Dreamwalk Blue: The Solitude Sessions

Session 3: Honeymoon Suite

You'd be so nice to come home to
You'd be so nice by the fire
While the breeze on high sang a lullaby
You'd be all that I could desire

Time passed.

As inconceivable as it had once seemed, life went on.

June abandoned her career, something that had also once seemed inconceivable, and spent her days idle, lounging on beaches and in hotels with Hayden's seemingly endless circle of friends.

"Darling, you look absolutely amazing," one of those friends (Katherine? Katerina?) was saying. "You simply must tell me where you got that dress."

"Oh, this?" June said, distracted as another of Hayden's friends - this one an Italian race car driver - pressed a glass of perfectly chilled champagne into her hand. "Hayden brought it back for me from New York."

"Lucky girl." Katherine-or-Katerina winked at her. "He is absolutely delicious. We're all supremely jealous, I hope you know."

"It isn't like that-" she began, but never finished the sentence.

"There you are, June," Hayden said, appearing seemingly from nowhere. "We've been waiting. You're the guest of honor, after all."

He reached out and grabbed her by the hand. "Excuse us, won't you? And be sure to fill up those glasses, we're about to have a toast."

"I'm so glad to see you," she said, letting him tuck her hand beneath his arm.

"Just in time to rescue you from Matteo and Katelin? I can't say I blame you. Ah, here we are..."

The dining room was aglow with candles and a crush of fashionable people, the table elaborately set and open bottles of champagne littering the sideboard. In the center of the long table, a tiered layer cake twinkled with more candles than she was entirely comfortable with.

"Happy 29th, my darling," he leaned in and kissed her briefly on the lips, "and many happy returns."

The light from the candles reflected on his features, making him seem simultaneously beautiful and dangerous. He smiled, and it only served to heighten the impression.

"Here, here," someone said, breaking the spell, and the others raised their glasses.

"For she's a jolly good fellow," Hayden said with a grin, and they all began to sing.

*

Just when Albus thought he'd begun to put the events of the past few years behind him, something would come along and put him right back at the beginning: a scent, a turn of phrase, a song on the wireless.

Or, just for example, the morning post.

It came at breakfast, looking quite a bit worse for wear, with stamps and seals from far-flung places. It was from Jack, a dead letter in the truest sense of the term. Albus pocketed the letter and retreated to his office, afraid to read whatever might be written inside in front of witnesses.

Once inside his office, he opened it, noting the date in upper right corner. It had been written more than a year previous, just days before they'd headed for Albania -- and walked into one hell of a trap.

Albus,

If you're reading this I guess it all went to hell, after all. Here's hoping I acquitted myself pretty well when we were up against it. I like to think I would, but this business is unlike anything I've seen.

See here, I know you and so I'm willing to bet you've spent the better part of the past year torturing yourself. Well, cut it out, friend. I knew the risks and went in anyway. I'm not your responsibility, alive or dead.

So I have to figure that there's at least a chance we've gotten this all wrong, or that we haven't planned for every eventuality or that we just have rotten luck... or, well, any number of things really. This is one eventuality I can plan for though. Take what's in this envelope and use it; you'll know what to do with it - better than I would, honestly.

So, how to sign off on a letter like this? Till we meet again? See you soon? Hardly. I guess this will have to do instead: Good bye, Albus, and good luck.

-Jack

That was Jack, thorough to the end.

He upended the envelope and tipped a brass skeleton key into his hand. It had a scrap of parchment paper attached that simply read, "Remember the rules."

Ghosts and memories, everywhere he looked.

He'd made the mistake of glancing at his calendar that morning and realized it was June's birthday. The date was haunting him. He kept remembering, despite his best efforts, her sixteenth birthday. They'd gone to Nice on holiday - his family, the Lisbons and the Cavendishes - and stayed in a rather nice old villa on the Mediterranean.

That was the summer he'd realized his schoolboy fondness for June had turned into something more.

She hadn't noticed; maybe she simply hadn't wanted to. Of course, Johnny Cavendish had pursued her all summer as well, so perhaps he couldn't entirely blame her for not wanting to choose between them.

She wore blue to her birthday party, he remembered, a color she rarely wore, and they'd both had their first glass of real champagne. Her parents had arranged dinner and dancing, and invited all the right neighbors over to celebrate.

After the toasts had been made and the cake had been cut, the orchestra struck up a very old waltz that all the adults seemed to enjoy. Albus had gone looking for the birthday girl, who'd been conspicuous by her absence on the dance floor.

He found her out on the veranda with Johnny, who was two years older and who'd had the presence of mind to bring a bottle of champagne with him.

"Happy birthday, June," Johnny said, clinking their glasses together, "and many happy returns."

"Albus!" she said, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of him over Johnny's shoulder. "I was looking everywhere for you."

"Clearly," he responded, a little dryly, but she was still smiling at him and it softened the sting of finding her out here with Johnny.

"I say, Johnny..." came a voice from the French doors. It was Aberforth, giving Albus a knowing look. "Jack-o is telling the most brazen lies about our final match against Ravenclaw in sixth year-"

"That villain! I'll help you set him right." He handed June the champagne bottle, taking her free hand in his. "Honor demands that I put paid to these lies straight away. Till later?"

She just smiled and let him go.

"You were looking for me?" he said, once Johnny and Aberforth had gone. "You seemed to have found someone to entertain you..."

"Oh, Johnny's all right," she said, leaning against the veranda railing and looking out over the sea. "He's harmless."

"He likes you."

"He likes all the girls. He's a terrible flirt, not my sort at all." She poured another glass of champagne. "Come here and have a toast with me. It's my birthday, after all."

He obliged and leaned in next to her. "Happy birthday."

"Sweet sixteen and never been kissed," she said, laughing and possibly slightly tipsy.

"The way I hear it, you've been kissed plenty."

"I was talking," she said, toasting him with her glass, "about you."

"Now that's just mean..."

She leaned in and planted a brief kiss on his lips. "All better."

He'd been a complete goner from that moment on.

*

When the door finally closed on the last guest, June went and sat, a little unsteadily, on the arm of Hayden's chair.

"I think you're a bit drunk," he said.

"Just a bit. You know how it is with champagne," she smiled, "and, anyway, so are you."

"I'm not drunk, I'm relaxed. I'm," he took her by the hand and raised it to his lips, "charming."

"Oh, entirely. There isn't a woman alive who can resist you."

He gave her a positively wicked look. "Just one, at least so far."

She liked Hayden best at times like this - the quiet moments after a party, or at the end of a day's travels - just the two of them, pausing to reflect, to catch their breath. Tonight, he'd shed his dinner jacket and loosened his tie, and was looking at her with such senseless affection that she found it hard to resist the urge to ruffle his hair - though that might just have been the champagne.

The spell was broken, anyway, by the sound of the door opening.

"Ah, Michael. Thank you."

The valet bowed slightly and handed Hayden a slice of cake on a fine china plate. A single candle flickered atop it.

"What's this then?"

"You barely touched your cake before," he said.

"But I've already made my wish," she protested, laughing.

"Who says you can't have another?" Hayden asked, setting the plate down on the table between them. "It's your birthday."

"But it just isn't done."

He grinned. "All the more reason to do it, then."

"Are you ever going to grow up and tire of doing things simply because they're forbidden?"

"Oh, I do hope not..." He leaned over to light his cigarette on the flame from the candle. "And speaking of which, my offer still stands, you know. I'd like nothing better than to take you away from all this and make an honest woman of you."

"All right," June replied, still feeling a bit pliable from the champagne, before she had time to really think about what she was saying.

Hayden's cigarette tumbled onto the table and began to slowly burn through the varnish. "What?" he said, looking at her as though she'd lost her mind.

"You did say- I thought you wanted to marry me?"

"Absolutely not! Not like this. Have you gone completely mad?"

"But you said-"

"Hang what I said. You know how I feel about you, but I also know how you feel, and who you feel it for." He shook his head. "I may be a rotter, but I'm not a fool, not about this - and neither are you."

"It's been too long," she said. "I love him, I'll always love him, but I can't live in the past."

"June-" He reached out and touched her face.

"Maybe it's time that I moved on."

"Fine, darling, then move on." He pulled his hand away. "But perhaps consider taking it a bit more slowly?"

"Hayden-"

"Make your wish. The candle's melting."

She leaned forward to blow out the candle and, for the first time in a very long time, wished for something different.

*

They were in Jakarta when something changed, and Metis began to dream again.

Since Fier, since the last of the night terrors and waking dreams had left her in Istanbul, her dreams had been quiet - quieter than they'd been since she was a child, and certainly quieter than they'd been since she met Tom.

She hadn't always dreamed like that, with meaning, with intent. She could remember a time, when she was very small, when her dreams had been the way she imagined others experienced dreaming - small dreams about the mundane, the everyday, occasionally about something frightening or embarrassing. She'd had normal, manageable dreams.

Then her father died.

He died and left them, and she dreamed his death every night for a month -- as though his dying had opened a door she'd never quite figured out how to close. So Fier, in a way, had brought her some long-awaited relief.

It was the rainy season in Jakarta, the days long and grey, with the steady drum of the rains on the roof. She found she didn't mind it so much, though part of her missed the crisp, thin air of Kabul. The rains here lulled her, made her sleepy, and maybe that was the difference, the reason the dreams began again.

In her heart, though, she knew that wasn't what had changed.

In her heart, she found herself wishing that she had listened to Afareen, that she'd tried harder to stop simply following Tom and find her own way.

She was afraid that she didn't have the will to do it on her own.

She thought of writing to Afareen. She thought, for the first time in more than a year, of writing to her mother. She didn't bother to write to either, though. She had the sense that whatever she put to paper, Tom would somehow find a way to read.

On that wet, humid afternoon, she lay in a makeshift hammock, fighting sleep. The night before she'd dreamt again about the Tree of Knowledge and the beginning of their world. She hadn't had that dream in years, not since that terrible winter at school when she and Tom had tried (and tried and tried) to stay apart.

She didn't want sleep, didn't have the energy to dream again. She was just so tired all the time here, unnaturally so. Eventually, she drifted off, the sweet scent of the rain and wet red clay following her into sleep.

She slept and dreamt. She dreamt a quiet place, she dreamt of lying on her back in the ocean, rocked by the waves. She dreamt of brightly colored fishes swimming placidly at her feet and soft bubbles of sea foam between her fingers.

She woke to find Tom with his snake, curled in the crook of his arm like a father doting on his first child.

"Have you given that thing a name yet?" she asked, swinging her bare feet over the side of the hammock.

"Not yet. She isn't ready for a name, not until she's a little bigger."

Metis padded into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. She stood in the open door and watched the rain run off the roof in sheets, like a curtain standing between her and the outside world.

She resolved, in that moment, that things would change or she would die trying.

*

When they went abroad, it was usually somewhere exotic, somewhere far-flung and interesting.

Not this time.

Not that Scotland wasn't interesting, in its way. It's just that it wasn't interesting in the usual, Hayden Fairborne sense of the word.

"I'd no idea your people were Scottish, Hayden," June said, surveying the crumbling old ruin that was, rather to her surprise, a family property.

"They aren't, so I far as I know. I inherited this place from a great-uncle by marriage or some such. Sir Humboldt McNagg, if you can believe that." He looked around at the damp, sagging castle and windswept grounds, an expression on his face June had never seen before. "I like this old place, though. It's quiet; I can be at ease here."

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Oh, I hope so," he said, turning to smile at her.

She'd always been aware, with a sort of intellectual detachment, that Hayden was a very attractive man. She'd held herself apart though, unwilling to be simply another of Hayden's conquests, to be abandoned and left behind once his fancy turned elsewhere. She'd made herself see past his good looks, his charm, his money, and see the man himself. She'd made him see her, too.

He'd been her friend for a very long time - but there was something else there, too; there always had been. Albus had seen it, as much as she might always have told him he was mad. She'd known it herself, as much as she hadn't particularly wanted to see it.

"What is it?" Hayden asked, and she realized she was staring.

"Oh nothing. I'm famished. Do you have anything to eat in this old ruin?"

"Of course. Let's go have a feast fit for the lady of the manor," he said, and laced her arm through his.

Their feast consisted of cold meat, cheese, bread and a rather nice bottle of Bordeaux, sitting cross-legged on the banquet table in the drafty old dining room.

"Didn't you bring any servants?" June asked. "However will you do without them?"

"Michael's to join us tomorrow, but in the meantime..." he grinned at her. "I thought I might put you to work in the kitchen like a fairy tale princess in disguise."

"Are you going to furnish me a handsome prince as well?"

"Only time will tell on that front..."

"Either way I hope you're prepared to go hungry. You know I can't cook."

"Well, I suppose it's tinned peaches on the beach for the entire month then." He grinned at her, leaning in and stealing the last bit of Stilton from her plate. "However will we survive?"

They were saved, luckily, from that fate by the arrival of Michael the next morning. Hayden practically embraced him and shuttled him off to the kitchen to toast crumpets and make coffee.

"I invited a few more guests, my darling," he said, once they'd been comfortably installed in the breakfast room with buttered crumpets and a pot of coffee.

She twitched her paper to one side and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, it's just my second-something-something cousin, Brian, and his new wife. They're off on a grand tour and I invited them up this way to stop off for a visit."

"This was your idea of a perfect honeymoon spot?"

"Well, why not? At any rate, they arrive the day after tomorrow, and I plan to show them a perfectly lovely time. Will you help me, darling?"

"How could I resist?"

*

Two days later, the morning dawned bright and clear. Taking advantage of the rare sunny day, Hayden immediately proposed a pleasant walk along the beach. The shore was rocky and jagged, and June picked her way gingerly behind him. Hayden, on the other hand, loped along, surefooted and barely watching where he was going.

"Here it is- my favorite spot," he said, clambering easily up a large, craggy rock, surrounded by icy grey tide pools. He reached out a hand to her and helped her up. "What do you think? You're speechless, aren't you?"

"More like out of breath," she managed. She had to admit, though, it was lovely. The shoreline was wild and windswept; white-tipped breakers crashing onto hidden rocks. A single seabird soared overheard in the mid-morning sun.

"Why did you bring me here?" she said, after a moment. "You've had this place for years. You clearly love it here, but you've never brought me before."

Hands shoved in his pockets, he just shrugged, gazing out across the water at the horizon.

"I've never brought anyone here before."

"And now you've brought me, and invited a pair of cousins you barely know? Hayden-"

"Perhaps," he said, stretching his long legs and jumping easily up to a higher ledge on the rock. "Perhaps, I simply thought it was time for a change."

He leaned down and offered her his hand.

"If I fall, you realize that I expect you'll wait on me hand and foot while I recuperate...?"

"I'd expect nothing less." He hauled her up and June suspected she looked somewhat less than graceful. "In fact, I might wait on you hand and foot anyway... if you'll let me."

"Promises, promises."

He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the ledge. "If I promise you breakfast in bed for a week, will you be a good girl and come sit beside me here?"

She complied obediently, but said, "I'll expect proper coffee, you know-"

"Michael will make the coffee. Will that appease you?"

"I'm quite appeased. Thank you."

After a moment, Hayden said, "Do you really want to know why I brought you here?"

"Hmm?"

"It's my last resort, my last ditch try at making you see me the way you- Well, at making you see me for what's really there."

"Oh now, honestly."

"I am being honest."

"Not really. Not entirely. You've pursued me for years, but, Hayden, if we're being honest, then let's really be honest. It's only ever been because I was one of the lucky few to resist your charms."

"One of just two, actually," he murmured.

"See-"

"Perhaps in the beginning," he admitted. "But, darling, it's been rather a long time since the challenge alone was the attraction.

He leaned in and kissed her chastely, but lingering slightly longer than was strictly proper.

"Hayden!" someone called from down the beach, and he pulled away.

"Jane! Brian!" he said, waving at the couple walking toward them along the shoreline. The woman took off her straw hat and waved it back at him. "Come on, June," Hayden said, offering her a hand as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "Let's go be friendly. They're a bit earlier than expected, but we have company."

Hayden's cousin Brian and his new wife, a charming but almost shockingly young thing named Jane, were, luckily, rather delightful. After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room for coffee.

"I wasn't quite sure what to expect from Brian's cousin to be honest," Jane admitted, while June poured. "What I mean is-" She flushed a delicate pink.

"That he has a dreadful reputation? That he does, and it's almost entirely deserved." June handed over a cup and pushed the cream and sugar across the table. "But that's not the whole story of the man, not by quite a bit."

"Exactly!" Jane said. "He's rather nice-"

June smiled. "That he is."

"And he's quite clearly over the moon about you-"

June sighed. "He does have his moments."

Jane laughed. "I can't quite imagine being so blasé over the affections of a man that handsome, charming and rich- How exciting your life must be."

"Well, I've had my moments, too. But, honestly, Jane dear, it's not quite as romantic as you might think."

Jane stifled a yawn. "Oh, I'm sorry! You must think I'm frightfully dull."

"Not at all! Go collect your new husband, crawl into bed and make like spoons," June laughed.

Once the newlyweds had been safely packed off to bed, June went in search of Hayden but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and wandered out onto the terrace.

"Is that you, June darling?" said a voice from the darkness. Hayden was slumped against one of the ancient stone bracings, hands in his pockets. "It's only fair to warn you: I'm afraid I'm quite drunk."

"So you are," she said, coming over to lean against the stones as well. "Any particular reason?"

"Listening to Brian go on in the most disgustingly lovesick manner about the joys of matrimony... well, I'm afraid I started pouring and didn't stop until he did."

"It's your own fault for inviting a pair of newlyweds to join us on holiday."

"Maybe I was hoping Brian would give his speeches to you, not me."

"Well, that's rich. I've already accepted you once, and you changed your mind-"

"I'm waiting," he said, gazing at her seriously, "for the right answer. Not just a 'yes,' the right 'yes.'"

"Oh, Hayden. You're maddening sometimes."

"That, while true, is beside the point. Don't you see? There's never been another..." He stopped, casting around for the right words. "This isn't some passing fancy of mine. I can't risk... Oh, hell..."

He took her by the shoulders, pulled her closer, the palms of his hands warm against her skin.

"'My life has been the awaiting you, your footfall was my own heart's beat,'" he breathed into her ear.

It was ridiculous, of course: Hayden Fairborne spouting love poems. Another time, another place, she would have laughed at him.

All she managed, however, was, "Don't-"

"Don't? Don't what, my darling? Be honest?"

He kissed her, so hard she felt like she was falling. Whatever she'd expected in those occasional moments when she'd imagined what it might be like to kiss him, it wasn't this. He pulled away and left her breathless.

"Hayden-"

He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "I am an ass, aren't I? I'm sorry."

She wound her arms around his neck. "It's all right," she said, and it was.

*

The key weighed heavy in Albus's pocket for a full week before he found the strength to go in search of what it unlocked. He had his suspicions, of course. 'Remember the rules.' Jack was nothing if not consistent.

Albus first learned about the rules during the war, on their first little side trip into Albania and back. They'd been pinned down by stray gunfire in an abandoned fox hole somewhere outside Bucharest, Albus bleeding from a shrapnel wound and Jack armed only with a broken wand and a rusty automatic that kept jamming.

That was when Jack had shared his 'Rules to Live (Or at least live a bit longer) By.'

"How many rules are there exactly?" Albus had asked.

"Depends on how long we live. Right now? Eighteen and counting, and this is a Rule 18 situation if I've ever seen one."

The key, of course, was likely to be Rule #13 in action: Always have a Plan B, or at least an insurance policy.

Albus found the door that the key unlocked in a shabby flat not far from the Ministry. The key fit a cupboard off the cramped kitchenette, sealed tight and the cobwebs around it undisturbed. The flat had been rented under Jack's name, the rent paid up front for a full three years.

Albus flung the cupboard door wide.

What a hell of an insurance policy. It was all there: every book and scroll, every guess, every hunch, every treacherous word.

"It doesn't really matter," Jack had said when they started out, "if it's true. It only matters whether enough people think it's true."

Albus had believed, so had Metis and Tom. It had been irresistible to them, to Albus as a scholar and to Tom and Metis personally. Jack, though, had shrugged off the details, all the little clues, the historical implications. The consequences - the potential consequences - had been what mattered to Jack.

Albus should have listened to him.

*

"Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?"

"Just trust me."

"The last time I trusted you with a destination, I wound up on a camel."

"Ah, Marrakech. What a lovely little day trip." Hayden smiled as though savoring the memory. "Now stop asking, you'll ruin the surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"Nonsense, everyone likes surprises."

"I hope you're not going to make me climb up that dreadful rock again..."

"I can promise you that - today, at least - we aren't going rock climbing."

True to his word, there were no rocks to climb. On the other hand, though, there were the stairs.

"A lighthouse?"

"Not just any lighthouse! My lighthouse." He took her hand lightly in his and started up the narrow staircase. "I inherited it along with the rest of the property."

"Hayden," June said, trying to keep pace with him, "we're wizards. We don't need lighthouses."

"Nor do we need automobiles or stoves or those delicious silk stockings you wear, but wouldn't life be a bit more dull without them?"

"I suppose," she said, not feeling entirely convinced (though he did have a point about the stockings).

"Here we are," he said, and opened a small round door out onto the gallery walkway outside the tower.

A sudden wind swept up, whipping June's skirt around her legs. The cliff face fell away from the side of the tower at a dizzying height, whitecaps crashing onto the broken rocks beneath them.

"Oh, my," June said, and took an involuntary step back, feeling a sudden wave of vertigo.

"Are you all right?" Hayden took her hand again. "It is a bit thrilling the first you see it, I suppose." He put an arm around her waist. "Don't worry, darling. We won't get too close to the edge."

"It is rather lovely - just a bit shocking. It sort jumps right out at one, doesn't it?" She took a deep breath, closed her eyes then opened them. "Well, that's better." She let go of his hand, which she realized she'd been holding far too tightly. "So what's the story of your lighthouse? I suppose there was some tragic shipwreck, and on dark and stormy nights one can still see the captain's wife pacing the gallery..." There was an extended pause. "Hayden?"

He still didn't reply, and she glanced sidelong at him. He was gazing intently at her.

"Marry me?"

She tossed her hair out of her eyes and turned back to the view. "I thought you said you were going to stop asking that."

"I did stop," he paused, "until I thought there was a chance it might actually work."

"And now you do?"

He reached over and took her hand, looking away. "And now I do."

She took a long breath and held it for a moment, before saying, "If I say yes, nothing will ever be the same again..."

He still wouldn't quite look at her, but he said, "I'm willing to risk it."

"Well, then so I am."

He turned to face her, his brow still furrowed.

"That's not quite it yet, is it?" she said, watching his expression. "Your 'proper' yes?"

"Not quite."

"I do want to marry you," she said, and it was true. More true than maybe she'd realized before she said the words aloud. "Not because I'm running away or because it's convenient, but because you're the person who understands me best in the whole world. Because you're willing to take me as I am, and I do the same for you without question. So, yes. I do want to marry you because... I simply can't think of anyone I'd rather marry. I do-"

He cut her off, dropping her hand and kissing her. It wasn't quite as dizzying and unexpected as that first kiss had been, but she still found herself a little breathless.

"That's my girl," he said, smiling at her when they broke apart. "I promise I'll do my best not to make you regret it."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I know you will." He glanced sidelong at her, smiling. "I think I should get a bit of credit though. I mean, when I think of how I've pined away for you, afraid my love was doomed to go unrequited. Respecting your wishes, keeping silent. Oh, the self-denial! The resolve!"

"Your resolve lasted all of a month, Hayden," she pointed out.

He smiled at her, not looking contrite in the least. "Was it a whole month? I'm actually surprised I made it that long." He clasped her hand against his chest. "Where should we go to do this properly? Anywhere you want to go, my darling, anywhere in the world. Madrid, Paris, Milan... Milan, I think will do nicely. I've always rather liked the sound of that for the end of a story, 'And then they eloped to Milan...'"

"Isn't it usually, 'And then they lived happily ever after?'" she asked, amused.

"As though anyone actually believes that," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "I much prefer my version." She laughed, and he grabbed her other hand in his. "Just imagine the gossip, my darling. 'Always such a smart, sensible girl before she eloped to Milan with that scoundrel...' It has such a nice ring."

"All right, all right," she said. "Milan it is."

*

"My dear boy," Vivienne Fairborne said, one elegant hand to her head and the other already reaching for the decanter, "your protestations to the contrary, I truly do believe you will be the death of me."

"Now see here, Mater-" Hayden began.

"I am not finished." She poured herself a healthy brandy and then another for June, blatantly ignoring the third empty glass on the tray. "I always imagined the marriage of my only child would be an event that I would, at the very least, be invited to. "

Hayden reached out and poured his own drink.

"Not only that, but I envisioned an elegant church wedding, in the springtime, perhaps with your beautiful bride wearing my grandmother's Italian lace veil." She clasped June's hand. "I wore it at my own wedding to Hayden's father. It's quite lovely and would have suited you beautifully."

"Mother-" Hayden tried again to interject.

"But, instead of that lovely springtime church wedding, followed of course by a beautiful garden reception, what did I get? A postcard, from Milan. 'Dear Mother, the most extraordinary thing has happened. I'm a married man. I'm sure you are as shocked as I am. Am I right in supposing we have something in the family vault that would make a suitable wedding ring? Your Loving Son.'" She splashed another finger of brandy into her glass. "Absolutely unacceptable."

Hayden flinched.

"All of that said, of course," she smiled suddenly, taking June by the hand again, "welcome to the family, my dear. It's about time."

"Thank you, I think."

"The ring is rather decent, though," Hayden said, reaching out to touch the impressively large emerald on her ring finger. "Don't you think, my love?"

"It's a sweet little ring, I suppose." She rewarded him with a devastating smile.

"That's my girl."

"Well, at least you're well-suited," Vivienne said, flinging herself down rather dramatically onto a very nice settee and pressing her glass against her pale forehead as though she felt faint. "That makes it slightly easier to bear."

"Mater, dear, what can I do to make it up to you?"

June had the sense Hayden had walked right into Vivienne's trap, and she had a suspicion it wasn't for the first time.

"Oh I don't know." Out came a lovely monogrammed hanky. Vivienne fanned herself with it distractedly.

"Mother, tell me. I'll do anything."

"A party," she said, suddenly composed again.

"A what?"

"A proper wedding reception, with all the family, friends -- everyone who should have been there to witness the first wedding."

"Well, I don't know-" Hayden began, but broke off as Vivienne's expression began to change.

"It can't hurt," June said, jumping in to save the day. "If your mother wants to have a celebration for us, then why not? You are her only son, after all."

"Precisely!" Vivienne said, suddenly completely revived. "Oh, I'm so glad we're all agreed. Come here, my dear." She patted the seat beside her and June complied obediently. "You'll have to have something made, of course..."

"Of course. I'll see my dressmaker tomorrow."

"Nonsense. You can't wear anything made in London. We'll spend a week in Paris and purchase you a stunning gown, and a proper trousseau."

"Oh, that isn't necessary-" she began, but broke off when she caught Hayden's eye. His expression seemed to be saying, 'Now look what a fine mess you've gotten us into.'

*

Vivienne was as good as her word. Two days later they were in Paris and June was pinned into swaths of ivory silk satin.

"Oh my. It's going to be lovely." Vivienne clapped her hands together happily, surveying June's reflection in the mirror with approval.

Indeed it was.

"It is lovely, Vivienne. Thank you so much."

She waved the thanks away. "It's as much for me as it is for you to be honest, my dear."

"Well, I'm glad to have made you happy then," June said, with a hint of a smile.

"Oh, I am going to enjoy having you for a daughter-in-law, aren't I? You're quite sharp, and not afraid to speak your mind. I'm so glad Hayden didn't marry some silly little sheep for her money." She turned to the dressmaker. "The gold thread for the embroidery, please. I'm happy to pay extra, if necessary."

The dressmaker's assistant helped June out of the half-finished creation, and into her clothes.

"Would you like a café au lait, my dear?" Vivienne asked as they walked out into the misty Paris morning. "I suddenly have a panting thirst."

"Coffee sounds wonderful."

"Lovely. I know just the place." After a moment, she said, "I'm glad to see Hayden settled at last, you know. I've never been one of those women desperate to see her offspring married off, but..."

"I'm sure you just wanted him to be happy-"

"Yes, I suppose so." She took June's hand in hers and squeezed it as they walked. "Has Hayden told you much about his father?"

"A bit."

"But not too much, I imagine. He never really forgave his father for leaving us."

"But you understood."

"Only too well. I get the feeling you understand it yourself, you know."

"I understand what's it like to be young, to see what's happening in the world and feel you simply have to do something."

"Yes," Vivienne said, looking worlds away. "That's exactly what it felt like." A pause. "Laurence was so handsome, and quite charming." She smiled at the memory. "When I first met him, he was not what one would have called an ideal prospect for marriage. He was passionate, impetuous - a bit rash, honestly, but he felt things so deeply."

"Well, that certainly sounds familiar-"

"Not that Hayden would be happy to hear the comparison, of course, but he really is the image of his father in some ways. I suppose that's why I worried that he would never find some who suited him. Ah, here we are-" She paused at the entrance to a little café.

"Bon jour!" she said to the owner. "Emile, mon ami..."

The two chatted rapidly in French, and after a minute or two June gave up trying to follow the thread - her French was lousy anyway.

"This way, if you please, Madame Fairborne," Emile said, and it was a long moment before June realized he was speaking to her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It's all still a bit new, you see."

"Best wishes then, of course, Madame."

"Thank you."

"It does take some getting used to, you know," Vivienne said. "As far as I was concerned, Mrs. Fairborne was Laurence's dragon of a mother. Trust me, my dear, I'm little pink pussycat compared to Hayden's grandmother. She was quite the harridan, to tell you the truth."

"Somehow I suspect you were more than equal to the task..."

Vivienne smiled. "Nevertheless, becoming a wife is a bit like a caterpillar coming out of a cocoon. You're not changed in fundamentals, but your world will never quite be the same again. Marriage, my dear, is about understanding the other person and somehow managing the trick of loving them without losing yourself."

"That sounds so easy, doesn't it?"

"And there, my dear, lays the danger."

*

She left him.

She was, frankly, surprised at her own courage.

They were in the kingdom of Siam, a place Metis had wanted to visit ever since she was a very small girl and had a read a collection of adventure stories set in the king's grand palace in Bangkok. The reality of the place was even better. Maybe it was that memory, of herself in a time before Tom, before whatever it was she'd become with him, that gave her the strength to do it.

She walked out one day into the teeming marketplaces of the capital city and simply never went back.

She spent some time in the island provinces off the kingdom's coast. It was warm and lovely, with long stretches of pale sand beaches and warm, fresh breezes blowing in off the Indian Ocean. She walked the crowded streets, sampling noodles and sweets. She was uncharacteristically hungry, and everything tasted new and wonderful.

She avoided magic all together. She'd had her fill of spells and books and hidden charms. She only used what was necessary to keep her safe, to keep her alone.

She felt better, a little stronger, a little happier. But she'd thought that once away from Tom she would be completely whole again, that the fatigue, the dreams, the dizziness would ease. Even alone she couldn't quite shake the feeling of always falling down, down away from the world.

She stayed in Siam for a month, breathing deep in the salt air, before moving on. When she went, she had a far clearer view of what to do next.

*

The wedding party was splashed across the society pages, the gossip unavoidable.

"He is rather rich, I suppose," one of the younger teachers was saying to another over breakfast, while they both pretended not to look at Albus, "though he has the most dreadful reputation."

Hayden Fairborne smirked out at them from the pages of the Daily Prophet. The page was mercifully folded back so that June was hidden from view.

"I can't blame her really. Can you imagine being a professor's wife? Shut up here in the castle, or, worse, in some dreary shack in Hogsmeade. I'd run off to Milan with the nearest Casanova myself..."

"You might do anyway."

"Too true!"

Just barely resisting the urge to confiscate every copy of the paper in sight, Albus drained his coffee cup and stood up to leave. He got nearly halfway across the hall before he realized that he had a shadow.

"Oh, Albus..."

"Not now, Brionne."

"I am sorry, though," she said, looking genuinely so. "If you need tea and sympathy, you know where to find it. Or if you just need some crockery to smash, I've got quite a collection of that, too."

She really was a very good friend to him, and he often took her somewhat for granted.

"Thank you," he said. "I shouldn't have been surprised by the news. I just didn't think..." He shook his head.

"Get out of here." Off his expression, she said, "I mean it. Why stay around here through the weekend? There's nothing but empty hours to fill here. Go do something with yourself. It will help."

Not knowing quite what else to do, he went home.

His mother was out for the evening by the time he arrived, but he found his brother there. Aberforth was sitting in their father's study, a fire roaring in the hearth despite the season. He was wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, frowning at the newspaper, and for a very disconcerting moment Albus felt the he was a young boy again intruding on his father's privacy. Funny how, until this very moment, he hadn't really seen the resemblance.

"Hello, Aberforth," he said, hesitating in the doorway.

"I wondered if we'd be seeing you soon." Aberforth folded the paper and took off the spectacles, banishing the ghost of their father to the past where it belonged.

"So, she's finally gone and done it, then, has she?" Aberforth said, getting up and pouring two very hearty scotches from a bottle on the sideboard. "Poor old Albus. Come here and have a drink."

"How did you know that's why I was here?"

"Oh don't be daft. Where else would you go in times of trouble?" He waved the scotch in Albus's general direction.

Albus accepted the glass, but said, "It's not entirely her fault, you know."

"Nonsense." Aberforth tossed his scotch back in one gulp. "Of course, it is. You're heart-broken, old man. Get drunk, break the glassware, call her horrible names you'll rue tomorrow. It's your only chance to do it -- and if you don't, you'll regret it." He picked up the bottle and refilled both glasses. "Well, for your sake, I hope she feels damned rotten."

"I somewhat doubt that. I assume you've seen the society pages. She looks like she feels just fine."

"Hayden Fairborne is a good enough sort, but hardly the marrying kind." He patted Albus manfully on the shoulder. "I give it a year - eighteen months tops."

*

He found her in India, at the Kali temple in Dakshineshvara. She didn't seem surprised to see him there. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled slightly, a little sadly, as if he'd simply been there all along.

"I've been looking for you," Tom said.

"I thought you might," Metis said, finally turning to face him. She looked different, tired. Still beautiful, but altered somehow.

"I wasn't sure whether you wanted to be found." He paused. "You went so far away."

She simply shrugged. "I've been searching, too."

"For me?"

"No," she said. "For me."

"What did you find?"

"Just you. Just another part of you."

They stayed there awhile, and when he left she went with him. Things went back to the way they'd always been. It was familiar, and he liked that.

India, though, was both everything he'd imagined and not at all what he expected. He learned many things there. He learned to control his consciousness, he learned not to feel pain, he learned to begin to see the patterns of another's thoughts. It fascinated him.

He also showed Metis all the things he learned in the few months they'd been apart.

She humored him, but without much enthusiasm. She was dimmed somehow, dulled, slower than he remembered. He watched her closely, trying to understand what had changed. She even moved more slowly, taking careful steps, needing his hand to help her up stairs and across streets.

"You're different," he said finally, tired of waiting for her to explain on her own.

"I suppose I am." She sighed slightly. "I'm going to have a baby."

"Are you?" His gazed flicked over her with something like interest. He found he didn't mind this news as much as he once might have. A child would bind her to him, keep her with him awhile longer. He knew, he'd accepted, that he was going to lose her someday - one way or another. But he wasn't prepared to let her go yet. He wanted to hold on, to be what they'd been for awhile longer.

He wasn't ready, yet, to be alone.

"When did this happen?"

"In Jakarta, I suppose. I didn't realize it until quite a bit later though. I suppose maybe I didn't want to know."

It made sense, suddenly, why Metis had gone to seek out Kali. He'd wondered. It hadn't seemed like her at all. But now that he knew about the child, well... Kali was the mother of the world, a power that could both give life and take it away.

She'd been trying, he reflected, to make a decision.