“I have absolutely no idea. Angela would flirt with anybody. I’m not surprised she’d go off with a total stranger.”
“That evening before we left the house, she actually dropped some hints about running away. But I didn’t catch on. It didn’t hit me till later.”
Dakota nodded understandingly, her hands sliding from Lucy’s shoulders. The two of them picked up their pace as the bell rang for class.
“I have to help out at the bookstore tonight,” Dakota told her as they approached the side entrance. “My family’s bookstore, actually—Candlewick Shop. It’s kind of a dumpy little place in the old part of town—but you can drink coffee there and probably find every used book in the universe. So, if you feel like company later on, why don’t you come over?” She dug into one of her pockets and pulled out a card. “Here’s the store number; my home number’s on the back. My dad doesn’t believe in cell phones. He says they’re just an expensive way to annoy the people around you, and he can do that for free. Anyway, if you need a ride, just call me, and I’ll come get you.”
“Thanks. I just might.”
They jogged the last few feet to the building. Before Dakota could reach for the door, however, it burst open, and a giggling trio of cheerleaders pushed past them. As one of them jarred Lucy’s arm, Lucy immediately froze.
The girl with her friends didn’t notice. She hurried with the others toward the gym, but Dakota turned and stared at the stricken expression on Lucy’s pale face.
“Lucy? What is it?”
Lucy didn’t answer. As she gazed after the cheerleaders, Dakota followed the direction of her shocked stare.
“Lucy?”
“That girl . . .” Lucy’s voice was scarcely a breath, and Dakota moved closer to hear.
“Lucy, what’s wrong?”
Lucy pointed to the girl in the middle of the threesome. “That girl . . . there . . .”
“Who? The one with the really short hair? Wanda Carver?”
“She’s going to die on Thursday.”
6
For a second the world went dark.
It was as though a thick black cloud had settled in Lucy’s line of vision, blotting out the entire rest of the world.
And then slowly, a glimmer came through. It parted the shadows in her brain and began to glow, sending light and sensation into her body once more. With a gasp, she blinked her eyes and saw Dakota peering anxiously back at her.
“What did you just say?” Dakota murmured.
Lucy gave herself a mental shake. Her head hurt, and her legs felt as though they might crumple at any second. “I . . . I said . . .”
Sweat dripped from her forehead, though her whole body was chilled. She stared back at Dakota with a blank frown.
“I said ...” What had she said? Something about a girl . . . something about dying . . . Lucy put a trembling hand to her temple and pressed gently.
“You’re white as a sheet,” Dakota informed her. “Are you going to be sick? Do you need to see the nurse?”
Lucy managed a nod. She felt Dakota take her arm and steer her through the door, and as they walked together down the hall, she tried desperately to replay what had just happened outside. Dakota and I were talking . . . someone bumped my arm . . . and then . . .
And then . . . what?
A vision? Yet she didn’t recall actually seeing anything in her mind, no flashes, no pictures, only a frightening sense of . . . of what?
“Falling,” she whispered, and Dakota tightened her hold on Lucy’s arm.
“You feel like you’re going to fall?” the girl asked worriedly.
And Lucy nodded again, because she didn’t know what else to do, or why falling had swept through her brain, or what she could possibly do to understand it or stop it or make it go away—falling . . . a rush of breathless surprise . . . a slow-motion horror of no escape . . .
“—lie down for a while?” a nurse was asking, and in total confusion Lucy stared up at her from the edge of a cot. She could see Dakota next to her, could see the girl’s lips moving, forming soundless words that Lucy could somehow hear—“Do you want me to stay with you?”—but the nurse said no, that Lucy would be fine, that she had specific instructions from Lucy’s doctor and that Dakota should go on to class.
“I’ll see you later then.” Dakota’s voice was normal now, as real as the concern in her eyes. “I hope you feel better, Lucy.”
Lucy didn’t answer. She lay on the cot and gazed at the ceiling, her body numb, her mind vacant. As though the emotions she’d experienced only minutes ago had shorted out and entirely disconnected. Something about falling . . . something bad . . . a girl is going to fall . . . going to die . . .
“Are you feeling any better, Lucy?” The nurse was there again, her manner efficient but kind. “I tried to call your aunt, but she’s out of her office at the moment.”
“You don’t need to bother her. Maybe I could just lie here a few more seconds?”
“Rest as long as you’d like. Dr. Fielding has already talked with us, so don’t be afraid to stop in here anytime you need to. It’s very important not to rush your recovery.”
Lucy watched as a curtain was drawn around her cubicle. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the message in her head began to filter through at last, crystal clear and knife-sharp. “She’s going to die . . . She’s going to die on Thursday.”
My God, where had that come from?
Dakota had given her such a strange look when it happened. Did she hear what I said? Lucy honestly couldn’t be sure—but then again, she wasn’t even sure now if she’d actually spoken the words out loud. Maybe I didn’t say anything . . . or maybe I said something different, something I don’t even remember.
“Memory lapses,” she reminded herself, fighting for calm. “The doctor said I might have memory lapses. He said they were perfectly normal.”
But Byron had said things to her, too—proved things to her, too; warned her about feelings and powers and circumstances she’d be helpless to control.
So what if those powers were getting stronger? What if she was starting to turn into Katherine?
Oh, Byron, I’d give anything to talk to you now.
Exhausted, Lucy took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She could hear someone coughing in the next cot. She could hear the distant rumble of the marching band as they practiced on the athletic field. And then she heard a low exchange of voices just outside the curtain to her cubicle.
“Would it be possible to see her?” someone was asking in a hushed voice, definitely male. A familiar voice, too, Lucy thought. One she’d heard before and not so long ago.
“Of course,” the nurse replied. “Principal Howser told me Lucy was scheduled to meet with you this afternoon.”
Lucy gave an inward groan. Oh, great. Just what I need right now. A stupid grief counselor.
“She’s right in here,” the nurse directed.
“Thanks.”
Lucy thought about feigning sleep. But at the last instant her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened her eyes just as the curtain drew back. She caught a glimpse of tousled brown hair . . . black clothes . . . a priest’s collar . . .
“Welcome back, Lucy,” Matt said. “It’s so good to see you again.”
7
He’d been disappointed that she wanted to leave.
Deeply disappointed, but not at all surprised.
He had known he couldn’t keep her there forever, that eventually she would wake within the shadows, that awareness would begin to rouse her senses once again.
She would realize then that things were not as they should be in her world.
And then she would find strength she never knew she had.
And she would flee from him.
Believing that she truly had escaped.
Now, every time he thought of it, the irony made him smile.
Her wild, desperate flight through the woods—and how he’d always been just one step a
head of her, one step behind her, so close that he could smell her wild, delicious fear and the blood throbbing madly through her veins.
The blood that was partly his own . . .
The blood he had given her from his own lips . . .
She’d been practically dead by the time he got her to the cave.
Cold and motionless, yet still beautiful. He had undressed her so carefully and tended her wounds. Licking her blood away . . . loving the taste of it.
At times she had moaned, moving instinctively beneath his mouth.
And he had stood there for hours in the dark, gazing down on her, his mind filled with an eternity of possibilities and desires.
Undiluted, his own blood would have killed her. So rich and pure and ageless, that the shock of it to her system would have been more than her mortality could bear.
So he had done the next best thing.
After all, he’d had no time for hunting—not for the prey he preferred and was accustomed to. So he had contented himself with smaller he could smell her wild, delicious fear and the blood throbbing madly through her veins.
The blood that was partly his own . . .
The blood he had given her from his own lips . . .
She’d been practically dead by the time he got her to the cave.
Cold and motionless, yet still beautiful.
He had undressed her so carefully and tended her wounds. Licking her blood away . . . loving the taste of it.
At times she had moaned, moving instinctively beneath his mouth.
And he had stood there for hours in the dark, gazing down on her, his mind filled with an eternity of possibilities and desires.
Undiluted, his own blood would have killed her. So rich and pure and ageless, that the shock of it to her system would have been more than her mortality could bear.
So he had done the next best thing.
After all, he’d had no time for hunting—not for the prey he preferred and was accustomed to. So he had contented himself with smaller
game instead—rabbits and squirrels and foxes—and after feeding on them, he had mixed their blood with his own and coaxed it between her pale, pale lips. And after a while, when her heart beat stronger, only then had he sunk his teeth into her flesh, forcing himself to hold back, injecting only warmth and bloody spittle straight into her artery. A place no one would think to look, and a place she would never suspect.
Not that it mattered anyway.
His mark would vanish within twenty-four hours, just as it had for hundreds of years.
Leaving his victim oblivious and unscathed.
So Lucy would not know, of course, that he had saved her life.
A life so sad and lonely, that it longed to be filled with his blood and his passion.
Yes, he had touched her.
Tasted her, but not taken her.
A noble—and most uncommon—sacrifice on his part.
A sacrifice that left him wanting her all the more . . .
He had seen The One who rescued her. game instead—rabbits and squirrels and foxes—and after feeding on them, he had mixed their blood with his own and coaxed it between her pale, pale lips. And after a while, when her heart beat stronger, only then had he sunk his teeth into her flesh, forcing himself to hold back, injecting only warmth and bloody spittle straight into her artery. A place no one would think to look, and a place she would never suspect. Not that it mattered anyway. His mark would vanish within twenty-four hours, just as it had for hundreds of years. Leaving his victim oblivious and unscathed. So Lucy would not know, of course, that he had saved her life. A life so sad and lonely, that it longed to be filled with his blood and his passion. Yes, he had touched her. Tasted her, but not taken her. A noble—and most uncommon—sacrifice on his part. A sacrifice that left him wanting her all the more . . . He had seen The One who rescued her.
He had stood by and watched as Lucy was lifted from the road and placed inside the car and driven far away.
And he could have resolved it then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place for confrontation.
Not the moment for settling old scores.
So he had merely suffered the anger building inside him, the hatred boiling in his veins—reminding himself it was inevitable, that he should have expected it to happen.
Truth be told, it might make the Game more interesting, this vying for Lucy’s surrender.
A surrender that must be willing and complete. A surrender that must be gradual . . . so gradual that even Lucy herself would never see it coming. For hers was a soul to be nurtured. Hers was a soul to be understood. And right now, more than anything else, hers was a soul that yearned to be loved. Loved . . . A rare and somewhat disturbing challenge, but not altogether impossible. He had stood by and watched as Lucy was lifted from the road and placed inside the car and driven far away. And he could have resolved it then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place for confrontation. Not the moment for settling old scores. So he had merely suffered the anger building inside him, the hatred boiling in his veins—reminding himself it was inevitable, that he should have expected it to happen. Truth be told, it might make the Game more interesting, this vying for Lucy’s surrender. A surrender that must be willing and complete.
A surrender that must be gradual . . . so gradual that even Lucy herself would never see it coming.
For hers was a soul to be nurtured.
Hers was a soul to be understood.
And right now, more than anything else, hers was a soul that yearned to be loved.
Loved . . .
A rare and somewhat disturbing challenge, but not altogether impossible.
He had managed it before in his lifetime, and he was nothing if not a Master at deception.
So he would give Lucy what she most wanted. And appear as the faces she would trust. And be exactly what she needed him to be.
Soon, Lucy.
Soon I’ll be the only one who matters in your life.
He ached with anticipation.
And he remembered fondly all the countless hearts he’d ever stolen, knowing hers would be the most precious one of all.
But for now he’d let her keep it . . . At least for a while. He had managed it before in his lifetime, and he was nothing if not a Master at deception. So he would give Lucy what she most wanted. And appear as the faces she would trust. And be exactly what she needed him to be. Soon, Lucy. Soon I’ll be the only one who matters in your life. He ached with anticipation. And he remembered fondly all the countless hearts he’d ever stolen, knowing hers would be the most precious one of all. But for now he’d let her keep it . . . At least for a while.
8
“Matt,” Lucy murmured. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just going to ask you the same thing.” The young priest eased down onto the side of her cot. “You didn’t have to do this to get out of our counseling session, you know. You could’ve just asked.”
Lucy ignored the mild attempt at a joke. “I didn’t know it was going to be you.”
“I’ve been here all week. A lot of kids have needed to talk, to work through their feelings. To just . . .”
His voiced trailed off. He leaned slightly forward, hands clasped between his knees.
“Lucy . . .”
“So am I supposed to call you Father Matthew today?” Lucy interrupted, needing to change the subject.
“Whatever you like. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Comfortable? She recalled the few brief encounters she’d had with Matt before her accident—when she’d escaped in terror from the confessional . . . when he’d found the necklace that was missing from Byron’s pocket . . . and when he’d given out the information that had sent her and Byron on their wild-goose chase after Angela. He looked like a symbol of death sitting here, Lucy thought now—dressed in his official black, with his face so grave and composed. Just another reminder of doom and loss, and things that made no sense.
&
nbsp; “So.” Matt’s eyes locked gently with hers. “How are you? Really?”
As much as Lucy wanted to avoid this conversation, she couldn’t look away. She noticed the pale streaks of sunlight through his hair . . . those long dark lashes . . . that boyishly handsome face . . . everything just as she remembered. Yet something in Matt had changed, she realized suddenly. Some secret inner sadness? Some profound hidden pain? Whatever it was, it had darkened the deep, deep blue of his eyes and tempered his smile.
For a moment it caught her off balance. As though in some strange way she should be comforting him. Then her defenses rallied once more.
“How am I doing?” she echoed mockingly. “I’m here. That’s about it.”
“That’s a beginning.”
In a gesture that seemed professionally instinctive, his hand covered her own. Yet as an unexpected warmth touched the cold places inside her, Lucy pulled free from him and quickly sat up.
“Is this where I get the lecture?” she challenged.
“And what lecture is that?”
“The one about Byron being in a better place, and how God had some very perfect reason for killing him? And how I should just accept it and go on with my life?”
“I don’t know that lecture,” Matt replied seriously. “And I think the issue here is that you still have a life.”
“Right. Lucky me.”
“I’m glad you were the one with Byron at the end, Lucy. I’m glad you were the last beautiful thing he saw in this world, and maybe that was God’s plan. Byron was a wonderful person.”
“How would you know?” Lucy couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone. “You met him one time. You didn’t know him.”
“You’re right, I didn’t know him personally. But I’ve heard what his classmates say about him; I know he had friends he wasn’t even aware of. I know he was close to his family, looked out for his older sister, took care of his grandmother. I know he shouldn’t have died so young.”
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