Anselm stood in a darkened room adjacent to Colleen’s quarters, with his eye cupped to a peephole in the wall, watching her chat amiably with Syndaht as the man cleared away her dinner things. It was time for Anselm’s ‘daily chat’ with her—an event he’d come to relish over the past few weeks. But he’d taken to spending a moment here first, from time to time, to observe Colleen unawares before going to knock at her door. This surveillance was not motivated by any prurient interest. He was not that sort at all—would, in fact, have been profoundly embarrassed to catch her in any kind of compromising circumstance. Anselm’s personal standards had always been of the highest nature, and pegged entirely to his own self-regard rather than to anyone else’s opinion of him. No, these bits of strategic snooping were all carefully orchestrated in advance, with Syndaht instructed to raise some particular issue as he brought or cleared Colleen’s meals, or performed other maintenance tasks in her room, while Anselm eavesdropped on the exchange.

The topics he had Syndaht raise were usually ones Anselm had just recently discussed with her, or was about to broach, in order to see how her positions or manner with his assistant might vary from those she presented to himself—a curiosity prompted largely by Anselm’s increasing desire to be sure her surprising character wasn’t all just a clever ruse. She’d managed to conceal quite a few lies from him that first evening, after all. No small achievement. Was she, perhaps, simply even more devious than most of her kind?

Yet, no matter what Syndaht provoked her with during these little tests, Colleen just went on confounding Anselm’s suspicions. Life regularly failed to turn out as Anselm hoped or expected, but these unpleasant developments almost never surprised him; they simply confirmed his general expectations. Not until Colleen’s arrival had Anselm even suspected how long and completely actual surprise had been absent from his life.

He had initially expected that she would surprise him less and less as they continued to duel. She was Andinol, after all. He had endured centuries of painful acquaintance with her kind by now. Though her surfaces might not have proven typical, her core, he had assumed, would doubtless be the same dark, dull tangle of animosities and insecurities, primitive appetites and self-justifying duplicities that had always defined the Andinalloi. Yet each new conversation Anselm had with her just seemed to leave him more surprised than before. She was…nothing he’d expected her to be.

She continued to seem neither as frightened nor half as angry as he’d expected, but had begun adapting almost instantly to all sorts of things that should have immobilize one of her kind—seemed to be adapting still, day by day, almost cheerfully by now. They weren’t mistreating her, of course. Far from it. But still…where was the fatigue, the boredom, the defensiveness, the restlessness or despair that any of her kind should very reasonably be manifesting after three weeks in that room—pleasant furnishings, good food, and rotating view notwithstanding? She’d asked for only two things so far: some communication to her family that she was unharmed—which he’d had to refuse her—and paper and writing instruments for herself, which he’d ordered Syndaht to supply immediately, with promises that no one would pry into her writing—a promise entirely sincere. Since the night Shade had convinced him that she might possess the information they needed, Anselm’s primary goal had been to win her trust—firmly, over time; an approach that was driving his young hornet absolutely mad, to Anselm’s quiet satisfaction. Let Shade stew. Obtaining evidence to damn The Lady with, and proof that it had been obtained without any coercion—if he could pull it off—would go a long way toward defusing other accusations that might be raised against him. Like the unfortunate fact of Colleen’s abduction itself. Well worth the wait. And after this many years, what would a few more weeks of delay matter? Or even a few more months? Patience was something Anselm had long understood the value of—as his poor hornet would, in time.

But, for all their assurances of respect for her privacy, the girl had left her little pile of pages right out on the breakfast table at least half a dozen times, where Syndaht could hardly have managed not to glance at what was written on them. He’d reported to Anselm that it seemed nothing but a journal of her thoughts and experiences—which could hurt no one, as long as it remained within her room. If she’d left them out on purpose, Anselm couldn’t see what for. There’d been nothing in what Syndaht had glimpsed that seemed at all strategic. Three weeks in, she seemed, if anything, less resigned to her captivity than increasingly interested in her captors. It was almost as if she were the one in charge here, though she’d made it very clear on several occasions that she knew she wasn’t, and had no problem living with that fact. Where was the overwhelm—the resentment—the attempt to bribe someone or escape somehow? Where was the creeping anxiety, the sullen withdrawal, or the tearful capitulation—anything at all that Anselm had been anticipating and preparing to leverage? Where was the Andinol girl they had supposedly kidnapped?

Right now she and Syndaht were discussing Cullen, whose behavior Syndaht was pretending to apologize for, as instructed, while Colleen—surprisingly—came to Cullen’s defense! Over the past few weeks, she had become not just rather fascinated—in charmingly misguided ways—but even sympathetic somehow toward Cullen. The ‘troll,’ as her kind had long ago named his, was in fact a much gentler and more sensitive being by basic nature than his usual duties here would give anyone cause to suspect. But having herself been one of those unpleasant ‘duties’ Cullen had been required to see to, how—and why—had Colleen come to see this in him at all, much less just weeks after being so roughly snatched by him? Extraordinary!

Had the cosmos truly dropped some kind of exceptional specimen in Anselm’s lap? Or…had she just come to them already knowing far more than she seemed to? Just how much had those documents from Rhymer disclosed? Was she really even surprised by any of this? Not that it mattered, really. Either explanation clearly rendered her exceptional. And, if life had taught him anything, it was that exceptions were never to be wasted. Every one of his staff—including Cullen—was testament to that verity. So…what should he do with her?

Whatever the answers, this evening’s surveillance had caught her in no discrepancies either, and it was time for their tête-à-tête. He turned from the wall and walked out of the room. Ten feet down the hallway outside, he stopped before her door and knocked. It was opened by Syndaht, carrying a tray of dinner remains above his shoulder on one hand as he stepped aside to let Anselm enter before exiting himself and closing the door behind him.

“Good evening, Colleen. May I come in for a visit?”

“Of course,” she said pleasantly. “My room is always yours.”

Anselm gave the remark an appreciative smirk as he went to sit down in his usual chair. Colleen came from where she had been sitting on the bed to settle across from him.

“How was your dinner?” Anselm inquired.

“Delicious as ever. And so healthy!” She looked down at herself. “I think I’m trimming up. Don’t you?”

He gave her a reproachful smile. “You know very well that a gentleman would never answer such a question honestly—and that a lady would not ask him to. I’m just grateful that you’re eating now. Shall I have Syndaht bring you larger portions?”

“Do, and I’ll just throw it at him—or at you, maybe. I’m working very hard to stay in shape here, and your chef isn’t helping any.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that—all of it. Syndaht has mentioned your daily yoga practice, actually. I admire such discipline.”

“I see. And what else has your charming little spy told you about me?”

“Syndaht is not a spy. He is just a servant, and a good man, who’s come to admire you quite a bit—as all of us have. Is there anything else we might do to make this unfortunate situation more comfortable for you?”

“Only the same one I’ve been asking for,” she said. “There has to be some way to let my family know I’m not dead.”

Anselm sighed, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Have you come up with some new idea then about how I’m to do so without admitting that I have you to begin with? Because, once I did, all sorts of trouble would likely ensue. Trouble that would likely involve having to move you out of these comfortable quarters to…who knows where? And what for? If an untraceable message were to reach them somehow—in your handwriting, containing some convincing evidence that it was truly from you—how much comfort do you suppose they’d find in a note saying, ‘I’m okay, but can’t come home, likely for quite a while’? Do you really believe they wouldn’t just assume you were in danger and writing under duress?”

She looked away unhappily. “They’d still know I wasn’t dead.”

“I wish this hadn’t happened,” he said. “But it has, and I can’t change that now any more than you can.”

She shook her head and looked back at him. “If this was really a mistake, then there has to be some way to just let me go. I don’t care how far away you drop me. I’ll tell them I have amnesia. I swear it. That I don’t know where I’ve been, or even why. I don’t care about seeing anybody punished. I’ll just forget this ever happened—that you exist.”

“I am coming to believe you, actually—in ways I rarely believe anyone—which makes it all the more painful to refuse your request again. But once you’d reappeared, those attempting to undo me would never allow you to maintain such a pose. They might even harm you if that’s what it took to extract the truth. It would not be safe—for you, or for your family—to set you free before the larger conflict you’re entangled in has been resolved. And, frankly, there’s too much more at stake here than even my own personal survival. I can’t, in good conscience, risk handing my opponents such an advantage, even if I were sufficiently altruistic to wish to.”

An oppressive silence settled between them.

“Syndaht has also mentioned—on several occasions—your…surprisingly gentle assessments of Cullen,” Anselm said, to shift the subject. “I am impressed by such understanding, given what good reason you have to feel otherwise.”

“It’s not hard to see that he’s…” she fumbled to a halt.

“That he’s what?”

“No monster,” she said quietly. “How much say does anyone around here really have about what they do?” She gave him an accusing look. “Not even you, if I’m to believe your vague assertions about ‘what’s at stake.’”

“I know you’re angry that I won’t explain all this to you, Colleen, but doing even that would just leave you far less safe—now and later.”

“So, you’re worried about my safety now?” she asked wearily.

“If I tried to explain, you’d find nothing I told you believable anyway.”

She rolled her eyes, and gestured at the room. “I’ve survived the weird décor and the costumes, haven’t I?” She waved at the window. “The impossible VR? I get it; the world is stranger than I know. If you admire me so much, why not try letting me decide what else I can believe?”

Anselm considered her, wondering what would happen if he simply told her the truth. Whatever Rhymer’s documents may have contained, reading about his kind would be one thing, meeting them, another. There was literally no point in telling any normal Andinol about what lay beyond the margins of their parochial lives. …But how would this one handle it? Just how exceptional was she—really? …Time to test the waters, perhaps. Carefully, of course.

“Very well,” he said. “I don’t promise to pour my heart out, but I will tell you no lies.”

“Really,” she said, clearly surprised.

He nodded. “Ask your questions.”

“Okay… How about we start with these? Who are you guys? Who’s the other team? And what’s the war about?”

He offered her a bemused smile. “Starting small, are we?” She gazed back at him, unsmiling, clearly expecting him to back away from his offer now, or dissemble. “Fine, into the deep end we go then. If I told you that there is not just one kind of person in the world, but two kinds, would I already have lost you?”

She looked dubious, but…not entirely surprised—which did not entirely surprise him either. “What two kinds would those be?”

“One kind that cares about life, all the life on this planet, and a second kind that isn’t just oblivious to the life around them, but poses a serious threat to all of it, including themselves.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “So…you’re what? Some kind of secret environmental activism movement?”

Anselm considered this unexpected deduction. Not that far off the mark, in its way. “That might be a way to look at us,” he said with a shrug. “A place to start, at least.”

“For a minute, I thought you were about to tell me something really interesting.”

“Did you?” Yes, she had definitely come to this conversation with some other kind of expectation. But he’d already suspected that. “What did you think I would tell you?” he asked, not expecting her to answer honestly.

She shrugged. “That you were aliens—or the Illuminati or something? …Or even the truth, maybe—though I know how crazy that sounds.”

“The truth,” he drawled. “Do you know the truth, Colleen? …Can you tell it to me?”

“I can tell when I’m not hearing it. Why not just answer my questions?”

“I understand how evasive I must sound to you, Colleen, but I have never actually had to explain us before—to anyone—and have no clear idea how to go about it, really.” He placed a hand on his chest. “I am among the first group of people I just mentioned. We…have worked for a very, very long time in unimaginable secrecy to preserve the world from the voracious predations of that second group I mentioned. The little miracles you’ve observed here are the least examples of what we’re capable of doing—which is how we’ve managed to hold our ground against the others for as long as we have. But we have become…much reduced over time, and are in danger of failing in our long struggle to save…anything at all.”

“Wow.” She gazed at him with raised brows. “That was…really vague.”

He smiled, and sighed. “It’s funny how an effort to explain a thing too large inevitably results in tongue-tied silence.”

“So…the other guys—who threaten all life on the planet are…who?”

He grimaced. “Well, now that’s where things get…dreadfully awkward, I fear.”

“Awkward how?”

“This is where I do expect to lose you, Colleen, but, with apologies, that other group of people we’ve spent literally millennia attempting to protect the world from…is you.”

Colleen leaned back, her brows a full inch higher. “Me?”

“Of course not you personally, Colleen. I mean the human race in general.”

“…The human race.” She looked caught between fear and laughter. “Which makes you guys who, exactly? Are you seriously telling me you’re aliens after all?”

“No, no; we’re no more alien than you are. The differences between us are hardly—”

“Millennia,” she continued without letting him finish. “So you’re what, the Knights Templar? …Or is it the Illuminati after all? And these human beings who are trying to destroy you—and might hurt me, if you let me go—are…the CIA? The NSA? Some military-industrial black-ops team?”

“No, no,” Anselm said. “None of your so-called intelligence networks has any notion of this conflict, or of our existence.” He was neither surprised nor distressed, of course, that she thought him insane. That had been inevitable. Either they’d pass through this space into some other, or the journey they’d just begun would end here. Either way, their pas de deux was broken now—badly and abruptly—which would allow him to watch whatever started dribbling from its ruptured seams. “Those who wish my downfall, and possibly your further harm, are, sadly, other members of the first group, to which I belong. During the past century or two, a disagreement has erupted between two factions of our own community about how best to deal with yours.”

“So then it’s really three groups,” Colleen said, sounding tired and sad.

“No.” Anselm shook his head. “Just us and you. But if the part of our group that’s fallen into error is not stopped soon, your group will destroy even themselves with our misguided help. All of us might well be gone within a century or two. I am all that stands between us and that unthinkable mistake—though my opponents would tell you very differently, of course.” Or have they already?

Colleen slumped back into her chair. “Okay, listen; can you make some better sense of this for me? Because, honestly, Anselm, if I hadn’t…seen that view outside the window, I’d be writing you off as completely nuts now—especially with the costumes and everything.”

She’d been about to reference something other than the window. He was sure of it. ‘If she hadn’t,’ what? Read all about his kind and hers already? She was still hiding something all right. The first slip had been hers. “I am hardly surprised,” he said sympathetically. “I did warn you, did I not? That the answers to your questions would help nothing?”

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No, Colleen. Nor is it madness—though I’m well aware it seems so. It is the beginning of a much longer conversation that will only get stranger and stranger—if you still wish to have it. It is a conversation that may change your perception of the world—and yourself—entirely. As I’ve observed before, we’ve ample time for it. But this choice, at least, is yours to make. Is this a conversation you still want to have? Or shall we just forget this exchange, and go back to enjoying one another’s company as best we can until this affair has run its course?”

For a long while, she just gazed at him in silence. A good sign, he thought. This would be a carefully considered answer—from which he would learn something useful, one way or another. She was not yet disappointing him.

She drew a deep breath, and sat up with an expression of grim determination. “Well, you’re right. I have nothing better to do with all this time you guys are stealing from me. But let’s get one thing straight. Listening doesn’t mean believing—or agreeing. I’m not swallowing anything you say just because I’m at your mercy here. If I don’t believe you, I’m gonna say so. Every time you say something that makes as little sense to me as most of what you’ve just said does, I’m going to challenge it until you manage to convince me, or one of us gets tired of arguing—which could make me quite a pain in the ass to talk with. This is going to be a real conversation, between both of us, or nothing at all. Those are my terms.” She leaned back into her chair again. “So, you tell me, Anselm; is this a conversation you want to have?”

He could not keep the smile from his face. He had anticipated any of a dozen possible responses from her—none of which had borne any resemblance to this one. Astonishing. “Oh yes,” he said. “Bravo, Colleen. You never cease to impress me. I look forward to this conversation as I have looked forward to little else in such a long, long time.”

She had not just surprised him—again. Her response had jolted him out of his own blinders! Until this moment, his only goal had been to extract whatever information she was hiding. But he’d been thinking too small! He saw the full extent of her potential now—and Shade had been so much more right than he had known. Colleen might very well turn out be the most valuable gift that boy had ever brought him.

He’d never had an actual member of the Andinalloi to rail at before—much less to argue with. But in the very act of demanding that he take her seriously, this remarkable young woman had just announced—whether she saw it or not—that she was prepared to take him seriously as well. Might he actually persuade her of his point of view—make her see her own kind as he saw them? What might he accomplish with a knowing, willing Andinol compatriot? What if, when he brought Colleen before a set of arbiters, she were not just a box of unwitting evidence? What if an Andinol woman of such obvious quality were to stand up before the court and denounce The Lady’s misguided agenda herself? Anselm could scarcely imagine the impact that might have—on everything. He dared not allow himself to dream of it, much less expect it yet. But life had clearly dropped an exceptional exception in his lap this time—and he’d be history’s most damnable fool not to run as far with her as he could run.