“Yes, to you. They are choosing tostay hidden. The children would not survive if they stayed with them.” Althoughshe was the younger of the two, Angelica’s voice took on a stern maternalquality that showed her desire to protect the two infants fiercely.

“And you suppose they will surviveif they stay with me?” Amory’s voice did not lose the sweet, soft tone, but hisquestion was valid.

“They have to. This is a miracle,Amory, an unbelievable miracle. They have to survive for the sake of ourpeople,” Angelica stood, walking to Amory and putting her free hand against hisface.

Amory looked deeply into Angelica’slavender eyes and knew that she was right. The hope he had lost so many yearsago was suddenly ignited again by these two seemingly impossible infants. Thechildren continued to sleep in their arms, but made little noises only newbornbabies did, oblivious to their surroundings, innocent of the world they wereentering.

“Then we cannot keep them together,Annie. They cannot have anything to do with each other if we hope to keep themalive.” Amory looked back at the little girl, already the spitting image of hermother. She opened her eyes at the sound of his louder voice and gazed up athim. She did not cry; she only stared back at the man now responsible for herfuture.

“Agreed,” Angelica nodded withresolve. “Then we will leave now.”

She covered the little boy againwith his blue, fleece blanket and leaned over to kiss the girl on the forehead.The baby lifted her mouth to the human contact, looking for a bottle.

“I don’t think I remember how to dothis,” Amory was suddenly swept with a different kind of fear as he realizedthe child, although necessary to the cause recalled in the old man’s mind, hadneeds of her own; needs that a lonely bachelor was extremely ill-equipped toprovide for.

“I have no doubt that you’ll figureit out,” Angelica reached for Amory’s face again, offering an encouraging smilebefore kissing him on the lips.

“Where will you go?” he asked heras she walked towards the front door, that she had only just entered.

“Not home,” she said sadly. “You?”

“I have no choice but to stayhere,” Amory said with all the malice he was capable of.

“Then what will you do with thechild?” The fear in Angelica’s voice was unmistakable. She had made a choice inbringing the children to Amory, and it was too late to change her mind, butregret flooded her veins when she realized the danger she had put all of themin.

“I have a dear friend here thatwill help me, a human friend. She is young but immeasurably smart and capable.”A sly grin crossed Amory’s face; he felt confident in his plan.

“Ah. You mean she is in love withyou,” Angelica watched the embarrassment color her friend’s face, but he didn’trespond; no matter how long the man lived, he stayed humble and private. “Iwill contact you when we have settled somewhere.”

She turned to leave, opening thedoor and looking out across the deserted neighborhood street.

“Angelica, these children are ouronly hope,” Amory said quickly with more passion than he had felt inalmost a century.

“I know,” she replied withdetermination.

“Annie, wait. Please know,” hisvoice broke with emotion, “please know what they mean to me.”

“I know that too,” Angelica didknow, but it was with a sadder determination that she responded.

The man watched his friendcarefully load the child back into the black sedan. Their departure wasbittersweet, tearing at his determination to keep these children alive underany circumstance and his unwillingness to ever be separated from them again.

If this plan, this plan of survivalborn in the midnight hours were to work, his resolve would have to be strong.Magic swirled around him, as he watched her twin brother be driven away tosafety, not knowing when the next time the siblings would meet.

He looked down at the little girl,wrapped in pink and sleeping again and smiled. There was hope again for hispeople. There was something worth living for, worth fighting for. And she wasthe key to it all. She just didn’t know it yet.

Chapter One

“Well, here we go,” I said softlyto myself. I took a big breath and stepped out of the car. I gave a cautiouswave to Aunt Syl as I watched her drive away. She waved back enthusiastically.I felt anything but encouraged.

I had to go to school, right? I didnot have a choice. I was pretty sure it was against the law not to go…. I triedto think of other reasons to postpone the inevitable but came up empty handed.Social suicide…. I was well on my way.

I cringed inwardly, knowing Ilooked like a hot mess. I could feel my tan skin, turning translucent withnerves, and my unruly, dark hair, tangled and wild as I stood too long in thewind. It whipped around my face in the hot, humid breeze, partially blockingthe impending view from sight. I brushed my hair out of my face, but it refusedto obey and with another gust of unbearably hot August air, I was forced towalk forward to maintain my sight.

I felt sick and nauseous; I waspractically on the verge of puking. I closed my eyes for several seconds andthen opened them again, hoping I’d be someplace else, any place else. But I wasright where I was supposed to be: staring up at my new school. The tall,ominous buildings clustering together, stared back. Their dark, red bricklaughed at me silently, daring me to run away. The central tower, with itsgolden bell, and deep sweet chimes taunted me, mocked me.

Ok, maybe I was being a little overdramatic, but school had never been my, um, thing. It could have been because Iwas a complete social spaz; or it could have been because this was my fourthschool in two years. Either way, I always seemed to have trouble adjusting toteenage normalcy.

Kingsley Preparatory Academy was alast resort of sorts. Well, really, it was the last prep school that would takeme; God forbid I would attend public school. As the niece and only survivingrelative of my aunt, the doctor, I was destined for a higher education.

If only I could have gone sixmonths without being expelled. Kingsley was the last prep school in Omaha thathad given me a chance, and that was only after a very generous contributionfrom my aunt and a promise from me that I wouldn’t burn it to the ground.Although I harbored no ill will for the school itself, I was not sure if Icould keep my promise.

Not that I would burn it down onpurpose, but that kind of stuff just happened to me. The burning down ofschools, the flooding of schools, and the infestation of huge, tropical insectsof schools…. All fell into the category of been there, done that. It’s not likeI ever did it on purpose; it all just sort of happened.

So after another deep breath, Ibegan my death march to the top of the hill and the large, brass, double doorsthat led into the Administration Building. The doors slammed shut behind me,making me almost jump out of my skin. The lobby was dimly lit; it took a whilefor my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside.

Kingsley was immaculate; beautifulmarble floors and elaborate lighted sconces filled the lobby. An intricate,crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and gave the room a warm glow thatreminded me of dusk rather than 8:00 AM. Plush, crimson divans lined the lobby,and oil paintings of elderly people adorned the walls. I reminded myself thatthis was a school building and not the sitting room to a luxurious Victorianhome.

I forced my feet forward andadjusted my backpack straps. I stopped to fiddle with my uniform, afraid tomake the wrong first impression. The front counter, located directly on theother side of the lobby was crafted from a beautiful wood, probably mahogany,that expanded the width of the room and stood elbow-high. I walked the rest ofthe way tentatively, as this was like no other school building I had ever beenin, and I’d had my fair share of experience.