Secret Coven

It wasn't supposed to be this hot and humid on Cape Verde. Victoria had seen it in the guidebook; everything was supposed to be perfect here, like Johannesburg.

Except, the guidebook added absently, for the poison ivy, and ticks, and green flies, and toxic shellfish, and undercurrents in seemingly peaceful water.

The book had also warned against hiking out on narrow peninsulas because high tide could come along and strand you. But just at this moment Victoria would have given anything to be stranded on some peninsula jutting far out into the Atlantic Ocean - as long as Taraji Stone was on the other side.

Victoria had never been so miserable in her life.

"... and my other brother, the one on the MIT debate team, the one who went to the World Debate Tournament in Scotland two years ago..." Taraji was saying. Victoria felt her eyes glaze over again and slipped back into her wretched trance. Both of Taraji's brothers went to MIT and were frighteningly accomplished, not only at intellectual pursuits but also at athletics. Taraji was frighteningly accomplished herself, even though she was only going to be a junior in high school this year, like Victoria. And since Taraji's favorite subject was Taraji, she'd spent most of the last month telling Victoria all about it.

"... and then after I placed fifth in extemporaneous speaking at the National Forensic League Championship last year, my boyfriend said, 'Well, of course you'll go All-American..."

Just one more week, Victoria told herself. Just one more week and I can go home. The very thought filled her with a longing so sharp that tears came to her eyes. Home, where her friends were. Where she didn't feel like a stranger, and unaccomplished, and boring, and stupid just because she didn't know what a quahog was. Where she could laugh about all this: her wonderful vacation on the eastern seaboard.

"... so my father said, 'Why don't I just buy it for you?' But I said, 'No - well, maybe...' "

Victoria stared out at the sea.

It wasn't that the Cape wasn't beautiful. The little cedar-shingled cottages, with white picket fences covered with roses and wicker rocking chairs on the porch and geraniums hanging from the rafters, were pretty as picture postcards. And the village greens and tall-steepled churches and old-fashioned schoolhouses made Victoria feel as if she'd stepped into a different time.

But every day there was Taraji to deal with. And even though every night Victoria thought of some devastatingly witty remark to make to Taraji, somehow she never got around to actually making any of them. And far worse than anything Taraji could do was the plain raw feeling of not belonging. Of being a stranger here, stranded on the wrong coast, completely out of her own element. The tiny duplex back in California had started to seem like heaven to Victoria.

One more week, she thought. You've just got to stand it for one more week.

And then there was Mom, so pale lately and so quiet... A worried twinge went through Victoria, and she quickly pushed it away. Mom is fine, she told herself fiercely. She's probably just miserable here, the same way you are, even though this is her native state. She's probably counting the days until we can go home, just like you are.

Of course that was it, and that was why her mother looked so unhappy when Victoria talked about being homesick. Her mother felt guilty for bringing Victoria here, for making this place sound like a vacation paradise. Everything would be all right when they got back home, for both of them.

"Victoria! Are you listening to me? Or are you daydreaming again?"

"Oh, listening," Victoria said quickly.

"What did I just say?"

Victoria floundered.

Boyfriends, she thought desperately, the debate team, college, the National Forensic League... People had sometimes called her a dreamer, but never as much as around here.

"I was saying they shouldn't let people like that on the beach," Taraji said. "Especially not with dogs. I mean, I know this isn't Shrimp Harbors, but at least it's clean. And now look." Victoria looked, following the direction of Taraji's gaze. All she could see was some guy walking down the beach. She looked back at Taraji uncertainly.

"He works on a fishing boat," Taraji said, her nostrils flared as if she smelled something bad. "I saw him this morning on the fish pier, unload-ing. I don't think he's even changed his clothes. How unutterably scuzzy and vomitous."

He didn't look all that scuzzy to Victoria. He had dark red hair, and he was tall, and even at this distance she could see that he was smiling. There was a dog at his heels.

"We never talk to guys from the fishing boats. We don't even look at them," Taraji said. And Victoria could see it was true. There were maybe a dozen other girls on the beach, in groups of two or three, a few with guys, most not. As the tall boy passed, the girls would look away, turning their heads to stare in the opposite direction. It wasn't a flirtatious sort of looking-away-and-then-back-and-giggling. It was disdainful rejection. As the guy got closer to her, Victoria could see that his smile was turning grim.

The two girls closest to Victoria and Taraji were looking away now, almost sniffing. Victoria saw the boy shrug slightly, as if it were no more than he expected. She still didn't see anything so disgusting about him. He was wearing ragged cutoff shorts and a T-shirt that had seen better days, but lots of guys looked like that. And his dog trotted right behind him, tail waving, friendly and alert. It wasn't bothering anybody. Victoria glanced up at the boy's face, curious to see his eyes.

"Look down," Taraji whispered. The guy was passing right in front of them. Taraji hastily looked down, obeying automatically, although she felt a surge of rebellion in her heart. It seemed cheap and nasty and unnecessary and cruel. She was ashamed to be a part of it, but she couldn't help doing what Taraji said.

She stared at her fingers trailing into the sand. She could see every granule in the bright sunlight. From far away the sand looked white, but up close it was shimmering with colors: specks of black-and-green mica, pastel shell fragments, chips of red quartz like tiny garnets. Unfair, she thought to the boy, who of course couldn't hear her. I'm sorry; this just isn't fair. I wish I could do something, but I can't.

A wet nose thrust under her hand.

The suddenness of it made her gasp, and a giggle caught in her throat. The dog pushed at her hand again, not asking; demanding. Victoria petted it, scratching at the short, silky-bristly hairs on its nose. It was a German shepherd, or mostly, a big, handsome dog with liquid, intelligent brown eyes and a laughing mouth. Victoria felt the stiff, embarrassed mask she'd been wearing break, and she laughed back at it.

Then she glanced up at the dog's owner, quickly, unable to help herself. She met his eyes directly.

Later, Victoria would think of that moment, the moment when she looked up at him and he looked down at her. His eyes were blue-gray, like the sea at its most mysterious. His face was odd; not conventionally handsome, but arresting and intriguing, with high cheekbones and a determined mouth. Proud and independent and humorous and sensitive all at once. As he looked down at her his grim smile lightened and something sparkled in those blue-gray eyes, like sun glinting off the waves.

Normally Victoria was shy around guys, especially guys she didn't know, but this was only some poor worker from the fishing boats, and she felt sorry for him, and she wanted to be nice, and besides she couldn't help it. And so when she felt herself start to sparkle back at him, her laughter bubbling up in response to his smile, she let it happen. In that instant it was as if they were sharing a secret, something nobody else on the beach could understand. The dog wiggled ecstatically, as if he were in on it too.

"Victoria," came Taraji's fuming hiss.

Victoria felt herself turn red, and she tore her eyes away from the guy's face. Taraji was looking apoplectic.

"Jay!" the boy said, not laughing anymore. "Heel!"

With apparent reluctance, the dog backed away from Victoria, tail still wagging. Then, in a spray of sand, he bounded toward his master. It isn't fair, Victoria thought again. The boy's voice startled her.

"Life isn't fair," he said.

Shocked, her eyes flew up to his face.

His own eyes were as dark as the sea in a storm. She saw that clearly, and for a moment she was almost frightened, as if she had glimpsed something forbidden, something beyond her comprehension. But powerful. Something powerful and strange.

And then he was walking away, the dog frisking behind him. He didn't look back.

Victoria stared after him, astounded. She hadn't spoken aloud; she was sure she hadn't spoken aloud. But then how could he have heard her?

Her thoughts were shattered by a hiss at her side. Victoria cringed, knowing exactly what Taraji was going to say. That dog probably had mange and fleas and worms and scrofula. Victoria's towel was probably crawling with parasites right this minute.

But Taraji didn't say it. She too was staring after the retreating figures of the boy and dog. as they went up a dune, then turned along a little path in the beach grass. And although she was clearly disgusted, there was something in her face - a sort of dark speculation and suspicion that Victoria had never seen before.

"What's the matter, Taraji?"

Taraji's eyes had narrowed. "I think," she said slowly, through tight lips, "that I've seen him before."

"You already said so. You saw him on the fish pier."

Taraji shook her head impatiently. "Not that. Shut up and let me think."

Stunned, Victoria shut up.

Taraji continued to stare, and after a few moments she began nodding, little nods to confirm something to herself. Her face was flushed blotchily, and not with sunburn.

Abruptly, still nodding, she muttered something and stood up. She was breathing quickly now.

"Taraji?"

"I've got to do something," Taraji said, waving a hand at Victoria without looking at her. "You stay here."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Taraji glanced at her sharply. "Nothing's going on. Just forget all about it. I'll see you later." She walked off, moving quickly, heading up the dunes toward the cottage her family owned.

Ten minutes ago, Victoria would have said she'd be deliriously happy just to have Taraji leave her alone, for any reason. But now she found she couldn't enjoy it. Her mind was all churned up, like the choppy blue-gray water before a gale. She felt agitated and distressed and almost frightened.

The strangest thing was what Taraji had muttered before getting up. It had been under her breath, and Victoria didn't think she could have heard it right. It must have been something else, like "snitch," or "bitch," or "rich."

She must have heard it wrong. You couldn't call a guy a witch, for God's sake.

Calm down, she told herself. Don't worry, be happy. You're alone at last.

But for some reason she couldn't relax. She stood and picked up her towel. Then, wrapping it around her, she started down the beach the way the guy had gone.

When Victoria got to the place where the boy had turned, she walked up the dunes between the pitiful little clumps of scraggly beach grass. At the top she looked around, but there was nothing to be seen but pitch pines and scrub oak trees. No boy. No dog. Silence.

She was hot.

All right; fine. She turned back toward the sea, ignoring the twinge of disappointment, the strange emptiness she felt suddenly. She'd go get wet and cool off. Taraji's problem was Taraji's business. As for the red-haired guy - well, she'd probably never see him again, and he wasn't her business either.

A little inside shiver went through her; not the kind that shows, but the kind that makes you wonder if you're sick. I must be too hot, she decided; hot enough that it starts to feel cold. I need a dip in the water.

The water was cool, because this was the open-Atlantic side of the Cape. She waded in up to her knees and then continued walking down the beach.

When she reached a dock, she splashed out of the water and climbed up to it. Only three boats were tied there: two rowboats and a powerboat. It was deserted.

It was just what Victoria needed.

She unhooked the thick, frayed rope meant to keep people like her off the dock and walked onto it. She walked far out, the weather-beaten wood creaking beneath her feet, the water stretching out on either side of her. When she looked back at the beach, she saw she'd left the other sunbathers far behind. A little breeze blew in her face, stirring her hair and making her wet legs tingle. Suddenly she felt - she couldn't explain it. Like a balloon being caught by the wind and lifted. She felt light, she felt expanded. She felt free.

She wanted to hold her arms out to the breeze and the ocean, but she didn't quite dare. She wasn't as free as all that. But she smiled as she got to the end of the dock.

The sky and the ocean were exactly the same deep jewel-blue, except that the sky lightened down at the horizon where they met. Victoria thought that she could see the curve of the earth, but it might have been her imagination. Terns and herring gulls wheeled above.

I should write a poem, she thought. She had a notebook full of scribbled poems at home under her bed. She hardly ever showed them to anyone, but she looked at them at night. Right now, though, she couldn't think of any words.

Still, it was lovely just to be here, smelling the salt sea-smell and feeling the warm planks beneath her and hearing the soft plashing of the water against the wooden piers.

It was a hypnotic sound, rhythmic as a giant heartbeat or the breathing of the planet, and strangely familiar. She sat and gazed and listened, and as she did she felt her own breathing slow. For the first time since she'd come to New England, she felt she belonged. She was a part of the vastness of sky and earth and sea; a tiny part in all the immensity, but a part just the same.

And slowly it came to her that her part might not be so small. She had been immersed in the rhythm of the earth, but now it seemed to her almost as if she controlled that rhythm. As if the elements were one with her, and under her command. She could feel the pulse of life in the planet, in herself, strong and deep and vibrant.

The beat slowly rising in tension and expectancy, as if waiting for... something.

For what?

Staring out to sea, she felt words come to her. Just a little jingle, like something you'd teach a child, but a poem nonetheless.

Sky and sea, keep harm from me.

The strange thing was that it didn't feel like something she'd made up. It felt more like something she'd read - or heard - a long time ago. She had a brief flash of an image: being held in someone's arms, and looking at the ocean. Being held up high and hearing words.

Sky and sea, keep harm from me. Earth and fire, bring...

No.

Victoria's entire skin was tingling. She could sense, in a way she never had before, the arch of the sky and the granite solidity of the earth and the immeasurable span of the ocean, wave after wave after wave, to the horizon and beyond. And it was as if they were all waiting, watching, listening to her.

Don't finish it, she thought. Don't say any more. A sudden irrational conviction had taken hold of her. As long as she didn't find the last words of the poem, she was safe. Everything would be as it always had been; she would go home and live out her quiet, ordinary life in peace. As long as she could keep from saying the words, she'd be all right.

But the poem was running through her mind, like the tinkling of icy music far away, and the last words fell into place. She couldn't stop them.

Sky and sea, keep harm from me. Earth and fire, bring... my desire.

Yes.

Oh, what have I done ?

It was like a string snapping. Victoria found herself on her feet, staring wildly out at the ocean. Something had happened; she had felt it, and now she could feel the elements receding from her, their connection broken.

She no longer felt light and free, but jangled and out of tune and full of static electricity. Suddenly the ocean looked more vast than ever and not necessarily friendly. Turning sharply, she headed back toward the shore.

Idiot, she thought as she neared the white sand of the beach again and the frightened feeling slipped away. What were you afraid of? That the sky and the sea were really listening to you? That those words were actually going to do something?

She could almost laugh at it now, and she was embarrassed and annoyed with herself. Talk about an overactive imagination. She was still safe, and the world was still ordinary. Words were only words.

But when a movement caught her eye then, she would always remember that deep down she had not been surprised.

Something was happening. There was motion on the shore.

It was the red-haired guy. He'd burst out between the pitch pines and was running down the slope of a dune. Suddenly inexplicably calm, Victoria hurried the rest of the way down the dock, to meet him as he reached the sand.

The dog beside him was loping easily, looking up at the guy's face as if to say this was a great game, and what next? But from the boy's expression and the way he was running, Victoria could tell it wasn't a game.

He looked up and down the deserted beach. A hundred yards to the left a headland jutted out, so you couldn't see what was beyond. He glanced at Victoria and their eyes met. Then, turning abruptly, he started toward the headland.

Victoria's heart was beating hard.

"Wait!" she called urgently.

He turned back, scanning her quickly with his blue-gray eyes.

"Who's after you?" she said, though she thought she knew.

His voice was crisp, his words concise. "Two guys who look like linebackers for the New York Giants."

Victoria nodded, feeling the thump of her heart accelerate. But her voice was still calm. "Their names are Brian and Josh Stone."

"It figures."

"You've heard of them?"

"No. But it figures they'd be named something like that."

Victoria almost laughed. She liked the way he looked, so windblown and alert, scarcely out of breath even though he'd been running hard. And she liked the daredevil sparkle in his eyes and the way he joked even though he was in trouble.

"Jay and I could take them, but they've got a couple of friends with them," he said, turning again. Walking backward, he added, "You'd better go the other way - you don't want to run into them. And it would be nice if you could pretend you hadn't seen me."

"Wait!" cried Victoria.

Whatever was going on wasn't her business... but she found herself speaking without hesitation. There was something about this guy; something that made her want to help him.

"That way's a dead end - around the headland you'll run into rocks. You'll be trapped."

"But the other way's too straight. I'd still be in sight when they got here. They weren't far behind me."

Victoria's thoughts were flying, and then suddenly she knew. "Hide in the boat."

"What?"

"In the boat. In the powerboat. On the dock." She gestured at it. "You can get in the cabin and they won't see you."

His eyes followed hers, but he shook his head. "I'd really be trapped if they found me there. And Jay doesn't like to swim."

"They won't find you," Victoria said. "They won't go near it. I'll tell them you went down the beach that way."

He stared at her, the smile dying out of his eyes. "You don't understand," he said quietly. "Those guys are trouble."

"I don't care," Victoria said, and she almost pushed him toward the dock. Hurry, hurry, hurry, something in her brain was urging. Her shyness had vanished. All that mattered was that he got out of sight. "What are they going to do to me, beat me up? I'm an innocent bystander," she said.

"But - "

"Oh, please. Don't argue. Just do it!"

He stared at her one last instant, then turned, slapping his thigh for the dog. "C'mon, boy!" He ran down the dock and jumped easily into the powerboat, disappearing as he ducked into the cabin. The dog followed him in one powerful spring and barked.

Sh! thought Victoria. The two in the boat were hidden now, but if anyone went up the dock, they would be plainly visible. She hooked the loop of frayed rope over the top of the last pier, screening off the dock.

Then she cast a frantic glance around and headed for the water, splashing in. Bending down, she dug up a handful of wet sand and shells. She let the water wash the sand out of the loose cage of her fingers and held on to the two or three small shells that remained. She reached for another handful.

She heard shouting from the dunes.

I'm gathering shells, I'm only gathering shells, she thought. I don't need to look up yet. I'm not concerned.

"Hey!"

Victoria looked up.

There were four of them, and the two in front were Taraji's brothers. Brian was the one on the debate team and Josh was the one in the Pistol Club. Or was it the other way around?

"Hey, did you see a guy come running this way?" Brian asked. They were looking in all directions, excited like dogs on a scent, and suddenly another line of poetry came to Victoria.

Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling. Except that these guys weren't lean; they were brawny and sweaty. And out of breath, Victoria noticed, vaguely contemptuous.

"It's Taraji's friend - Ella," said Brian. "Hey, Ella, did a guy just go running down here?"

Victoria walked toward him slowly, her fists full of shells. Her heart was knocking against her ribs so hard she was sure they could see it, and her tongue was frozen.

"Can't you talk? What're you doing here?"

Mutely, Victoria held out her hands, opening them.

They exchanged glances and snorts, and Victoria realized how she must look to these college-age guys - a slight girl with unremarkable brown hair and ordinary blue eyes. Just a little high-school ditz from California whose idea of a good time was picking up worthless shells.

"Did you see somebody go past here?" Brian said, impatient but slow, as if she might be hard of hearing.

Dry-mouthed, Victoria nodded, and looked down the beach toward the headland. Brian was wearing an open windbreaker over his T-shirt, which seemed odd in such warm weather. What was even odder was the bulge beneath it, but when he turned, Victoria saw the glint of metal.

A gun!

Brian must be the one in the Pistol Club, she thought irrelevantly.

Now that she saw something really to be scared about, she found her voice again and said huskily, "A guy and a dog went that way a few minutes ago."

"We've got him! He'll be stuck on the rocks!" Logan said. He and the two guys Victoria didn't know started down the beach, but Brian turned back to Victoria.

"Are you sure?"

Startled, she looked up at him. Why was he asking? She deliberately widened her eyes and tried to look as childish and stupid as possible. "Yes..."

"Because it's important." And suddenly he was holding her wrist. Victoria looked down at it in amazement, her shells scattering, too surprised at being grabbed to say anything. "It's very important," Brian said, and she could feel the tension running through his body, could smell the acridity of his sweat. A wave of revulsion swept through her, and she struggled to keep her face blank and wide-eyed. She was afraid he was going to pull her up against him, but he just twisted her wrist.

She didn't mean to cry out, but she couldn't help it. It was partly pain and partly a reaction to something she saw in his eyes, something fanatical and ugly and hot like fire. She found herself gasping, more afraid than she could remember being since she was a child.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, breathless, staring into that ugliness without letting herself look away. "He went down there and around the headland."

"Come on, Brian, leave her alone!" Josh shouted. "She's just a kid. Let's go!"

Brian hesitated. He knows I'm lying, Victoria thought, with a curious fascination. He knows, but he's afraid to trust what he knows because he doesn't know how he knows it.

Believe me, she thought, gazing straight back at him, willing him to do it. Believe me and go away. Believe me. Believe me.

He let go of her wrist.

"Sorry," he muttered ungraciously, and he turned and loped off with the others.

"Sure," Victoria whispered, standing very still.

Tingling, she watched them jog across the wet sand, elbows and knees pumping, Brian's wind-breaker flapping loose behind him. The weakness spread from her stomach to her legs, and her knees suddenly felt like Silly Putty.

She was aware, all at once, of the sound of the ocean again. A comforting sound that seemed to enfold her. When the four running figures turned the corner and disappeared from her sight, she turned back to the dock, meaning to tell the red-haired guy that he could come out now.

He already had.

Slowly, she made her jellied legs carry her to the dock. He was just standing there, and the look on his face made her feel strange.

"You'd better get out of here - or maybe hide again," she said hesitantly. "They might come right back..."

"I don't think so."

"Well..." Victoria faltered, looking at him, feeling almost frightened. "Your dog was very good," she offered uncertainly, at last. "I mean, not barking or anything."

"He knows better."

"Oh." Victoria looked down the beach, trying to think of something else to say. His voice was gentle, not harsh, but that keen look never left his eyes and his mouth was grim. "I guess they really are gone now," she said.

"Thanks to you," he said. He turned to her, and their eyes met. "I don't know how to thank you," he added, "for putting up with that for me. You don't even know me."

Victoria felt even more queer. Looking up at him made her almost dizzy, but she couldn't take her eyes from his. There was no sparkle now; they looked like blue-gray steel. Compelling - hypnotic. Drawing her closer, drawing her in.

But I do know you, she thought. In that instant a strange image flashed through her mind. It was as if she were floating outside herself and she could see the two of them, standing there on the beach. She could see the sun shining on his hair and her face tilted up to him. And they were connected by a silver cord that hummed and sang with power.

A band of energy, linking them. It was so real she could almost reach out and touch it. It bound them heart to heart, and it was trying to draw them closer.

A thought came to her, as if some small voice from deep inside her was speaking. The silver cord can never be broken. Your lives are linked. You can't escape each other any more than you can escape destiny.

Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the picture and the voice vanished. Victoria blinked and shook her head, trying to wrench her mind back. He was still looking at her, waiting for an answer to his question.

"I was glad to help you," she said, feeling how lame and inadequate the words were. "And I didn't mind - what happened." His eyes dropped to her wrist, and there was a flash from them almost like silver.

"I did," he said. "I should have come out earlier."

Victoria shook her head again. The last thing she'd wanted was for him to be caught and hurt. "I just wanted to help you," she repeated softly, confused. Then she said, "Why were they chasing you?"

He looked away, drawing in a deep breath. Victoria had the sense of trespassing. "That's all right. I shouldn't have asked - " she began.

"No." He looked back at her and smiled, his wry one-sided smile. "If anybody has a right to ask, you do. But it's a little difficult to explain. I'm... off my turf here. Back home, they wouldn't dare come after me. They wouldn't dare look at me cross-eyed. But here I'm fair game."

She still didn't understand. "They don't like people who are - different," he said, his voice quiet again. "And I'm different from them. I'm very, very different."

Yes, she thought. Whatever he was, he wasn't like Brian or Josh. He wasn't like anyone she had ever met.

"I'm sorry. That's not much of an explanation, I know," he said. "Especially after what you did. You helped me, and I won't forget about it."

He glanced down at himself and laughed shortly. "Of course, it doesn't look like there's much I can do for you, does it? Not here. Although..." He paused. "Wait a minute."

He reached in his pocket, fingers groping for something. All in an instant Victoria's dizziness overwhelmed her, blood rushing to her face. Was he looking for money? Did he think he could pay her for helping him? She was humiliated, and more stricken than when Jordan had grabbed her wrist, and she couldn't help the tears flooding her eyes.

But what he pulled out of his pocket was a stone, a rock like something you might pick up on the ocean floor. At least that was what it looked like at first. One side was rough and gray, embedded with tiny black spirals like little shells. But then he turned it over, and the other side was gray swirled with pale blue, crystallized, sparkling in the sunlight as if it were overlaid with rock candy. It was beautiful.

He pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. As it touched her she felt a jolt like electricity that ran through her hand and up her arm. The stone felt alive in some way she couldn't explain. Through the pounding in her ears she heard him speaking, quickly and in a low voice.

"This is chalcedony. It's a - good-luck piece. If you're ever in trouble or danger or anything like that, if there's ever a time when you feel all alone and no one else can help you, hold on to it tight - tight" - his fingers squeezed hers - "and think of me."

She stared up at him, mesmerized. She was hardly breathing, and her chest felt too full. He was so close to her; she could see his eyes, the same color as the crystal, and she could feel his breath on her skin and the warmth of his body reflecting the sun's heat. His hair wasn't just red, but all sorts of colors, some strands so dark they were almost purple, others like burgundy wine, others gold.

Different, she thought again; he was different from any guy she'd ever known. A sweet hot current was running through her, a feeling of wildness and possibility. She was trembling and she could feel a heartbeat in her fingers, but she couldn't tell if it was hers or his. He had seemed to hear her thoughts before; now she felt almost as if he were in her mind. He was so close and he was looking down at her...

"And what happens then?" she whispered.

"And then - maybe your luck will change." Abruptly he stepped back, as if he'd just remembered something, and his tone altered. The moment was over. "It's worth a try, don't you think?" he said lightly.

Unable to speak, she nodded. He was teasing now. But he hadn't been before.

"I've got to go. I shouldn't have stayed this long," he said.

Victoria swallowed. "You'd better be careful. I think Jordan had a gun - "

"Wouldn't surprise me." He brushed it off, stopping her from saying anything further. "Don't worry; I'm leaving the Cape. For now, anyway. I'll be back; maybe I'll see you then." He started to turn. Then he paused one last moment and took her hand again. Victoria was too startled at the feeling of his skin against hers to do anything about it. He turned her hand over and looked at the red marks on her wrist, then brushed them lightly with his fingertips. The steely light was back in his eyes when he looked up. "And believe me," he whispered, "he'll pay for this someday. I guarantee it."

And then he did something that shocked Victoria more than anything else had during that whole shocking day. He lifted her wounded hand to his lips and kissed it. It was the gentlest, the lightest of touches, and it went through Victoria like fire. She stared at him, dazed and unbelieving, utterly speechless. She could neither move nor think; she could only stand there and feel.

And then he was leaving, whistling for the dog, which romped around Victoria in circles before finally breaking away. She was alone, gazing after him, her fingers clenched tightly on the small rough stone in her palm.

It was only then she realized she'd never asked him his name.

An instant later Victoria came out of her daze. She'd better get moving; Josh and Brian might be coming back any second. And if they realized she'd deliberately lied to them...

Victoria winced as she scrambled up the sloping dune. The world around her seemed ordinary again, no longer full of magic and mystery. It was as if she'd been moving in a dream, and now she'd woken up. What had she been thinking? Some nonsense about silver cords and destiny and a guy who wasn't like any other guy. But that was all ridiculous. The stone in her hand was just a stone. And words were just words. Even that boy... Of course there was no way he could have heard her thoughts. No one could do that; there had to be a rational explanation...

She tightened her grip on the little piece of rock in her palm. Her hand was still tingling where he'd held it, and the skin he'd touched with his fingertips felt different from any other part of her body. She thought that no matter what happened to her in the future, she would always feel his touch.

Once inside the summer cottage she and her mother rented, she locked the front door behind her. Then she paused. She could hear her mother's voice from the kitchen, and from the sound of it she could tell something was wrong.

Mrs. Brown was on the phone, her back to the doorway, her head slightly bowed as she clutched the receiver to her ear. As always, Victoria was struck by the willow slimness of her mother's figure. With that and the fall of long, dark hair worn simply clasped at the back of her neck, Mrs. Brown could have been a teenager herself. It made Victoria feel protective toward her. In fact, sometimes she almost felt as if she were the mother and her mother the child.

And just now it made her decide not to interrupt her mother's conversation. Mrs. Brown was upset, and at intervals she said "Yes" or "I know" into the mouthpiece in a voice full of strain.

Victoria turned and went to her bedroom.

She wandered over to the window and looked out, wondering vaguely what was going on with her mother. But she couldn't keep her mind on anything but the boy on the beach.

Even if Taraji knew his name, she would never tell, Victoria was sure of that. But without his name, how would Victoria ever find him again?

She wouldn't. That was the brutal truth, and she might as well face it right now. Even if she did find out his name, she wasn't the sort to chase after a boy. She wouldn't know how.

"And in one week I'm going home," she whispered. For the first time these words didn't bring a surge of comfort and hope. She put the rough little piece of chalcedony down on the night-stand, with a sort of final clink.

"Victoria? Did you say something?"

Victoria turned quickly to see her mother in the doorway. "Mom! I didn't know you were off the phone." When her mother continued to look at her inquiringly, she added, "I was just thinking out loud. I was saying that we'll be going home next week."

An odd expression crossed her mother's face, like a flash of repressed pain. Her large black eyes had dark circles under them and wandered nervously around the room.

"Mom, what's wrong?" said Victoria.

"I was just talking with your grandmother. You remember how I was planning for us to drive up and see her sometime next week?"

Victoria remembered very well. She'd told Taraji she and her mother were going to drive up the coast, and Taraji had snapped that it wasn't called the coast here. From Boston down to the Cape it was the south shore, and from Boston up to New York it was the north shore, and if you were going to Maine it was down east, and anyway, where did her grandmother live? And Victoria hadn't been able to answer because her mother had never told her the name of the town.

"Yes," she said. "I remember."

"I just got off the phone with her. She's old, Victoria, and she's not doing very well. It's worse than I realized."

"Oh, Mom. I'm sorry." Victoria had never met her grandmother, never even seen a picture of her, but she still felt awful. Her mother and grandmother had been estranged for years, since Victoria had been born. It was something about her mother leaving home, but that was all her mother would ever say about it. In the past few years, though, there had been some letters exchanged, and Victoria thought that underneath they still loved each other. She hoped they did, anyway, and she'd been looking forward to seeing her grandmother for the first time. "I'm really sorry, Mom," she said now. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know. She's all by herself in that big house and she's lonely... and now with this phlebitis it's hard for her to get around some days." The sunshine fell in strips of light and shadow across her mother's face. She spoke quietly but almost stiltedly, as if she were holding some strong emotion back with difficulty.

"Victoria, your grandmother and I have had our problems, but we're still family, and she hasn't got anyone else. It's time we buried our differences."

Her mother had never spoken so freely about the estrangement before. "What was it all about, Mom?"

"It doesn't matter now. She wanted me to - follow a path I didn't want to follow. She thought she was doing the right thing... and now she's all alone and she needs help."

Dismay whispered through Victoria. Concern for the grandmother she'd never met - and something else. A trickle of alarm started by the look on her mother's face, which was that of someone about to deliver bad news and having a hard time finding the words.

"Victoria, I've thought a lot about this, and there's only one thing for us to do. And I'm sorry, because it will mean such a disruption of your life, and it will be so hard on you... but you're young. You'll adapt. I know you will."

A twinge of panic shot through Victoria. "Mom, it's all right," she said quickly. "You stay here and do what you need to. I can get ready for school by myself. It'll be easy; Sophia and Mrs. Walter will help me - " Victoria's mother was shaking her head, and suddenly Victoria felt she had to go on, to cover everything in a rush of words. "I don't need that many new school clothes..."

"Victoria, I'm so sorry. I need you to try and understand, sweetheart, and to be adult about this. I know you'll miss your friends. But we've both got to try to make the best of things." Her mother's eyes were fixed on the window, as if she couldn't bear to look at Victoria.

Victoria went very still. "Mom, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying we're not going home, or at least not back to Reseda. We're going to my home, to move in with your grandmother. She needs us. We're going to stay here."

Victoria felt nothing but a dazed numbness. She could only say stupidly, as if this were what mattered, "Where's 'here'? Where does Grandma live?"

For the first time her mother turned from the window. Her eyes seemed bigger and darker than Victoria had ever seen them before.

"New Orleans," she said quietly. "The town is called New Orleans."

Hours later, Victoria was still sitting by the window, staring blankly. Her mind was running in helpless, useless circles.

To stay here... to stay in New England...

An electric shock ran through her. Him. I knew we'd see him again, something inside her proclaimed, and it was glad. But it was only one voice and there were many others, all speaking at once.

To stay. Not going home. And what difference does it make if the guy is here in Massachusetts somewhere? You don't know his name or where he lives. You'll never find him again.

But there's a chance, she thought desperately. And the voice deepest inside, the one that had been glad before, whispered: More than a chance. It's your fate.

Fate! the other voices scoffed. Don't be ridiculous! It's your fate to spend your junior year in New England, that's all. Where you don't know anyone. Where you'll be alone.

Alone, alone, alone, all the other voices agreed.

The deep voice was crushed and disappeared. Victoria felt any hope of seeing the red-haired boy again slip away from her. What she was left with was despair.

I won't even get to say good-bye to my friends at home, she thought. She'd begged her mother for the chance to go back, just to say good-bye. But Mrs. Brown had said there was no money and no time. Their airline tickets would be cashed in. All their things would be shipped to Victoria's grandmother's house by a friend of her mother's.

"If you went back," her mother had said gently, "you'd only feel worse about leaving again. This way at least it will be a clean break. And you can see your friends next summer."

Next summer? Next summer was a hundred years away. Victoria thought of her friends: good-natured Sophia and quiet Jake, and Mary the class wit. Add to that shy and dreamy Victoria and you had their group. So maybe they weren't the in-crowd, but they had fun and they'd stuck together since elementary school. How would she get along without them until next summer?

But her mother's voice had been so soft and distracted, and her eyes had wandered around the room in such a vague, preoccupied way, that Victoria hadn't had the heart to rant and rave the way she would have liked.

In fact, for an instant Victoria had wanted to go to her mother and throw her arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. But she couldn't. The small, hot coal of resentment burning in her chest wouldn't let her. However worried her mother might be, she didn't have to face the prospect of going to a strange new school in a state three thousand miles from where she belonged.

Victoria did. New hallways, new lockers, new classrooms, new desks, she thought. New faces instead of the friends she'd known since junior high. Oh, it couldn't be true.

Victoria hadn't screamed at her mother this afternoon, and she hadn't hugged her, either. She had just silently turned away to the window, and this was where she'd been sitting ever since, while the light slowly faded and the sky turned first salmon pink and then violet and then black.

It was a long time before she went to bed. And it was only then that she realized she'd forgotten all about the chalcedony lucky piece. She reached out and took it from the nightstand and slipped it under her pillow.

Taraji stopped by as Victoria and her mother were loading the rental car.

"Going home?" she said.

Victoria gave her tote bag a final push to squeeze it into the trunk. She had just realized she didn't want Taraji to find out she was staying in New England. She couldn't stand to have Taraji know of her unhappiness; it would give Taraji a kind of triumph over her.

When she looked up, she had her best attempt at a pleasant smile in place. "Yes," she said, and flicked a quick glance over to where her mother was leaning in the driver's-side door, arranging things in the backseat.

"I thought you were staying until the end of next week."

"We changed our minds." She looked into Taraji's hazel eyes and was startled by the coldness there. "Not that I didn't have a good time. It's been fun," Victoria added, hastily and foolishly.

Taraji shook straw-colored hair off her forehead. "Maybe you'd better stay out west from now on," she said. "Around here, we don't like liars."

Victoria opened her mouth and then shut it again, cheeks flaming. So they did know about her deception on the beach. This was the time for one of those devastatingly witty remarks that she thought of at night to say to Taraji - and, of course, she couldn't summon up a word. She pressed her lips together.

"Have a nice trip," Taraji concluded, and with one last cold glance, she turned away.

"Taraji!" Victoria's stomach was in a knot of tension, embarrassment, and anger, but she couldn't let this chance go. "Before I leave, will you just tell me one thing?"

"What?"

"It can't make any difference now - and I just wanted to know... I just wondered... if you knew his name."

"Whose name?"

Victoria felt a new wave of blood in her cheeks, but she went on doggedly. "His name. The red-haired guy. The one on the beach."

Those hazel eyes didn't waver. They went on staring straight into Victoria's, the pupils contracted to mean little dots. Looking into those eyes, Victoria knew there was no hope.

She was right.

"What red-haired guy on the beach?" Taraji said distinctly and levelly, and then she turned on her heel again and left. This time Taraji let her go.

Green. That's what Victoria noticed on the drive north from the Cape. There was a forest growing on either side of the highway. In California you had to go to a national park to see trees this tall...

"Those are sugar maples," her mother said with forced cheerfulness as Victoria turned her head slightly to follow a stand of particularly graceful trees. "And those shorter ones are red maple. They'll turn red in the fall - a beautiful glowing, sunset red. Just wait until you see them."

Victoria didn't answer. She didn't want to see the trees in the fall because she didn't want to be here.

They passed through Boston and drove up the coast - up the north shore, Victoria corrected herself fiercely - and Victoria watched quaint little towns and wharves and rocky beaches slip by. She suspected they were taking the scenic route, and she felt resentment boil up in her chest. Why couldn't they just get there and get it over with?

"Isn't there a faster way?" she said, opening the glove compartment and pulling out a map supplied by the car rental company. "Why don't we take Route 1? Or Interstate 95?"

Her mother kept her eyes on the road. "It's been a long time since I drove up here, Victoria. This is the way I know."

"But if you cut over here at Orleans..." Victoria watched the exit go by. "Okay, don't," she said. Of all places in Massachusetts, Orleans was the only one she could think of that she wanted to see. Its macabre history appealed to her mood right now. "That's where they burned the witches, isn't it?" she said. "Is New Orleans named for it? Did they burn witches there, too?"

"They didn't burn anyone; they hanged them. And they weren't witches. Just innocent people who happened to be disliked by their neighbors." Her mother's voice was tired and patient. "And Orleans was a common name in colonial times; it comes from 'Jerusalem.' "

The map was blurring before Victoria's eyes. "Where is this town, anyway? It's not even listed," she said.

There was a brief silence before her mother replied. "It's a small town; quite often it's not shown on maps. But as a matter of fact, it's on an island."

"An island?"

"Don't worry. There's a bridge to the mainland."

But all Victoria could think was, An island. I'm going to live on an island. In a town that isn't even on the map.

The road was unmarked. Mrs. Brown turned down it and the car crossed the bridge, and then they were on the island. Victoria had expected it to be tiny, and her spirits lifted a little when she saw that it wasn't. There were regular stores, not just tourist shops, clustered together in what must be the center of town. There was a Dunkin' Donuts and an International House of Pancakes with a banner proclaiming grand opening. In front of it there was someone dressed up like a giant pancake, dancing.

Victoria felt the knot in her stomach loosen. Any town with a dancing pancake couldn't be all bad, could it?

But then her mother turned onto another road that rose and got lonelier and lonelier as the town fell behind.

They must be going to the ultimate point of the headland, Victoria realized. She could see it, the sun glinting red off the windows on a group of houses at the top of a bluff. She watched them get closer, at first uneasily, then anxiously, and finally with sick dismay.

Because they were old. Terrifyingly old, not just quaint or gracefully aged, but ancient. And although some were in good repair, others looked as if they might fall over in a crash of splintering timbers any minute.

Please let it be that one, Victoria thought, fixing her eyes on a pretty yellow house with several towers and bay windows. But her mother drove by it without slowing. And by the next and the next.

And then there was only one house left, the last house on the bluff, and the car was heading toward it. Heartsick, Victoria stared at it as they approached. It was shaped like a thick upside-down T, with one wing facing the road and one wing sticking straight out the back. As they came around the side Victoria could see that the back wing looked nothing like the front. It had a steeply sloping roof and small, irregularly placed windows made of tiny, diamond-shaped panes of glass. It wasn't even painted, just covered with weathered gray clapboard siding.

The front wing had been painted... once. Now what was left was peeling off in strips. The two chimneys looked crumbling and unstable, and the entire slate roof seemed to sag. The windows were regularly placed across the front, but most looked as if they hadn't been washed in ages.

Victoria stared wordlessly. She had never seen a more depressing house in her life. This couldn't be the one.

"Well," said her mother, in that tone of forced cheerfulness, as she turned into a gravel driveway, "this is it, the house I grew up in. We're home."

Victoria couldn't speak. The bubble of horror and fury and resentment inside her was swelling bigger and bigger until she thought it would explode.