§ § § -- February 12, 1999

They arrived at the main house around ten minutes later; Julie leaped out of her chair and flung herself headlong at Rogan, bursting into tears of relief. Leslie had to jump out of the way and, when Julie's mad rush at Rogan caused him to drop the spice jar, managed somehow to catch it before it shattered on the wooden floor. It took Rogan precious minutes to calm Julie down enough for her to realize that he and Leslie had returned alone.

"What happened to your father?" she asked.

"It's a long story, Julie lass," Rogan said, "but it resulted in our getting the cure. He gave Leslie and me each a copy of the recipe, and we've got to hurry down and concoct some before any more time slips away from us. Each minute gone is a minute uncle comes closer to dying, and that would be simply horrible when we've the means of saving him right here in our hands. Stay and keep watch, sweet lass. Leslie's going to help me."

"Hurry," Julie cried, letting him loose instantly. Rogan and Leslie half-ran down the hall, into the dining room where the spiral staircase to the bell tower and the cellar was located, and clattered down the narrow, curving steps to the pitch-black basement.

"Ach," Rogan groaned. "I hope someone installed a switch in here."

Leslie patted the wall near the stairs till she blundered across it and flipped it up. The room was promptly flooded with welcome light, and she smoothed out her list on the stainless-steel table in the middle of the room. She then extracted the plants she had harvested from her shorts pocket and laid them on the table beside the spice jar of amakarna, then called out the names of the remaining ingredients—often making Rogan laugh with the expected mispronunciations thereof—while he retrieved each one. In a few cases he had to search extensively for the item in question, turning Leslie into a frantic bag of nerves before he finally unearthed what they needed.

They spent most of an hour preparing the various ingredients and mixing them together; in the end they found themselves with a small bowl full of a caramel-colored, syrupy decoction. Leslie noticed a sweetly spicy aroma drifting up from it and took an experimental sniff. Rogan smiled.

"That's the amakarna," he said. "Not only does it have numerous health-altering properties—both good and bad, depending on its state—but it tastes good. It has the kind of sweetening ability you get in cinnamon, but with a much different flavor."

"Then this should go down fairly easily," Leslie said hopefully. "That is, unless you think we should emulate Mary Poppins and get the sugar bowl from the kitchen."

Rogan laughed. "I don't think that'll be necessary, but I admire your spirit, cousin." He crouched down and chose an empty bottle from a group of them sitting on a lower shelf of the table, then twisted off the cap and held it out. "Pour it in here."

Carefully Leslie tipped the bowl over the narrow mouth, and she and Rogan watched intently as a thin stream of viscous liquid drained from the bowl into the bottle. Once most of it had been transferred, Leslie discovered a spoon near the empty bottles and carefully, but quickly, scraped out the remainder. Then Rogan capped the bottle and met her gaze.

"This is it," Leslie said softly. "Let's go."

This time it was she who led the way up from the cellar, back through the house and up to the second floor; Julie joined them in the study and fell in behind Rogan. Leslie turned on the hallway light, tapped on Roarke's door and pushed it open when there was no reply. The light from the hallway lit the bedroom enough for them to see that he was in the midst of another coma-like slumber, his breathing rate rivaling that of a bear in hibernation.

"Is he too far gone to wake up?" Julie asked in a whisper.

"No idea," said Rogan, speaking normally and startling both Julie and Leslie. He gave them a bemused look. "Why whisper? After all, we want him to wake up—and if he doesn't, he won't hear us anyway. For that matter, Leslie, turn on that lamp there."

Leslie shrugged and did so; to their surprise, the light caused Roarke to stir, and in another ten seconds or so he opened his eyes, regarding them with a blank look. "Father, you won't believe it," Leslie said, kneeling beside the bed. "We got the cure!"

Roarke was so weak and had been so deeply asleep that he could do no more than widen his dark eyes to express his astonishment. She nodded rapidly and held up the bottle. "It's a long story, but here it is."

"How much are you supposed to give him to make it work?" Julie asked.

Rogan and Leslie looked at each other, brought up short; then Rogan patted his pockets and dug around in them till he finally came up with his now-much-folded copy of the formula. He scanned the page and sighed. "All it says here is 'administer immediately after completing mixture.' I tell you what, let's try half a glass and see if that's enough. If it's not, uncle can always take another dose in the morning."

They all watched while Leslie uncapped the bottle and half filled the small drinking glass that sat on the nightstand. No one spoke; indeed, they hardly dared breathe as Leslie assisted Roarke in holding the glass and tilting it so that he could swallow its contents.

Two full minutes passed before he spoke, sounding very sleepy but distinctly amused. "This contains amakarna, does it not?" he murmured. Rogan and Leslie both nodded, and he smiled in an almost absentminded manner. "Little wonder: it seems to have a soporific effect. It's very late, so I suggest all of you get some sleep."

"Sleep? Are you kidding?" Julie blurted incredulously.

"You may stay up if you choose, but that won't change the outcome," Roarke told her, yawning as discreetly as he could. "You may as well sleep."

Leslie grinned wearily. "Now that you mention it, Father, I'm done for," she admitted. "He's right, you guys. Go on home and catch some Z's. I'll call you tomorrow morning."

§ § § -- February 13, 1999

Leslie had expected to lie awake indefinitely due to her own impatience to know if the cure really worked; but it was nearly 2 A.M. and her energy supply was depleted enough that she sank into sleep within ten minutes. The next thing she was aware of was a persistent tapping on her bedroom door. Memory flooded back and she rolled over to face the door, half rising. The sight that greeted her almost made her question her eyesight at first. There stood Roarke, dressed and ready to start the day, watching her with a broad grin and sparkling dark eyes. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" he teased.

Leslie's entire face lit; she shrieked aloud and grew so frantic with excitement that when she tried to scramble out of bed, she got tangled in the covers and more or less fell out, causing Roarke to burst into laughter. Nothing daunted, she finally freed herself, leaped to her feet and threw her arms around him. "It worked, it worked, it really worked!" she sang out, laughing and crying simultaneously, her emotions soaring. "We've gotta tell Rogan and Julie right away!"

Roarke, still laughing, returned her enthusiastic embrace for as long as she clung to him, till at last he was moved to suggest, "If you really want to apprise Rogan and Julie of the good news, you'll have to let go and get dressed so that you can do so. I myself have quite a few phone calls to make rescheduling a month's worth of fantasies, so you'd better hurry before it becomes necessary for me to monopolize the telephone."

Once he'd left, she swiftly dressed and remade the bed, then quite nearly leaped the entire staircase in her zeal to get into the study and spread the news. Roarke laughed all over again at her exuberance. "You're full of energy this morning!"

"Three guesses why," Leslie kidded and came around to the back of his chair, where she looped her arms around his neck and dropped a kiss onto his cheek from behind. "Seriously, Father, I can't tell you what an incredible relief it is to see you well again. I'm so happy I think I'll have to be careful I don't float off into the sky." Still chuckling, Roarke shook his head, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

At his behest she called Julie's house and left the following message, in its entirety: "Hi, guys—it's Leslie, and it worked!" Roarke realized he was finding her a great source of amusement that morning, for once she'd delivered the seven-word missive, she jumped into the foyer and called down the hall, "Mariki, are you in there?"

"Good Lord, Miss Leslie, there's no need to go shouting across the entire house to—" As she spoke, Mariki came down the corridor from the kitchen, cutting herself off when she spotted Roarke at the desk. She gasped very loudly. "Mr. Roarke…you're well! How did it happen? It's a miracle!"

Roarke smiled. "I'd be inclined to agree with you, Mariki," he said warmly. "There will be time for the full story later; at the moment, I find myself famished. The disease left me with little inclination or ability to eat."

"One king-size breakfast coming up. Wait—make that two. Your daughter has a way of neglecting her own well-being when someone else is sick," Mariki noted tartly. But she was grinning widely on her way back to the kitchen.

For the next several minutes Roarke was occupied making phone calls; meanwhile, Leslie signed onto e-mail and promptly wrote a blanket message advising that Roarke had been cured and business was to get back to normal as soon as possible. This she sent to a group e-mail address set up to send the message to all their employees simultaneously, as well as copying it to all her friends.

Then, scanning the new messages, she was suddenly yanked down to earth. There was one from Christian: and Leslie was reminded quite rudely that she had a moral duty to perform. Swallowing a little thickly, she clicked the message open and read it. It wasn't a very long one.

My Leslie Rose,

What's the verdict? Have you heard anything? I'm confused -- don't quite know what to hope for. How horrible that is...forgive me. Just please tell me straight out, as soon as you know.

Love, Christian

Slowly Leslie composed her response:

Christian, my love,

We got the cure...and it works. I'm overjoyed that Father's made a full recovery...yet my heart hurts. But it's the right thing to do. When Rogan comes over, we'll mix up several batches and ship some out right away. We'll send you a dose for Marina and another for her father. More later.

Love, Leslie

She bit her lip, drew in a slow, deep breath, and clicked send, closing her eyes. Much of the light had gone out of the day for her, but she deliberately steeled herself to hide it from all comers. It was a day to rejoice, and she intended to do just that.