Frank Hardy ran down the block to his house, jogged up the driveway, and slowed to a walk as he approached the back door. Reaching it, he paused and wiped at the sweat coating his face and neck. It was another hot August morning, and he’d just done his usual two-mile run, determined to get himself back into shape after the arduous summer. His breath was still coming fast as he reached for the doorknob, and he hesitated briefly. Then, steeling himself, he opened the door and went inside.

The cool air wafting over him was welcome; he was glad the power company had finally managed to knock off the brownouts of the previous two months. It was still plenty hot, but at least it was in the ninety-degree range now, not spiking up to- or over- one hundred each day. Frank glanced around the immaculate kitchen, then moved on quiet feet to the living room and started up the stairs. He instinctively avoided the creaky spots, then snorted. ‘Look at you, sneaking in as if you’d just broken curfew,’ he chided himself. But for all that, he continued to move quietly. The house was still, and he was hoping to keep it that way.

Reaching his room, he pushed the door open and blinked in surprise, then smiled. “What’re you doing in here?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Can’t you tell I’m messing with your computer?” his seventeen-year-old brother responded from his sprawled position on Frank’s bed. An open book lay before Joe, and as he spoke he reached up to push a stray lock of blond hair away from his blue eyes.

“Well, that’s why I wondered,” Frank replied, his smile widening a little. “You’re not the computerish type.”

A reluctant answering smile showed on Joe’s lips for just a moment. “Where’ve you been?” he asked in his turn.

“Running,” Frank explained, turning to the dresser and opening a drawer. “Say, would you mind taking your smelly feet off my pillow?” Joe had, as was his custom, planted his feet on the pillow and propped the book on the footboard.

“They’re not smelly,” the younger boy protested. “I took a shower while you were out running- running, on a hot August morning- I expect it’s yourself you’re smelling!”

Frank glanced into the mirror and saw that, despite his indignant protest, Joe had flexed his knees, removing his bare feet from the pillow and letting them dangle in the air, though that probably wasn’t quite the right word. “Thanks,” he said, and turned back around, fresh shirt and shorts in his hand. He kicked off his running shoes and tweaked at his socks. Then he paused, studying his brother. Joe, always sensitive to when he was being studied, looked up. “You okay?”

Joe shrugged.

“She’s been at you again?” Frank walked over to the bed and sat down beside Joe, resting his hand on his brother’s back.

“Yeah. You missed another explosion,” Joe murmured sourly, and sighed. “I swear she does it on purpose, Frank. Waits till you’re out of the house to go nuclear.”

“Want me to talk to her?” the older Hardy boy offered, feeling the heavy depression spread over him again. Ever since he and Joe had returned from their self-assigned task of catching the Starmail smugglers/murderers, Gertrude had been unreasonable and unfair to Joe, while bestowing praise and affection on Frank. It was the same behavior they had seen in her before, only now it was blindingly obvious instead of subtle. Both boys were at a loss for an explanation of their aunt’s prejudiced behavior.

“She’d probably just decide I asked you to intervene on my behalf, which would get us another blowup about taking sides,” Joe predicted glumly.

“Maybe not,” Frank mused, gently tousling his brother’s recently-cut hair. “Maybe not, if I go about it just so. Her attitude’s grinding my nerves to shreds, too; and I definitely don’t like being her ‘pet’. Makes me feel about three years old. Anyway, I want her to understand where I am on this.”

“Oh?”

“I’m completely, thoroughly, without a doubt, on your side,” the eighteen-year old declared. “And she ought to have realized it long ago; she knows how much I hate people being irrational and unfair.”

“Well, if you think it’ll help, I’d be grateful,” Joe said quietly, closing the book. Frank looked down at him and sighed internally. Maybe someday his brother’s spark would return; maybe this sad, silent youth would remember how to smile and make bad jokes and irritate people with his teasing and puns. But it wouldn’t be anytime soon. The deaths of their parents had hit him very hard, and he’d had barely any time to try and adjust to the idea they were gone, much less deal with his grief.

Frank was in about the same boat; he still kept looking around for his mother and father, and had to keep reminding himself that Fenton and Laura were both dead. Fenton had died from the skull injuries he sustained when Locke attacked him with a crowbar. Laura’s car ‘accident’ had occurred little more than a week later; Joe himself had been lucky to survive that. Frank knew his own personality had altered, though not as much as Joe’s had. He’d never been as much a chatterbox, so him being silent and withdrawn didn’t register as much on people as Joe’s silences.

A nudge caught Frank’s attention. “What?”

“Go shower, you stink,” his brother told him, trying a smile. The impudence made Frank roll his eyes, but he had to smile as well.

“I never knew you were so finicky about sweat,” he replied, tousling Joe’s hair again as he got up, and ducked out of the room without waiting for a reply.

About thirty minutes later, Frank returned to his room, feeling a good deal better for the cool shower and clean clothes. Stepping inside, he was not surprised to see the room now empty. Seemed every time he turned his back, his brother vanished, though he never went very far. “Where’d you go this time?” he sent to Joe. A touch on his shoulder caused Frank to turn, then doubletake at the sight of Joe standing directly behind him.

“I was putting the book away,” Joe explained.

“Oh.” Frank was about to add something else when the sound of something shattering downstairs made them both start in surprise. As the boys ran for the stairs, Frank wondered what had happened to their aunt. The peppery old lady had made a good recovery from her mild stroke two and a half weeks ago, but was still rather frail and moved carefully. Infuriating as she was these days, neither of them wanted her to be injured.

“Aunt Gertrude? Are you all right?” Frank stopped in the kitchen doorway, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw the figure of his aunt emerge from the pantry, broom and dustpan in her hands.

“I’m fine, I just dropped a plate. My hands were wet,” the woman replied tartly, moving over to the wall where the shards of the plate lay. “Go on, I can take care of it by myself.”

Joe brushed past Frank and slowly walked into the kitchen. He stood looking at the pieces of the plate, then glanced over at Frank, who nodded, noticing the same thing his younger brother had. “You didn’t drop it, you threw it,” Joe told the old woman flatly, his eyes narrowing. “That’s why all the pieces are at the base of the wall, instead of being scattered in the middle of the floor. And there’s the mark where it hit.” He pointed a finger at a chip in the wood paneling, then yanked his hand away and stepped back, looking startled as Gertrude swung the broom at him.

“I said, I dropped it!”

“I heard you. But I don’t believe you,” Joe replied, turning away.

“Neither do I,” Frank agreed. And then he reached out to grab Joe’s arm as the younger boy staggered. “Joe?”

“Ooo...my head,” Joe murmured, lifting his hand to his temples. Frank steadied him, frowning, then caught a look at Gertrude’s expression and felt his eyes widen. If looks could kill, Joe would certainly be lying dead at this moment.

“We’re going down to the marina,” he told his aunt curtly.

Gertrude blinked, looked at him in surprise, and then a flush crept into her face. So, she hadn’t meant him to see that hate-filled glare. “But, Frank, your lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” Frank answered coolly. “Not after seeing that look. Took my appetite completely.”

“But-”

“What look was that?” Joe inquired silently, straightening up and letting his hand drop from his forehead.

“Later,” Frank answered the same way. He turned and went upstairs to get his shoes; Joe followed a step behind.

“That hurt,” the blond teen remarked a few minutes later as they walked down the driveway to their car.

“What did?”

“That...blast she leveled at me. Pure fury. I’m surprised I have any shields left,” Joe answered, sounding tired.

“Oh.” Frank got into the driver’s seat and glanced concernedly at his brother. “That’s the look I meant. Talk about glaring daggers- she was doing that, all right, but she didn’t seem to want me to notice. As if I could have not seen,” he added in disgust. Then something registered. “She leveled it at you? Deliberately?” he asked, backing the car out of the driveway.

“Sure felt like it.”

“So...she’s telepathic herself?”

Joe glanced over, surprised. “Well, I guess she might be,” he mused. “What a joke on her if she is.” There was a sort of wry bitterness in his voice. Gertrude’s reaction to her nephews being telepathic had been exactly what they feared: not mere disapproval, but active disgust.

Frank smiled at his brother’s tone. Not normally a vindictive sort, the older Hardy thought this might be one time when he’d willingly make an exception. It would serve their aunt right if she found herself having to deal with being a telepath, after her denunciation of how disgusting and rude and whatever other negativity she’d spouted about their gift. “Might make her a bit more willing to be open-minded,” he remarked.

“I thought I was the one to make puns,” Joe responded with a brief smile. Frank made a face; he hadn’t intended to pun.

“It was inadvertent, I wasn’t thinking about the fact you need to open your mind to send your thoughts,” he defended himself.

“Those’re the best kinds of puns, the accidental ones. But anyway...I seriously think it’d take a crowbar to open her mind,” Joe muttered.

“This was a good idea,” Joe Hardy complimented his brother as they arrived at the marina and walked down to the check-in point. It was a nice day to be out, sunny and clear and breezy. Many people seemed to be taking advantage of the slightly lower temperatures, if the sails and motorboats dotting the Bay were any indication. The beaches were probably packed as well, he mused.

“Which one?” Frank asked, glancing over with a smile. “Coming here, or just getting out of the house?”

“Both. I had no idea she was getting to me so badly.” Joe paused as they dodged past a group of middle-aged folks who had stopped to search in their beach-bags for something. Then he had to dodge again as a hyper young girl and her younger brother dashed by, heading for the ice-cream vendor’s cart. Shaking his head, he smiled as they reached the entry point.

Dock Bremen gave the Hardys a nod and a smile as they checked in, then turned his attention to the group coming in behind them. “Let’s take the boat out, since we’re here,” Frank suggested.

“Okay, but let’s check the weather report first.”

“Oh yes. We don’t want to meet any more squalls!”

The weather report was favorable and soon they were zipping along in the Sleuth. Frank had taken the wheel, with the promise of turning it over- “Figuratively!” he’d amended hastily, making Joe grin ruefully- to Joe on the way back in.

They said little as Frank maneuvered away from the more crowded areas, seeking solitude, but both were enjoying the cool spray and strong wind. They were also enjoying the lessening of tension; as Joe had said, he hadn’t realized how uptight it made him to be around his aunt these days. Now that he was away from her, some of the heavy gloom had lifted from his psyche.

After a while Frank reduced the boat’s speed, then brought the little craft to a halt in one of the small coves that peppered the harbor area. This one was empty of other craft, probably because there was no shade, but neither of them noticed that for a while, since the wind remained strong. The canopy was some protection, too. It was a pretty place, the waves breaking quietly on the rocks that lined the entire cove, the sun glittering on the shallow blue water. Large willow trees overhung the rocks, trailing their tendrils in the water. Farther up the shore were oak trees, their leaves just beginning to turn.

Joe got up and dropped the anchor, then sat down on the bench and looked out over the bay. On days like this, it seemed as if he should be able to see all the way to the European shoreline, but of course that was impossible. Still, there was something about the vast stretch of gently moving water that soothed him.

Eventually Frank left the pilot’s seat and sat opposite Joe, keeping the boat balanced. He seemed to be deep in thought, not paying much attention to the ocean. The wind ruffled his black-brown hair and his dark eyes were far away. “I wish I could figure out why she’s being so rotten to you,” he said at last, turning a troubled gaze on Joe.

Joe sighed, shifting so that he could lean sideways against the interior of the boat and tucking one foot beneath him. “She blames me,” he said softly, studying the floorboards of the Sleuth intently as his guilt, half-forgotten, suddenly loomed large in his mind.

“Blames you?”

“Yeah. For...Mom.”

“But you had to move her- I told her that, Joe. And she agreed!”

“Not for that. For not noticing Mom wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and reminding her to put it on.” There. He’d finally said it. He hadn’t been sure before, but this latest blast of anger had removed all his uncertainty. And the worst part of it was that he couldn’t argue with the old lady! She was right.

Frank was staring at him, he could feel it. He waited for the realization, the anger, the blame. He’d dreaded this, it would surely mean an end to the deep closeness between them. His brother would never forgive him-

“How the hell could anyone blame you for that? Mom was a grown woman, if anything she should have been asking you if you were buckled up. You remember,” Frank added with a sigh. “She always used to ask us, until we learned to drive- and even after that, sometimes.”

Joe slowly looked up; the expression on Frank’s face was one of disbelief. “I remember,” he answered, turning away. He laid his arm on the rail, resting his cheek on the back of his wrist, his eyes brimming. ‘Give him a minute,’ a wicked little voice said inside him. ‘He’ll change his mind. It’s all your fault, and when he figures it out, it’ll all be over.’

“Joe, don’t tell me you’re buying into this- you are, aren’t you? In a big way. Look, brother, it’s not your fault!” Frank’s voice was earnest, but gentle. “It wasn’t you who forced her off the road. And it wasn’t your duty to tell Mom to be careful- she knew better. I know, it’s harsh,” he added as Joe started to protest. “But it’s true, too. People- people always talk about not speaking ill of the dead,” he went on in a musing voice. “But I’m not. Mom wasn’t perfect- she forgot. It’s not your fault that she forgot, and it wasn’t your job to remind her anyway.”

“Frank, I’m supposed to be observant!” Joe cried out; the words burst from him, surprising him as much as his brother. Why was he trying to persuade Frank into blaming him? ‘Because it’s my fault!’ he told himself stubbornly. He found himself sitting up straight, leaning forward in his urgency. “I’m supposed to see things, notice things, pay attention- and act!” How could he possibly have failed to notice that his mother hadn’t put on her seatbelt? He hadn’t even noticed after the crash; he’d lifted her from the car without unfastening the safety device. If he’d only been as alert as he was supposed to be, he could have reminded her. She’d’ve been hurt, maybe, but she’d still be alive!

Frank stared at him a moment, then looked up at the deep blue sky. “We’ve both been trained to do that,” he agreed slowly. “But sometimes it’s not possible. We’re not perfect either. And- do you remember why we were home then, not out trying to track those bastards down?”

“We...were taking a break, because...” Joe’s voice broke and he stopped talking; Frank looked down from the sky and the empathy in his steady gaze calmed Joe a little. Did his brother really, truly think it wasn’t Joe’s fault? He certainly didn’t look accusing or angry; if anything he looked about the way he had last spring on the debate team, making his points with calm intensity. How could he be so calm?

“Because we weren’t up for it,” Frank finished when Joe didn’t continue. “We weren’t thinking clearly or reacting properly. Neither was Mom- that’s probably why she forgot in the first place. We were all very distracted.”

Joe slumped back against the side of the boat, shaking his head more in confusion than disagreement. It was true, they had all been very distracted. He could sense Frank’s sincerity, his wish to persuade Joe that his guilt was all misplaced. But nothing could alter the fact that if Joe had only been a little more alert, his mother might have lived. At least her chances would have been better. Being distracted was just an excuse, and not an acceptable one. “What you’re saying- makes sense,” he answered at last, meeting Frank’s intent brown eyes. “But...right now, common sense doesn’t help. It doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” his brother agreed soberly. “But I think it’d help if you stop what-if’ing. I know, that’s tough too. But like Dad told us, it won’t change anything, either. It’ll just make everything worse.”

Joe nodded again, feeling weary from all his turbulent emotions. Was Frank really not blaming him? Or was he just not accepting the idea yet? Maybe he’d change his mind after he thought about it for a while. “I’m really not looking forward to this autumn, Frank.” His parents dead, Frank away, his aunt despising him, his own guilt...

Frank shifted to sit cross-legged on the bench, then sighed. “I’m not looking forward to this fall myself, kiddo, not for either of us. I think it’s going to be rough, no matter what happens.”

Joe suddenly wished the craft was bigger, sturdier, so they could sit side by side and not worry about tipping. He wished he dared touch his brother’s mind and see for himself if Frank was quietly blaming him. He wished...so many things.... “Made up your mind yet?” he asked, breaking the silence and surprising them both. He’d kept quiet about Frank’s uncertainty over whether to proceed to college as planned, or not. But not knowing was really starting to get to him. He didn’t know whether to start trying to prepare himself for his brother’s departure- or not.

“Not really,” Frank answered after a moment. “I don’t want to leave you- especially not now, with Aunt suddenly turning into a spitfire.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joe confessed softly, feeling it was about time he admitted it. Blame or no blame, he wanted his brother around. “But- well, you know my take on the whole thing. And I can cope with her if I have to.” He fervently hoped!

Frank gave him a glance that said, plainer than words or sending, that he had equally strong doubts about that remark.

“Well, I could if my shields were as strong as yours,” Joe amended. “But I won’t be in the house most of the day-” Just who was he trying to persuade? Frank, or himself?

“But you will be at night, all night,” Frank pointed out. “That’s when you’d need shields... say. Maybe we can work on that.”

“Huh?”

“You said a while back that you couldn’t manage steel yet. Just stone.”

Joe smiled slightly at the reference. It was true, his mental barriers were not nearly as strong and impervious as Frank’s; he had likened them to stone, without mortar, with cracks that let more through than he intended. “Yeah?”

“Maybe now you can handle it. After all, you got plenty of practice sending this month,” Frank said ruefully.

Joe felt his eyes widen. “I didn’t think of that, but maybe you’re right!” He sat up straighter, then closed his eyes, concentrating. If he could manage to lock out his aunt’s spiteful thoughts on his own, it would be a tremendous relief. And it would make him less of a burden on Frank, too. His brother had frequently shielded him in this past week- not from mental blasts of anger like today’s, but from the ordinary spitefulness that seeped from her words. Joe was afraid his brother would get tired of the constant need to protect him. That was a ridiculous fear, given how very protective Frank was, but it still nagged at the younger boy.

“Don’t forget the arrow-slot,” he heard Frank say quietly.

Joe nodded, frowning as he tried to create stronger walls- shields as impervious as his brother’s. It was incredibly difficult, and he found himself thinking how ironic it would be if he had taught Frank to do something that he couldn’t do himself. “I wonder,” he said presently, dropping the exercise in order to take a breather, “why now? Why has she waited this long to decide it’s my fault and go nuclear over it?”

Frank canted his head, pondering the question. “Dunno,” he replied. “You’d think she’d have the sense to put the blame where it belongs, instead of pinning it on you- just to begin with. But why she waited- well, I suppose she couldn’t rightly blame you if you were- were dead, and then the stroke would have distracted her attention considerably too.”

“True.” Joe frowned, distracted by the anxious look on Frank’s face. It still troubled him to see so much vulnerability in his older brother’s eyes. It wasn’t there as often as it had been, but it wasn’t fading fast enough for Joe. He hated to think of his brother continuing to feel the lingering ache of those nine terrible days of separation.

“I’m okay,” Frank told him, picking up on the concern. “How goes it with the shields?”

“I think I’ve got a start on it, but I was also getting a start on a headache, so I thought I’d wait a bit before I tried again,” Joe explained. “It makes me feel weird, too. Sort of claustrophobic.”

“But you can get out whenever you want to,” Frank pointed out.

“I guess so.” That was only slightly reassuring; it was still an uncomfortable trapped feeling. Joe closed his eyes and concentrated again, this time managing to build a substantial wall before letting it dissipate. “Harder than I figured on,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his face.

“It seemed pretty hard for me, too, at first. I guess it’s like our Teacher said, it takes practice...You remember what else Akilana talked about?” Frank asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Joe was taken off guard by the sudden change of topic. He seemed to be having another of those ‘slow on the uptake’ days. Or maybe Frank was just playing mental leapfrog again; it was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

“The three levels she talked about? Physical and mental and-”

“Oh, that’s right. She said very few people ever got to the- soul level, wasn’t that it? But she thought we might. Guess we did,” Joe said, remembering the peculiarly intense experience the brothers had shared. It had gone well beyond telepathy, in the same way that telepathy surpassed regular speech. It had been a revelation, each seeing the other’s life-force embodied. “Though I don’t see why people get confused about it.”

“I do,” Frank murmured. “Both times, I completely lost track of my body- someone probably could’ve stuck me with a needle and I wouldn’t have noticed. But it seemed like I was feeling things physically, so it was very confusing to open my eyes and see that I was sitting in a completely different position than I thought I was. Or not even sitting at all!”

Joe considered that for a few minutes, recalling the experiences with incredible clarity. The first time, he had been allowed to enter the deepest, most hidden parts of his brother’s mind; had helped him to confront and diffuse the despair that had all but claimed him. The second time, a few nights later, he had allowed Frank into the private room where his own soul dwelt. In the process, a good deal of his lingering bitterness towards his father had been dispersed. He had forgiven Fenton, but he had not forgotten the feelings of anger and betrayal he’d harbored. Frank had told him there was no point carrying them around; there was no one to expend them on. They were only burdens he didn’t need, and- with his brother’s help- Joe had let go of them.

He remembered what Frank had said, too, when they had ended the telepathic contact. ‘I think that did me as much good as you. Feels like we’re really getting back to normal- me looking out for you.’ That had been a very true observation; having his brother protect him, even from himself, did feel comfortingly familiar. The whole experience- both of them- were still almost as vivid in his mind as if they had happened the day before, though it had actually been more than two weeks ago.

“Still feels vivid, doesn’t it?” Frank sent, with a strong surge of affection. Joe found himself smiling as he nodded quickly.

“I have a sorta feeling that it always will be.” That was a good feeling, even though it made him feel just a little shy. He wanted to remember that experience clearly.

“I hope so.” Frank looked a little shy, too.

Silence descended on the cove as the young sleuths shared their memories.

Reluctantly pushing away his introspection, Joe Hardy sat up from his seat on the Sleuth’s bench and gave a wary glance to skyward. All clear- no hint of clouds anywhere. Leaning back again, he stretched out his legs and thought about swimming; it was getting hot, especially since they were sitting in the sun. Glancing at Frank, he wasn’t surprised to see a similarly relaxed posture, and a sort of far-away contentment on his brother’s face.

It had been a long time, Joe thought, since either of them had felt content. Not since about the end of June. And so much of it seemed to come just from being out of Gertrude’s vicinity! The thought of his aunt triggered other thoughts, and Joe lost his contented feeling as he remembered the reason why they were here. Pain and guilt hissed through him; how could he have let himself enjoy anything? His parents were gone. And he missed them terribly. How could he have forgotten, even for a moment?

“If you love someone, but can still be angry at them, you can miss someone and still enjoy your life,” a voice said quietly in his mind. “Remember you loved them, remember they loved you, but don’t cling to the pain of their leaving. It is the same with that as with your bitterness towards your father; there is no more need to burden yourself with guilt than there was to carry that weight of anger.”

Joe blinked in amazement and saw Frank double-take. “Did you-?”

“Akilana,” Frank breathed, smiling.

“My students,” the Teacher greeted them. “You’ve learned well, both of you. I sensed my Warrior struggling with his shields- and before that I sensed something that troubled me greatly. A furious anger.”

“Our aunt,” Frank said quietly.

“Your aunt,” Akilana’s voice repeated thoughtfully. “I see. It seems this recent trauma of illness and loss has awakened her own abilities. She is strong for one so old. Her anger could be dangerous. You will need to teach her, Warrior.”

“Me?” Joe spluttered. “Why me?” The thought would have been ludicrous, if it hadn’t sounded so much like a punishment.

“You are both Warrior and Guardian now. As all Teachers are.”

“Akilana, she- the way she reacted when I told her- she was horrified. She acted like we were contaminated,” Frank protested. Both the boys were speaking aloud, but quietly.

“It is often that way,” the Teacher sighed in their minds. “You two were among the first of my students to come to me accepting the gift. I think that is why you have learned so quickly and well; you have embraced it, not rejected it. But she must be taught, for her sake and yours. And you, my Warrior, must learn how to teach.”

“That’s complicated,” Joe said with a frown. “Learning how to teach.”

Akilana’s laugh rang in their minds. “I suppose it is, but you will find it comes naturally- as it did when you taught your Guardian how to guard himself.”

Frank blushed a little, but looked pleased nonetheless. “So I was your first student,” he said to Joe with a little grin.

“I- I-” Joe stuttered a moment. “I didn’t even realize I was teaching!”

“You work on instinct,” Akilana remarked. “That makes the strongest telepaths- and the best Teachers. You’ll do well. In the meanwhile, a hint for your shields. Feel nothing.”

“Feel nothing?” Joe repeated, looking at Frank curiously. “Do you feel nothing when you put your walls up?”

“I suppose I do. I mean, don’t. I mean- I’m not sure what I mean,” was Frank’s perplexed reply.

“It is only necessary at the start. In time, you will be able to shield yourself and still feel your own emotions, but at first, detachment is a great assistant,” the Teacher explained.

“And it does keep you from feeling anything you don’t want to feel,” Frank agreed.

“I’ll give it a try, but not feeling isn’t all too easy right now,” Joe said dubiously.

“No, it would not be-” Akilana paused. “No,” she repeated. “Especially not now, after your losses, and your great gain.”

Neither boy had to ask what she meant by their great gain; she meant the experience they had just been remembering. It was odd, but Joe found he didn’t mind his Teacher reading all his recent experiences from his mind. Probably because he could tell she was just barely skimming the surface. She would never invade him.

“It is one of the responsibilities of a Teacher to test the students’ minds and be sure that they remain...stable, uncorrupted. But that is not why I am contacting you now,” Akilana told them. “I am more concerned with your aunt. I fear for her. She will need firm dealing, her will is altogether stronger than I like. If you find you need assistance, Warrior, call me and I will lend you as much strength and support as you need.”

Joe breathed a great sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. Then he frowned. “But- how can I possibly teach her anything? She blames me. She hates me!”

“She does not hate you. And I think you will find that she blames you in order to avoid feeling her own guilt.”

“Her guilt?” Frank repeated, sounding baffled.

“Her...well, she was really rude to Mom,” Joe said slowly, suddenly remembering the arguments that had raged after their father’s death. “And now there’ll be no apologizing...” The brothers exchanged a glance. They had a sudden, uncomfortable feeling of having misjudged the old lady.

“I guess we know how that feels,” Frank murmured.

“Well, yeah- but we didn’t blame anyone but ourselves,” Joe grumbled.

“It is not easy to be reasonable sometimes,” Akilana remarked, a gentle rebuke in her mental voice. “But I do think you both have done better at it than your aunt. I must go now, but I will be keeping a thought on both of you. Think to me sometimes.”

With that, the sense of the Teacher was gone. Joe rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Wow. That was amazing,” he said softly.

“I didn’t know anyone could send to two people at the same time!” Frank sounded impressed. “So you’re going to be a teacher,” he added after a momentary silence. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“It surprises me,” Joe retorted. He wasn’t at all sure he liked the idea of teaching people how to send or guard their thoughts. Especially if they were as reluctant to accept their talent as Akilana had suggested. “I wouldn’t’ve thought I was patient enough to teach anybody anything.”

“Well, you taught yourself how to send,” Frank pointed out. “And how to find other telepaths, and people in general. And you’ve taught me all about shields, and you were very patient with me over it. Though I have to agree, your first assignment sounds like a rough one,” he finished sympathetically. “But she’ll help you if you need it.”

Joe was silent. His brother had made good points, but he still felt unnerved by the thought of such responsibility. “I guess I better work on these shields, something tells me I’m really going to need them! Trying to persuade Aunt that she’s got this talent she despises is going to spark off a hell of an explosion,” he sighed eventually. “And learning from me is really going to twist her knickers.”

“Yeah.” Frank looked serious, but then he brightened a little. “”Nice to think there’s still someone we can count on- besides each other,” he pointed out.

Joe felt a sudden lift in his spirits at the remark. Frank was right- Akilana was definitely on their side. Maybe this autumn wouldn’t be as bad as they were fearing.

Frank Hardy slowly climbed the steps, padded down the hall to his room, sat down in his computer chair, and turned the machine on. While he waited for it to boot up, he listened to the angry voice of his aunt on the first floor. They had all just finished dinner, a tense affair any night but moreso than usual this evening. Gertrude had been very angry at them for walking out this afternoon, and as usual she was taking her feelings out on Joe.

But there was a difference this time; she wasn’t being overly friendly to Frank, either. She’d said nothing to him during the meal, only ordered him upstairs when he’d started to help clear the table. He wasn’t sure if it was a punishment for him- being sent to his room like a child!- or for Joe, to make him do all the dishes himself. Probably both. Seemed she couldn’t deny that her ‘pet’ had been deliberately rude to her; and of course she was displeased that he’d seen through her poorly concealed anger.

On the positive side, being sent to his room wasn’t nearly the punishment it had been when he was young. He did feel sorry for Joe, though. Doing dishes with that crabby voice in his ear had to be pretty miserable. ‘I ought to go down and help him, no matter what she says,’ he told himself guiltily, but he didn’t move from the chair. ‘But if I do go down, it’ll just make things worse between them- between her and us. I don’t want to go around placating her, but I don’t want to stir things up, either.’

In the end, Frank stayed put and got online, glancing over the few message boards he frequented and checking his inbox. The spam filter he’d put up last week seemed to be doing a good job of keeping the crap out. After he’d tapped out a few replies to various people, he decided he wasn’t in the mood for Instant Messaging or chatting and shut down again. IM’s were okay, but he had to be in a very specific mood to get into a chat- even a private one. Public ones were just too disjointed and disorganized for him, and often just plain nasty as well.

After he had shut down the computer, Frank sat on his bed, his back to the wall and the book he’d been trying to read for the past week beside him. It was one of his favorites, Stevenson’s ‘Kidnapped’, but he was having trouble focusing on it. He’d just gotten to the part where the lad had to decide whether to take his chance with the outlaw and try to escape, or take his chance with the law and try not to get hung. Now that was a fairly easy choice!

Or was it? Deciding to throw in with a wanted criminal, deserter, recruiter of rebels... instead of turning to the law, to that century’s version of the police for help... no, that couldn’t have been an easy choice, after all. No matter what the character said. Probably trying to make the best of it.

Frank was still musing over the character’s situation, seeing a few parallels to his own hard choice, when Joe walked into the room. He looked tired and irritable, and he had gotten a bit of a sunburn while they’d been out in the boat that afternoon. “Thought you’d be on the computer,” he said, in a voice that was as close to surly as he ever got these days. Without waiting for an answer, he dropped onto his stomach on the bed and laid his head on his arm with a sigh.

Frank felt another little stab of guilt for not helping out with the washing-up. “Only for a couple minutes, to clean out the mailbox,” he answered, putting the book aside. “I almost came back downstairs, but I had a feeling we’d be in for twice as long a lecture if I did.”

“You’re probably right,” Joe agreed, not lifting his head. His voice had lost the irritation. Strange, Frank mused. Despite how much unpleasantness Joe was coping with lately, between irritation at their aunt and guilt over their parents, it never overflowed onto his brother. Frank would almost have expected it to be the other way around, that Joe would have- perhaps inadvertently, perhaps not- vented all his feelings on Frank. That could have made things extremely difficult.

Of course, Frank could have made the same argument for himself; Joe was the only one he was really talking to these days, so it was a bit surprising that he hadn’t managed to alienate Joe. But it wasn’t working that way; both of them were not only sticking close together, they hadn’t exchanged a single harsh word. Quite the opposite, really. It seemed the only time either of them really found any contentment or affection was when they were together, and that left the likelihood of harsh words at right around zero.

Joe sat up briefly, moved a little closer, and turned on his side, laying his head on Frank’s knee. He had been doing that a fair bit lately; it seemed to soothe him, and it soothed Frank a little, too. He still hadn’t quite rid himself of the terrible grief and loneliness that had gripped him when he believed his brother was dead; the closeness quieted it for a while. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was why Joe made the gesture in the first place.

“Joe Hardy!”

Both the boys started at the strident voice. Their aunt stood in the doorway, glaring at them, her breath coming a bit fast from climbing the steps.

“What’s wrong?” Frank asked her, frowning.

Gertrude ignored him. “You sit up this instant!” she scolded Joe. “That’s completely inappropriate behavior!”

“Close the door, it won’t bother you then,” Joe told her, not moving.

Frank sighed. ‘Here we go again.’ Why was she always picking on Joe? “Auntie, it’s not your call, okay?” he said quietly.

“I beg your pardon?” the old woman said stiffly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say.” Frank was having a hard time not rolling his eyes. “It’s not up to you to decide what’s inappropriate and what’s not. I’ll make the decision on what I think is appropriate for me. Especially when it’s not in public.” He deliberately laid a hand against his brother’s temple. He felt Joe’s pulse beating under his fingers, swifter and stronger than usual. “Calm down,” he sent gently. “She’s not worth it.”

Revulsion and anger flitted across Gertrude’s face. “I told you never to do that around me,” she snapped. Joe sat up abruptly, a scowl narrowing his eyes.

“So you felt it, did you?” he asked maliciously. “Guess what, Auntie, that means you’re one of us.”

“I am no such thing!”

“You felt it- don’t deny it, you did feel it, or you wouldn’t’ve pounced on us for sending to each other,” Joe retorted. “And if you felt it, it means you have the gift, too. You better let me teach you how to use it, or all the stuff you overhear will drive you nuts,” he added deliberately.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Gertrude told him. “And I think there’s very little you could teach me on any topic, Joseph.” The spite in her voice made his name an epithet; Frank scowled, feeling his own pulse quicken with anger.

“I can think of a few topics you could use some enlightenment on,” Joe retorted. “Open-mindedness, fairness, compassion-” he counted off on his fingers as he spoke. “And yes, telepathy. But I suppose you won’t take my word for it. Well, give it a week, you’ll find out for yourself how uncomfortable it can be.” He shrugged and lay back down again. “I could also teach you a hell of a lot about loving people, but I don’t think you’re any more interested in that than the other subjects I mentioned.”

Gertrude stood where she was, speechless. Then she glared at Frank. “Are you going to just sit there and let him speak this way to me?” she demanded.

“I don’t see why not,” Frank answered in his most reasonable voice. “He’s right. Does that answer, once and for all, the question of whose ‘side’ I’m on? I’m about as sick of your fake affection for me as I am of your genuine hatred of him.” He nodded at Joe, whose eyes were now closed.

“Fake?” the woman gasped. “Frank, I-”

“Fake!” he said sharply, feeling his temper- usually so easily controlled- start to heat up. “It’s all about favoring me and hurting him, so it’s fake, a put on. I don’t know why you’re so dead set on this farce, but in case it hasn’t occurred to you yet- when you hurt my brother, you hurt me. And you stand there and want me to defend you? I don’t think so!” He stopped, biting back the rest of his angry words; he’d already said more than he intended to.

Gertrude stared, her face paling. Then her lips pressed tightly together and she glared at Joe.

“Stop that,” the younger boy murmured, frowning. “You’re doing it all wrong anyway.”

“This is your doing,” his aunt hissed. “You’re not content with being disrespectful, insolent, rude- no, you’ve got to turn your brother against me as well.”

“I knew she’d say that,” Joe remarked, opening his eyes and looking up at Frank, who was momentarily speechless with frustration and anger.

“I’m not too surprised either; I guess she thinks I don’t have a mind of my own anymore,” Frank replied in the same casual tone, shrugging. If she was going to talk past one or both of them, she would get same treatment from them. His casualness was difficult to pull off; what he really wanted to do was yell at her, but he knew the offhand remarks would affect her more.

“I know why you want him on your side,” Gertrude said in a soft, venomous tone.

“This ought to be good,” Joe remarked silently, and Frank smiled grimly as the woman flinched again.

“Enlighten us,” he answered his aunt dryly.

Gertrude’s eyes turned to the older boy and her grim expression became one of resolute sorrow. “He’s turning you against me so that you’ll automatically reject anything bad I tell you about him. Frank, haven’t you realized he’s manipulating you?”

Frank looked down and rolled his eyes. “I guess you need to improve your skills in that area,” he murmured wryly. The thought of Joe manipulating him was pure idiocy. Not that he hadn’t tried on occasion, not that Frank hadn’t yielded to some of his brother’s whims, but they both were always well aware of the situation. And Joe simply would not, could not manipulate Frank mentally. Even if he had been tempted to try it, which was very unlikely-

Joe snorted. “As if any amount of improvement could get me through that steel wall of yours,” he replied, paralleling Frank’s thought.

“Don’t you realize your mother’s death is his fault!?” Gertrude demanded loudly. Joe went a ghastly shade of pale and sat up again, his blue eyes blazing. Frank felt his hands clench into fists, sensed the wave of pain that crashed through his brother’s soul.

“That’s what he didn’t want you to figure out,” Gertrude went on triumphantly. “That’s why he’s playing his mind games with you, distracting you, making you think I’m in the wrong. He as good as killed her himself, and he doesn’t want you to realize it!”

“Take your senseless accusations and get out of my sight, you lying hag.” Frank’s voice sounded different even to him; it was like listening to a stranger speak. Odd how such a hot rage could produce such a cold, distant voice.

His aunt stared at him, her eyes going wide. “What did you call me?”

Frank stood up from the bed and advanced on her. “Number one: Jamison and Locke forced Mom’s car off the road. That makes them the responsible parties. Number two, the only one who’s persuading me that you are in the wrong is you. I despise what you’ve become, and it’s because of who you are and how you’re acting- no one else. Number three, just for your information, I have been taught how to keep people from manipulating my mind, and my defenses are stronger than his. He can’t influence me. You’re babbling nonsense about something you know nothing about. And if I ever hear again the slightest suggestion that Joe’s somehow responsible for what happened to Mom, I’ll personally wring your cruel, insensitive, sadistic neck. Got it?”

Gertrude continued to stare at him, retreating slowly. Her expression was one of fear, and while on some level it troubled the teenager, on another it rather pleased him. It was high time someone made her back down. “You’ll regret this,” she whispered.

“I’ll never regret defending Joe,” Frank countered coolly. “But I guess you wouldn’t understand that; you don’t know anything about how close siblings can be. Too late to teach you that lesson, though.” ‘Stab for stab,’ he told himself, still clenching his fists because he wanted more than anything to slap her, shake her, somehow lay violent hands on her. Instead he had to make do with flinging her constant acrimony with his father into her face.

His verbal hit told; tears suddenly flooded the old lady’s eyes. She turned and slowly made her way down the steps, feeling her way carefully. Frank turned his back, not really caring if she made it down safely or not, and walked into his room, feeling suddenly tired.

Joe was still sitting on the bed, staring at the floor; when Frank came in he quickly turned his face away, brushing at his damp cheeks. Then, being Joe, he stopped trying to hide his tears and gave Frank a look of mute appeal.

“Damned old bitch,” the older boy murmured as he sank down on the bed and held his aching brother close. “And I thought that doctor- Mackenzie- was insensitive.”

“He was,” Joe whispered shakily. “He was indifferent. She’s not- she’s trying to hurt-” His voice broke and he stopped.

Frank nodded, sighing. After a few minutes, Joe seemed to calm down a little and eventually let go to lie down on the bed, his head again pillowed on Frank’s knee. Frank picked up his book again and read for a while, but found he was too weary from his raging emotions to concentrate on the text. After reading the same paragraph for the fourth time, he closed the book and put it down, then arranged himself so that he was lying beside Joe on the bed.

“I should probably get to my own room,” Joe murmured after a while. But he didn’t move.

“That’s what she’d tell you to do.”

“Yeah...”

“So, don’t.” Frank, on his back, looked over at Joe, who had curled up on his side. Joe nodded, his eyes closed.

“Too tired anyway,” he murmured, and a few minutes later he was breathing quietly and evenly, sound asleep.

“I just don’t know what to do.”

Callie Shaw studied the serious, downcast face of her boyfriend and sighed. Frank had always been serious, but in an easygoing sort of way; he had his playful, teasing side, too, though few people saw much of it. She certainly hadn’t seen much of it this summer- and no wonder, all the horrible things that kept happening to him and Joe.

First Joe had been captured by the smugglers the boys had been pursuing and nearly died of thirst and heat before Frank found him. Callie had not always been fond of Joe; he still wasn’t her most favorite person to hang out with, but their relationship had improved over the last year and a half. He’d stopped resenting that Frank spent so much time with her; she’d stopped resenting how often Frank’s thoughts and attention were centered on his pesky younger brother. Now that she’d seen them in action a few times on their cases, she realized they needed to be as close as they were. It kept them both alive. The thought of Joe nearly dying had shaken Callie almost as much as it had frightened Iola Morton.

After Joe had recovered somewhat the boys had gone to the beach for a week; they had returned in fairly good spirits, but it had not been long after that when Frank had nearly been killed when one of the uncaught smugglers stabbed him. That had been terrifying, and it had affected her boyfriend in a deep and powerful way. He’d admitted- tentatively, unsure of her reaction- that sometimes the memory of it sent him into a panic. The thought of Frank Hardy panicking was almost as frightening as the thought of him being stabbed in the first place. Frank never panicked, no matter what happened to him.

After that, Callie continued gloomily to herself as they walked along the beach, the boys’ father had pulled them off the case, which had stunned both the boys and the gang. Fenton Hardy had never done such a thing before. Then had come the truly horrible news; Fenton had been attacked; had lain in a coma for two days, and then- swiftly, shockingly- he had died.

Callie squeezed Frank’s hand slightly, remembering the sound of his voice when he called her; so tired, so lost. “He’s gone, Callie. We never got to say goodbye...”

Less than a week later their mother had died too, en route to the hospital, fatally injured by the deliberate collision with two Mack trucks. Trucks driven by the smugglers. Joe had survived with minor injuries; he’d been wearing his seatbelt, and his airbag had deployed. It had seemed as though the whole city of Bayport had been stunned by the news; Fenton had been famous and his wife had been very well known and liked. Feelings of sympathy had run very high for the boys.

The day after Laura Hardy’s funeral, Frank and Joe gone undercover, determined to find the smugglers who had killed their parents. Two days later, a body found in the smoking ruins of the house they were checking out had been- erroneously- identified as Joe Hardy’s. Callie shuddered, remembering the icy, distant voice that had spoken to her several hours after the explosion. “I’m going to find these people if it takes the rest of my life,” Frank had told her quietly. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, Cal, or even if. But I have to do this. If I can, I’ll get in touch with you now and again, to let you know I’m okay.”

But he hadn’t been okay. Even now, with his brother alive and safe and the criminals caught, he wasn’t okay. No one would be.

“Is she still being nasty to you guys?” she asked in response to his comment. He’d told her a few days ago how cruel their Aunt Gertrude was being to Joe, and through Joe, to him. Callie had been horrified by some of the bitter, hateful things the old woman had said. But she knew Frank wasn’t exaggerating. She’d seen for herself how spiteful Gertrude had been after Mr. Hardy’s death.

“Well, not since I blew up at her that night last week. But I’m afraid she’s just storing it all up and waiting till I leave before she starts in on him again.” Frank sighed. “In a way, it might be good to leave,” he admitted. “I would love to get away from her. I do want to get to college, and I like what I’ve seen of the school. And ordinarily, Joe could handle her- if he just wasn’t half-agreeing with her that Mom’s death was his fault.”

Callie pushed away a long strand of pale-brown hair and shook her head. “I wish you could persuade him that it’s not,” she said soberly, repressing a shudder. She’d seen Joe a few times lately when she dropped by their house; she’d never dreamed that the rambunctious, taunting kid could ever be so silent and withdrawn. Iola could make him smile now and again, but all of his high spirits, his impatience, his zest for life, had been silenced. In a way, that was even more unnerving than Frank’s cool distances. Frank had always been a little distant; Joe had never been subdued.

“I wish I could too,” Frank said softly. He halted and gently pulled her to him. Callie went to him willingly; if there was nothing else she could do, she could take a little of his pain and give a little comfort. They stood embraced on the beach for a moment; she felt his hands move gently through her wind-tangled hair. “What about us?” he whispered in her ear. “You’re staying. If I go, what happens to us?”

Callie withdrew a little and regarded the boy she loved for a long moment. She knew most high-school loves didn’t last. She knew either of them might get restless, crave a change, grow discontent. And she knew how hard it was to maintain a long-distance relationship. But she didn’t want to break up with him, whether he went to Maine or not. “I guess all we can do is wait and see,” she answered slowly. “If we still feel the same about each other next summer, it’s a pretty good indication- isn’t it? And if we don’t, well...then it likely wouldn’t’ve lasted even if we’d both been here.”

Frank smiled, his beautiful brown eyes lighting up. He had such a nice smile, Callie thought again. It made him look sweet and approachable. She leaned against his strong, lean body as he put his arm around her and they continued walking, matching their footsteps. “You’re so practical,” he said quietly. “And so sweet about it, at the same time. And you’re right; it’s a pretty good test, and I think we can make it work.”

So she’d relieved his mind on one score. “You know, you don’t have to stay there if you find it doesn’t suit you,” she mentioned. “You can always transfer somewhere else- even home again. Or take a temporary break. Most people will be supportive, especially if you explain why you need some time off.”

Frank stopped in his tracks and looked at her, his eyes widening. Then he laughed and pulled her close again, shaking his head as he did so. “Oh, what would I do without you?” he asked, and Callie smiled at the fondness in his voice, enjoying the spontaneous hug. “I didn’t even think of that! All I could think was, ‘a whole school year away from home, away from everyone I know’. I guess I didn’t see the forest for the trees.” He smiled down at her, the wind ruffling his hair. “Thanks, baby,” he said softly, in the special voice that he only used with her.

“You’re welcome,” she answered teasingly. But inside her was a core of sadness. He’d made up his mind; she could tell. He would go to Maine- and she would miss him.