quite make eye contact with me in the halls and, when I spoke to people, they always seemed to have something urgent that needed to be attended to.

I also suddenly found myself without friends. When I had time for a social life (which wasn't often) I had always hung out with Jared and his friends—I'd never really had any close friends of my own. When I dumped Jared, I found myself utterly alone. And, actually, I was pretty okay with that. I mean, I hadn't really liked them anyway and it was nice to be able to go home on the weekends and hang out with my family. But it was more than that. It was like...like kids at school didn't matter because they were—different, somehow. Less.

Now, it occurred to me that Dr. Stanley had said this would happen. But I wasn't all that moody or agitated—or, if I was, it was purely because the world had gone insane and I kept hearing noises that no one else seemed to hear and smelling things I'd never wanted to know about. And possibly PMS. Just to be safe, though, I took the silver necklace my dad had given me for my birthday and pressed it against a shaving cut that was currently gushing blood onto the bathroom floor. He said it would hurt, but it was only a shaving cut—it would probably just sting a little. If, you know, he was telling the truth. I hesitated, biting my lip. Wasn't silver lethal to werewolves? Just how much would this hurt? Closing my eyes, I pressed the necklace against the cut and waited. Nothing. I collapsed on the toilet, dizzy with relief. I wasn't a werewolf. Jared must have been spreading rumors about me. Yeah, that's it. Werewolves aren't real, anyway.

I was considerably more cheerful and optimistic—surely everyone would come around—until I woke up one night and found myself out on the lawn. Though I was seriously freaked out, I dismissed the incident and continued to hope—a little desperately—that everything was fine. But when I woke up early one morning and nicked my tongue on small, sharp fangs, I finally had to admit that everything was not fine. In fact, everything sucked. Especially the fact that my fingers had elongated and were tipped with sharp claws. I froze, heart pounding, and willed the claws to go away. Slowly, as if they were melting, the claws disappeared, leaving only normal, human fingers.

Shaking, I moved to my desk and peered at the calendar on the wall. A week and a half until the full moon. So why was I starting to change? And why hadn't the silver hurt me? Dr. Stanley, I thought. Right. I'll ask him. Maybe the wolf that bit me was diseased or something. I hastily dressed and secured my hair with a clip before grabbing my keys and running out the door.

When I got to the hospital, I realized that it was Sunday and that Dr. Stanley might not be there. I asked the receptionist, who told me he was off duty until Tuesday. I bullied her into giving me his phone number and practically snatched it out of her hand as soon as she finished writing it. I called him from the safety of my car and arranged a meeting with him at his home, which was unfortunately an hour's drive away.

When I got there, Dr. Stanley greeted me cordially and invited me in. If he thought it was odd that I had gone through so much trouble to see him, he hid it well. He sat me down in the living room and gave me tea and cookies before settling himself in an armchair.

"How may I help you, my dear?" he asked cheerfully, eyes twinkling. "May I deduce from your visit that you have decided to believe my diagnosis?"

"Yes," I said shortly. "But something's wrong."

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, startled. "The moon won't be full for more than a week. What could possibly be wrong?"

"I didn't believe you at first," I said quickly, "because I put my silver necklace against a cut and I didn't feel a thing. But then I woke up this morning and my teeth had gone pointy and my fingers were claws."

"Indeed," the doctor murmured, gazing at me intently.

"Is this...usual?" I asked fearfully.

"No," he said quietly. "No, it is not."

"So...what do I do?" I asked, a little hysterically.

"My dear...Ari...I suggest we perform a small experiment. When you awoke to find yourself partially changed, what did you do?"

I frowned. "I...I wanted it to go away so I thought about it really hard—normal fingers, I mean—and the claws went away."

"Do you think you could do it again?" he asked. "But in reverse?"

"I—I guess," I said, surprised. I hadn't thought of that. "You mean you want me to try to—to turn into a wolf?" Dr. Stanley nodded. "But I don't have that stuff—won't I be dangerous?"

Dr. Stanely considered. "Perhaps. But I have a hunch...and, anyway, I have means to defend myself. Will you try?"

"Y-yes," I said nervously.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Dr. Stanely suggested, motioning to the floor.

I nodded and sat crosslegged on the carpet. Unsure of how to begin, I closed my eyes and thought of how my teeth and fingers had felt. Then I imagined fur covering my body and my ears lengthening. I had an image in my head now, and a strange sense of something awakening inside me. When I opened my eyes, I was on my feet—four of them, I realized with distant shock. I shook myself free of the encumbering folds of clothing and looked around. Dr. Stanely was staring at me warily with one hand hovering around his pocket. He was saying something. It took me a few seconds to work out what he was saying.

"Ari? Ari, can you understand me?"

Jerkily, I nodded my head once.

"Are you having difficulty maintaining control? Do you feel as if you're fighting off a beast?"

I shook my head.

"There is no urge to kill?"

I thought about that. I wasn't hungry, really, so no. But I had the feeling that if I was, I wouldn't mind killing something. I tried to shrug and realized I couldn't, so I settled for cocking my head at him. Dr. Stanely relaxed and sat back down.

"I think you'd better come back, now," he said, and tactfully turned around while I changed back and hastily dressed.

When I was human and clothed once more, I collapsed on the couch and hid my face in my hands. What was wrong with me? How was this even possible?

"This is extraordinary," Dr. Stanely murmured, looking at me feverishly. "Absolutely extraordinary."

"So, what do I do?" I asked, looking up.

"Do?" he asked incredulously. "What is there to do? My dear young woman, you have been granted an unbelievable gift. A werewolf who is not affected by silver, who retains awareness, and who is not limited to changing at the full moon. It is simply...miraculous!"

"Well, don't I feel lucky," I muttered, staring moodily at a spider's web in the window.

"You should," Dr. Stanely said sharply. "You cannot conceive how much easier this will make your...condition. Or how much safer it will be for your family. My advice to you is to spend as much time as possible between now and the full moon getting to know your wolf form. I am fairly certain that you will have to change during the full moon whether you want to or not, just like any other werewolf. It is possible that during this time you will lose control and become the monster that other werewolves are. Or you might not. There is only one way to know for sure. When the full moon comes, make sure your are safely away from human habitation, just in case. You can let me know how it goes when you come in for your appointment."

Still feeling extremely unsettled but no longer panicked, I thanked Dr. Stanley and drove home. When I arrived, Soula was just starting breakfast. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and promised to come down and help after I changed. I made my way up to my room, head spinning. I still could not quite get my mind around what had happened. For about two minutes, I had been a wolf. I had actually, physically been a wolf. It was impossible. I sighed and pulled on some old jeans and a ratty, faded button down shirt of my dad's. While my dad had always been very strict about being 'appropriately dressed' when in public, at home I generally lived in my pajamas or old, equally unsuitable clothing.

I whipped my hair into a bun and padded downstairs barefoot to help Soula prepare breakfast. Together we set the table and had everything ready by the time my dad showed up. Soula sat down with us and we began the meal in a companionable silence. I looked up after a bit and noticed my father gazing thoughtfully at me.

"Yes?" I inquired.

"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" he asked. "You seem tired."

"I'm fine," I said, giving what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Have people been nicer at all?" I had told him about the weird attitude at school.

"Not really," I said miserably, abandoning all pretense. What with turning into a wolf and all, it was getting to be a bit too much. "They all just—shy away like I'm contaminated or something."

"You know...you can transfer, if you like," he said earnestly. "You shouldn't have to put up with this."

"Transfer where?" I asked, curious in spite of myself. "I thought you didn't approve of the public school system."

"I don't," my father said heavily. "But you've an uncle you know, on your mother's side—in England. There are boarding schools in France and he'd be close enough to keep an eye on you--"

"I'm not going to any boarding school," I interrupted in alarm. "I don't want to leave."

My father smiled. "I'm relieved to hear that. I don't want you to leave, either."

"I didn't know I had an English uncle," I said more calmly. "How come we've never heard from him?"

"I'm sure he's a busy man," Baba shrugged. "He sent you chocolates for Christmas last year, though, remember?"

"Oh, did he send those? I thought they were from one of your clients. They were good."

"No, they were from John MacTavish—you're mother's brother in law," Baba added. "I wonder what he's up to these days. Maybe I'll give him a call."

"Not about me," I said, becoming alarmed again.

"Don't worry, koukla, you don't have to go anywhere," he said soothingly. "It might be useful to have some contacts in England, that's all, in case I need to travel. Or perhaps it might be useful for him to have contacts here. Did you hear about the terrorist attacks in England?"

I nodded. All sorts of odd things had been happening in England—bridges collapsing inexplicably, people being murdered left and right, mass depression, strange, unexplainable deaths... "Weird, isn't it?"

"Very," my father agreed, and suddenly grinned. "Now, I brought something back from the city last night. We can have it for dessert."

"What?" I asked eagerly.

Baba nodded to Soula, who grinned and scurried into the kitchen. She returned carrying a white bakery box. I smiled in anticipation. I thought I had an idea of what was in the box. Soula laid it on the table and opened it.

"Bougatsa!" I cried happily, seizing one of the creamy pastries.

"I thought it might cheer you up," Baba said, eyes twinkling. "You've been too sad lately."

"Mmmm," I said in reply. "Mmhmmm."

Baba chuckled and rose to leave. "I'll be in the office if you need me."

I nodded and flapped a hand at him, still occupied with my bougatsa. When I was done, I helped Soula clear up and headed back to my room to do my homework. When I finished, I wandered around my room restlessly. I picked up several books and ended up putting every one of them back. With a sigh, I pulled on a warm track suit and sneakers and threw my hair into a ponytail.

"I'm going running," I called as I opened the door and stepped outside into the crisp fall air.

I was going running, but that wasn't all I intended to do. What Dr. Stanley had said made sense. I didn't want to turn into a monster at the full moon. I would learn to control it. For the next week, I spent every opportunity in the woods near our house, running in wolf-shape. It was wonderful—glorious. The sense of power and complete freedom was overwhelming. While I was often restless, I didn't usually find myself agitated as Dr. Stanley had said I would. Probably because I had the opportunity to change that most werewolves didn't. People at school became even more wary of me, but I didn't care. My father and Soula still treated me the same, and that was all that mattered.

The two days before the full moon, I had a stroke of luck: my dad had to travel for business and wouldn't be back for four or five days at least. Soula would still be there, of course, but she slept like a rock and I could easily slip out the door without waking her up. This was extremely fortunate, because I had no idea what I would have told him.

So, I said drove my dad to the airport and kissed him goodbye, both excited and nervous about my approaching adventure. When the time came, I waited until Soula was safely in bed and snoring and then quietly let myself out of the house. I hurried toward the woods. I could already feel the changes starting. I was barely under the trees when my knees suddenly bent backward, making me fall forward. I panted and grinned. It hurt, sort of, but it was a good kind of hurt, like when you stretch the day after a hard practice.

When the transformation was complete, I shook out my shaggy coat luxuriously and loped off. Dr. Stanley had been right: this was a blessing. I hastily choked back a triumphant howl; I wasn't that far from civilization. It wouldn't do for animal control to come searching.

I dropped my pace a little and trotted along with my nose to the ground, investigating new and interesting smells. Soon, however, I found something strange. It was a human scent. That in itself wasn't odd—many people hiked or ran or biked in these woods—but the scent suddenly stopped and changed to a scent I couldn't identify. I went back to the human smell. Even that smelled odd ... recognizably human (and female), but with a strange overtone of...something. Something familiar.

Interest piqued, I followed the scent backwards until it disappeared. It simply disappeared. There had been no bicycle or car or quad. The scent simply stopped. Perhaps I didn't know how to use my nose yet. Dismissing the strange incident, I continued on my way, tracking down and scaring small creatures out of hiding. I had a grand old time and was almost sorry to change back when the moon set sometime before dawn.

Fortunately it was Sunday, so I could sleep in—and I did. Until one in the afternoon. The next night was not so great since I had to get up and go to school the next morning. That was quite possibly the worst day of my life. I had never pulled an all-nighter before and had no wish to repeat the experience. But I did. The next day was even worse, but at least I had the prospect of a full night's sleep to keep me going since the moon was beginning to wane.

I staggered through the door that afternoon with my mind fixed on my bed. It was only four o'clock, but I felt like I could sleep for a week. I stumbled up the stairs and nearly knocked Soula over as I turned a corner. I steadied her and was about to continue to my bedroom when I saw tears streaming down her face. She was clutching the phone to her chest with white-knuckled hands.

"Soula? Soula, what's wrong?" I asked in Greek. "Are you well?"

"Kahtia...poulaki mou...I'm so sorry," she murmured, hugging me tightly.

I pulled away. I could feel the first nigglings of dread in my stomach. "What's happened?"

"Your father," she whispered brokenly. "He's dead. A homeless man shot him in New York."

I heard a roaring sound in my head and was dimly aware that I was no longer standing. Dead? It couldn't be. It simply was not possible. My father was not dead. He was supposed to come home tomorrow. He said he'd bring me back a present. Why would he have told me that if he were going to be shot? Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized that this logic was rather flawed, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment.

I heard Soula calling me as if from very far away. My head felt very heavy and I was starting to feel nauseous. With a groan, I pushed myself off the floor. This proved to be a mistake as all the blood rushed from my head and I collapsed again, unconscious.

For the second time, I woke up in a hospital bed. This time, however, I did not see my father's face above me. That was when I really believed he was dead. Nothing else could've kept him away. I started to cry. The door burst open and Soula was immediately by my side, holding my face against her shoulder and stroking my hair as I sobbed uncontrollably. When I still hadn't stopped an hour later, the doctor—it was Dr. Stanley, though I didn't really notice at the time—gave me tranquilizers. I slept for a long time and when I woke up, I found myself thinking more clearly.

It wasn't long before Soula arrived, bearing a large box that smelled of food. She briskly laid it all out on the tray, revealing steaming trachana (an extremely yummy soup), bread, feta, and salad. It all looked so good and I had been expecting nasty hospital food. It nearly made me cry again.

"The 'food' they serve here isn't even edible," Soula said by way of explanation as she poured two mugs of tea from a thermos. I noticed her eyes were red and swollen. "I've more soup at home waiting for you as soon as the doctor says you can leave. He should be here any minute."

I nodded and blew on the tea to cool it. I closed my eyes and let the steam float over my face, breathing in the mountain tea's calming scent.

"Soula...did they—did they find the man that did it?" I asked hesitantly. Loath as I was to bring the subject up, I had to know.

"Yes," Soula assured me. "He didn't even put up a fight and gave a full confession to the police. Said he'd wanted your father's gold watch and ring."

"What will happen to him?" I asked.

"Nothing," Soula said softly. "He killed himself last night."

I felt a surge of relief that I would not have to attend a trial and immediately felt guilty. Then I hardened my heart. Why should I feel guilty? It was no more than he deserved and no more than he would have gotten if he'd gone on trial. The bastard had killed my father. As much as I tried, however, I couldn't bring myself to feel angry. I simply felt empty.

"Your father's lawyer and an agent from Social Services are waiting to talk to you as soon as your ready," Soula informed me gently. "There is the matter of your father's will and who will have custody of you until you turn eighteen."

"Oh," I said blankly. I hadn't even thought of that. For minute I was quite alarmed, but made myself calm down. Baba would surely have named his sister or his parents as my guardians. "When do I have to talk to them?"

"Not until you're ready, koukla," Soula said, and patted my hand. "I can handle it, if you like."

"No, no," I said hastily. "I'd rather do it myself."

"Alright," Soula said, and placed a pile of freshly laundered clothing at the foot of my bed. "I washed these for you. Ah, here's the doctor. I'll just wait outside until you're ready."

Soula let herself out and Dr. Stanley took her place. He took my hand gently in both of his and looked earnestly into my eyes.

"My dear, I am so very sorry for your loss," he said. "And at such a time..."

"Thank you," I said, squeezing his hand. "I assume this is our 'follow up'?"

"Yes, it seemed most...er..."

"Convenient?" I asked with a slight smile.

Dr. Stanley smiled back sheepishly. "Well...anyway, did you have any trouble? You didn't lose yourself at all?"

"No," I told him. "No trouble at all, unless you count going three days with maybe four hours of sleep."

"My dear girl, whatever do you mean?" he exclaimed.

"Well, I still had to go to school, didn't I?"

"Oh, you silly girl," he sighed, shaking his head. "That was an extremely foolish thing to do. Most—well, those who do work or go to school—call in sick during the full moon. You are a growing young woman and you need your sleep, understand?"

"I can't just not go to school," I argued. "You're allowed...wait...fourteen absences from school. Any more than that and I can't graduate. There's still another seven months of school left."

Dr. Stanley waved this concern away. "I can give you notes to excuse you from school."

I grudgingly accepted this but shuddered at the thought of three days of make-up work every month. Dr. Stanley patted my knee and stood up.

"There's not much I can do for you now," he said, "since you don't need the medication. All I can tell you is to go home, take a hot bath, and relax."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "I'll see you next month, I guess."

Dr. Stanley nodded. "Until then."

I did as he suggested and about three books, an entire bottle of bubble bath, and a good night's sleep later, I was ready to face the lawyer and Social Service workers. I was freshly showered and dressed 'appropriately', as my dad would say. Did I mention that casual clothing was his pet peeve? Maybe I did. Anyway.

Of the two men, I picked out the lawyer immediately. He had that harassed, 'don't mess with me' air about him despite his impeccable clothing. The first Social Service worker was a youngish woman—maybe thirty or thirty five—with red hair and freckles. She had a kind face. I looked at the other man uncertainly. He didn't look like a Social Service worker. He looked like a businessman. He was probably a few years older than my dad, with brown hair going silver at the temples, muddy brown eyes, and pale skin. He smelled different from the other two. I sniffed unobtrusively. Perhaps I was imagining things.

"Hello," the redhead chirped, startling me with her cheerfulness. I'd been expecting pity, but I didn't mind the surprise. It was refreshing. "My name's Annie Brown. This is your father's lawyer, David Jones, and this gentleman is your uncle, John MacTavish. It seems odd to introduce you to your own uncle, but he tells me you've never met before."

"No, we haven't," I said smoothly, resisting the urge to let my jaw drop to the floor. I held my hand out. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

He shook my hand firmly and smiled. "The pleasure is mine. I only wish the circumstances were better."

His light British accent took me by surprise for a moment, but I didn't lose my composure. I shook hands with Ms. Brown and Mr. Jones and took a seat opposite them. Ms. Brown smiled reassuringly at me and took a sip of the coffee Soula had provided.

"I'll bet you're wondering what Mr. MacTavish is doing here," Ms. Brown stated.

"I am," I agreed, and smiled graciously at my uncle. "I'm certainly glad to finally meet you, but I was wondering why you chose to visit now."

"Did your father ever tell you who would be your guardian if something were to happen to him?" Ms. Brown inquired.

"No, but I always assumed I would live with my grandparents or my aunt in Greece," I replied. "I've spent my summers and holidays there for as long as I can remember."

"Well, that was the plan until about two weeks ago," Mr. Jones said briskly, speaking for the first time. "He arranged a meeting with me not long ago and changed his will, naming Mr. MacTavish your guardian."

I had to take a moment to get over my shock. "I see. This is...quite unexpected."

"I didn't exactly expect it either," Mr. MacTavish said, laughing ruefully. "I haven't spoken to him in years, but he rang me a couple of weeks ago and we started talking. You see, I have a rather large estate in England and a flourishing business but no children of my own. He wanted you to be well taken care of," he added gently. "I'm sure he would have told you if he hadn't—if he'd had the opportunity."

"Is this set in stone?" I asked, I cast an apologetic glance at my uncle. "I am flattered at your offer, but I've only just met you. I would be much happier with my grandparents. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," Mr. MacTavish assured me. "And, if that is truly what you desire, I will certainly accept your choice. However, I think you should hear what I have to say. As I said, I have no children of my own—my wife died many years ago. I have a large estate in the country, complete with stables and bridle paths. You ride quite well, am I right? I have contacts at Oxford University, where you would be a shoo-in in any case. I can hire private tutors until you attend a university so you don't have to go through the stress of starting at a new school. But you wouldn't lack for company. I often invite business associates and friends to dinner and parties and several of them have children about your age. In fact, I've a lad who's doing his internship with me who's only a few years older than you. And it's what your father obviously wanted."

I considered this. He had a point. My relatives in Greece were not exactly well off, even though my father routinely offered them money and a place in the States. And spending a few months in the English countryside, away from the hostile faces that I faced everyday, did not seem like such a bad idea. I'd be going to college soon, anyway. I could still go to Princeton if I wanted.

"Why don't you and your uncle discuss it further between the two of you," Ms. Brown suggested. "If you need anything at all, just give me a call. I left my number with Mrs. Papageno—Papaga—Soula." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"I will arrange the legal matters with Mr. MacTavish if you decide to accept him as your guardian," Mr. Jones told me, and granted me an unexpected smile. "I wouldn't wish that much paperwork on my mother in law, much less a seventeen year old girl."

I rose with them and saw them to the door, thanking them and bidding them good bye. I returned to the sitting room, where Mr. MacTavish was drinking his coffee. I sat down opposite him once more and tried to think of something to say. I could hear Soula bustling about upstairs, no doubt cleaning.

"There is one more thing that I ought to tell you," he said suddenly. "And I think it will help you make your decision. I thought it best to wait until we were alone to tell you that I know about your...condition."

"My condition, sir?" I asked, heart pounding. Perhaps he merely meant my state of bereavement. Yes, he had lost his wife...surely that's what he meant.

"Your curse," he continued. "Lycanthropy."

My blood ran cold. Surely he wasn't trying to blackmail me...

"And what of it?" I asked calmly.

He frowned. "I merely thought that it would be much more convenient if your guardian was aware of such a condition. I will not wonder why you get ill once a month and ask awkward questions. You won't have to worry about sneaking out of the house—I'll know where you are and won't worry. That's why I mentioned my estate, you know. There's plenty of room for you without endangering anyone."

I cleared my throat, making sure it still worked. "How did you know?"

"The mark on your arm," he said, pointing to the pale circle on my forearm.

"But how do you—I mean--" I stopped and took a deep breath before beginning again. "The average businessman does not readily believe in werewolves, Mr. MacTavish, much less recognize one on sight."

"My wife was one," he told me softly. "She was killed before we had any children."

"Oh," I murmured. "I'm very sorry. But what about the current situation in England? It sounds dangerous, even from over here."

"I assure you, you would be quite safe at my estate," he said firmly, then smiled. "And we can do without this Mr. MacTavish nonsense. I'm your uncle, am I not?"

I smiled. "All right, then...Uncle." Remembering my manners, I hastily asked, "You will stay for dinner, won't you? And we've more than enough room here if you would like to stay. It seems silly for you to pay for a hotel room when we're family."

"That is a most generous offer, Katerina," he nodded. "I believe I shall accept."

"Oh, please call me Ari," I said without thinking. "Or Ariadne, if your prefer. That's what my American friends call me."

"Ariadne, then," he said. "That's a lovely name."

Dinner was almost enjoyable, and only the slightest bit awkward. I then showed him his room and told him to look through my father's book collection if he wished something to read. By the end of the evening, I found myself in need of another bubble bath. Over the next few days, however, I got used to having him around and relaxed a little bit. He was polite and courteous, but not overbearing or pompous as I had feared he might be. It was also a relief not to have to organize my father's funeral or put the house up for sale or see to the many other legal issues that accompany death. After that first night, Soula ate with us like she always had. Uncle didn't seem to mind.

I took solace in running at night when my end of the deal got to be overwhelming. I had to make sure all of my transcripts were in order and fill out an application for Oxford and get my midyear reports and contact my family. I might have felt the need to say goodbye to everyone at school, but they all seemed quite to pleased to see me go. I tried to keep as busy as I could because then I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. Sometimes it was still a shock to see Uncle sit down at the table instead of my father, even though he sat at the opposite end. Every time the phone rang, I expected to hear my father's voice. I was freshly disappointed each time and so I avoided answering the phone at all. It wasn't as if anyone ever called for me, anyway.

My family arrived the night before the funeral and I was overrun by aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, great-aunts and great-uncles, second cousins, and people who I knew were family but whose relationship to me I wasn't quite sure of. In my family, it's much simpler to just call everyone (everyone who isn't a grandparent) a cousin or an aunt or uncle. Makes things much less confusing. So, with the arrival of about twenty relatives, Uncle Mac, as I had taken to calling him, decided to clear off to give them some room—he said. I suspected he didn't want to get caught up in the traditional wailing session known as keening. My dad's aunt Alexandra was the best in town, so she made up for my lack of enthusiasm.

I was glad that it was Soula who explained that there would be no procession to the church (and no more wailing) since the church was about ten miles away. So I put on a simple black dress that my dad had always liked and crammed four of my younger cousins in the backseat of my car and set off. My cousin Christo, who was closest to me in age at twenty, accompanied me as well and kept the screeching and giggling to a minimum. He offered to drive, but I'd experienced his driving before and was much more comfortable driving myself. It wasn't his fault, I guess. They all drive like maniacs in Greece.

The actual funeral was a blur of silent tears. All I was really aware of was Christo's warm arm around my shoulders and little Aliki holding my hand. When the men lowered my father's body into the ground, however, I burst into tears which were swiftly muffled by my grandmother's rather substantial bosom. With a sudden boom of thunder, rain started pouring from the heavens. Vaguely I wondered if there had been any clouds in the sky a few minutes ago. I let Christo drive on the way home and he took special care to drive reasonably safely.

It was something of a relief to just hang out with my family after the funeral. After the stress of the previous few days, no one really felt like mourning anymore. It sounds kind of bad, I know, but grief is exhausting. We all wanted to just relax. So we had a nice dinner and talked well into the night. I told them of my decision to live with Uncle Mac. My grandparents and older relatives understood and completely agreed, but my cousins were indignant. This led to an enthusiastic discussion that lasted a good hour or so. I would have been upset if I didn't know that they were arguing for argument's sake.

The next morning, my female cousins accompanied me to my room to undertake the daunting task of packing and cleaning out my closet and wardrobe. I inspected my assembled task force: eight year old Aliki and her nine year old sister Anastasia, thirteen year old Sofia, Anthoula, who was twenty two, and Eleni, who was twenty five and had her little daughter, Mina, settled on her hip. Between the six—well, seven, but I doubted the newborn Mina would do much—of us, I thought we'd be able to manage it.

"Right," I began. (PS: all conversation from now until further notice is in Greek. I'm translating for you out of the kindness of my heart.) "Anastasia, your job is to fold the clothes I give you and put them in my suitcase. Aliki, you'll put the ones I give you in that bag there. Eleni, if you could put the clothes we give you in your bag, that'd be great. Sofi and Anthoula and I will decide which clothes I keep (those will go to Anastasia), which clothes get thrown out (Aliki), and which ones you guys will take home with you (Eleni). All right, lets get to it."

In theory, it should have gone smoothly. But you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men and all that. Or you should, anyway. Within twenty minutes, Aliki and Anastasia were playing with my old stuffed animals, Eleni had to go change Mina's diaper, and Anthoula and I were giving Sofi a make-over. She was pretty awkward, even for thirteen. She was skinny and tomboyish with glasses and frizzy black curls, but really quite pretty underneath it all. Anthoula and I had a grand time dressing her up in my old clothes and playing with her hair and applying make-up. Sofi grumbled through it all, but I think she was secretly pleased. By the time we were through, we had created a masterpiece.

Such artistry couldn't go to waste, we decided, so Anthoula and I dressed up as well and the three of us had a girl's night out. We left my room looking like a hurricane had swept through it, but the plane didn't leave until the next evening, so...yeah. We ended up throwing everything together at the last minute and getting on each other's nerves, but we got it done. When I was finally ready, my family only surrendered me to Uncle Mac after multiple hugs and kisses from each family member and a generally tearful farewell.

"Take care of yourself, Kahti," Christo murmured, hugging me tightly before making way for his older sister, Anthoula.

"I want to hear all about England when you come visit," she told me, blinking back tears. "And don't let this MacTavees person push you around."

I swallowed, trying to force down the lump in my throat and got into the car with Uncle Mac. I tried to console myself with the thought that I would see them again in next to no time, but I still sniffled all the way to the airport. When were were settled in first class, I found myself becoming extremely sleepy. I listened to music until the plane took off and then put my seat back. Feeling that the flight would be much less awkward if I were asleep for the duration, I gratefully settled back and sighed. It had been a long day. I firmly put aside all thoughts and fears about the new life ahead of me and fell asleep.

I awoke to Uncle Mac shaking my shoulder gently, saying that the plane was going to land soon. Groggily, I put my seat back in its normal position and gratefully accepted the breakfast tray and hot wash cloth the flight attendant handed me. I had slept through dinner the night before and was so famished I didn't mind the practically fake food. First class food is alright, I suppose, but it's a far cry from Soula's cooking.

After we got through customs, we were met by a sleek black car driven by a thin, weedy, mean looking man with pale, watery eyes and lank hair. I didn't like the looks of him—and I liked the look he was giving me even less. I chatted half-heartedly with Uncle Mac on the drive from London and slept a little more. When I woke up, we were driving along a country rode with nothing but snow-covered fields and distant woods on either side. It seemed a barren, lonely place. As we drove further north, the landscape became hillier and more densely wooded. I found it odd that I'd seen no sign of human habitation in the last hour. But hey, what did I know about England?

When we finally arrived, I didn't bother trying to hide my amazement. He had said he had a large estate, but—it was a palace! It was enormous. And he didn't even have children! What the hell did he do with it all? After a few moments, Uncle Mac chuckled at my wide eyed expression and welcomed me to Greenwood Manor.

"Don't worry—it won't often be as empty as it is now," Uncle Mac assured me. "I normally have business associates staying with me, but I thought you might like a few days to settle in. My intern is here, though—he's living with me. I suppose his internship will turn out to be rather more thorough than most students'," he added with a laugh. "He might well get more than he bargained for."

I nodded mutely and continued to gape at the gynormous monstrosity that was my uncle's house. When we got out of the car and I reached for my bags, Uncle Mac shooed me away.

"Willie will see to your bags. Come, come, I'll show you where your room is."

I followed Uncle Mac up the steps to the huge wooden door, which opened to reveal a handsome young man. He wore expensive-looking slacks and a gray shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up and the first few buttons were undone. His tawny blond hair looked slightly ruffled, as if he had run a hand through it several times. He had that rumpled, frustrated, sleep-deprived look that I had seen so often in my father after a long week at work. This must be the intern, I decided.

Uncle Mac laughed. "Been working hard, have you? You look like you could use a break."

"If by 'break' you mean 'hauling bags up three flights of stairs', then I'll stick with paperwork, thanks," the young man drawled, and then spotted me hovering behind my uncle. "Is this your niece?"

"Ah, forgive me," Uncle Mac said, urging me forward. "Ariadne, this is my intern, Draco Malfoy. Draco, may I present my niece, Ariadne Metaxas. I'd like you to show her around and get her settled in her room before dinner."

I blinked. That was an odd name. Maybe his parents were hippies. But it suited him, somehow. Now that I was closer, I could see that his eyes were an eerie silver color that would not have looked out of place on a dragon. Very odd. Nevertheless, I smiled and held out my hand.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," I said politely.

He took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he shocked me by giving me a slight bow and brushing his lips across my fingers.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine," he replied. "I didn't think I would be lucky enough to see sunlight today, much less a lady as radiant as yourself."

I smiled, tickled by both his gallant manner and his compliment. "I've been on a plane for the past seven or eight hours," I said dryly. "Several adjectives come to mind, but 'radiant' isn't one of them."

"I think you'd best leave that to those qualified to judge," Draco told me, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. "Shall we?"

"By all means."

Mr. Malfoy led me through a maze of hallways in the East Wing, pointing out his rooms (plural), his office, the family dining room (was there another one?), the library, a sitting room ('a', not 'the') complete with a grand piano (there was a harp in the sitting room in the West Wing), and other private chambers. It was dizzying. When we finally arrived at my rooms (plural), I found myself holding my breath. Mr. Malfoy opened the door and stepped aside to let me in first.

I took a deep breath and stepped into a sitting room that was a perfect miniature of the one we had passed on the way. There were a few empty book cases, a couch, an armchair, a writing desk, a neat little table, and even a little lap harp. There were white and pink roses and baby's breath in a vase on the table.

"This is marvelous!" I breathed, turning to Mr. Malfoy with a brilliant smile.

He didn't exactly grin, but he seemed pleased. "Would you like to see your bedroom?"

"Yes, please," I said heartily.

If the sitting room was marvelous, the bedroom was nothing short of glorious. It was only with the greatest self control that I kept from throwing myself onto the huge canopy bed or inspecting every brush and comb of the fancy vanity set. Instead I rushed over to the bay window and looked out to see a lovely walled garden and a forest beyond. Everything was decorated in soft grays and blues with bits of lavender and cream. It had an enormous walk-in closet with a set of nifty little shelves for my shoes.

"Do you like it?" Mr. Malfoy asked, frowning. "I wasn't sure what you would want--"

"Like?" I squeaked. "This is—astounding. Did you decorate this yourself?"

"Yes," he admitted somewhat reluctantly. "It was one of the first tasks your uncle assigned me. I've never done any decorating before, but he assures me that it is highly relevant to business."

"Mr. Malfoy--"

"Please, call me Draco," he interrupted smoothly. "My father was Mr. Malfoy."

"Only if you call me Ari," I replied, inspecting the vanity set at one end of the room. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-two," he told me. "You?"

"I'll be eighteen in February." I looked up to see him frown. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just seem older, that's all."

"I get that a lot."

"Well, this way, Ari," Draco said, opening another door.

"There's more?" I asked, startled.

I stepped through the door and found myself in heaven. The bath tub was a jacuzzi the size of a kiddie pool and deep enough for the water to come up to my chest. The shower head came directly down from the ceiling. I turned it on experimentally and discovered that the spray was wide enough to envelope me completely. I was severely tempted to strip right there and hop in, but I restrained myself. Barely. In the mirror cabinet there were all kinds of bath salts and shampoos and soaps and all sorts of things. The closet held a mountain of fluffy towels and bathrobes and washcloths. I felt faint.

Suddenly I laughed delightedly. "This is so cool!"

This time, I didn't try to restrain myself. I ran back into my bed room and launched myself at the bed from a good ten feet away. I landed and sunk about five feet into the downy comforter, giggling madly. I fought my way back up for air and looked sheepishly at Draco, who was leaning against the door frame with a sardonic smile on his face.

"Sorry," I said, "I just wasn't expecting everything to be so...grand."

"I'll leave you to get settled in—I've got to finish those blasted accounts," he added with a slight grimace. "Do you remember where the family dining room is?"

"Um..."

"I'll come fetch you in an hour or so, then. It will give me an excuse to stop early."

"That would be wonderful," I said. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," he said politely with a little bow. His eyes crinkled slightly in a smile. "Anything for a pretty lady."

I shook my head in wonder as he left. What a flirt. As soon as I was sure he was gone, I dashed into the bathroom and threw off my clothes. In no time at all, I was up to my neck in hot, lilac-scented water with bubbles in my hair. I was sure that if I died right then and went to heaven, I would find myself in the same exact position. I soaked for a little while and then scrubbed every inch of my body and washed my hair. When I got out about an hour later, I felt like a new woman.

I dried off with a warm, fluffy towel and put on an equally warm, fluffy bathrobe. After wrapping my hair in the towel, I brushed my teeth and rubbed on some face lotion. I found my bags in my room and started to unpack, wondering what I should wear. Surely dinner wasn't a formal event? But everything else here was so nice...

I was still trying to decide when a knock on the door interrupted me. Cursing softly, I clutched my bathrobe around me and went to open the door. Draco stood with his hands in his pockets and a fleeting expression of surprise before his face resumed his normally (from what I'd seen) cool expression.

"Running late, are we?" he asked mildly.

"A bit," I agreed. "I just don't know what to wear. After seeing all this—I just don't know what's appropriate."

I looked him over critically. He wore black slacks and a silky-looking black dress shirt, but it was the sort of outfit that could pass for dressy or casual. Guys had it so easy when it came to clothes.

"Normally, dinner would be quite casual," Draco told me, "but a few of your uncle's friends dropped in unexpectedly, so I expect he'd like you to wear something nice. Nothing too fancy."

"Nice or dressy?" I asked. "There's a difference."

"May I?" I stepped aside to let Draco in. "Have you unpacked yet?"

"A little."

Draco strode across the room and into my bedroom, making me intensely grateful that I hadn't unpacked any underwear or anything yet. Most of what I had unpacked was strewn across the bed or chairs. Draco sifted through the clothes and held out a beige dress that my aunt had sent me for my birthday the previous year. I made a mental note to myself to put similar dresses aside for dinner parties.

"I think this will be fine," he said. "I'll wait in your sitting room."

"Thank you," I said gratefully.

I pulled on the dress and did a little twirl. I'd always liked the way the fabric swirled around my knees. I hurriedly pinned my hair up and applied a little eyeliner and put on my shoes. Because the the dress left my arms bare, I fished a little shawl out from my suitcase and draped it over my shoulders. With a last twirl and a look in the mirror, I opened the door to find Draco leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He nodded appreciatively and offered his arm.

"Just how many people are going to be there?" I asked casually, though my stomach clenched uncomfortably. I hadn't counted on having to deal with people quite yet. What if I made a fool of myself and embarrassed my uncle or looked really ignorant and unsophisticated or--

"Just a few of his friends," Draco said soothingly. "Don't worry about a thing. And, anyway, they'll probably ignore us both. Old people are like that," he added with a wry smile. "They'll completely ignore anyone without wrinkles or liver spots unless they're being rude."

I smiled up at him, reassured by his blasé manner. I wondered if Uncle Mac had invited him to stay because I was coming. If so, it had been a good idea. A really, really good idea.

"Uncle Mac's not that old," I said defensively.

"His friends are," Draco replied. "Well, two of them, anyway. Dolohov is about his age."

"Is that all?" I asked, thoroughly relieved. "Just three?"

"Well, and their wives."

"Oh."

He could not have said anything to make me more nervous. Any sort of female is, as a rule, more dangerous than a male to deal with at any social engagement. Rich, snobby females who know each other are a guaranteed nightmare. I set my jaw resolutely and squared my shoulders as we approached the dining room. Bring it on, bitches.

Uncle Mac stood up as we entered and Draco surrendered his hold on me, letting Uncle Mac lead me forward to be introduced to his guests. Antonin Dolohov was dark haired and sallow skinned with an unpleasant set to his mouth. The brothers Jeremiah and Alfred Ketworth looked like twin oaks—gnarled, twisted, and lumpy. They both looked like singularly grumpy old men, but Jeremiah in particular looked like he enjoyed whacking little children with his cane. I wondered briefly if all of my uncle's friends were like these three.

All three men shared, in addition to a rather unwelcoming appearance, wives who were probably half their age. Dolohov's wife, Genevieve, was an icy blond with red talons for fingernails and way too much cleavage. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. The Ketworths' wives, Catherine and Isabelle, were between thirty five and forty and trying desperately to look like they were still twenty. I got the distinct impression that both were annoyed that their husbands were still alive. I resisted the urge to sneer. Gold diggers, all three of them. I took my place next to Draco and smiled as nicely as I could at Genevieve, who was across from me.

"I love your necklace," I said, nodding to the diamond choker she was wearing. Nothing too fancy, my foot, I thought. These women were dressed like they were going to the Grammies.

"It was a gift from Antonin," she replied carelessly. "All real diamonds, of course."

"Is that the fashion in America these days?" Catherine asked, eying my dress disdainfully. "How...quaint."

"My aunt gave it to me for my birthday," I said, casting my eyes down demurely. "She said it was perfect to set off a tiny waist."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. Her waist was noticeably thicker than was desirable. "How sweet."

"You just arrived today, did you not?" Isabelle asked me. "Was the flight enjoyable?"

"I couldn't tell you," I said, smiling ingratiatingly. "I slept most of the way."

"It was your first time flying first class, I expect."

"Oh, no. I've spent my summers in Greece for as long as I can remember. My father would never have sent me on anything but first class," I said coldly.

"John tells us you are quite an accomplished young woman." I turned to face my new attacker, Catherine. "You sing and play the piano, yes?"

"Among other things," I agreed coolly.

"You will sing for us later, won't you? I'm sure we would all love to hear something. A lovely aria, perhaps?"

"Italian or Fench?" I asked, smiling sweetly. "Or perhaps something contemporary...Copeland? Perera? I'm sure you're familiar with their works. Or a Hindemith sonata if you would prefer the piano?"

Catherine's smile was strained. "Whatever you are most comfortable with, my dear."

Throughout dinner, Catherine and Isabelle made a point of making chatting about people and events that I was entirely unfamiliar with. Genevieve ignored me completely, staring moodily into space. Draco turned to me occasionally to make light conversation, but his attention was more often demanded by the Geezers, as I had dubbed them in my mind. I cast a dirty look at Draco. They certainly weren't ignoring him. Perhaps he had liver spots and wrinkles that I didn't know about.

After dinner, Uncle Mac led the way to the sitting room, where Catherine and Isabelle immediately pounced, demanding that I sing for everyone. Uncle Mac agreed heartily, pointing out a book case devoted to music. Before I could move, Catherine grabbed a book at random and opened to a page.

"I love this piece," she gushed. "Do sing this one."

I looked at it and resisted the urge to smirk. My voice teacher had had me singing out of that book for the past year. Catherine had unwittingly opened to an Italian piece I knew like the back of my hand. I smiled graciously and moved to sit at the piano. I sang the piece rather flawlessly, I must say, and was rewarded both by my uncle's look of smug approval and the sour, pinched look on Catherine and Isabelle's faces. Genevieve merely looked bored. Afterward, I accepted compliments with an appropriate mixture of modesty and pride and moved to take a seat, but Uncle Mac asked if I could perhaps accompany Draco for a song.

"You sing?" I asked, smiling in delight. "Well, what a pleasant surprise. I hadn't expected to find someone to sing with here," I added without thinking, then blushed. "That is—I'm sorry, I'm sure you're busy--"

"Not at all," Draco said, waving my apology away. "It sounds like a most enjoyable way to spend winter evenings. Certainly more enjoyable than mountains of paperwork."

"Draco, honestly," my uncle protested. "It's not that as bad as all that!"

"In any case, I will be delighted to sing with you some time," Draco told me with a swift grin at my uncle.

I found myself having a little bit of trouble playing because I was trying to listen and sight-read at the same time. Draco had a beautifully dark, smooth baritone that sent shivers up my spine. Dear Lord, why wasn't this guy on Broadway? Or whatever the English equivalent was. I could just picture him as the Phantom. A blond Phantom, anyway. I wonder if I could find the sheet music for that anywhere...?

I applauded heartily when we were finished, smiling broadly at him, and then surprised myself with a huge yawn. I hastily clapped a hand over my mouth and laughed sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry, it's just been such a long day..." I flicked an apologetic glance at my Uncle. "I think it's time for me to be in bed."

Uncle Mac checked his watch. "Good God, it's nearly midnight. Do forgive me, Ariadne. Draco, see her back to her rooms, won't you? We don't want you getting lost and starving to death, do we, my dear?"

"I daresay that would be most unfortunate," I laughed. "Goodnight, everyone. It was a pleasure meeting you all."

I took Draco's arm once more and hid a yawn as we left. It had been an exhausting—but not unsatisfying—evening. I smirked smugly. Eat it, hags. They were no doubt talking about me behind my back even as I was thinking this. Well, let them.

"You survived," Draco observed, smirking. "I was listening in from time to time and I must say, I am impressed."

"Oh, it was nothing," I said dismissively, and sighed dramatically. "I feel sorry for them, I really do."

"Why is that?" Draco asked, eyes twinkling.

"Why, because they're not as beautiful or talented or intelligent as I am, of course," I said innocently, and pretended to fluff my hair.

Draco chuckled. "No, they're not."

We continued on in companionable silence until we reached my door. Draco opened the door for me and I smiled up at him a little uncertainly.

"Well—good night," I said. "And thank you—for everything. You don't know how much I appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure," he assured me. I moved to close the door, but he suddenly said, "Wait—Ari...would you like to go riding with me tomorrow?"

"Oh—yes. Yes, I would love to." Pleased and slightly embarrassed, I smiled shyly. "Good night, then."

Draco nodded, looking pleased with himself. "Good night."