Carrie Simpson sat up the way she did everything, all at once with a sudden jerking motion, fully alert and at attention.

She was as striking a girl as her sister, smaller of body, blonde where Sherry was a brunette, but with the same full breasts, the same lithe supple form.

She yawned once, shook her head to clear it of the last remaining traces of slumber and was on her feet with a single graceful hop, into her shorts and shirt, and checking to see that her bedroom door was still locked, she was out her window and onto the damp grass outside. Her bare feet left a chain of oblong smudges in the coating of dew that she knew would vanish with the first rays of the sun. But now in the grey half-light of false dawn they stretched back from dancing figure as it raced down the slope of the yard towards the woods, the only proof that life stirred in the mountain retreat.

She had no need really to be so furtive and clandestine. It was simply part of her nature. She was a private girl, one who kept the major portion of herself hidden from the rest of the world, choosing instead to serve portions of herself to others as she saw fit. She understood the first rule of the theater: leave them wanting a little more. She also understood the mind of the poker player and knew instinctively the value of keeping your true self hidden.

Strange, that one kept sheltered and secluded from the world and from other people could have such a worldly outlook, but Lucus Simpson had done right by his daughters, at least in terms of preparing them for maturity. Why, is anybody's guess, because Sherry's secret conviction that he never intended for them to leave their shelter was probably correct. Still, he must have realized that he would not live forever. And in the meantime, if he was successful in keeping them with him, he would obviously want minds as aware and as sharp and knowledgeable as his own.