"Triplets?" Emmy shrieked.

"I don't think I've ever heard you yell that loud, Em. Are Princesses supposed to do that kind of thing?"

The glare that Emmy sent Faith chilled her to the bone. No mean feat for someone as unassuming as Emmy. "Shut up, Fee. This is important."

"Okay, but not cause you told me to." Faith stuck out her tongue at Emmy, a childish gesture that Emmy completely ignored.

Turning her back on Faith, Emmy pumped Sasha for more information. After a few moments, she hung up the phone and grinned.

"So…you planning to share the good news?" Faith asked, evidently concluding that it was safe to speak again.

"Francesca had triplets," she announced.

Faith regarded her friend with casual interest. "Really? Three babies, huh?" she asked as she bit into a large red apple.

Emmy rolled her eyes. "That's what triplets means, Fee."

"So what'd she have? All boys? All girls? Boy-girl-boy?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? You were on the phone all that time and you don't know what she had?" Faith snapped.

"You know, you get away with abusing Connor because he *likes* you or something, but don't start with *me*."

"You've been pretty uppity lately, you know that? Don't think you have an in with my Dad just cause you and Chris are like *this*."

"I am *so* out of here."

"You are such a bitch, Em."

"Takes one to know one."

"What's your problem?"

"You."

"What's the matter with you two? Cabin fever?" Adam queried as he entered the TV Room.

Faith stalked out of the room, her only regret that there was no door to slam. Slamming doors was such an obvious act of punctuation to an argument, but she found it oddly cathartic.

Emmy smiled wearily. "It's not easy being cooped up inside with someone like her."

"I know. But you two have always been so close."

Emmy sat down on the couch with a defeated thump. Adam immediately sat next to her and tried to get the young girl to open up. Whether she would was questionable. Emmy could be just like Declan when she chose, and sometimes Adam wasn't convinced that it wasn't genetic.

"Fee's been different…" she started, then stopped.

"Since?" Adam prompted.

"I think she's a little…you know…preoccupied with Connor."

"And you're jealous?" Adam asked quizzically.

"No, of course not. That's not what I meant. It's just that—she's always hanging around him and…"

"She loves him."

"I know. But I think she wants more."

"More what?" Adam decided that sisters were clearly not any easier to understand than any other female.

"You know."

"No, I don't know."

Emmy blushed. "Adam, I know you know. You're with Jazz. You have to know."

Suddenly the light dawned and Adam groaned. "Ohhh…*that* you know. Faith's too young to have sex."

"Uh huh. That's what I said."

"And?"

"Things haven't been the same since."

"You think she might—"

"I'm not sure. But she's *not* listening to me anymore."

"That's a shame. You really have a good head on your shoulders, Em."

"Thanks, Adam." Emmy blushed again.

Adam patted Emmy on the shoulder. When she responded by favoring him with a shy smile, Adam leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Take your hands off her," Chris ground out. He stood in the doorway, fists clenched at his sides, clearly spoiling for a fight. That violence was not in his nature didn't matter. He would fight *anyone* over Emmy. Even his older half-brother.

Adam smiled in a conciliatory manner. "Didn't have my hands *on* her," he said brightly, raising both hands over his head.

"You kissed her!" Chris accused.

"Wasn't that big a deal, Chris. Listen—"

Emmy jumped up to intervene between the two young men, her demeanor more worried than anything else. "Stop it! Chris, I—"

But Chris was too far gone to listen. In the middle of punching his brother, Chris couldn't stop in time. The blow that should have hit Adam…hit Emmy instead, dropping her to the carpet.

Chris fell to his knees beside her, barely able to see for the tears blurring his vision. Adam pushed him out of the way and rapidly assessed the young girl.

"She's unconscious," Adam said, a grim expression on his face.

"Oh, my God," Chris whispered.

"You think you know what you are," said the voice in her head.

"Huh?" Emmy struggled to open her eyes, but the effort was too great. Besides, everything seemed overly bright, almost painfully intense to look at.

"You don't, you know."

"Don't what?" she mumbled between parched lips.

"Know what you are. Haven't you been listening?" The voice sounded cross.

Suddenly Emmy began to laugh. "I feel like Alice in Wonderland…and you…" she sputtered, "sound like that awful Red Queen."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"I shan't argue. But you're a dreadful little girl."

"I am *not*," Emmy insisted, trying to stifle her laughter. "I'm 13…not a little girl at all."

"Like I said. You think you know what you are—"

"I heard you the first time," she said, a bit annoyed that the strange voice was lecturing her.

"Who are you?"

"Don't you mean what?"

"No, I certainly don't mean *what*. Why? Are you a what? Not a who?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On who's asking." The voice sounded quite pleased with itself now and Emmy wondered if it was going to go away.

"I'm tired."

"I should think so," the voice agreed. "Being hit in the head by that pugnacious little boy."

"He's not."

"Not what?"

"Pugnac—whatever you said. What does that mean?"

"Spoiling for a fight, I should expect. What'd you think?"

"Oh." Emmy pouted as she realized that Chris had indeed been…pugnacious. "He didn't mean to hit me."

"I see. So it would have been okay if he hit the older boy."

"No! Stop twisting what I say into something else!" Emmy winced. "Ow. You're making my head hurt."

"*I* didn't do that. That nasty little—"

"All right, all right. *Chris* made my head hurt."

The voice seemed to smirk. "Told you."

Emmy opened her eyes to slivers and grimaced. "What are you? My conscience or something?"

"I'm here to take you on a journey."

"To where?"

"Ah, but that would be telling."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere with you." At that, Emmy crossed her arms in front of her and braced herself.

"But you need to know what you are. It's time for you to find out."

"Maybe I don't want to find out."

"But you do."

Emmy sighed. This voice, whoever or whatever it belonged to, had more patience than she did. "So…what am I?"

"More than a little girl."

"I could have told you that," she retorted.

"Your father thinks of you as a princess…he's not wrong."

"Oh, wow. You mean I'm really royalty?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Cool."

"You are descended from a very ancient line. You come by your love of trees and animals quite naturally."

"I do?"

"Yes. Did you never wonder about your affinity for trees? Finding your way through the woods when you were only a child was hardly luck."

"You mean…" Emmy gulped. "…when I thought the trees were talking to me…they really were?"

"Something like that."

"That's majorly weird. Not to mention…um, scary."

"It can be frightening to know where you have come from. But only you can determine where you will go."

"Could you stop talking in riddles for a second? What am I, then, a witch?"

She could swear that the voice frowned. "If you *must*."

"So I have, like, powers?"

There was an odd clucking noise. "You have potential."

"To do what?"

"Ah, but that is up to you. I am but the Messenger."

"From who?"

"That is for you to figure out."

"My head hurts."

"Would you like me to cast a spell upon the one who did this to you?"

"Nooo! Don't touch him! Don't even think about him! He's mine!"

"Unfortunately, you speak the truth. He *is* yours. His heart and mind are hopelessly entwined with yours. Are you sure this is what you wish, Princess?"

That she didn't even have to think about. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm positive."

"So are you, like, one of the wee fairy folk?" Emmy asked.

"There's nothing wee about me, young lady," the voice replied huffily.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Emmy apologized.

"Don't trouble yourself, Princess. As I said, I am but a messenger."

"Who sent you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're a messenger, someone had to send you, right?"

"Perhaps messenger is not quite the right word. Think of me as a…teacher."

"You're going to teach me how to be a leprechaun?" Emmy exclaimed joyfully.

"Why does everyone think of leprechauns when they think of Ireland?" the voice declared rhetorically.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you wanted me to think of you as a teacher. Please…feel free to take all the fun out of everything."

"An tusa Emerant? Emerant Mairead NicDeclan?"

"Huh?"

The voice sighed expressively. "Has your father not taught you his native tongue, leannan?"

"Oh! Sure…um…'s mise a tha ann."

"Mi-modhail."

"I am *not* cheeky! Stop that!"

"Ah, so you do understand *some* Gaelic."

Emmy regarded the space where the voice seemed to come from warily, as if she expected someone or *something* to appear any moment. "A little."

"Are you ready to hear more about your ancestors?"

"Not unless you speak English," Emmy said with a frown. "I might miss something important."

"Then listen, child."

"Is she br-breathing?"

"Yeah," Adam responded, sparing a glance for his younger half-brother. Understandably upset, Chris was managing better than Adam expected. "She's unconscious, Chris. Not dead. Not even close," he said reassuringly.

Chris fingered a long strand of Emmy's red hair, sighing when a sharp tug provoked no response from the thirteen-year-old. "She looks—"

"Yeah, I know. But she's not. Okay?"

"How come you're being so nice to me, Adam? After what I said?" Chris rubbed a hand across his eyes. "What I did?"

Adam shrugged. "We're family, Chris. You can't get rid of me that easy."

"But I—" Chris' light blue eyes looked distinctly troubled.

"You weren't thinking. I *love* Jazz. More than anyone. I know it's hard for you to believe, but…I'm *not* interested in Emmy *that* way. Even if I was straight…I wouldn't be."

"But she's so—"

"Beautiful? Yeah, she is." Adam smiled slowly. "The way you feel about Emmy? That's how I feel about Jazz."

Chris dropped his gaze to Emmy's still form on the carpet. "I-I don't think I ever really thought of it like that before."

Adam patted Chris on the shoulder. "You watch. She'll come to any second now. Wonder what she's dreaming."

Chris almost smiled. "Maybe she's dreaming about me."

"Maybe."

Emmy's head was filled to bursting with new knowledge. Just when she thought that she couldn't absorb another piece of information, the voice continued.

She wondered if the voice was human, quickly concluding that it wasn't. Humans needed to stop for breath.

"So I'm kinda related to the Celtic Druids?"

"Aye."

"Kinda royalty?"

"Aye."

"Kinda witchy?"

She could have sworn the voice made a face, or it would have, if it were still attached to a body. "Ummm…"

"You have massive potential that needs channeling in order to be explored."

"Is that Druidspeak for "Don't try this at home, boys and girls"?

"Erm…you may need some…guidance, yes."

"Guidance, I understand. But that sounded like close monitoring."

"Supervision."

"Are you going to teach me spells?"

"Perhaps. If I judge you worthy…"

"If I'm real good, could you tell me my future?" she asked eagerly.

"My dear child, why would you want to look ahead?"

Emmy closed her eyes and smiled beatifically. "I just want to know what happens when Chris asks me to marry him."

"Why, you accept, of course."

Emmy's silvery gray eyes came open suddenly, dancing with barely suppressed excitement. "Is it very romantic?"

"What?" asked the exasperated voice.

"The proposal. Does he get down on one knee? Like that?"

"Ah, I see." She could hear the voice smile. "He holds your hand in his and recites something he's been practicing for nearly a year. Waiting for just the right moment."

"What does he say?"

"Am pos thu mi?"

Emmy closed her eyes again, seeing the moment in her mind's eye as though it were happening in real time. An insistent whisper set up in her brain, making it difficult to think of anything else.

Chris. On his knees. Her hand in his. Her soft exclamation. His equally tender kiss.

Oh, to dream like this forever.

Adam stared at Chris in shock. "What did she say?"

Chris' blue eyes grew wide. "It sounded like she whispered, Will you marry me?"

Adam blinked. "That must be *some* dream."

Emmy's eyelids fluttered for several seconds before she opened her eyes completely. "Hi," she said, staring into the face of the young man she loved.

For a moment, it seemed as though Chris stopped breathing. Then his nostrils flared and he gasped her name. "Emmm!"

He swallowed hard before trusting himself to say anything else. Stroking her hair back from her face with one hand, he hovered expectantly above her, as if anticipating her every wish. "You were gone so long, I—"

"I'm okay."

"I'm glad," Chris said, his voice breaking as he gave in to his inner turmoil at last. He buried his face against her neck, immediately comforted by her familiar scent. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, meeting Adam's solicitous gaze over Chris' head.

"I didn't mean to-to-h-hurt you," he whispered, his voice muffled by the closeness of his mouth to her skin. That it didn't occur to him to kiss her merely demonstrated how worried he had been.

However, Emmy had no such qualms. She turned her head, her fervent but unexpected caress catching him on his jaw. "I love you," she said, her own voice stronger and more confident than before.

He pulled back, the tracks of his tears suddenly visible down both cheeks. "Did you dream about *us*?"

She nodded and kissed him again.

"What did you see?"

She smiled shyly. "You asked me to marry you."

Chris brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. "What did you say?" he asked shakily.

"What do you think?"

"I can't remember a time when I didn't love you," he declared, meeting her eyes with an intensity that reminded her of his father.

Adam slowly rose to his feet and left the room. Emmy was all right, and from the looks of things, his relationship with his younger brother had taken a decided turn for the better.

The music was slow and romantic. The dance floor was nearly empty. It was growing late and would-be lovers had found new places to tryst within the hotel's spacious confines.

Declan tightened his arms across Sey's back as they slowly rocked back and forth. Sey's dark eyes closed as he lay his head on Declan's shoulder, his fingers idly playing with his lover's long red hair.

"Do you like your surprise, acushla?" he whispered, his lips barely grazing Sey's temple.

"Oh, yeah," Sey sighed contentedly.

"First dinner…then dancing…" Declan paused before continuing, but Sey couldn't wait to jump into the gap.

"Did you get a room?"

Declan looked affronted. "Of course I got a room! Do I look cheap?"

Sey chuckled low in his throat. "No," he said huskily, raising an eyebrow in a wicked imitation of Declan. "You look like someone who's hot to get into my pants."

"Mmm…maybe," Declan purred. "Unless you're too tired."

"Nope."

"Got a headache?"

"Nuh-uh." By now, Sey's melted chocolate eyes were twinkling mischievously as he gazed raptly into the face of the man he loved.

"The room has a Jacuzzi," Declan whispered.

"Well, what are we waiting for? A train?"

Declan never knew what hit him.

Sey chuckled as Declan methodically unplugged all of the phones in the hotel room from their jacks. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Making sure we don't get interrupted."

"I've still got my cell," Sey said with a lopsided grin.

"Aye? Well, hand it over."

"No," Sey protested. "What if Sasha needs to get in touch with us?"

"If you don't give it to me, acushla, I'll just have to take it off you…the hard way."

"Oh, yeah? Maybe I *like* the hard way," Sey purred, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

"You like it *any* way, if I'm any judge," Declan pronounced triumphantly.

"I could always turn it off," Sey said flippantly.

"I don't care if you drown the damn thing in the Jacuzzi. Come here," Declan growled impatiently. "I want to taste you."

"Just taste? Don't you want to…eat me?"

Declan groaned loudly. "Jesus, Sey, I'm not as young as I was. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You'll always be young and beautiful to me."

Declan shook his head gently, allowing Sey to fully appreciate the radiant red silk that surrounded his face and gracefully draped over his shoulders. "Now you're being bloody romantic," Declan murmured.

Sey turned off his cell phone and placed it on top of the night table.

Some things weren't meant to be disturbed.

"What are their names?" Luc asked, tugging on Nikita's arm.

"I dunno, Luc. That's up to Mr. Adrian and his wife to decide."

"I want to help name 'em," Luc said stubbornly.

"I know, honey, but they might not need any help."

"Were they 'specting that many?"

"Hmm…I think they were, now that you mention it. Why?"

"Just checkin'."

The ripples of the water alternately soothed and stirred their merging bodies. When Declan entered him, Sey cried out, but not with pain. Never with pain. Declan's slow, rhythmic lovemaking was a counterpoint to the fast, frantic act of possession that would take place later.

Declan barely moved within him, but his touch was deeply felt throughout Sey's entire body. The tall, lean Irishman nudged Sey's hair away from his nape with his nose, mouthing a wet strand of the dark brown silk. "I love you."

"Ohhh…" Sey rolled to his right slightly and pulled Declan's head down for an all-too-brief kiss. "I love you, too."

"Mmm…I love you more."

Sey laughed softly. "Oh, yeah? Where is my more? I dare you—"

Declan cut off what Sey was going to say with an emphatic kiss. "Never dare an Irishman, baby."

"Why? What'll happen?"

Declan's eyelids fluttered down to cover the sudden flash of heat that arced through his pale grey eyes. "Want me to show you?"

"Again?"

"Mmm, what do you mean, again? We're not done…yet."

And with that, Declan started to undulate against Sey's body, provoking a heartfelt gasp from the younger man. Muted cries rang out moments later, followed by fervent whispers and invocations of love.

"Mr. Adrian, Mr. Adrian! Did you name all the babies yet?" Luc exclaimed as soon as he saw the weary martial arts instructor enter the house.

Adrian smiled faintly. "Not yet. We're still thinking."

"Can I help? Huh? Please?"

"Of course."

"Are they all girls or boys?"

"Well…there are two boys and a girl. The boys are identical twins."

"Wow." Luc seemed to be rendered speechless by that announcement.

"I'm a little tired. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to head to bed. That way, I can drop by the hospital nice and early."

"Oh…sure." Luc's face fell.

"I didn't forget about the names, Luc. Why don't you tell me your suggestions?"

"Um…you could name the boys Michael and Christopher."

"Really? Those are interesting choices, Luc. Your father's and your older brother's names. You must like them a great deal."

Luc burst into a sunny smile that would undoubtedly drive young girls wild when he got older. Cupping his hand conspiratorially around his mouth, he whispered, "Don't tell anyone, Mr. Adrian, but they're my heroes."

Adrian whispered back, "I won't tell a soul." But he crossed his fingers behind his back. He had never wanted to break a promise so much in his entire life…and he intended to do just that.

Heroes didn't always know who they were.