"You look great, kiddo." Sey's hoarse voice rasped across Sasha's senses. Sasha stared up at his father with red-rimmed eyes and bit his lip. "Thanks, Dad."

Declan looked from one to the other, wanting to do something, anything, to keep their spirits up. But suddenly he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He thought of what Sey had told him, and all at once he realized just how much like his father Sasha was. Both of them were intensely emotional people, but neither of them particularly liked anyone knowing that. If only he could put into words how he felt about both of them… It wasn't a weakness at all. In fact, it was what drew Declan to Sey. He had never been loved that way by anyone. It was what he needed above all else. And Sey gave that to him. Willingly. Without being asked.

"Your tie looks great," Sey said to Sasha, unaware of Declan's preoccupation.

"Thanks." Sasha shifted uneasily. "I…uh…I asked Da to tie it for me. He wanted to get you, but I was afraid you might get all upset an' all. Did he tell you?"

Sey's eyes misted over as he looked fondly at Declan. "No…he didn't tell me it was your idea."

With both Sasha and Sey looking at him so intently, Declan flushed. "What?"

Sey pulled Declan's head down for a brief but tender kiss. "You let me yell at you for absolutely nothing."

Declan shrugged. "Not for nothing, Sey. You feel better, don't you?"

He pushed a long strand of Declan's curly red hair behind his ear, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of affection coming. "Yeah. Why'd you let me think you weren't aware of how I felt about all this?"

Declan gazed helplessly into those melted-chocolate eyes he loved so much. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Sey whispered, his eyes never leaving Declan's beloved face.

Sasha reached up as far as he could and wrapped an arm around each man, in an attempt to hug both of his fathers. "And I love both of you."

Sey kissed Sasha on the cheek. "Knock 'em dead, kiddo. I'll be waiting when you get home from school."

Declan kissed Sasha's other cheek and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I'll be here, too. I expect a full report, y'know."

Sasha drew himself up to his full height and stood at attention. Saluting Declan briskly, he said, "Aye, sir."

Declan chuckled. "And who taught you that? You cheeky little fake Irishman?"

Sasha grinned amiably. "Daddy had a feeling you might like it."

Declan cast surprised eyes at his lover. "Oh, did he?"

Sey managed to look completely innocent, and once again, Declan was struck by the resemblance between father and son. "Christ, I've got two of you on my hands now. You're freaking double-teaming me," he said, sputtering with laughter.

To Sasha, nothing could have pleased him more than being favorably compared to the father he loved so much. He hoped desperately, with all his heart, that he could be just like him someday. Well, maybe not exactly like him. He loved Declan, too. More than he had expected.

The school bus pulled up to the end of the driveway, beeping impatiently for Sasha, Chris, and Faith. "I'd better go, Da." Sasha tugged gently on Declan's hand, and the tall Irishman bent down to hug him one more time. "You be good, kiddo."

Sasha looked intently at Sey. Pulling on Sey's hands, he brought his father down to his level. But when Sey attempted to hug him, Sasha evaded his grasp, wrapping his own arms around his father's neck. He kissed his father's cheek, sliding his flushed face against Sey's to whisper into his ear, "I love you, Daddy."

Within a heartbeat, Sasha was gone, leaving Sey standing there, looking after him with tears in his eyes. Declan rubbed the back of Sey's neck briskly, trying to be supportive without overwhelming him. "Uh…Dec?" Sey said in a quavering tone.

"Aye, love?" Declan replied softly.

"This'd be a really good time for you to hold me," Sey whispered.

"Oh." Declan let out a sigh of relief and pulled his lover into his arms. Sey settled his head against Declan's chest and closed his eyes. Declan kissed his hair, grateful that Sey couldn't see his own tears, tracing a silvery trail down both cheeks.

"Dec?"

"Aye?"

"Are you crying?"

How the hell would he know that? Declan rubbed a wet cheek against Sey's silky dark hair. "Not so's you'd notice, love."

"Oh, good. I wouldn't want you to be half as upset as I am," Sey said, listening to Declan's heart beat beneath his ear. Liar, he thought. You think I don't know how much you care for me and our kids?

Dammit, Sey, you're reading my mind again. I can feel you, rooting around in there, looking for some new way to assuage my pain, when I only want to help you with yours. Declan had never felt as emotionally connected to Sey as at that moment. It was as if their bond had deepened on some less obvious, but infinitely more complex level.

"I love you."

"I know you do. I love you, too."

Are you hearing this in your head or your heart? Sey almost sighed out loud when the reply came to him, almost audibly. My heart, Sey. Isn't that where you are?

"Oh, Michael, I miss them already."

Michael held Nikita gently against his body, his fingers moving anxiously through her long pale hair. "I know, love."

The first day of school would be difficult for any parent or child, but for these parents, having three of their four children away from home at the same time was agony. That was why Michael decided to stay home with Nikita. He had called the college yesterday, asking them to reschedule the classes he normally taught, and to say that Nikita was grateful to have her husband at her side would be a gross understatement.

A polite sniffle signaled Nikita's persistent, if intermittent, loss of control. "I'm so glad you're here, Michael. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Her voice broke, no, splintered, into a million husky fragments, as she cried against his shoulder. "I don't know how I'm going to get through the day."

Michael closed his eyes, his grip on Nikita tightening. "Ssh, please don't cry, doucette."

He could still remember the way they looked when they entered the mini-school bus for the first time. Faith sat sulkily near the window, behind the driver, her face pressed against the glass, while Chris sat bolt upright in the middle, touching no one, stoically concentrating on God-only-knew-what. As for Skye, she sat in the back, clutching George, the stuffed camel that Chris gave to Emmy a couple of years back. Emmy tearfully confessed that she thought Skye would need a friend where she was going, and she wanted to do something nice for the little angel who brightened her older brother Sasha's life.

Skye tried desperately to protest such a gift, but Sasha intervened, giving his little sister a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Em," he'd said hoarsely, obviously near tears himself. Understandably preoccupied himself, Sasha stared out the window, his hand absently stroking Skye's arm. When Skye cried out, "Beast, I'm scared," in a trembling voice, Sasha had turned, his eyes almost black with shared pain. Michael had wanted to go after her then, snatch her out of the bus, and hide her away forever. But Nikita's arm restrained him, just long enough for him to regain his senses.

His arm faltered in mid-reach, dropping to his side finally, as he saw Sasha take Skye's hands in his. He watched as Sasha hugged Skye, the stuffed animal wedged between them, and he realized just how upset the little boy was himself, unconsciously noting the unshed tears in his eyes. Nothing could approach the pain that Michael and Nikita felt at "giving up" their children, even for the day, but Michael took heart that they had each other. However briefly. Sasha looked as if he would indeed guard Skye with his life. How could Michael ask for anything more than that?

James interrupted Michael's reverie with a deliberate cough. "Michael? I know you and Nikita are a bit under the weather, this being the first day of school and all, but I think they'll all be fine."

"I hope you're right," Michael said, his thumb rubbing Nikita's shoulder. "Are you teaching today? You seem to have lost all of your students," Michael commented with an anxious frown.

"Well, actually, I'm starting a new class. For the younger ones. So it could get a bit quiet." James looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Listen, I don't want you to think I'm taking all the kids away…"

Nikita raised her tear-drenched face for a moment, attempting a watery smile. "It's okay, James. We can't keep them with us forever."

James looked surprised by her calm, matter-of-fact statement, but not by her subsequent tears or the way she hid her face against Michael's neck. "I'd better get started then," he said, concerned at how hard Nikita was taking things. It was almost as if her reason for being no longer existed.

He didn't realize just how close to the truth he was. Nikita had spent over six years being a mother of stay-at-home kids, and now, she felt her role change in a way that she wasn't quite ready for. After James left, Nikita clung to Michael, fresh tears saturating his shirt. "Ki-ta…you're still their mother. They still need you. Luc needs you. I need you."

"But it's not the same, Michael. I want it to stay the way it was."

"Nothing ever stays the way it was, Kita. You know that," he admonished her gently.

"I know." Suddenly she smiled, a real smile at last, and it was like the sun coming out after a hard rain. Maybe there would even be a rainbow to look forward to.

"I feel like Faith. I want to stomp my foot and demand that everything be put right," she said, a tiny bubble of laughter surfacing.

Michael chuckled. His lips lightly grazed her temple. "Then I might have to turn you over my knee…and spank you," he said softly.

"Hmm…well, that would be one way to pass the time…" she purred seductively.

"I was just kidding."

"I'm not."

"Kita…" Michael caressed her cheek with the tip of his tongue. "I'm not really into pain."

"Mmm…neither am I. Maybe you'll just have to think of something else…"

Suddenly his lips and his tongue were everywhere. Her face, her neck. Giggling wildly, Nikita exclaimed, "Michael!"

He grinned boyishly at her, his green eyes bright and clear for the first time since the kids left for school. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking…"

"Does this help you think?" She kissed him deeply, and she felt his arms come around her waist, holding her fast.

He nipped at her earlobe with his sharp white teeth, provoking a pool of sensation within both of them.

"Well?" she asked breathlessly, when she could tear herself away from him.

"I need a little more help…thinking…"

Their first glimpse of the school was literally awe-inspiring. Built a couple of centuries ago in the then-center of town, the school was a pastiche of various architectural styles that warred with one another. The main building looked, well, like a huge gargoyle should be sitting on top of the flagpole instead of the French national flag.

"Wow," said Faith, almost completely at a loss for words.

Sasha looked out the window of the mini-bus and frowned. "Is this the right place?"

Skye began to whimper, pressing her small face against Sasha's shoulder. "Are we going to jail, Beast?"

Chris groaned. "Don't be ridiculous, Skye. It's a school, not a prison."

Faith looked askance at her twin brother. "Then how come it looks like the Bastille?"

Chris' blue eyes widened in faux horror. "You cracked open a history book?"

"Very funny," Faith snapped, sticking her tongue out at Chris.

The little bus pulled around the traffic circle until it drew to a stop in front of the main doors. There was a curious air of oppression about them. "Maybe it won't be so bad," Sasha tried vainly to convince himself and the others.

Skye wrapped her tiny fingers around one of Sasha's arms, her other hand continuing to cling to George with a ferocity that belied the little girl's innocent appearance. "D-do we have to g-go in-inside?"

Chris nodded. "That's the general idea, Skye. Don't worry. We'll find your classroom first. Okay?" He was very protective of his younger sister. He knew how gifted she was, intellectually, but emotionally, she still brought out his protective instincts. Not unlike Emmy. But he knew he could count on Sasha to look out for her best interests as well, and that helped.

When they got out of the bus, they stood together, looking up at the massive doors. Inch by inch, they crept closer to one another, seeking each other's hands to hold. Chris betrayed his predilection for historical fiction by muttering the oath that bound the Musketeers as one entity. "One for all, and all for one."

They didn't realize that it was unusual for children so young to be so adept at reading. If their teachers were familiar with their parents, perhaps they would have understood where their interest in reading came from. These children were not like anyone else. Not now. Not ever. Nor were they ever likely to be.

As much as they wanted to fit in, that's how much they stood out. Though this was by no means a Catholic school, it was a private school run by the religious of a less conservative faction of the Protestant faith. Despite Michael's and Declan's own claim to Catholicism, neither of them had any desire to see their children raised in a church that was as unyielding as it was dogmatic. The last thing either of them wanted was to hear their own children preaching that their parents' alternative lifestyle was immoral or would damn them all to Hell.

The students here came from fairly well-to-do families, which meant that some of the less savory elements of the city were not as common within its confines. But that did not mean that there were no bullies…or that people could not find ever more ingenious ways to be mean to one another.

They walked together towards Skye's classroom. Chris was entrusted with the packet of information that told each of them where they belonged. Although he was no longer the oldest, since Sasha became part of the family, he was undeniably the most reliable of the four.

Chris double-checked the number of the room against the information that his mother had given him. "This is it, Skye. You're in kindergarten." He smiled kindly at his younger sister and gave her a big hug.

He waited for a moment before poking his sister in the ribs, none too gently. "Fee wants to say good luck. Don't you, Fee?"

Faith looked daggers at her brother before replying calmly, "Of course. Good luck, Skye." She gave her sister a perfunctory hug, much too preoccupied with getting through this ordeal herself to be much use to anyone else.

"Everything looks so big," Skye pronounced, her lip quivering. "Do I hafta be alone?"

Faith sighed, and Chris poked her, more sharply this time. "We'll be just down the hall, Skye. In the first-grade classroom. We'll meet for lunch."

"We can't," contradicted Faith. "We don't have lunch the same time as they do."

Skye looked like she was ready to cry. Sasha gave Faith a dirty look, and even Faith, who normally would have quarreled over something like that, backed off. Chris pulled on Faith's arm. "Come on, we're going to be late."

"Oh, who cares?" Faith muttered.

"Sasha? Do you know where the second-grade classroom is?" Chris asked, making sure that Sasha knew where he was supposed to be.

"Yeah." Sasha waved as the twins walked away, very slowly and not very enthusiastically. He turned back to Skye anxiously.

Noting the tears sparkling in her beautiful blue eyes, Sasha bit his lip. She would have him crying in a minute. He couldn't bear for Skye to be in any kind of pain. This was tearing him apart. Leaning close, he gathered her into his arms, stuffed animal and all, as he whispered, "You won't be alone, Ange. I'll be with you. At least, till your teacher shows up."

"But won't that make you late, Beast?"

"I don't care," he said defiantly, wishing he meant it. He didn't want to screw up on his first day of school, but he couldn't leave Skye this way. He just didn't have the strength to abandon the little girl.

"Well…well…what do we have here?" came the voice behind the young couple.

Sasha turned around, his long brown hair whipping across his face. There were three of them. Older kids. Boys. Dressed in the school uniform. Their ties askew, almost as if it were a planned act of opposition. They couldn't be more than 10 at most. But to Skye, they looked like teenagers.

"Whatcha got there, Blondie?" the oldest boy flippantly addressed Skye.

She didn't answer. She was too afraid. She didn't know what to do, except hope and pray that nothing bad happened.

Sasha surreptitiously squeezed her hand in his, silently conveying his love and support. He didn't want to fight, but every instinct in his body told him that if it came down to that, he would defend Skye to an inch of his life.

One of the other boys laughed. "Looks like a toy or a…hey, it's a stuffed animal. How cute. Can I have it?"

"No." Sasha had no idea why the word formed itself in his mouth, but he was too late to prevent its escape.

Skye, desperately afraid that Sasha would get hurt, stammered, "It's n-not m-mine. It d-doesn't b-belong to m-me."

"Oho, a pretty little thief, huh? Who'd you steal it from, Blondie?"

Skye would willingly give up the stuffed animal if it were hers. But it wasn't. It belonged to Emmy. It wasn't losing the comfort of the stuffed animal that bothered her, it was the idea of giving away something that meant the world to Emmy. She couldn't do that to her. That would be a betrayal of sorts. And if she had learned anything from living four years, she had internalized the Samuelle morality. You don't betray your friends.

But she knew this was going to end badly, and somehow, she knew that Sasha was going to be involved.

Sasha lay his arm across Skye's body in a protective stance. "She's not a thief. Why don't you leave her alone?"

"Was I talking to you, Shorty?" the oldest boy asked derisively. The boy inclined his head to his two comrades, who advanced on Skye menacingly. Skye screamed shrilly, more afraid for Sasha than for herself now.

Sasha tugged at his tie, loosening it. Automatically dropping into a fighting stance, he moved between the two boys and Skye. "I said, leave her alone."

"And I said, I wasn't talking to you. You want trouble, you got it, Shorty."

"Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged, Short Stuff. Now get the hell out of the way." The oldest boy reached around Sasha and grabbed the stuffed animal out of Skye's arms, flinging it across the hallway to his comrades. For several minutes, there was nothing but the sound of the stuffed animal whooshing through the air, only to thud into the waiting arms of yet another comrade.

When it seemed like Sasha was not going to make another move, they began to relax, laughing loudly amongst themselves. That was their first mistake. Their second was taking their eyes off Sasha.

Sasha leaped into the air and intercepted the stuffed animal, handing it to Skye. Skye was too frightened to be relieved. This fight wasn't over with yet. Sasha would have been willing to walk away, if they had only left Skye alone. But of course, boys being boys, they didn't.

"Maybe we should be playing with you, Blondie, instead of your stuffed animal. Give us a kiss."

Skye ran to Sasha's side, quaking nervously. Sasha gave her a reassuring hug before addressing the older kids. "Maybe you'd rather play with someone your own size."

"Well, that couldn't be you, Shorty. You're not even close," the oldest boy hooted.

"Leave her alone. I won't warn you again."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," laughed the leader of the trio.

Skye spoke directly to the boy for the first time. "You should be," she intoned, in all seriousness.

The leader laughed even harder, but when he reached out to touch Skye, Sasha exploded into action. The leader stopped laughing.

"What the—?"

Sasha, like the twins, was trained in karate. Though it was not customary to teach children so young, their precocious natures, not to mention the families' very real vulnerability, made self-defense a must. While Sasha came to the art later than the twins, he had natural athletic ability that lent itself to such moves, making it curiously easy to close the gap between him and the twins.

He landed a solid sidekick on his opponent, driving him back against the wall of the corridor. Instead of knowing when to give in gracefully, the leader persistently attacked Sasha. He was rewarded with several punishing blows of both hands and feet. Settling back into a fighting stance, Sasha said, "Had enough?"

The leader, who now boasted a split lip, quivered, thinking about the loss of face losing to a six-year-old would bring him. "Oh, God…"

An imperious female voice came from behind the two boys. "Oh, I don't imagine God wants much to do with either of you."

"Claude, you know where to go. But…" she sighed heavily, "…go to the infirmary first and get that lip taken care of."

Claude, the leader of the trio, lost no time in disappearing into the crowd of schoolchildren that had gathered to watch the fight. She cast a stern look at the two other boys, and within moments, they too vanished. She clapped her hands twice, and suddenly, like the Red Sea parting, the crowd of children dispersed. Sasha blinked. Who was this woman? And why did he have a feeling he'd somehow gotten on her bad side?

The woman was tall, inordinately tall for a woman, perhaps, but then, it lent her considerable authority. Her hair was light brown, her eyes hazel. Her hair was pulled back into a fashionable chignon, her eyes were warm and glinted with kindness, but her expression was anything but. As though she sensed that Sasha was about to ask her who she was, she cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. "I am Madame Dupre. Your headmistress. You will go to my office at once."

Sasha looked dazed for a second, as he took in her identity, but he automatically shook his head. "No."

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "What did you say?" Her eyes no longer looked warm or kind.

Sasha straightened his tie and adjusted his shirt, taking a moment to pull himself together. He bowed his head briefly and repeated what he had said, with one slight change. "No, Madame."

"I told you to go to my office."

"I can't."

Against her will, she found herself drawn to this oddly rebellious child. Clearing her throat softly, she did something she never did. She asked a child to explain his reason for defying her. "Why?"

"Cause I swore to protect Skye," he said solemnly, his dark eyes seeking the four-year-old's.

She glanced at the pretty little blonde girl. "Are you Skye?"

Skye would have curtsied if she had known how. The woman was positively regal. "Oui, Madame. Je m'appelle Skye Samuelle," Skye identified herself in flawless French.

Giving the child a considering look, Mme. Dupre said quietly, "May I borrow your protector for a few minutes, Skye? Perhaps you could find your way into your classroom now."

Skye looked at Sasha, and Mme. Dupre decided that she was asking for his approval. She turned to Sasha. "I'm sure Skye would be perfectly safe in the classroom."

"I'm not. She wasn't doing anything when those older kids decided to pick on her. I won't leave her until her teacher comes."

"That might not be for a few more minutes."

"I'll wait." On this point, Sasha remained adamant. Mme. Dupre had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the boy. "Such chivalry in one so young. I must say, I'm impressed."

Sasha wasn't sure whether she was serious or not, so he kept quiet. "Well, at least, tell me your name."

"Sasha. Sasha Birkoff-McLaren."

"Well, Sasha Birkoff-McLaren, I must tell you that fighting is not tolerated here—"

"Then why did those kids act like they pick on the younger ones all the time? Doesn't anyone ever stop 'em? Or do you let them get away with it?"

It was all she could do to conceal her amazement at the young boy's poise and articulate way of expressing himself. "They'll be punished. As will you."

Sasha nodded. He didn't seem surprised. Perhaps the boy was used to punishment. Or was it that he expected bad things to happen to him?

"How old are you?"

"Six and a half."

"And you're in which class?"

"Don't you know? You said you were the headmistress."

Mme. Dupre smiled enigmatically, and Sasha was reminded of Connor's mother, Madeline. "I am. But we have hundreds of students here. I can't possibly know each one."

Sasha chuckled darkly and muttered to himself. "What did you say?" He glanced quickly up at the headmistress.

"I bet you know me now."

"Yes, well…have you always been a troublemaker?"

"I wasn't making trouble. I was—"

"Yes, yes, I know. You were protecting Skye." She frowned. "How do you two know each other?"

Sasha shook his head. "You ask a lot of questions, Madame."

"Well, is she like a little sister?"

"What does this have to do with fighting?" Sasha crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood there, mutinously refusing to move until Skye's teacher came.

"I'm trying to discover your motive in protecting her."

"Why? So you can keep us apart?"

"You're not making any effort to defend yourself, Sasha. I'd like to know why."

"Look, it's really simple, okay? You can do whatever you want to me, but you can't stop me from protecting Skye. I won't let anyone hurt her. That's all." Sasha knew he was in big trouble, and he wasn't trying to make things worse by talking back to the headmistress, but she just didn't seem to understand.

"Your loyalty to one another is admirable. But you're holding up the start of class. I'm afraid I'm going to have to speak to your parents."

"Oh, shit," Sasha cursed under his breath.

Skye started to cry anxiously. "Please don't do that, Madame. They'll think he was bad. But he wasn't bad. He wasn't bad at all. He asked them to leave me alone. But they wouldn't. Please, Madame…"

Sasha took one look at Skye and swore. "Jeez, now look what you did." Without a second look at the headmistress, Sasha wrapped his arms around the little girl and held her. "Ssh, ssh…please don't cry, Ange…" he whispered to her.

That gave Mme. Dupre pause. She couldn't claim to understand the true nature of the bond between the two children, but she knew kids, and she was rarely wrong about their character. Sasha and Skye remained a mystery of sorts to her, but she was convinced that they were telling the truth about what happened. Besides, she was well-acquainted with Claude and his two comrades. For good reason. Apparently, this time they had picked on the wrong people.

She drew herself up to her full height, which was considerable. Sasha refused to be intimidated. He trembled inwardly at the thought of letting his parents down, but he believed he was right, and if there was one thing his parents had taught him, it was to believe in himself.

"Mr. Birkoff…"

"Birkoff-McLaren," Sasha corrected.

She smiled despite herself. "Yes, of course." She steepled her fingers in front of her and paused. "Do I have your word that this fight was unprovoked by you?"

"Yes, Madame," he said somberly.

"Do I have your word that you understand that fighting cannot and will not be tolerated at this academy?"

"Yes, Madame." Sasha failed to see how people could refuse to stand up for what they believed in, but he didn't think this was a good time to mention it.

She nodded. A moment later, a slight young woman dressed in conservative clothes arrived, apologizing profusely for being late. "I'm so sorry, Madame. It won't happen again."

She nodded again, this time to the young teacher. "Mademoiselle Spencer, this is one of your students." Mme. Dupre smiled warmly at Skye, indicating she should go into the classroom now. "Take good care of her."

With that, Mlle. Spencer ushered Skye into the kindergarten classroom. Skye looked sadly over her shoulder at Sasha, her tiny hand waving weakly. "Bye, Ange," he whispered after her.

"As for you," Mme. Dupre addressed Sasha, "I think we've managed to have our little discussion right here. I see no need for you to come to my office now."

Sasha breathed a sigh of relief, but he was afraid to say a word. His luck had always been notoriously bad. But that was not to say that it could not change.

She inclined her head at Sasha and said merely, "Carry on." With that, she was gone.

Sasha didn't know what to think. No one had ever taken his side before. Except his parents. And Skye. And Uncle Michael and Aunt Nikita. He started to laugh to himself. Once he started counting the people who cared about him now, he could see he was going to run out of fingers before he ran out of people.

Sasha turned and began the long walk to the second-grade classroom. He was late. But somehow, he didn't think it would matter.

Chris entered the first-grade classroom slowly. If he was not especially happy to be there, it didn't show on his face. Though his hair was blond and his eyes were blue, like Nikita's, Chris definitely resembled his father at that moment. Scanning the anxious faces of his peers with the precision of a seasoned field operative, Chris assessed the competition without even realizing he was doing it. He found an open seat and sat down, poised and ready for whatever would come.

But wait…where was his sister? Where was Faith? Granted, she was not all that enthusiastic about school, mainly because it separated her from Connor, but she was right beside him almost to the door of the classroom. Where had she gone?

A buzz of conversation surrounded him. Every now and then, Chris caught a phrase or a word, but it was difficult to decipher exactly what was being said. Then suddenly, Chris was able to put together an entire sentence, and for once, anyone looking at him could tell exactly what he was thinking. He was stunned.

Sasha. The conversation, carried in excited tones around him, was about Sasha. Sasha and some older boys. Particularly an older boy named Claude. Fighting. He was caught fighting. On the first day of school. No, make that, the first minutes of school. Chris shook his head. There would be all hell to pay when they got home. The Spanish Inquisition would be nothing compared to his mother's cross-examination. What happened? Why did it happen? Where were you and your sister? Why weren't you there? And the best one of all, why didn't you stop it?

Well, aside from the fact that Chris hadn't even been there or known about what was happening, Chris wondered how he was supposed to stop someone like Sasha. It didn't occur to Chris that this whole interaction with his mother was taking place in his mind's eye. He was totally preoccupied with it. He didn't feel the burden of being the oldest child in the family anymore. Now that Sasha lived in the Samuelle household, he had that honor. But Chris, Chris retained the responsibilities that came with being the oldest child nonetheless. He was reliable, dependable, and consistently behaved with far more maturity than any of the other children.

Chris was heartily sick of it. It wasn't that his mother or his father was unreasonable. They didn't expect the impossible from him. But they treated him differently. He was held to a higher standard. Whether or not this was fair had never really entered his head. Until now.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to change. Just that change seemed desirable. He liked being Emmy's protector, and he would never willingly give up that role. He loved her to distraction, and he fully intended to make good on his promise to marry her someday. But he felt constricted. Like he couldn't breathe. Like he needed to kick up his heels and be more like Sasha. Or Faith.

Chris sighed heavily. But no…that wasn't really him. He would never be comfortable leaping impulsively into things without looking. It simply wasn't his way. And beneath the surface, fierce emotions roiled, much the same as they did for Sasha. Or Faith. He shrugged. Maybe he wasn't all that different. Maybe he just thought he was right now. Because he wanted to accept what school had to offer. That pretty much put him in the minority, and he knew it. But hey, things changed. Faith might discover she liked school.

Faith. Where was she?

Mme. Dupre made rounds of the entire school, checking on each classroom before returning to her office to deal with the attendance and discipline problems. As she strolled down the hall, she spotted a tall-for-her-age six year old girl. Medium auburn hair, green eyes that seemed to change color. The girl was strikingly pretty, but the determined look in her eyes belied any ordinary beauty. There was considerable intelligence there as well as a certain willfulness.

The headmistress stopped at the girl's side. "Why aren't you in class?"

Faith all but gritted her teeth at having to explain herself once more. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" she muttered under her breath. But Faith was nothing if not bright. Recognizing that the woman was someone important, she bowed her head slightly. "My brother and I just started school today. We're in the first grade. He's in that classroom there," she said, pointing to the room Chris had entered.

"And?"

"And I should be in the same classroom."

"Then why aren't you?" the headmistress asked in complete puzzlement.

Faith looked incredulously into the woman's hazel eyes and started to say something. Thinking better of it, she immediately cut herself off, settling for a simple, "The teacher won't let me in."

Mme. Dupre blinked. How odd. This was rapidly becoming a morning of intriguing proportions. "Did she say why?"

Faith nodded. "She said it is the policy of the academy not to allow twins to be placed into the same classroom." Faith patted herself on the back for getting the quote exactly right. Meanwhile, Mme. Dupre was biting back a laugh at the uncanny way Faith managed to mimic pedantic Mme. Forestier.

Suddenly Mme. Dupre quirked her head to the side. "Wait a moment, I had a call from a parent last week about something like this. Was that your mother? What's your name?"

Faith smiled. She could be charming when she wasn't actively fighting for some cause or another. "Faith Samuelle. My mom's Nikita Samuelle."

Mme. Dupre nodded in recognition of the name. "Yes, I already settled this. I told her that there was absolutely no reason to separate you and your brother. That rule was made for identical twins, to prevent the confusion that comes from children playing tricks and switching places."

Faith grinned at the headmistress. "It's a dumb rule."

"It—" The headmistress, surprised into a chuckle, then amazed Faith by agreeing with her. "Why, yes, it is, isn't it?"

"I mean, if kids want to switch places, they'll switch places. They don't have to be in the same classroom to do that. In fact, being in different classes prolly makes it easier for them to do stuff like that."

"You seem to have given the matter a bit of thought," Mme. Dupre said with a bemused smile.

"Wasn't much else to do, standing out here in the hall," Faith commented dryly.

The older woman smiled. Samuelle. Samuelle. Didn't she just meet another child by that name? Yes! The little blonde girl. What was her name? Skye. "Tell me, Faith, are you by any chance related to Skye?"

"Yup. She's my baby sister. Why? What'd she do?"

"Nothing. It's a long story, dear."

"Was Sasha involved? I bet Sasha was involved," Faith said, nodding her head at the same time.

"Well…actually, he was. Why do you say that, though?" Mme. Dupre found this child just as interesting as the others she had met. She could hardly wait for the opportunity to meet their parents.

"Cause Sasha and Skye are like that," she said, twisting her fingers together.

"They are? Yes, I rather got that impression myself. He seems very…" she searched for the right word, "…intense."

Faith giggled. "Just like his fathers. Nobody better mess with Skye while he's around."

Mme. Dupre nodded in agreement, then stopped, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. Did you say fathers? As in more than one?"

Faith's changeable grey-green eyes shifted and became a vibrant verdant green. "Yup."

Recovering herself quickly, Mme. Dupre excused Faith, indicating that she should send the teacher out to speak to her. "I don't think she'll like that…" Faith said quietly.

Mme. Dupre's eyes flamed brightly for a moment. "She hasn't got a choice."

Faith whistled under her breath. This was one tough cookie, this headmistress. Someone who seemed fair. Someone she could respect. She liked her.

Little did Faith realize that the feeling was mutual. When Faith disappeared inside the classroom, Mme. Dupre's mind returned to her earlier thought. More than one father. That would account for the amount of testosterone expended in that one small boy.

She laughed to herself. She really had to call a conference with the parents of these children. She couldn't wait to meet them. All of them.