A/N: I had originally intended this to be just a 1 chapter story. However, I was cutting the grass a couple of weeks ago and this scenario popped into my head. There's nothing like pushing a lawnmower for an hour on an insanely hot day to want to get inside and write fanfiction.

I'm so disappointed to hear this series won't be renewed, at least on FOX in the US. I loved the cast and thought the show got stronger as the season went on. If there are any Adelaide/Harry scenes that you'd like to see, drop a review. I can't promise I'll write them all but, at least for now, it appears this series will have to live in our imaginations. So...if you spark something, I'll give it shot.

Constable Adelaide Stratton read the slip of paper that had been delivered to her desk in Scotland Yard and grimaced. Why was it telegrams never seemed to bring her good news? It wasn't all that long ago that a telegram from Nigel Pennington had started a sequence of events that culminated in discovering that her beloved, dead husband really wasn't so dead after all. At least he wasn't until he attempted to assassinate the president of the United States and wounded her friend and colleague, Arthur Conan Doyle, in the process. Then, she'd felt obliged to shoot him – with remarkable accuracy, given the chaos at that moment and the undersized pistol that she carried.

Benjamin's second death certainly seemed irreversible. She'd knelt next to him and listened to his last words of love as he lay dying, horribly conscious that she'd been the one to deliver the fatal bullet. She was vaguely aware of Arthur bleeding profusely a few feet away and Harry Houdini calling frantically for help, but mostly she'd just watched the life leave Benjamin's eyes. She had no doubt it was a moment that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

And it had all started with a telegram. If it hadn't been for that bloody thing from Pennington she might still believe that Benjamin had died two years ago in an honorable cause. But instead, not only had she been forced to experience her husband's death a second time, but she'd also lost the memory of him as a hero.

Unlike Nigel Pennington's message, this latest telegram held no mystery whatsoever. It was direct and cheerful, and its words sent chills up her spine. She wondered briefly whether there were any berths available on the next ship to Canada or if she could prove useful working a murder case in…well, Aberdeen, perhaps. She'd heard that northern Scotland was lovely this time of year.

She read the telegram once more. The words were still the same.

Cousin Eugenie was coming to London for a visit.

Proper Cousin Eugenie, and her even more proper, pedantic and conceited husband, Rupert.

Coming to London for an entire week.

Hoping to spend time with Adelaide.

She sighed. The murder didn't have to be in Aberdeen, she thought. Inverness would work just as well. Or maybe a sighting of the mysterious sea creature reported to live in Loch Ness required investigation. Arthur would like that.

"Everthing all right?" Harry's voice caused her to lift her eyes from the telegram and peer across the desk at her two colleagues. Both Harry and Arthur wore similar expressions of concern.

"Fine," she replied shortly.

The two men looked at each other with blatant skepticism before turning back to her. "Then you won't mind showing us the telegram," Harry said.

She shook her head. "It's not important."

"The last time you said that about a telegram, you received a death threat a couple of weeks later. So let's see it, Addie."

"Really, Harry, it's not important."

Houdini raised one eyebrow and stared at her.

"Harry, I promise you there is nothing in this telegram that could remotely lead to a death threat." At least not a death threat against me, she thought.

"You swear on it?"

She rolled her eyes, "Harry, I swear to it on a stack of bibles."

He studied her face intently for a few seconds and then sat back with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, Adelaide. If you insist everything is okay, we'll believe you." He smiled until something behind her caught his attention and he shifted his gaze to look over her shoulder. Then he grimaced. "Oh hell, here comes the amazing Sergeant Gudgett, looking surly as usual," he said in disgust. "I wonder what's put a bee in his bonnet today?"

Adelaide turned to follow his glance and quick as a flash Harry snatched the telegram from her hand. Sergeant Gudgett, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

"Harry!" Arthur admonished him.

"Oh come on," Harry replied with a grin, "you're as curious as I am. Don't you want to read it?"

"Not if Adelaide doesn't want us to," Arthur said, although he made no effort to recover the telegram and return it to her.

Harry read it silently, then looked up at her. "Who are Rupert and Eu…gen...ie?" he asked, drawing out the syllables in Eugenie's name. Arthur quietly took the telegram out of Harry's hand and read it as well. So much for his defense of Adelaide's privacy.

Adelaide did her best to avoid a pinched look of distaste, but doubted she was entirely successful. "Eugenie is my cousin," she said briefly. "And Rupert is her husband."

"And I take it you're not too crazy about this cousin?"

"It's a long story."

The truth was that Adelaide hadn't thought much at all about Eugenie in the last couple of years. The two of them had been close as girls; playing together, sharing ribbons and dolls, telling each other every secret that their 10-year old hearts prompted them to write in their diaries. Even then, Adelaide had possessed a curiosity that Eugenie lacked; she'd been the child who refused to accept the words of her elders without verifying things for herself, and often could be found in pursuit of unfeminine activities such as climbing trees or running in meadows. Eugenie had been more conventional, more ladylike. Still, they had gotten along famously and Adelaide had looked forward to every family occasion that brought them together.

Things began to change as they passed through adolescence into young adulthood. Both girls were considered beauties. Adelaide was tall, with dark eyes and thick, dark hair that often escaped the hairpins to tumble carelessly down her back. Eugenie was fair, with wide grey eyes that managed to look innocent and knowing at the same time. Young men were attracted to both girls, but many found Adelaide's intelligence and independence to be challenging. It wasn't until she'd met Benjamin that Adelaide truly believed she could be happy being married.

Eugenie, on the other hand, was the picture of Victorian womanhood; sufficiently educated to manage household affairs but unencumbered by business or political opinions. She counseled Adelaide regularly to soften her views lest she frighten eligible men away, but Adelaide had refused to be anything but herself. Eventually, Eugenie had become engaged to Rupert Boyleston, the son of a wealthy importer. Adelaide considered Rupert to be one of the worst choices possible - not particularly intelligent, self-important, and intolerant of any ideas other than his own. She'd been smart enough to soften that view, however, at least when she was around Eugenie. Still, it had been hard to disguise her dislike altogether and Eugenie's marriage had been the final nail in the coffin that drove both young women to very different paths in life. Their social contact had been limited since then.

All of which was too complicated to explain to Harry and Arthur. So instead, she said tartly, "Eugenie and I can get along when we need to. Rupert, on the other hand, is a pompous ass."

Harry snorted out a laugh and even Arthur grinned. "Can I assume from that statement that Rupert disapproves of women working, and of your occupation as a constable in particular?" Arthur asked.

She shrugged. "Rupert doesn't appreciate any woman using her brains for something other than selecting the dinner menu and deciding what to wear. And, no matter where he is, he always considers himself the most important man in the room. He's got dozens of stories about himself; the brilliant business decisions he's made, his relationships with various prominent families - and he's happy to go on and on about them."

"Well," Arthur said soothingly, "maybe there will be a good supernatural crime that will require our services to solve. Then you won't have much time for Rupert."

Adelaide sighed, "One can only hope."

Sadly, the poltergeists, supernatural beings and even the earthly criminals paid no attention to Adelaide's hopes. Everyone in London - everything in London – seemed to be on his or its best behavior that week. Adelaide came to work each morning optimistically anticipating a respectable murder or missing person only to find that nothing of note had happened and, other than the odd lost cat or stolen wallet, she had plenty of time available to spend with Rupert and Eugenie.

Eugenie looked much the same as Adelaide remembered her. Her wavy, light brown hair was carefully coiffed in the latest style and her large grey eyes were as lovely as ever, even if they seemed to have lost most of their innocence. There was a sharpness about Eugenie that never used to be there; some of Rupert's superior attitude seemed to have rubbed off and she made disdainful remarks liberally – about other women's clothing, about current events in London, and even about the classic art works in the National Gallery, one of Adelaide's favorite places to spend leisure time. Adelaide was at a loss to think of any sights in the city that might elicit a favorable response.

And Rupert? Well, he was exactly as Adelaide remembered him. He filled every outing with stories of his business acumen and always managed to include an association with someone of renown – The Earl of Something-or-Other or the Duke of Somewhere. Adelaide might have been able to largely ignore him except that Rupert couldn't help but comment repeatedly on Benjamin's failings. He knew only what the public and, frankly, most of her family knew; that Benjamin had been found hanging in their house two years ago, presumably dead by his own hand. Rupert believed that a man who committed suicide lacked the moral fiber that should be the hallmark of every English gentleman, and felt obliged to say so frequently. Adelaide didn't bother to correct him about the suicide. Somehow, she didn't think that being a member of an anarchist organization and shot while attempting to assassinate the U.S. president would be an improvement.

So she did her best to nod disinterestedly and focus on something else when her cousin-in-law spoke. It was becoming increasingly difficult as the days passed, and by mid-week she began making it a point to leave her pistol locked in a drawer at home. After all, if she'd been able to shoot her beloved Benjamin, Lord only knew what she might do to Rupert if the weapon were within easy distance and he mentioned English fortitude one more time.

Arthur stopped by the police offices several times to see how she was holding up, but she only saw Harry once the entire week - when he came around on Friday morning to say that he would not be able to meet her for their usual supper. He seemed subdued, which was so unlike him that she felt compelled to put her own issues aside and ask if he was not feeling well.

He responded with a tired smile. "I'm fine, Adelaide. I've introduced a couple of new illusions that will debut in the show tomorrow and rehearsals aren't going all that well. My assistant can't seem to get the timing right so we've been scheduling extra practices."

"Oh, I see." She studied his face. She was fairly certain there was more on his mind, but he said nothing so she finally added, "I hope things go well on Saturday."

"Yeah, you and me both. I trust you'll be available for our supper date next week and that all the fine dining with your cousins hasn't put you off the pub?" His tone was teasing, more like the usual Harry she knew.

Adelaide smiled, "Not in the least. I've got a hankering for a good steak pie."

"Good. And good luck with your cousins. How much longer are they here?"

She sighed, "Another four days."

He appeared to be searching for something positive to say. "I could pick a few pockets on my way out of the station," he offered. "Give you an excuse to work late."

She shook her head ruefully. "Thanks, but I think I'm just going to have to grin and bear it."

"Okay then." Harry once again gave her the weak imitation of his usual smile. "I'll talk to you later."

And he was gone.

Arthur stopped by not 15 minutes later. "How are things going with your cousins?" he asked.

She shrugged. "About as expected. They're finally getting used to calling me Adelaide instead of Penelope. Have you talked to Harry at all this week?"

He shook his head. "No, why?"

Adelaide frowned. "I don't know, he just doesn't seem himself. He was here a few minutes ago and he seemed…tired."

"Harry? Tired?"

"Exactly. Not himself. Maybe you could stop by his hotel and make sure he isn't ill? He says he's not, but you know Harry…"

Arthur looked at his watch. "Well, I'm meeting with my publisher this afternoon and I promised the children an outing in the park tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow evening or Sunday after church?"

Adelaide had been hoping for something sooner. "You don't have time tonight?" she asked.

Arthur shook his head. "An afternoon meeting with my publisher usually turns into dinner and cigars til late in the evening." He looked gently into her eyes. "Adelaide, Harry is probably fine. If there's one thing that man pays attention to, it's his physical condition. He has an excellent physician. If he were truly ill, I'm sure he'd consult him."

Adelaide nodded. Maybe Arthur was right. She tried to put Harry out of her mind and focus instead on how she was going to survive an entire weekend with Eugenie and Rupert.

Fortunately, the weather was on her side. Adelaide, Eugenie and Rupert spent a couple of hours at the British Museum on Saturday morning and then, at Rupert's insistence, made their way to St. James Park for an early afternoon stroll. Adelaide had always liked Hyde Park better, but being anywhere outside was preferable to the force of Rupert's personality in an enclosed space. The sunshine and soft breeze were soothing, and Adelaide smiled when she thought of Arthur enjoying that same breeze with his children. Perhaps Kingsley was flying a kite, she thought.

"I have a surprise for us," Rupert announced, interrupting Adelaide's thoughts. Both Adelaide and Eugenie looked at him expectantly. "I was able to buy tickets to Harry Houdini's show tonight. I'm assured the seats are quite good." He paused, and then looked at Adelaide worriedly, "You haven't seen it already, have you?" When she shook her head, he added with a satisfied smile, "No, of course not. The tickets were hard to come by. Probably not something you would be able to get."

The truth, of course, was that Adelaide could have gotten tickets very easily simply by asking Harry. For various reasons, however, she'd never been interested in seeing him perform. She felt that the Harry up on stage would be a caricature, not the real man, not her Harry. She preferred seeing him the way he was when he was investigating – intelligent, anxious to find the facts, skeptical of supernatural theories. There was still an element of bravado about him, but when the three of them were on a case that bravado was reserved for exposing charlatans, not earning applause. She liked that Harry better.

She wasn't about to explain any of this to Rupert and Eugenie, though. In fact, she had revealed nothing to them at all about her friendship with Harry and Arthur. She considered the two men part of her new life as Constable Stratton, and she wasn't sure how or even if she wanted to introduce them to people from her old life as Penny Graves. Changing her name and joining Scotland Yard had allowed her to do more than find the truth about Benjamin. It had shown her a world where she could earn her living with her intelligence, where she was respected and considered an equal - at least by Arthur and Harry. She didn't want to give her cousins the chance to taint that with their questions or their criticisms. And besides, she hadn't been able to clarify her thoughts about Harry to herself, let alone explain them to someone else. If he were to speak to her in that overly familiar manner he often used, she would have a lot of explaining to do.

So she forced a small smile on her face and said, "Seeing Houdini perform sounds… entertaining. But perhaps the two of you would like an evening out on your own? A dinner and a show could be romantic."

Rupert frowned. "Romantic? Really, Adelaide, you have strange notions sometimes. I made sure to get three tickets. We're all going."

And Eugenie added, "I'd really love it if you'd come as well, Adelaide." She sounded hopeful.

Adelaide sighed. It sounded like she wasn't going to be able to decline gracefully. And besides, it was unlikely that Harry would even know she was there – she would be yet another face among a hundreds in the audience. "Of course," she said a little flatly, "I'm not sure what I was thinking. I'd be happy to go. Thank you for thinking of me when you got the tickets."

Rupert smiled a satisfied smile. "Wonderful. Eugenie and I will go back to our hotel to rest, and we will pick you up at your flat around 6:30."

"Sounds good."

Harry may not have been pleased with his rehearsals, but as far as Adelaide could tell the show went off without a hitch. The new illusions, which included a levitation as well as making a full-grown elephant disappear, were met with gasps and wild applause. She was impressed despite her reservations about seeing him perform, although she didn't think she would share that with Harry. The evening ended with the Chinese Water Torture and Houdini taking his bows, coming back a second time when the audience refused to stop clapping. People were still shaking their heads in disbelief as the house lights came up and they slowly made their way to the theater exits.

"For the life of me, I cannot imagine how he does those things." Eugenie sounded as enthusiastic as she had when they were girls. "None of them seem possible." It was lovely, Adelaide thought, to hear genuine interest in her voice instead of her usual, sophisticated detachment. She wished she had seen more of this Eugenie during the week.

"Perhaps we can ask him," Rupert offered. "I've heard that he sometimes meets with visitors backstage after the show. We could introduce ourselves."

Adelaide frowned. She didn't want to see Harry now, right after his performance. She hadn't told him she was coming to the theater for starters, and – worse - it would mean exposing their relationship to Rupert and Eugenie, something she'd been trying to avoid. She couldn't exactly say that to Rupert, however. So she said instead, "I don't know, Rupert. The man just spent the last five minutes upside down in a tank of water. He may want to get into dry clothing and catch his breath. I doubt he'll really wish to speak with his audience."

"Nonsense," Rupert replied crisply. "He's an entertainer. It's his job to make people happy and, from what I've heard, he likes to hear from his fans." He stood a little straighter and adjusted his tie. "And it's not as if we're riff-raff. He may even have heard of me – or at least of Boyleston Imports."

Adelaide resisted the temptation to tell Rupert that Harry had indeed heard of him – described by her only a few days ago as a pompous ass. When Rupert was full of self-importance like this it was difficult to get him to change his mind; any disagreement was seen as a challenge to be overcome. She sighed. She may as well give in now, she thought, because this was otherwise going to turn into a debate and then a lecture in the middle of the theater.

"Fine," she acquiesced. "Let's see if we can meet Mr. Houdini." And I'd better get ready to do some explaining.

Rupert nodded in satisfaction, "This way."

Instead of following the crowds out into the streets, they turned and made their way back through the aisle, into the wings of the stage and then finally behind it. Despite what Rupert had heard, they were the only audience members bold enough to do so; no one else had thought to meet the Great Houdini in person and Harry himself was nowhere in sight. The place was certainly a beehive of activity, though; stage hands were busy moving and covering props and Adelaide caught a glimpse of Harry's female assistant scurrying by with a pitcher of milk, presumably headed to Harry's dressing room. There was no sign of the elephant. Perhaps Harry really had made it vanish.

"Can I help you?"

Adelaide, Rupert and Eugenie turned to see a tall, rather heavy-set man addressing them. His tone was polite, but Adelaide thought that might change if he were tested. His facial expression said he'd had plenty of experience deterring aggressive Houdini followers and he looked formidable; over six feet with an abundance of muscle.

Even Rupert must have sensed that caution was called for, because he sounded unusually respectful when he said, "I've heard that Mr. Houdini will sometimes meet with people after the show. We were so impressed, we were hoping for a chance to tell him so in person."

The tall man shook his head. "Unfortunately, sir, Mr. Houdini isn't available this evening. He thanks you for your interest, though, and is happy you enjoyed the performance."

Rupert frowned. "Are you certain? You didn't even ask him."

"Quite certain, sir. Mr. Houdini made it clear earlier that he wished not to be disturbed after the show." There was no room for argument in the man's tone.

Adelaide bit her lip thoughtfully. That didn't sound like Harry. She knew from experience that he enjoyed accolades from his fans. That he didn't want to hear them tonight, coupled with his lackluster demeanor yesterday, was worrisome. Still, at this very moment it relieved her of having to explain Harry to Eugenie and Rupert, and she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Adelaide said cheerfully to Rupert, "Well, that's that. He's not available. Perhaps we might stop for a drink on our way home?"

But Rupert wasn't ready to admit defeat. "You might tell Mr. Houdini that Rupert Boyleston, of Boyleston Imports is asking," he said to the tall man. "He may be interested in doing business with us. I hear he's a man of expensive tastes."

The tall man didn't move. "If you leave a card, I'll be certain to give it to him. I'm sure Mr. Houdini will contact you if he's interested."

Rupert's forehead creased. He wasn't used to working this hard for an introduction. "I wouldn't think it was too difficult for you to mention that I'm here now," he said testily. "But since that seems beyond your capabilities, I can do so myself. Which way is his dressing room?"

The tall man stood even taller and Adelaide noticed one of his hands form a loose fist. Rupert, of course, noticed nothing; he was too fixated on the fact that someone had said "no" to him. She glanced anxiously at Eugenie, but the woman was not going to argue with her husband. It was up to Adelaide to rescue her cousin-in-law. "Rupert…" she began in warning.

She got no further. "Really, Adelaide," he interrupted, "I'm not being unreasonable. I simply want Mr. Houdini to know that we'd like to meet him. It's important to stand up for yourself in these situations or people will forever take advantage of you. Benjamin may not have had the spine for it, but I certainly do."

Adelaide felt a spark of anger at yet another reference to Benjamin, and bit back her retort. It wouldn't be such a bad idea, she thought, to allow Rupert to take his chances with the tall man and his large fists. She shrugged and started to step away when the tall man himself said, "Adelaide? Adelaide Stratton?"

She nodded, surprised. "Yes?"

He stared at her curiously. And for the first time, he looked a little less sure of himself.

"Would you mind waiting here, ma'am?" he asked. "Mr. Houdini said if you were ever to stop by I was to fetch him immediately." And, without waiting for her agreement, he turned on his heel and walked briskly away.

The three of them watched him zig-zag among the props and then disappear.

Eugenie and Rupert both turned to stare at her. "You know Harry Houdini?" Rupert finally asked.

She nodded again, reluctantly.

Eugenie frowned. "Why ever didn't you say so when we were talking about him today? We spent a fair amount of time on the subject."

Adelaide closed her eyes briefly. I almost made it, she thought. If only Rupert hadn't said my name in front of the tall man. Now it looked like she was going to have to explain after all, although she decided that didn't mean she needed to go into detail. "We've been acquainted for almost a year," she said shortly. "I met Mr. Houdini when I was working an unusual case for Scotland Yard and we've remained… in touch since then." She almost smiled. Acquainted was such a proper, bland word. She imagined her cousins' reactions if she were to add, and he kissed me a few months ago when we were alone in his room. It might almost be worth it, just to see Rupert's face.

Fortunately, she was saved from temptation. Before she could say anything further, Harry's voice called out, "Adelaide? Is everything all right?" A few seconds later he was at her side, his hair still damp from the Water Torture and wearing what Adelaide was certain was only a dressing gown, belted loosely at the waist. She noticed his feet were bare. His presence felt familiar and oddly comforting.

She gave him a wry smile. "Everything's fine, Harry. I'm sorry to disturb. My cousin Eugenie and her husband, Rupert, saw you perform and were hoping to meet you. Your man," she nodded to the tall fellow hovering protectively a few feet away, "told us you were unavailable tonight, however, so we were just on our way out. I apologize for the interruption."

"Rubbish!" Harry said, although to Adelaide it sounded a little forced. "There's no interruption. I'd be happy to meet your cousins." Thankfully, he refrained from adding, after what you've told me about them. His eyes met hers and he gave her a bemused look. She guessed he was wondering exactly what she had told Rupert and Eugenie about the two of them. The answer, of course, was almost nothing. She wished she had a way to convey that to him now.

Without waiting for Adelaide to make the introductions, Rupert extended his hand. "Mr. Houdini," he said loudly, "it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Rupert Boyleston, and this is my wife Eugenie. I'm the owner of Boyleston Imports – perhaps you've heard of us?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Boyleston," Harry responded, shaking their hands in turn, "call me Harry. And the pleasure is mine. I'm delighted to meet any friends of Adelaide. Please forgive my appearance." He gestured to his dressing gown. "You caught me resting."

Eugenie made a noise that sounded almost like a giggle and held onto Harry's hand. Adelaide could have sworn that her cousin's eyes lingered on Harry's trim waist for a few extra seconds before returning to his face. "Penny…I mean, Adelaide has been very sly. She's told us nothing about you. How on earth did you two meet?"

Harry looked at Adelaide as if to say, how do you want me to answer this one? She gave him a tiny, desperate shrug. If they'd had the chance to talk first, she would have tried to explain her wish to keep her new and old lives separate. She would have told him that her cousins could never appreciate that a male magician and a female constable could be friends, and how that friendship was something worth protecting. Unfortunately, there was no opportunity now.

But Harry, to her great surprise, must have understood a little, because he said carefully to Rupert and Eugenie, "You mean, the Constable never told you that she saved my life?"

Eugenie's eyes widened. "No," she replied quickly. "She said nothing about that."

Harry smiled. "She's so modest," he said warmly. "But then I suppose she just considers it part of her job. I was kidnapped," he explained, "and held hostage – buried under ground. Adelaide found me right before I was about to suffocate. I am very much in her debt."

Adelaide exhaled in relief. She had forgotten about the incident in the cemetery and it was a good story for Eugenie and Rupert. It offered a reason for Adelaide and Harry to have met and explained why he had stayed in contact with her since then – out of gratitude. Nice going, Harry, she thought. She gave him a small smile of approval.

And, thankfully, Rupert didn't probe for details. He looked at Harry curiously. "Well, that's quite a story," he said after a pause. "We never understood Adelaide's wish to work as a constable, other than she needed to do something after her husband's death. Police work is so unfeminine - we thought it was a phase that she would grow out of. Either that, or Scotland Yard would dismiss her. But," he added, almost bewildered, "it's been a couple of years and she's still at it. I'm happy she was able to help you, but I'm sure you can understand how it might distress her family."

Harry studied Rupert for a moment and Adelaide saw his expression harden a little. She suspected that if Rupert were not her relative, Harry might be tempted to launch into a debate. Instead, he replied almost mildly, "Well I, for one, am grateful that Adelaide chose police work. As I said, she saved my life. And I'm not at all surprised Scotland Yard has kept her on. They're lucky to have her – she's very good at her job."

It was Rupert's turn to study Harry as he digested that thought. The notion that a woman could be effective at a man's occupation – worse, that another man might acknowledge it - ultimately proved too much for him. He laughed. "I suppose you can look at it that way," he said, "but I'm sure luck played a role. Even a broken clock tells the right time twice a day. And, had force been required to rescue you, I'm certain you would have preferred a more traditional officer of the law."

Harry turned to Adelaide with a look that said, you weren't kidding about this guy being an ass! To Rupert he replied coolly, "I think, in my situation, that luck had very little to do with it. And I've since learned that Adelaide has been instrumental in solving a number of other crimes. I'm frankly surprised the police haven't employed more women given her success – they're as logical as men and intuitive as well."

Rupert stared once again at Harry and then glanced not-too-subtly toward the exit. Evidently he was finding the Great Houdini and his opinions on women to be a Great Disappointment. He said tersely, "Well, sir, it's been interesting meeting you. You have some unusual ideas but, then again, you are American. At any rate, I'm afraid we must be on our way. I promised the ladies a sherry before we retire for the evening." He extended his hand, reluctantly, to Harry once more.

Harry shook it. "As I said, I'm delighted to meet any friends of Adelaide. Thank you for stopping by." To Adelaide he added, "Nice to see you, Constable. Don't be a stranger." He lifted his eyebrows briefly as if to ask how'd I do? – and then turned and began walking back toward his dressing room. There was a slight slump to his shoulders and Adelaide felt the same pinprick of worry she'd had the day before.

"Well, ladies," Rupert asked. "Shall we go?"

Rupert dismissed all of Adelaide's recommendations for drink locations as too "working class," so they ended up returning to her cousins' hotel for their nightcap. The three of them settled into chairs in the small salon off the lobby, and Rupert ordered sherries for the women and a brandy for himself. Adelaide had never really cared for sherry, but Rupert insisted that respectable women did not drink whiskey and ale seemed out of the question. Still, they managed to chat amiably enough about current goings-on with the family and Adelaide found herself relaxing and growing slightly drowsy. After about twenty minutes, Rupert spotted a business associate and excused himself to talk with the man. Eugenie watched him as he left the room.

"So," she said to Adelaide once Rupert was out of earshot, "are you going to tell me the real story about you and Harry Houdini now?"

"What?" Suddenly Adelaide felt more awake.

Eugenie smiled. "I said, I'd like to hear the real story about you and Houdini."

Adelaide frowned. She'd assumed Harry's explanation back at the theater had been sufficient. Rupert had certainly been happy enough not to mention his name again. Evidently, Eugenie was more perceptive. "You heard the real story from Harry," she replied neutrally. "I was able to locate him when he was being held hostage and saved his life. He's been very appreciative ever since. I'm not sure there's much more I can add."

Eugenie rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Adelaide? That's all you're going to say? Rupert may have been oblivious, but I saw the way the two of you kept looking at each other. In ten minutes you and Mr. Houdini had more of a conversation with your eyes than Rupert and I have with spoken words most days." She chuckled. "Please don't insult my intelligence by denying it. You clearly are more than just acquaintances – you know each other well."

Adelaide sighed. At least Eugenie had waited until Rupert had stepped away. She couldn't imagine having this conversation with him still there. "Fine," she agreed shortly. "You're correct in thinking that I know Harry fairly well, but not for the reasons you're thinking. I see him frequently because we work together. Scotland Yard engaged him to help with unusual crimes and we're in each other's company when we're working cases. There isn't much more to it than that. And while we're discussing it, you may as well know that I work with Arthur Conan Doyle, too."

"Arthur Conan Doyle? The writer?"

"Yes."

Eugenie grinned. "You certainly have been busy, Cousin. No wonder you never have time for the family any more. And does Mr. Doyle look at you with the same interest that Mr. Houdini does?"

"It's Doctor Doyle, actually. And, no, I don't think he looks at me with any interest at all, given that he's married." After a pause, she added stubbornly, "Not to say that Harry looks at me with interest, either."

Eugenie's grin faded and she gave Adelaide a kind, but exasperated look. It reminded Adelaide a little of the expression her cousin used to wear when they were trying on clothes years ago and Adelaide would select a particularly unbecoming outfit. It was an expression that said, as smart as you are Adelaide, right now I know better. Out loud, her cousin said gently, "Adelaide, I don't want to push if you insist that the two of you are simply colleagues. I just think you ought to know that Harry Houdini appears to have feelings for you. He looked at you tonight as if…oh, I don't know…as if you were his lifeline. As if he thought you could still save him."

Adelaide opened her mouth to disagree once more but then hesitated. Why bother? After all, what Eugenie said was true and she should stop denying it, at least to herself. Harry had looked at her with that same need, months ago in Canada. He had leaned on her, albeit briefly, when he was dealing with the loss of his mother. Not Doyle, not his brother – her. She suddenly thought of something.

"What day is it?" she asked quickly.

Eugenie frowned, "The 27th. Why?"

Adelaide sighed and rested her forehead briefly in her hand. "I can be so stupid sometimes. Would you mind excusing me? There's someone I need to talk to."

"Now? Adelaide, it's after 10:00."

"I know that. He won't mind."

Eugenie gave her a long look. "Well, if you're going to see Mr. Houdini, at least let one of us go with you. It isn't safe to be out on the streets alone."

Adelaide smiled. "Thank you, but I do it all the time. I'm a police officer, remember? And besides, Harry's suite is only about five minutes from here."

Eugenie sighed. "Very well. Give Harry my best. And I'll expect a full report tomorrow. I'm sure we can send Rupert off somewhere to give ourselves some time alone."

Adelaide nodded. "It's a deal. And, Eugenie?"

"Yes?"

Adelaide gave her cousin a brief kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

The sound of the gramophone playing softly behind the door to Harry's suite told Adelaide that the magician was still awake. His choice of music was unexpected. Adelaide would have assumed him to enjoy a boisterous symphony but instead she could just make out a plaintiff piano etude. She felt a small tug at her heart.

Despite her misgivings about dropping by at such a late hour, she knocked softly. After what seemed an inordinate amount of time, the door opened. Harry stood there, appearing much the same as he had that evening in Canada; a little bewildered, with a drink in his hand. Unlike Canada, however, he was dressed very casually in a soft jersey with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and well-worn corduroy trousers. In those clothes he looked young - not his usual, dapper self. He clearly hadn't been anticipating company.

"Adelaide?"

She took a deep breath. "Harry, I'm sorry to come by so late but I wanted to apologize. I was so busy thinking about myself this week that I forgot what this date means to you. I should have been more considerate."

He shook his head, perplexed. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." He stepped away from the door and then closed it gently behind them once she had entered the room. He gestured toward the sideboard. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, as long as it's not sherry."

"Whiskey?"

She nodded, "Whiskey would be perfect."

He padded over to the sideboard in stockinged feet and poured her a generous glass. "Now what's this about the date?" he asked, handing her the drink.

She took a sip, feeling the whiskey burn its way down to her stomach. "Six months today. It's been six months since your mother died. You didn't seem yourself yesterday or tonight and I didn't figure out why until I was having a nightcap with my cousins. I should have said something sooner. I'm so sorry."

Harry stared at her guardedly. "Adelaide…" he began.

She didn't let him finish. She had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say. "Harry, it's all right to still be missing her - it's all right to still be grieving. Six months is nothing."

"Adelaide…"

"I grieved for my husband for nearly two years. Your mother was the most important person in your life and I know you loved her dearly. What you're feeling is perfectly normal."

"Adelaide!" Harry's voice was sharp, causing her spill a little of her drink. "That's not it. I know it's all right to grieve for her. That's not what's bothering me."

"Then what is it?"

He walked over to the sofa and sat down tiredly, running one hand through his thick hair. "What's bothering me is that she's not giving me the chance to grieve. She's not leaving me alone." His voice sank to a whisper. "I still see her."

Adelaide nearly dropped her glass. She wouldn't have been surprised if Arthur had said something like that, but Harry? She walked over to the sofa and sat next to him. "You mean you see her in dreams? Or you see people who remind you of her?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I mean I still see her, as real as I'm seeing you right now."

Adelaide pursed her lips. "Does she say anything?"

He sighed heavily. "No, mostly she just looks at me and smiles." He took a large swallow of whiskey and buried his face in his hand. "Remember when we first met and I asked you what you feared most? Well, this is it for me. What I fear most is losing my sanity." The terror in his voice was naked and raw. The small tug on Adelaide's heart became a full-fledged ache.

She put her glass down and took his hand in both of hers. "Harry, have you thought at all about logical explanations?" she asked, forcing herself to sound calm. "After all, I saw my husband hanging in his study and was certain that he was dead. That turned out to be untrue."

Harry shrugged desperately. "What logical explanation could there be? I don't think my mother faked her death. I visited her body every day on the ship for a week and I saw her buried."

"Does anyone else see her?"

He paused. She could see his natural bent for investigation trying to push its way past the fear as he considered the question. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I don't think so. She only seems to show up when I'm alone." After a moment he added, "She's not here now."

Adelaide squeezed his hand. "Well that's something," she said. "Did she have a sister, perhaps? A twin that she never told you about? Did she leave relatives behind in Budapest when your family moved to America?"

He looked at her with a small gleam of hope in his eyes. "She never talked much about her relatives," he said a little more positively. "I suppose it's possible." But then the gleam died. "That still wouldn't explain how she was able to show up here, in a locked hotel suite, or find me on the ship." After a moment he shook his head again, the hope gone. "No, I must be going insane."

"Harry!" Adelaide spoke sharply, unable to tolerate the despair in his voice. He, of all people, should not sound like this. "The fact that you're worried about going insane, that you know it's not…usual…to see your dead mother, tells me that you're not losing your mind. You always challenge Arthur for a logical explanation when he's prepared to use a supernatural one. You need to challenge yourself the same way now." She reached out to stroke his cheek gently. "And you're not alone. Whatever is going on, we'll figure it out together."

He turned to her, his eyes searching hers with honesty and vulnerability. "Thank you, Adelaide," he whispered. "I'm glad you came tonight."

"It will be all right, Harry," she said softly. "We will make sense of this." Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned forward to kiss him briefly on the mouth.

He stared at her for a long moment. "Now I know I'm going insane," he said at last. "I could have sworn you just kissed me." She was pleased to hear a little of the buoyance return to his voice.

She smiled. "I did. And, unlike you, I'm not even going to apologize for it."

He gave her a poor attempt at his usual, cocky grin, his eyes never leaving hers. She could almost see the moment he made up his mind, so she wasn't entirely surprised when he dropped his whiskey glass and bent forward to clasp her face between his hands and capture her mouth with his.

And, oh my goodness, the man knew how to kiss! That night in Canada had been only a harbinger, a pale foreshadowing of the real thing. This was…this was…well, this was something, that Adelaide couldn't quite find words for. She was dimly aware that it was probably a bad idea; it was late, Harry was vulnerable, and Eugenie's words about being his lifeline were still fresh in her mind. But she also knew with certainty that this kiss was about more than Harry's need at that moment. It was about him seeing the real Adelaide and loving what he saw. It was about a year's worth of furtive glances and pent-up desires. It was honest and equal, with no pretenses and no holding back. It was, in short, everything that a kiss should be.

She clasped his forearms and pulled herself a little closer. One of Harry's hands slid to the back of her head and entwined in her hair.

She didn't know how long the knocking had been going on. She only became aware of it when the sound grew loud and insistent. Harry must have heard it too, because he hesitated but didn't pull away. Still clasping her face he said softly against her lips. "Has that knocking been there for a while?"

"I don't know. I was a little…distracted."

"Me too." He sighed heavily and sat back reluctantly. "I suppose I should answer it. I think whoever is there isn't going to go away." Without waiting for her response, he rose from the sofa and walked slowly to the door.

"Arthur," he announced upon opening it.

"Harry," Arthur responded. "Sorry for dropping by so late but Adelaide mentioned yesterday that you might be ill. She asked me to see you when I had the chance." He stepped into the room but then stopped when he saw Adelaide. "Oh," he said flatly. "You're here."

"Yes." Adelaide, still seated on the sofa, nearly laughed. She was certain her face was flushed and her hair was disheveled, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. She probably should be relieved, she thought, at Arthur's interruption. After all, who knew where that kiss was going to lead? She met Harry's eyes and gave him a smile and an apologetic shrug.

He smiled back. "Arthur," he said, "Would you like a drink?"