The Power of Love

"Gregory?" she called.

"Yes, my sveet," he answered with an accent.

"What are you doing?"

"Come here, my sveet," he replied. "I've been vaiting for you."

She smiled to herself. "What are you up to?"

Ivy tiptoed to the dressing room and slowly pushed open the swinging door. Gregory had flattened himself against the wall. Now he turned quickly, jumping in front of her.

"Oh!" she gasped. She wasn't acting; Gregory made a startlingly handsome vampire in a white shirt with a deep V-neck and a high-collared black cape. His dark hair was slicked back, and his eyes danced with mischief.

"Hello, my sveet."

"Tell me," she said, recovering from the surprise, "if you put in your fangs, will you be able to pronounce w´s?"

"No vay. Thees is how I speak." He pulled her into the room. "And may I say, my sveet, vat a lovely neck you have!"

Ivy laughed. He put in his long teeth and began to nuzzle her neck, tickling her.

"Where do I thrust in the wooden stake?" she asked, pushing him back a little. "Right there?" She poked him lightly where his shirt gaped.

Gregory caught her hand and held it for a long moment. Then he took out his teeth and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. He pulled her closer to him. "I think you've already done it, thrust it straight through my heart," he told her.

Ivy looked up at him, barely breathing. His eyes burned like gray coals beneath his lowered lashes.

"What a lovely neck," he said, bending his head, his dark hair falling forward. He kissed her softly on the throat. He kissed her again and again, slowly moving his mouth up to hers.

His kisses became more insistent. Ivy answered with gentler kisses. He pressed her to him, held her tightly, then suddenly released her, dropping down before her. He knelt in front of her, reaching up to her, his strong, caressing hands moving slowly over her body, pulling her down to him. "It's okay," he said softly. "It's okay."

They clung to each other and swayed. Then Ivy opened her eyes. To the left, to the right, reflected in front of her, reflected from behind her — from every angle in the mirrored dressing room — she could see herself and Gregory wrapped around each other.

She pulled herself free of, him. "No!" Her hands went up to her face, covering her eyes.

Gregory tried to pull her hands away from her face. She turned to the wall, cowering in the corner, but she couldn't get away from the reflection of the girl who had been kissing Gregory.

"This isn't right," she said.

"Isn't right?"

"It isn't a good thing. For you, or me, or Suzanne." "Forget Suzanne! What matters is you and me."

"Don't forget Suzanne," Ivy pleaded softly. "She's wanted you for a long time. And I, I want to be near you, I want to talk to you, I want to touch you. And kiss you. How could I help it, when you've been so wonderful to me? But, Gregory, I know—" She took a deep breath. "I know I'm still in love with Tristan."

"And you think I don't know that?" He laughed. "You've made it kind of obvious. Ivy."

He took a step closer to her and reached out for, her hand. "I know you're still in love with him and still hurting for him. Let me help ease the pain."

He held her hand softly in both of his. "Think about it, Ivy. Just think about it," he said. She nodded silently, her free hand toying with the tassel on her skirt.

"I'll change my clothes now," he told her, "and we'll go home in our own cars. I'll take a long route so we don't arrive at the same time. We won't even see each other going up to our rooms. So—" He lifted her hand to his mouth. "This is my good-night kiss," he said, gently touching his lips to her fingertips.

When Tristan awoke, only his soft glow lit the dressing room, shining back at him from each of the mirrors. But the darkness that he felt surrounding him in the empty room was more than the absence of light. The darkness felt like something real in itself, a soft and ominous shape, a presence that angered and frightened Tristan.

"Gregory," he said aloud, and the scenes he had witnessed hours earlier flashed through his mind. For a moment he thought the room was lit. Had Gregory really fallen in love with Ivy? Tristan wondered. And was he telling the truth about Eric and the dealer? Tristan had to know, had to get inside his head.

"You're next, Gregory," he said. "You're next."

"Would you stop talking to yourself? How's a girl supposed to get her beauty steep?"

Tristan pushed through the dressing room door into the shop, which was lit by two dim night-lights and an exit sign. Lacey was stretched out at the feet of King Kong.

"I waited for you at your Riverstone Rise condo," she said, then held up a dead flower. "Brought you this. There were others, just as dead, forming a T on your grave. Figured you hadn't been there for a while."

"I haven't."

"I checked out Eric," she continued, "just in case you'd gotten lost in that fun house otherwise known as his mind. Then I checked out Ivy, who's not having a good night — so what else is new?"

"Is she okay?" Tristan asked. He had wanted to follow her home and get the rest he needed there. Then he could have made sure that Ella was close by; he could have summoned Philip if she needed him. But he knew if he had gone with her, he'd have stayed up all night watching. "Is she okay?"

"She's Ivy," Lacey replied, fluffing up her hair. "So tell me, what did I miss in this soap opera? Gregory's just as restless as she is. What's eating him?"

Tristan told Lacey what had happened earlier that evening, as well as what he had experienced inside Eric's head — the memory of the scene at Caroline's house, with its overwhelming feelings of frustration and fear. Lacey listened for a bit, then paced around the shop. She materialized her fingers, and tried on a mask, turning to face Tristan for a moment, then trying on another.

"Maybe this isn't the first time Eric's gotten himself in deep," Lacey said. "What if Eric used to hit on Caroline for drug money — the way he now hits on Gregory? And what if that night, when he needed a payment, Caroline didn't come through?"

"No, it's not that simple," Tristan replied, a little too quickly. "I know it's not that simple."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You know that, or you just want to believe that?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Seems to me you'd find it just a tiny bit satisfying to prove Gregory guilty. Poor, innocent, handsome Gregory," she said, baiting Tristan. "Maybe the only things he's guilty of are playing games with girls and falling for your girl — and your girl falling for him," she added slyly.

"You can't really believe that!" Tristan said.

She shrugged. "I'm not saying Gregory isn't a jerk sometimes, but other times, at least one time, he had a good enough heart to save the neck of his messed-up friend." She ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled. "I think he's rich, good-looking, and innocent."

"If he's innocent, his memory will prove it," Tristan said.

Lacey shook her head, suddenly serious. "This time he may throw you as far as the moon."

"I'll take my chances, and I'll succeed, Lacey. After all, I've had such an excellent teacher."

She squinted at him.

"You were right. Eric was easier to slip into when he was sleeping lightly. I'm going to try the same thing with Gregory."

"That will teach me not to teach you!"

Tristan cocked his head. "It ought to get you some points, Lacey — angel points for helping me complete my mission."

She turned away.

"And those points might help you finish yours. Isn't that what you want?"

Lacey shrugged, keeping her back turned to him.

Tristan looked at her, puzzled. "Is there something I don't get?"

"A lot, Tristan." She sighed. "What do you want me to do with this flower?"

"Leave it, I guess. It was nice of you to bring it, but I'll use up too much strength trying to carry it. Listen, I've got to get going."

She nodded.

"Thanks, Lacey."

She still didn't turn around.

"You're an angel!" he said.

"Mmm."

Tristan hurried off and arrived in Ivy's bedroom just as die sky was beginning to lighten. It was so tempting to materialize one finger and run it along her cheek.

I love you. Ivy. I've never stopped loving you.

Just one soft touch, that's all he wanted. What would it cost, one soft touch?

He left her before he gave in to the temptation and used up energy that he needed for Gregory.

Gregory was sleeping restlessly. Tristan looked quickly through his music collection and found a CD he was familiar with. Materializing two fingers, he slipped the disk into the player and turned the volume on tow. He nudged Gregory, then he began to follow the music himself, saying the words, concentrating on the song's images.

But for some reason, Tristan kept getting mixed up. He'd thought he knew the lyrics by heart. He refocused, then realized his images were intermixing with other images — Gregory's.

I'm in! Lacey, I'm in!

Suddenly he could feel Gregory searching for him, reaching out blindly, desperately, the way a sleeper gropes for a clock when an alarm goes off. Tristan held himself still, absolutely still, and the music floated Gregory away from him.

Tristan sagged with relief. How far could Gregory blast him from his mind? he wondered.

But every thought like that was a thought different from Gregory's and would only alert him again.

Tristan couldn't think about what he was doing but simply had to do it.

He had chosen to focus on the floor lamp in Caroline's living room. The day he and Lacey searched the house, he had noticed it standing next to the chair where the police had found Caroline's body. The halogen lamp, with its long pole and metal disk at the top, was so common it wouldn't create suspicion, but it might trigger a visual memory of Caroline sitting in the chair on that late-May afternoon.

Tristan focused on it. He circled it with his mind. He reached out for it as if he would switch it on.

And he found himself standing in Caroline's living room. She was sitting in the chair, looking back at him, slightly amused. Then she suddenly got up. The color was high in her cheeks, long red fingers of it, rising as it did in Gregory's cheeks when he was angry. But there was also a victorious gleam in her eyes.

She walked toward a desk. Tristan, inside Gregory's memory, stayed where he was, close to the lamp.

Caroline picked up a piece of paper and waved it at him, as if she was taunting him. He felt Gregory's hands draw up into fists.

Then she walked toward him. He thought she was telling him to look at die paper, but he couldn't hear die words dearly. His anger had grown so quickly, die fury in him was so great, that his heart pounded, his blood rushed through him, singing in his ears.

Then his hand rose up. He slammed it into the lamp, slammed the lamp toward her. He saw her go reeling back, flying backward like a cartoon figure into the bright blue square of the picture window.

He shouted out. Tristan, himself, shouted out when he saw Caroline pitching backward, a long stripe of blood on her face.

Gregory suddenly jerked, and Tristan knew that Gregory had heard him. He was the one who'd get slammed next. He scrambled to get out. But images were swirling around him now like pieces of sharp, colored glass in a kaleidoscope. He felt dizzy and sick. He couldn't separate his own mind from Gregory's. He ran a maze through endless, circling, insane thoughts. He knew he was trapped.

Then suddenly there was a voice calling to Gregory, pleading with him to wake up. Ivy.

He saw her through Gregory's eyes, wrapped in her robe, leaning over him. Her hair tumbled down and touched his face. Her arms went around him, comforting him. Then Gregory stilled his whirling thoughts, and Tristan slipped out.

"That's it, Philip!" Gregory said, lifting up his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face. "I'm not giving you any more tennis lessons. You're going to beat me every time."

"Then I'll have to give you lessons," Philip replied, extremely pleased with himself.

Gregory finished caking off his damp shirt and swatted Philip lightly. "Brat."

Ivy and Maggie, who had been watching Thursday morning's lesson, laughed.

"This is how I'd always hoped it would be," Maggie said.

It was a perfect summer day, the sky postcard blue, the pine trees stirring with a light breeze. They were sitting together by the tennis court, Ivy sunbathing, her mother occupying the shady half of the blanket.

Maggie sighed contentedly. "We're a family at last! And I can go away knowing my chickens are happy and safe at home."

"Don't spend one moment thinking about us, Mom," Ivy said. "You and Andrew deserve some time alone at the lake."

Maggie nodded. "Andrew needs the time away, that's for sure. Something's been on his mind lately.

Usually, before bed, he tells me everything that's happened that day — every detail of everything. That's how I get to sleep." Ivy laughed.

"But I can tell," Maggie continued, "something's worrying him, and he's keeping it to himself."

Ivy laid her hand over her mother's. "You guys really need to get away from us and from the college, coo. I hope you have a great time. Mom."

Her mother kissed her, then rose to say goodbye to Philip.

She put her arm around his shoulder. "You be good, pumpkin." Philip made a face. "Okay," Gregory answered cheerfully. Maggie laughed. She planted a big, pink kiss on Philip, hesitated, then shyly kissed Gregory, too.

"Take care of my baby," Ivy heard her mother say quietly. "Take care of my big baby and my little one."

Gregory smiled. "You can count on me, Maggie." Ivy's mother walked off happily, her huge pocketbook swinging behind her. The car was already packed; she was picking up Andrew after his morning meeting.

Gregory smiled down at Ivy, then stretched out on the blanket next to her. "For the next three days," he said, "we can eat whatever we want, whenever we want."

"I'm going to make a sandwich now," Philip told them. "Want one?"

Ivy shook her head. "I have to go to work soon. I'll pick up something at the mall."

"What kind are you making?" Gregory asked.

"Cream cheese, cinnamon, and sugar."

"Think I'll pass on that."

Philip started for the house, but not before wiping his face on his shirt, then pulling it off and swatting a tree with it.

When her brother had disappeared behind the grove of pines separating the house from the tennis court. Ivy said, "You know, he's imitating you. How do you like being a role model?"

"I don't know." Gregory smiled a lopsided smile. "I guess I'm going to have to clean up my act."

Ivy laughed and settled back on the blanket. "Thanks for being nice to my mom," she said. "Promising to take care of her baby? That won't be a hard one to keep." Gregory lay back close to Ivy. He glanced at her, then ran a light hand over her bare midriff. "Your skin's so warm."

Ivy felt warm all over. She laid her hand on top of Gregory's.

"How come you didn't wear that bikini to Eric's party?" he asked.

Ivy laughed. "I only wear it where I feel comfortable."

"And you're comfortable with me?" He pulled himself up on one elbow and looked into her eyes, then let his gaze pass slowly down her.

"Yes and no," she replied.

"You're always so honest," he said, bending over her, smiling.

Without touching her, he lowered his mouth to hers. She kissed him. He pulled up for a moment, then lowered his mouth again, still not touching her except with his lips.

They kissed a third time. Then Ivy reached up and slipped her hands around his neck, pulling him down to her.

She didn't hear the soft footsteps in the grass.

"I was waiting for you at the park since ten."

Gregory's head jerked up, and Ivy grabbed the edge of the blanket.

"Looks like you found something better to do," Eric said, and nodded at Ivy.

Gregory lifted himself off her. Ivy pulled the blanket around her, as if Eric had caught her without any clothes. The way he looked at her, she felt naked. She felt exposed.

Eric laughed.

"I saw a movie about a sister who couldn't keep her hands off her brother."

"It's stepbrother," Gregory told him.

Ivy huddled inside the blanket.

"Whatever. I guess you're over Tristan, huh?" Eric said. "Gregory's cured you?"

"Lay off, Eric," Gregory warned.

"Is he better at it than Tristan?" Eric asked, his voice low and soft. "He's sure got all the moves." His words were like snakes working their way into Ivy's mind.

"Shut upl" Gregory shouted, jumping to his feet.

"But you knew that, didn't you?" Eric continued in a silky voice. "You knew about Gregory because girls talk."

"Get out of here!"

"Suzanne would have told you," Eric went on.

"I'm warning you—" "Suzanne would have told her best friend just how hot Gregory is," Eric said, wriggling his hips.

"Get off my property!"

Eric turned to Gregory and laughed. "Your property?" He stretched his lips into an exaggerated smile.

"Yours? Maybe one day, if you're lucky."

Gregory was silent for a moment, then spoke with a voice that was cool but threatening. "You'd better hope I am, Eric. Because if I'm out of luck, you're out, too." He took several steps closer to his friend.

Eric took off. He looked over his shoulder and laughed, like a kid skipping away and daring others to catch him, but there was a maniacal edge to his laughter that made Ivy's blood run cold.

Philip, who had come out of the house when he heard the shouting, now raced across the lawn to them.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He looked from Gregory to Ivy, who was standing next to him, still wrapped in the blanket. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Gregory said. "Nothing for you to worry about."

Philip looked at him doubtfully, then turned to Ivy. "Are you okay?"

She nodded silently.

Gregory put his arm around Ivy. "Eric said some mean things to her."

"Mean things like what?"

"Just mean things," Gregory replied.

"Like what?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Ivy said.

Philip bit his lip. Then he turned and started to walk away from them.

Ivy knew that he felt left out She slipped out from under Gregory's protective arm. "Can I have a hug, Philip? I know you're getting big now, but I'm feeling kind of bad. Can I have a hug?" Her brother turned back and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight. "Well take care of you," he whispered. "Will you?" she whispered back. "Gregory and me," he assured her, "and angel Tristan." Ivy quickly let go of him. She tried hard to keep her mouth from quivering. "Thanks," she said, then ran into the house.

When Tristan heard the shouting, he rushed to the window to see what was going on. Gregory and Eric were hidden behind the trees. The sound of their voices carried, but he couldn't catch the words. The angry exchange was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

Tristan debated what to do. He wanted to make sure Ivy was all right, but he couldn't leave Gregory´s bedroom as it looked now. He had spent the morning searching it, and drawers were «till open, papers spread around, the pockets of pants and jackets pulled inside out. If Gregory discovered that someone had been looking through his things, he would become much more cautious, and that would make it harder to figure out what was going on.

The last time Ivy had needed help, she had called out to Tristan — silently — but he had heard her. He kept very still for a few moments now, listening. When he didn't sense that she was in danger, he decided to stay where he was and began to straighten up.

A few minutes later he heard Ivy running upstairs, then Philip and Gregory talking as they approached the house. Tristan began to work more quickly, but he was rapidly losing his strength. His fingers, having materialized repeatedly for short periods of time, were growing tired and clumsy. He could barely open and dose Gregory's desk.

There was an old school magazine on top of the desk, anchoring newspaper articles Gregory had saved.

Earlier, Tristan had skimmed the news stories, trying to figure out why they interested Gregory. Now they were blowing around. He snatched at one of them and knocked over a stack of boxes containing tapes for the VCR.

Several of the tapes slid out of their boxes, and Tristan hurried to pick them up. He could hear Gregory calking to Philip at the bottom of the back stairway, but the more he hurried, the more he bungled. One of the tapes wouldn't slip back into its box — something was sticking.

Tristan focused all his energy and yanked it out again. That's when he saw it, cellophane taped along one side of the black casing, with three bright red capsules inside.

He heard the steps creak. Gregory was coming up. Tristan ripped off the plastic, slid the taре back in its box, and set it on top of the stack. He knew that Gregory would not be able to see him, but he'd spot the red capsules. With his last bit of energy, Tristan threw them behind the bureau. A halfsecond later Gregory entered the room.

Tristan sank back, exhausted. He saw that everything was in place except a train schedule that lay on the floor where the boxes had fallen.

No problem, he told himself. Gregory would think it had blown off the desk, since it wasn't anchored by anything.

In fact, Gregory didn't notice the schedule, though he went directly to his desk and sat down. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and his skin had turned a strange color, paling beneath his tan. He dropped his head in his hands. For several minutes, he rubbed his temples, then he sat back in the chair.

Suddenly his head jerked around. Gregory stared at the train schedule on the floor, then glanced slowly, suspiciously around the room. He reached for the videotape and pulled it out of the box. His jaw dropped.

He checked the label, then yanked out one tape after another. He ripped cellophane off a second cassette-it contained three more capsules — and again glanced around the room.

"Philip!" He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back on the floor. He started for the door, then stopped and slammed his palm against the wall. He stood there, motionless, scaring at the door to the hall, one hand still clutching the drugs.

"Damn you, brat!"

He shoved the capsules deep in his pocket, then slipped his wallet in after them. Returning to his desk, he picked up the chair, then sat down to read the train schedule.

Tristan read over his shoulder and watched as Gregory circled the time of the last train running after midnight. It left Tusset at 1:45 A.M., but didn't make a stop at Stonehill´s little station. Gregory did some quick calculations, wrote down 2:04, circled it twice, then slipped the schedule under a book. He sat for fifteen minutes more, his chin resting on his hands.

Tristan wondered what was going through Gregory's mind, but he was much too weak to attempt an entrance. Gregory seemed much calmer now — so calm it was eerie. He sat back slowly and nodded to himself as if he had made some big decision. Then he reached for his car keys and started toward the door. Halfway down the steps, Gregory began to whistle.

"I think its blooming days are over," Beth said, eyeing the dead poppy that Ivy had placed in the water glass on the table between them.

When Lillian and Betty opened the shop Thursday morning, they had found the purple flower in King Kong's mouth, poking out like a rose between a dancer's teeth. Later that day Ivy had repeatedly denied being the joker who had placed it there.

"Why are we trying to revive it?" Beth asked. She swirled her tongue around her ice cream cone. "Can't we buy King Kong another one?"

"They were selling poppies at the festival Saturday," Ivy replied. "I bought some purple ones for Tristan.

Philip and I took them to the cemetery."

"I'm glad Philip went with you," Beth said. "He misses Tristan, too."

"He made а T with them on the grave," Ivy told her, smiling a little.

Beth nodded, as if it were perfectly clear now why Ivy would bother with a wilted poppy left in the shop.

"I'm going crazy, aren't I?" Ivy said suddenly. "I'm supposed to be getting better! I'm supposed to be getting over Tristan! And here I am, saving this stupid flower like a souvenir because it looks like one that I—" She plucked the poppy out of the glass and tossed it on a tray of dirty dishes that a waitress was carrying by.

Beth slipped out of the booth, chased down the waitress, and returned with the poppy.

"Maybe it will seed," she said, sticking it back in the water glass.

Ivy shook her head and sipped her tea in silence. Beth munched her cone for a few minutes.

"You know," Beth said at last, "I'm always prepared to listen."

Ivy nodded. "I'm sorry, Beth. I call you in a panic at nine o'clock at night, drag you away from your writing to get a snack with the over-fifty-but-still-swinging bowling league at Howard Johnson's'" — she glanced around the crowded green and orange room—"and now I can't seem to calk."

"That's okay," Beth said, waving her cone at Ivy. "I'm having a triple dip of double fudge — for that, you could have called me at three in the morning. But how'd you know I was writing?"

Ivy smiled. Beth had met her in the parking lot wearing cutoff sweatpants, no makeup, and an old pair of glasses, which she wore only when she was glued to a computer screen. A scribbled note on a yellow Post-it was still stuck to her T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a binder clip.

"Just a hunch," Ivy said. "What's Suzanne up to tonight?"

Ivy and Suzanne had not spoken since the festival.

"She's out with somebody." "Gregory?" Ivy asked, frowning. He had promised to stay with Philip till she got home that night.

"No, some guy who's supposed to make Gregory unbelievably jealous."

"Oh."

"She didn't tell you?" Beth asked with surprise. "That's all Suzanne could talk about." Seeing the look on Ivy's face, she added quickly, "I'm sure Suzanne thought she did. You know how it is— you say something to one person, and you think you've said it to the other."

Ivy nodded, but both of them knew that wasn't the case.

"Gregory hasn't spent much time with Suzanne lately," Beth said, pausing to chase drips of chocolate around her cone, "but you know that."

Ivy shrugged. "He goes out, but I don't ask him where."

"Well, Suzanne is sure he's seeing someone else."

Ivy began to trace the pictures on her place mat.

"At first Suzanne thought he was just playing around. She wasn't worried because it wasn't anyone special. But now she thinks he's seeing just one person. She thinks he's really hooked on somebody."

Ivy glanced up and saw Beth studying her. Can Beth actually read minds, she wondered, or is it my face that always gives me away?

"Suzanne keeps asking me what 1 think is going on," Beth continued, her brow slightly puckered.

"And what did you tell her?" Ivy asked. Beth blinked several times, then looked away. She watched a silver-haired waitress flirt with two bald men in burgundy satin bowling shirts.

"I'm not a good person to ask," she said at last.

"You know me. Ivy, I'm always watching people and adding stuff to what I see to make stories out of them. Sometimes I forget what part I've made up and what part is really true."

"What do you think is really true about Gregory?" Ivy persisted.

Beth waved her cone around. "I think he gets around. I think that, uh, lots of different girls like him. But I can't guess who he's really interested in and what he's actually thinking. I just can't read him very well."

Beth took a crunching bite out of her cone and chewed thoughtfully. "Gregory's like a mirror," she said.

"He reflects whoever he's with. When he's with Eric, he seems to act like Eric. When he's with you, he's thoughtful and funny like you. The problem for me is that I can't ever really see who Gregory is, any more than I can see what a mirror by itself looks like, because he reflects whoever's around him. Know what I mean?"

"I think I do."

"What should I say, Ivy?" Beth asked, the tone other voice changing. She was pleading for an answer.

"You're both my friends. When Suzanne asks me what's going on, what should I say?"

"I don't know." Ivy started examining her place mat again, reading all the descriptions of HoJo's desserts.

"I'll tell you when I do know, okay? So, how's your writing going?"

"My writing?" Beth repeated, struggling to shift gears with Ivy. "Well, I've got good news."

"Yeah? Tell me."

"I'm going to be published. I mean, in a real magazine." Beth's blue eyes sparkled. "True-Heart Confessions."

"Beth, that's great! Which story?"

"The one I did for drama club. You know, it was in the lit mag at school last spring."

Ivy tried to recall it. "I've read so many now."

"'She clutched the gun to her breast,'" Beth began. "'Hard and blue, cold and unyielding. Photos of him.

Frail and faded photos of him — of him with her — torn up, tear-soaked, salt-crusted photos,' et cetera, et cetera."

Two waitresses, carrying full trays, had stopped to listen.

"What is it?" Beth asked Ivy. "You've got a really funny look on your face."

"Nothing… nothing, I was just thinking," Ivy replied.

"You've been doing a lot of that lately."

Ivy laughed. "Maybe I can keep it up next month when school starts."

Their check was dropped on the table. Ivy reached for her purse.

"Listen," Beth said, "why don't you sleep over at my house tonight? We don't have to talk. We'll watch videos, polish our nails, bake cookies. ." She popped the tip of her sugar cone into her mouth. "Low-cal cookies," she added.

Ivy smiled, then began digging in her purse for money. "I should get home, Beth."

"No, you shouldn't."

Ivy stopped digging. Beth had spoken with such certainty.

"I don't know why," Beth said, twisting a piece of her hair self-consciously. "You just shouldn't."

"I have to be home," Ivy told her. "If Philip wakes up in the middle of the night and finds I'm not there, he'll think something's wrong."

"Call him," her friend replied. "If he's asleep, Gregory can leave a note by his bed. You shouldn't go home tonight. It's… a feeling, a really strong feeling I have."

"Beth, I know you get these feelings, and one time before you were right, but this time it's different. The doors will be locked. Gregory is home. Nothing is going to happen to me."

Beth was looking past Ivy's shoulder, her eyes narrowing as if she was trying to focus on something.

Ivy turned around quickly and saw a curly-haired man in a shiny yellow bowling shirt. He winked at her, and Ivy turned back.

"Can I stay over with you?" Beth asked.

"What? No. Not tonight," Ivy said. "I need some sleep, and you need to finish that story I interrupted.

This was my treat," she added, scooping up the check.

In the parking lot Ivy said good-bye several times, and Beth left her reluctantly.

As Ivy drove home she thought about Beth's story. The details of Caroline's suicide had not been made public, so Beth didn't know about the photos that Caroline had torn up the day she shot herself. It was funny the way Beth came up with things in her writing that seemed farfetched and kind of melodramatic, until some version of diem came true.

When Ivy arrived home, she saw that all the lights in the house were out except one, a lamp in Gregory's room. She hoped he hadn't noticed her car coming up the drive. She left it outside the ga*age. That way, if he got worried, he could see that she had arrived home safely. Ivy planned to go up the center stairs so she wouldn't have to pass his room. In the afternoon Gregory had called the shop twice. She knew he wanted to talk, and she wasn't ready, It was a warm evening, with no moon up yet, only stars sequining the sky. Ivy gazed up at them for a few moments, then walked quietly across the grass and patio.

"Where have you been?"

She jumped. She hadn't seen him sitting in the shadow of the house.

"What?"

"Where have you been?"

Ivy prickled at his tone. "Out," she said.

"You should have called me back. Why didn't you call me back. Ivy?"

"I was busy with customers."

"I thought you'd come home right after work."

Ivy dropped her keys noisily onto a cast-iron table. "And I thought I wouldn't be questioned about going out for an hour — not by you. I'm getting tired of it, Gregory!"

She could hear him shifting in the chair, but couldn't see his face.

"I'm getting tired of everyone watching out for me! Beth isn't my mother, and you're not my big brother!"

He laughed softly. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I was afraid that Eric had gotten you mixed up."

Ivy dropped her head a little, then said, "Maybe he did." She took a step toward die house.

Gregory caught her wrist. "We need to talk."

"I need to think, Gregory."

"Then think out loud," he said.

She shook her head.

"Ivy, listen to me. We're not doing anything wrong."

"Then why do I feel so-so confused? And so disloyal?"

"To Suzanne?" he asked.

"Suzanne thinks you're seeing someone else," Ivy told him.

"I am," he replied quietly. "I'm just not sure if she's seeing me…. Are you?"

Ivy bit her lip. "It isn't just Suzanne I'm thinking of."

"Tristan."

She nodded.

He tugged on her arm, pulling her closer to him. "Sit down."

"Gregory, I don't want to talk about it."

"Then just listen. Hear me out. You love Tristan. You love him like you love no one else."

Ivy pulled away a little, but he held her fingers tightly. "Listen! If you had been the one killed in the accident, what would you have wanted for Tristan? Would you want no one else to love him? Would you want him to be alone the rest of his life?"

"No, of course not," she said. "Of course not," he repeated softly. Then he pulled her down into the chair with him. The metal was cold and hard.

"I've been thinking about you all day and all night," he said.

He caressed her lightly; his fingers tracing her face and die bones of her neck. He kissed her as gently as he would a child. She let him, but she didn't kiss him back.

"I've been waiting here all night," he said. "I need to get out. How about going for a ride with me?"

"We can't leave Philip," Ivy reminded him.

"Sure we can," Gregory replied softly. "He's sound asleep. We'll lock up the house and turn on the outside alarm. We can drive around for a little while. And I won't talk any more, promise."

"We can't leave Philip," she said a second time.

"He´ll be all right. There's nothing wrong with riding around, Ivy. There's nothing wrong with blasting the stereo and driving a little fast. There's nothing wrong with having a good time."

"I don't want to go," she said.

She felt his body go rigid.

"Not tonight," she added quickly. "I'm tired, Gregory. I really need to go to bed. Another night, maybe."

"All right. Whatever you want," he said, his voice husky. He sagged back against the chair. "Get some sleep."

Ivy left him there and felt her way through the dark house. She checked on Philip, then walked through the adjoining bath to her own bedroom, where she was greeted by Ella's glowing eyes. Ivy switched on a small bureau lamp, and Ella began to purr.

"Is that purr for me," Ivy asked, "or him?"

Tristan's picture, the one his mother had given her, sat within the yellow circle of light.

Ivy took die picture in her hands. Tristan smiled up at her, wearing his old baseball cap-backward, of course. His school jacket flapped open, as if he were walking toward her. Sometimes she still couldn't believe that he was dead. Her head knew that he was, knew that in one sudden moment Tristan had stopped existing, but her heart just wouldn't let go.

"Love you, Tristan," she said, then kissed the photograph. "Sweet dreams."

Ivy woke up screaming. Her voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming for hours. The clock said

1:15 A.M.

"It's okay! You're safe! Everything's okay, Ivy."

Gregory had his arms around her. Philip stood next to the bed, clutching Ella.

Ivy stared at them, then sank back against Gregory. "When will it stop? When will this nightmare end?"

"Shh, shh. Everything's okay."

But it wasn't. The nightmare kept growing. It kept adding on details, continually sending out tendrils of fear that curled into the dark places of her mind. Ivy closed her eyes, resting her head against Gregory.

"Why does she keep dreaming?" Philip asked.

"I'm not sure," Gregory said. "I guess it's part of getting over the accident."

"Sometimes dreams are messages from angels," Philip suggested. He said angels quickly, then glanced at Ivy, as if he thought she'd yell at him for mentioning them again.

Gregory studied Philip for a moment, then asked, "Angels are good, aren't they?"

Philip nodded.

"Well, if angels are good," Gregory reasoned, "do you think they'd be sending Ivy bad dreams?"

Philip thought about it, then slowly shook his head. "No… but maybe it's a bad angel doing it."

Ivy felt Gregory stiffen.

"It's just my mind doing it," she said quietly. "It's just my mind getting used to what happened to Tristan and me. In a while, the nightmares will stop."

But she was lying. She was afraid the dreams would never stop. And she was starting to think that there was something more to them than her getting over Tristan's death.

"I have an idea, Philip," Gregory said. "Until Ivy's nightmares stop, we'll take turns waking her up and staying with her. Tonight's my turn. Next time it's yours, okay?"

Philip looked doubtfully from Gregory to Ivy. "Okay," he said at last- "Ivy, can I take Ella in my room?"

"Sure. She'd love to cuddle with you."

Ivy watched her brother as he carried Ella, his head bent over her, his brow furrowed..

"Philip," she called after him. "When I get home from work tomorrow, we'll do something, just you and me. Think about what you want it to be — something fun. Everything's all right Philip. Really. Everything will be all right."

He nodded, but she could tell that he didn't believe her.

"Sleep tight," Ivy said. "You've got Ella with you. And your angel," she added.

He looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. "You saw him, too?"

Ivy hesitated.

"Of course not," Gregory answered for her.

Of course not. Ivy repeated to herself — and yet for a moment she almost thought she did. She could almost believe an angel existed for Philip, though not for herself. -

"Good night," she said softly.

When he was gone, Gregory held Ivy close to him and rocked her for several minutes.

"Same old dream?" he said.

"Yes."

"Is Eric still in it?"

"The red motorcycle is," Ivy replied.

"I wish I could stop your nightmares," Gregory said. "If I knew how, I'd dream them myself every night. If only I could keep you from going through this."

"I don't think anyone can stop them," she replied.

He lifted his head. "What do you mean?"

"There was something new tonight. The same way the motorcycle got added on before, something else was added this time. Gregory, I think I might be remembering things. And I think I might have to keep doing this until I remember— something." She shrugged.

He pulled his head back a little to look at her. "What was added to the dream?"

"I was driving. The window was there, the one I can't quite see through with the shadow on the other side. It was that same window, but this time I was driving toward it, not walking."

She paused. She didn't want to think about it, think what the new part could mean.

He held her close again. "And everything else was the same?"

"No. I was driving Tristan's car."

Ivy heard the sharp intake of breath. "When I saw the window, 1 tried to stop the car. I stepped on the brake, but the car wouldn't slow down. Then I heard his voice. 'Ivy, stopi Stop! Don't you see. Ivy? Ivy, stop!' But I couldn't stop. I couldn't slow down. I pressed down the pedal over and over. I had no brakes!"

Ivy felt cold all over. Gregory's arms were around her, but his own skin was cold with sweat.

"Why were there no brakes?" she whispered. "Am I remembering, Gregory? What am I remembering?"

He didn't answer. He was shaking as much as she.

"Stay with me," she begged. "I'm afraid to go back to sleep."

"I'll stay, but you have to sleep. Ivy." "I can't! I'm afraid I'll start dreaming again. It frightens me! I don't know what will happen next!"

"I'll be right here. I'll wake you as soon as you start dreaming, but you need to sleep. I'll get you something to help you." He stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked, panicky. "Shh," he soothed. "I'm just going to fix you something to help you sleep."

Then he took Tristan's photo down from the bureau and set it on the night table next to her.

"I'll be right back. I won't leave you. Ivy, I promise I won't leave you." He smoothed her hair. "Not until these nightmares stop for good."

"Ivy, stop! Stop! Don't you see. Ivy? Ivy, stop!"

But she hadn't stopped. Ivy kept telling Gregory the dream, and now he knew that she was remembering more. Maybe next time she'd remember it all — whatever it was Gregory didn't want anyone to know. If there was a next time.

Tristan lay still in Ivy's room. He had gone crazy, shouting and screaming at her. He had used up huge amounts of energy. For what? She sat fidgeting, frightened — and hoping for Gregory's return.

Tristan pulled himself up. He rushed out of the bedroom and down the main stairway of the darkened house, turning instinctively toward the kitchen, where Gregory was. Only the small light over the stove was on. Water hissed in the teapot.

Gregory sat on a stool at the counter, watching it, his skin pale and glistening.

He kept toying with a cellophane packet he had taken from his pocket. Tristan could guess what it contained and what Gregory planned to do next. And he knew that, even if he had his full strength now, he couldn't overcome him. He couldn't use Gregory's mind the way he could use Will's. Gregory would fight Tristan all the way, and his human body had a physical strength a hundred times greater than that of Tristan's materialized fingers.

But human fingers could still slip, Tristan thought. If a little red capsule — something that Tristan could manipulate — moved unexpectedly, Gregory might fumble.

Gregory had chosen raspberry tea, perhaps because its sharp flavor would cover the taste of a drug, Tristan thought. He moved steadily closer to Gregory. He'd have to materialize his fingers at just the right moment.

Gregory carefully undid the cellophane packet and picked up two of the three capsules. Tristan extended his glowing hand and began to focus on his fingertips. Gregory's hand hovered over the hot tea.

The moment he let go, Tristan flicked the capsules away. They skittered across the countertop. Gregory swore and flung out his hand, but Tristan was quicker and flicked them into the sink. The capsules stuck to the damp surface and Tristan had to work again to get them down the drain.

As he did Gregory dropped the third capsule into the tea.

Now Tristan reached for the mug, but Gregory wrapped his fingers firmly around it. He stirred the liquid with a spoon, and when the capsule had dissolved, he carried the cup upstairs. Ivy looked so relieved to see him. "This ought to help," Gregory said. "Don't drink it. Ivy!" Tristan warned, though he knew she couldn't hear him.

She sipped, then set it down and laid her head against Gregory.

He picked the cup up again before Tristan could touch it. "Too hot?"

"No, it's good. Thank you."

"Stop!" Tristan cried.

She sipped again, as if to reassure Gregory that the tea was fine.

"I chose the right stuff, didn't I? You've got so many kinds down there."

"Put it down. Ivy."

"It's perfect," she said, and took longer drinks.

"Lacey, where are you when I need you? I need your voice, I need someone to tell her no!"

Whenever Ivy reached to put the drugged tea back on the table, Gregory took it from her and held it. He sat on the bed with her, one arm around her, the other lifting the cup to her lips.

"A little more," he coaxed.

"No more!" Tristan cried.

"How do you feel?" he asked several minutes later.

"Sleepy. Strange. Not scared… just strange. I feel like someone else is here, watching us," she said, glancing around the room.

"I'm here. Ivy!"

Gregory offered her the last mouthful of tea. "There's nothing to be worried about," he said. "I'm here for you, Ivy."

Tristan struggled to keep himself calm. One capsule probably wouldn't kill her, he reasoned. Had Gregory found the other pack that Tristan had thrown behind the bureau? Was he planning to dope her up a little, then give her the rest?

"Lacey, I can't save her by myself!"

Will, Tristan thought, find Will. But how long would that take? Ivy's eyes were slowly closing.

"Sleep," Gregory was saying over and over. "There's nothing to be afraid of Sleep."

Ivy's eyes shut, then her head dropped. Gregory did not bother to catch her. He pushed her to the side and let her slump against the pillow.

Without realizing it, Tristan had begun to cry. He wrapped his arms around Ivy, though he could not hold her. She was far away from him, and drifting away from Gregory, too, sinking further and further into an unnatural sleep. Tristan cried helplessly.

Gregory got up abruptly and walked out of the room.

Tristan knew he had to get help, but he couldn't leave Ivy alone for long.

Philip. It was his only chance. Tristan hurried into the next room.

Ella became alert as soon as he entered.

"Help me out, Ella. We need to get him awake, just enough to let me in."

Ella climbed up on Philip's chest, sniffed at his face, then mewed.

Philip's eyes fluttered open. His small hand reached up and lazily scratched Ella. Tristan imagined how soft the cat felt to Philip. A second later, having shared his thoughts, he slipped inside the boy.

"It's me, Philip. Your friend, your angel, Tristan."

"Tristan," Philip murmured, and suddenly they were sitting across from each other with a checkerboard between them. Philip jumped Tristan's marker. "Crown me!"

Tristan had dropped into a memory or a dream woven from a memory. He struggled to get them out of it.

"Wake up, Philip. It's Tristan. Wake up. I need your help. Ivy needs your help."

Tristan could hear Ella purring again and saw her face peering into his, though everything was blurry. He knew Philip was listening and waking up slowly.

"Come on, Philip. That's the way, buddy."

Philip was looking over at the angel statues now. He was wondering, but he was not afraid. His arms and legs still felt relaxed. So far, so good.

Then Tristan heard the noise in the hall. He heard footsteps — Gregory's — but Gregory was walking oddly, heavily.

"Get up, Philip! We have to see!"

Before Philip could rouse himself, Gregory was down the stairs. A moment later, an outside door banged.

"Put on your shoes. Your shoes!"

A car's engine sputtered. Tristan recognized it — Ivy's old Dodge. His heart sank. Gregory had Ivy with him. Where are you taking her? Where?

"I don't know," Philip said in a sleepy voice.

Think. What would be easy for him? Tristan said to himself.

"I don't know," Philip mumbled.

With Ivy drugged, it would be easy to stage an accident. What kind? How and where was he going to do it? There must have been clues in his room, a hint in the newspaper clippings.

Tristan suddenly remembered the train schedule. He recalled the strange look on Gregory's face when he found the timetable on the floor. Gregory had circled the late-night train, the one that stopped at Tusset. Then he had done some calculations, written down a time, and circled it twice. 2:04. That would be right — Tristan knew the train rushed through their station a few minutes after two each morning.

Rushed through! It didn't stop at small stations such as Stonehill's, which would be deserted after midnight. They had to stop him! ' He glanced at Philip's digital dock. 1:43 A.M.

"Philip, come on!"

The little boy was slumped down in the chair, with only one shoelace tied. His fingers were clumsy when he tried to tie the other one. He could barely stand up, and moved slowly down the hall with Tristan guiding him. Tristan chose the center staircase, where there was a railing to hang on to. They made it safely to the bottom, then Tristan guided him around to the back door, which Gregory had left open. As if he had a clock inside him, Tristan felt each second ticking away.

They'd never make it in time by foot; the long driveway down the ridge took them in the opposite direction from the station. Keys-could he find the keys for Gregory's car? If he did, he could materialize his fingers and— But what if they wasted all their time looking for keys that Gregory had with him?

"Other way, Philip." Tristan turned Philip around. It was a dangerous shortcut, but their only chance: the steep and rocky side of the ridge, which dropped to the station below.

After a couple of steps, the cool night air revived Philip. Through the boy's eyes and ears, Tristan became aware of the night's silvery shadows and rustling sounds. He too was feeling stronger. At Tristan's urging, Philip broke into a run across the grass. They raced past the tennis court, then forty yards more toward the boundary of the property, the edge where the land suddenly dropped off.

" They were moving faster than a child could have, their powers combined. Tristan didn't know how long his renewed strength would hold out, and he wasn't certain that he could get them safely down the steep side of the ridge. It seemed to have taken forever just to get this far.

He felt a moment of resistance as he and Philip climbed the stone wall marking the end of the property.

"I'm not supposed to," Philip said.

"It's okay, you're with me."

Far below them he could see the train station. To get to it they'd have to climb down a hillside where the only toeholds were the roots of a few dwarfed trees and some narrow ledges of stone, with sheer drops beneath them. Occasionally patches of brush broke through the rocky surface, but mostly it was rutted earth with a cascade of tumbled rocks that would roll at the lightest touch of a foot.

"I'm not scared," Philip said.

"I'm glad that one of us isn't."

They picked their way slowly and carefully down the ridge. The moon had come up late and its shadows were long and confusing. Tristan had to continually check himself, reminding himself that the legs he was using were shorter, the arms unable to reach as far.

They were halfway down when he misjudged. Their jump was too short, and they leaned out too far from a narrow strip of rock. From their ledge, it was a straight drop down twenty-five feet, with nothing but stones to snag them at the bottom before another drop. They teetered. Tristan drew into himself, cloaking his thoughts and instincts, letting Philip cake over. It was Philip's natural sense of balance that saved them.

As they descended, Tristan tried not to think about Ivy, though the image of her head hanging over her shoulder like a limp doll's kept passing through his mind. And all the while he was aware of time ticking away.

"What is it?" Philip asked, sensing Tristan's concern.

"Keep going. Tell you later."

Tristan couldn't let Philip know how much danger Ivy was in. He cloaked certain thoughts, hiding from Philip's consciousness both Gregory's identity and his intentions. He wasn't sure how Philip would handle the information, whether he'd panic over Ivy or even try to defend Gregory.

They were at the bottom now, racing through the tall grass and weeds, getting tripped up by rocks.

Philip's ankle twisted, but he kept going. Ahead of them was a high wire fence. Through it they saw the station.

The station had two tracks side by side, northbound and southbound, each with its own platform. The platforms were connected by a high bridge over the tracks. On the southbound side, which was farthest from Philip and Tristan, there was a wooden station house and a parking lot. Tristan knew that the latenight train ran southbound.

Just as they reached the fence Tristan heard the bells of a town church, tolling once, twice. Two o'clock.

"The fence is awfully high, Tristan."

"At least it's not electric."

"Can we rest?"

Before Tristan could answer, a train whistle sounded in the distance.

"Philip, we have to beat the train!"

"Why?"

"We have to. Climb!"

Philip did, digging his toes into the holes of the wire mesh, stretching and grasping with his fingers, pulling himself up. They were at the top of the fence, twenty feet high. Then Philip jumped. They slammed into the ground and rolled.

"Philip!"

"I thought you had wings. You're supposed to have wings."

"Well, you don't!" Tristan reminded him.

The whistle blew again, closer this time. They ran for the first platform. When they climbed up on it, they could see across the station.

Ivy.

"Something's wrong with her," Philip said.

She was standing on the southbound platform, leaning back against a pillar chat was at the edge of the platform. Her head was hanging to one side.

"She could fall! Tristan, a train's coming and—" Philip began to shout. "Ivy! Ivy!"

She didn't hear him.

"The steps," Tristan told him.

They raced for them, then across the bridge and down the other side.

They could hear the train rumbling, getting closer. Philip kept calling to her, but Ivy stared across the crack, mesmerized. Tristan followed her gaze — then he and Philip froze.

"Tristan? Tristan, where are you?" Philip asked in a panicky voice.

"Here. Right here. I'm still inside you."

But even to Tristan it looked as if he were out there, on the other side of the track. Tristan stared at the image of himself that stood in the shadows of the northbound platform. The strange figure was dressed in a school jacket, like the one Tristan wore in his photograph, and had an old baseball cap pulled on backward. Tristan stared, as entranced by the figure as Ivy and Philip.

"That's not me," he told Philip. "Don't be fooled. It's someone else dressed like me." Gregory, he said to himself.

"Who is it? Why's he dressed like you?" They saw a pale hand move out of the shadows into the clear moonlight. The figure beckoned to Ivy, encouraging her, drawing her across the track.

The train was rushing toward them now, its headlight whitening the track beneath them, its whistle blasting in a final warning.

Ivy paid no attention to it. She was drawn to the hand like a moth to a flickering fire. It kept reaching out to her. She suddenly reached out her own hand and took a step forward.

"Ivy!" Tristan shouted — Philip shouted. "Ivy! Ivy, don't!"