Lisette met me at the door when I returned home from my visit to the opera house.

"Papa," she said sternly, arms crossed over her chest in similar fashion to Madeline when she was displeased.

I removed my mask and furrowed my brow, hoping I had not drawn my daughter's ire as well. The list of people who wished to speak with me seemed to be dwindling from miniscule to non-existent in under twenty-four hours.

"Yes, Lisette?"

"You have not written to your brother," she said, keeping her voice low.

I glanced at the tray of letters that had arrived in the morning and back at my daughter. "You are correct. I will write to him tonight."

Lisette smiled and tugged at my sleeve so that I would bend at the waist. "You don't need to write to him," she whispered in my ear, her hushed voice filled with excitement. "He's in the parlor."

I narrowed my eyes and stood at my full height. "I beg your pardon?"

Lisette grinned as though she might burst from the excitement. "Uncle Phelan is in the parlor. He told me not to tell anyone, but said I could tell you when you returned home. And mother, but she isn't back yet. And grand-mere, but she's already in the parlor with Uncle Phelan."

Her words barely registered. I dropped my keys onto the foyer table and marched down the hall with Lisette skipping beside me.

"I must return to my studies, but I hope he stays for supper" Lisette said. She peeked into the parlor and offered a wave at my brother, who nodded and smiled back at her. Without another word, she dashed ahead of me and rounded the corner.

The moment I nudged the door open, Madeline stopped mid-sentence and smiled instinctively at me before she cleared her throat and attempted to appear indifferent to my presence.

"Erik," Madeline said, her tone lacking its usual affection, which was all the confirmation I needed to know she had not forgiven me.

"Kire," Phelan gruffly acknowledged.

I stared briefly at the two of them. "I apologize, I had no idea you were planning a visit," I said to Phelan.

"I wasn't," my brother grumbled. His facial hair had started to grow back, not quite stubble but not nearly full enough to be considered a true beard. He looked concerningly like our father with a tone that matched. "But considering I have not heard from you a single time since Conforeit, I decided it was best to see for myself that you were well."

Madeline smiled at his words, clearly pleased that Phelan was concerned for my well-being.

"And now that I see you are indeed still breathing, I shall be on my way."

Madeline dramatically gasped in horror and shot to her feet. "No, you mustn't leave when you've only arrived," she said, motioning for Phelan to stay seated despite him making no attempt to stand. "You've traveled much too far to leave when you've not had a chance to properly visit."

My brother sat back, appearing first startled and then satisfied with Madeline's fussing. "Who am I to deny the request of the great Madame Giry?"

Madeline shook her head and giggled like a school girl. "You flatter me."

Phelan looked her over and offered an easy smile in return. "There is not enough flattery in the entire world to fully compensate you. Madame, you are truly a treasure to the French stages, one who should be respected by all who cross your glorious path. Coppenhagan will be..." Madeline issued a warning look and my brother abruptly stopped speaking. "My apologies, Madame," Phelan offered quietly.

"I'll leave the two of you alone. It has been an absolute pleasure to meet you at last, Monsieur Kimmer."

"I assure you, Madam, the pleasure has been mine."

Once Madeline departed and closed the door behind her, I took her seat and waited for my brother to speak, which he did not. Rather he sat back and sighed heavily.

"I didn't think you were supposed to be in Paris," I said at last, noticing his battered leather suitcase leaning against his chair.

Phelan offered a shrug. "I have never been one to follow directions."

"You didn't come here simply because I have not sent a letter."

Phelan inhaled. "Of course I have. I've heard from Alex fourteen times and Lisette twice. Even Julia has had the courtesy to write to me once. But you? Silence."

"Fourteen letters from Alex? You cannot be serious."

"I am absolutely serious. Of course, it could have all been sent in one letter, but my beloved and gregarious nephew sent several short notes that simply elaborated on some of his previous thoughts," Phelan said with a chuckle. "They were quite entertaining. And eight of them arrived on the same day, so when the post arrived I looked quite popular with handfuls of envelopes to retrieve from the post box. My neighbors must think I am of great importance."

"That certainly sounded like Alex." I could picture my son sealing an envelope, then moments later thinking of something else he should have said and starting an entirely new letter.

"You look unwell, little brother," Phelan commented.

I glanced at my unmasked reflection in the parlor mirror and sighed. Perhaps my downtrodden mood was precisely what Claude wished to describe by saying he had a case of the morbs.

"Unfortunately I always look like this," I replied quite miserably.

Phelan appeared unamused by my self-deprecating words. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing," I grumbled.

His gray eyes narrowed, his stare intensifying. "Your jaw twitches when you are upset."

"Does it?"

"It does."

"How observant."

"You used to scrunch up your entire face, turn beet red, and your eyes would well with tears when you were angry."

"When I was three years of age, you mean to say?"

"Yes, that is precisely what I mean. The twitch of your jaw is thankfully more subtle, but seeing as how I also tend to clench my jaw in similar fashion, it is still noticeable."

I grunted. "Classes have started, have they not?"

"They have."

"What are your students doing in your absence?"

"I have no idea. My students were uneducated, bumbling fools before I boarded the train and I am certain they will be uneducated, bumbling fools when I return. Hopefully they are finishing the assignments as I ordered."

"How long are you staying in Paris?" I asked, eyeing his suitcase. I estimated he had perhaps three day's worth of clothing.

Phelan looked me over. "Would you like to be rid of me, little brother?"

"No," I answered honestly, vulnerably.

For years I had wanted a family, for a brother or sister or cousins. For my uncle-and sometimes for my parents despite all that had transpired. For friends despite the constant reminder that no one wished to befriend me. I longed for anyone who would not betray me or leave me behind, and sometimes I longed for the punishment I felt I deserved as long as it meant I was not in complete solitude for hours or days on end.

"Good, because I can see you are clearly in need of my wise council."

"I am glad for your company, but if I had known you were visiting I would have made certain to be home at your arrival."

"Then I'm afraid Madame Giry would not have had ample time to interview me."

"I beg your pardon? Interview you for what, precisely?"

"I believe I was applying for the position of your older brother," Phelan answered. "At this time, I'm not certain I have been accepted, although I do think I made a very good impression. She was quite thorough in her questioning, but I suspect it is because of her fondness for you."

"I'm not sure that's currently true."

Phelan shrugged. "Is that what troubles you, Kire?"

I inhaled. "There is far too much that troubles me and fortunately for you I am not one to burden others with my petty grievances."

"I have spent the first half of this day on a crowded train. The very least you can do is humor me with the pettiest grievance you have available."

"Perhaps you have something you wish to share from your travels?"

My brother sat back and crossed one leg over the other as though he wished to settle in for a lengthy discussion on mutual annoyances. "Well, since you asked, some damnable fool spent the entire length of the journey from Brussels to Paris blowing his nose like a congested goose playing the tuba. The dolt blew into his handkerchief every ninety seconds without fail."

I snorted at the elegant way in which my brother described his train travel. "Every ninety seconds? Did you time him?"

"I did. It was all I could do to keep from leaving my seat to slap his nose off his face."

I chuckled to myself. "That does sound quite miserable."

Phelan gave a single nod and sat silently, observing me. I felt my jaw twitch and looked away from him, unwilling to admit he was correct.

At last I sighed. "The theater manager showed me the cover design for the performances I am to conduct," I said.

Phelan raised a brow. He sat forward, hands linked in anticipation. "Was it atrocious? A hideous piece of artwork that looked as though it was drawn by a toddler?"

"It was a drawing of a violin."

Phelan furrowed his brow. "A poorly drawn violin?"

"No, the violin itself was fine." I exhaled in frustration. "Their artist is known for his portraits."

Phelan narrowed his eyes and my skin prickled as my brother looked me over, his gaze pausing far too long on the side I should have kept concealed. I glanced at my mask resting on my knee and considered obscuring his view of my ghastly visage.

"You are unhappy that there will be a violin on the cover and not your likeness?"

"No," I answered.

Phelan inhaled. "My ability to read minds is a bit rusty, little brother. I'm afraid I need a bit more elaboration."

"It is more than the damned violin," I grumbled. "I have remained a ghost, Lan, a stranger to virtually everyone around me and now I am afraid that my desire to stay unknown has been detrimental."

The admission sounded strange to my own ears, far too raw and truthful to have come from my lips. My jaw twitched again as my frustration became unbearable. Claude had been correct; he didn't truly know me. I had made certain that he knew virtually nothing about me as I feared what he would discover if I allowed him into my private life.

"You are speaking of someone specific?" Phelan asked.

"I am." I hesitated, but forced myself to answer. "Claude Gillis."

Phelan narrowed his eyes. "The young man who asked Theo for the tickets to my gallery show?"

"Yes, that is him."

"Did you meet him through Vincent or Paul?"

"Neither. I met him several months ago at the park where he was painting and I purchased one of his works. He has come to supper a few times."

Phelan smiled to himself. "I am surprised he spoke to you at all."

Instantly I bristled at my brother's words, but Phelan shook his head. "I mean to say Claude has always been quite reserved. While Theo's younger brother and that fool Paul Gauguin are usually embroiled in some sort of ridiculous argument, Claude has always struck me as a polite fellow who stays out of conflicts. Quite frankly, I don't understand why he spends time with the other two."

"I've only briefly met his other friends."

Phelan made a face. "You are not missing much, Kire."

I took a breath and exhaled. "Claude thinks I have been untruthful with him."

"Have you?"

"Not intentionally."

"And what have you been unintentionally untruthful about?"

"For one, the fact that you and I are brothers."

Phelan nodded. "I suppose that is a rather impressive honor you didn't know you had until recently."

"Obviously."

"Unless Claude is terribly unforgiving, neglecting to tell him that your brother is a world-renowned artist, celebrated instructor of young minds, and overwhelmingly handsome to boot does not seem like a crime punishable by death."

"I am incredibly pleased you have somehow managed to turn my concerns into praise for yourself," I grumbled.

My brother rolled his eyes. "I apologize for detracting focus from the sensitive artist."

"I am not sensitive," I argued.

"You've no need to be so sensitive about it, Kire."

I scowled in return. "You've no idea what it has been like," I snapped. "How few friends I've made in my lifetime and how devastating it is to lose one."

Phelan raised a brow. "Don't I, Kire?"

My heart raced. I hated how calm he appeared while I raged both internally and externally. "Do you?" I seethed.

"I discovered my best pieces were painted during my divorce and the year that followed when I was at the peak of my dismal mood," Phelan continued, his voice even. "Although I do think for the most part I grieved the loss of Rose far more than her mother. I suppose heartache and disappointment suits the creative."

"I disagree."

"Of course you do."

"My music improved immensely once I had Alex in my home."

Phelan nodded. "That comes as no surprise. Alex's amiable nature improves the world around him." He ran his fingers along the scars to his left arm, feeling along the damaged flesh from the base of his thumb to the middle of his forearm. "As I previously told you, I moved to Brussels while Daphne kept the house and eventually Rose's real father moved in where he belonged, or so I heard.

"I walked to and from the university alone, I took all of my meals in private, and while I taught my students well enough, the moment I left class, I disengaged from the rest of the world. The rest of the professors met after classes on Thursdays, and for the first semester they invited me to accompany them, but a few weeks into the next period the invitations ceased."

"When did you decide to engage again?" I asked.

Phelan studied his injured arm. "I didn't," he answered. He turned his attention to me and smoothed his fingers over his sleeve.

"What happened?"

"One of my brightest and most promising students was expelled and threatened with criminal charges, therefore there were suddenly more pressing matters than my morbid state."

"Expulsion and criminal charges for what?"

My brother rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Gross indecency," he answered. "Christophe was made to leave my class in the middle of a portrait. He was placed in chains and removed before nineteen other students, including his accuser, a fellow fifteen years older and a world less talented. I had the pleasure of failing him at the end of the second semester and I pray to God that little rat wept all the way home to his father's estate."

"Christophe? Your driver?"

"He would be quite insulted if I called him my driver, Kire. Christophe is my protege first, caretaker of Elvira in my absence second, and driver last. He is a prolific artist and one of the few people Elvira genuinely likes. Based on the number of times she has bitten him, I would actually say she prefers him over me."

"The university doesn't mind your private lessons with a former student?"

Phelan sat back. "Oh, they absolutely do."

"You're not worried about your reputation?"

"I sullied my reputation a long time ago in a variety of ways, most of which revolved around being quite disagreeable and combative, little brother. Besides, if the university ever decides to dismiss me, a dozen other institutions will beg me to take on a position in their programs," he arrogantly replied. "But for now I make certain to bring examples of Christophe's work with me to show my new students and to annoy the hell out of fools who expelled him. They will regret their decision soon enough, brother. He is something truly special."

"Why didn't he return home once he was expelled?" I asked.

"His family no longer speaks to him. The last time they communicated with him, his father demanded that Christophe change his surname as he didn't want anyone to know his son was a sodomite. The potential damage to his political career was more concerning than disowning his only child." Phelan again looked at his damaged arm and traced along the puckered flesh. "May I speak freely, Kire?"

"Of course."

"The morning Christophe was expelled, I had written to Valgarde and said I would send him some sketches I thought he may want to keep. Nothing museum-worthy mind you; simply some drawings of Elizabeth when she was younger and Val's wife Carmelina that I had been meaning to send to him. I kept the note brief so as to not worry him, but Valgarde has always read between the lines. Of course, by the time the letter arrived and the package followed, there would be nothing for him to do but accept my final gift."

I stared back at him, my lips parted in shock and horror. "Lan," I said under my breath.

He clasped his hands and bowed his head. "Rose turned two that day. I had never really considered the idea of being a father given Bjorn's disposition and the drinking both he and Alak favored, but given that she was not mine by blood, I figured at least I could not pass down demons to an innocent child.

"But of course as you know, our time together was brief and once I was no longer in her life, I realized how greatly I loved her, even if she had not been mine. To live without her seemed meaningless and I could not for the life of me see past my grief." He took a deep breath and exhaled past his lips. "So I carefully packed all of the drawings and delivered them to the post office after class. Knowing what I intended to do once I returned home, I walked all the way around the university and past the dormitories and flats, behind the church and weaved my way past little shops one final time with a little bag of cakes to enjoy.

"I told myself to find the beauty in the flowers and the sunshine one last time, but the world was as flat as a canvas and I saw no colors and didn't notice the smells or the sounds of the city. I threw the cakes into the refuse and hurried home, resolved in my decision."

Even though Phelan sat before me, I still dreaded my brother's words and the thought of him suffering alone to the extent he planned to take his own life.

"When I unlocked the door, Elvira began squawking as if she knew there was something terribly wrong. I took her off her stand, walked her outside, and prepared to set her free so that she had at least a chance to survive when I noticed Christophe sitting in the back garden with the belongings he was allowed to retrieve from his room. As dramatic as it sounds, he appeared as bewildered as I felt."

"Why was he there?"

"He wanted to ask for a recommendation as he intended to apply to another university and he knew none of the other professors would so much as look at him. He asked for ten minutes of my time and I agreed, somewhat thankful for his distraction. Ten minutes turned to an hour, then conversation over supper, a cup of tea at midnight and then suddenly the sun was rising and we were deep in conversation critiquing his /work and I had forgotten my intentions." Phelan looked up at me and smiled, his features relaxed. "It was a different day, Kire. And now there has been an entire year of sunrises I didn't think I would ever see and I am grateful for each one."

His words made me shiver. "I truly had no idea."

"Neither does anyone else, not even Christophe." He tugged at his sleeve and frowned. "And I have complete confidence no one ever will."

"You have my word."

Phelan sat back and closed his eyes, his visage soft and body relaxed as though he had released a great burden at last. "I would have liked an Alex and a Lisette of my own, but I'm afraid the days of child-rearing are behind me. Now I shall simply appreciate my nieces and nephews."

"You are more than welcome to visit as often as you wish," I offered. "They would be glad for your company, as would I."

Phelan's eyes slit open and he smirked. "You are in the presence of a well-known artist, Kire. I am glad you are aware of how fortunate you truly are to call me your brother."

"Indeed."

"Make amends with Claude," he said firmly.

I nodded, intending to speak when the commotion of alarm bells accompanied by frantic voices drew nearer and we both turned our attention toward the open window and a steady stream of people running past.

"Is the entire city in flames?" Phelan muttered.

"It certainly sounds like it."

Julia hurried past the parlor window and I glanced at Phelan, who had already climbed to his feet, knocking over his suitcase in the process.

We exited the parlor and briskly walked toward the foyer where Madeline had already reached the door.

"Do you know what happened?" I asked.

Madeline shook her head. "The alarms have gotten louder. They must have needed every fire house on this side of the city by the sound of it."

Julia rushed inside seconds later, her eyes swimming with tears as she looked frantically at the three of us.

"Julia, what has happened?" Madeline asked.

"Are you injured?" I asked.

Julia pursed her lips and quickly shook her head. Tears flowing freely down her blotchy cheeks, which she made no attempt to wipe away. I stepped toward her and reached out, clinging to me as she began to sob.

At last Julia caught her breath and looked up at me. "My God," she said under her breath. "Erik, the roof at the shoe factory has caved in."