MOONLIGHT LEGACY                                                          By                                                  Jewel Dartt PROLOGUE The kettle hit the floor with a loud clang; water splashed the floor and cabinets. Miranda grasped the edge of the sink and held on, her knuckles bleached white from the strain. "Oh!" she screamed, bending over in agony as another red-hot knife sliced through her. Mother of God, what was wrong with her? She breathed deeply…in…out…willing the pain away. It didn't work. The next pain took her to her knees as it twisted its way into her middle and then traveled down her spine. Someone screamed and then screamed again. Could that be her voice making that high keening sound? It sounded more like an wounded animal…not human at all. Dear God, what was happening to her? A sea of pain swept Miranda away, yanking her deep into an endless void of reddish haze. She was drowning…drowning in a whirlpool of torment. Slowly, she fought her way back to the surface. The phone…have to get to the phone, call…Hadden…doctor…make the pain go away. Fear-a fear more intense than she'd ever known before-overcame her. Dying…this must be what it's like. No…not like this…this is worse… Hadden…Hadden. His name echoed through her mind in a silent scream as she inched her body across the sopping yellow tile toward the wall. If she could just get to the phone…get to Hadden…everything would be all right. He would make everything all right again. Take away the pain…do something. Dear Jesus…please… The phone rang out its low, trembling sound. Miranda's hope soared as she tried to crawl towards the sound. Each movement was agony, but she kept going. Perspiration beaded her brow as the pain crested again, and she could smell the acrid scent of fear emanating from her tortured body. Miranda moaned and bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming; blood choked her as it flooded her mouth. Keep going…have to keep going, she thought, trying to distance herself from the pain and the horror. It didn't work. When she at last reached the wall where the phone hung, she tried to pull herself up next to the counter. A wave of nausea flooded over her. Her sunny yellow kitchen dipped alarmingly as she lost her grip and then slid back to the floor. The phone quit ringing, and despair slammed into her at its sudden silence. With a tiny whimper of defeat, Miranda curled up into a tight ball. She held herself, screaming and letting the pain wash over her. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she knew she was dying…dying before she'd had a chance to really live. "Please…somebody help me…Oh God…" she screamed in despair as yet another pain swamped her. Dear God, would it never end? Something foreign…alien…had taken over her body. Now it was inside, rearranging her organs…her insides…to fit some demented scientist's idea of something not human. A distant memory, dark and foreboding, danced on the edge of her awareness. Something primordial…something inhuman. She moaned out loud as she tried to catch the gray wisp of knowledge floating so near, yet just too far away for her to grasp. Another stab of pain sent Miranda's mind scurrying into the dark. She had to get away…get away before the agony drove her mad. The sound of a wolf howling in the distance accompanied her into a void of warmth and darkness. A place where she could retreat from her body's betrayal and be safe…for now. CHAPTER ONE Hadden McNeal looked at his watch. She was already fifteen minutes late. "Relax, she'll be here," Steven smiled at his friend. "She’s always running late." Hadden attempted a wry smile, "For her own wedding?" Steven placed his bible on the pulpit. "Maybe she had car trouble." Hadden shook his head, staring with blank eyes at the splashes of orange and gold that decorated the church. Miranda had insisted on using pumpkins and cornstalks, instead of the traditional flowers, while still keeping with the fall season. He'd agreed as he always did when Miranda wanted something. He loved her too much to deny her. "Miranda would have called." He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked at Steven. "No, something’s wrong. I just feel it." He winced slightly as Mrs. Biggers hit a sour note on the piano. God, not again. This was the seventh time she'd played "Oh Promise Me," and he figured she was getting pretty tired of playing it. He sure as hell was getting sick of hearing it. Where in the hell was Miranda? He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to ignore the whispering in the church. This just wasn't like her. Oh, it wasn't that Miranda was always on time that made him worry about her lateness now—she hardly ever was on time for anything. And for the most part he didn't mind, although it was irritating as hell on occasion…like now, for instance. But after the other day, when Miranda had come flying into the church fifteen minutes late for rehearsal—her large blue eyes all soft and apologetic, her shoulder length blonde hair wind blown, her fingers stained with charcoal from the preliminary sketches she was doing on a new book of fairy tales—he’d assumed she would be on time, today of all days. Where in the hell could she be? How could she even think about being late? Today was their wedding day, for Christ's sake. Hadden could hear the worried whispering coming from the pews filled with friends and family, mostly his family. Miranda's mother was ill and unable to make the trip from Florida to Silver Valley, North Carolina. The only other relative she had was her paternal grandmother, and Hadden had never had the pleasure of meeting her. Presently, she was with Miranda's mother. He wondered if Miranda had received bad news about her mother. Perhaps that was why she was late? Damn, he should never have agreed to that superstitious nonsense about not seeing the bride before the wedding. Miranda had even insisted they celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday a day early so as not to step on tradition. She'd wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for their wedding. She'd not be late and jinx our wedding. Then where is she? He glanced at his watch again. Five more minutes had crept by; Miranda was thirty minutes late and still counting. He looked up and saw his mother give him a thumbs-up sign. He knew she was trying to let him know everything was all right, but he could see his own worry mirrored in her eyes. He tried to give her a smile, but it felt stiff and awkward. "OK, Hadden, relax," he whispered under his breath. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair and stared down the aisle. Where is she…? It seemed as though he’d loved her forever. In his mind’s eye he could see her floating down the aisle in her white lace wedding dress, looking like the angel she was… "Just go call her," Steven said, looking at his own watch. "You can use the phone in the rectory." Hadden was startled from his reverie. Uneasiness became a knot in his stomach. But then, was he overreacting? Anything could have happened. He'd give her a few more minutes and then call. He tried to dismiss the anxious feeling that gnawed at the lining of his stomach. The scent of beeswax lingered in the quiet breeze stirred up by the ceiling fans, reminding him of the day he and Miranda had refinished an old bookshelf she'd found in her grandfather's attic. He shook his head and smiled. Jesus, she was such a kook for anything old. He stared at the empty aisle and frowned. Miranda loves me…she'll be here, he told himself over and over. It didn't help any. Suddenly, there was a disturbance in the back row. Low murmuring rose in the church as an impeccably dressed woman with beautifully coifed silver hair came down the aisle. She walked with a cane, but instead of distracting from her, it only seemed to add to the dignity that she exuded as she marched down the aisle, head held high. She was definitely one classy lady, Hadden thought, just like my Miranda. She stopped in front of Hadden, eyeing him with…sympathy? Now why would she feel sorry for him? Hadden wondered, feeling again the biting edge of anxiety. Or was it dread? He wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it had something to do with the woman standing in front of him. "Hadden McNeal?" she asked. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke. He adjusted the handkerchief in his tuxedo pocket with a nervous gesture. Some sixth sense told him he wasn't going to like what was coming next, but there was no way of avoiding the inevitable. He sighed. "Yes. Can I help you…?" "Elizabeth Slate," she offered, extending her hand. A sense of overwhelming relief swept over him as he took it. It had been stupid of him to worry. Miranda was here. "You're Miranda's grandmother. I'm glad you could make it to the wedding." He looked beyond her, expecting to see Miranda coming down the aisle any minute. But the aisle remained empty. He looked back at Elizabeth Slate. "Where's Miranda?" She shook her head and glanced around. "That's why I'm here. We must talk. In private." Steven gave his friend a concerned look, but like the true friend he was he said nothing about the unexpected guest. "You can talk in the rectory if you like." Hadden waited until the door was shut behind them before he turned and spoke. "What's wrong? Why isn't Miranda here?" The elderly woman wore a classic, black knit dress and a matching black cashmere overcoat. More in line for a funeral than a wedding, Hadden thought wryly. He heard Miranda's laughing voice in his head. Don't be so morbid, darling. Despite his concern he smiled; even in his thoughts she chastised him to behave. Dammit, where are you, Miranda? He watched in impatient silence as the old woman, looking at him with haunted eyes, reached into a coat pocket and drew out a slip of paper. "I think this will explain. Or at least partially." Hadden took it from her hands, the dread inside him building until it filled him completely, making it difficult for him to catch his breath. Miranda's grandmother turned to leave. His hand caught her sleeve. "Please, wait, I want to talk to you." She must have heard the desperation in his voice for she turned back to look at him. "Is Miranda all right?" he asked, his voice husky with pain. A strained, hurting kind of look appeared on her wrinkled features as she studied him. "Hadden, my granddaughter may never be what we regard as all right ever again. I'm sorry for the way things have turned out for you two. It is my opinion that you and my granddaughter are a match made in heaven." Tears glistened in her eyes. "It's a pity, a real pity. I really wish things could have been different. You young people deserve so much better." Hadden's throat constricted at her words, but before he could respond she was gone. A bone chilling coldness seeped through him as he read Miranda's note: Hadden, Please forgive me for taking the coward’s way out—but I can't marry you. I realize that I don’t love you the way I should love you. I know I should have told you sooner, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry…Miranda. A sense of unreality clouded his mind, and he wondered if he might be in the grip of some horrible nightmare. He felt as if his heart had been broken into jagged pieces and then handed to him to fix somehow. But there was only one person who had the power to do that. Miranda. "What is it?" Steven asked as he came into the room. Behind his glasses, his kind eyes were filled with concern. "You're so pale. Are you sick?" Hadden tried to bring the trembling in his hands under control as he silently handed his friend the note. Steven scanned it quickly, and then looked up, his face registering surprise and confusion. "I don't understand. She can't marry you because she realizes that she doesn't love you? But I just saw her yesterday and she seemed happy to me. All she could talk about was you and the wedding, and the plans she had to redo her grandfather's house after you two got back from your honeymoon. She seemed happy that you didn't mind living outside town…this note doesn't make sense." Hadden swallowed the lump of raw hurt…and yes, anger that had crawled into his throat. "Me either," he rasped. "I’m going to get to the bottom of this, get the truth, even if I have to shake it out of her." Steven put a hand out to stop him. "Perhaps you should wait until you cool off a bit, Hadden. There has to be an explanation. Try and be reasonable." "Don't worry about me," Hadden replied. "There is one thing. Could you do me a favor and tell everyone there’s not gonna be a wedding today?" His voice trailed off as he found himself unable to continue. "I'll take care of it. You just be careful and don't say something to Miranda you might regret later. Give her a chance to explain, Hadden." Hadden left the church and got into his beat up red pick-up truck, jerking it into gear, and leaving the acrid scent of burning rubber trailing behind from protesting tires. Miranda owned a small bungalow on the other side of the valley. The tiny house was nestled against the back of Overlook Mountain, and seemingly the green wilderness encased her on both sides. It seemed a bit lonely to him, but she'd told him she loved the privacy of the place when he’d encouraged her to move closer to town. And after a while, Hadden had grown to love it, even the privacy, as much as she did. With Miranda by his side, loneliness was a thing of the past. Or so he had once thought. There was something about being so close to the bluish haze-covered mountains that gave him a feeling of peace most of the time. Today, the mountains' magic wasn't working. Normally, they made him slow his pace and think, and take the time to appreciate life, not rush through it without seeing their beauty. The same way Miranda did. No… the same way Miranda used to. Pain, like nothing he'd ever felt before, swamped over Hadden at the thought of her. God, why had she done it? He forced himself to take a deep breath and watch how the October blue of the sky deepened as the sun began to dip behind the mountains, casting an aura of gold on the red and yellow fall leaves of the mountainside. The mountains had been here for thousands of years, and always invoked a sense of awe and wonder inside him. Even as a child he'd felt their magic. But somehow, during the course of everyday life, he'd lost the ability to see beyond himself and his patients, ignoring the spectacular scenery that surrounded him…until Miranda had walked back into his life. Goddammit, he couldn't keep his mind off her. Hadden punched in the gas pedal with a brutal thrust as the pick-up truck bounced over a railroad track, his emotions in turmoil. Dammit, why had she stood him up? He still couldn't believe she had actually left him standing at the altar. God, what an awful cliché. But cliché or not, it hurt like hell. And why hadn't she come to him herself instead of sending her grandmother with a kiss-off note? It wasn't something Miranda would normally do, not in a million years. Could she possibly have been afraid to tell him she'd had a change of heart? He shook his head, down shifting gears automatically as he took the sharp curve in the road too fast. He ignored the groaning sound of metal against metal when he shoved the gear stick too hard; his thoughts focused on the matter at hand. Miranda's betrayal. No…not Miranda. There had to be a reason, a logical reason why she had done this to him…to them. Hell, he'd seen her take on the whole school board when they had tried to cancel the art program at the elementary school because of lack of funds. She had taken it upon herself to organize the valley, pushing and prodding people to give their time and money for bake sales, car washes and even an auction where she was the auctioneer. No, that woman had guts and spirit aplenty. And that's what worried him. Why? The question resounded in his head over and over again. Why had she called off the wedding? When Hadden at last pulled into her drive, he barely took time to put the pick-up truck into park and cut off the engine before his feet hit the gravel. He slammed onto the sagging wooden porch, still not knowing what he was going to say, but he did know he wasn't leaving until she told him the truth about why she dumped him. He didn't notice the sun going down… *** Miranda’s body tensed as she heard tires slide to a stop on the gravel drive. She knew it could only be Hadden. Slowly she got up, heart sinking and hands trembling, as she walked to the screen door and watched him jump out of the pick-up truck. Her heart skipped a beat as she noted he was still in his tux. "I want to know why you didn't show up at the church. And I want to hear it straight from you, not from some damn note." It was obvious he had wasted no time in getting here, she thought. God, how hurt he looked. She flinched as he slammed the flimsy door shut behind him and followed her into the living room. But what had she expected, a scornful voice inside her asked? That he would be delighted with what she had done to him? She had known better than that. Hadden wasn’t that kind of man; a woman couldn’t just end things with a dear John letter and expect him to disappear (or ‘quietly take it’). He wanted answers to questions she couldn't answer truthfully. Not if she wanted to keep her secret. She watched silently, arms crossed in front of her defensively, as he stalked across the polished hardwood floor. The angry look in his dark brown eyes and the wounded expression on his lean features were almost more than she could endure. Miranda wanted so much to touch him, take away the pain, but she didn't dare. Instead, she turned away, and fixed her unseeing gaze upon one of the bright, colorful rag rugs that dotted the floor, unable to bear seeing his anguish…seeing him suffer because of her. The sting of tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them back. Don't let him see you cry or he'll know the truth. She inhaled deeply, fighting the impulse to go into his arms and tell him everything. She wanted to more than anything but she knew deep in her heart that she could not. If he thought for even a second that she still loved him, still wanted him desperately, he'd never let her go. The grip of his hands on her shoulders was bruising as he turned her back to face him. Miranda wanted to cry out at the pain that emanated from his dark eyes; to keep silent, she was forced to turn her head away. "Dammit, Miranda, don't turn away. Not now. I need to know why. Tell me why, for God's sake." Cold sickness clamped at her insides at the anguish in his voice. She swallowed hard, showing no expression, and forced herself to look at him with a steady gaze, the way she had practiced for this very moment. "Because I don't love you." She felt something die inside her even as she said the words that would damn her in his eyes forever… The quiet ticking of the antique mantel clock was the only sound in the room. It broke the sudden tense silence that had fallen between them at her heart wrenching words. God, she wished she could take those words back. No, she had to go through with this charade. It was the only way. Dear God, if she could only tell him the truth. Truth she'd only found out last night when Gram had arrived from Florida, and had found her unconscious on the kitchen floor. Hadden gave a little ragged laugh and then seemed to lose all the color in his face, his skin taking on a gray tinge. He turned away from her and shoved his hand through his brown hair with an explosive sigh. "No way. Anything else, but not that you don't love me." There was an uncertainty in his voice that she'd never heard before, and anguish ripped through her soul because she had put it there. Miranda turned toward the window to hide her pain from him. She felt a tightening in her spine as apprehension surged inside her. The moon would rise within the hour. And even though it would be only a quarter moon, the last quarter for the month, Gram had said she would again experience pain and other…symptoms. Symptoms she dared not think about. Hadden spun her towards him, studying her intently. "You can’t be serious…so just stop lying and tell me the truth." She squared her shoulders bravely under his hands, schooling her features to remain impassive. "I never meant to hurt you. Sometimes these things just don't work out." Hadden studied her for a brief moment. He couldn't understand it. Something was very wrong here. He could feel it in his bones. Miranda looked so fragile and tiny standing there trying to be brave. But brave about what? Letting him down? Surely she didn't think he'd harm her? No, it was something else…something he couldn't pinpoint. Her blond hair was tousled as if she'd been running her hands through it…the way she did every time she was worried about something. And her eyes; the dark circles he saw beneath them proved that she'd spent a sleepless night. He knew the truth was right in front of him, he just couldn't figure it out. Under his piercing scrutiny, Miranda tugged with a nervous gesture at the oversized tee shirt she wore over gray leggings. Frustrated and bewildered, he finally spoke. "I know you better than anyone else, baby. If something is wrong, you know we can work it out together. Don't do this to us." She lifted her chin, her expression shuttered, hiding her emotions from him. "Do what, Hadden? Keep us from making the biggest mistake of our lives? Someday you'll thank me for this." He studied her for a moment, his features taking on a grim quality that frightened her. Their eyes met and held for a split second, and she imagined that he might kiss her. Then his eyes shadowed and he gazed at her with an intensity that made her swallow hard and look away. "You didn't think so yesterday, or the day before that. Nor did you think it three months ago when I asked you to be my wife." He paused for a moment. "Is there someone else?" he asked in a harsh voice. "Is that your dark secret?" Stunned and caught off guard, Miranda looked up at him, swallowing the lump of tears clotted in her throat. "Of course not." A frown crinkled Hadden's brow. "Hell, I don't know what to think anymore, none of this makes any sense. But there is something I do know, Miranda. Love doesn't just wither up and blow away overnight. This isn't over yet. I'm not going to quit until I find out what you're keeping from me." He pulled her into the circle of his arms, his mouth coming down on hers unexpectedly. A kiss that delved and bruised and ravaged her mouth…along with her very soul. Response washed through her in waves, radiating to the very tips of her toes. When he at last lifted his head, he gave her a savage grin. "Miranda darling, you say you don't love me, but your lips tell a different story. No, there’s something else…something you're hiding from me." She moved away from him, trying to control the trembling in her knees. "Please go…" He stepped back and nodded. "I'll go for now, but I’ll be back. You can count on that." After Hadden had slammed out of the house, Miranda touched her swollen mouth. She could still feel the searing heat from his kiss. She hurried to the bay window to catch one last glimpse of him before he drove away. Miranda could see the tension in his hard muscled back and shoulders, evident in the stiff way he walked. His long slender fingers were balled into fists by his sides. Tears gathered in her throat and pain choked her breath as Hadden slowly drove away. Dear God, what had she done? Had she done the right thing by sending him away? Miranda's thoughts floated back to the day they had gone to pick out the tuxedo and how relaxed and carefree he'd been then. He had grumbled about looking like a penguin as he turned left to right in front of the triple full-length mirror in the dressing room. She had told him how suave and debonair he looked. He gave her a wicked grin and pulled her into one of the empty stalls, kissing her until she was breathless with wanting him. Now, those happy memories brought only pain as she thought about what could have been…and what she now knew could never be…not with this dark cloud hanging over her head…a curse from the very depths of hell. Yes, she'd done the right thing by letting him go. She knew that with her head, but why didn't her heart want to listen? She bit her bottom lip as his truck turned the curve and disappeared from sight. Forgive me, my love. "My, my, your young man is very hardheaded, dear," Gram commented from behind her. Miranda turned from the window. Gram held her cane in the crook of her arm as she carried in the tray; atop it sat a steaming pot of tea and teacups. Despite her heartache, Miranda couldn't keep back a smile. Tea was Gram's cure-all for everything from menstrual cramps to lost love. Miranda took the tray and placed it on the coffee table. "Thanks, Gram. I'm sorry for dragging you into all of this. I should’ve told Hadden myself, not sent you to do it for me. I knew how'd he react, but I'd hoped…" Gram looked away, fidgeting with the top of her cane. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping on you and your young man, but I came through the rear door when I got back from the church and decided to make some tea. By the time I overheard him talking to you, well, it was a bit too late to make a timely retreat to my room without interrupting." "It's all right, Gram. At this point, I don't have any secrets that you are not privy to, especially not after last night." The older woman smiled and poured her granddaughter a cup of tea. "Well, you won't have an easy task convincing him that you no longer care about him. Your young man knows you all too well. Why don't you tell him the truth, dear?" Miranda brought the cup close to her face, cradling it between her hands, inhaling the tangy aroma of lemon tea. She had to admit she did find it soothing to her ragged nerves, but the tea did nothing to make her forget the pain in her heart. Nothing on earth could do that. She looked up at her grandmother and shook her head. "I can't, Gram." Despair welled up inside of her, spilling over into hot stinging tears. "I have no right to pull him into my nightmare." "But he loves you so much. Surely…" "No. You don't understand, Gram. Hadden is a man of science…a doctor. He would think I was insane if I told him the truth. And even if he did believe me, he wouldn’t rest until he fixed it. I just don't think he can fix this particular problem. I am what I am. It's my problem, not his." Sadness swept over Miranda as she picked up a book of wallpaper samples from the floor. For weeks she and Hadden had poured over them. They had laughed and debated between a tiny primrose pattern for the bedroom…her choice, and a slick, striped blue pattern…Hadden's choice. Finally, they had compromised by deciding to paint the room instead. Now, it didn't matter. Nothing did. She threw the book down, and laughed bitterly. "This damn crazy thing inside me has ruined my life. But you know it's still hard for me to believe. It sounds so farfetched I can't even say it aloud." Gram sipped her tea before she spoke. "I know, dear. You can imagine my own horror and disbelief when I first peeked at your birth mother's journal. I thought it was the wild ramblings of a woman who'd gone insane. But your mother told me to deliver it, so I did." Miranda's hands shook as she put her teacup back in its saucer. "I feel like I'm in a horror movie, and any minute now the director is going to yell 'cut', and tell everybody to go home, they're finished for the day, except me." She blinked back her tears. "For me it won't ever be over, Gram." Her grandmother gave her a distressed look. "Honey, I know the movies and books depict werewolves as monsters, but you have to remember that you're not one of them." "But…" "Listen, dear, I don't care what is written in the diary, nor do I care about any of that Hollywood nonsense." Tears shimmered in her faded blue eyes. "What I do care about is you, and no matter what happens, I want you to remember that I love you. You will always be Miranda Slate, my granddaughter." "How can you say that after what you saw last night?" Miranda asked in disbelief. "Actually, I thought that this old heart of mine was going to stop. When I looked into your eyes and knew you wouldn’t hurt me, I found the courage to stand my ground and not run away. I want you to remember that, dear, no matter what happens." Miranda looked away. "But for how long, Gram? How long will it be before I lose control? Lose myself in this insane nightmare? What if I can't control it? What if I hurt or kill somebody I care about?" "I can’t do this…just can’t." Her grandmother's mouth tightened. "You read the diary, Miranda. You must fight to hang onto the part of yourself that is Miranda Slate." Miranda sighed. "I know you're right, Gram, and I will try." She laughed halfheartedly. "At least, now I know I won’t infect anybody else if I slip up and happen to bite anybody." Gram snorted. "Another cinema falsehood. Your birth mother had some pretty scathing remarks about the lies portrayed on screen." Miranda picked up the slim leather-bound book and riffled through it. A musty scent rose from the yellowed pages. "Did she? I haven't read that far yet." She closed the book. "Anyway, what does it matter? The truth isn't any more acceptable than the myths that have been created in Hollywood." She stared at the book in her hands. "I just don't understand why the adoption lawyer waited so long to give this to mom." If she'd known that sooner it wouldn't have come as such a shock, she mused silently. But then again, was any time right to find out such a shocking secret about yourself and your family? Hardly. "Did he happen to say why?" she asked aloud. Miranda had always known she was adopted; her parents had never tried to keep it from her. She was nine when they first told her, and at that age she'd been full of questions. But all either of them could tell her was that her birth parents had died in a car crash when she was two years old. She'd been in the car as well, but miraculously had survived the accident without a scratch. Her mother had told her that for weeks after they had first gotten her, she'd awakened screaming in the middle of the night. Time had faded the memory until she finally remembered nothing, except the love her adoptive parents lavished upon her. She never wondered again about the parents who had died so tragically, or the relatives either of them might have left behind. None of it ever mattered because she was loved, and that was enough for her. "Miranda?" Her grandmother's voice shook her out of her musings. She shook her head ruefully. "I'm sorry, Gram. What were you saying?" "We were talking about the lawyer, dear. He claimed that it was your birth mother's request. It seems she paid his firm a handsome sum of money to assure that they would follow her instructions to the letter. They were instructed to wait until one week before your twenty-fifth birthday before giving the journal to you. It seems they have been keeping track of you for years." She smiled. "They were still a bit late, but I always say better late than sorry." Miranda brushed her hand through her tangled mass of white blond hair with a heavy sigh. "Did Mom read it?" "No. She really was just too ill. I wanted to send it to you so I could stay by her side, but she insisted that I deliver it in person." Gram smiled. "She said she needed a break from my hovering anyway." Miranda looked up with a tired smile. "That's what she told me last month when I was in Florida. Mom is determined that we don’t stand around feeling sorry for her." Gram nodded, her eyes wet. "I knew she was a special woman when my son first brought her home to meet me." She pulled a hankie out of her dress pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "Where was I? Oh yes, I remember now, the journal. I must admit I couldn't resist the temptation of reading a few pages." Her eyes took on a distant gaze. "I don't think I really believed what I had read until I arrived last night and found you on the floor." The old woman shuddered as the memory rocked her. Miranda reached out and took her hand. "It's okay, Gram. We are going to get through this somehow. I just wished I'd known sooner…before I made the mistake of falling in love…" Suddenly, she grabbed her grandmother's fingers. A shaft of pain jabbed at her insides. Panic pulsed through her blood, making her feel sick and queasy. Her stomach clenched in horror. Was this it? Would the change her birth mother talked of in her diary be completed tonight? She wasn't ready for it…not yet, she pleaded silently, but it was too late. She had a feeling last night had only been a preview, and now the real show was about to begin. Agony doubled her over, and she fought back the urge to scream. "What is it, dear? What's the matter? Are you in pain?" Her grandmother's words rang in her ears as Miranda slipped to the floor. "Dear God…no," she gasped aloud. "Gram, it's happening again."