The boy worked his way through the brush to the horses. One man was tending them. He moved silently behind the man and again slit his throat. His killing was so efficient the horses barely stirred.

The boy returned to his own horse and removed the longbow he had stored there. He strapped the quiver of arrows to his back and returned to the clearing. No one seemed to notice the two missing men.

The boy scaled a tree so he had a clear view of the encampment. He thought he could get off two, maybe three arrows before the alarm was sounded. He would try and pick off as many of the band as possible, then chase them down as they fled in the confusion.

The boy braced his back against the tree. It took tremendous strength to draw the string on his bow, but it seemed effortless to him. He closed one eye, and aimed for two men standing closely together.

The arrow sped through the air, making its distinctive flitting noise. It flew true and with such force that, not only did it pierce the first man, it continued forward and impaled the second man. The two soldiers were pinned chest-to-chest, forced to look into the dying eyes of one another with little more than confusion on their faces.

The boy was already fitting another arrow to the bow, and as the men tried to make sense of the sudden, deadly embrace of their comrades, another fell, his chest exploding into crimson before his eyes.

Instinct kicked in as the men began to run for cover, trying to identify their a.s.sailants. But the boy was fitting another deadly missile and another fell before he could reach cover.

The boy slid down the trunk of the tree, knowing the men would run for their horses. He was there before them, and another arrow flew, knocking a man from the horse he had just mounted. This spooked the horses as they began to run away.

The boy gave a fierce cry and charged, his sword drawn. The man nearest him was so startled he could barely get his sword from his sheath. It did him no good as the boy knocked the sword from his hand and ran the man through.

Three of the men ran in terror, disappearing into the forest. The boy let them go, his eyes searching for the one called Derek. Another man charged him and the boy blocked his sword thrust, locking the two hilts together. He pulled the man's own dagger from his belt and thrust it into his stomach. He crumpled to the ground.

The boy sensed a presence behind him and instinctively ducked. The sword whistled through the air above his head. He head-b.u.t.ted the figure behind him and it stumbled backward.

Derek was furious. "You arrogant little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I should have known it was you, hiding in the forest like a coward."

The boy was also furious. "Oh, and was it so manly to attack a defenseless village?"

Derek smiled cruelly. "Yes, we did accomplish some manly deeds there."

The boy remembered the body of the young girl and attacked in fury. Derek parried the boy's blows, but not easily. It was obvious he was astounded by the boy's strength, which appeared to anger him even further.

"Victor believes you to be special, but I don't think so."

The boy smashed his sword down. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said through clenched teeth, "nor do I care."

The boy smashed Derek's sword out of his hand and in a tremendous blast of fury, drove his sword into his midsection clear to the hilt. Disbelief was on Derek's face as he sunk to his knees, grasping the hilt of the sword.

The boy stared down at Derek, his fury unabated. He didn't want to simply kill Derek; he wanted to utterly destroy him.

Derek coughed blood, still clutching the sword handle. He had difficulty speaking, but he choked out his last words.

"It doesn't matter, boy. It doesn't matter." Derek coughed again, and this time the blood came up black. He looked up and the boy saw a deep bitterness in Derek's eyes. "h.e.l.l will wait for you, anyway."

Derek died.

The unexplainable bitterness Derek held for him and his strange last words finally cooled the boy's fury. He pulled his sword from the dead man and wiped it on his tunic. He resheathed it and staggered back to his horse.

His fatigue finally overcame him. He pulled himself onto his horse and laid down on the beast's neck. The animal sensed its master's exhaustion and quietly picked its way through the forest.

The boy was shaken awake and sat upright on his horse. A rosy-cheeked farmer was gently pulling on his leg.

"Are you all right, boy?"

The boy nodded, trying to shake his exhaustion. It was no use and he nearly fell off his horse. The farmer caught him halfway down. The farmer was joined by his equally rosy-cheeked wife, who helped the boy to their wagon.

"Would you be wanting a ride for a ways?"

The boy had a natural distrust of anyone who would do a good deed without compensation, but his exhaustion was too great. He nodded dumbly, not even bothering to ask where the two were going. It no longer mattered to him.

The farmer tied the boy's horse to the rear of the wagon, and the horse began to happily munch on the hay there. The farmer's wife helped the lad into the bed of the wagon and he collapsed into the heap of warm hay. The farmer's wife clucked to herself and covered him with a heavy wool blanket. The boy was too tired even to thank her, and collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The Man watched the cart pull into his courtyard. The heavy gate clanged closed behind it. He moved down the steps to greet the farmer and his wife, nodding his thanks. He glanced into the rear of the cart, knowing what was there before he did so.

The figure was sprawled in the hay, only the tousled hair peaking out from underneath the blanket the farmer's wife had laid upon it.

Soldiers stepped forward to a.s.sist but he waved them back. Effortlessly, he lifted the figure from the hay and much to the surprise of everyone present, carried the figure himself. All watched in silence as the dark-haired man carried the p.r.o.ne figure in his arms, across the courtyard, then all the way up the stone stairs.

He laid the figure down on the hard bed amongst the soft coverlets. The figure stirred but did not waken. He nodded to the nursemaid who had followed him into the room.

"This is your new charge. A hot bath and clean clothes will make a good start."

The nurse eyed the p.r.o.ne figure. "Is the boy ill? Will he awaken soon?"

The man smiled. "The *boy' is not ill, but sleep will not release this one anytime soon."

The nursemaid nodded and the man left for an adjoining room. A brief time pa.s.sed, and he was not surprised to hear screams echo down the stone hallways. She came rushing into his room.

"My lord, you must come quickly. The boy has suffered some grievous injury!"

The man smiled, not the least bit perturbed by her hysteria. "And what type of injury would that be?"

The woman swallowed hard. This would be difficult. "I'm afraid he's lost his manhood, my lord."

The man shook his head. It continually amazed him that this people would accept the extraordinary over the obvious. "Miriam, he has not lost his manhood, because *he' is not a *he.'"

Understanding was slow to dawn on Miriam. She had to repeat his lordship's words several times silently to herself before she realized what he was saying.

Victor nodded when he was certain she understood his meaning, but he wanted to clarify it just in case. "I am quite aware the boy in the next room is not a boy, but a girl. Her name is Rhian. Now, please continue your care for her."

Susan awoke, her head on the console in front of her. She panicked for a moment, thinking she had forgotten Jason, then remembered that Neda had picked him up hours ago. She stared groggily at the clock, mentally ticking away the hours she had been asleep. She glanced through the window at the p.r.o.ne figure. She might as well have gone home.

She left her lab, nodding to a security guard who was making his rounds in the hallway. She plucked self-consciously at her hair, wondering what it looked like after her lengthy nap. She went into the women's lounge and washed her face. The hair was not as bad as she expected.

She dried her hands and tossed the paper towel into the trash. She walked the length of the hallway a few times to get the blood flowing, then ran her security card through the reader and re-entered the lab.

The control booth door whispered closed behind her as she sat down heavily in her chair. She leaned forward to pick up her gla.s.s of water, an act she would not complete.

Her hand hovered in the air, grasping a phantom gla.s.s of water, its image reflected in the gla.s.s separating the console room from the sterile room. But it was not the reflection of her hand that Susan Ryerson was staring at, but rather what was in the room beyond it.

The woman was standing upright, naked, facing away from the window. She was easily six feet tall with broad shoulders and a muscular back. The back tapered to a slim waist and slim hips in an almost boyish figure. It was easily one of the most beautiful physiques Susan Ryerson had ever seen.

The woman moved with a lithe, animal-like grace and seemed unconcerned with her nudity. She gazed down at the EKG with mild interest, then removed the electrodes from her torso and draped them over the machine.

The woman turned and for the first time Susan looked into her eyes. They were an indeterminate color and harbored a look of devilish amus.e.m.e.nt. Susan felt her heart begin to pound violently. It seemed almost as if the woman could sense this because her amus.e.m.e.nt increased.

Susan froze as the figure began to come toward her. The woman covered the distance in a few strides and leaped. Susan ducked as the human projectile came hurtling through the window. Susan sprawled onto the floor to escape the spray of gla.s.s. Shards flew everywhere as the woman landed in a graceful crouch.

The woman stood upright, no injury apparent from her violent exit. With little more than a glance down at Susan, she began moving toward the door. She was halfway there when the MRI image of herself on the wall caught her eye. She paused, examining the picture with obvious interest. She then shrugged, the gesture more of an impression than a physical act, and was gone.

Susan stared up in shock from her position on the floor. It took her a moment to regain her senses and scramble to her feet. She slipped on the gla.s.s fragments, struggling for balance, then ran to the door.

The hallway was empty.

She ran to the elevator, but the lights indicated it was motionless on another floor. She ran to the end of the hallway, but there was no sign of the woman. She ran to the other end and it, too, was empty.

There was nowhere the woman could have gone, and yet she had disappeared.

Susan walked slowly back into her lab. She surveyed the damage to the observation cubicle in a daze.

How could she just disappear? How could a patient in a p.r.o.nounced vegetative state with life-threatening injuries just get up, smash through two inches of gla.s.s, and then just disappear?

Susan turned back toward the hallway, as if to find reason there. It seemed impossible that no alarm had been sounded, that no one had spotted a nude, six-foot woman fleeing on-foot from her research lab.

Susan turned back to the carnage in front of her. The ultimate medical find of her lifetime just smashed its way out of the equivalent of a maximum-security wing. She stared at the shattered gla.s.s, at the MRI image, at the computer that blinked at her. She had no idea what to do.

The security guard wandered down the hallway. He thought he heard a noise ahead of him, but as he peered into the darkness, he saw nothing. He walked beneath low hanging pipes and ducked out of habit, even though he was not tall enough to strike his head.

The woman was a study of concentration, balanced on the pipes above the security guard's head. Her body was stretched out to its full length and appeared to almost levitate in the air, supported only by her grip on the pipes beneath her. Her forearms were corded and the strain on the shoulder muscles was obvious, but her face was serene. Once certain the man was gone, she swung down from the pipes, landing like a jungle cat.

In an instant, she was through the service entrance and gone.

The Mercedes convertible was exactly where she had left it. She glanced upward at the skysc.r.a.per she had leaped out of weeks earlier. The top floor was scaffolded and boarded shut, the signs of fire damage still evident.

The woman shrugged and leaned down to remove the soft, protective cover on the car. She punched in a security code on the door lock. Once inside the vehicle, she pulled the ignition key from the glove box and fired the engine to life.

As the engine warmed, she pressed a b.u.t.ton and the convertible top smoothly retracted into the rear of the vehicle. Even though it was completely dark, she removed a pair of sungla.s.ses from the glove box and put them on. She leaned forward and thoughtfully selected a song on the CD player, then put the car in gear and pulled smoothly away from the curb. The convertible's tires made crunching noises in the newly fallen snow.

Susan slumped down onto her Queen Anne sofa. She was not normally one to slump, but the three gla.s.ses of wine she had consumed aided her in her lack of decorum.

Her thoughts were no clearer for the wine, but they had been so unclear to begin with she didn't see the harm.

The woman was gone. The patient who could not possibly be alive had gotten up, smashed through a two-inch thick gla.s.s window, and then just disappeared. The woman with the internal anatomy and blood profile of something from another planet had just casually exited both her hospital and her life.

Susan sighed, eyeing the remaining wine in the bottle. Mr. Earl circled her uncertainly, sensing her distress. He finally determined she needed him and leaped up onto her lap, purring. Susan stroked the cat, settling for the softness of his fur over the draw of the remaining wine, her thoughts distant from both.

She heard a commotion at the front door and then Jason came tearing around the corner. He was in mid-leap when he saw the gla.s.s of wine she was holding. He came to a screeching halt.

"Mom," he said with disapproval, "you're not supposed to have juice on the couch."

Susan suppressed a smile as Neda rounded the corner behind him. The matron took in the winegla.s.s and nearly empty wine bottle. "Here," the older woman said, grasping the wine gla.s.s, "I'll take that."

With her hands free, Susan pulled Jason onto her lap. She hugged him tightly, wishing his warmth could wash away the disappointment and confusion inside her. Neda glanced at the few remaining drops in the wine bottle, then went to boil some coffee. It was not like the young doctor to drink in the middle of the afternoon.

Jason sensed her distress as well. "What's wrong, mom?"

Susan sighed, "Oh, nothing, munchkin. I just had a long day at work."

Jason's countenance suddenly darkened. "The lady didn't die, did she?"

Neda froze in the doorway at the young boy's words, and Susan quickly responded. "Oh no. She didn't die." She stopped. Her inebriation made her want to disclose more than she normally would and she could not hide her disbelief. "She just left."

Jason wrinkled his brow, but decided this was an appropriate outcome. He was still somewhat concerned. "Oh, okay. So she was all right then?"

Susan could picture the woman standing upright in the lab, her physique rivaled only by that of Michelangelo's David. "Oh, I think she was quite all right."

Neda listened quietly in the doorway. By the young doctor's tone of voice, it was evident there was much she was not saying. She hurried to make the coffee.

CHAPTER 13.

SUSAN STEPPED FROM HER CAR DOOR, wincing at the bite of the cold. It had been three months since the first snow of the season, and the weather had been frigid ever since. She shut the car door behind her and began moving carefully up the slippery walk towards the hospital doors. Although her proximity to the emergency room would lessen the danger of a fall, it would not make it any less painful, nor any less embarra.s.sing.

Susan's attention drifted away from her struggle to negotiate the slushy terrain. Three months, she thought to herself, three months since the golden-haired woman had disappeared. Ninety days, during which Susan Ryersons's career had changed forever. The hospital doors slid open silently upon her approach and she entered the building with a heavy sigh.

She walked down the hallway of the hospital, her focus on the elevator ahead of her. Safe pa.s.sage was denied, however, when Stanley Meyers, the hospital's chief administrator, stepped into her path.

"Susan," he said, attempting to convey warmth, "let me be the first to offer my congratulations."

The attempt to convey warmth was not entirely successful, but Susan smiled politely and grasped his hand anyway. "Thank you, Stanley, I appreciate your support."

Stanley nodded. "I've always been in your corner, Susan." He leaned forward, giving the impression of shared confidence. "Even a few months back when accounting was in an uproar over some of your *expenditures,' I told them to give you free reign. And look what it brought me."

Susan smiled politely, removing her hand from his. She highly doubted this version of events, but accepted it anyway. He stepped back, beaming. "You won't believe the number of phone calls we've received since your publication."

Susan nodded. "I can only imagine."

Stanley leaned closer, lowering his voice in confidence. "Of course, they all want to know how you did it. But you were smart not to publish that portion of your research. Can't let everyone know our secrets, eh?"

Susan nodded uncomfortably and Stanley continued. "I think *Newsweek' magazine will be running a story on your discovery. This may be one of those medical stories that make the jump from medical journal to popular press. And we all know what that means."

Susan nodded, her discomfort now overwhelming. Yes, that meant big money for the hospital. She extricated herself from Stanley Meyers and continued on to the elevator under his beaming gaze. Her focus on escape caused her to miss David Goldstein's baleful eye, who watched the exchange from the gift shop.

Once in her lab she shut the door quickly behind her, leaning against it as if to shut out the outside world. She had never felt like such a fraud.