It was very late, and Lucien could not sleep.

The plans had all been laid, and the time was upon him. In a few short hours the sun would rise, and Mrs. Beazley would ferry him to the bus stop, and he would travel from there to Melbourne, and from Melbourne to Shanghai. In Shanghai Mr. Kim would meet him at the harbor, and deliver him to the village where Li lived. Li, his darling girl, was alive and well, and just the thought of it made his hands shake, made his vision go blurry with tears. For so long he had been living half in hope and half in dread, his mind warning him that the chances his little girl survived the horror of the war in Asia were slim while his heart pleaded with him not to give up on her case. The heart had won; Li lived.

Li. She would be twenty-three, now. A woman grown. Would she look just like her mother? Lucien wondered. Would she know what had become of Mei Lin? Would she be glad to see her father, would she remember him at all? When he thought of Li he thought of their home in Singapore, thought of fruit trees and jasmine blossoms, thought of the rich, dark shine of Mei Lin's hair and the laughter of his baby girl as he swung her high up in the air, his arms strong and steady, catching her always. Would Li even remember that house? It was impossible to say, but soon enough he would know.

It was easier to go knowing that he was leaving his home in capable hands; Mrs. Beazley had alerted all the patients to his absence, rescheduled his appointments and coordinated with Doctor King so that he might see those who most needed attention. She would keep the house neat and Mattie fed, and when he returned she would be waiting for him. Nothing could be finer than that, he thought; he felt himself surrounded by the warmth of women, at present, for Mattie had flung her arms around him exuberantly when she heard the news, and Jean had wished him well with a tear in her eye, the tear of a mother who knew what it meant to be reunited with an absent child, and Li was out there, waiting for him. Perhaps she might even consent to come home with him...oh, his mind was racing.

One last time he checked the contents of his suitcase and his travel papers, assured himself that everything was in order. Passage was booked, and he had confirmed through the travel agency that there would be space enough for Nemea to travel with him. Moving through the world with a lion by his side complicated matters a bit, but it wasn't as if he could leave her behind, and he wouldn't have wanted to, in any case.

As his thoughts drifted to Nemea he turned to speak to her, and frowned. She wasn't in the room; the door was open a bit, and she must have slipped out, as she sometimes did, to prowl the house and assure herself there were no threats lurking in the shadows. An old habit, established when their lives were more dangerous, and more troublesome. Here in Ballarat they were safe, but Nemea remained a soldier, still, alert to every shift in the wind.

Lucien went out from the room in search of her, but stopped almost the very moment he crossed the threshold of his bedroom, for he had found her, sitting at the foot of the stairs. He could see her mouth moving, and held his breath, and after a moment the low sound of her voice resolved itself.

"We will come back," she was saying. "You'll see us again."

"Oh, but what if we don't?"

It was Halcyon's voice he heard, and when Lucien shifted on his feet he caught sight of the little kingfisher, fluttering in the air at Nemea's eye level. He was darting this way and that, plainly agitated, but Nemea sought to console him, and the scene tugged at something soft and tender in Lucien's own heart.

"All will be well, little one," Nemea said.

"Oh, but what if it isn't? Shanghai is such a very long way away. All the way across the ocean. So many terrible things could happen there. And what if Lucien finds his daughter, and does not wish to leave her again? What if he decides he'd be happier there than here? We couldn't blame him, of course, a father ought to be with his child, but oh, Jean would be so sad, if she never saw him again, and I would be so sad, Nemea. I should miss you so much I think my heart might burst."

Nemea's mouth opened into the closest thing to a smile her great maw could manage.

"It won't," she assured him. "You're stronger than you know, and so is Jean. But don't fret. Lucien will come home. He knows where he belongs, now. You and Jean, you have made a place for us here, and we will not forsake it."

It felt rather strange, listening in to their conversation; Nemea was his own heart, and surely he had a right to hear anything she ought to say, but she was separate from him, in her own way, and she and Halcyon had forged a connection quite independent of their people. It was rather like watching the parting of two close friends, rather as if the two daemons were saying to one another everything that Lucien and Jean wanted to say themselves, but couldn't. Was Jean really so concerned for his safety, and would she really be so devastated if he never came back? He rather hoped that was the case, for the thought of never seeing her again troubled him a very great deal. Her bright, shining eyes, her warm smile, her gentle voice; he did not want to return to a life without such blessings. And Nemea was right; he was determined to come back to Ballarat, one way or another. He had been without Li for so long, and she without him, that just knowing she was well might sustain him, even if she was not with him. He would know where to find her, could visit her, when he wished, could even take Jean, one day. Oh, what a joy that would be, he thought, to introduce Jean to a side of the world she had never before imagined, to watch her eyes go wide as she soaked it in, to introduce her to his child, and watch them speak softly to one another. His heart was buoyed along by dreams, and he could not recall when last he'd been so happy.

And perhaps, he thought, perhaps Nemea and Halcyon were not the only ones who ought to speak to one another. Perhaps he ought to speak to Jean, in the morning, ought to tell her of all the hopes he harbored in his heart, ought to reassure her, as Nemea reassured Halcyon, that he would not forget her. In fact, forgetting her would be, he thought, quite impossible. He had never known a woman half so remarkable as Jean. Perhaps he ought to tell her so.


Jean could not say what it was that woke her; there was no rumble of thunder outside, and her room was all in darkness, quiet and still. And yet she woke as if from a nightmare, gasping and ill at ease. In a moment she found one possible source of her distress; Halcyon was not with her. The bedroom door was open a crack, and Jean was certain she'd not left it that way, and doubly certain Halcyon couldn't have opened it on his own. Something must have happened, she thought, remembering Derek Alderton and his stoat, and she rushed from her bed, tugged her robe on over her nightgown and raced out the doorway, but she skidded to a halt a few paces later, confusion freezing her in her tracks.

At the foot of the stairs Nemea sat back on her haunches, speaking softly, and as Jean peered around the corner she could see Halcyon fluttering agitatedly just in front of the lioness. She held her breath, but heard no sound save for the two of them, and saw no sign that anything else was amiss. It was just a strange, quiet meeting between the daemons in the middle of the night, both of them slipping away from their people - though not too far - to have a private farewell of their own.

What on earth? She wondered. Who'd ever heard of such a thing?

"You're stronger than you know," Nemea was saying, "and so is Jean. But don't fret. Lucien will come home. He knows where he belongs, now. You and Jean, you have made a place for us here, and we will not forsake it."

Jean's cheeks flushed pink; though she was ashamed to admit it, she had been quite worried that Lucien would stay in China. And why shouldn't he? He was a worldly, well-educated man of some means, and his daughter was there, the daughter he'd not seen in nearly twenty years. What appeal could boring old Ballarat possibly hold, compared to his only child? What could the town - what could Jean - hope to offer him that he could not find elsewhere? But Nemea had spoken of Ballarat as Lucien's home; Lucien's own heart had just told her outright that he intended to return.

"He's quite fond of her, you know," Nemea said after a moment, and a trilling sound that might have been a laugh echoed up the stairs from Halcyon in response.

"Oh, Jean is dreadfully fond of him," he said.

Oh, now, that's a bit rich, she thought; she had a half a mind to go down there right now, to tell Halcyon to stop speaking out of turn and spreading gossip, but curiosity had ever been a vice, for Jean, and she wanted to hear what else they might say to one another.

"She's just worried that people will talk. Actually, people are talking already. Some of the ladies at the church think Jean's been too familiar with the Doctor. And I tried to tell her it doesn't matter what they say. But she's afraid."

"Lucien is afraid, too," Nemea confessed. "Not of the church. He doesn't know what's become of his wife, and until he knows for certain he's frozen in place."

Is that true? Jean wondered. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hardly hear the daemons over the rush of blood in her ears. Was Lucien fond of her, would he have pursued her if only he knew he was free to do so? What if he went to Shanghai, and found out that he was? What if he found out that he wasn't? She could not wish to have him to herself, if the only way to have him was for him to find out for certain that his wife was dead. Such a wish, such a hope, such a dream, would be cruel; Jean knew very well how painful it was to lose a spouse, and she would not have Lucien suffer the same fate for the sake of her own reckless heart. He was a good man, and a kind man, and he deserved better. But oh, if he wanted her, if she wanted him, if they could only...oh, perhaps it was for the best that Lucien was sound asleep, and would never hear these words, for they brought with them such a host of complications Jean was certain she and Lucien would never be able to find their way through. She'd certainly never be able to look him in the eye again, if she knew that he knew what their daemons had been discussing.

"They make things so messy, don't they?" Halcyon said. "Humans. It ought to be easy. She cares for him, he cares for her, that ought to be that. But it isn't."

"Life is rarely easy, little one," Nemea agreed solemnly. "But things have a way of working out for the good."

"Oh, I hope you're right," Halcyon sighed.

"Now, you ought to go. Go and see to Jean, and I will see to Lucien, and we will speak again tomorrow."

"Good night, Nemea."

"Good night, Halcyon."

They turned away from one another, and as they did Jean raced back to her bedroom, not wanting to be caught out eavesdropping, even as Lucien slipped back behind his own door, both of them troubled. Sleep would not come that night, not for either of them.