Even as she started to yield-what was an hour or two when you were in love-Gage came out of the front door. "Sorry." He glanced at Fox, c.o.c.ked his head. Fox nodded.

"How do the two of you manage to have a conversation without speaking?" Layla wondered as Gage strode down to his car.

"Probably has something to do with knowing each other since birth. I'm going to ride with him." Fox caught her face in his hands. "Tomorrow night."

"Yes. Tomorrow night." "I love you." He kissed her again. "d.a.m.n it, I've gotta go." And again.

"Tomorrow."

When he walked to the car, his mind was too full of her for him to notice the dark cloud that smothered the moon.

LEAVE IT TO QUINN, LAYLA THOUGHT, TO FIND the perfect bridal boutique. Every minute of the two-and-a-half-hour drive had been worth it once they'd arrived at the charming three-story Victorian house with its stunning gardens. Layla's retailer's eye noted the details-the color schemes, the decor, the fussily female sitting areas, the oh-so- flattering lighting.

And the stock. Displays of gowns, shoes, headdresses, underpinnings, all so creatively contrived, made Layla feel as if she wandered along a wedding cake, with all its froth and elegance.

"Too many choices. Too many. I'm going to choke." Quinn gripped Cybil's arm.

"You're not. We've got all day. G.o.d, have you ever seen so much white? It's a blizzard of tulle, a winter forest of shantung."

"Well, there's white, and ivory, cream, champagne, ecru," Layla began.

"I'd go for the white with your coloring, Quinn. You can pull it off."

"You pick one. That's what you do-did-right?" Quinn rubbed a hand over her throat. "Why am I so nervous?"

"Because you only get married the first time once."

Quinn poked at Cybil and laughed. "Shut up. Okay." She took a steadying breath. "Natalie's setting up the dressing room," she said, referring to the shop's manager. "I'll try on what she's picked out. But we're all going to pick at least one gown each. And we have to vow to be honest. If the gown sucks on me, we say so. Everybody, spread out.

Dressing room, twenty minutes."

"You'll know yours when you see yourself in it. That's the way it works." But Layla wandered off.

She looked at lace, silk, satin, beads. She studied lines and trains and necklines. As she stood, eyeing a gown, visualizing Quinn in it, Natalie bustled over. Her cap of salt-and-pepper hair suited her gamine face. Small, black- framed gla.s.ses set it off. She was tiny and trim in a dark suit Layla imagined she chose to contrast rather than blend with the gowns.

"Quinn's ready, but doesn't want to start without you. We've got six gowns to start."

"I wonder if we can add this one."

"Of course, I'll take care of it."

"How long have you been in business?"

"My partner and I opened four years ago. I managed a bridal boutique in New York for several years before relocating."

"Really? Where?"

"I Do, Upper East Side."

"Terrific place. A friend of mine bought her gown there just a few years ago. I live-lived-" Which was it? Layla wondered. "Um, in New York. I managed a boutique downtown. Urbania."

"I know that store." Natalie beamed. "Small world."

"It is. Can I ask what made you leave I Do and New York, open here?"

"Oh, Julie and I talked about it endlessly over the years. We've been friends since our college days. She found this place, called me and said, 'Nat, this is it.' She was right. I thought she was crazy. I thought I was crazy, but she was right." Natalie angled her head. "Do you know what it's like when you find the customer exactly what she wants- exactly what's right. The look on her face, the tone in her voice?"

"Yes, I do."

"Triple it when it's your own place. Should I take you to the dressing room?"

"Yes, thanks."

There was tea in delicate china cups in a s.p.a.cious room with a tall triple mirror and chairs with needlepoint cushions. Paper -thin cookies waited on a silver tray while blush pink lilies and white roses scented the air.

Layla sat, sipped, while Quinn worked her way through the selections.

"It doesn't suck." Cybil pursed her lips as Quinn turned in front of the mirror. "But it's too fussy for you. Too much ..." She circled her hand.

"Poof," she decided.

"I like the beadwork. It's all sparkly." "No," was all Layla said, and Quinn sighed.

"Next."

"Better," Cybil decided. "And I'm not just saying that because it's the one I picked out. But if we're considering this the most important dress of your life, it's still not ringing the bell. I think it's too dignified-not quite enough fun."

"But I look so elegant." Quinn turned, her eyes shining as she watched herself in the triple gla.s.s. "Almost, I don't know, regal. Layla?"

"You can carry it with your height and build, and the lines are cla.s.sic.

No."

"But-" Quinn blew out a breath that vibrated her lips.

After two more tries and rejections, Quinn took a tea break in her bra and panties. "Maybe we should elope. We could go to Vegas, have an Elvis impersonator marry us. That could be fun."

"Your mother would kill you," Cybil reminded her as she broke one of the delicate cookies in two and offered Quinn half. "So would Frannie,"

she added, referring to Cal's mother.

"Maybe I'm just not built for the gown kind of thing. Maybe a c.o.c.ktail dress is a better idea. We don't have to go so formal and fussy," she said as she set down the tea and picked another gown at random. "This skirt is probably going to make my a.s.s look ten feet square." Her glance at Layla was apologetic. "Sorry, this one's your pick."

"It's your pick that counts. It's ruching-called a pickup skirt," Layla explained.

"Or we could just go for completely casual, a backyard wedding and reception. All this is just trappings." She spoke to Cybil as Layla helped her into the dress. "I love Cal. I want to marry Cal. I want the day to be a celebration of that, of what we are to each other, and to what the six of us have accomplished. I want it to symbolize our commitment, and our happiness, with a kick-a.s.s party. I mean, for G.o.d's sake, with all we've faced, and are going to face, one stupid dress doesn't mean a thing."

As Layla stepped back, she turned around. "Oh my G.o.d." Breathless, she stared at herself. The heart-shaped bodice of the strapless gown showed off strong, toned shoulders and arms, and glittered with a sprinkle of cut-gla.s.s beads. The skirt fell from a trim waist in soft ruches of taffeta accented with pearls.

With her fingertips, Quinn touched the skirt very lightly "Cyb?"

"Well, G.o.d." Cybil knuckled a tear away. "I didn't expect to react this way. Jesus, Q, it's perfect. You're perfect."

"Please tell me it doesn't make my a.s.s look ten feet square. Lie if you must."

"Your a.s.s looks great. d.a.m.n, I need a tissue."

"Remember everything I just said about the dress and the trappings not being important? Now forget I said any of that. Layla." Quinn closed her eyes, crossed her fingers. "What do you think?"

"I don't have to tell you. You know it's yours."

SPRING BROUGHT COLOR TO THE HOLLOW WITH greening willows reflected in the pond at the park, with the redbuds and wild dogwoods blooming in the woods, along the roadsides. The days lengthened and warmed in a teasing preview of the summer to come.

With spring, porches gleamed with fresh paint and gardens shot out a riot of blooms. Lawnmowers hummed and buzzed until the smell of freshly cut gra.s.s sweetened the air. Kids played baseball, and men cleaned their barbecue grills.

And with spring, the dreams came harder.

Fox woke in a cold sweat. He could still smell the blood, the h.e.l.lsmoke, the charred bodies of the doomed and d.a.m.ned. His throat throbbed from the shouts that had ripped out of him in dreams. Running, he thought, he'd been running. His lungs still burned from the effort, and his heart still drummed. He'd been running through the deserted streets of the Hollow, flaming buildings around him, as he tried to reach Layla before she ...

He reached over; found her gone.

He leaped out of bed, snagging a pair of boxers on the run. He called out for her, but he knew-before he saw the door standing open, he knew where her own dream lured her.

He was out the door, into the cool spring night, and running, just as he'd run in the dream. Bare feet slapping in a wild tattoo on brick, asphalt, gra.s.s. Fetid smoke hazed the deserted streets, stinging his eyes, scoring his throat. All around him, buildings roared with flame. Not real, he told himself. The fires were lies, but the danger was real. Even as the heat scorched his skin, as it seemed to burn up through the bricks to sear his feet, he ran.

His heart hammered even when he saw her, walking through the false flames. She glided through the smoke, like a wraith, the mad lights from the fires rippling over her body. He called, but she didn't turn, didn't stop. When he caught her, yanked her around to face him, her eyes were blind.

"Layla." He shook her. "Wake up. What are you doing?"

"I am d.a.m.ned." She almost sang it, and her smile was tortured. "We are all of us d.a.m.ned."

"Come on. Come home."

"No. No. I am the Mother of Death."

"Layla. You're Layla." He tried to push himself into the haze of her mind, and found only Hester's madness. "Come back." Chaining down his own panic, he tightened his grip. "Layla, come back." As she fought to break free, he simply locked his arms around her. "I love you. Layla, I love you." Holding tight, he drowned everything else, fear, rage, pain, with love.

In his arms, she went limp, then began to shudder. "Fox."

"It's okay. It's not real. I've got you. I'm real. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I can't think. Are we dreaming?"

"Not anymore. We're going to go back. We're going to get inside." He kept an arm firmly around her waist as he turned.

The boy skimmed along the fire. He rode it as a human child might a skateboard, with glee and delight while his dark hair flew in the wild wind. As the rage rolled into Fox, he poised to spring.

"Don't." Her voice was thick with exhaustion as Layla leaned her weight against Fox. "It wants you to, it wants to separate us. I think we're stronger together, holding on to each other."

Death for one, life for the other. I'll drink your blood, boy, then plant my young in your human b.i.t.c.h.

"Don't!" This time Layla had to lock her arms around Fox's neck to keep him from rushing forward. She pushed her thoughts into his head. We can't win here. Stay with me. You have to stay with me. "Don't leave me," she said aloud.

It was brutal, walking away, struggling to ignore the filth the thing hurled at them. To continue to walk as the boy whipped around them in circles, taunting, howling as it flew on its skate of flame. But as they walked, the fires sputtered. By the time they climbed the steps to his apartment, the night was clear and cool again, and carried only the dying hint of brimstone.

"You're cold. Let's get back in bed."

"I just need to sit." She lowered to a chair, and helpless to do otherwise, let the trembling take her. "How did you find me?"

"I dreamed it. Running across town, the fire, all of it." To warm her, he grabbed the throw his mother had made him off the couch, spread it over Layla's bare legs. "To the park, to the pond. But in the dream, I was too late. You were dead when I pulled you out of the water."

She reached for his hands, found them as icy as hers. "I need to tell you.

It was like back in New York, when I dreamed it raped me. When I dreamed I was Hester, and how it raped me. I wanted it to stop, to end. I was going to kill myself, drown myself. She was. I couldn't stop her. It had my mind."

"It doesn't have it now."

"It's stronger. You felt that. You know that. Fox, it nearly made me kill myself. If it's strong enough to do that, if we're not immune-Quinn, Cybil, and I-it could make us hurt you. It could make me kill you."

"No."

"d.a.m.n it, what if he had made me go into the kitchen, get a knife, and stab it into your heart? If it can take us over when we sleep then-"

"If it could have infected you that way, to kill me, it would have. Offing me or Cal or Gage, that's its number one. You come from it and Hester, so it used Hester against you. Otherwise, I'd be dead with a knife in my heart, and you'd be going under for the third time in the pond. You've got a logical mind, Layla. That's logical."

She nodded, and though she struggled, the first tears escaped. "It raped me. I know it wasn't me, I know it wasn't real, but I felt it. Clawing at me. Ramming inside me. Fox." As she broke, he gathered her in, gathered her up. There was no h.e.l.l dark enough, he thought, cradling her in his lap, rocking her as she sobbed.

"I couldn't scream," she managed, and pressed her face to the plane of his shoulder. "I couldn't stop it. Then I didn't care, or couldn't. It was Hester. She just wanted to end it."

"Do you want me to call Quinn and Cybil? Would you rather-"

"No. No."

"It used that. The shock, the trauma, to push your will down." He brushed at her hair. "We won't let it happen again. I won't let him touch you again." He lifted her face, brushed at her tears with his thumbs. "I swear to you, Layla, whatever has to be done, he won't touch you again."

"You found me, before I found myself." She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes. "We won't let it happen again."

"In a few days, we'll take the next step. We're not going through this to lose. And when we end this thing, you'll be part of that. You'll be part of what ends it."

"I want it to hurt." On that realization, her voice strengthened. "I want it to scream, the way I was screaming in my head." When she opened her eyes again, they were clear. "I wish there was a way we could lock him out of our heads. Like garlic with vampires. That sounds stupid."

"It sounds good to me. Maybe our research ace can come up with something."

"Maybe. I need to take a shower. That sounds stupid, too, but-"

"No, it doesn't."

"Will you talk to me while I do? Just talk?"