phoenix5c2

When the Phoenix Sings ~ 5
           Fire. He couldn't remember how it had started, or when he had first discovered it. But it was everywhere. Flames licked at his legs, and a burning board fell across his shoulders, threatening to drag him down into the midst of the inferno. But he couldn't stop.
     There was something else in the fire...something which must be saved...something worth dying for. The flames snatched away his breath, whipping across his face, blinding him in their fury, and he felt the nearness of his own death. But then suddenly he sensed the full value of that unknown thing. It was priceless. A thing worth more than his death. It was something worth living for.      Suddenly he wasn't alone, but his unknown companion's face was hidden by the heat and flames...then everything exploded in a white-hot brilliance.
          "No!"
          Vincent sat up, trembling violently, blinking at the sight of his own chamber. The dream did not fade with the dawning of reality. If anything, its horror became even more vivid as he pushed himself out of his bed and stood staring into the familiar darkness. Every detail of the dream remained with him, every sound, every smell...the raging heat which had filled his lungs and turned each breath into agony. And the absolute certainty that he was about to lose something which was more precious to him than life itself.
          "Catherine." Her name was never far from his thoughts, and now it sprung to his lips. Frantically he searched their bond, seeking any evidence that Catherine was in danger. He felt her presence... she was asleep in her apartment, and if she was in peril, she was unaware of it.
          Fighting to control his panic, he jerked on his boots and snatched up his cloak, pulling it on over the soft flannel sweatsuit which had been a gift from Catherine.
          If Catherine's apartment was on fire...
          He fled through the tunnels with a speed born of urgent terror.
          Her balcony was quiet...dark and peaceful. The only sounds were the distant murmur of the city streets and the pounding of his own heart. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he strode purposefully to the glass doors of her bedroom. The dim light within revealed the outline of Catherine's form beneath the covers of her bed. Wisps and bits of her pleasant dreams drifted to him through their bond.
          He sniffed the air, listening, trying to detect any evidence of smoke or other danger. There was nothing.
          Vincent's nearness must have sent his concern to Catherine through their bond. Almost immediately she rolled over and sat up. Throwing off her covers, she came to the door and flung it open, stepping out onto the balcony.
          "Vincent, what is it?"
          He gazed down at her, assuring himself that she was safe and well. Then he took her in his arms, enfolding her, allowing intense relief to calm his racing heart as he rested his face against her hair.
          "You're trembling." Catherine pulled back, looking up at him. "Is something wrong Below?" Suddenly she gasped at the impact of a new thought. Father. He had been resting comfortably, but... "Vincent, is Father all right?" It had been a week since Father's accident, and Father's condition had improved greatly. But for the past three days, late evening work had prevented her from going Below, and now she suddenly remembered Peter's caution about the possibility of a blood
clot.
          Vincent shook his head. "Father is well. Mary is asleep in his study."
          As she pressed herself against his chest, she became aware that he was wearing nothing more than his sleeping clothes. Something serious must have happened to bring him out in the middle of the night partially clothed.
          Without giving him the opportunity to object, she separated the curtains behind her and led him inside, quickly closing the door.
          Although Vincent had entered her apartment on cold nights, using the doors in the dining nook, this was the first time he had come in through the bedroom doors. He stood, his great dark form silently silhouetted by the winter sky behind him, staring at her as if he were afraid she would vanish.
          "I'm sorry. It's late..." He was still far from comfortable inside her home.
          "Vincent." She had learned that if she ignored his hesitancies they would soon pass.
          She embraced him again, inhaling his fragrance...savoring the smell of leather, wool, and candles. But then she frowned slightly. There was something else...an indefinable scent that clashed with the others.
          He trembled again, and she asked, "Tell me what has happened."
          Vincent's face darkened with the returning shadow of his fear. "It was a dream."
          She looked up at him, feeling his fear. Vincent was capable of dreaming on many levels. Sometimes he dreamed just as any man would. Sometimes the bond allowed Catherine to share his delightful dreams of sunshine   and togetherness. Other times the dreams were foreboding
     nightmares...and at the very worst, Vincent's dreams became genuine prophecies of dark and fearsome events.
          Catherine knew that his dreams were never to be taken lightly. "Come sit down." She led him through the bedroom toward the living room where she turned on a small lamp. She tried to guide him to the couch, but he resisted.
          "Catherine, I can't stay." He spoke with a quiet rasp.
          She looked into his eyes and knew he was not being merely sensitive or shy. There was truly a reason why he couldn't stay.
          Matching the softness of his voice, she stood with her hands resting on his chest. "It must have been a frightening dream."
          He nodded. "It was."
          Silently, she waited, giving him time to focus on the things he needed to tell her.
          "I dreamed of a fire, Catherine. A terrible fire..."
          "In the tunnels?"
          "No," he shook his head in uncertainty. "Maybe."   He paused, "I don't know. I can't remember how it started or where it was...but it was all around me, everywhere...I was terribly afraid." He paused again. "There was no place to go, and I knew I was going to die."
          Catherine shuddered, silently waiting for him to continue.
          "But it was not my own death that I feared."
          His arms tightened around her as she buried her face firmly against his fleecy shirt, her fingers finding the suede pouch which always hung from his neck. Through the soft leather she felt the outline of her mother's ivory rose.
          Vincent continued, "Something else was in great danger...something important to me and very precious." He released his breath into her hair. "I thought it was you, Catherine."
          She lifted her face, bringing her lips only inches from his.
          He continued hoarsely, "I tried to make my way through the fire, but it was too late. There was nothing I could do..." His voice faltered, and he fell silent.
          "And then you woke up."
          He nodded. "It was so real, I thought..."
          "But as soon as you were awake, you must have known I was all right."
          With a sigh he murmured, "Catherine, I can know only what you know. You are not always aware of the dangers which threaten you."
          She smiled gently. "Did you think I would go on sleeping soundly while the building burned down around my bed?"
          Catherine wasn't certain why he lowered his head. She knew only that the action brought his lips even closer to her own.
          The urgency and fear had left Vincent's eyes, but he seemed suddenly breathless again.
          Rarely did she have the opportunity to see his eyes in full light.
     She saw them now, brilliant, sapphire eyes...more exotic by far than his leonine nose or the cleft in his upper lip.
          Slowly her gaze moved to the softness of that remarkable lip. She traced it in her thoughts, remembering the feel of it, the taste which lingered long after each kiss...like the taste of ice cold well water on a hot day. Or the tart sweetness of hot cider at the end of a long walk in the snow.
          When he spoke, it was in answer to a question she no longer remembered asking.
          "Catherine, recently I have found that there are moments...in your presence...when I find it difficult to think at all."
          She smiled, pleased that she had the power to rattle his thoughts, and very aware of the responsibility which came with that power. And suddenly it became absolutely essential that she kiss him.
          Perhaps she made the first gesture, or maybe he anticipated it. Either way, his lips descended even as hers lifted...and they met in a shared warmth -- softly beckoning with a promise of pleasures and joys waiting to be claimed.
          Then his arms were around her, encompassing her, until it seemed that she floated in that remarkable space between her world and his...creating a new place which belonged to them alone. Breathlessly -- with her lips still against his -- she whispered his name across their bond, and he answered with her own name in return. And she saw all that her name meant to him...all the beauty and color which gave the radiance of sunshine to his life Below.
          Below. The word seemed to vibrate in her mind.
          Slowly she emerged from the kiss, and her thoughts raced across a familiar dream which had recently begun to evolve into a conviction.
          Below. It echoed again.
          Maybe the idea had started at the time of her father's death, or maybe it had existed since the beginning of time. But she knew that it had developed far beyond a wistful dream. And maybe, deep within the barriers he had erected around his differentness, Vincent knew it too.
          Perhaps there could be no place for him in her world, but slowly and purposefully she had begun creating a place for her in his, Below.
          For long moments she was caught up in his embrace, but finally she again felt the world beneath her feet, and reality returned. His arms still held her, but Vincent was pulling back mentally, freeing her, one silken tie at a time. Resisting the knowledge that he was not going to stay, she murmured regretfully, "Why do you have to go?"
          His fingers came up to her face, gently lifting her chin until her eyes met his. "Catherine, my dreams...should not be ignored." For an instant she was uncertain which dreams he was talking about, but then she remembered the nightmare.
          His voice continued. It was tentative, as if speech was a difficult and elusive task.   "Now that I know you are safe, I need to go home. There's a possibility that the danger exists in the tunnels," he paused, "and if a fire should threaten Father's study..."
           Allowing him to pull away from her, she nodded. "I understand."
           The moment was lost...for now. "How are things between Father and Mouse?" she asked.
          Vincent shook his head slightly. "Mouse insists that he's going to replace Father's book.   He's practically dismissed the importance of the incident. Father, on the other hand, spends most of his wakeful time mourning the loss...with his moods swinging between sorrow and rage." He paused, "Father has never been known to be a good patient. He's very unhappy about spending several weeks in bed."
          Catherine nodded. "I thought about that. He's going to need help passing the hours." She smiled. "And I believe I have a good idea. Tell Father I'll come tomorrow evening...when I get off work. I have something for him."
          He tilted his head. "You brought gifts for the children just a few days ago."
          "I know." She noticed that he still held her hand. "But this is for Father. Something that will help pass the time."
          With a nod, Vincent turned toward the balcony door, leading her up the step, stopping near the glass. Together, they looked out across the park where the lights were flickering in the winter air.
          "It's snowing again." Catherine leaned against his broad shoulder. "It will be slick outside. Be careful."
          He looked down at her. "I'll wait for you tomorrow evening." And then more solemnly he added, "Catherine, you must also take care. My dream was so vivid...perhaps it was nothing, but..."
          "I'll be careful."
          He kissed her again, briefly, tenderly. And then he was gone into the pale gleam of the snowy night.
          Catherine pulled the door closed and turned back into the room. For a moment she stood in silence. Then she switched off the lamp and entered her bedroom. Vincent's scent still hung in the warm air, proof that he had been there.
          Leather and wool and candle wax. It was then that she remembered the other scent...the one that didn't belong. In his presence, she had been almost too entranced to notice. But now she knew.
          Last year -- driving through the Village -- she'd been stalled in traffic while an old building burned to the ground. The stench of smoke had clung to the inside of her car for days.
          That very same smell now hung in her bedroom. In the midst of leather and wool and candle wax, the smell in Vincent's hair had been...smoke.