
The Shadow and the Rose:

Book One of the Ash Grove Chronicles

Copyright (C) 2012 Amanda DeWees

Synopsis: Joy, a plain but plucky junior at Ash Grove High School for the Performing Arts in North Carolina, must rescue chameleonic teen model Tanner Lindsey from his seductive, evil, and possibly supernatural mentor, supermodel Melisande.

# Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Bonus Content: Excerpt From Casting Shadows

Prologue

Chapter 1

The Ash Grove Chronicles Continue

Also by Amanda DeWees

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Books by Amanda DeWees

Copyright Notice

Sign up for Amanda DeWees's Mailing List

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# Chapter 1

Joy Sumner stood at the iron gate to the old cemetery at ten to midnight. No flashlight, no cell phone, nothing but her digital camera and her sense of bravado--all thanks to smarmy Sheila Hardesty.

In morning assembly Sheila had been trying to scare a new transfer student, Alissa Pennington, with ghost stories about some of the more unusual features of Ash Grove High School for the Performing Arts.

"I've heard so many creepy things about this school I wasn't sure I wanted to transfer here," Alissa told Sheila. "My mom didn't want to let me, but Dad finally talked her into it."

"You might have been safer if he hadn't," said Sheila darkly. She was one of the star dancers at Ash Grove, but you'd have thought she was an actress from all the drama she was creating. "You know that the school was built on a portal to the underworld, don't you?"

"You're kidding!"

"Swear to god. Every now and then a student will just disappear and never be seen again. The faculty always comes up with some excuse, but everyone knows the truth is that the portal will just open up sometimes and swallow people up."

Joy and her roommate Maddie Rosenbaum, sitting in the row behind, exchanged a disbelieving look. Sheila was laying it on thick.

"And it gets worse than that," she said, dropping her voice as if afraid of being overheard. "Josiah Cavanaugh, the founder? Some people say he was, like, the high priest of a pagan cult that used to perform blood rituals during the full moon."

Joy couldn't help smiling at such a ridiculous claim. Accounts of Josiah Cavanaugh did portray him as an eccentric, but only townies believed the more outrageous occult stories.

Alissa's face had gone white, though. She was too easy a target. Sheila pressed her advantage.

"The worst thing," she said in a dramatic stage whisper, "is that he may not be completely dead."

"What? Do you mean he's a­--a ghost?"

Maddie rolled her eyes, but Joy was starting to get caught up in the drama despite herself. Sheila was putting on a good show.

"He might be something even worse than a ghost," Sheila said. "They say that if you go to the old graveyard at midnight and pick a rose off the bush on Cavanaugh's grave, he'll stick his bony hands up through the dirt and drag you down into the ground with him."

Alissa's eyes were wide with alarm. "That is messed up," she breathed. "I can't believe they haven't closed this place."

"That's because it's all hogwash," said Joy, unable to sit by silently any longer, and the two girls craned around to stare at her. "Don't let her scare you, Alissa."

"I wasn't scared," she snapped, instantly defensive. "Just--interested."

"Sheila's just making stuff up to mess with you," Joy reassured her. "No one's ever claimed all those things."

"Oh, that's right, Joy knows everything about Ash Grove and Josiah Cavanaugh," drawled Sheila. "Her father's an English teacher here and her mother's a dead musical genius, so Joy thinks she's, like, above everyone else. Bet you don't feel so important now that your dad's in Oklahoma at the cancer clinic, huh? He isn't here to protect his widdle girl any more."

Joy ignored this. "It's true that Cavanaugh's will ordered wild roses to be planted by his grave," she told Alissa. "It was a superstition he got from his mother. She was Scottish, and she believed it kept the dead from rising. But the rest is BS."

Alissa's eyes were round. "Did it work? The roses?"

"Well, we haven't seen a dead body dig its way out of the ground yet," said Maddie sarcastically. Joy sometimes thought that Maddie had the soul of a jaded thirty-year-old in the body of a teenager. Because her father was a classical pianist and a big Mozart fan, her full name was Elvira Madigan Rosenbaum, but only teachers ever had the bad taste to call her Elvira.

"So you're saying there's nothing to fear from taking a rose from Josiah's grave," said Sheila.

"Of course. Nothing at all."

"So you wouldn't be scared to try it?"

"Why would I be?"

Sheila folded her arms and stared challengingly at Joy. "Well, I dare you. I dare you to go to the graveyard tonight at midnight and find Josiah's grave, and bring back a rose from it."

She was surprised, but not afraid. "Okay," she said. "I'll do it."

"She should go alone," Alissa put in. "And without a phone."

"Good idea," said Sheila. "You heard that, Joy? No friends, no lifeline. And no flashlight."

Maddie balked at that. "How do you expect her to find her way around without a light? Sonar?"

"The moon's almost full," said Sheila. "It should be bright enough to see by. Oh, and get a picture of the grave with the rose bush." She tossed her long red hair over her shoulder. "I don't want you to think you can get away with bringing me a rose from a florist."

"No problem," said Joy. And because Mrs. Minish, the history teacher, was bearing down on them with a fierce expression, she added in a lower voice, "Tomorrow at morning break, I'll see you in the coffee bar. And I'll have your rose."

So now she stood here at the rusted old iron gates. The graveyard hadn't been in use for decades; the more recent dead were housed in one of the modern "memorial gardens" favored for their ground-level markers that were so easy to mow over. The old cemetery had been left to the elements--and years of neglect. Joy wondered if any of the gravestones even remained, and what condition they were in. She might not even find it possible to identify Josiah's grave.

"Of course it's a setup," Maddie had said, when they'd discussed it earlier. That was in the student center coffee bar, where the three of them--Maddie, Joy, and their mutual best friend William Russell--gathered every morning at break. The earthy fragrance of coffee and the hiss of the cappuccino machine made the prospect of a graveyard vigil seem cozy and quaint. Maddie was stirring the fourth packet of Splenda into her half-caff ("I've gotten so used to the stuff my body's developed an immunity," she said) and making plans for Joy's expedition. "You realize that Sheila is going to hide behind one of the gravestones and jump out at you."

Joy shrugged. "I'm not scared of her."

"But she might be planning to recruit some muscle for the job."

"We could always send you in wearing a wire," suggested William. "That way we could come in as backup if you needed it." William had a gift for musical instruments that extended into technological gadgetry as well. With untidy brown hair and steel-rimmed glasses, he was cute in what Maddie had once called an accidental hipster way. "The music department has some pretty sophisticated sound equipment," he added, warming to the idea. "We could get you hooked up with a microphone, and maybe one of those tiny video cameras, and monitor you from the road..."

Joy made a face at him. "That's way more Mission Impossible than the situation calls for. I'll be fine."

Maddie shook her head. "It's not just Sheila you have to worry about. Someone may be spreading those stories about the graveyard to run people off. Drug dealers, maybe. It's what I'd do if I wanted to keep the townies away." Maddie called herself a post-goth, which in practice meant that she still dyed her hair black but had let most of her piercings close up. She was in the theater track and planned to be a stage actress, and sometimes it seemed like she was trying to infuse maximum drama into everyday life.

William laughed. "Seriously, Maddie? I doubt anyone's running a meth lab out of the cemetery. Maybe a couple of good ol' boys hang out there to drink their Budweisers, but that's all."

"Even so, Joy could be in over her head. I should have stopped her."

Joy didn't like the way the conversation was going. She had thought Maddie would respect her for taking the dare, not act like an overprotective parent. "I'm not a baby, Maddie," she said.

"What I don't get," said William, "is why you even care what Sheila and her crowd think of you. You don't have to prove anything to them."

That was the thing, though: she wanted to. It wasn't just that she didn't come from money, like most of the other students at Ash Grove, and wasn't beautiful like all of the aspiring actresses and dancers there. Everyone had always assumed she was a goody-goody because her father was a teacher. She had hoped she might finally be able to break out of that pigeonhole now that her father was on medical leave of absence. But all that had happened was that she didn't know where she fit in anymore.

She pushed the thought away. Thinking about him, undergoing cancer treatment alone and far away, was too painful. "It's not that big a deal. Anyway, it'll be fun. I love old graveyards."

"That's so not the point." Maddie wasn't ready to be won over yet.

"Look, if it'll make you feel better, I'll take my pepper spray."

"If Sheila's there, you won't need pepper spray," said William. "You'll need holy water."

Now, in the chill-looking moonlight, which lay like frost on the weedy track that led away from the gate, the coffee bar felt years in the past. Joy stood for a second listening to the wind in the evergreens, a ceaseless hushing like the ocean. Usually she loved the peacefulness of nighttime and the sounds of the night creatures. Tonight she reminded herself not to relax, to stay alert for an ambush.

Her blood hummed pleasantly with adrenaline and caffeine as she pushed through the gate. Its hinges shrieked but it swung open easily, somewhat to her surprise; perhaps Sheila and her confederates had been here before her to booby-trap the area.

Traffic sounds died away as she climbed the slight rise, her progress slowed by the overgrown grasses that whipped against the legs of her jeans. The sound of a passing motorcycle died out into the chattering of night insects. The crumbling old gravestones were half hidden in the tall grasses, some canted at odd angles or fallen over and lying in wait to stub her toes and trip her up, and she thought in exasperation of Sheila's prohibition against bringing a light. After a moment's thought, she fished her mp3 player out of her jeans pocket and turned it on. The glow of the display wasn't as bright as a flashlight, but it made finding her way a little easier.

The Cavanaugh plot, when she found it, was surprisingly clear of overgrowth. A huge oak tree shadowed the headstones, blotting out part of the moonlight, so that the scene was illuminated in fitful moving patches as the breeze stirred the branches. She stepped warily from grave to grave, reading the headstones. Jonathan Cavanaugh... Jessica Cavanaugh... Jedediah... these people had a fixation, she thought with amusement. Some of the inscriptions were unreadable; one was half obscured by a rose bush, with a few unlikely early blossoms glowing bravely white through the tangle of leaves. Mindful of the thorns, she carefully parted the branches. Ah, there you are, Josiah, she thought, and reached for her camera.

She hesitated before taking the rose, because it seemed wrong to steal one of the few things of beauty left to a dead man, but she needed her proof. The stem broke under the slight pressure of her fingers, and she straightened, gazing at the small pale bloom in her hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" came a furious voice from behind her.

She whirled, almost dropping the rose. In the instant that he first spoke, before thought took hold, her mind had snapped to Josiah Cavanaugh, a skeletal patriarch dressed in moldering Victorian finery. But the man who stood facing her was scarcely more than a boy; maybe a couple of years older than Joy, no more, and he was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. She thought confusedly of fifties songs about dead teenagers, the leader of the pack come to grief on Dead Man's Curve.

Because he was too beautiful to be human. A ghost, or an angel, maybe. The bones of his face were too perfect, like sculpture, with a high strong forehead over brows drawn fiercely down in anger. His eyelashes were so long they cast shadows on the white angles of his cheekbones, blanched by the moon. His eyes themselves she could not see, but from the grim set of his mouth--a mouth so lushly curved that she could almost feel her forefinger tracing its softness--she knew he was enraged. He was tall, tall enough that she had to keep herself from flinching backward as he strode toward her, and tipped her head back to meet his gaze. His jacket, hanging open, revealed a lean and muscled body like an athlete's.

"That's really sick," he said, lowering his voice now that he was standing only feet away. "Stealing from a grave."

She half agreed with him, and that made her stubborn. "Don't try to tell me that a man who's been dead for seventy years will miss a rose," she retorted. "I'm not doing him any harm."

He ignored that. "What are you even doing here?" he snapped. "Why don't you go back wherever you came from?"

"This is city property, and I'm a citizen," she said, hating how bratty it sounded. "I have as much right to be here as you do. For that matter, what are you doing here?"

He grinned, baring a flash of teeth. "I belong here," he said. "I'm a dead man."

"Oh, please," she said, but a prickle of unease stirred her scalp all the same. Dead teenagers, she thought.

"No, really. At night I crawl out of my grave to attack stupid girls who wander around in my cemetery." He took a step closer, and she had to fall back a pace. His eyes were unreadable in the dimness. "So unless you want to take up residence here too, I suggest you get the hell out of here." She realized her back was against the trunk of the tree, the bark rough through her shirt, and he braced one arm beside her head, leaning in toward her.

"Or what?" She knew she should be frightened, but she sensed that his words were only for effect. She was an annoyance, yes, but he had no intention of doing more than frighten her. At least she hoped so.

He brought his face very close to hers, and she caught the scent of him, cleanly masculine against the sweetness of the roses. The spectral light caught the edge of his cheek and jaw, and cast them in silver against the night. "What do you think?" he whispered, and brought his mouth down on hers.

And Joy took the dare.

Clearly he had expected her to twist away, to run--not to kiss him back. His touch was almost perfunctory until she responded. But when she slid her arms around his waist, she felt his jolt of surprise.

This time it was he who fell back a step, and he looked suddenly younger in his confusion. "Are you some kind of vampire groupie, or something?" he said.

She laughed outright. "What kind of vampire rides a Kawasaki?" And when he gave her a startled look, she explained. "I heard it earlier, when you drove up." That was probably what made her think of "The Leader of the Pack," she realized now: the sound of his bike as she entered the cemetery. Nothing ghostly at all.

There was a moment of silence, then: "How did you know it was a Kawasaki?"

She couldn't help feeling a little smug. "My friend William's brother used to have a Ninja, before he got it tangled up with a utility pole. It was a honey of a bike. Is yours a Ninja?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, his eyes more intent than ever, and surprise in his voice. "Yeah, it is."

She pushed off from the tree trunk and walked past him, back the way she had come. "Well, good night, Heathcliff," she said over her shoulder, enjoying her advantage. "I'll leave you to your brooding."

"Wait." Despite herself, she stopped short at the command in his voice. But there was no aggression in his stance as he drew up with her. "You forgot this."

She had dropped the rose without ever noticing--perhaps, she realized, when she put her arms around him. The hand he held out to her was long-boned, elegant, with slender fingers that she somehow knew would be deft and sensitive. She tried to remember if he had touched her with them, and felt her face growing hot. She was more flustered now than she had been when kissing him.

"Thanks," was all she said, but she knew she was blushing. Her hand brushed his as she took the rose from him.

"It's not Heathcliff, by the way," he said quietly. A breeze ruffled his hair, dropping one loose wave over his forehead as he looked at her. "It's Tan... Tristan." He seemed to reconsider. "Tanner."

"Three names," she said. "That's a lot for one person." She was trying to sound offhand and sophisticated, but she had a feeling he wasn't impressed. When he didn't respond, she said, "Don't you want to know mine?"

He smiled then, for the first time, and she felt as if the ground had dropped out from under her feet. It had seemed impossible for him to be any more handsome, but he was. "Oh, I know your name, Joy," he said.

Then the answer came to her, and she could have kicked herself. "Sheila told you." Of course. It was too much to believe that a guy like this could just happen to be hanging out where he'd run into her.

But he said, "I don't know a Sheila," and as she tried to decide whether he was lying, he handed her a flashlight. "Here, take this," he said. "So you can find your way home safely."

"Thanks," she said again, automatically. "But won't you need it?"

That amazing smile flashed again, this time mockingly.

"Dead men can see in the dark. Now run along home, Joy Sumner. Don't kiss any more strangers."

She turned and walked away through the long grasses and down the hill, shining the beam of his flashlight before her. Not once did she turn around. Because she knew, even without looking, that he watched her all the way out of sight.

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# Chapter 2

"Making out in a graveyard," said Maddie. "Now that must have been an intense experience."

"He sounds dicey to me," William objected. "Even for an emo, picking up girls in a cemetery is a little off."

The three of them were gathered once more at their favorite table at the coffee bar. The white rose from Josiah Cavanaugh's grave stood in a glass of water on the table, and Joy turned it so that the blossom faced the window.

"It wasn't like that. And we didn't make out," she added, with a dirty look at Maddie. "I keep wondering how he knew who I was. We must know each other from somewhere. And I do have this feeling I've seen him before." She wished she'd had her wits about her last night and had asked him.

Maddie's eyes widened. "You knew someone that hot and never introduced me to him?"

William, not being susceptible to male hotness, stuck to the topic at hand. "Well, if he knew your name, chances are you do know him from somewhere. Maybe from one of your classes. Have you checked the student directory?"

Joy shook her head and took a gulp of coffee. She had been too wired to go to sleep after her cemetery encounter, and was paying now for her wakeful night. She was already on her second large latte. "What's the point? No last name, three first names. And there's no guarantee he's even at Ash Grove."

"He who?" came a new voice, and Blake, Maddie's current boyfriend, took a seat at their table. He was a handsome black drama student with a theatrical baritone voice and deep brown eyes that made Joy think of Diet Coke. I really need to work on this caffeine addiction, she thought.

"Just this guy I ran into last night," she said, and Maddie gave an undignified snort.

"Just this dreamy mystery man she snogged in a graveyard," she corrected. "Blake, do you know a guy named Tan, or Tanner, or Tristan?"

Blake considered. "Well, I don't know if it counts as all three, but there is that model called Tristan. His billboards for Sybarite are all over Highway 64."

"Ooh, good. Let's see what some Google-fu can tell us about him." Maddie dug in her purse for her smart phone.

While she was tapping away, Sheila came in with Alissa, who had evidently been crowned her second in command. A handful of other dancers, Sheila's usual crew, were with them. Maddie had dubbed them the Ballet Bitch Brigade, or BBBs for short. Gabbling together excitedly, they headed straight for the counter without showing any intention of stopping.

Joy called, "Sheila! Over here," and waved to get her attention. Sheila rolled her eyes at her friends, and they stalked over to the table.

"What is it?" she snapped. "I'm busy."

"The rose on Josiah Cavanaugh's grave. I got it. And I did not, as you can see, get dragged underground by his corpse." She presented her camera, with the photo showing on the display, and made a "ta-da" motion to the rose.

Sheila gave them scarcely a glance. "What, do you want a prize or something?" she said.

"Well, no, but--"

"You're holding us up," interrupted Alissa. "We've got much more important things to do. Like scheduling an appointment with... Melisande." She said "Melisande" as if she were saying "the queen" or "the president."

"Melisande, the supermodel?" Maddie exclaimed. "That's crazy. Why would she be in North Carolina at all, let alone meeting with you?"

Sheila smirked. "Because she's scouting for new talent, and that's us. Buh-bye." She tossed her hair, and the three of them strode off with the long dancers' gait that always made Joy feel clumsy and slow.

"Wow, she just gets more adorable every day," said William dryly. "I'm sorry, Joy. It looks like you wasted your time."

Joy shrugged to hide her disappointment. She had half thought that she would win some props from Sheila for carrying out the dare, but evidently Sheila's feelings about Joy hadn't changed. "It's not like we were ever going to become bestest-ever friends," she said. "But if it's true about Melisande, I can see how she'd be more interested in her than a stupid dare."

Melisande was a big deal. She was everywhere: magazines, billboards, TV, red-carpet events of all kinds. Her pale, arresting beauty made her one of the most recognizable women in the hemisphere, and one of the elite, like Gaga or Madonna, who didn't need a last name. The famous poster of her wearing nothing but a strategically arranged snake was on the bedroom wall of practically every teenage boy in America, and when Hollywood decided to remake the H. Rider Haggard story She, Melisande was the natural choice for the beautiful, imperious sorceress of the title, She Who Must Be Obeyed.

But there were also other, more sinister sides to her persona. More than one of her husbands had died unexpectedly or tragically, so some of the tabloids had gone so far as to call her a black widow. There had even been hints that Melisande was involved in some underground organization that could end her enemies' careers--or their lives. But as accustomed as she was to hearing ridiculous rumors about Ash Grove, Joy was inclined to dismiss the more lurid stories as pure fiction.

"But why would she come here to discover the next Heidi Klum?" she asked. "Sheila must have gotten the story wrong. I doubt she's even in this state."

"Actually, it's starting to look like she is," said Maddie. "Check out this guy Tristan's Wikipedia entry." She gave a whistle. "And definitely check out the photo."

The photo did grab one's attention. It was the guy from the cemetery, in one of those arty black-and-white images that dominated men's fragrance ads. He was bare-chested, skin glistening with strategically applied beads of moisture, staring into the camera with a sulky pout that should have been ridiculous but... wasn't.

"Man, those are some impressive abs," said Blake. "I wonder how many hours a day he works out? A six-pack like that is a serious time commitment."

"It's time well spent," said Maddie appreciatively. "I can't believe you just stumbled into him in a graveyard, Joy. You are so lucky."

"But he probably doesn't look like this in real life, does he, Joy?" asked William. "I mean, I'm sure he's all airbrushed and CGI'd here." She thought he sounded wistful. William had what might be called an intellectual's build rather than an athlete's. He was skinny because he forgot to eat, and his most strenuous activities were mental.

"Well, he wasn't all dewy like that when I saw him, but that's actually pretty much how he looked." Embarrassed at the looks the others were giving her, she took refuge in the Wikipedia text. "'Tristan is the professional name of a print model based in New York and Hollywood,'" she read aloud. "'After being discovered by legendary supermodel Melisande, he went on to model for Abercrombie & Fitch and Calvin Klein's fragrance Sybarite. Most recently, he was selected to be the face of Melisande's upcoming line of herbal skin-care products.' So it could make sense that she'd be here with him. But that doesn't explain what he was doing here in the first place."

"What he was doing was putting the moves on you," said Maddie. "I repeat, you are one lucky chick."

She thought about her father's cancer, about being stuck here at school instead of being with him. About being the only student at Ash Grove who wasn't beautiful or brilliant or both. Lucky was not the word she would have chosen. She got up and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "It's almost time for music theory," she said. "William and I need to get going."

"See you," said Maddie. "If you meet any more demigods wandering around, steer them my way, huh?"

"Hey," objected Blake. "I'm right here."

"Not for long, if this Tristan guy shows up."

Blake folded his arms. "Nice, Maddie, real nice. So you think of me as just a temporary placeholder."

"Oh, like you treat me any different," she snapped. "You never pay any attention to me."

"That's not fair."

"What's not fair is you at rehearsal yesterday, flirting with every single--"

Joy and William exchanged a wry look and left them to their argument.

"Looks like it's time for another Maddie Relationship Meltdown," Joy said to him, as the raised voices of Maddie and Blake followed them to the door.

William shook his head in exasperation. "She seems to have this supernatural ability to pick guys who are bad for her. Blake's a decent guy, but I could have told her he wasn't ready to be exclusive. Not that she'd have listened."

Maddie's inevitable messy breakups always left her swearing never to date again. But then, sooner rather than later, she'd be snuggling up with another high-maintenance hunk who couldn't commit or had trust issues or was on the rebound from a toxic relationship. "I guess she needs the drama," said Joy. "I just hate that she's always getting hurt."

"Me too. She deserves better."

But Maddie and her romantic misadventures left her mind as they approached the classroom building. The campus grounds always had a soothing effect on Joy. Ash Grove High School for the Performing Arts lay in a swathe of grassland in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Pines and oaks grew thickly over a ridge at its back, and from the playing field students had a spectacular view of ranks of gently sloped slate-blue mountains along the horizon.

She knew from her father that Josiah Cavanaugh, an eccentric philanthropist (but not a pagan, wizard, or zombie, despite Sheila's claims), had established the school in the 1910s in the hopes of attracting budding musicians from around the world to the tiny, unknown corner of Appalachia known as Brasstown. And, strangely enough, it had worked. Soon word spread that graduates of Ash Grove were consistently brilliant and accomplished, and enrollment grew. A theater building was added to the complex in the next decade, and the school began to turn out actors who won raves from critics and audiences alike. Josiah Cavanaugh's school soon had a dazzling reputation.

It also, locally at least, gained a reputation for stranger things. Some of Cavanaugh's eccentricities caused comment, like his insistence that the doorway of every building contain iron to ward off evil. There were also stories of things that had never been proven, such as the rose garden. It was said that Cavanaugh had had part of the woods cleared and a rose garden planted there for his bride, but no one had ever found a sign of such a garden. The closest anyone found were the wild roses that his will's executors had planted by his grave.

Cavanaugh himself was present in the form of a bronze statue that stood near the dining hall. Dressed in the formal style of the early 1900s, he sported a handlebar moustache and a frock coat. His gaze was fixed on the mountainous horizon. One hand was on his hip, and from the other a top hat dangled.

William elbowed Joy as they passed. "You should have fed Cavanaugh's hat last night," he said. "Then maybe your dreamboat would have given you his number." It was a tradition for students to throw coins into the statue's hat for good luck before a performance.

"Maddie would say I had plenty of luck even without Josiah's help." It was just too bad that money in the hat wouldn't do anything about her dad.

The campus was as resolutely old-fashioned as its founder. The dorms and classroom buildings were quaint buildings of red brick and local stone, with peaked English roofs and the expected ivy meandering over the walls. Inside were bare rafters, whitewashed walls painted with philosophical homilies, and well-worn plank floors. Despite its old-fashioned appearance, the school kept up to date in the important ways, with the latest lighting and sound equipment for the theater and music departments. But in every other respect it seemed like time had stopped there.

Ash Grove had never really built up ties to the outside community; most of the locals knew it only by name and through the ridiculous stories about its supernatural atmosphere. The school existed in its own cozy little bubble, out of time and even out of place, and let the rest of the world race on without it. And it continued to turn out brilliant graduates who went on to prestigious colleges and dazzling careers.

Joy seemed unlikely to become one of them, however. During the afternoon break, she was called to the principal's office.

"This is the third time this semester, Joy," said Dr. Eleanor Aysgarth. "I'm really surprised at you. First skipping classes, and now sneaking out of the dorm after lights out? I hope you didn't go so far as to leave school grounds."

Joy shrugged. "It was a nice night for a bike ride; what can I say?"

This received a stern look over the top of Dr. Aysgarth's glasses. Joy suspected that the principal wore glasses only because they made such a great theatrical prop. She gestured with them when she was lecturing. She took them off when she was about to make a significant point. She conveyed disapproval by tipping her head down and looking over them. It worked, though. Joy felt abashed as the cool blue eyes transfixed her over the tortoiseshell.

"I know things have been hard for you lately, with your father's illness and your having to move into the dorm."

Joy said nothing. The feeling of being out of place had always been there, even when she was a day student, but her father's presence had shielded her from the worst of it. Now that she had to live with the other students, she was getting the full impact. Some of the students, like Sheila and her crowd, acted as if her presence compromised Ash Grove's standards. Even those who didn't treat her like a freak show, like Maddie, seemed confused as to why she was even here.

When she didn't respond, the principal continued. "Even taking that into consideration, though, I can't just let you work out your issues by flouting the school rules. Why are you smiling?"

"I'm sorry," said Joy. "It's just that it's so nice to hear someone use 'flout' correctly. Everyone always gets it mixed up with 'flaunt.' I guess that's why you're a Ph.D."

The principal gave a heavy sigh. "Joy, come on. I don't want to be a dragon here. But you need to shape up. This isn't the first stunt you've pulled this semester. I thought you wanted to follow in your mother's tradition and really do good work here. Has that changed?"

Anna Merridew Sumner, an Ash Grove graduate, had had a brief but brilliant career as a singer, songwriter, and pianist. Her two CDs were now out of print, but pirated mp3s circulated widely. Joy knew she could never live up to her mother when it came to talent, but she had hoped somehow to follow in her footsteps and keep her memory, at least, alive.

When she said nothing, the principal pressed her advantage. "You might also want to think of your father's feelings. What will happen if I have to suspend you? How will he feel about that?"

She winced. Seeing it, Dr. Aysgarth's expression softened. "I know Sheila probably goaded you," she said in a gentler tone. "But I also know you're too smart to fall for that. If you need to get out on your own to work through things, come see me, and we'll work something out, okay? Otherwise"--she stood up, so that Joy had to look up at her--"I'm going to start to think that you made a mistake enrolling here."

Joy nodded dumbly. Her face was burning. It would be humiliating if she got thrown out of Ash Grove--not just for herself, but for Dad as well. It had never occurred to her before that it might happen. "I won't do it again," she said, and thought she was telling the truth.

"Good," said Dr. Aysgarth. And then, in such a low voice Joy could hardly catch it, "And if you do, don't get caught."

Sometimes, thought Joy as she headed to class, the principal was several shades of awesome.

After classes ended for the day and Joy returned to her dorm, she paused by the open door of Gail Brody's suite. Gail (it was hard to think of her as Mrs. Brody) was the resident faculty member, or dorm mother. She taught honors math, so Joy didn't have any classes with her, but they'd known each other for years, since Gail used to babysit Joy. It was nice having someone who felt like family in the dorm, but it made things awkward when teacherly duties clashed with family feeling. This was one of those times.

"Hey," she said, and Gail looked up from the papers she was grading. They were spread out across her living-room carpet, and she was sitting cross-legged in their midst. She was young, under thirty, and had only been married for a few years. Her husband, Jim, taught at Murphy High School, a short commute away.

"I just wanted to let you know that I spoke to Dr. Aysgarth," said Joy, feeling awkward. She knew that Gail was probably the one who had reported her absence last night.

The teacher nodded, which made her ponytail bob. In sweats instead of her teaching clothes, she looked little older than the students she supervised. "I was sorry to have to report you, Joy. But after Sheila told me you weren't in, I didn't have any choice but to follow it up."

Joy could have dope-slapped herself. How did she not guess that Sheila was setting her up? And she'd walked right into it.

But that wasn't Gail's fault. "No problem," she forced herself to say. "I knew I was out of line. Hereafter our heroine is a reformed character and becomes a shining example to the entire student body."

Gail laughed at her glum tone. "Surely not. That sounds pretty grim. Oh, did you hear the news?" she added, as Joy was turning away. "Melisande, the supermodel, is in town. You know that mansion they just finished building over the ridge from Ash Grove? It turns out it's hers, and she's moving in. She says--or her people say--she intends to start mentoring students." She wrinkled her nose at people. "I guess we didn't rate a personal appearance. Anyway--could be something to consider."

So it was true, and Melisande was in town. "But why would she move out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Apparently the herbs for her new skin-care line are grown in the area, and she liked the climate so much she decided to build a vacation home here. I suspect this is going to be her get-away-from-it-all refuge for when all the glamour and fame get to be too much for her."

"But won't she be bored?" Joy wondered. "I can't imagine just giving up that lifestyle."

The teacher shrugged. "Maybe she truly is interested in being a mentor to the next generation of toothpaste and underwear models. But honestly, I'll be surprised if we see much of her. I suspect that after a few months of country living she'll be jetting back to Hollywood. Except that she'll have to go all the way to Atlanta even to find a jet."

As Joy crossed the lobby and climbed the stairs to the room she shared with Maddie, she turned over the idea of Melisande as a mentor. No doubt about it, she was a very influential woman, and it would be a boost to anyone in the entertainment field to be able to drop Melisande's name. She suspected that this would be an exciting prospect to far more than just Sheila and her crowd.

Inside her room she dropped her book bag on her bed and kicked off her sneakers. Anyone seeing the room would have known just whose half was whose. Maddie's was a colorful jumble, the bed unmade, clothes heaped all over the floor, movie posters crowding the walls. Joy's area looked as if she hadn't finished moving in. The walls on her side were bare, and the top of her dresser held only a stack of books and a framed photograph of her with her father, taken when she was around eight years old, two years after her mother's death. Her father was giving her a piggyback ride, and both of them were looking into the camera with identical grins. She remembered the day the photo was taken: they were at Six Flags, and the July heat made the whole park smell of creosote. It was a smell she always associated with rollercoasters and happiness.

There were no pictures of her mother. Those were back at home, where Joy felt they would be safer, instead of being exposed to the hectic life of the dorm. Or maybe, she admitted to herself, she just hoped that she wouldn't be in the dorm long enough to miss her favorite possessions.

She booted up her laptop. It was an old one, without a built-in webcam, but William had set her up with an external one. Soon enough, there was her dad on the screen. It was always a bit of a shock to see him looking so pale and tired, but his smile at least hadn't changed. "Hey, kittycat," he said. "How's my girl?"

Twice a week, on Tuesday and Friday, they saw each other on Skype. Her father had said that any more often might derail Joy's studies, but she suspected he also found the visits tiring and didn't want to let her see it. She was always careful to avoid telling him about anything that might cause him to worry. Lately it meant that she'd been leaving a lot of stuff out. But since long conversations tired him, it was just as well.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He hesitated. "I had an infusion today, so I'm kind of wobbly. Nothing serious, though."

"You're getting plenty of rest? Not trying to do too much?" She didn't want to nag, but sometimes it felt like the closest she could get to actually helping him get better.

"Yes, Nurse Ratched." But the crinkles around his eyes showed that he wasn't scolding. "I'm in the running for patient of the year. How's English with Mr. Berenger?"

"Okay, I guess. He's started us on Macbeth, but he doesn't do the Scottish accent like you do. It's not nearly as much fun as reading it with you."

That made him laugh. "I wouldn't have the energy right now to do the accent anyway. It takes a lot of gusto--at least, the way I do it. And how's the job in the dining hall working out?"

She shrugged. It was okay as long as Sheila and her crowd didn't use it as an opportunity to mess with her. Just the teensiest sliver of turkey. Maybe that one there. Ew, gross, not that one! The one next to it. To the left. No, my left. How hard can it be to put a slice of meat on a plate? And so on.

It would be so different if Dad were home. They'd be cooking supper together at their house near the river, with the radio playing the oldies station and the back door wide open to the soft twilight air. If the river was running high, they would be able to hear its chatter, even over the music and the two-lane road that separated their front yard from the riverbank. After supper he'd run lines with her when she was in a play, or they might take turns reading aloud, Dickens or Wodehouse or Terry Pratchett.

Things would be like that again, she told herself. Dad would get well and come home, and she'd be able to leave the dorm and stop working in the dining hall.

If she just told herself that often enough, maybe she'd even start to believe it.

"I wish you'd let me come to Oklahoma to be with you," she blurted. "I feel so useless. I know I'd be more help to you there than I am here. I could keep track of your appointments, manage your meds..."

"We've discussed this already," he said. "It's better for you to stay at Ash Grove and not disrupt your education."

"It's already--" she began, but stopped. Part of her wanted to tell him she'd been reprimanded by Dr. Aysgarth. If she stopped shielding him from things, he might be concerned enough about her to consent to let her join him--but on the other hand, more worry wouldn't be good for him right now. She compromised.

"I can't focus on school when I'm worried about you," she said.

"Nevertheless." He was at his most teacherly when they argued. "I need you to try."

"If it's money that's the problem, I've been saving up, and pretty soon I should be able to afford plane fare. Maybe in a few more weeks--"

"Joy, no." He rubbed the bridge of his nose in the gesture that meant he was weary, but his voice had lost none of its conviction. "The best way you can help me is by staying on track with your studies and taking good care of yourself."

She sighed. "You're the one who needs taking care of."

"And I have a wonderful team of nurses and techs to do just that. In fact, here's Angela now, so I'll have to go."

Joy conceded defeat.

"I'll talk to you soon, then, Dad," she said. "I love you."

She never used to say that before his diagnosis; it was always understood between them. But now, when he said, "I love you too, honey" and closed the session, she wondered if he knew that she said it because she was scared he might die.

She shut down the computer and gathered up her sheet music. Still in sock feet, she padded back downstairs to the dorm lobby, where a piano stood against the back wall.

Her mother had been a piano virtuoso before she had graduated from high school, so Joy had some catching up to do. Unfortunately, she still found reading music a slog. Also, she had inherited her father's short, stubby fingers, so she had to work hard to span the keys. As she played scales to warm up, she found her thoughts returning to Tristan. With those long, slender fingers, he'd probably be a terrific pianist.

Then her hands stilled on the keys, as the image flashed into her memory all at once, like a snapshot.

Not piano. Guitar.

He used to sit at the first table on the left as she entered the dining hall. Feet propped up on a chair (until a teacher caught him), picking softly at a guitar. Never paying attention to anything but his own music. He had been skinnier then--the long sessions at the gym must have come later. And his hair was shaggy and fell in his face, hiding his remarkable eyes and cheekbones. But it was definitely the same guy. Tanner Lindsey had been a student at Ash Grove.

He was at least a year ahead of her, she remembered, so they had had no classes together. She couldn't remember ever having seen him hanging out with anyone, so it was no wonder her friends hadn't been able to place him either. And after the start of her sophomore year she couldn't remember seeing him again--not until their encounter in the graveyard. She wondered how he had been discovered by Melisande, and what he was doing back in town. She couldn't imagine that rural North Carolina had much to attract world-class models. Maybe he still had family here?

But that wasn't the most pressing question. What in the world would make a celebrity model exile himself to a graveyard and call himself a dead man?

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# Chapter 3

Next morning at assembly Dr. Aysgarth announced that Melisande, as their new next-door neighbor, was holding an open house that Saturday for the students of Ash Grove. Those interested could sign up with Dr. Aysgarth's office aide. Even before the principal had finished speaking, the excited chatter of the students nearly drowned her out.

Normally the event would have been of only mild interest to Joy. But since there was the possibility that Tanner would be there, she joined the roiling mass of students who were signing up. "We'll have to go in shifts," laughed Tasha Daltrey, Joy's best friend among the day students. "If we all go at once, Melisande will run and hide in her panic room. And I wouldn't blame her."

"Are you hoping to meet a Broadway producer?" asked Joy. "Or just going out of curiosity?" Tasha was a triple threat as a performer: actress, singer, and dancer. She was also consistently voted one of Ash Grove's prettiest students. Her combination of coffee-colored skin and light amber eyes was arresting, and she carried herself with a dancer's grace. But unlike some of the other reigning beauties (Sheila came to mind), she didn't try to enforce her superiority on anyone else.

"Some of both, I guess," said Tasha. "It sure never hurts to know someone in the business. Clark's riding with me; do you and William want to come with?" Day students were allowed to have cars on campus, but boarding students were stuck with the school's shuttles unless they could cadge rides with day students.

"William's not going." He had no interest in celebrities and said the evening would be better spent playing L.A. Noire. "But Maddie thought it might be a good chance for some networking. We'd love a ride."

"Cool, we'll meet up in your dorm lobby beforehand. Hey, I've been meaning to ask: how's your dad doing?"

"About the same, " said Joy, making an effort to speak lightly. "It's just going to take a while before we know if the chemo is working."

Tasha looked concerned, and opened her mouth to reply, but then the two were jostled aside by other students eager to get their names on the list. Joy wasn't sorry to have the conversation cut short. It was nice that her friends asked after her father, but speaking about him without getting emotional was almost impossible. She waved a goodbye at Tasha and retreated from the fray.

Although Melisande's house was only a short distance away from the Ash Grove campus as the crow flies, it was only accessible via the road, which meant going the long way round. As they passed through the security gates and along the driveway in Tasha's Toyota, it became clear why Melisande had not made it easier to reach her: the winding drive between tree-covered hills ended in a dramatic view of the house, so that visitors would be duly impressed.

Some visitors, anyway. "It's like the Ikea version of Falling Water," was Maddie's verdict.

The house was a jarring contrast to Ash Grove. As neighbors, it would have been hard to find two as different as the rough-hewn, comfortable Ash Grove and the sleek modernity of Melisande's house, its facade lit up by floodlights. On the inside they found that it was open and airy, with scarcely any dividing walls, and as pale as a blank canvas: the walls were light cream, and the floor was of blond wood, only interrupted with a few throw rugs of white fur. Squashy sofas upholstered in pale linen and low glass-topped tables were the only furnishings except for a grand piano on a dais at the far end of the room, where a male pianist was playing almost inaudibly over the conversation. A free-standing staircase descended from the upper floor. The overall effect was expensive but sparse, even to the point of being characterless--all except for the art. The paintings and photographs on the walls all showed just one subject: Melisande.

Pouting on magazine covers; vamping in a quirky portrait by Annie Leibovitz; wearing eighties shoulder pads in a stylized painting by Nagel; even draped in Grecian robes in a publicity still from a sword-sandals-and-CGI movie. She was everywhere Joy looked.

"It's a shrine to herself," she said in a low voice to Maddie, who nodded.

"She must have an ego the size of Lookout Mountain."

"I think she's divine," announced Clark, William's roommate, who was surveying the scene with an almost hungry look. He had dressed up for the occasion as the girls had not: he wore a cobalt-blue shirt with the sheen of silk, and the crease in his pants was sharp enough to cut steak. His butter-colored hair and blue eyes gave him a deceptively cherubic look. "I've never seen so many gorgeous people in one place--and they're all here because of her."

It was true. The room was filled with beautiful people. Tall, slender, with perfectly toned bodies that spoke of a rigorous diet and exercise regime--or excellent genes--they lounged on the sofas or draped themselves elegantly against the walls, posed as if someone were painting their portraits. The women had long, shining hair; the men were either moussed or dramatically shaved. All were so perfect and exquisite they might have been sculpted, polished, buffed, and lacquered for viewing. All of their gestures were graceful and fluid, as if they were dancers. Probably some of them were, Joy thought.

She recognized a runway model who had been in the news lately for her engagement to a race-car driver, and a classical violinist who had crossed over into the mainstream as much for his surly dark handsomeness as for his playing. Joy felt that William had made a wise decision in opting out of the evening; he had predicted it would be a glorified photo op, and so far it looked like he was going to be proven right. The Ash Grove teachers who were present in the role of chaperones looked sadly out of place. Among them Joy recognized Dr. Michael Fellowes, Ash Grove's former principal, whose silver hair made him all the more anomalous in the crowd of young people.

"I feel like a Hobbit," said Maddie. "Isn't there anyone else here under six feet tall?"

"And does it seem to you like there's a lot of skin showing?" Joy couldn't help asking. She knew that she was probably more easily shocked than her friends, because none of them had grown up in a small town, but there certainly seemed to be a very relaxed attitude toward going shirtless (among the men) or low-cut and short-skirted (the women).

"Maybe if you spend a lot of your time sculpting your body, you want to show it off as much as possible," suggested Tasha, but Joy's attention had wandered elsewhere. She was looking in vain for Tanner.

A tall man (but they were all tall) with an air of authority strode over to them. With his dark, sculpted beard and small silver hoop earrings he looked like a cross between a pirate and a rock star. He had very even white teeth, which he flashed in a Mephistophelian smile at them, and a Bluetooth in one ear.

"My, what tender young morsels," he said. "Welcome, ladies and gentleman. Just when I was beginning to get bored, too. I'm Raven, Melisande's right-hand man."

"Just Raven?" asked Maddie. "No last name, like Flea?"

His grin widened, and his dark eyes dwelt appreciatively on her. "A bit less parasitic than that. And what is your name, sweetheart?"

Maddie introduced them. To Joy's horror, Raven kissed the hands of all the girls (he settled for giving Clark a wink).

"You'll find a selection of mocktails at the bar. In deference to Ash Grove rules, we're alcohol-free tonight. Melisande should be joining us soon, so just make yourselves comfortable and enjoy mingling in the meantime."

"Is everyone--" began Joy, and then thought better of it. But she had caught Raven's attention.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if Tristan is coming."

"As a matter of fact, he will be here tonight," said Raven, raising an interested eyebrow. "I take it you're a fan of his?"

"She's his biggest fan," Clark put in before Joy could speak, and she stared at him in shock. He didn't know she had met Tristan. "She's got pictures of him all over her room, and she kisses every one of them before she goes to bed every night. If you could arrange it, she'd love to get his autograph." He added in a stage whisper, "On one of her, you know, girls."

It was typical Clark mischief, but Joy could have strangled him. It didn't help that Maddie and Tasha, the traitors, were having to struggle not to laugh.

"Indeed!" Raven looked amused but intrigued. "So our Tristan has a local following. We'll just have to see what we can do about that autograph."

He slipped away before she could protest. She glared at Clark. "Remind me to kill you later."

"You're welcome," he said, unrepentant.

"You're impossible," she returned.

As angry as she was, however, she was soon distracted by the famous faces in the room. The lure of people-watching was too strong to withstand.

"Isn't that woman in purple the actress who's in all those corset-and-bustle movies?"

"You're right! And that's Olivier what's-his-name, the French actor. I didn't realize he was even in this country. What is he doing out here in the middle of nowhere? What are all of them doing here, for that matter?"

"They're Melisande's entourage, of course." A familiar voice made them turn. Sheila Hardesty stood behind them with Alissa and miscellaneous boyfriends. Her eyes glittered as she took in the scene. "All these people follow her everywhere just because she's so incredible."

Maddie exchanged a look with Joy. "And it has nothing to do with her influence, or the fact that she can promote their careers," she said skeptically.

Sheila tossed her head impatiently, and Alissa chimed in. "They have agents who do all that. Melisande is just an amazing presence to be around. You haven't met her; you wouldn't get it."

"Wow, I'm so glad they're here," said Maddie witheringly, as they swept off in a cloud of scorn. "However would we lost little lambs manage without the BBBs to guide us?"

Tasha gave her a pained look. "You know I hate that expression. Not all of us in ballet are bitches."

"In your case, it can stand for Beautiful Black Ballerina," Joy offered.

"Just like, in Blake's case, it stands for Bodacious Baritone Beefcake," said Clark. "Where is he tonight, by the way?"

Maddie snorted. "I'd be the last one to know. I'm just his Bitter Brunette Beard."

Before they could ask her what she meant, the noise level dropped suddenly, and Joy felt a charged expectancy in the room. The pianist who had been playing unheard drew his hands back from the keys. Everyone was looking toward the staircase, and Joy followed their gaze.

A shining apparition was making its graceful way down the stairs. Joy had seen so many depictions of Melisande by now that she thought she knew what to expect. But photographs had not caught her personality, and Joy realized at once that Melisande's effect in person was something no photograph could convey.

Melisande moved noiselessly, languidly. With her white skin and white-blonde hair that fell past her waist, she seemed to gather all the light in the room. She wore nothing but a charmeuse slip dress, and this too was white. She actually seemed to glow as she entered the room. She held her head with the calm assurance of a queen, and Joy was not surprised when applause broke out around her. The woman could certainly stage an entrance.

"Good evening, everyone," she said in a voice that was cool and silvery, yet somehow seemed to reach every corner. "I'm glad to see you all here. Those of you from Ash Grove High, please make yourself at home, and don't be bashful about introducing yourselves." She smiled and surveyed the room. "I don't think my other guests require introductions."

There was an appreciative ripple of laughter, and a wave of people surged up to her. Even Dr. Fellowes was caught up in heroine worship; she saw his silver head among all the blonde and brunette ones jostling to be near her.

Joy continued to examine her hostess. She really was extraordinary looking. Her hair was as pale and glossy as corn silk, and so fine that it wafted gently in every current of air. Her hands and feet--which were bare--were small and finely shaped. The rest of her was shapely too, as her bias-cut slip dress made very clear.

"She's not wearing a bra," Joy couldn't help observing.

"That's not all she's not wearing," said Maddie. "If she stands in front of a light we'll be able to see how recent her last bikini wax was."

Tasha looked impressed. "I hope I look half as good when I'm her age. She's got the body of a twenty-year-old."

"Hidden in the trunk of her car, maybe," Maddie muttered. "There's something creepy about her."

"You're just jealous." Clark sighed in satisfaction. "She makes Madonna look like Joan Rivers."

They fell silent as the woman herself glided toward them, entourage in tow. One eager attendant held her drink for her, another had a Bluetooth and tablet computer, and a third was ready with a snowy white wrap in case she became chilled. "Welcome, all of you," she said. "Do tell me your names." Even up close, her face was smooth and unlined; the only indication that she was older than her guests was the authority in her eyes and voice. Joy noticed that her fingernails and toenails were painted to look like gold. They were almost the only touch of warmth about her, except for the blush tint of her mouth.

A handsome young man who looked like a cross between a Greek god and a thundercloud pushed into the group. He had a crest of dark curly hair and moody dark eyes, which were fixed on his hostess. Joy realized that he was the man who had been playing the piano when they entered.

"Finally, I have a chance to see you without your lapdog," he said to Melisande. "Don't tell me he's no longer the golden child?"

Melisande regarded him with amusement. "He's getting dressed, Saxon. You might try to put yourself in a better humor for our guests."

He actually pouted. "It's not fair. I never get a chance to spend any time alone with you."

Melisande laughed outright at that. It was a soft tinkling sound that made Joy think of a glass harp--fingertips drawn along the mouths of crystal goblets. She stroked Saxon's cheek. "You know that's not true. Now, stop sulking, or I'll send you to your room."

As she spoke, arms went around her waist from behind her, and a man's head buried itself in her neck. "Is Saxon getting a scolding?" came a muffled voice. "I'm glad I didn't miss it."

"Oh, praise be, the prince consort has arrived," said Saxon sourly. "Let's all bask in his glory."

The newcomer stopped nuzzling Melisande's neck and raised his head. "Envy is so unattractive, Saxon," he said.

Joy felt a jolt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. It was Tanner.

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# Chapter 4

He wore black leather pants and nothing else. The waves of his hair were sculpted with gel, not tousled as before. And was that eyeliner? Joy only realized she was staring when Melisande purred, "This must be your big fan, Tristan. Do you two know each other?"

"Yes, we ran into each other--" Joy began, but he gave her a barely perceptible shake of the head, and she trailed off.

"We crossed paths sometimes at Ash Grove when I was still a student there," he said. "Joy was, what, two years behind me?"

"One," she said. "I'm a junior now." She didn't understand why he wanted to cover up the other night, but she did her best to improvise. "It's got to be at least a year since we talked." She could feel Maddie staring at her, and silently willed her not to call her out on the lie.

"Feels like a lifetime ago," said Tanner. "But then, everything from before I met Melisande feels like it happened to a different person."

"I remember you now," exclaimed Clark. He added with an admiring lift of his eyebrow, "You've filled out since then."

"It's Tanner, right?" added Tasha. "You were in the music track."

"It's Tristan now." His tone didn't encourage reminiscence, but Joy couldn't help asking, "Do you still play?"

He gave her a vague look. His eyes looked drowsy, unfocused. "Ah, I haven't touched a guitar in... probably over a year."

"Tristan stays very busy," explained Melisande, as if to a child. "He is very much in demand as a model. He hasn't time for such childishness now."

Joy knew she should let it pass, but she heard herself saying, "Music isn't childishness, ma'am." The green eyes narrowed at that. "Tan--Tristan was very talented. It would be a shame if that talent went to waste." She directed those words to him as much as to her.

He shrugged. He had one hand resting on Melisande's bare shoulder, and his fingers toyed with the thin strap of her dress. "I wasn't going anywhere with music," he said, his eyes drifting back to his mentor. "After I met Melisande, a lot of things that had seemed important didn't really matter anymore."

Melisande took that as a compliment. "Darling, how sweet." She turned her face up to him for a kiss. It was a long kiss. Maddie caught Joy's eye and made a "what the hell?" face. But Joy knew what was going on. Melisande was establishing that Tanner was her property, as clearly as if she were a dog that had lifted its leg and peed on him. Mine, she was signaling. Back off.

Before she had enrolled at Ash Grove, Joy had felt at peace with her looks. She knew she was never going to be tall or slender, or a classic Snow White like her mother, so she had resigned herself to being what she was: short, sturdily built, with generous curves. Her nose was smushed-in instead of being elfin, like Maddie's, or elegant, like Tasha's. She had an abundance of freckles and a lot of springy dirty-blonde hair that tended to frizz in humid weather. Overall, Joy was most often described--and oh, how she hated the word--as cute. That was a word for chihuahuas and Hello Kitty, not a (nearly) grown woman. Being called cute made her feel as if she was being patted on the head and told to run along and play.

Being surrounded by girls who embodied the tall, willow-slim feminine ideal showcased in all the magazines was rough. And now, confronted with the cool perfection of Melisande, seeing Tanner absorbed entirely in her, Joy had never felt quite so dumpy, awkward, and plain. She was suddenly aware that her nose was shiny and that a small but unmistakable muffin top pooched over the waistband of her jeans. She stood up straighter and tried to suck in her stomach.

Melisande seemed satisfied that she had made her point, and was generous in her victory. "Clark, Maddie, let me introduce you to a theatrical producer, and Saxon, be a good boy and take Tasha to meet our friend from LA. We'll leave Tristan and--Joyce, was it?--to catch up with one another."

Surrounded by her entourage she glided away, and Tanner's eyes followed her until she was swallowed up by the crowd of fans. Then, as if an unseen puppeteer had cut his strings, he dropped onto a sofa and settled into a slouch. He and Joy were alone.

A white-coated caterer bustled up with a drink, but he waved it away. He looked almost as if he were about to go to sleep, but presently he said, in a low voice, "Thanks for not giving me away."

"No problem." Joy took a seat on the ottoman across from him. She couldn't restrain her curiosity, though, and added, "Would you have gotten into trouble if she knew you went to the graveyard?"

He regarded her for a moment. His eyes were a luminous gray, she saw now, but from some angles they seemed darker because they were so deeply set. His sharply angled eyebrows gave him an intent expression that was at odds with his sleepy posture. "I told her I was out riding to shake off a mood. If she found out that I was really with you, she wouldn't be happy."

"But you didn't go there intending to see me."

"Doesn't matter. And it would make it worse that you and I knew each other from before."

"She's that possessive?" Melisande was beginning to sound as creepy as the rumors painted her.

"It's hard to explain," he said. "You may not remember, but I used to have a pretty strong accent. That good ol' boy drawl, right? She had that schooled out of me in the first month." He sat up, trying to find the right words. "She likes the people around her to belong entirely to her. To not have any history outside of what she's given us."

"She thinks she's Professor Henry Higgins and you're Audrey Hepburn."

"Sort of." He almost smiled. "But don't let her hear you compare her to Rex Harrison."

"But that meant that you had to leave everything behind? Not just school, but your friends, your family--" She realized that she had no idea whether he even had a family. "Or did you not have much to leave behind?"

His eyes went dark again, and he seemed to withdraw. "I was dying to get out of here," he said. "There was no reason to stay. When she came along, it was like a dream come true. Or that's what it felt like at the time."

That piqued her curiosity. "Aren't you happy?"

"Why wouldn't I be happy? More money than I know what to do with, traveling all over the world, hot babes throwing themselves at me all the time. And Melisande is the original cougar."

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "That doesn't answer my question."

He shrugged, and his eyes drifted closed as he sank back against the sofa cushions. "I've got everything a guy could want. I'd have to be crazy to not be happy."

She wondered if the scorn in his voice was directed at her or at himself. But before she could ask, she felt a chill watchfulness behind her. At the same time, Tanner's posture tautened into awareness, and she realized that Melisande had returned.

"Joyce, I hope Tristan has been keeping you entertained," she said sweetly.

Joy didn't quite dare to correct her. "Yes, we've been having an interesting conversation," she said.

Melisande raised her white-blonde eyebrows in a question at Tanner, which he answered with a droop of his eyelids that clearly signaled that he'd been bored to death.

"Yes, Joyce has been reminding me of old times--barn dances and hog-stickin's," he said in an exaggerated drawl. "I remember now why I was so glad to get away from this hick place."

"Now, there's no need to insult our guest's home," Melisande said mildly, but his words had mollified her; she laced her fingers through his and settled herself against him on the sofa. "Those who don't have anything to compare it to probably think this is quite a special place."

Joy gave her a bright false smile. "Building a million-dollar house here certainly suggests that you think it's pretty special too, ma'am."

She regretted her pertness when Melisande's green eyes dwelled coldly on her face. A shiver ran down her back, and she suddenly found herself thinking of all the stories that painted Melisande as a dangerous woman to cross.

"I find the climate ideal for growing my herbs," Melisande said softly. "Not to mention that it's marvelous for the complexion. It's only the quality of the people one meets that's a drawback." She rose in one graceful movement, drawing Tanner to his feet as well. "Come, darling," she said to him. "We must say goodnight to our guests before they have to leave."

In other words, Go home. Tanner didn't even look away from the blonde goddess beside him as he mumbled goodnight to Joy.

Joy watched the two of them moved away to make the rounds among the students and glitterati. They were constantly touching--her fingers trailing down his bare arm, his hand resting on the small of her back. Maddie joined her at that moment, saw the direction in which she was looking, and muttered, "God, why don't they just get a room?"

Joy wished Maddie hadn't put that image in her head. She wasn't sure if it was the age difference that bothered her, or if--but no, she never would have stood a chance against the delectable Melisande, so how could she be jealous?

Tasha and Clark drifted over to them. "What did y'all think of our hostess?" Joy asked.

"She's incredibly charismatic," Tasha said. "I can see why she's a star. But she's not exactly someone who puts you at your ease."

Maddie gave a derisive snort. "That's the last thing she wants. She's all about the power trip."

"Maybe so," said Clark, looking wistfully after Melisande and Tanner. "But she chooses some very scenic destinations."

Even kindhearted Tasha giggled, but Joy snapped, "He's a person, Clark, not beachfront property. C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Yeah, I'm dying for a cigarette," said Maddie. "And I think our hostess will have me shot if I light up inside."

The last glimpse Joy had of Tanner was of him standing among Melisande's entourage, just another tall, physically perfect specimen, secure in the admiration directed their way. He blended in so well that she almost couldn't find him in the crowd.

But she was remembering the question he hadn't answered. If you were happy, she thought, you wouldn't have been wandering around a graveyard spoiling for a fight.

"Well, Joy," said Maddie on the drive back to campus, "I have to say I was disappointed in your Tanner. He just seems sleazy to me. The way he came on to you the other night, and then he's all over Melisande tonight? I'll bet he's one of those guys who has to have every woman he meets panting after him."

"Cheekbones came on to you?" demanded Clark. "When? Tell me everything!"

"It wasn't like that." She briefly filled him and Tasha in on their graveyard encounter. "He was different then, though. He even loaned me his flashlight." Which was still in her purse; she had forgotten to return it to him.

"Maybe he's on something," was Clark's thought. "That could explain why he was so different tonight."

"I guess," she said reluctantly. From the languid way he behaved, he definitely could have been doped up. Didn't celebs usually go in for uppers like cocaine, though? "I think there's something more going on with him," she persisted. "It's almost like he's got two different personalities. I don't believe he's really that shallow."

Clark shook his head at her. "Denial, honey. I hate to say it, but pretty Tristan looks about as deep as a reflecting pool."

Joy appealed to Tasha as the least jaded of those present. "What did you think of him, Tash?"

Tasha resolutely kept her eyes on the road. "I'm sorry, Joy, but I didn't like him," she said. "Acting like he was too good for us, pretending he hadn't even seen you the other night--"

"He explained that. Melisande would have been ticked off at him."

"Well, I guess that makes sense. He and Saxon were like a couple of dogs with a bone, fighting over her."

"Bone being the operative word," drawled Clark.

Joy thought about how well Tanner fit in with all the beautiful people at the party, with their languor and vanity. He seemed, she had to admit it, very much in his element, and that disappointed her. She really wanted to believe there was more to him. But she probably wouldn't ever get the chance to find out, especially since she had already made an enemy of Melisande.

"It's just like I'm always saying," proclaimed Maddie, lighting a cigarette. When Tasha gave her a look, she rolled down her window to let the smoke out. "All men are dogs when you get right down to it. You can't trust any of them."

"Hey," said Clark mildly, and she flapped a hand at him in acknowledgment.

"I mean straight guys."

"William's not a jerk," Tasha pointed out.

"Exception that proves the rule."

"How about Blake?" asked Joy. "You can't think so badly of him if you're going out with him."

Maddie's laugh was bitter. "Like I said: gay guys don't count."

"Wait, what?" Joy sat up straighter. "Blake's gay? When did that happen?"

"Born that way, so I'm told."

"You know what I mean. Did you know that when you started dating?"

"Of course not. But he finally came clean today. I think I was an experiment. You know, testing to see if he was just confused or if he really does want to be with a guy."

"I've always thought Blake was bicurious at the very least," Clark seconded. When Maddie turned to glare at him, he added, "I didn't want to spoil things for you if you were happy together. But if you're really through, can I ask him out?"

"Very sensitive, Clark. Sure, whatever. I hope he treats you better than he did me."

"You mean he's just been using you like some kind of science project?" Joy exclaimed. "That's so cold. I can't believe he could do that."

"Well, it did have its good side," Maddie conceded. "He was kind of restful after my last couple of boyfriends. With them it was all sex, all the time... which brings me back to my original point, which is that this Tristan guy is a jerk, and you're better off steering clear of him. And even if he wasn't, his boss lady doesn't look like the kind who deals well with competition."

"Maybe you're right," Joy said, subdued. She turned her head to stare out the window once again, and sighed without realizing it. It wasn't as if she could compete with Melisande, anyway. Tanner was where he belonged, with the beautiful people, and she'd probably never see him again.

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# Chapter 5

On Saturdays no classes were held, but Joy had a piano tutorial with Dr. Maurice Marzavan. Mo, as he insisted on being called, was as short as Joy and at least twice as wide, with a round bald head and protruding blue eyes. He always reminded Joy a little bit of a gnome, perhaps in part because his office, in the basement of the academic building, had such a subterranean atmosphere. The wall-to-wall shelves were crammed with sheet music and bound music scores. Dark linoleum and low-wattage lighting gave it a gloomy air, and what little daylight struggled in through the small ivy-hung windows had a greenish tinge.

Mo was known for his bluntness; he regularly reduced freshmen to tears, and on one notorious occasion he'd jumped on top of his desk to rail at a classroom full of inattentive students. Joy appreciated his candor, but she was still unprepared for the conversation that started when she finished playing for him today.

"Joy," he said, "I'm wondering if we made the right decision in letting you switch to the music track."

"What? But I wasn't going anywhere in the drama track. You remember."

"I remember you said you weren't good-looking enough to be an actress, but Mr. Dudley didn't agree that looks are that important." That was the head of the theater program.

"It's different for guys. They don't have to be attractive to make it. But an actress with my looks isn't going to get far." She hoped she didn't sound resentful. It had been bitterly disappointing to realize that she wasn't going to get anywhere with drama. "When someone's listening to your music they don't care how you look. And for the music video, you just hire an actress. A pretty actress."

"I see." Mo drummed his fingers on his desk. Joy noticed that he was missing two of the sleeve buttons of his blazer. Mo was a bachelor, and while Gail was inclined to mourn that he had no one to take care of him, Joy suspected that he relished his freedom--in this case, the freedom to wear threadbare, mismatched clothes without caring what his wife (or anyone else) thought. She knew he was getting around to something unpleasant, but she was still unprepared when he asked, "Have you thought about careers other than music?"

"What do you mean?" She tried to force down the anxiety that tightened her voice. "Am I not good enough?"

He looked her in the eyes and shook his head. "I don't think you are. No, listen to me," as she stood up to leave. "You're becoming competent, which is a long way from where you started, and you deserve credit for that. But I don't see you progressing beyond competence. You're becoming technically proficient, but nothing more."

She stared at the scuffed linoleum floor. She could feel her face getting hot. "So I'll never be another Anna Merridew Sumner, is that what you're saying?"

"Is that what you want to be?" When she didn't answer, he said, "I'm not comparing you to her. That wouldn't be fair--she set a high bar, even for Ash Grove. I'm just suggesting that you think about switching back to the drama track. I don't think you're cut out for this, Joy."

Stung, she retorted, "I don't know how you can tell after just one year. I'm working hard. I'm getting better."

"You're getting less bad, yes." But his voice wasn't as unkind as his words. He sat back and sighed, lacing his fingers over his broad stomach. "Prove me wrong, then. I'd love it if you turned out to be another prodigy like your mother. The world could use another Anna Merridew."

She gathered up her music and stuffed it into her book bag. "I'm doing my best," she said, and left his office quickly, before she did anything she'd regret, like cry or snap at him. Not until she was crossing the playing field did her steps slow, as she thought about her mother, about her music.

It was true that Joy had never felt any strong inclination to study music until she was a sophomore at Ash Grove. Up through middle school her strongest subject was English, and she had loved the theater program at Ash Grove--until she began to realize that nobody around her thought she had any business being there. She was passed over for the big roles, relegated to being Villager #3 or Second Roman Citizen. When she got the idea of carrying on her mother's legacy, it seemed like the perfect plan. She stopped signing up for drama classes and auditioning for plays and started taking piano lessons and music classes. And this was the result of more than a year's hard work: she was almost competent.

At least Mo was willing to let her keep trying. She wasn't being kicked out of the program... yet. She remembered Dr. Aysgarth's comment about thinking Joy had made a mistake in coming to Ash Grove. What if she couldn't make a go of it? Would she have to transfer to Murphy High? What would she have to work toward then?

She knew her father would be perfectly content for her to become a teacher, like him, and there had been a time when she'd planned to go in that direction. But how much happier he would be if she could follow in her mother's footsteps. He'd never even hinted that he wanted that for her, but she knew it without his saying so.

She had to find a way to convince Mo that she was up to the challenge. Otherwise... she fought back a rising feeling of panic. She had to make a go of this, for her father's sake. But knowing that Mo didn't believe she could was a blow that would take her a while to recover from.

As Joy approached the far side of the playing field she noticed a small group of students gathered near one of the mountain ash trees. When she drew nearer, a shift in the crowd gave her a glimpse of a dangerously sexy black motorcycle, and her steps quickened even though there was no way she could know from this distance that it was a Kawasaki Ninja.

But she was right. Tanner was standing next to the bike, signing autographs for the girls who crowded around. There were guy students as well, their attention divided between the bike and the celebrity. Then Tanner looked up and saw her.

"Guys, would you mind giving us some space?" he asked, and Joy winced inwardly as all the faces turned toward her, surprised and curious. But they fell back obediently, and when Joy finally approached close enough to Tanner that they wouldn't have to raise their voices, they were to all intents and purposes alone.

He leaned against the tree with his hands shoved into his pockets, looking at her, not smiling. She wondered which of his faces she'd see today: the Byronic brooder or the lounge lizard? Today he was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and a white oxford shirt unbuttoned beneath it. He looked more rumpled and more human than he had at the party, and his beauty struck her like a physical blow. It was the first time she'd seen him in daylight, and if she had assumed that low lighting flattered him, she'd been mistaken: he was heartbreakingly handsome, with so much refinement in the angles of his cheekbones, the definition of his chest and abs--she dragged her eyes back to his face, only to meet the gaze of those intense gray eyes.

"I've been waiting for you," he said.

The words brought a quick rush of pleasure, but she told herself not to get her hopes up. "What for?"

He pushed off from the tree. "I wanted to get away from things for a while. And I thought you might like to join me."

"Yeah, I'd like that." She hoped that her enthusiasm wasn't too obvious. "But why me?"

He did smile then, and the sight made her heart thud in her chest. "Because you are the total opposite of all the superficial glamour girls that I'm used to."

"Um, thanks--I think."

The expression on her face made him laugh. He looked younger and more relaxed when he laughed, and she remembered that there had been very little laughter at Melisande's. "No, seriously, I enjoy talking to you," he said, handing her a helmet. "How long can you stay out?"

"Until 5:30." That was when the dinner shift began at the dining hall. "But where's your helmet?"

A shrug. "Don't use one."

"You should," she said, severely. "It's awfully dangerous not to wear one. Also illegal."

He slung a leg over the bike and began the process of starting it up. "It's all the same to me." As the engine roared into life, he asked over the noise, "Are you coming? Or does your conscience prevent you from abetting a bareheaded rider?" The bright gray eyes looked a challenge at her, and she knew she was going with him.

It had been a couple of years since she'd been a passenger on a motorcycle, and he had to help her find the pegs where she would rest her feet. When she put her arms around his waist, she found her hands brushing bare skin, and she reflexively drew back.

"No, go ahead," he directed her. "Hold onto me." He caught hold of one hand and drew her arm around him, so that her hand rested against his bare midriff. She thought she heard amusement in his voice when he said, "You'll need to hold me tighter."

Slightly breathless, she did so. She figured she was blushing, and was glad she was behind him, where he couldn't see her face. But all her self-consciousness vanished as he revved the bike and took them through campus and out into the winding country roads.

The spring countryside became a green blur around them as Tanner accelerated. She didn't know where they were going, and maybe he didn't either, so she just gave herself up to enjoyment of the ride.

The two-lane asphalt road led past the cluster of shops and gas station that constituted Brasstown and past meadows where horses and cattle grazed. They passed weeping willows in bright new green and redbud trees in mauve. Dandelions and phlox scattered the grass, and forsythia bushes bloomed by the roadside. Some fields showed dead cut-down cornstalks or dry, dun-colored kudzu vines. But those were the exceptions; almost everywhere she looked she saw the vivid colors of spring. A waterfall flashed by as they passed Mission Dam.

Holding tightly to him as they leaned into the curves, Joy let her eyes close and just felt the wind rushing by, heard the eager growl of the engine.

"How you doing?" yelled Tanner above the sound of the bike. "Okay?"

She nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "Very okay!" she shouted. She realized she was grinning with happiness. All the depression and anxiety of her meeting with Mo were blowing away with the spring breeze.

For answer he sped up even faster. Soon they pulled off Highway 64 onto the winding narrow road that led to the dam at Lake Chatuge. Ranch houses and mobile homes flashed by, and then they crossed the bridge over the river and were in the woods. The road led between high wooded banks where the trees wore bright new shades of green, and the blossoms on a single white dogwood showed like a fall of snow suspended in midair.

Tanner slowed the bike as they reached the end of the road. The small parking area there looked down over the broad shining expanse of the lake, with its fringe of mountains at the far side. At right the paved path stretched between the lake and the steep incline down to the dam machinery and then to fields and trees, but Tanner took them in the other direction, down the slight hill where tire tracks marked a path to a small patch of sandy red beach at the lake's edge. Joy unfastened her helmet as Tanner cut the ignition, and the sudden quiet rushed into her ears.

Ducks were padding there at the edge of the water, and their quacking was almost the only sound there was aside from the soft plashing of the water against the shore. Occasionally she could hear the gentle sound of a mourning dove. With the hill at their back and the lake before them, they had a world all to themselves. "It's lovely here," she said, standing perfectly still. "I've walked the path before, but I've never come down here to the lake. It must be a good place to get away from everyone," and she glanced over to see what he would say to this.

Tanner lay sprawled on his back, hands clasped behind his head and eyes closed against the sunlight, as if he might be about to take a nap. His jacket and shirt had fallen open, laying bare the lean muscled torso that Blake said was so high maintenance. There was elegance even in the line of his throat, from his strong jaw to the hollow at the base of his neck. She looked away, embarrassed not only by the sight but by her own wish to stare.

"Are all of you--all of her proteges--so comfortable about showing skin?" she couldn't help asking.

Surprised, he opened his eyes. "I never thought about it. Yeah, I guess so. You get used to it in modeling. Why, does it bother you?"

"I'm just not used to it, is all," she said, and sat down a short distance away, carefully so that the gritty mixture of red clay and sand wouldn't get ground into her jeans. "I don't have any brothers, so I've just never really been around, you know, shirtless guys."

"What about boyfriends?"

"I haven't dated much." It sounded so pathetic, said out loud.

He rolled up on one elbow to look at her. "Why not?" he asked.

If she'd known she was going to get grilled like this, she would have turned down the ride. "Well, for one thing, my dad's a teacher, and nobody wants to date a girl when her father teaches in his school."

"And the other thing?"

He was not going to let this go. "Let's just say I'm not supermodel material," she said.

To her relief, he took this quietly, and lay back down on the beach. Presently he said, "No brothers. Any sisters?"

"Nope. And my mom died a long time ago, so it's just been Dad and me."

"It must be lonely for you, with him at the clinic."

She wondered how he knew about that. It wasn't a subject she wanted to discuss. "What about you?" she asked. "What's your family like?"

He gave a short, humorless laugh and laid one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunshine. "My family. Well, if you mean my father, he's living the Margaritaville dream, shacked up with a girl half his age and drinking tequila all day. I haven't heard from him in, let's see, eighteen months now? Yeah, about that. And my mother, last I heard, is in Florence--Alabama, not Italy--with her third husband, doing really important things in the field of interior decorating." Scorn gave his voice an edge. "They both made it very clear when they divorced that I was a burden neither of them wanted to take on. So they shipped me off to the nearest boarding school, which was Ash Grove. Lucky for them I passed the entrance exam and audition. Then they went off to live their new lives."

She stared at him, dismayed. Although she couldn't read his face, half hidden as it was, the rapid rise and fall of his chest showed that he was upset. "I'm so sorry, Tan." She reached toward him, but lost her nerve and drew her hand back without touching him. For a few minutes there was no sound but the gentle lapping of the water and the quacking of the ducks, who were unconcerned with human problems. Then she ventured, "Was it after the divorce that you met Melisande?"

"Ah, Melisande." His voice was still bitter. "That was near the start of my third year at Ash Grove."

"Would you rather not talk about it?"

Again he gave that humorless laugh. "You might rather not hear about it. But maybe I should tell you." He sat up then, and stared out over the lake. "Yeah, maybe you should know what kind of person you're dealing with."

"Melisande?" she asked.

He shook his head, and looked grimly into her eyes. "Me."

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# Chapter 6

"She had rented one of the luxury vacation houses on Lake Chatuge for the winter," he said. "That night she was throwing a holiday party for a bunch of her friends. She had arranged with Dr. Aysgarth for some seniors to act as wait staff--passing trays, refilling glasses, you know.

"I'd heard of her, of course. And I'd seen the pictures. I couldn't imagine anyone could really be that beautiful in real life, but I was dying to find out. So I bribed one of the seniors to let me take his place at her party. I rode over on the Ninja--it was a guilt present from my parents' divorce--and I was so nervous that when I pulled in and saw her standing in the doorway, I wiped out. I didn't break anything, but when some of the guys got me out from under the bike I was a mess." He paused, as if nerving himself to go on. "So she took me to her room to help me get cleaned up."

Joy made a disbelieving sound, and he glanced over and gave her a twisted smile. "Yeah, I know. It seems obvious now. But I was so naive I didn't think anything of it. I just thought I had screwed up big time and was going to get chewed out and sent packing."

"But that wasn't what happened," said Joy, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"No," he said. "That wasn't what happened."

"Even if nothing's broken, you're bound to have some bruises and road rash," she said. "Let's get you patched up, or your mother will never let you come to one of my parties again."

He liked the sound of that. So he might actually get another chance to come to her house. "My mother won't know; she's out of the picture," he said, and it was the first time he had been grateful to her.

She led him up a flight of stairs and into the first room that opened off the landing. When she shut the door behind them, the noise of the party downstairs was immediately cut off. They stood in sudden silence in a large, softly lit room that he realized must be her bedroom. Decorated all in white like her clothes, it was an open, spacious chamber with an entire wall that was one big window. In daylight it must have offered a spectacular view of the mountains, but now, with darkness outside, it became a giant mirror. Reflected in it he saw the room, with the sparse, elegant furniture and enormous bed, and himself, looking every bit as awkward as he felt, and Melisande.

"Take off your clothes," she told him, and he stared at her blankly before comprehension dawned. "I'll have them laundered. There's a robe in the bathroom that you can put on in the meantime." She turned her back to him, and he shucked off his black waiter's jacket and began to unbutton his shirt; even though she wasn't watching him, embarrassment made his fingers slow and clumsy. He couldn't remember ever having undressed before in the presence of any woman other than a nurse or his mother.

"Here," he said awkwardly, and held out the bundle of clothing. "I, uh, think my arm got the worst of it, so I just--" He gestured to his legs. He had no idea how much he'd scraped up his leg, but no way was he going to take his pants off here to find out. He thought she looked surprised when she saw he was still half dressed, but she didn't embarrass him further by commenting on it.

"I'll be back in a moment," she said, taking the wadded-up shirt and jacket. "I'm going to get bandages and ointment."

"Um, thanks. But I don't seem to have any scrapes or anything. I'll probably just have some spectacular bruises tomorrow."

"But you're bleeding," she pointed out.

"I am?"

Her eyes went to his left nipple, which he had pierced on impulse two days ago. It was refusing to heal, and blood had welled up around the small ring. Lightly she touched the wound. Her fingers were cool, but they sent a wave of heat surging under his skin.

"It was a dumb idea," he said, gruff with embarrassment. "I thought it would be cool, but it just hurts like a son of a bitch, and it won't stop bleeding." As he spoke, he watched in wonder as she lifted her blood-smeared finger to her mouth and licked it clean. Her eyes met his with an emerald intensity, and her nostrils flared briefly, as if she was catching a strong scent. There was something in her expression that he could not understand.

"Some people read palms, or tea leaves," she said. "I read blood."

"Oh," he said. "What does mine say?"

She put her head on one side and gazed into space as she seemed to consider. "You're in a lot of pain right now. No one understands what you're going through--you're very much alone. But you're capable of greatness. Of great passion." Her eyes met his again. "How did I do?"

"Pretty amazing," he admitted.

"It's a knack." Suddenly brisk and practical, she moved toward the door, her feet silent on the bare wood floor. "I'll take care of your clothes now, and then your wound. Make yourself at home--and feel free to turn up the thermostat if you're chilly." She had evidently noticed that he had crossed his arms over his chest, but that was for modesty more than warmth. She vanished through the door, and he was alone.

Feeling exposed in front of the bank of windows, he wandered to the enclosed side of the room to wait for her. The surface of her bureau was covered with framed photographs of Melisande with different people--mostly famous people, he noticed, recognizing a famous rock star of the seventies and numerous Hollywood actors. The pictures had to have been years old, because all the celebrities in them looked younger than they did now. One of them made his eyes widen, and he picked it up for a closer look. "This can't be Elvis," he said when he heard the door open. Melisande would have been only a child when Elvis Presley was in his first heyday, and yet the woman in the photograph next to the handsome young man in the denim jacket looked no different than she had five minutes ago.

"Quite a remarkable likeness, isn't it?" she said from beside him, making him jump; she had come up to him so silently he hadn't realized how close she was. "They have some amazing impersonators in Las Vegas these days. Now, have a seat. I'm going to clean your piercing so that it doesn't become infected, and then I'll salve your arm to prevent bruising." She took his hand and led him to a sofa that faced the windows. "It would be a shame for anything to disfigure such a body as yours."

She carried a tray with cotton balls and various bottles and jars, which she placed on the arm of the sofa behind him. Sitting next to him on the sofa, she dampened a cotton ball with liquid from one of the bottles and touched it to his chest. The bite of alcohol made him flinch.

"Tell me about yourself, Tanner," she said. "Your mother isn't around, you said. How about your father?"

He told her about the divorce, about having been foisted on Ash Grove. Her eyes never left his face as he talked, and that direct green gaze was both disturbing and exciting. He found himself telling her things he had never confided to anyone else--what it had been like when his parents fought; how out of place he felt at school.

"And there's no one else? No girlfriend?"

Looking at her, he was finding it difficult to remember any of the girls he knew, even the ones he had made out with. "No," he said.

"Boyfriend, then?"

"No!"

Her lips twitched, and he realized how immature he must have sounded. But all she said was "I see. So you have no encumbrances." Before he could ask what she meant, she had picked up a small jar that gave off a sharp, green scent when she opened it, as of crushed leaves. "This is a formula of my own," she told him, dabbing her fingers in the jar. "Do you know anything of the uses of herbs?"

"No, ma'am."

"Not 'ma'am'--Melisande." Soft though it was, it was a command.

"Melisande," he repeated.

"That's better." He watched as she dabbed the ointment on his skin with the tips of her fingers; it tingled sharply at first, but then faded into a pleasant warmth. "Mullein and vervain ease the sting. There's coriander for healing, and lad's-love... some call it southernwood, but I prefer the older name." Her fingers slowed and lingered on his chest. "How does that feel?"

"It feels nice," he managed. He was finding it more and more difficult to breathe.

"It would be better to take the ring out," she said after a minute. "Do you mind?"

He shook his head, and she gave a nod of approval. "I think that's wise. Models with piercings are more limited in the bookings they get."

"Models?" he repeated, watching her as she extracted the metal ring from his nipple. Her fingers were surprisingly gentle, and he watched her so closely that his breath stirred her hair. "I don't know where you got that idea. I've never done any modeling."

"Well, you certainly should." She leaned across him to place the ring on the table behind him, and as she moved her breast brushed against his arm. He felt his cheeks color, and when she straightened he thought there was a tiny smile on her lips. "You'd be a sensation. With your bone structure, your body, I could get you on billboards all across the country within six months."

The prospect was bewitching. "You don't mean it," he said, but his voice was hopeful.

"Of course I mean it! I could get you a contract like that," and she snapped her fingers. "Calvin Klein, Hugo Boss--even Armani, if we play our cards right. We could have you pulling in a million a year before you know it."

He didn't know if it was the picture of wealth and success she painted, or the intoxicating promise of the word we, but he found himself being caught up in her enthusiasm. "Could you really do that?" he asked. "Get me into the business?"

She gave him a dazzling smile. "I'm a very powerful woman. With me beside you, you'll have the world at your feet."

As she continued to stroke the herbal salve onto his arm she described the life they would lead together. Money. Fame. Travel. Cars. The chance to make those assholes at school sick with envy. And best of all, Melisande at his side. He lay back against the cushions of the sofa, half in a daze at the sound of her voice. His eyes were drawn to the long sliver of white skin where her blouse parted in front. A shadow came and went there with her breathing, and every time she moved, the shadow deepened.

Presently she fell silent and put the lid back on the pot of salve. "How does that feel?" she asked.

The ache in his arm had disappeared, and he said so. She smiled. "Good," she said, and leaned toward him, her hair drifting softly against his chest. She looked into his eyes. "Good."

Her mouth was cool against his, coaxing him to open to her; the kiss seemed to draw his whole soul up to his lips, sudden and urgent. Her tongue flickered in his mouth, and he tasted the faint metallic sharpness of his own blood.

At length she drew back slightly, and taking his hands, led them to the front of her blouse.

"Now that we've gotten you out of your clothes," she murmured, "do you think you can get me out of mine?"

He thought he could.

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# Chapter 7

"She was my first," he said. "First, and only."

"That--that child molester." Joy's voice was shrill with outrage. She wanted to rip Melisande's hair out in big shining handfuls, gouge out her green eyes. "That monster. How old were you?"

He sighed, with a weary look that made him suddenly look far older. "Sixteen. It's okay, Joy. I knew what I was doing."

"The hell you did," she shot back. "You were a kid, an inexperienced kid, and she took advantage of you. There's a reason there are statutory rape laws, you know?" She was on her feet and almost shouting now. She had never felt as much hatred in her life as she felt for Melisande. "And how old is she, anyway? She's got to be old enough to be your mother. Grandmother, maybe. My god, she should be in prison."

"Come on, take it easy." He caught her by the hand. "I didn't mean for you to feel like you had to avenge my honor. I... I wanted it to happen."

"Well, of course you did, after she told you how nobody understood you but her, and she'd take you away from everything. It would have turned anyone's head." He was still holding onto her hand, and when he gave it a tug she gave in and plunked back down onto the ground next to him. "That bitch," she choked. "You should get a lawyer. Maybe it's still not too late."

"I was legal--barely. And anyway, I didn't tell you this to make you hate her."

"Yeah, well, I guess you should have thought things out better." She couldn't even look at him, she was so angry. When he reached out to touch her face she realized to her shame that she was crying.

"I cry when I'm mad," she told him, so that he wouldn't think she was a ninny. "It's just a reflex."

He nodded and said nothing. She took out a tissue and wiped her eyes, blew her nose. Finally she felt it was safe to talk again.

"Go on," she said. "What happened after--I mean, what happened next?"

"Next, she had her pet lawyer get hold of my parents, and proposed herself as my legal guardian." She gasped aloud at that, but he didn't stop. "They must have been thrilled to palm off all responsibility for me. They signed me over right away."

Joy had not thought it possible to be any angrier than she already was, but she found she was wrong.

"I don't think they knew that we were lovers by then," he continued. "I didn't care at the time, but I hope now that they didn't. As rotten as they are, I'd like to think they wouldn't have knowingly signed me over to someone who was, uh, taking advantage of her position.

"Anyway, then it was extreme makeover time. New name, new haircut, new clothes; personal trainer, tutoring, the works. And she did everything she promised: I got all the work I could handle, with high-profile jobs almost right away. I was doing shoots for watches, cologne, underwear, you name it. At nights I was going to the hottest nightclubs and dancing with the hottest women--and then going home with Melisande. And she was"--he tried to find words for her. "She was the sexiest woman I'd ever known. I was happier than I ever thought I could be."

I hate her more all the time, thought Joy. "What changed?"

"I did, I guess," he said slowly. "I started to be ashamed of myself."

"What for?" When he hesitated, she said, "From what you said before, I thought you were going to tell me something horrible about yourself, but I'm just not getting it."

He made an impatient gesture. "I was an idiot," he said. "A greedy, shallow idiot. When I met her, all I could think about was the money, the glamour--the sex. Hell, she didn't have to seduce me; I would have given anything to have what she was offering."

"Any guy in your position would have been dazzled, Tan. It doesn't mean you're a bad person. Besides, you were in love with her." She almost hoped he would contradict her.

But he stared out over the lake in silence. Even in profile, he was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. With his fine straight nose and his hair blowing back from his high forehead, he looked like a prince gazing over the parapet of a castle. "Yeah," he said at last. "I guess I was."

She didn't know why it hurt to hear him say it. "Well, there you go," she said, trying to keep her voice brisk. "You're not to blame for choosing to be with her."

"Maybe not at first. But even after I got to know more about the life she and her friends led I didn't try to put up a fight. You saw that crowd last night. Superficial narcissists, not caring about anything more than clothes and clubs and photo ops. Changing lovers as often as they change their socks. Putting fortunes up their noses and into their arms." He looked her in the eyes. "I've become one of them, don't you see? I'm no better than any of them."

She started to understand. That was the cause of his bitterness that night in the graveyard. "I'm a dead man," he had said. She wondered how often he escaped from Melisande's crowd to go off by himself, to seek out places where he'd be completely alone. To get away from the life he'd come to despise.

"You are so better than them," she said sternly. "You just need to get away from them, get out on your own. Get away from her."

He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. "You don't get it. There is no me away from them. I'm what Melisande made me. Without her, I'm nothing. No career, no job skills, just a high school diploma and a taste for expensive living."

"That's ridiculous! You could do anything you want. Be anything you want." When he didn't reply, she rushed on. "How much longer before you're free? When she's not your guardian any more?"

"The guardianship ends when I turn eighteen, in about seven months. My birthday's in the first week of November."

It was further away than she had hoped, but she rallied. "Well, that gives us time to make plans. Even without her acting as your agent, you're bound to be able to find work. And we can look for a place for you to live, where you can be on your own..." She came to a stop as she realized that she might be assuming too much. "I mean, if you don't want to stay with her. But maybe you do."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, at the party last night, you were very... attentive to her." All over her, she wanted to say, remembering the way they had kept touching each other, their hands seeking each other out. But she knew it would sound petty and jealous.

He flinched. "Oh god, last night. Was I a complete jerk? It's kind of a blur to me."

She thought of Clark's theory, and ventured, "Were you high?"

"No, I'm not into that. I had just--I was just tired."

His evasiveness made things click into place. His drowsiness. He's getting dressed, Melisande had said. She felt stupid for being so slow to realize it: when she saw him at the party, Tanner had just come from Melisande's bed.

"Oh," she said, her face burning. "I see."

He seemed to guess which way her thoughts were going, and he looked like he felt as uncomfortable as she did. "The thing is," he said reluctantly, "she still has this... this power over me. That sounds lame, but it really feels that way. I'm not in love with her anymore, but I still, well, want her. I tell myself I'm going to quit her, but then when I'm with her, I just--can't."

Unbidden, a picture flashed into Joy's mind of the two of them in bed together, their perfect bodies passionately entangled. She winced away from the image. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

His shoulders lifted in a tired shrug. "I wish I knew," he said. "I can't imagine being on my own again. And I don't know what I'd do if she tried to make me stay. I'm afraid that if I was put to the test, I wouldn't be a very strong person."

"I don't know about that," she said. "I think a lot of us find strength when we really need it. And maybe we'll be strong enough together. I'll help you in any way I can."

"Thanks," he said, sounding surprised. "You're sweet." He reached out and gently drew his fingertips along the side of her face, ending at her chin. He held her chin cupped in his hand for a moment as he examined her face. She wondered what he was seeing. She also wondered if he was about to kiss her. She hadn't quite worked out how she would feel about that when he released her and stood up.

"I'd better get you back," he said, "or I'll get you into trouble."

She stood up as well, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. "How about you? Will you be missed?"

"They probably won't notice I'm gone," he said. "I don't think any of that crowd wake up before sundown; they're always up all night partying."

"But Melisande?" She hesitated to say the name, but it didn't seem to bother him.

"She's okay with me leaving the compound when she's sleeping. As long as I'm there when she's up." He took the Ninja's key from his pocket and contemplated it for a moment, turning it over in his hand. "She gave me a choice, early on: my guitar or my bike."

"Seriously?"

He nodded. "Giving up music was the hardest thing I've ever done. But I'm glad now that I made the choice that gives me some freedom."

He started up the bike, and she climbed on behind him in silence. Of all the things he'd told her about his life with Melisande, that seemed like one of the saddest.

But worst of all was something he hadn't even put into words: he was afraid of her.

He dropped her off right in front of her dorm, and she was slightly taken aback, as she climbed off the bike and unfastened her helmet, to see that Gail Brody had been drawn by the sound of the motorcycle and had come to the door, where she had a full view of them. Joy held the helmet out to Tanner self-consciously.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, even though it was a ridiculously inadequate thing to say. He hadn't cut off the bike, and before he could ride off she blurted, "Listen, wear your helmet, okay? You may not care about being safe, but I'd be really upset to learn that you were dead or in a coma."

He grimaced. "I should be so lucky. But okay, yeah, I'll wear it. For you." And this time he did kiss her. Just a quick, soft kiss on the mouth before he put on the helmet and rode away, but it sent a wave of warmth through Joy's body and left her legs wobbly as she walked up the path to the steps where Gail was standing.

"Hi," she said, sure she was blushing.

"That's a really good-looking guy," said Gail, cocking her head. "Someone you've known a long time?" Her tone was casual, but Joy knew that Tanner was being filed away in a mental database of campus visitors of questionable standing.

"He used to be a student here," she said. "I'll give you all his personal info if you like. But later, okay?" and Gail smiled understandingly and stepped out of the doorway to let her through.

She wasn't the only one with questions, though. Maddie had witnessed their return from their room.

"You let him kiss you?" were her first words as Joy opened the door.

"Hi, Maddie. I'm fine, thanks. How are you?" said Joy dryly.

Maddie was glaring at her, hands on her hips. "I thought you agreed with me that he's a dog and that you don't want him in your life. And now you're running around with him and kissing him?"

Joy gave a pointed sigh. "In the first place, Mom, no, I didn't agree with any of that; I just didn't feel like arguing with you. And in the second place, that was a very casual kiss. The kind that celebrities give each other instead of shaking hands." This was the theory she had evolved during the walk up the stairs to their room. Certainly she had seen a lot of casual kissing at Melisande's house. Tanner hadn't meant anything by it, she was sure. The fact that she had such a dramatic reaction to his touch didn't mean that he felt the same thing.

Maddie was far from satisfied, though. "So where did the two of you go? Is he putting the moves on you? Are you going to see him again?"

"Maddie, honestly!" Joy cried. "I don't see why you're so upset. You're always going out with guys I don't know, and I never interrogate you about what you do with them. What's the big deal?"

"It's a big deal because you need protecting." Her face was stormy. "I don't want you to get into a dangerous situation. I really don't trust this guy, Joy."

"Well, I do, and I think I know him a little better than you do." Joy flopped onto her bed and picked up a book to signal that the discussion was over. Maddie reached over and yanked the book away.

"Listen," she said, sitting down next to her. "You're a virgin, right?"

Joy stared at her. "What does that have to do--"

"Simmer down, I'm not saying it's a character flaw. I just mean that you don't have as much experience as I do with guys, and that makes you vulnerable. I don't want you to get hurt." A lopsided smile. "You're kind of like a sister to me, and I feel like I need to look out for you."

This was both touching and exasperating. "I appreciate the thought," said Joy, "but Mads, you're not my bodyguard. It's not your job to protect me. And besides"--she was careful to keep her tone matter-of-fact--"there's nothing to protect me against. He's not interested in me that way."

"Hmph." Maddie got up to rummage in the drawer of her nightstand, and to Joy's horror produced a handful of condoms. "Take these."

"Are you crazy? I'm not going to need those."

"You never know." When Joy didn't take them, she tucked them into Joy's handbag where it hung from the back of her desk chair. "I want you to promise me you'll always keep some with you. I'm serious."

Joy couldn't believe how stern Maddie looked. The whole idea was ridiculous. And besides, "What's Tanner going to say if he finds out I'm carrying condoms around?"

"He doesn't have a right to say anything, considering that he's obviously been getting it on with Queen of the MILFs."

She didn't want to be reminded of that. "But what will he think of me?"

"That you're smart," said Maddie, plunking back down on the bed. "And maybe optimistic."

"Deluded, you mean."

"I don't think so. From what I saw, he looked interested."

She shook her head. "He's spent the last year and a half surrounded by the most beautiful women in the country," she said. "I don't think I'm going to turn his head."

"But the women in Melisande's entourage were all empty-headed egomaniacs," Maddie pointed out. "You're a much nicer person than they are."

Joy gave her a look. "Since you're the more experienced one, Maddie, you tell me: are guys more likely to go for a nice plain girl or a self-absorbed bombshell?"

"Hmm," said Maddie. "Good point. This round goes to you, little sister."

That evening, though, as Joy sat at the piano and picked her way through her new piece, she couldn't stop her mind from wandering. After being with someone as sexy and experienced as Melisande, could Tanner actually be interested in Joy? She tried to imagine seducing him as Melisande had done, and gave up. It was ludicrous to imagine herself, short and plump, in place of slender, shimmering Melisande. Melisande was in a whole other class.

But tasting his blood? She shivered. That didn't seem seductive; it was just creepy. Surrounded by her court of impossible perfection, chilly and ageless and exquisite, she seemed... inhuman? More than human?

There was a dark side to Melisande, Joy was sure. She wondered just what the woman was capable of doing to her favorite if he made a bid for independence.

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# Chapter 8

News of her ride with Tanner spread quickly.

Joy didn't know at first what was going on. She was working in the serving line at dinner the next night when a deep masculine voice said, "Hi, Joy," and she looked up to see one of the star drama students, Nicholas, smiling at her across the counter.

"Hi," she said, baffled. She would have sworn he didn't even know her name. "What can I get you?"

"The meatloaf, I guess. Hey, I was wondering if you might feel like running lines with me sometime. I've got the lead in The Misanthrope, and I remembered how great you were in that scene from Tartuffe last year, and I thought--but only if you have time--"

"Sure," she said automatically. "I guess so."

"Great. I'll text you."

That was weird. She couldn't remember him ever speaking to her before, and now it turned out he remembered a scene she'd performed in class a year ago?

She'd barely had time to gather her thoughts before further weirdness came her way. This time it was Grace Li, one of the BBBs­--whoops, ballet students. She gave Joy a big smile when she slid her tray over to her.

"Hey," she said. "The salmon, please, no hollandaise. So Joy, how's your father these days?"

She tensed. But Grace sounded genuinely interested.

"Pretty well," she said guardedly. "Chemo's going okay, he says. Vegetable?"

"Brussels sprouts. So will he be back next semester? English just isn't the same without him."

"Probably not that soon," said Joy, more astonished by the minute. "But thanks for asking."

"Sure. Listen, some of us are getting together tomorrow night in the junior girls' dorm for a Glee marathon. You want to join us? Feel free to bring a date."

This was getting downright freaky. Joy started to wonder if she'd slipped into an alternate universe.

But the solution turned out to be simple. When Joy finished her shift and joined her friends at their usual table, Maddie announced, "You are officially cool, Joy. I don't know if you want to sit with lowly folk like us."

"What are you talking about?"

William grinned. "You're mixing with the beautiful people now. Everyone knows about you going for a ride with Tristan yesterday."

So that was it. The celebrity seal of approval meant that she was golden now. "Well, that makes more sense than some of my theories," she said, as two of the most popular actresses in the drama track caught her eye and waved. "I was pretty sure my hairnet hadn't suddenly become really flattering."

Clark draped an arm around her shoulders. "You'd better get used to the attention," he said. "It's a burden, of course, but people like you and me, we're different. Popularity is a harsh mistress."

He was joking, but it was a drastic change. Kids who had never said a word to her before were coming up to her between classes and texting her during class. During her shifts at the dining hall the line became so backed up as students lingered to chat with her that her supervisor moved her off the serving line for the next three days.

Everyone, it turned out, wanted to find out more about Tanner.

All the guys wanted to know what his workout routine was, where he bought his clothes, how he'd caught Melisande's eye. The girls wanted to know if he was really as sexy close up and if he and Melisande were in love. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to be one of Melisande's proteges, and if Joy could get them an audition with her. If she'd been in any danger of having her head turned by her new popularity, it was quelled when she realized that her best quality in the eyes of her fellow students was that they thought she had an inside track to Melisande.

It was uncomfortable knowing what she did about Melisande and trying to protect Tanner's privacy. But it did make her all the more determined to help find a way to free him from his warped so-called guardian.

Preparations for the Beltane festival were gearing up, and that made the next week pass quickly. The annual festival was a tradition at Ash Grove dating to the school's founding, and one of the many legacies of Josiah Cavanaugh's Celtic forebears. Originally it had been held on the last day of April, in accordance with ancient custom, but eventually, for the sake of convenience, it was changed to the Saturday closest to that date. The festival combined academics, in the form of performances by the students, with revelry to celebrate the beginning of spring. After a day of music, theater, and dance, which the locals and the students' parents were encouraged to attend, the juniors and seniors gathered for the only formal dance of the year.

That year, as a junior, Joy would be performing in the festival for the first time. She had selected a piano piece by her mother that she thought was within her own limited capabilities. As for the dance afterward, she and Maddie and Tasha had long since bought their dresses, even though they didn't all have dates yet. Going stag didn't carry the aura of failure that it did at some schools, so Joy wasn't very concerned about whether she would have a date.

She was more concerned about doing justice to her piano selection. "Are you sure you want to play something your mother arranged?" Mo asked her. "You don't have to prove anything, you know. I'd be perfectly happy if you chose something else. Happier, if anything."

"No. This is what I want to do."

But Mo's skepticism had worsened her doubts about how well she'd reflect on her mother. She finally gave in and asked William if he'd accompany her.

"It'll help disguise my shortcomings," she said. "Please, will you?"

"Sure, if you want," he said easily. "What did you have in mind? Guitar? Violin?" That was another thing about William--he seemed to be able to play practically any musical instrument he picked up. Joy, who was finding it difficult enough to deal with just one, was in awe of him. William acted like it was no big deal.

"Maybe violin, or should I say fiddle? It's an Irish piece--I thought it would be in keeping with the Beltane theme. Kind of a reel, I guess. Very Riverdancey."

"Sounds like fun. Let's give it a shot."

William's accompaniment greatly improved her performance, since she could relax in the knowledge that his playing would cover up her goofs. With his talent for improvising, they only had to run through it a few times before they were both satisfied. Afterward, Joy treated him to a coffee and told him about her trip to the dam with Tanner.

"He sounds like he's in a rough spot," was William's verdict. "I hope he gets things figured out by the time he's back on his own. But he'll have you on his side, so he's got that going for him."

"You aren't scolding me for getting involved," said Joy, surprised. "Maddie's done nothing but scold me, it seems like."

William shrugged. "My scolding isn't going to change the way you feel about him, is it?"

"I'm not even entirely sure how I do feel about him," she hedged. "I mean, other than being really attracted to him. I'm still figuring him out."

"Ah yes," said William. "The enigmatic kind. That's who all the girls go for." But he didn't sound bitter. "Maybe I should start hinting to everyone that I have some big dark secret in my life. I might be more successful with the ladies then."

"What will make you more successful with the ladies is if you start actually pursuing any of them," Joy told him. "When's the last time you asked anyone out? Hmm? Yeah, I thought so."

He grinned at her. "But you don't understand. I can't ask anyone out because of my deep, dark secret. It's a curse I must bear all on my own, unless I can find that One Special Girl--"

"Oh, shut up," said Joy, laughing. "You're too nice to pull off that brooding stuff."

He made a face. "'Nice.' Now that's the real curse."

Joy didn't know what to say to that. Some girls, like Maddie, really did seem more attracted to problem guys. Others probably didn't think of William as boyfriend material because he really didn't put himself out there; he was more likely to spend his Saturday nights jamming with other music students than out on a date. Usually he seemed content with that. But maybe as Beltane approached he was starting to think what it would be like to go to the dance alone. Maybe it would spur him to actually ask a girl out.

As for her, she decided at that moment to ask Tanner to the Beltane dance. Probably he wouldn't be able to come even if he wanted to, because of Melisande. But she'd ask him anyway, if he showed up again. If.

The next Saturday afternoon he did show up again. The crowd of fans and admirers on the quad caught her eye even before she was able to find him at the center of it. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me," she heard him saying. "Joy and I have somewhere to be," and the students, reluctant but obedient, backed off.

This time, she noticed with amusement, his shirt was buttoned. Well, dang. It was nice that he paid attention to her comfort level, but she was going to miss the view.

As she drew nearer she saw that the shirt was a particularly ratty one, and so were his jeans. He looked as if he was on his way to paint a house or give a dog a flea dip. When she said as much, he just looked mysterious and handed her a helmet--not his own, she was glad to see, but a spare.

"What's the plan for today?" she asked, keeping her voice low, as students were still lingering to watch.

"I thought we'd drop in on some old friends of mine."

"I didn't know you still had any connections around here," she said, surprised.

"Well, I haven't been to see them in a while. But I'm pretty sure they're still around. Any nice Saturday in the spring, if they're not out on the roads, there's only one place they'll be."

That was all he'd tell her. He steered the bike out of Clay County toward Murphy, following the course of the river for a while before taking a turnoff that led up a steep hill. Joy knew that the Ninja could take the hill, so she was surprised when he pulled off the dirt road and parked the bike. "I thought we'd surprise them," was all he said.

The hill was so steep that Joy started to get breathless, and with her short legs she was soon lagging behind until Tan reached out to take her hand and help her keep up. It wasn't a romantic gesture, just a companionable one, but she enjoyed the secure feeling of his hand holding hers. They passed a few houses--small weather-worn cabins, not the newer vacation homes that one found closer to the banks of the river. As they drew near the top of the hill, trees took over, and she wondered what their destination was.

Their footsteps were almost silent on the dirt path, but a dog started to bark, and soon a big floppy-eared hound dog trotted toward them out of the trees. As he came closer, his tail began to wag, and Tanner crouched down and held out his arms. "C'mere, Duke!" he called, and the big hound joyously galumphed up to him and snuffled his hands and face.

"I didn't know if he'd recognize me," he told Joy, as the dog butted him lovingly under the chin. "Good old Ducati. Bobby been treatin' you well? Givin' you all the steak you can eat?"

She noticed that his natural accent was creeping back in. This was a side of him she'd never seen. "He's a sweetheart," she said, as the hound came to nose her and have his ears stroked. "Who does he belong to?"

"You'll find out in a minute," he said, as a whistle summoned the dog away from them. "We're almost there."

"There" turned out to be a clearing among the trees in front of a comfortable ranch-style house. The window boxes were filled with bright blooms, and the front door was painted a rich red. The tidiness didn't extend to the yard, though, which was where all the activity was located. Several motorcycles in varying states of repair stood on the lawn, where different parts were laid out in readiness on old bed sheets. At least half a dozen men and women were gathered there, holding everything from tools to bottles of cold beer. Several looked up as Tan and Joy approached.

"Well, I swannee." A thin tanned woman in her mid-forties, wearing a pink t-shirt and denim shorts, put her hands on her hips and stared. "If it isn't Tanner By God Lindsey. You are a sight for sore eyes! Come give Donna a hug."

Smiling at the effusiveness of the welcome, he did so. "Hey, Donna. Bobby. I hope it's okay that we just dropped in."

Bobby, a sturdy-looking man with a short brown beard and laugh lines around his eyes, clapped him heavily on the back. He wore a billed cap, part of the good old boy uniform, and his work shirt was marked with motor oil. "'Course it's okay, son. Always welcome. It's been a while." He took in Joy, hanging a couple of paces behind. "I'm Bobby Hartwell, and this is my wife, Donna. We're old friends of Tanner here."

"This is Joy," said Tanner. He didn't elaborate. "I thought I'd see what y'all were up to, whether you have any interesting projects I could help with."

"Thanks, we've got it covered," said one of the other men. He was closer to Tanner's age than the others, with a buzz cut and a tight-fitting Harley-Davidson t-shirt. His girlfriend was smiling at Tanner, which may have been why he sounded so hostile--or maybe it was because he had seen the Ninja logo on their helmets. He was also taking in Tanner's clothes, which though shabby had clearly been tailored for him, and his haircut. "Doesn't look like you're used to getting dirt under your nails."

That was true enough. One look at Tanner's hands showed that for quite a while now he'd been more accustomed to manicures than manual labor. But he wasn't going to be dismissed that easily.

"That one of the '11 Road Kings?" he asked, nodding toward the man's bike, which was up on a jack. "I hear that model is nice, lots of power. You put many miles on her?"

"A few," was the grudging reply.

"Would you say it's worth upgrading to the new Classic? Some of the guys I've talked to say the 103 engine is better, especially with the mods, but I don't know."

The guy was starting to thaw. "I never had any problems with the 96 myself. You shift her right, you're not going to miss the extra power and torque."

"It's all in the handling, isn't it? Looks like you're getting ready to bleed her brakes. Can I give you a hand?"

"Well, sure, I guess so." He handed Tanner a screwdriver and waited to see what he'd do with it.

Joy was proud when he hunkered down by the bike and said calmly, "I'll just get the cover off the rear master cylinder, if you want to be checking the front reservoir. Bobby, you got your vac pump handy?"

She could feel everyone else relax, knowing that Tanner had passed the test. He and the others were soon deep in discussion of bleed valves, calipers, and other details that meant little to Joy. Donna took pity on her. "Would you like to come inside and get a drink, hon?" she asked. "We've got sodas in the kitchen, and I was about to make some lemonade."

"Lemonade would be fantastic," said Joy, and followed her inside. The kitchen was small but bright with sunshine, and there was enough room at the counter for Joy to help Donna juice the lemons. Ducati, or Duke as he was called, trotted inside after them and flopped down on the linoleum with a brief sigh of contentment.

"It's nice to see Tanner enjoying himself," said Joy. "I guess he hasn't had anyone to talk motorcycles with for a while."

"Well, we didn't go anywhere," said Donna cheerfully, getting out sugar and a pitcher. "I guess he just had to try out life in the fast lane. When he left town with that Melisande woman, we were pretty worried. But it looks like he's done just fine. I'm real pleased he's with you now."

"Thank you," she said, feeling awkward. "I don't know if I'd say that he's with me, though. We haven't even known each other that long."

Donna raised her eyebrows. "Really now. Because Bobby and I are closer to that boy than his own parents, and for him to bring you to meet us--well, that looks to me like he thinks you're something special."

Joy concentrated on wringing the last bit of juice from half a lemon instead of answering. Donna gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. "It's okay, hon," she said. "You don't have to say anything. It's early days yet, you don't know where it's going, that's fine. But I'll tell you this: he's a fine boy, and don't let nobody tell you different. He's been through a lot of shit--pardon my French--and it's made him grow a hard shell, but he's got a good heart."

Joy smiled at her gratefully. "I think so too," she said. When the lemonade was ready, she took a glass outside to Tanner. He had his sleeves rolled up, grease streaks on his forearms and face, and an expression of blissful absorption. Clearly the visit was doing him good.

When it came time for them to leave, they were seen off with hugs, slaps on the back, damp-nosed snuffles (from Duke), and what seemed like genuine regret. Joy overheard Bobby tell Tanner in a low voice, not meant for her ears, "I like your girlfriend," and she waited for Tan to correct him, to say, "My girlfriend is a world-famous supermodel, not a short high-schooler with freckles." But all he said was, "I like her a lot too."

Of course that could be taken in different ways. She still didn't believe he was attracted to her romantically--that was probably why he felt so comfortable with her. She was probably like the sister he'd never had.

But if she was wrong--and she knew now that she really wanted to be wrong--maybe, against all logic, he thought of her in girlfriend terms.

Which would make her a rival with Melisande, and that was creepy for a lot of reasons.

She needed to find out. So when were walking back down the hill to where Tan had left the Ninja, she asked, "Do you remember the Beltane dance from when you were at Ash Grove?"

He frowned, searching his memory. "I remember the festival--kind of a day of recitals, right? But not a dance."

"That's right, you would have left before you could have gone. It's just for juniors and seniors. Kind of the Ash Grove equivalent of prom." She took a breath. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to this year's. With me."

"When is it?"

She told him the date. It was just two weeks off. "So... are you interested?"

He considered for a moment, then said, "Yeah, count me in. She'll be at a shoot with Saxon that night, so I won't have any problem getting away."

She couldn't get used to his having to be accountable to Melisande. It was kind of like he was getting permission from a mother, but also partly like he was cheating on a girlfriend. It worried Joy if she thought about it too much, so she tried not to think about it, and Tanner seemed not to want to bring up the subject. And right now, she was just happy that he was going to be her date.

"That's great," she said, and tried not to let her pleasure show too obviously. "I'll go ahead and get tickets. The dance starts at eight. Usually I think everyone dresses formally, but it probably won't be a problem if you just want to wear jacket and tie." She was talking too much. She made herself slow down. "In case, you know, all the tuxedo rental places are out."

"It's a good thing you mentioned it," he said. "You know how I tend to underdress." She saw that he was teasing her, and made a face at him.

"Exhibitionist," she retorted. "You can wear nothing but a smile if you want, and freeze when that chilly mountain air rolls in. See if I care."

"I am feeling a bit stifled," he said earnestly, and made as if to pull off his shirt. "These clothes are so confining--" But he started to laugh before he could finish the sentence, and backed away as Joy aimed a swat at him.

"Easy, woman," he said, and put his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. "You've got some violent tendencies, you know that?" He smiled down at her.

She didn't answer. She was concentrating on breathing. The nearness of him brought butterflies to her stomach. Could he actually be getting more handsome? Maybe it was because she had never seen him so relaxed and contented before.

It was like he was a different person each time they met. In the graveyard, he had been mysterious, forbidding, like a Bronte hero. At Melisande's, he was the lazy pleasure-loving professional beauty. At the dam, he was reflective, but bitter--taking a clear look at himself and not liking what he saw.

And now, smudged with dirt and grease, smelling of gasoline, his hair tousled, his eyes bright, he looked happier than he had since she'd known him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

The truth popped out before she could think of an evasion. "You," she said simply.

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# Chapter 9

His face seemed to cloud over, and he released his hold on her. "Not a very worthwhile subject," he said shortly, and stalked over to the bike, where he busied himself checking the gauges.

Dismayed, she trailed after him. Things had seemed to be going so well, and now it seemed that all the joy had gone out of the day.

And on top of that, she wanted to ask him a favor. Hesitantly, she said, "Tanner, before you take me back to campus, would you mind if we stopped at my house? There's something there I need to pick up."

She was relieved when he answered readily, "No problem. Just show me how to get there."

The Craftsman-style house on a hill overlooking the Hiwassee river was small, and under normal conditions it was cozy, with flowers in hanging baskets and rocking chairs on the front porch. But they had given away all the plants when her father was getting ready to leave for Oklahoma, and the rocking chairs and hammock had been stored in the basement. As she unlocked the door, Tanner hung back. "It's okay," she said. "You can come in. I'll only be a second."

She was surprised that she felt no sense of, well, homecoming. She had expected to feel as if the house was welcoming her back, happy in her presence. Instead it felt impersonal and chilly, as if it belonged to someone else. She even trailed her hand along the top of her mother's piano: nothing. Disappointed, she pushed open the door to her dad's room.

It, too, felt like a stranger's. The precarious stack of paperback thrillers that should have been on the nightstand had been tidied away, the bed was neatly made, and there were no crumb-covered plates from late-night snacking. The desk surface looked empty without its usual clutter of laptop computer, legal pads, and books. It was clear that its owner was absent.

While Tanner waited in the living room, silently studying the family photos on the wall, she entered her own room. Everything was as she had left it: the posters of her favorite movies, the overstuffed bookcases, the bright multicolored quilt that had been a gift from her grandmother back when she was still on speaking terms with the Sumners. When Anna Sumner died, Mrs. Merridew had cut off contact with her son-in-law and granddaughter; whether out of grief or blame, Joy wasn't sure. Joy couldn't remember ever having met her grandmother--her only grandparent, since Steven Sumner's parents were long dead.

"He was a lot older than Mom," she told Tanner, joining him where he stood in the hallway, hands in pockets, regarding the framed photos. "It caused some talk. Not just because of the age difference, but because she was still a student when she fell in love with him."

"An Ash Grove student, you mean?"

"Yes, she was even in his senior English class. But nothing happened between them until after she graduated. Right after the ceremony, when she was still wearing her cap and gown, she walked up to him and asked him out on a date."

"Wow. That's some moxie. What did he say?"

"He was pretty shocked. He'd never thought of her as anything but a student, and he told her it wouldn't be appropriate. And she said, 'All right then. I'll give you some time to start thinking of me as an adult. One year from now I'm coming back to North Carolina, and we're going out.'" It was one of her favorite stories from the family history. "He claims he thought she'd forget about it after she went away. But she did come back, in exactly a year, and after that they were never apart for more than a few hours. This photo of her was taken on graduation day." She showed him the framed snapshot she had retrieved from her room. In it her mother, eighteen years old, stood proud and straight in her maroon academic gown. Her curly dark hair was fanned out on her shoulders, and her chin was lifted. She looked like she was ready to take on the world.

"She sounds really cool," said Tanner. "Do you remember her?"

"Yeah, but it's mostly random stuff. A piece of a song she sang to me, or the way she'd brush my hair at bedtime. That kind of thing."

"How did she die?"

"A car wreck. It just tore Dad up. It wasn't like she'd been sick and he had time to get his head around the idea of her not being here. Everyone says he hasn't been the same since."

"It must have been terrible for you both," he said. "You must miss her a lot, too."

She felt tears beginning to prick her eyes, and shut her eyes hard to try to force them back. "It may sound awful, but I've gotten used to not having her here. But I really do miss Dad." The tears would not be forestalled; they came rolling down her face, and she swiped at them savagely with the back of her hand. "I don't have anyone else. If I lost him too..."

"Hey," he said softly, and touched her hair. "Hey."

"I'm just sure he's keeping things from me, that he's a lot worse than he lets on. He wouldn't want to worry me, but I'm so scared he'll never come back." She was crying in earnest now.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder, and then he was gone. As she tried to get control of herself, she could hear him moving around in the kitchen. In another moment he was back, holding out a plastic bottle of filtered water.

"Drink this," he said. "I guess your water's turned off, but I found this in the pantry. Go ahead. It's really hard to cry and drink at the same time."

Gratefully, she obeyed. The gulping sobs eventually subsided into small hiccups, and he kept talking, giving her time to collect herself. "I've heard some of your mom's music, actually. I downloaded some of her songs last week, and I've been listening to them a lot. She must have really been something--talented, gutsy, beautiful. I'll bet your dad's really glad that you take after her."

"Ha!" she said through her sniffles. "I only wish I did take after her."

"But you do. You definitely have her chin. Pointed and determined." He grinned. "A chin that says you'll give hell to anyone who crosses you."

"Yeah, that's me all right." She found a tissue and blew her nose. "Old give-'em-hell Sumner."

"It's nice that you're so close to your dad, anyway. I wouldn't cry if mine was sick, that's for damn sure." He studied her for a moment. "Are you going to be okay?"

She nodded. "You're going to think that all I ever do is cry," she said ruefully. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to see me again." What had made her say that? She hadn't meant to give him an out. She waited nervously to see if he would take it.

At first she thought he might not even have heard her, because it took him a moment to answer. "Last week," he said at last, "at the dam... you cried for me. I don't know if anyone's ever done that before, and it meant a lot. So no, you haven't scared me off."

"I just wish I could be of some use to you," she said. "To get free of her, I mean. I wish I could help you more."

"You do help. Just being with you helps."

She dropped her eyes to hide how much it pleased her to hear that. "Have you thought about just leaving?" she asked. "Just running off?"

"It wouldn't be any use. She'd find me, and when she's angry, she--no, I can't risk it."

She hoped he would say more, but instead he glanced back at the framed photo in her hand. "Did you get everything you came for?"

"Yes, but the other thing is for you." She set the photo down and dug in her jeans pocket. "Bend down some so I can reach."

Puzzled, he did so, and she reached up to fasten a thin silver chain around his neck. With his face so near hers she was deeply aware of him--the faint shadow of beard on his jaw; the fine modeling of his mouth; the clean woodsy scent of him. She could feel his breath, gentle against her cheek, and the desire to draw him to her and kiss him was almost overpowering. Her hands were slightly unsteady as she sprang the catch of the neck chain and stepped back. Making a move now, when he trusted her, would be the kind of thing Melisande would do--and Joy was determined not to give him any reason to associate the two of them.

He felt for the pendant and tried to hold it up where he could see it, but the chain was too short. "It was my mother's," Joy explained. "It's carved from rowan wood. It's supposed to protect against evil things. I thought you could use it. You know, for luck."

"You're sure you don't want to keep it?" he said in surprise.

She shrugged. "Call it a loan. You can return it to me after your birthday, how's that?"

"Deal," he said, and smiled.

When he dropped her off in front of her dorm, Gail Brody wasn't there, but Sheila and several of her crew were just emerging from inside. They stopped short and stared as Joy climbed down from the bike, and she knew at once that there would be even more gossip about her and Tanner. She stood well back from him in case he was thinking about a goodbye kiss. The sacrifices I make for my reputation, she thought wryly.

"I wish I had a way of getting in touch with you, in case I come up with anything that could help you," she said on impulse. "What's your email address?"

But he shook his head. "It's better that you don't email me. It's safer for us both if you stay off her radar."

"You mean she checks your mail?"

"I've never asked," he said. "But I assume she knows about everything."

"Including you taking me for rides." That brought a queasy feeling to her stomach.

"Probably. But that I can spin. I can't spin a paper trail like texts and emails." He gave her a reassuring smile, and then his gaze flicked to the girls standing and watching. "See you on Beltane," he said clearly, so that they were sure to hear, and winked at her before he opened up the throttle and rode away.

She tried to hide her smile. Tried, but failed. Sheila gave her a disgusted glare and Alissa hissed, "You have got to be kidding!" But some of the other girls were looking at her with something closer to hero worship.

Joy just gave Sheila and Alissa a serene look. "I guess we'll just see, won't we?" she said.

She had too much on her mind to go back to her room, where she would either be alone with her thoughts or have to put up with Maddie giving her disapproving looks. Fortunately it was almost time for dinner, and she could talk things over with William.

But by the time she had finished serving and took her tray to the usual table, William had gone. Clark was there, along with Tasha, who had made a rare weekend trip to campus in order to put in some practice time on her Beltane performance. "William's gone back to the music building," she explained. "He told me to tell you hey, but he really wanted to keep working on some new project."

"He's always either missing meals or walking out of them," Clark confirmed. "I feel like a mother hen sometimes, reminding him to eat something. So, what did you want him for?"

"Oh, just to get his take on something. It's just that I saw Tanner again this afternoon..."

"Ooh, a date postmortem? I'm much better at them than William. C'mon, dish." He patted the chair beside him, and she sat down, uncertain.

Tasha's response was more guarded. Her initial dislike of Tanner still showed. "So I take it things are getting interesting?"

"He's going to the Beltane dance with me. But this isn't really about Tanner. It's about me."

"You're having second thoughts, and think he'd be happier with a dashing blond drama student? I couldn't agree more," said Clark.

"Stop it. No. This is serious." She was aware, though, that it was going to sound absurd when she put it into words. Maybe she should have held out for William after all. "Well, you've seen him, you know how gorgeous he is. And I guess anyone who's around him will just naturally want to stare. But I feel like I'm ogling him, treating him like a sex object. And I don't want to do that. He's not an object, he's a person."

Clark reared back and stared at her in disbelief. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You consider it a problem that you enjoy looking at a hot guy? It must suck to be you, Joy."

Tasha, at least, took her seriously. "But you don't think of him like a sex object, do you? You have actual conversations and stuff, right? Your relationship--okay, whatever 'ship' it is, friendship, what have you--isn't just based on his looks."

"No, of course not, but it seems wrong. It's one thing to admire a statue, but when it's a person--I just feel so shallow."

"Well, do you look at other men the same way?" Tasha asked reasonably.

She thought about some of the other good-looking guys she knew. Nicholas. Blake. (Actually, every one of Maddie's ex-boyfriends.) And, at Melisande's, there had been Saxon, and Raven, and many, many others. "I don't have the same feeling about them," she said consideringly. "I enjoy them as eye candy, but they don't take my breath away like Tanner does." She made herself say it. "You have to swear not to repeat this, but sometimes when I'm with him I'm afraid I'm turning into a sex fiend. I just can't stop imagining kissing him and... so on."

A delighted Clark was clearly on the verge of asking what "and so on" meant, so Tasha cut him off. "But you don't feel like that about other good-looking guys?" she asked.

She shook her head. The only other guy she had felt this kind of attraction for was William's older brother, the one who used to take her for rides on his motorcycle when she was a freshman. She'd had a huge crush on him, but even then she could see that he wasn't in the same league, aesthetically speaking, as--

"You mean he was a dork," said Clark bluntly. "You don't need to be tactful; I've seen the boy. You know what I think this is?"

"What?"

"Baby's first lust." He put a hand to his heart and pretended to blink back tears. "My little girl's all grown up."

"Oh, shut up," said Joy, fiercely embarrassed. She wished now she'd never brought it up.

But Tasha, thank goodness, could still be relied on. "I don't think you need to worry," she said. "It sounds to me like the reason you find Tanner so attractive" ("Besides the fact that you have eyes," said Clark) "is because you have feelings for him, and not the other way around. And that's about as far away from objectifying him as you can get."

"Hmm." She wasn't convinced, so Tasha tried again. "What if he was in a horrible, disfiguring accident, like Mark Hamill but worse. His face is messed up, his body is scarred, his hands are maimed--"

"Jeez, cut it out, that's horrible."

"Would you still want to be around him then? Or would you cut him out of your life and never see him again?"

She imagined him in a hospital bed, bandaged and broken. The feeling that welled up in her was not revulsion, or disappointment, but pain that he was so hurt. "Of course I'd stick with him! I couldn't leave him just when he needed someone the most."

"I know you wouldn't. But I mean later, when he's recovered, but he doesn't look the same. Would you still feel the same about him?"

She tried to imagine it, but she couldn't picture Tanner not looking like Tanner. "I just don't know," she sighed. "I don't think anyone can say for sure what they'd do in that situation. But the idea of never talking to him again is awful."

"There's always phone sex," suggested Clark, and Tasha picked up a dinner roll and threw it at him. That was the end of all serious conversation for the evening. But Joy felt better. Her conscience could stop bothering her now.

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# Chapter 10

The days leading up to Beltane passed quickly. She kept busy practicing her duet with William and discussing plans for the dance with Maddie. The next Saturday they took the shuttle to the mall in Asheville to shop for accessories. In Belk they passed posters advertising the impending release of Melisande's herbal skin-care line, and the sight of the pale commanding beauty cast a shadow on Joy's good mood. She wished she didn't feel like she was helping Tan cheat on Melisande. She had never expected to be the other woman. Not that Tanner's relationship with Melisande was something worth respecting, but still--

"Joy, come help me decide what shade of black goes with my dress," Maddie said. "I'm having trouble picking out a purse."

"What shade of black?"

"There's a blue-black, and a rusty black, and a sort of dull black. And my dress is more of a true black."

"I thought when you gave up being a goth you could stop worrying about that sort of thing."

Maddie gave her a reproving look. "Always match your blacks," she said severely. "It's as important as not wearing white shoes after Labor Day."

Then Joy caught sight of something and gasped. "Oh, Maddie, look at that dress."

She already had her dress, of course--one she had bought on clearance because she knew the Sumner budget was being strained enough by her father's medical treatment. But this dazzling vision gave her a pang of longing. Sheer, flowing fabric in a watercolor pattern of leaves overlay a nude lining dotted with gold sequins. The effect was like coins of sunlight glinting through a canopy of leaves in an enchanted forest.

"That would look good on you," Maddie decided. "It's not all poufy and froufy. I kind of like it."

Joy reached out with trepidation for the tag and winced when she saw the price. There was no way she could justify buying this.

Not unless she used some of the money she had been saving up for a plane ticket to Oklahoma.

She struggled briefly with herself. She no longer felt the urgent need to fly out to her father, maybe because he was so insistent that he didn't need her. That plan had receded to the back of her mind recently, and she knew why: Tanner. Maybe she should have felt guilty that he had come to be of such importance to her. But when she imagined herself in that dress, dancing with him...

"It'll be miles too long for me," she said, trying to be realistic. "I wouldn't be able to get it hemmed in time."

"Don't be silly. Becca down the hall is a sewing whiz. She can alter it for you." Maddie poked through the rack and found a likely size, and handed it to Joy. "Try it on," she ordered.

Joy told herself she shouldn't. But she let Maddie steer her to the fitting room all the same, and when she emerged to look at herself in the three-way mirror, the dress was too lovely to resist. It would take a huge bite out of her plane-ticket money, especially when she added the new shoes she'd need to buy to match, but after all maybe her father would want her to buy the dress instead of flying out to join him. He'd certainly tried hard enough to talk her out of that plan.

She turned in front of the mirror to make the dress twinkle, and her mind was made up. Oklahoma could wait a little longer.

The drive back to Brasstown took two hours, so the shuttle didn't return to campus until well after the time when Tanner had picked up Joy the last two weekends. She wondered if he had come and missed her, or if he might even be having second thoughts about the dance and would have bowed out if she had been there. She understood his caution about traceable communication between them, but she still wished that she had a way of getting in touch with him.

But Jim Brody called her over as she followed Maddie through the dorm lobby. He was good-looking in a shy, scholarly way, and tended to stay in the background. "You have a message," he said, and handed her a piece of folded graph paper that must have been supplied by Jim himself. Inside was scrawled only "Missed you. See you next Sat. --T."

"It's from him," she said to Maddie, too happy to keep it to herself. "We're still on for the dance."

Maddie was still less than enthusiastic about Tanner, but she had stopped bad-mouthing him in Joy's presence. "At least he's not trying to blow you off," she said. "Maybe he's not a total jerk."

"Coming from you," said Joy, "that's practically gushing."

William and several other Ash Grove music students would be providing live music for the dance. Joy had protested that this was unfair to them--they wouldn't get to do any dancing or relaxing--but William assured her that they were there by choice. "Not all of us are comfortable dancing in public," he said. "And this way I know I'll actually enjoy the music. Also: no wearing a tux!" He pumped his fist in victory.

"You're going to break Clark's heart," said Joy in amusement. "I know it hurts him deep in his soul to see you wearing those faded old shirts and worn-out jeans. I'm amazed he hasn't tried to give you a makeover."

"Oh, he's tried," said William airily. "I can be stubborn too, you know."

The day of the Beltane festival was a perfect spring day: sunny, bright, and warm, but with enough breeze to prevent anyone from overheating on the temporary outdoor stage where the student performances took place. The marquee for the evening dance had already been set up adjacent to the stage, so that audiences had a sheltered place to sit. The maypole had been set up close by, in the center of the playing field, and at noon the senior girls danced the ribbons around it in a tradition far older than Ash Grove High.

Joy had what she considered a medium-sized case of nerves. She was anxious about her playing, even with William to disguise the mistakes she knew she would make; she wanted to do right by her mother's legacy and make her father proud. And she was also on edge wondering if Tanner--and Melisande--would be watching.

In that respect, at least, she found she had nothing to worry about. When she walked onto the stage after the piano had been wheeled out by two sophomore boys who had been drafted for that purpose, she had a full view of the audience, and neither of them was there. She was pleased to see the Hartwells, though, and gave them a nervous smile. In the front row was Mo, next to the student monitoring the digital video camera; after the performance he would post the footage online so that absent family, like Joy's father, would be able to see it.

Maybe it was because she wanted him to be impressed with her, or maybe it was because she was so happy about seeing Tanner that night. But for whatever reason, Joy played better than she ever had before.

It was almost as if she were sitting outside her body watching someone else operate it. It was still her fingers, but they darted over the keys with less effort than ever before; it was still her ear finding the way through William's accompaniment, keeping time with him so perfectly that he flashed her a surprised grin. But she felt as if a new energy was humming through her body, heightening her skill and awareness so that she had only to mentally reach out for the music and draw it out of the air.

The next thing she knew, the audience was applauding, and she was smiling breathlessly as she and William took their bows. Then, performance worries behind her, she was free to enjoy the rest of the afternoon's entertainment.

The highlight was Maddie's performance as the title character in a scene from Antigone. In the showdown with the king, her uncle Creon, she was fierce and vivid and shatteringly real. At the end of the performance Joy applauded until her palms were stinging, and William, at her side, turned a dazed face to her. "She's amazing," he said, and she could only agree.

After dinner, Tasha joined Maddie and Joy in their room for pre-dance primping. She looked like a goddess in a shimmery gold gown and hammered gold jewelry. "You two are so sophisticated," said Joy, admiring her and Maddie. Her roommate was wearing a black sheath dress that was cut to show off the tattoo in the middle of her back: a Victorian vampire bat with outstretched wings. But Joy didn't envy their glamour. The enchanted-forest dress, expertly hemmed by Becca, floated around her in a mist of mysterious greens and glints of light. It was a magical dress. The only jewelry she wore was jade drop earrings that had belonged to her mother.

"Have you thought about putting your hair up?" suggested Maddie from the mirror where she was applying an elaborate eye makeup. "It would be a little dressier, and show off your earrings."

"I'd love to, but I don't know how. It never behaves for me."

"Here, I'll do it," offered Tasha. "I think a French twist would be really flattering on you. Mads, you have bobby pins, don't you?" As she brushed and pinned, she asked too casually, "Does your dad know you're going to the dance with Tanner?"

"I mentioned it, yeah." She had only given the barest details: that Tanner was a former Ash Grove student, that he was out of school now but visiting. Her father hadn't pressed her for details, but she wondered now if that was suspicious; was he so laid-back because he thought he could pump Gail for more information? Or maybe she was just being paranoid. "He'll expect me to give him a full report afterward," she said.

"That's kind of sweet, that he's still looking out for you from far away," said Maddie, starting on her second coat of mascara.

"I guess," said Joy. "It's just that things are so complicated, I'm not sure what to tell him."

She thought for a second Maddie was going to suggest something, and it wasn't going to be flattering to Tanner. But she glanced at Joy in the mirror and kept quiet.

Soon Tasha was finished with Joy's hair, and when she looked in the mirror, she was delighted. "It's so elegant," she said. "I hardly recognize myself." She wondered what Tanner would think of it, and of her dress. She was more nervous than she had expected to be on their first real date.

Maddie would be escorted by her current boyfriend, Jeremiah, although, as she pointed out, it was hard to think of it as a date when he was just going to walk her from the dorm to the marquee before taking the stage to play in the band. Tasha had turned down a couple of guys so that she'd have the luxury of dancing with everybody she wanted to and nobody she didn't, she said. "Or maybe I'll just stand on the sidelines and ogle all the guys," she added. "Anyway, my options are open."

At about a quarter of eight, Joy got a call from Gail. "Your date's waiting for you in the lobby," she said demurely.

Joy grabbed her purse and checked her lipstick one last time. "See you there," she said to Maddie and Tasha, and didn't wait for a reply before darting out the door.

When she descended the stairs into the lobby and saw him, all the air seemed to leave the room. He was wearing a tuxedo that had surely been tailored just for him, as it fit without a crease. He had tamed his hair and combed it away from his face, and he looked so handsome and sophisticated that she felt a moment's panic. Why was this amazing guy here with her? It didn't make sense.

"Hi," she said, very aware that Gail was watching them from across the room.

"Hi." He held up a clear plastic box with a bloom in it. "I wasn't sure if corsages were the done thing, so I brought you one in case. You can always pitch it if you don't want it."

"No, it's lovely." It was a white rose--not a wild rose, but florists weren't likely to carry those. She noticed that he wore a white rosebud as a boutonniere. Had he been thinking of that night in the graveyard when he chose them? She pinned the corsage to her shoulder strap and took his offered arm.

"You look beautiful," he said, and she felt the smile slide off her face. He noticed at once, but said nothing until they were outside and the door had closed between them and Gail.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

The groundskeepers had laid down a strip of Astroturf as a path across the playing field, so that the girls' high heels wouldn't sink into the ground as they made their way to the dance. Luminaria were already lit along the edges of the path, even though there was still some light in the sky. Joy drew him off to the side of the path so that others could pass them.

"Look," she said. "Wherever this is going, I want you to always be honest with me. Promise me that."

"Sure." Then, as he took her meaning, "Wait, you think I was lying?"

"I know I'm not beautiful, Tan. I've known it for a long time. So please don't say it just to try to make me feel good."

"I meant it." He could see that she didn't believe him. "I wasn't saying you have perfectly proportioned features, or whatever. I just meant that I enjoy looking at you." He reached out to touch one dangling earring, setting it swinging, and smiled down at her. "Okay?" he said softly.

This was an entirely new way of looking at things, and with his eyes so steady on hers she couldn't come up with any reason to object to it. "Okay," she said faintly.

Inside the marquee, the dance floor was rapidly filling. The faculty chaperones were at their stations, and the band was doing a last-minute sound check. William, onstage standing behind a keyboard, saw them and gave Joy a wave. Students turned to look, and then they were gathering around them, asking to have their picture taken with "Tristan." But he said placatingly, "I'm just here to have a good time, like all of you. I'm sure you understand that I'd like a night off from photo ops." He managed to charm them all so thoroughly that in a short time the crowd had dispersed.

Sheila and her cohort hadn't joined the stream of fans; they just hung back and glared at them--glared at Joy, certainly. She was feeling so euphoric that she blew them an impudent kiss. At that, they huffily turned their backs. But as soon as the music started, Joy stopped paying any attention to them at all.

She loved dancing, slow or fast, and didn't care when her hair started falling down and her makeup melted off. The fast songs she danced with friends, as Tan just waited them out; evidently he didn't like fast dancing, which came as a disappointment. But whenever she looked across the floor she saw him waiting for her, turning down any girls who approached. He danced all the slow numbers with her, and the student band played a lot of them--so many that she wondered if William had arranged for there to be more slow songs as a favor to her.

Dancing with Tanner was a little tricky, since he was so much taller than she was, and she found that she was a bit shy at first at being so close to him. When he put his arms around her she felt her pulse jump in her throat, even though he held her lightly, not crushing her. Being held by him, resting her hands on his shoulders and feeling their strength even through the tuxedo jacket, she felt suddenly very feminine, even dainty--not a feeling she was used to, but one she liked.

He didn't talk much, but whenever she sought his eyes she found him watching her. I enjoy looking at you, he had said, and the pleasure of remembering that brought warmth to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat of the crowded dance floor.

"You're very quiet tonight," she ventured finally, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

Again those intense eyes gazed into hers. "I'm just enjoying myself," he said, and bent his head to speak closer to her ear. "And nothing I want to say lends itself to shouting."

Maybe she was just imagining that there was a special meaning in the way he said that. But a rush of euphoria almost made her lightheaded. And she even thought she could see some of that joy reflected in his eyes. He was happy. With her. Because of her?

Somebody nudged her, and she looked around to find Clark close by dancing with Blake, who had evidently decided to explore his bicurious side. Swaying with their arms around each other, they made a handsome couple. She made questioning eyebrows at him--how's it going?--and he gave her a covert thumbs-up, followed by a congratulatory nod in her and Tanner's direction. She couldn't restrain a huge grin. She couldn't have disguised how happy she was even if she'd wanted to.

At the first break, though, she found Maddie bearing down on them with purpose in her eyes. Joy groaned inwardly. Of course her roommate would check up on her.

"Hey, Zoolander," was Maddie's greeting to Tanner. "Almost didn't recognize you with a shirt on."

"Almost didn't recognize you without the surly scowl," said Tan equably. "It's Maddie, right? Joy's drill sergeant--sorry, roommate."

Maddie narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm just looking after her. You'd better treat her right, or I'll split your lip, and then all your fancy clients will have to find a new slab of beefcake."

He grinned. "Sorry, Maddie, but you're just not that scary. If you're trying to frighten me off, you'll have to break out the flying monkeys."

She put her hands on her hips. "Laugh all you want, pretty boy, but I'm not going to stop looking out for her."

"Maddie, come on," Joy protested. This was worse than having her father grill him would have been.

"I get it," said Tan, still unruffled. "I know you don't trust me. But I don't have to prove anything to you. The only opinion I care about is Joy's."

Joy expected her to blow up, but instead Maddie seemed to thaw a degree or two.

"Well played, Fabio," she said grudgingly. "Maybe there's actually a spine underneath those washboard abs."

"Pure steel, just like my gaze." Tanner arched an eyebrow and gave her a mock-smoldering look.

"Hmph." But for a second it looked like she was fighting off a smile. "Just don't forget I've got my eye on you, and if you step an inch out of line--"

"He gets it, Maddie," exclaimed Joy. "We both get it, already. Won't Jeremiah be looking for you?"

"Okay, I'll leave you two alone." Maddie leaned in to hug Joy, and asked in her ear, "Having fun?"

Joy just beamed and nodded yes.

Then it was back to dancing--lots of dancing. It was the most fun she'd had in ages. But after a couple of hours, even she had to admit that the heat and the noise were starting to get overpowering.

"Can we get some air?" she shouted to Tan over the music, and he nodded.

It felt good to get away from the hot and crowded dance floor and be able to hear each other again. They wandered around the fringes of the field, then toward the woods. They could hear crickets and cicadas. "They're getting an early start on summer," she said. "Do you feel like just walking for a bit?"

"I'm fine with whatever you want."

The grass had grown high between the trees, and it made a shushing sound against their legs. She stopped to take off her shoes, because her heels made walking awkward on uneven ground, and dangled them from one hand. It was such a beautiful night that she was glad to be outside enjoying it instead of crammed into the marquee. The woods looked unearthly in the moonlight, and their path was dappled with the shadows of leaves.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, out of the silence, startling her. "It's great to be around real people. To be real myself, and not have to pretend."

"It's just a school dance," she said awkwardly, to hide how much his words meant to her.

"It's not just that. It's being with you."

She felt again that quick dizzying belly-drop of surprise and pleasure, and couldn't find anything to say. How was it that the more open he became, the more tongue-tied she was? The things that really mattered seemed the most difficult to talk about.

"Can I ask you something?" she finally said, after they had walked for a time.

"Sure, anything."

"Why did you remember me, that night in the graveyard? It's not like we hung out together when you were a student here. I had to think hard before I knew who you were."

At first she thought he wasn't going to answer. "It's going to sound stupid," he said finally.

"That's okay." Now she was intrigued.

"Back before I left, I used to cut class a lot and hang out in the dining hall and play my guitar. Good acoustics, free food. I was there one day when you were finishing up your lunch, and on your way to turn in your tray you passed a table where some kids had left a mess--spilled ketchup, dirty napkins and stuff. You stopped and cleaned it up before you turned in your tray."

Joy waited for him to get to the important part. Then she realized that he was finished. "That's it? I don't see what's memorable about that."

"It wasn't just the one time. Over the next few days, I saw that you always picked up the messes other kids left behind. No one but me ever noticed, so you obviously didn't do it to be thanked. You just did it because it was the decent thing to do." He glanced over at her to see how she'd react to this, but surprise held her tongue. She hadn't realized she had even registered in his mind in those days, let alone that he'd been paying that much attention. "It may sound dumb, since it was just a little thing," he said, "but it made an impression on me."

Knowing that she had remained in his thoughts sent a dart of pleasure through her. She had mattered to him, even if it was just a little bit. "Why did you get so angry with me in the graveyard, then?"

He rubbed the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture that went straight to her heart. He seemed more human and less sophisticated when he was embarrassed. "That night I was hating everything about myself and my life," he said. "I went there to be alone to cuss and yell and break things and, well, feel sorry for myself. And then you showed up, and--"

"I was intruding. I see."

"That was a big part of it, yeah. But then I realized I knew you, and you looked at me with those big eyes of yours and I thought..."

This time she waited for him, not interrupting. When he spoke again, his voice was so low she almost couldn't hear him.

"...and I thought how different my life might have been if I'd stayed at Ash Grove, and asked you out, and never gotten mixed up with--with her."

"Tan," she exclaimed in astonishment. Never would she have guessed that he would have considered asking her out.

"I guess you've figured out by now that models are total drama queens," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I sure acted like one, anyway."

"You weren't a drama queen; you were miserable. I just hope things don't look as hopeless to you now."

He didn't answer at once. They had made their way up the ridge into the thick of the woods, and the campus felt quite distant now. A breeze stirred the leaves with a hushing sound, and some early-blooming mountain ash trees showed small white blossoms like snowflakes in the dark, scenting the air with sweetness. Down on the playing field, spread below them, the luminaria shone like stars, and faintly the sound of a ballad came to their ears. "I wish I didn't have to go back," he said abruptly.

It was like the toll of midnight for Cinderella, the reminder that their time together was temporary and all too brief. The night was suddenly less perfect. They stopped walking and stood silent.

"I smell roses," she said suddenly. "Do you?"

He gave her a startled look. Their florist roses had no fragrance. Then he said, "Look up ahead. I wonder--"

A few yards further up the slope, through some straggling branches that he held aside for her, and then suddenly the way was clear and they stepped out of the forest. Into a rose garden.

The lost rose garden.

Impossibly, the moonlight revealed tidy paths between hedges all in bloom, winding out of sight into the darkness. At the center stood an arbor that was a mass of roses. Red as wine or spilled blood, they clustered over the beams like velvet shadows. Their fragrance was heavy in the air.

As if of their own will their hands found each other and joined.

Silently, they entered the path, walking past waist-high hedges heavy with red blooms that nodded in the soft breeze. It had to be a trick of the moonlight, but the roses they wore suddenly looked red as well. She could no longer hear the music of the dance. Even the night creatures seemed hushed.

When she looked at him she saw the same wondering, solemn joy that she knew must be in her face as well. Still silent, they moved into each other's arms, and their kiss, sweet and lingering, was both question and answer.

Inside the arbor the darkness welcomed them, sparing the need for modesty or shame. The night air was soft against bare skin, and the bed of grass made a yielding cushion. When he touched her, she found that he was trembling--with love or fear or desire she did not know, but she held him close, comforting him with her body, until his lips were sure against hers. And when he met her joyous eagerness with his own, she felt both triumph and awe that she could give him this. Delight thrilled through her like starlight rushing through her veins, and he whispered her name as together they learned to be one.

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# Chapter 11

As their breathing gentled, tendrils of mist began to creep into the garden. She smiled at the picture he made, framed by roses, his tousled hair silvered in the dim light.

He reached for his tuxedo jacket to draw over them, but she stopped his hand.

"I was afraid you might get cold," he said.

"Not with you to warm me." She settled herself more snugly against him, if that was possible, and could feel the rumble of laughter in his chest.

"Are all teachers' daughters so shameless?"

For answer she flirted her toes against his shins. She marveled at how the feeling of his nakedness against hers, although so strange and foreign to her, still seemed right and natural. They were still learning each other; her eyes followed the gleam of moonlight along his flank as his fingers smoothed the tumbled hair back from her temples, and then ventured farther.

"You have the nicest body," he said, his gaze moving appreciatively over her. "No, I mean it. All the girls I see every day have such a stingy look to them. Your body is so--generous. In the giving sense, I mean."

She touched his face, tracing the curve of his lips as she had imagined doing that first night in the graveyard. His lips quirked under her fingertips. "Tickles," he said.

"I've never seen you like this," she said. "I see a different side of you every time we're together. It's like--I don't know, like layers being peeled away."

His woodsmoke eyes were suddenly grave.

"This is the one I want you to remember, then," he said. "This is the real me, here with you now."

"I'll remember." As if she could ever forget.

As she lay looking up at him, a dazed smile found its way back to his face. "I still can't believe you're with me like this."

With him was where she belonged; she knew that now. "Of course I am," she said. "I love you."

For a second his expression went blank, and she had time to start to feel nervous. Maybe she shouldn't have said it. Then his face began to work, and he screwed his eyes shut as if to fight it, turning his face away.

Startled, she sat up and put a hand to his shoulder, trying to turn him toward her to read his face. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and a dawning suspicion constricted her chest.

"Tan," she said softly. "Has no one ever said that to you before?"

His head, still bowed, shook once.

"Then I'll keep saying it," she vowed, despite the lump that had formed in her throat. "And keep showing you. I love you, Tan. I do."

His throat convulsed as he swallowed. "Thank you." It was a hoarse whisper. He pulled her to him and held her, so tightly that she could feel the beat of his heart as if it were her own. "Thank you," he whispered again, the words soft and broken against her ear.

This was the newness of him, she realized: the mockery and the bitterness had fallen away like a cast-off skin. Bare as a newborn, naked of all defenses, he was giving himself into her keeping.

The night was the longest Joy could remember, and she was grateful for the gift of it. There was more talk, more laughing; more kisses, more loving. She felt as if she and Tanner were in a place out of time, that the world had come to a stop just for them.

But finally they had to return to reality. When the sky lightened with dawn's approach, they helped each other dress, with much stifled laughter like naughty children.

"Your skin smells like roses."

"And you have petals in your hair."

They met no one on their way back through the woods and to her dorm. It was as if a spell was over the world, she thought, and they were the only two people awake. She couldn't stop smiling; neither could he. When they reached the side door nearest her room, she stood on tiptoe for one last long kiss, burying her hands in the softness of his hair. He caught one of her hands and brought it to his heart, holding it there as he looked into her eyes. There was no need for either of them to speak.

As she closed the door behind herself and crept up the stairs and down the hall, hoping not to wake anyone and alert them to her return, she felt more than ever that she was in the midst of a spell. The prince exploring the sleeping castle where the enchanted princess lay, perhaps. She eased open the door to her room and bundled together some nightclothes so quietly that there was no change in the peaceful breathing coming from Maddie's bed.

In the bathroom she changed out of her crumpled dance dress and into cotton pajamas. She washed her face with cold water, hoping to take the blush out of her cheeks, but it was no good: when she looked in the mirror she saw that she still looked radiant. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and her eyes were far too bright. And underneath the fabric of her pajamas, her skin still held the memory of his body.

She sat down abruptly on the tile floor, overwhelmed.

In just a few hours, everything had changed for her. She was linked to Tanner as irrevocably as if they were husband and wife. Nothing would ever be the same.

Joy gave her father a heavily edited account of the dance, and a similarly edited account to Maddie and Tasha. Neither of them looked as if they believed they were getting the whole story. After all, said Maddie, "You left early and didn't get back to the dorm until after I was asleep. That's suspicious, young lady."

Joy permitted herself one admission. "He's an amazing kisser," she told Maddie, who looked a bit envious. Joy wondered if Jeremiah was about to be deemed unsatisfactory and kicked to the curb.

Beltane night already felt like a dream in her memory. Finding the rose garden should have frightened her, especially when she trekked up the ridge the next day and was unable to find it again. She couldn't understand why it didn't scare her that she and Tanner had stumbled into something that had no rational explanation. The way she had always assumed the world to operate didn't hold any more. She tried to find a way to explain it away, but part of her had already accepted it.

She was actually more surprised at herself for sleeping with Tanner. She knew better than to jump unthinkingly into intimacy. There were too many risks, and she knew she shouldn't let herself off the hook for that. But everything about their time together that night felt as if it had unfolded in the only way it could have. Did ordinary logic even apply in an enchanted garden that didn't usually exist? She could almost dare to hope that their time there had been enchanted also, a perfect thing that existed apart from day-to-day reality in its own self-contained bubble.

Back in that day-to-day reality, the marquee and stage had been disassembled, and the grounds had been restored to more or less their usual appearance. By Monday morning most of the students had caught up on sleep and were prepared to knuckle down for the last big academic push before finals.

She was making plans with Maddie and William for a study session when Sheila burst into the coffee bar and stormed up to their table. "Well, you've done it now," she snapped at Joy. "Melisande's gone."

"She's--what?"

"You heard me. She and her entourage have cleared out. Bet you're not feeling so clever about your star-screwing career now, are you?"

Dread was forming in Joy's stomach. Melisande had taken Tanner away?

"What could Joy possibly have to do with Melisande leaving?" asked William.

Sheila glared. "You know damn well that she was practically stalking Tristan. Melisande didn't have any choice but to take him away. Now she'll probably never come back, all thanks to Stalkerella here. Nice job, Joy."

She left the three of them silent. Joy felt hollow inside. Tanner was gone. And she had no way of contacting him. Did he even know her phone number or email? She had no idea. They were completely cut off from each other. And for how long? Melisande could keep him away as long as she liked, at least until her guardianship expired with his birthday.

"Did you know?" William asked her.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

"So he didn't even say goodbye?" Maddie demanded.

"He may not have had a chance," William pointed out. "If it was a sudden whim of Melisande's, it might have happened too fast for him to get in touch."

"Oh, you're just saying that because you're a guy. I swear to god, you're all the same." She was warming up for her favorite rant now. "Guys are all just rotten bastards. We girls trust them, and they screw us over every single time. When it comes down to a choice between manning up or taking the easy way out, they're cowards through and through. It was the same--"

"Will you shut up!" It was so unusual to hear William raise his voice that it even shocked Joy out of her distress, and she looked at him in amazement. Heads turned at nearby tables.

William's usually mild expression was thunderous. "You're always going on about how all guys are jerks. Did you ever think that maybe it just seems that way because you only date jerks? There are plenty of us who are perfectly decent guys. But apparently you have some need to be with assholes. So just lay off, Maddie, will you?"

He shoved his chair back from the table, grabbed his backpack, and slammed out of the coffee bar.

Maddie looked as if she'd reached out to pet a kitten and had it turn around and bite her hand off. "What's his problem?" she said, bewildered. "I was just letting off steam. He's never minded before."

Joy didn't answer. Had Melisande really left just to get Tanner away from her? And could he really have been taken by surprise? It was hard to believe such a large-scale move had been carried out at the last minute and without Tanner having known about it.

But if he had known about it, why didn't he tell her? To spare her feelings? Or, worse--what if Joy was just a diversion for him while he was in town, and he'd never meant to continue a relationship with her?

That couldn't be right. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the things he had said. His tenderness. He cared for her; he had to. If only she could know for sure how he felt about this move--whether he was yanked away against his will, or whether he followed Melisande with no more than a shrug for what he was leaving behind.

Her thoughts were on a hamster wheel and wouldn't be still. Maddie still looked poleaxed. Both of them sat in silence until the coffee bar started clearing out and they realized it was time for their next class.

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# Chapter 12

Word traveled quickly that Joy and Tanner weren't seeing each other anymore, and her recent popularity vanished as quickly as it had begun. The next time she took her tray to the popular dance students' table, everyone stared at her as if she'd lost her mind, and she retreated, face burning, to sit at an empty table. She had known they would discover sooner or later that she was useless to them as a celebrity conduit, but it still hurt to suddenly become a pariah.

She had more than that weighing on her mind, though. She realized now that it had been foolish to put Melisande so much out of her thoughts, when every moment Joy and Tanner spent together was something stolen from his guardian. And Melisande was dangerous; she should never have forgotten that. Even the photos of her in the gossip rags captured a certain hardness that Joy now recognized. Ruthless. That's what she was.

Joy thought again about how Melisande had tasted Tanner's blood before she seduced him. It was a shocking thing to do, but Tanner had been enthralled by it, by everything she did. As if he were hypnotized.

Joy sat up abruptly. She and Maddie had been studying on the front lawn of their dorm, sitting on a blanket with textbooks spread out around them, but she knew there was no chance of being able to focus on music theory or Shakespeare now.

"Maddie," she said. "This will sound crazy, but do you think Melisande could be a vampire?"

Her roommate didn't even look up from her notes. "Metaphorically? Sure."

"No, I mean an actual vampire." Joy hadn't told her how Tanner had come to be Melisande's protege, and she gave her a quick rundown now, omitting the more intimate parts. "What keeps coming up is this ability she has to mesmerize people. And she's so pale, and she doesn't seem to age. Tanner himself said that her crowd doesn't get up before sundown."

Maddie made a doubtful face. "I'm sorry, Joy, but I don't believe in any of that stuff. I think she's just a crazy celebrity on a power trip, and she likes nightlife and Botox. Or maybe," and she straightened up, squinting as she thought, "maybe she's one of those weirdos who like to think they're vampires. You know, they get fitted with fangs at the dentist's and do these blood-exchange rituals while listening to whatever wristcutter music is trendy that week." She could see Joy wasn't happy with this theory. "Okay, well, look at it this way. Tanner should know, right? And has he ever said he had any suspicions like that?"

"Well, no." Joy chewed on this. "But she could be doing a mind whammy on him." Or perhaps he was as much of a skeptic as Maddie, and rationalized away whatever Melisande did. Joy had always been on the skeptical side herself, but the more she learned of Melisande, the more she got the uneasy feeling that she was in the presence of something not quite normal, or even not quite human--especially now that she knew firsthand that the world didn't always follow rational rules.

Seeing that she still hadn't convinced Maddie, she sighed and gave up. "I'm probably just trying to find a good reason I hate her so much."

"Or maybe an excuse to put a stake through her heart, if she has one," said Maddie. "I don't think you really need another reason to hate her. She's given you plenty already."

Joy couldn't stop turning the idea over, though. She knew that Melisande was deadly dangerous, and she couldn't find a solid reason for that conviction.

At length Maddie packed up her books. "I'm going to grab a coffee with William. Want to come with?" The two of them had made up after William's meltdown, and they seemed to be as close as ever.

Joy opted instead to walk over to the library to study there. Sometimes she could focus better indoors. The periodicals section had sofas, which made it the most popular study area, so it was usually full, as it was today. She tried the reference section next, and found a free space at a table where she could spread out her notes and books.

She was still having a hard time focusing, though. She found herself staring across the room at the antique oil painting that hung by the reference counter. It was a Dante Gabriel Rossetti, purchased by Cavanaugh himself, and its subject was the Keats poem "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." She had seen it hundreds of times without really noticing it. But now she felt drawn to take a closer look. She slipped out of her seat and walked up to the painting.

Against a detailed, brilliantly colored landscape were posed the figures of a woman on horseback and a knight in armor walking alongside. The woman's long dark hair floated in the breeze, and she was smiling a cruel smile at the knight, whose face was turned adoringly up to her. Joy knew the poem, and she knew that the knight's infatuation with the beautiful "fairy's child" would be his undoing.

It was too close to home, too much what she was afraid was happening to Tanner. There were even physical resemblances in the painting: the knight's full, curved mouth, a Rossetti trademark, was just like Tanner's.

Perhaps even now Melisande was exercising her power over him to punish him for spending time with Joy. And there was nothing Joy could do about it.

The thought stung like a slap. Anxious now to get away from the painting and its associations, she turned away too abruptly, tripped over her own feet, and found herself losing her balance. Her hand shot out to brace herself, but the wall wasn't where she expected, and she almost fell before her outflung arm found a solid surface.

Then she stood and stared.

Where the reference room usually ended in a solid wall, there was an entryway to another wing Joy had never seen before.

Study carrels lined the opposite wall, and their windows looked out on a brilliantly sunny day. It had been overcast when Joy entered the reference section; she had had to turn on the table lamp. But this room was bright with sunlight. Some of the carrels were occupied, but she didn't recognize any of the students.

A girl who had laughed at Joy's graceless entrance looked contrite. "Sorry," she whispered. "You okay?"

Joy nodded. Her mouth had gone dry. "Is this the Ash Grove library?" she managed.

One of the other students shushed her. The first girl whispered, "Of course. Are you lost?"

"I think so. I just came from the reference section--" and she turned to point back in the direction from which she had come. When she turned her head back to the carrels, she bumped her nose against a wall. The wall that should have been there the entire time.

The carrels, the students, the entire other wing had vanished.

Joy fell back a step, her heart beating rapidly. The wall looked every bit as solid as it ever had. There was no sign of a door. When she put out her hand, it met solid plaster.

She knocked a stack of books off the counter in her haste to get out.

She was hollering for Gail Brody even before she was through the front door of the dorm. Gail was sitting in her favorite position, cross-legged on her living room floor with a book, but one look at Joy and she was on her feet, putting her arm around her.

"What is it?" she said at once. "Are you okay? Tell me what I can do."

"You can show me where your bathroom is," Joy croaked. "I think I'm going to throw up."

When she emerged, she was still trembling. Gail led her to the sofa and put a mug of hot tea in her hands. When Joy had calmed down enough to tell her the full story, she said, "This is something Dr. Aysgarth needs to know about."

"Why? Do you think I'm losing my mind?"

"Not at all. I believe you were there--that you found your way into a part of the library that hasn't been built yet. And that's exactly why I've got to tell Dr. Aysgarth." She gave Joy's shoulder a squeeze. "First, tell me again about everything you remember. Absolutely everything, no matter how trivial it seems. And then--"

"Yes?"

"And then go run yourself a bubble bath and soak til you're red as a boiled lobster. It's my favorite treatment for shock. Or at least," she conceded, "it's the best I can advise for someone under twenty-one."

The next afternoon she was called to Dr. Aysgarth's office. When she arrived, the secretary told her that the principal was waiting for her in the conference room down the hall. Perplexed, Joy went and knocked at the door.

"Come in, Joy. Close the door behind you, please."

Dr. Aysgarth sat at the head of the conference table, a laptop computer open in front of her. Along the sides was a motley assortment of adults, from Gail to Mo to the PhysEd teacher to the school nurse. Almost half of them Joy had never seen before.

Gail gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you're not in any trouble. In fact, we thought you might be able to help us out."

"How?" She took a seat at the foot of the table, since it was the only vacant chair.

"We think you may have been involved in a time slip, or another kind of dimensional anomaly," said Mo. He said this as matter-of-factly as if he were ordering in a restaurant.

"A what was that?" she said.

Dr. Aysgarth said, "We're going to have to give you some more background. But first you should meet the other member of our council." She turned the laptop around to face Joy, and she saw a familiar face on the screen.

"Hey there, kittycat," said her father.

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# Chapter 13

It took a little time for Joy to get everything straight. First, it was a lot to accept that Ash Grove, in addition to a standard board of governors, had this second, secret one. The only overlaps in membership were Dr. Aysgarth and Dr. Michael Fellowes, the former principal of Ash Grove. Second, and much harder to get her head around, was the peculiar nature of Ash Grove High itself.

"Josiah Cavanaugh was an eccentric, but he was also a visionary," her father explained via webcam. "He understood a lot more than most of his contemporaries about the existence of different dimensions and supernatural entities. A lot of what have been called his superstitions were actually very effective means of safeguarding his school from malignant forces."

"Dad, you're talking like a professor. Just spit it out."

"Okay, then, how's this: Cavanaugh believed in things like monsters and demons. And he was right to."

Joy sent an appealing look to those gathered around the table. "That can't be right. Can it?"

Mo cleared his throat. "Let's just look at one example to start with. You know that there are a lot of mountain ash and holly trees on campus, right? Well, both of those are very powerful protections against evil. Mountain ash is also called rowan; you may know it by that name." She nodded, thinking of her mother's rowan pendant. "Cavanaugh built in a lot of protective measures like that when he established his school here."

"Why not just build the school somewhere else?" Joy asked.

"Ah, another good point." That was Dr. Fellowes, a dapper silver-haired man and evidently the senior member of the council. "That's one of the most important things about Ash Grove, and the reason it needs so much oversight and protection. Cavanaugh chose for his school a site of tremendous power. He recognized that this apparently normal little patch of land was actually the locus of a huge amount of supernatural energy. He believed he could harness that energy for good, by channeling it into education and artistic endeavor. And, by and large, he was right."

"Why did he choose the performing arts?" asked Joy. "Why not, I don't know, physics?"

"There's a kind of natural symbiosis between performance and the supernatural, or at least the unexplainable," said Mo. "You've probably experienced it yourself, when you're playing or acting and feel as if you're channeling something you can't explain. And you've probably also witnessed actors or dancers or singers who seem to literally cast a spell on the audience. It's partly talent, but sometimes a performer taps into something beyond innate ability." Joy suddenly thought of the Beltane festival: of her own feeling of effortlessness at the piano, of Maddie's electrifying performance. "Cavanaugh got that--he was a talented musician himself--and thought it would be a harmonious way to diffuse the energies here, if you'll pardon the pun."

The school nurse--Ms. Ansley, a brunette with a soft Southern drawl--took up the story. "But the sheer power of this place can break loose from time to time. Even with all of us monitoring it, sometimes there'll be little glitches and blips of weirdness. Like the time slips."

"Joy, I had to tell them about your experience in the library," said Gail. "It sounded like a time slip, and we try to keep tabs on everything like that, so we'll be prepared if something big is building up."

"I've looked at the building blueprints, and you were definitely in a part of the library that has never existed," said Dr. Aysgarth. "Have you experienced anything else out of the ordinary? Any instances of time seeming to slow down or speed up?"

She was already shaking her head no when she thought of the night in the rose garden. The night that had seemed to last long enough to give her and Tanner time for all they had to say, and not say. She remembered that feeling that they were in their own little world, set apart from everything else.

"I think so," she said reluctantly. "On Beltane night. I think time slowed down for a while."

Her father's image looked intrigued. "Beltane would definitely make sense," he said. "It's one of a very few days in the year when the veil between the worlds is lifted. Usually what comes through is good, unlike on Samhain. When time slowed down for you, Joy, was it a positive thing?"

She hoped she wasn't blushing. "You could say that," she said.

"Can you tell us anything else about that event?" Dr. Aysgarth could see her reluctance, and added, "It really may be important, Joy. We've been seeing signs of some kind of major disruption on its way, and we need all the information we can get."

"Um. Well, I was in the rose garden. The one that... isn't usually there."

That staggered them. Half a dozen people started talking at once, including her father, and for a second she was worried that the shock was going to be too much for him. Finally things settled down enough for Gail to ask Joy to describe what she had seen. When she had finished describing the garden and how she got there--without mentioning that she had had company--an electric silence filled the room.

"That's big," said her father at last. "In the century since Cavanaugh had it planted, there are only two documented sightings of that garden." He looked proud, as if Joy had accomplished something instead of just stumbling into it.

"Why is it so important?" she asked. "It's just a flower garden, right?"

Dr. Fellowes explained. "Its function is far more than ornamental," he told her. "When Josiah Cavanaugh founded Ash Grove, as I said, he intended for it to be a kind of benign channel for all the power concentrated here. The students would essentially be outlets for this power when they performed. But Cavanaugh knew there should be other outlets, as backups."

"You mean, like safety valves?"

"Exactly. And the rose garden is the primary one."

Her father took up the narrative. "Because roses are associated with positive qualities, primarily love, Cavanaugh evidently felt that they would be a secure channel for the paranormal forces here. However, he didn't seem to take into consideration that the rose is also the flower of secrecy--and so the garden tends to remain secret."

"Wow," said Joy. "So this mojo from beyond has a sense of humor." If thoughts of Tanner weren't so painful, she might even enjoy the sly humor in the fact that their night together had been particularly appropriate given the setting--or vice versa.

"The fact that the garden has emerged into existence could mean that the fabric is weakening," said Dr. Aysgarth, bringing them back to the larger concerns. "Along with Melisande's influence, this could be dangerous."

"Melisande!" Joy exclaimed. "What does she have to do with it?"

"We're still trying to figure that out," said Dr. Aysgarth, grimly. "We don't even know what she is yet--whether she's human or not--let alone what her agenda is. All we really know is that something is off about her, and her eagerness to establish good terms with Ash Grove is setting off our hinky meter. To use the technical term," she added, with one of her rare flashes of humor.

So Melisande might not even be human? Prickles ran across Joy's skin at the possibility that her own doubts and suspicions had not been so farfetched after all. But what would that mean for Tanner?

"It's my fault we know so little," said her father, regretfully. "If I were there on site, helping to monitor activity, you might not be experiencing so many anomalies. It's because of me that you have so many unanswered questions."

"Steven, it's not your fault. We should be able to tackle this sort of thing by now." Dr. Aysgarth removed her glasses, the signal that she was about to say something important. "We'd better discuss increased security measures, especially as we get closer to Samhain. I've heard that Melisande will be returning in the fall, and whether or not she has something in the works for Samhain, that's always the time of year when Ash Grove is most vulnerable. Joy, I think we've kept you long enough. You can go. Thank you for being so forthcoming."

"Needless to say, this is all strictly confidential," said Mo. "The less the other students know about it, the better. If a lot of untrained youngsters started trying to tap into Ash Grove's power, things could get messy, and dangerous."

"I understand," said Joy. "I'll keep quiet." Even if she were to tell her friends about this, they'd never believe her. She was still having a hard time believing it herself. "Dad?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"

She thought he looked uncomfortable, but it was hard to tell from the image on the screen. "Well, it was important to keep it secret, kittycat, even from you."

"But to not even prepare me..."

"We'll talk about it later, Joy. I need to discuss things with the council right now."

Rather hurt at being dismissed this way, she pushed her chair back and stood. "Okay. I'll Skype you after supper, then?"

"Sure thing," he said, but it sounded merely polite.

Maybe, thought Joy, when they spoke privately he could tell her more about this bizarre secret history. She wasn't sure she understood just what kind of power Ash Grove was channeling, and it made her nervous. So did the idea of blundering into a nonexistent piece of the campus again. She couldn't understand why her father hadn't at least warned her that such things were possible.

Something else was bothering her as well. Why hadn't he insisted that she leave Ash Grove? Why wasn't he trying to protect her? If he knew that time slips and slowdowns were the worst that could happen, he should have said so. And if there was the possibility of worse things in store, she definitely wanted to be forewarned. She hated being kept in the dark. It made her wonder if there were other matters he was being secretive about.

But when she asked him via Skype that evening why he hadn't warned her about Ash Grove's peculiarities, he brushed her off. "You could easily have gone to Ash Grove for four years without coming across anything paranormal," he said in his most reasonable voice. "I didn't see any reason to scare you with things you might never encounter."

"It would have been nice to be prepared, though. At least to have some idea." When he didn't respond to that gentle reproach, she pushed a little harder. "Are there other things you've been keeping from me? Like your treatments? You're not going to die, are you?"

He summoned up a tired chuckle. "I have no immediate plans in that area. But I admit I'm a little run-down today, so you'd better go ahead and tell me what you want to know about Josiah Cavanaugh and Ash Grove."

Was he really not feeling up to the conversation, she wondered, or just using his illness as an excuse? She felt disloyal even considering such a thing, but she was starting to realize that maybe she couldn't take everything he told her at face value any more. And that hurt.

"Well?" her father prodded. "What do you want me to tell you?"

She forced herself to focus. "Everything," she said. "Tell me everything you know."

But that, it seemed, was not terribly much. Josiah Cavanaugh had left little record of his life behind him, aside from the usual statistics of birth, marriage, death, and the instances when he emerged into public life--such as when he purchased the land for Ash Grove School. Most of their information about him, such as accounts of his superstitions, came from an obscure biography published anonymously. No one knew how he had come by his interest in the supernatural, for instance, or his knowledge about it. "He's still a pretty mysterious figure," he said. "Which is part of why it's so tricky figuring out how to keep Ash Grove protected. We have to do a lot of guessing."

"I would have thought he'd have left instructions behind, or appointed a guardian," said Joy. "Is it possible he did, and something went wrong?"

"It's possible, yes. But a lot of his legacy is drawn from fairly standard Celtic traditions and lore, like having a celebration at Beltane and a bonfire on Samhain. Those are the two biggies, the days marking the arrival of spring and fertility, and the coming of winter and darkness. Other than that, it's--Joy? Are you all right?"

Fertility.

"Yeah, I just--I just remembered something I forgot. Can I let you go til tomorrow?"

Rushed I-love-yous and goodbyes, and she clambered across her bed to grab the calendar off the wall. Flipped pages, counted. Counted again.

"Oh, crap," whispered Joy.

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# Chapter 14

A pregnancy test from the nearby convenience store confirmed her fears. Asking Gail to drive her into town to see a gynecologist was about as humiliating as she had expected it would be, as was the appointment itself, in which her doctor questioned her at length. Then, when she emerged into the waiting room, Gail started in on her.

"Didn't you use protection?"

"Of course we did." She had Maddie to thank for that--not that she would ever tell her.

"So what happened?"

"I don't know! This is hardly my area of expertise." She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Look, Gail, it's pointless trying to go back and figure out how it happened. And I didn't want to have to talk about it at all. What happened between me and Tanner was personal, and it should have been private. Talking about it like this makes it seem cheap."

Gail relented. "Let's get some ice cream," she said. "We could both stand to cool down some. Especially you. If you blush any more I think you're going to burst into flames."

Over sundaes they nudged the topic around further. The Dairy Queen was far enough from campus that they could talk relatively freely.

"To be fair," said Gail, who had become more philosophical under the influence of Moose Tracks, "it might have been inevitable, what with it being Beltane night, and Ash Grove sitting on top of a supernatural amplifier." She licked hot fudge off her spoon. "I don't know that any form of protection short of a pentagram and a priest would have worked."

"Thanks," said Joy gratefully. "I'm glad you're not mad at me."

"There's not much point in being mad now." Gail sighed. "I just keep thinking of how disappointed your father is going to be in me."

"In you?" That caught her by surprise. "It's not your fault, Gail, he'll have to see that. But anyway, I'm not ready to tell him yet. I've got to figure out how to prepare him for the shock." Now it was her turn to sigh. "You've got to promise me you won't tell him--or anyone. No one must know."

"Of course."

"Not even Dr. Aysgarth."

After a moment's hesitation, Gail said, "I promise." Then, carefully, "Have you thought yet about what you're going to do?"

Joy realized that she was chewing on her thumbnail, a habit she had broken years before. She put her hand in her lap. "I need to talk to him first before I make any decisions." She wasn't talking about her father.

"Have you got a way of getting in touch with him?"

"I'm working on it," said Joy.

She had spent so many mornings and evenings online, trying to find a way to contact Tanner, with no success. All his contact information led to his agency, which meant it went through Melisande. No private phone number or email address existed for him; even his Facebook and Twitter accounts were maintained by Melisande's company. When her spirits were at their lowest she couldn't help but wonder if it was more than caution that had prevented him from giving her a way to contact him directly. Maybe he didn't want her to be able to find him. Maybe she had just been a fling, a bit of fun to be left behind without a backward glance. She knew that wasn't true, but it was hard not to let the doubts creep in sometimes.

She even tried to think of ways to send a coded message. But what would she say, even if she could get a message through? She was determined not to tell him about her pregnancy until she could do it in person. That left only "come back"--as if he could go anywhere against Melisande's will. He was as good as a prisoner until November, when he turned eighteen.

A prisoner who led a very glamorous life on parole, however. She couldn't resist checking the tabloids and celebrity gossip sites for news of him, and there were plenty of recent photos of him on different red carpets with different women on his arm; Melisande was the only one who ever appeared with him more than once. It was horrible seeing him that way, but she couldn't stop looking. Even when she wasn't actively searching for him, he'd show up in the sidebar of a website in a trashy faux news item like "Dishy Tristan Tans in Cannes!" The only thread of hope these sightings gave her was that in some of the shirtless beefcake photos she could see that he was wearing her mother's pendant.

That was one of the disadvantages of having a celebrity boyfriend (if he could even be called her boyfriend): she was constantly bombarded with reminders of him. Classmates still stopped her to ask for the latest news of him, and the launch of Melisande's new skin-care product line meant that he and Melisande were practically everywhere she looked. The billboards on Highway 64 showed them in seductive poses, they appeared in banner ads at practically every website Joy visited, and one afternoon when she was hanging out in Gail's living room she found that even there she wasn't safe.

Gail liked to have talk shows on in the background when she graded schoolwork, and she was marking up math tests while Joy, who would rather have done anything other than spend time alone in her room with her own thoughts, had taken it upon herself to alphabetize Gail and Jim's Blu-Ray collection. When an image of Melisande and Tanner came on the screen she made a startled noise.

"Actress and supermodel Melisande has appeared in her first TV ads," said the voice-over. "She and her popular protege Tristan will be talking with me today about the launch of her herbal skin-care line and the challenges of going from actress to entrepreneur."

Gail had looked up from the test she was grading. "Did you know about this, Joy?"

She shook her head. Alphabetizing was forgotten as she stared at the screen.

When the hostess introduced Melisande, she glided onto the set to wild applause. She was wearing a gauzy white dress with a plunging neckline, in a pseudo-Grecian style. Her white-blonde hair, worn down as usual, made an ethereal nimbus around her. She paused gracefully to acknowledge the applause before she took a seat on the sofa in the interview area, languid and relaxed, elegantly crossing her legs. Joy felt a pang of depression. She could never hope to be as graceful, or as feminine, as this exquisite long-limbed creature.

The talk-show hostess, Roberta West, also dwindled to nothingness in comparison. Her spray tan and salon highlights looked all the more artificial next to the perfect beauty of her guest. But she greeted Melisande gushingly.

"It's certainly not every day that we get to welcome to our studio a star as legendary as you, Melisande!"

The studio audience burst into further applause. Melisande smiled as if it were her due.

"Now, in ads for your skin-care line you put a lot of emphasis on their herbal content," Roberta continued, after some more pleasantries. "But this is different from the way we've seen herbal ingredients used before, isn't it?"

"That's right, Roberta. My formulas rely not on scientific properties, but on more mystical ones."

Roberta put her head on one side to convey interest, like a terrier. "Do you mean the kind of old superstitions that people used to call witchcraft? Eye of newt, toe of frog?"

Melisande's raised eyebrows showed that she didn't appreciate the implicit comparison to the hags of Macbeth. "Call it magic if you like, but it's not about black cats and cauldrons," she said coolly. "Herbs have been used since the beginning of recorded history in everything from housekeeping to surgery, and medical science has yet to explain some of their effects. For example, centuries before the little blue pill, the herb called lad's love, or southernwood, was widely used to put men in an amorous frame of mind."

That was one of the ingredients in the unguent she had used on Tanner's injuries when they first met, Joy remembered. "This use of herbs," she said to Gail. "Does it seem significant to you? It almost sounds like she may be involved in witchcraft, especially since she's so peeved at Roberta for suggesting it."

Gail thought about this, absently biting the end of her red pencil. "It's worth considering. Are you thinking of just these skin products, or something else?"

Joy told her about the herbal ointment as Tanner had described it to her. "I remember lad's love especially because of the name. She implied it had some therapeutic quality, but from what she's saying here, it sounds more like an aphrodisiac."

"Classy," said Gail dryly. "I guess he was lucky she chose something more subtle than roofie. And vervain and coriander are used not just in healing but in love spells as well. Mullein, if I remember correctly, can act as a sedative. It sounds like she chose exactly the herbs that would make him susceptible to her."

"So she might be a witch?" She wouldn't have a problem believing that.

"Or at least versed in witchcraft. Of course, she could just be innocently blundering around in folklore without understanding there are actual supernatural forces to be tapped. But I doubt she goes into anything blindly--or innocently, for that matter." She got up to fetch her phone and began texting. "I'll see what the council thinks about the possibility of her using witchcraft."

"Cool." It was a chance, however small, of defanging Melisande and freeing Tanner. Then she asked curiously, "How do you know so much about this?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" She glanced up from her texting to bob her head toward a shelf full of gardening books. "I've always been fascinated with heirloom gardening. It's the one thing I don't like about living on campus: I miss my garden." Now Joy remembered the beautiful beds of flowers and aromatic herbs in Gail and Jim's yard. Living next door had meant that the Sumners never lacked for rosemary, mint, or basil for cooking. "My background in herbs and plants is one of the main reasons I'm on the council," she added. "That, and your dad's recommendation."

But Joy's attention was back on the TV, where the new commercials were playing. Gail set her phone aside and sat down on the floor next to Joy for a better view.

The ad campaign was "The Touch That Transforms." In the first commercial, filmed in black and white, a procession of young men in short Greek chitons climbed the steps of a temple to place offerings at the feet of a statue of Aphrodite. Tanner was last in line, and when he placed his offering on the altar he knelt down to kiss the statue's foot. Color flowed into the figure, and she moved and smiled: it was Melisande herself, and she reached down to draw Tanner to his feet and into her arms. In the other ad, it was Tanner who was the statue, and Melisande, again as Aphrodite, brought him to life with a kiss: not on his foot, Joy noticed--that would have been too submissive for her, no doubt--but on his lips. Both commercials featured silky voice-over narration by Melisande.

The studio audience applauded loudly for the ads, and then even more loudly as Tanner walked onstage. Joy's heart gave the painful thump it always did whenever she saw him. He was darkly handsome in black jeans and a snug black shirt with most of the buttons undone. Of course. Melisande liked her trophy's assets to be on display. He gave the audience a smile and a wave, sparking more applause and whistles, and took his seat on the sofa next to Melisande.

"Tristan, we're so thrilled that you could join us today," Roberta exclaimed. "I have to tell you, we actually had to turn women away from the door when they found out that you'd be on the show! We haven't had so much demand for tickets since David Gandy was our guest."

He gave a chuckle. He seemed at ease, slouched against the sofa cushions with his arm around Melisande's shoulders. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck, she noticed; there was no sign of her mother's pendant. "You flatter me, Roberta. It's Melisande who everyone comes to see. Especially if there's a chance that she'll be giving away any of her beauty secrets."

"Well, that's very gallant of you. Isn't he the perfect gentleman, ladies?" The ladies of the audience agreed loudly, and Roberta laughed and gestured them to silence. "Now, Melisande," she continued, "you appear as nothing less than a goddess in these ads. What gave you the idea?"

"Every woman likes to think of herself as a goddess," said Melisande. Now Joy realized why she had chosen a dress in a Grecian style--to recall the ads. One slender hand rested on Tanner's knee, and Joy seethed to see it. "And, of course, every man wants to be with a goddess."

Roberta cast a roguish look at Tanner. "Tristan, it looks like in your case that dream has come true. Would you say the relationship these ads portray is similar to your real-life relationship with Melisande?"

"Well, any man who meets her can't help but worship at her feet," he said smoothly, and the interviewer laughed. "And I can say with complete honesty that knowing Melisande has transformed me. I wouldn't be the man I am today without her."

His mentor granted him an approving smile, and the audience awwed.

"Sounds like Melisande's writing his dialogue for him," observed Gail.

"I do take credit for playing Pygmalion," said Melisande. "In fact, that was the inspiration for the ads. If you'd seen Tristan when I first met him, you wouldn't believe he's the same person."

Smug she-devil, thought Joy.

Their hostess chuckled. "From an ugly duckling to a swan, eh? So do you two--"

"Roberta," interjected Tanner, edging forward on the sofa to lean toward her, "as long as we're on the subject, I'd love to get your help with something."

"Oh? What would that be?" Though flattered, she was wary of what was clearly a departure from the script.

"In my time modeling I've met a lot of guys with body dysmorphic disorder, what some people call manorexia." He spoke quickly, almost nervously; the suave charmer was gone. "I'm concerned that ads like ours are contributing to that problem, and I think we need to be responsible about the message we're sending."

"I didn't know he was involved in that cause," said Gail. "Good for him."

"Neither did I." There were always more layers to Tanner. She felt a swell of pride that he was trying to do something meaningful with his celebrity status.

Roberta, too, was intrigued by this new angle. "That's certainly a problem that's on the rise, Tristan. We're seeing more and more men these days with eating disorders, trying to live up to an ideal body type. I did a show on it just a few weeks ago. Melisande, how do you feel about this?"

"Tristan and I have already discussed it." Her tone was light, but her eyes had gone flinty and cold. "I have no intention of changing the ads."

"That's where you can help, Roberta," said Tanner eagerly. "I know you and your audience can help me convince Melisande how important it is not to send guys the message that they aren't good enough as they are."

Uh oh. That was a risky move, ambushing her in front of an audience. Why was he defying her so openly, when he knew how dangerous she was?

Maybe to send a message.

To show that he was resisting Melisande. That he wasn't her willing patsy, but had a mind of his own still.

Whether or not that was his intention, Melisande wasn't going to let him get away with challenging her. She laid a hand on his shoulder. Delicate though it looked, Joy saw Tanner wince when the slim white fingers clamped down. Joy realized she was hugging her knees to her chest as she waited to see what would happen next.

"Now, sweetheart," said Melisande indulgently, "you're about the least credible person on earth to talk about body issues. Just look at him, Roberta. Have you ever seen a man with less to be insecure about?"

Roberta's grin--almost a leer--was answer enough, but she said coyly, "Now that you mention it, Tristan does seem to be the kind of ideal other men aspire to."

All the animation had left Tanner's face. Melisande's hand was still gripping his shoulder, and he gave in to its pressure and sat back, defeated.

"Exactly! Who's going to care what he has to say when he looks this delicious?" Melisande was in full control now. "Have you seen the six-pack on this boy?"

"Not in person," said Roberta impudently. "How about it, ladies? Should we get Tristan to show us?" Loud, enthusiastic whoops and catcalls came from the women in the studio audience. Tanner tried to demur, but they began to chant: "Abs! Abs! Abs!" Melisande murmured something to him that the mikes didn't pick up, and he raised his hands in surrender before unfastening the remaining buttons on his shirt and pulling it open to display his torso. The audience went wild, especially when a giggling Roberta, at Melisande's invitation, put her hand on Tanner's abdomen to feel his muscles.

Joy swallowed hard, forcing back futile tears of rage. Thanks to Melisande, they were treating Tanner like a steer at a livestock auction.

"Is it just my morning sickness, or is this nauseating?" she asked.

"Oh, it's not just you." Gail shook her head as, on screen, Tanner was made to stand up and turn around to show off his glutes. "That poor boy."

There was a purpose to the humiliation, though. Melisande was reminding Tanner--and everyone who was watching--that she was the one who called the shots. Joy realized now that if Melisande didn't already know about her and Tanner, it would be idiotic to chance giving them away by trying to contact him. He had downplayed the risk he took in spending time with Joy, but now, as Roberta fondled his biceps while Melisande looked on, she saw that if Melisande did choose to take revenge, there was nothing either Joy or Tanner could do to stop her.

Gail looked over at her as she sat gripping her knees. "I hate to ask this," she said, "but have you thought about a backup plan in case he can't be there for you?"

So her thoughts had been taking a similar path. "Dad won't throw me out into the streets or anything," said Joy shortly. "I'll manage."

"There are legal options, you know. If he won't admit paternity--"

"I'm not taking him to court."

Gail reached over to lay a gentle hand over hers. "I'm sorry, I know this is hard. But I think you need to prepare yourself in case the worst happens."

She knew Gail was right. But there was no part of this discussion that wasn't painful.

Gail didn't press the issue, but glanced back at the TV and made a face. "Shall I turn this off?"

The interview was wrapping up: Melisande and Tanner had risen to go. Roberta all but squirmed in delight as Tanner gave her a parting kiss on the cheek. The camera lingered too long on his face before cutting away, and for just a second it caught a look of utter bleakness in his eyes.

Shaken, Joy handed Gail the remote. "I've seen enough," she said. For the first time she wondered if she would ever see Tanner in person again.

Over the next few days Melisande and Tanner made appearances on all the major talk shows, but Tanner never again made the mistake of trying to challenge her authority. He played the devoted consort, smiling and flattering, but she sensed a hollowness behind it as if his soul had been sucked out of him.

Once the commercials made their debut, they seemed to take over every satellite channel and network. Every time she saw Aphrodite kissing the statue of Tanner into life, it was a reminder of the power Melisande wielded over him: the power that had not only created his celebrity but could destroy him as well. The goddess of love was the wrong role for Melisande, she thought: Kali, goddess of destruction, would have been more fitting.

Hang on, she thought. Hang on til November. She could have been talking to Tanner or to herself.

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# Chapter 15

With so much on her mind, Joy didn't perform well on her finals. Great, she thought, yet another thing to hide from Dad. Their Skype conversations these days were filled with awkward silences, since most of what was going on in her life had to be kept from him, and she couldn't help wondering if he was also hiding things from her. She tried to act as if everything was fine, but she knew he could tell something was bothering her.

It made things even harder that she couldn't confide in Maddie or William--either about the pregnancy or about her new knowledge of the supernatural forces at work at Ash Grove. With so much she couldn't talk about, she felt cut off even from her closest friends, and she knew they felt it too; sometimes it felt like they were talking to each other across a chasm as wide as Linville Gorge. She longed to tell them everything, because the weight of all this unwanted knowledge would be easier if she could talk it over with them; even the dread she felt would be lessened if they were sharing it with her. And as angry as she had been to find she'd been kept in the dark, she guessed that they would be just as ticked off if they knew she was keeping something so enormous from them.

But she had no choice but to keep silent. The council had been very clear about that.

Then came summer, and summer was brutal.

Ash Grove didn't hold a regular summer session, so most of the students departed. Only a few, with a skeleton staff, stayed behind--for makeup classes or to keep current with their practice. Or to keep from being a weight of anxiety on their ailing fathers.

Even with piano practice, Joy had too little to do, too few friends left to distract her. Tasha was doing an internship in Asheville. Maddie had departed for Atlanta to spend the summer with her father. "I'll come up sometimes on the weekend to visit," she promised, but Joy knew that sleepy Brasstown held few attractions compared to the big city, and predicted that she would see very little of her erstwhile roommate. She was only half sorry; Maddie persisted in her belief that Tanner was a jerk, more now than ever since she knew he wasn't in touch with Joy, and Joy found it exhausting to live with her disapproval.

William stayed, though, and for that Joy was glad. He was doing an independent study in composition, and he had also started a band with some of the other music students, so he was busier than she was; but in the evenings when he didn't have a gig they hung out together, playing video games or watching DVDs or listening to music, and that helped keep her from brooding too much about the two very different men who were on her mind.

Unfortunately, another acquaintance who stayed behind was Sheila. Ever since Melisande had left town, she had gone from merely unpleasant to outright mean. Still blaming Joy for the departure of her idol, she made constant snarky comments on Joy's habits, abilities, looks--especially her looks. And since Joy was already nervous about people noticing her weight gain, Sheila's cutting remarks were especially aggravating. Joy was lucky that her already plump figure disguised her condition well, but it would only take one sharp-eyed person to blow her cover.

Things came to a head one day in July. Her morning sickness had persisted, and Joy had had to make yet another dash for the girls' restroom after her music lesson. When she emerged from the stall, Sheila was standing in front of the sinks, sniffling and blotting her face with a damp paper towel. When she looked up and their eyes met in the mirror, Joy saw that her eyes and nose were red. Had Sheila been crying? Before Joy could ask, Sheila tossed the paper towel in the trash and turned to face her.

"I'm glad you're finally doing something about your weight," she said. "But you'll have to do a lot more puking before anyone will see a difference."

Joy rinsed out her mouth at the sink before responding. She had run out of patience with Sheila's bitchiness. "Sheila, what's your problem with me? What have I done to you that you're always on my case? You can't seriously blame me for Melisande leaving."

"Oh, like that's all you've done. You've only screwed up my best chance to get ahead as a dancer." Joy stared at her uncomprehendingly, and Sheila rolled her eyes at her slowness. "Look, I'm not lucky enough to have a dad who can pull strings for me. I've had to work my ass off to stay at Ash Grove, unlike you."

"No one pulled any strings for me," Joy retorted. "I took the same admission exams for Ash Grove that you did, and I work really hard to keep my grades up."

"Oh, please. Everyone knows that your audition for Mo sounded worse than a one-armed monkey on crack. And yet somehow you got to change tracks anyway. Don't tell me your dad had nothing to do with that."

Startled, Joy was silent. It had never occurred to her that Mo's decision might have had something to do with her father.

Sheila hadn't finished her grievances. "Not to mention that if they graduate someone as talentless as you, it's going to wreck any credibility my Ash Grove diploma has."

"I don't--"

"And then, when it looks like I might get a career boost from Melisande herself, a once-in-a-lifetime chance, you start chasing her boyfriend and she has to actually, like, take him to another state to get him away from you. Are you happy now? Because honestly, every time I see you I just want to push your ugly little face in."

Joy had never had so much hatred directed at her before, and she couldn't help but be a little shaken. "I'm sorry that's how it looks to you, Sheila," she said, glad that her voice sounded steady. "As for Melisande, I heard that she's coming back here in the fall. But I honestly don't think she's interested in mentoring girls."

"She certainly won't be now, thanks to you," Sheila snapped. "What were you thinking, anyway? A superstar like Tristan isn't going to settle for a troll like you. He might throw you a pity lay, but that's all."

Joy's hand clenched on the edge of the sink. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Tanner with Sheila. "Are you done?" she asked coldly.

"No, I'm not. It made me sick to see you with him." Sheila's eyes raked across her, making her sharply aware of her pudginess. "You're not even in the same species as Tristan."

It was an effort to keep calm. Think of the baby, Joy. "You mean because I'm not pretty enough for him?"

"Well, duh! Honest to god, if I looked like you, I'd kill myself."

"Seriously?" That was such a ridiculous thing to say that her anger dissipated. "Wow, Sheila, that's really sad. If all you have to live for are your looks, getting old is going to be hell for you."

Sheila stalked toward the door. "At least I won't be alone when I'm old," she shot back, and then the door swung shut behind her. Joy gave it a rueful smile. Well, neither will I, she thought, realizing she was holding her arm protectively across her stomach.

She told William about their run-in that evening. He was hanging out with her in the lobby of her dorm, playing quietly on the piano as they talked.

"I think she literally meant it," she said, still amazed. "Can you imagine that? I think she actually believes that something as meaningless as the arrangement of their facial features makes some people better than others."

"Probably all of us believe that a little bit, deep down," he said mildly. "I think we all expect beautiful people to be as special on the inside as they are on the outside. But then we learn better, when someone like Sheila opens her mouth."

"There's something else going on with her," Joy mused. "Something had upset her. Maybe she really does think she needs Melisande's help to make it as a dancer."

"That doesn't make sense. A bitch she may be, but she's a fantastic dancer."

That made Joy prick up her ears. "Are you interested in her?"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying she's talented, is all."

"She didn't perform with the other ballet students on Beltane," Joy recalled. "I wonder what's up."

William didn't answer. He had started playing a melody that she thought she recognized, but changing it into something new. It was plaintive at first, gradually moving into a crescendo of piercing sadness, then subsiding at last into a kind of wistful resignation. Joy was transfixed. As much as she tried to keep Tanner out of her thoughts, he was always there, and William's playing brought her feelings to the surface with painful intensity. She stayed silent until the last melancholy notes faded away.

"That was amazing," she said. "Is it something of yours?"

He nodded and shuffled the music to the back of the stack. "I call it 'Elvira Madigan Revisited,'" he said.

"Oh," she said. So that was why it was familiar. Then, as light dawned, "Oh."

"Yep." He didn't look at her. "That's the way it is."

"William, I had no idea," she said. "Has it been for a long time?"

"Ever since I met her, I think."

"But you've never said--"

"No, and I'm not going to, and neither are you." His voice was still calm.

"But why not?" she exclaimed.

He heaved a sigh and flopped down beside her on the sofa. "Because it wouldn't do any good. Look, we both know the kind of guy Maddie goes for, and I'm not it. She'd try to be nice and let me down easy, but it would be awkward as hell, and it would mean we would never be quite as close friends again." He took off his glasses and polished them with his shirttail. His face looked vulnerable without them. "Being friends is rough, but it's a lot better than nothing."

She still refused to accept it. "You can't be sure, though, unless you talk to her. You never know."

"No. I do know." She had never heard him speak so forcefully. "Believe me, I've given it a lot of thought. And you aren't going to even hint about this to her."

"Of course not," she said, injured. "I just feel so terrible for you." What he must have gone through, as Maddie went through boyfriend after boyfriend--and complained about all of them. No wonder he had finally blown up at her. After a moment, she thought to ask, "Why did you tell me?"

He gave her a tired smile. "It's a relief to be able to talk to even one person about it, and I figured you know what it's like. Not that your situation's the same," he added quickly. "But since at the moment we're kind of in the same boat, it seemed like it might make things a little less crappy if you knew you're not alone."

She gave him a grateful hug. "You're such a great guy."

"Feel free to elaborate on that theme to Maddie," he said, and she laughed.

Her seventeenth birthday, which fell in July, was another small oasis in the gloom. Her father sent her flowers (not roses, thankfully) and some books she'd been wanting. Maddie sent her earrings and some CDs of loud, energetic grrl-power music. William gave her laptop a memory upgrade and some new games. And Tasha came back to town to take her out to supper at the cafe where William's band, Aerosol Cheese, was playing. So far they were doing mainly covers of eighties synthpop, but they were working on some original material.

"With all the eighties music, I guess that explains why you have 'cheese' in your name," said Tasha, making a face.

"What's the matter with it?" demanded William. "The eighties produced a ton of great music."

Joy groaned. "Now you've done it, Tasha. William can argue about this for hours."

"Well, it's so frustrating that everybody rags on eighties music, when there's a lot of terrific stuff there," he said. "There's no irony to it. It's not afraid to just be happy or enthusiastic or earnest. Or to have melody. Sure, you can blame it for being naive, but isn't that refreshing next to the whiny navel-gazing that came after it?"

Tasha held up her hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, you win! Just don't you guys start wearing parachute pants and mullets, all right?"

"That's a deal," said William, beaming, and left them to join his bandmates in setting up.

"There's kind of a Peter Parker thing going on with William," said Tasha, watching him. "That geeky kind of cute. Don't you think? I wish he could find a girl who'd appreciate it."

"Are you volunteering?" asked Joy, and Tasha, a bit embarrassed, admitted that she had her eye on Maddie's current boyfriend, Jeremiah. "I'm thinking about asking him out once they break up. He's not damaged enough to keep her interested for long," she said bluntly, "so he might actually be stable enough for me. But what about you and William? You two are so close, you must have thought about it."

"No. I'm really fond of him, but not that way." She wished she could tell her about William's feelings for Maddie; Tasha would probably know if William's case was genuinely hopeless or not.

"Are you still thinking about Tanner?" asked Tasha.

Joy decided she might as well be up front. "All the time," she said.

Tasha looked sorry to hear this. "I wish you could find someone else, someone better for you."

"I don't want better," said Joy frankly. "I want him."

"I get it," said Tasha. "I just worry that you'll get in over your head."

Too late, Joy thought but did not say. Then conversation stopped as Aerosol Cheese took the stage.

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# Chapter 16

As July turned to August, the combination of heat and worry started to wear on her. Pregnancy offered a good excuse for stress eating, but there was only so much solace to be had from milkshakes and cookies.

Missing Tanner was harder than she had imagined it could be. It seemed like his face was always hovering at the edges of her vision; she kept hearing the things he had said to her, remembering the way he smiled. The way his hands had felt on her skin during that night in the garden, the touch of his lips--she turned restlessly in her bed, drove her fist into her pillow in sheer frustration. It was like an actual physical ache, her longing for him. Sometimes she thought the force of it would tear her to pieces.

As strong as the longing for him was her anxiety about their uncertain future. Night after night she lay awake, worrying for the millionth time about what he would say when he learned her news; whether she'd lose him then. When she did sleep, her dreams were worse than her waking thoughts. She dreamed of being attacked by wolves or bears, and when she turned to Tanner in her dream for help, he laughed at her fear. Sometimes Melisande would appear, beautiful and gloating and triumphant. Almost worse were the dreams in which Tanner was loving and faithful, because when she woke up the grief hit her all over again with the same force as when she first knew he was gone.

One Sunday afternoon she borrowed Gail's car and paid the Hartwells a visit. Bobby was out fishing when she arrived, but Donna welcomed her in. "I'm real glad to see you," she said warmly. "You can keep me company while I sew. I'm at the buttonhole stage, and they always bore the life out of me."

"What are you making?" asked Joy, as she followed Donna into a small room fitted up with a sewing machine, ironing board, and cutting table. Light streamed in through a large window, and in the patch of sunlight Duke the dog lay with his tongue hanging out. He thumped his tail on the floor as they entered, and Joy knelt to scratch behind his ears.

"My first grandbaby is due in a few weeks," said Donna proudly, and showed her a tiny suit made of pale blue corduroy. A matching shirt of pastel plaid was awaiting buttons and buttonholes. She sat down at the machine and waved Joy toward a bentwood rocking chair. "My daughter and son-in-law are in California, so I don't get to go shopping for baby clothes with her, but she sent me some catalog links to give me an idea of what she likes."

"I didn't know you and Bobby had any children," said Joy, watching as Donna ran up buttonholes. The sewing machine chugged quietly as Donna steered the fabric with deft hands.

"Yes, Ginny moved to Monterey Bay about four, five years ago now." She nodded toward a framed portrait on the wall of a cheerful-looking young woman with dark hair in a pixie cut. "I think that's part of why we took to Tanner the way we did; we were lonely for our chick after she left the nest."

"How did you meet Tanner?" asked Joy, pleased that Donna had brought up the subject she most wanted to talk about.

"It was at the shop. Bobby owns the motorcycle parts and repair shop over near old Hayesville; you've probably passed it, on Highway 64?" Joy nodded. "Well, Tanner's dad came in one day. Jack Lindsey was having problems with his MLCB, and he wanted Bobby to look it over."

"MLCB? What's that?" If it was a brand name, it wasn't one she'd heard of.

Her hostess gave her a conspiratorial grin. "Mid-Life Crisis Bike. That's what Bobby and I call 'em. These men with more money than sense suddenly take it into their heads that they hear the call of the open road, and they buy something shiny with way more power than they need. They find out they can't handle it, and they end up trading them in or selling them. Jack Lindsey wasn't quite ready to give up on his, though, and when he came back to pick it up he brought Tanner along with him." She raised the presser foot, drew the shirt away, and snipped off the threads.

"What was he like then?"

"I guess he was about fifteen." She picked up a seam ripper and began to open up the buttonholes. "Looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in a week, and you could hardly get a word out of him. But he took to coming around the shop and helping Bobby out. Just with little jobs at first, but he picked things up real fast, and Bobby got to where he'd bring him home for supper."

"His parents didn't mind?"

Donna's mouth tightened, but she didn't look up from her work. "Honey, I don't think his parents cared what he did so long as he stayed out of their way. The only reason Tanner's father brought him to the shop that day is so he'd have someone to drive the car home. Only once did I see him do something nice for the boy: when he bought him the Ninja. And that was just to ease his conscience."

Joy watched as Donna picked up a needle and began drawing the loose threads to the wrong side of the shirt and tying them off. "What about his mother?" She hoped she wasn't asking too many questions, but she might never have a better opportunity to find out about Tan's past.

"His mother? Oh, she's a piece of work. Now, I never met the woman; we just spoke on the phone, and that was just the one time. But that was plenty." She gave Joy a significant look. "She called one night looking for Tanner to come and bail her out of jail."

"She what?" Joy couldn't help exclaiming.

"That's right. Apparently she was on her way home from seeing her man on the side, had had too many Cosmos, and sassed the cop who pulled her over for a breathalyzer. All she could talk about was how she couldn't find Jack and so Tanner needed to get his ass over there and take care of things." Donna cut off a thread with an angry snap of the scissors.

Joy could hardly imagine having grown up with parents like that. Her father, despite his occasional stubbornness, had always been supportive and caring. Her friends' parents, most of them, were nice as far as she knew them: Tasha's mother and father, although they were both doctors, always arranged their schedules so that at least one of them attended every one of Tasha's performances; William's parents were in LA but spoke with him often on Skype, and although Maddie's mother and father had split up years ago, both of them were obviously proud of her, and they seemed to be in a competition to see which of them could spoil her more (which was how Maddie had ended up with three tablet computers and a wide assortment of designer handbags).

But if Tanner's parents had treated him as nothing more than a footnote to their own lives, it was no wonder he had so little regard for himself. "I don't understand how his own parents could care so little about him," she said.

"I don't either, sugar. He's smart as a whip, and with such a big heart." She snipped off the last thread and set the shirt aside. "I sprained my ankle real bad a few months before he went off with that Melisande, and he was over here every free minute he had, looking after me while Bobby was at the shop. Fetching and carrying, cooking my meals--"

"He can cook?"

"He can microwave anything under the sun, at least. He'd had to fend for himself since he was a little boy. And have you ever heard him play? He'd bring his guitar over and play for me and Bobby sometimes, and we just knew he'd make it big one day. We always thought when he left here it would be for Nashville, not New York."

"What happened then?" she asked. "Did he keep in touch with you after he left?"

Donna gave her a shrewd look. "He's never given us a phone number or anything," she said, "if that's what you're hoping for. He never said, but I got the impression he didn't get much privacy. If you want to try to get in touch with him, though, I can tell you some of the hotels where he's stayed. Every once in a while he sends a postcard--the old-fashioned kind, not email."

Grateful, Joy accepted the offer, and Donna left the room to fetch them for her. How lonely Tan must have been before he met the Hartwells. No parents worthy of the name, no friends. Joy had never seen him hanging out with anyone at Ash Grove; it was just him and his guitar.

And how lonely he must be now, she thought, when Donna handed her the slim stack of postcards, all of them showing popular tourist attractions or the five-star hotels where they had been purchased. He was surrounded by people, of course--the entourage, the handlers, the fans, the paparazzi--but it wasn't like he could really talk to any of them. With the press and his creepy guardian herself he had to keep up the pretense of being happy. He even had to monitor what he said on something as minor as a postcard: his brief handwritten messages were so impersonal they might as well have come pre-printed on the cards. Joy's throat squeezed shut at the thought of how truly alone he was.

She made a note of the hotels so that she could send letters there with instructions to hold them for Tanner. Probably Melisande even opened his mail--or had someone like Raven do it--but she could at least try to let him know she wanted to hear from him. "If he should get in touch with you," she began, and Donna waved off the rest of her question.

"I'll tell him you were asking after him, sure thing." Joy thought her eyes lingered a little too knowingly on her midsection, and tried subtly to suck in her stomach. "And listen, you feel free to come over any time, okay? There's plenty of room in this nest for another stray chick."

Joy gave her an impulsive hug before she got in the car to go back to school. She could understand why Tanner was drawn to the Hartwells, but she wasn't sure if talking about him with Donna made his absence less painful--or more.

Some days she went for long walks in the woods. She didn't really expect to find the rose garden again; there had been a magical quality to Beltane night that was absent from these sweltering summer days, and she had an idea that the garden only appeared when the circumstances aligned in a certain way. But she looked for it just the same. She came to be familiar with the wooded ridge behind the campus, and found that there was one stretch where the trees were thinner that offered a great view of Melisande's property. She was curious enough to borrow binoculars from Gail's husband one day to take a closer look from that vantage point.

There wasn't much to see apart from the different outbuildings--probably guest houses, she decided, and utility sheds. The swimming pool was covered with a tarp, the parking area behind the house empty. The garden and grounds showed signs of regular maintenance, but Melisande had probably hired a service to take care of them during her absence. There were no signs of occupation, but then she hadn't expected any.

She only had one more time-slip episode that summer. Only one that she was aware of, anyway. Sometimes it occurred to her, while she was studying or playing the piano or doing some other routine activity, that she could have slipped forward or back in time without realizing it. It made her feel seasick to think about. But there was one episode that she was certain of.

It was in the library again. She had been avoiding the reference area, for obvious reasons, and on this particular evening she was looking for an obscure piece of sheet music. In the stacks, the newest and most boring area of the library, she had made herself comfortable on the floor in the music section, where she could flip through the bound sheet music more conveniently. It wasn't until she heard a sneeze that she looked up.

The girl from the carrel was standing a short distance down the row, with a bound volume in one hand and a tissue in the other. She smiled. "Hello again," she said.

The girl's smile was so friendly, her whole bearing so unghostly, that Joy felt only a minor ripple of dread. "Hi," she said, getting to her feet. She noticed that the linoleum where the girl was standing was light gray with flecks, whereas everywhere else it was solid beige. Evidently the future could also have bad taste.

"You must be new," said the girl. She wore the universal student uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers; there was no way to tell from her clothes that she was from another time. "I'm Rose, by the way."

Joy felt she had to be careful what she said to the future. "What year are you?" she asked, hoping it was a safe question. If only the girl would say something like "I'm in the class of 2032."

But she wasn't that lucky.

"Oh, I just started last fall," was the reply. "But I'm kind of following the family tradition."

There was something about her intent gaze that Joy felt she should recognize. But at that moment the book Joy was holding slid from her hands and hit the floor with a loud thwack, making her jump. When she looked up again, the girl was gone, and the library had resumed its normal appearance.

This time Joy kept it together. Feeling almost calm, she reshelved her books and went immediately to Gail to tell her what had happened.

Although she was interested, and said she'd relay the information to Dr. Aysgarth, Gail didn't seem to think it was a particularly important incident. "It sounds pretty mundane," she said. "Which is reassuring, really. I'd rather glimpse a mundane future than a post-apocalyptic one."

But I fell through time! Joy wanted to say. Okay, so I didn't talk to Shakespeare or Napoleon, but it has to mean something.

Dissatisfied, she called her father, too impatient to wait for their appointed Skype time. He didn't offer the reassurance she was looking for.

"It seems like the time slips you've had are minor ones," he said reasonably. "Nothing about them sounds threatening to me."

"Well, no, but it's still kind of freaking me out." She was seeing into the future, for heaven's sake! She couldn't understand why he wasn't more concerned. "And not knowing when it's going to happen, or what will happen..." She found that she was chewing on her thumbnail again. "With all the other things on my mind right now, it's just a lot to deal with."

"What other things?"

"Oh. Um, I'm kind of in a long-distance relationship." Then she said in a rush, "Dad, why don't I come out to Oklahoma for the rest of the summer? I hate being separated, especially with everything else that's going on. I won't be any trouble, I promise." She'd deal with her pregnancy somehow--maybe he would even be healthy enough that she could break the news to him. And even if she had to hide it from him, that would be better than this isolation.

But he wouldn't be budged. "I'm sorry, hon. But this is for the best. You can handle this."

"How can you know that?" she demanded. "This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me, and you don't even seem concerned."

"I am concerned. Do you think I'm not worried about you?" She could hear him stop and force himself to take a breath, and when he spoke again, it was in a more controlled voice. "The thing is, Joy, sooner or later you're going to have to deal with things like this without me. I won't always be there to protect you."

Her heart gave a hollow thud. He was going to die. That's what this was about. "The chemo isn't working. Something went wrong. You didn't want to tell me--"

"Joy, listen to me." It was his most commanding, teacherly voice, and she fell silent. "I haven't lied to you about my prognosis. It actually looks pretty good. But getting sick brought home to me that some day you're going to have to manage on your own, and I need to know you can."

"So all this--leaving me behind, making me move onto campus--this was a kind of boot camp for me, to turn me into a grown-up?" She was almost too stunned to be angry.

"I prefer to think of it as taking off the training wheels," he said, with an attempt at lightness.

But she wasn't ready to be appeased. It wasn't just that it was cruel and unfair. It made no sense. Just because she was going to be on her own someday didn't mean she had to start now, when he could still be with her if he chose to. At the very least he could have prepared her for things, so that it all wouldn't have come as such a shock. Educating her about the strange things in the world would have made her better able to cope with them, not less. There was so much that she wanted to say that she couldn't choose where to start.

"I'm sorry you think I'm being harsh," he said, as she struggled to find a way to explain how she felt. "But the best thing you can do for both of us is to prove you can get through this without my help."

"Does that include not getting any more special treatment from Mo?"

She expected him to deny it, and was unprepared for the response.

"Yes," he said gravely. "I shouldn't have pressured Mo to let you switch tracks."

The numbness of horror began to spread through her. Sheila had been right. "Why did you do it at all?" she demanded. "All this time you were carrying me? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I was not carrying you," he said firmly. "I never pulled strings for you except for that one instance--and only because I know how determined you are. I knew you'd be able to prove yourself eventually if Mo just gave you a chance."

Humiliation was burning in her face. "I think I'd better hang up now," she said, forcing back the anger and resentment that threatened to show in her voice. If he wanted her to be an adult, she would damn well show him she could be one--and be mature enough to end a conversation that showed no signs of becoming less sucky. "I don't think I can talk about this calmly yet. I'll call you tomorrow, if that's okay."

There was a silence on the other end. Then he said gravely, "Okay, kittycat."

For the rest of the day, and even as she got ready for bed that night, her mind was still busy with all the arguments she wanted to make to her father, if he'd only listen. It must be because Mom is dead, she thought. He wouldn't be pulling this puppet-master stuff if she were here. Not that she'd have let him. Joy knew enough of her mother to know that Anna Merridew Sumner would have given her husband what for if she thought he was being unfair to their daughter.

If only she were here. Everything would be so different.

She got into bed and lay awake for a long time. When she finally reached to turn off the bedside lamp, she paused with her hand on the switch to take a long look at the framed snapshot of her mother in her cap and gown. She looked so strong and confident.

It wasn't until then that the realization hit her. The girl from the library had the same chin. The same as her mother, the same as Joy herself.

Her eyes were different, though; deeper set, with angled brows. And that name, Rose--

Joy sat bolt upright, her hands going to her belly.

Rose.

"My god, Tan," she whispered. "I just met our daughter."

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# Chapter 17

Late August brought simmering heat and the return of the students for fall semester. Joy could have cried with relief as her friends and teachers filled the campus with noise and activity. (Then again, she cried these days at the drop of a Hallmark card, so that wasn't saying much. Pregnancy hormones were making her into a total wuss.) Surely Melisande and Tanner would return soon, and her waiting would be at an end.

Maddie and Joy were rooming together again, and Joy welcomed her friend back with a combination of gladness and apprehension. She wasn't sure how she could keep her pregnancy a secret from someone she shared such close quarters with. With any luck, Maddie would be too distracted by the start of the school year and a new boyfriend (because she was bound to have one).

True to her word, Maddie had come up a few times over vacation to visit. Her father had given her a slightly used car, and Maddie was chafing now that she had to leave it behind. "Seniors really ought to have car privileges," she griped. "Wouldn't it be fantastic to be able to just hop down to Atlanta on the weekends?"

"Yeah, it would," said Joy, thinking of the airport there, of catching a plane to see her father. She was still angry with him, but at the same time she wanted to see him. Maybe in person she'd be able to talk him out of this infuriating scheme of his to forcibly make her independent from him. Not only that, but in person maybe she would be able to tell if he was strong enough to take the news about the baby--about Rose.

Joy wasn't a big believer in signs or fate, but she knew after having seen glimpses of her future daughter that she was going to keep her. Something powerful seemed to be trying to steer her in a certain direction, and she figured she ought to follow.

Still, she kept it to herself that she'd learned the identity of the girl in the time slips. Until she could tell her dad and--especially--Tanner in person, she didn't want anyone else to know. She just wanted so much to see Tanner again, to know for certain that he'd be by her side.

She wrenched her thoughts away from him. No point letting Maddie guess she was pining for him. Maddie bristled at the very mention of his name. One of the best things about Maddie was that she would hold a grudge forever for a friend; her loyalty was as fierce as Joy's, and considerably more ruthless. But the bad side was that once Maddie took against someone, it was almost impossible to budge her.

With the start of the academic year, her days resumed their familiar schedule for the most part. She quit her job at the dining hall because the standing and food smells didn't agree with her now, but she was continuing her piano lessons with Mo. She went to her first session with him in some apprehension. The coming spring she would be presenting her senior project, so she had very little time to prepare in another area if Mo felt that her piano technique wasn't strong enough. And she was determined to get by on her own efforts, not because of her father.

She performed two pieces for him, a Chopin nocturne and a Gershwin medley. Then, surreptitiously wiping her damp palms on her jeans, she waited for his verdict.

"You've improved," he said, with too much surprise not to be sincere. "I actually did not want to run screaming from the room. What happened?"

"I don't know," she said, pleased. "I mean, I've been practicing, but my mind hasn't really been on it. I've had a lot going on. Well, you know." She lowered her voice, even though his office door was closed. "Time slips and stuff."

"Yes, of course. Interesting." He sat back in his office chair in his favorite position, hands clasped across his belly. "Maybe that's what did it: you're not overthinking it and getting self-conscious."

"Are you sure it's not something else? I've been thinking." She left the piano bench and moved to the chair in front of his desk so they could speak more quietly. "If all of us at Ash Grove are channeling this supernatural power, does that mean it changes us?"

He shook his head reassuringly. "It doesn't seem to work quite that way. We haven't been able to tell that students take on abilities they didn't have before."

"So I'm not suddenly better because I'm juiced up with magic?"

He chuckled. "No, I wouldn't say so. You actually don't seem to be as strong a conduit as some students--your friend Tanner Lindsey, for example." That surprised her, but he went on before she could ask him to elaborate. "That's one of the things we look for in entrance auditions: not only what abilities are there naturally, but also to what extent the student seems receptive to the added influence."

"You can tell that from an audition?"

"Sometimes. But it's not foolproof; the most important criterion is always the student's innate ability. Ash Grove just seems to enhance what's already there, like MSG in Chinese food. Take your mother, for instance: she was already showing her brilliance before she was admitted here. Her talents were her own, not magical powers conferred on her by the other side."

She was glad to hear that. It would have lessened her mother's achievements to think that they were enabled by some outside force. "Speaking of my mother," she said, "do you think she would have been disappointed if I don't follow music as a career?"

"Ah. Are you thinking about what we talked about last spring? Because you've improved a great deal since then. Certainly you shouldn't have any trouble creating a passable senior project, and you're getting good enough that you may be able to play professionally."

"It's not just that." Knowing she was going to have a child had put a whole new perspective on her future: she needed a job that would bring in a steady, livable income. "Being a pianist probably isn't a really stable job, is it? I mean, unless I was lucky enough to get an ongoing gig with a cruise ship or restaurant or something, and I'm sure there's a lot of competition for jobs like that."

"Being a musician often means struggling for a while, but you knew that already." Mo's prominent blue eyes regarded her so steadily that she shifted uneasily in her chair. He couldn't read her thoughts, she told herself, but she felt as if he could tell she was hiding something. "What college you attend will make a difference, of course."

"Well. That's another thing--I don't know if I'll be going to college right away." Or ever. With a daughter to raise, who knew when she'd be able to continue her education? She seized on a plausible story. "I may have to work for a few years to save up the money first. I can't just expect Dad to cover it all. You know, what with all his medical expenses..."

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't realize you were having money problems."

"Oh, we're not! Just, you know, having to budget and stuff." This was getting away from her. She shouldn't have said anything. "I'm just trying to be realistic."

"Nothing wrong with that." He heaved himself out of his chair, the sign that the session was over, and she gathered up her music and stood. "Whatever you decide to do after Ash Grove, though, I hope music will always be part of your life--and not out of a sense of duty, either, but because it gives you joy. That would be the best way to honor your mother."

"I'll try," she said. Actually, she would probably enjoy playing a lot more once she didn't have a grade riding on it. The thought of playing for pleasure was a new one.

"And you know," he added, opening the door for her, "I shouldn't have said what I did about you becoming another Anna Merridew. You're your own person, and that's as it should be. You should be following your own path, not retracing hers."

She smiled her thanks at Mo and left the building, thinking of her mother's piano at home. It had been neglected for so many years; it would probably appreciate being played again. And her father would enjoy hearing her play... at least, until her belly got too big for her to reach the keys.

One Saturday in early September she and Maddie drove into old Hayesville with Tasha, who wanted to buy a birthday present for her mother at one of the quaint little shops there. At a shop full of garden-themed knickknacks they helped Tasha pick out some garden stakes topped with different birds and an elaborate birdcage adapted as a plant hanger. The shop was full of the cheeping of real birds and the whirr of their wings, as some of the decorative birdcages contained the store owner's pet finches. Joy stopped to watch them flutter around in their airy houses. If pets hadn't been forbidden in the dorms, it might have been nice to keep a bird for company. She hadn't had a pet since her childhood cat, and she missed having a little creature to love.

But then she remembered with a surge of happiness mixed with apprehension: she soon would have a little creature to look after, and it--she--would take a lot more care than a bird.

The three of them were walking back to Tasha's car when a small group emerged from a cafe up the street: two slender, long-haired young women in short sundresses, and an athletic-looking young man in board shorts. The man was Tanner.

It took her a half second to recognize him. He seemed thinner than he had last spring. He had a deep suntan, and there were sunstreaks in his hair. The girls with him were two of the beauties Joy remembered from Melisande's open house, so long ago. He was talking to them in a voice too low for her to understand the words, but the tone was flirtatious.

She had frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, and Maddie and Tasha didn't realize at first that she had fallen behind. Tanner and his companions had taken a few lazy strides in her direction before he saw her. His step slowed for a fraction of a second as their eyes locked. She saw his eyes flicker in recognition. Then his gaze moved away as if he was going to ignore her.

She was so shocked that it took her a moment to find her voice. They were about to walk right by her.

"Tan!"

His pace didn't alter.

"Tanner! Wait a second."

The brunette on his left tugged at his arm. "I think she's talking to you, Tristan."

He came to a stop. "Oh, sorry," he said to Joy. "I didn't see you there. It's Joyce, right?"

His tone was polite, but impersonal. She was at a loss what to say.

Maddie, on the other hand, wasn't. "Excuse me?" she demanded. "You did not just try to cut her."

Tanner just looked at her as if puzzled, and Joy groped for words. "I didn't know you were back in town" was what she finally came up with.

"I guess the tabloids must not be doing their job." He seemed perfectly relaxed, a courteous professional mixing with the public.

"Did you just get here?"

"No, we've been back a couple of weeks, I think."

The shock jolted her. Back that long, and he hadn't made contact with her? Maddie must have had the same thought, because she exclaimed, "You couldn't pick up a phone?"

"Maddie, please!" At Joy's look, Tasha drew Maddie back a little way.

Tanner's polite expression hadn't changed. "Did you want an autograph?" he asked. "I'm afraid I don't have a pen on me, but..."

She recovered enough to say, "I need to talk to you. Alone."

"I'm afraid all my personal appearances have to be scheduled through my agent," he said. "My schedule is so hectic, it's the only way to be safe."

"Your agent?"

"Yeah. Otherwise there's the danger that I'll double-book myself." He gave her a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nice seeing you, Joyce." With his arms around the waists of his two companions, he walked past her without another glance. She could hear one of the girls say something in a low voice, and the other girl giggled in response.

Joy felt as if she had fallen from a height and hit the ground hard. There was no breath in her body.

"That bastard," said Maddie, from behind her. "I hate to say I told you so, Joy, but--"

"So don't say it." That was Tasha. "She's got to feel bad enough as it is. Come on, Joy, let's get you out of here."

Unresisting, Joy let the two of them steer her to the car. She sat silently as Maddie and Tasha dissected Tanner's character on the drive back to campus.

Gradually her brain began to recover from the shock and she was able to think again. He had been putting on a show, that was clear--for the benefit of the girls in the entourage, most likely, or anyone else in earshot who might keep Melisande informed. Calling her by the wrong name was too ridiculous to be for real. She started to breathe again as she realized she'd panicked too soon.

Now she thought about other things he'd said, his choice of words. Safe. Danger. He was sending her a message: they couldn't afford to be seen as anything more than acquaintances now. She would have to be more circumspect. No more approaching him in public, obviously. There had to be a way of getting him alone, if she could just figure it out.

She would never be able to come up with a plan, though, if Maddie didn't shut up. Even after Tasha had dropped them back at the dorm, she continued her running commentary on all of Tanner's character flaws and the reasons that Joy deserved better.

She finally cut her off. "Maddie, you can stop now. You're not going to change my mind."

Maddie gave her a look of disbelief. "Are you kidding me? When he just went and showed in front of god and everybody--"

"No, listen. Sit down a minute."

Reluctantly, Maddie sat down on her bed, one leg tucked under her, and Joy sat across from her. "You know I'm not someone who's going to be fooled by a smooth-talking jerk. So trust me when I say that what we saw today wasn't the real Tanner. He was trying to send me a message."

"Yeah, a message that he's a douchebag."

"Stop it! He is not. He's got reasons for acting this way."

Maddie glowered at her. "I don't get why you're so determined to defend him."

"You've never seen him when he lets himself be vulnerable." Her voice softened at the recollection. On Beltane night, in their hideaway in the rose arbor, that was the real Tan, the one that only she knew. "He puts on an act to protect himself sometimes. But he's not really shallow or stuck-up. He... he needs me."

But that wasn't enough to sway Maddie. "Just because you have this idea that he needs rescuing doesn't make it true. If he wanted to leave the celebrity life, he would have already. He's a lost cause, Joy."

"He's not a cause, and he's not lost," retorted Joy. "Not if I can help it."

"Joy, I'm telling you, he's like an addict. I don't want you getting your heart broken because of his issues. Don't you ever watch Celebrity Rehab? Tanner may have good intentions, he may really mean to quit Melisande, but in the end he'll always go back to her."

The scary thing was, that sounded a lot like what Tan himself had said, that day at Lake Chatuge. But that was before things had gotten so real--before Beltane.

"He's not going to break my heart," she said. "I don't know why you can't accept that I know better than you in this one area."

Maddie put her head on one side and narrowed her eyes. "Gee, I have no idea. Maybe because he knocked you up and now he's treating you like a stranger?"

Joy's mouth dropped open. "Goddammit," she said blankly. "How did you find out?"

"Oh, come on, Joy. We share a room, I see you in your pajamas. I've seen the look on your face when the baby kicks. Don't worry," she added, as a question formed on Joy's lips. "I won't tell anyone. I know I have a big mouth, but I can keep secrets." She gave Joy a quick hug. "So, let's talk about something safer. Did I tell you that Eric and I are getting back together? He deleted all that trash talk about me from his Facebook wall, and he's even thinking about going into therapy to work on his hostility issues."

Joy stared at her in something like awe. "Jeez, Maddie, you really know how to pick 'em. Don't you ever get tired of damaged guys?"

Maddie gave her a meaningful look. "Hi, Pot," she said wryly. "Meet Kettle."

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# Chapter 18

Joy decided to take a different approach toward the problem and began researching Melisande. It wouldn't hurt to have an idea of what her rival was capable of, and it might be useful for the Ash Grove guardians as well.

According to Gail, the tip about Melisande's use of herbs was inconclusive. The council had purchased some of her skin-care products to test (Joy got a kick out of imagining the dignified Dr. Fellowes in a mud face mask), but they couldn't find any supranormal qualities. They agreed that the unguent she had used on Tanner sounded like witchcraft, but with only hearsay to go on they couldn't be sure. Now, if Joy only had a sample of the ointment...

Of course she didn't. With that avenue closed at least for the present, she would see what she could find out from public records.

Predictably, Melisande's age was a mystery; less predictably, so were her origins. She seemed to have sprung full-fledged onto the scene in the mid-1970s. She moved around a lot--she owned property in many different places, it seemed, and that jibed with what Tanner had said. In her earlier years in the public eye she had been noted for her many husbands and lovers; she never seemed to stay with one man for very long. And in the last fifteen or twenty years, it seemed, she had begun mentoring young talents and steering their careers, which usually meant carrying on a romance with them as well. Almost all were young men, although Tanner seemed to have been among the youngest. Joy clicked through to some of their websites to see how they had fared.

To her amazement, none of these proteges seemed to be working anymore. The websites she found were fan sites, not maintained by the models or actors themselves. She sought articles about them in Wikipedia and actor databases, but they offered precious little information, none of it recent. It looked as if, after a few years of exposure under Melisande's wing, they dropped out of the industry and out of sight entirely. Tired of the life? she wondered. Or was it more like a witness protection program, in which they dropped off the grid to avoid being tracked by their former mentor?

There was only one exception that she could find among Melisande's former proteges. About five years before Melisande took Tanner under her scaled and leathery wing, a rising young model named Gareth had abruptly left New York and vanished from the modeling scene.

Joy followed a wild hunch. When she was a kid, her father had spoken of one of his more talented students dropping out of Ash Grove to pursue a career in modeling. His name was Gareth, and it might have been around that time. Joy had remembered the incident because it was the first time it had occurred to her that some people actually modeled for a living; up until then she had assumed that the people in catalogs were killing time between acting jobs. What was the student's last name? It had been alliterative, she knew. Gareth Godwin, that was it. Was there any chance he had come back to North Carolina to retire from the business?

There was. An address in the name of Godwin was less than ten miles away.

But Gail, her usual ride, wasn't available. "I'm sorry, Joy, but I can't get away until tomorrow. If you can wait until then--"

"Please, Gail! I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. What about Jim? Could he take me?" She used her most beseeching eyes, and Gail gave in.

"Here's the key; you go ahead and take the car. Just be really careful, okay? And don't stay out too long. I don't like to think of you driving on those mountain roads after dark."

Joy promised to be careful and to make the trip as short as she possibly could. Since she didn't know if Gareth Godwin would be able to tell her anything helpful, it wasn't a difficult promise to make.

With the aid of the GPS, she made good time to the address she had found online. Godwin's house turned out to be a small cabin, probably originally a vacation home, since it was smaller than those most full-time residents chose. Well kept, but modest; an American flag was mounted next to the door, and the sound of a lawn mower greeted her as she drove up. A Honda Civic seven or eight years old was in the driveway.

The lawn mower and the man who was steering it came in view from around the side of the house. He was handsome in a Mediterranean way: olive skin, dark eyes and hair. He looked to be in his late twenties. About right.

She got out of the car. "Gareth Godwin?" she queried, suddenly wondering how he would react to the appearance of a total stranger, let alone to being quizzed about his past. "My name is Joy Sumner, and I'm a student at--"

"He's inside," said the man, pulling off his baseball cap and wiping his forehead. "Let yourself in if you want; it can take him a while to get to the door."

Taken aback, Joy made her way up the neat gravel walk to the cabin's porch, where she found that the front door stood open behind the screen door. She knocked briefly and let herself in, looking around. Sparsely furnished, the cabin's living room was dominated by a widescreen TV, presently playing something loud and Japanese, and a big sofa across from it. In one corner stood a walker with an oxygen tank attached.

On the sofa sat a man who was old enough to be the grandfather of the man outside. His hair was sparse and graying, and his face and frame were--ravaged was the only word Joy could think of. He was gaunt, his cheeks and eyes sunken in his face, and his skin tone was so ashen that Joy wondered if he was ill. He gave her a dull, uninterested look and thumbed the mute button on the remote control.

"Can I help you?" he said tiredly. "If you're selling something for your school, you should talk to my brother--"

"Are you Gareth Godwin?" she asked.

"Yes. Why?"

She must have connected the wrong dots. There was no way this man had been an up-and-coming professional model just a few years ago. "I think I made a mistake. I was looking for the Gareth who was mentored by Melisande, the supermodel. Do you have any idea--" But there she stopped, because the man's eyes were widening in such an expression of horror that she forgot what she was saying.

"For god's sake, stay away from her," he whispered. "Is she back again? You've got to keep away from her."

Joy set her handbag on the coffee table and carefully sat down on the edge of the sofa. "What do you mean? What did she do to you?"

He gave a hoarse bark of a laugh and indicated himself with a gesture. "This. She did this to me. You saw my brother outside?"

She said doubtfully, "The guy mowing the lawn?"

"Yes, he's my brother. My older brother, actually. That's what I looked like until Melisande got through with me. She left me like this." He let the words sink in. "So now she's on the hunt again? Who's the unfortunate victim?"

She was getting scared now. "If she does have a victim, it's a young man who I--well, he's very important to me. He's been her protege for almost two years now."

With an effort that made the ropy muscles in his arms strain, Gareth pushed off the sofa and made his way into the adjoining kitchen. "I think I need a drink for this conversation. You look a little young for bourbon; can I offer you a ginger ale?" She accepted and sat jiggling her leg impatiently until he returned with two glasses. He moved like an old man, slowly and cautiously, as if he was on the edge of exhaustion. What had Melisande done to him that had made him like this?

He eased himself back onto the sofa, looking spent. "Does Melisande know about your connection to this--?"

"Tanner," she said. "I mean, Tristan. Yes, I'm afraid she does."

He took a swallow of his drink. "That's bad. She's a dangerous enemy. I mean, look what she does to the people she likes." It was an attempt at a joke, but neither of them laughed.

"What does she do, exactly?" ventured Joy. "I've seen her force of personality, the way she can exert her will over some people. But other than that, all I have is some theories."

"It's simple," he said. "What she does is, she absorbs your life. Not in the sense of your lifestyle--she actually sucks away your life force. Your energy, your vitality. She drains out of others the nourishment to stay young and beautiful. I think that's why she only surrounds herself with physically perfect people: she doesn't want any homely energies sullying her perfection."

"When you say she drains the life out of you... do you mean she drinks your blood?" Could Melisande, in fact, be a vampire? Perhaps it wasn't as ridiculous an idea as she had thought.

But Gareth was shaking his head. "No, she's not like that. I don't think she's like anything; I think she's unique. Thank god." He picked up his glass again, and the unsteadiness of his hand made the ice cubes clatter. He took another slug. "I don't usually drink, by the way. Nothing harder than energy supplements, anyway. I'm still trying to recover from her." After a moment he went on, slowly: "Some of it is just being close to her. In the same room as her. She draws life from that proximity. Especially if you're susceptible to her."

"Romantically, you mean?"

"Yes, but also hero worship, or celebrity worship, or whatever you want to call it. She thrives on that. But the strongest source of her vitality is a lover."

Joy felt a chill flood through her. "You mean, when she sleeps with someone, she--feeds off him?" He bowed his head in confirmation. "So that's why she's had a series of partners and proteges. She must use them up, like batteries. Is that why she keeps replacing them?"

Gareth looked at her steadily. "Yes, I believe so. I believe that she draws everything she can out of her favorite, and then discards him. You're looking at one of those discards."

"And the others?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

He leaned back into the sofa, closing his eyes as if keeping them open took too much effort. He looked exhausted; she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the fragile crepey skin on the backs of his hands.

"Dead, probably," he said.

In the silence that followed she could hear the growl of the lawn mower coming from outdoors.

"Literally?" she breathed.

"Oh yes. I only escaped with my life because at the last minute some instinct for self-preservation--or maybe just self--came to my rescue. In the end I couldn't go through with it."

"Go through with what?"

At that he hesitated. "I'm not sure I should tell you. If you've managed to find me, she could track me down, and I'll tell you honestly I'm terrified to think what she'd do to me if she knew I was giving away her secrets."

She wanted to shake him. To be so close to the truth and have him clam up was something she couldn't take. "I'm afraid she poses a threat to a lot more people now," she said. "She's been working to create a kind of symbiotic relationship with Ash Grove School, and now I think I understand why. The more students who come to admire and worship her, the more energies she'll have to draw from. I would think that would make her terribly powerful." He didn't contradict her, and she rushed on, pleading. "Don't you see, the more I know about her, the better chance I have of stopping her. We can't let her endanger hundreds of kids. You can't let her do to them what she did to you."

He raised a hand feebly to quiet her. "You're right, of course. I'll tell you what I can. But some of it's kind of indistinct."

She sat up even straighter to show she was paying attention.

There was a ceremony, he said. The final, ultimate sacrifice. When she decided to take a new favorite, the outgoing one would submit to complete consumption.

"Complete what?" said Joy, thinking she'd misheard.

"Consumption. I'm just going by what I was able to put together, but I think that when she performs certain rites--maybe the location or the position of the stars or god knows what has something to do with it--she can quite simply lay her hands on a man and draw out his substance until all that's left of him is a shriveled rag that blows away in the wind.

"I can see that you're skeptical, and I don't blame you. It's hard to explain to someone who's never felt that pull from her, that enervation. It's a little like being doped. But that might be her herbal potions as well."

So her knowledge of herbs extended beyond the unguent she had used on Tanner. Joy remembered how lethargic he had been at the open house, and how hazy had been his memory of that night. Maybe it wasn't just Melisande sapping his energy; she might also have been using herbs to keep her victim docile. We've got sex and drugs, thought Joy a little wildly; all we need now is the rock 'n' roll.

"So how did you end up this way? Did she try to... to finish you off and not succeed?"

"As I said, I turned against her at the last moment." He shut his eyes as he thought back. "I can't remember where this was. I was a bit vague at the time; one of the side effects. I remember being taken outdoors. Her entourage--the closest circle of her most devoted followers--was there. It was dark, and cold; I remember I was shivering. And when Melisande took my face in her hands and told me I was about to become part of her--I said no."

He shuddered at the memory.

"She had a knife of some kind. And what she did next I think was sheer malice. If my refusal meant that she couldn't get what she needed from me, she made sure that I wouldn't be any good to myself, either."

Joy waited in apprehension.

"She whispered something I didn't understand, and pricked her finger and mine, and held them together so the blood mingled. Then she smeared some of the mixed blood on the forehead of one of her followers, then another. And they rushed at me. I remember thinking that they were going to eat me alive. Actually tear into me like wolves. It was almost as bad, though. They grabbed at me, my arms, my legs, my hands, whatever they could reach. And wherever they touched me, it felt like parts of me were being dragged out through my skin, like I was being pulled inside out." He raised a trembling hand to cover his eyes. "I never imagined anything could hurt so much. And when they were finished, this is what was left."

She couldn't find anything to say. His breath rasped in and out for a few minutes, as if the recollection had winded him. Presently he added, "It was days before I was found. Greg--that's my brother--he said that some hikers discovered me. I wasn't able to move under my own power; I had to have physical therapy before I could even walk again."

"So those are the options," said Joy at last. "He allows himself to be consumed, or he has half a century of life and health stolen from him." After a moment she added, "I wonder how she determines when she's going to perform the ceremony. I can't imagine it's random."

Gareth briefly lifted a hand and let it fall again. Recounting his story had clearly depleted his already minimal reserves. "I wish I could tell you. But that's all I know."

"Mr. Godwin, I just have to ask: if you're that frightened of her, why did you come back here?"

"I had nowhere else to go," he said simply. "My brother can't relocate because of his job, and I can't manage on my own yet. But I've tried to keep a low profile, and we plan to move as soon as we can."

"Thank you so much for telling me all this," she said, rising. "I can't tell you how grateful I am. I know it must have been horrible to relive all this, but you may have helped save a lot of lives."

"I hope so." He gave her a faint smile. "You'll understand if I don't walk you to your car. But before you go, just to give you an idea--you see that photo album on the kitchen table there? Open it and look at the first photo."

The picture was a print from a digital source, with the date time-stamped in one corner. It was dated less than four years ago. The portrait was a candid shot of a handsome young man with olive skin, dark hair, and laughing brown eyes. He was dressed only in swim trunks, and his body was strong and well muscled. He was standing on a diving board, about to plunge into a swimming pool.

"You?" she asked. It didn't seem possible.

"Look at the birthmark," he said.

The right hand of the man in the picture had a strange port-wine mark between his index finger and thumb. Gareth held up his unsteady hand. Although it was faded as if with age, Joy saw the same mark on his hand.

On the drive back to campus Joy had a difficult time concentrating on the road, she was so busy with her thoughts. It looked dire for Tanner--for all of Melisande's future consorts as well. But there was the possibility that Gareth's memory was not to be trusted. If Melisande doped him with her special herb concoctions, he might well have imagined the strange ritual; his premature aging could be the result of a disease, or he might not even be the real Gareth Godwin. The birthmark could have been faked--although why anyone would fake such a thing, she had no idea.

But she couldn't afford to assume his story wasn't true. She had to get word to Tanner--and she had to report to the Ash Grove guardians that Melisande was a threat.

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# Chapter 19

Two days later, they gathered again in the conference room. Joy had related to Gail all the information she had gleaned in her visit to Gareth, and Gail had promised to pass it along immediately. Joy was anxious to see the guardians take action and move in to contain Melisande. The image that came to mind was all of her teachers dressed in camouflage, rappelling down the walls of Melisande's house and crashing in through the windows. Some of them might not be built for such a mission, like Mo, but maybe they'd be stationed outside ready to deploy the tear gas. She was definitely ready for someone to administer a beat-down to Melisande.

So it was all the more shocking to learn that, far from embarking on hostilities with Melisande, the Ash Grove guardians were prepared to do nothing more aggressive than "wait and see."

"What?" she demanded, certain she was hearing them wrong.

The silver-haired former principal, Dr. Fellowes, spoke for the council. "I'm sorry, Joy, but what you learned really doesn't tell us that much. It's not enough to justify our declaring war on Melisande."

She stared at them in disbelief. Sitting around the table, they looked far too placid for her taste. "But he told me that Melisande isn't human! That she and her inner court, or whatever you want to call them, pulled the actual life force out of him, and they'll probably do it to Tanner if we don't stop them. What exactly about that is ambiguous?"

Dr. Aysgarth cleared her throat. "The thing is, Joy, we need confirmation from this Gareth Godwin. It's not that we don't trust you," she added quickly. "We just can't afford to work on hearsay, and there was also the possibility that this man wasn't in his right mind, or was putting you on for reasons of his own. We need to be able to talk to him in person to gauge how much we feel we can trust his story."

"And? Did he tell you what he told me?"

"He's disappeared, Joy," said Gail heavily. "There's no sign that he was ever at the address you gave me."

This shocked her into silence for a moment. Was he so frightened of Melisande tracking him down that he'd relocated practically overnight? Or was he scared that someone would follow up on Joy's visit and find that he was carrying out a hoax?

There was a worse possibility that she hardly dared think about: if Melisande had found him, she might have eliminated him--out of vengeance, perhaps, or to prevent him from talking to anyone else. Joy took a deep breath to steady herself. There was no need to panic yet.

"What about his brother?" she asked. "Could he tell you anything?"

"We didn't find a brother," said Dr. Fellowes. "The only person at that address was an elderly woman who seemed to have severe hearing problems."

"That sounds awfully convenient," said Joy, and she could tell from their expressions that several of the guardians agreed with her.

"We couldn't exactly subpoena her," said Dr. Aysgarth. "If she was faking, she was determined not to give us any information; and if she wasn't faking, she was no use to us. I'm afraid your lead is a dead end, Joy."

She couldn't accept that. "If you could just think about it," she pleaded. "Just consider the possibility that he told me the truth. Melisande is dangerous, and she's right on our doorstep. Isn't it worse not to take any action than to risk being wrong? If we're wrong, well, so we're on bad terms with our next-door neighbor. But if we're right--if I'm right--we have a duty to protect the students here."

"No one is neglecting the well-being of the students, Joy," said Mo. "We have a number of measures in place to prevent harm from coming to Ash Grove."

"May I ask what these measures are?"

"You may ask," he returned, with a smile to soften the words, "which is not to say we'll tell you. Some of them demand secrecy or would take too long to explain. But I can tell you that, for example, we've carefully maintained the rowan and holly trees that provide a physical barrier against ill-intentioned invaders. Entrances are protected with salt and iron. Other means are less tangible but no less effective."

"And of course we bring in extra security measures on occasions when the risk is higher, such as Samhain," added Dr. Aysgarth. "We're hiring security guards to patrol the area as well. The student population isn't in any danger as long as they stay on campus."

"But we can't stay penned up here forever," Joy objected. "And what about Tanner? He used to be a student here. Doesn't he deserve protection as well?"

"Ah, yes, young Mr. Lindsey." Dr. Fellowes shifted in his chair and glanced briefly at Dr. Aysgarth. "I'm afraid we really have no authority to intervene in his case, Joy. Not only is he a dropout, and thus out of our jurisdiction, but he is legally Melisande's ward."

Joy stared at him in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," she said. "I'm talking about saving his life, and you're worried about legal issues?"

"Like it or not, Joy, we do have to act within the law," said the nurse. "It's an unpleasant fact of life in our time that one well-aimed lawsuit can do just as much damage as witchcraft."

"So have you decided that's what Melisande is? A witch?" Joy didn't try to hide her doubt. "The more I learn about her, the more she looks to me like some kind of psychic vampire--a creature that absorbs human energies just by being close to people." She noticed some stares. "What?" she said. "My dad's an English teacher, you pick things up."

Dr. Fellowes cleared his throat. "I'm afraid that speculating on the nature of this woman is moot at this point. She's kept her nose clean as far as we can tell--at least with regard to Ash Grove--and the worst thing we can accuse her of is of having some bad press. Has it occurred to you that this Godwin may be mentally disturbed? Many celebrities have stalkers who believe some truly insane things about their idols. Godwin may be such a person--someone unbalanced who created this story of his association with Melisande because it feeds some psychological need in him."

"I should also point out," said Dr. Aysgarth, reluctantly, "that Godwin was in and out of rehab clinics during his time with Melisande. He evidently had a serious heroin habit. It's possible he hallucinated the entire ritual that he described to you."

Joy stewed silently. They could be right, of course, but both explanations seemed too convenient in that they absolved the guardians of all responsibility for anything that happened to Tanner. She was shocked that they seemed to have the attitude that whatever didn't happen on the Ash Grove campus to one of their own was none of their concern.

"I can't help wondering," she said at last, "if you'd have this attitude if my dad were here." Her father had been unable to sit in on this meeting, they had told her, because of a doctor's appointment, but she wondered if that was true or just a convenient fiction. She stood up. "I think I'll leave now, if you don't mind, and continue researching on my own. And I have to tell you, if I can't rely on you for help in trying to save Tanner, then you can't expect me to cooperate with you in the future. If I have to be a lone gunman, I will."

Gail looked distressed. "Joy, please don't go like this. We want to help, we really do."

"You may," said Joy. "I'm not sure about the rest of this council. See ya."

She was seething as she left the classroom building. What was the matter with them? The last time she'd met with the council, they'd been actively investigating Melisande. She couldn't understand why they were so reluctant now to rock the boat. Tanner was in danger, and they couldn't be bothered to help him.

She knew too that it would be no good appealing to her father. He would probably just consider this a good opportunity for her to practice being autonomous--or orphaned.

Which meant it was up to her. Well, she would be delighted to take on Melisande if it would help Tanner--hell, even if it was just to get some revenge for all she'd put the two of them through.

Her phone rang. It was William.

"I've got news," he said, before she could say it wasn't a good time to talk. "Something you'll be interested in. Tasha and I are in rehearsal room B; come on over."

The rehearsal rooms were small soundproof cells in the music building's basement, windowless except for a pane set into each door. They made Joy feel claustrophobic, but most of the music students seemed fine with them. She found room B and waved at them through the window until she got their attention, since knocking would be futile. William pushed the door open to let her in. He had an air of importance.

"I've got a gig," he announced. "At Melisande's."

She regarded him in concern. "And this is a good thing?"

Tasha gave William a meaningful look. "I told you she wouldn't be happy."

"Can you blame me?" she said at the same time that William was saying, "No, I think this could be a chance for you to get in touch with Tanner. To, you know, infiltrate."

He must have been thinking of some of the same Tom Clancy scenarios that she'd been imagining. But before she started pricing camouflage jumpsuits, she needed the full lowdown.

"Okay, start at the beginning," she said.

Miss Small, the voice teacher, had called William into her office earlier that afternoon. She had had a call from Raven inquiring about the possibility of hiring some talented students to provide musical accompaniment to a cocktail party Melisande was giving to celebrate the fall equinox. It would be the ideal opportunity for the students to get some exposure, he said, and if Melisande liked what she heard she might consider producing an album. Miss Small had thought of William right away, and he suggested Tasha for vocals.

Joy had listened to all this with what she thought was admirable patience. "I'm happy for you, I guess," she said. "But I don't see how this really gets me a foot in the door at Melisande's. You'll be in view the whole time; there probably won't be any opportunity for you to get Tanner alone to give him a message."

"We thought about that," said Tasha. "And also, if we tried to pass him anything written, there'd be too big a risk of someone else getting hold of it and showing Melisande. But then William had an idea."

He was almost hugging himself with excitement. "What if you sent him a coded message in a song?"

"That sounds like a long shot," said Joy slowly. "But you know, it might be worth trying." She mulled it over a few minutes, and looked up to see both her friends watching her eagerly. She suddenly felt touched by their support. Especially from Tasha, whose opinion of Tanner wasn't much higher than Maddie's. William must have talked her around. "You guys are really great," she said. "Whether it works or not, it means a lot that you'd do this for me."

"Keep that in mind when Christmas rolls around," said William lightly. "So, let's get down to business. Tasha and I are working on a set list, and here's what we've got so far. It'll need to be in a similar style to these..."

Over the next couple of days they hammered out the song. The tune would be one of the folk ballads her mother had arranged for piano, with new lyrics by Joy: lyrics with a message. Joy had a difficult time making them both significant and nonspecific, so that Tanner would get the message but Melisande would not. "Keep it simple," Tasha advised, so Joy decided that she would just ask him to meet her in the graveyard. Face to face she could tell him all the things she couldn't convey in a song. She would be waiting for him in the old cemetery that night, and just had to hope that he would be able to find an excuse to meet her there.

Now that she knew what a predator Melisande was, Joy had given a lot of thought to her friends' safety in going to her house. But Tasha had already met Melisande and hadn't been star-struck, and William--well, brilliant though he was, Joy simply couldn't picture the creature working her wiles on skinny, nearsighted William. Nevertheless, in consultation with Gail, she put together two small bundles of dried herbs to ward off evil magic. She told Tasha and William to carry them for luck when they performed.

She also didn't give up on other ways of reaching Tanner. The next afternoon after her classes she got on her bicycle and rode over to Melisande's. Might as well try being direct.

It was a longer ride than she remembered, and she wondered if Melisande had expected to be able to clear a route where her property abutted the campus. Maybe she hadn't realized that the ridge would be so precarious a cut-through, or maybe the Ash Grove board had vetoed it. It might have meant cutting down some of the guardian trees, or it might have interfered with the charm or genius loci or whatever secret protective measure was in place. Joy wished the guardians had been less cagey with her; she would have liked to know just what was supposedly keeping her campus safe from the skank next door.

At the front gates she stopped and gave her name to a burly man with a walkie-talkie. He gave her a skeptical look but spoke to someone on the other end, and after a brief back-and-forth he activated the gates to open. Joy restrained herself from giving him a salute and rode through.

The driveway leading up to the house was also longer than she had remembered, but then last time she hadn't been covering it under her own power. The mansion was an imposing sight, even by daylight. She felt dwarfed by its size, and intimidated by the clean, severe lines, so different from the welcoming quaintness of the buildings at Ash Grove.

As she drew up to the front of the house, she saw someone standing on the steps, waiting. Her heart gave a leap even as she recognized that it wasn't Tanner.

"What a charming surprise," said Raven cordially, descending the steps as she dismounted. Two more security guards flanked the front door behind him, she noticed. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Sumner?"

He was as Mephistophelian as ever. His eyes took her in from head to toe, and she was immediately conscious of the perspiration on her forehead and her peeling sunburned nose. She felt even more messy and unkempt in contrast to him: he was wearing a loose linen shirt and slacks (how did he manage not to be wrinkled?), and his earrings winked in the sunlight. He looked like a rock star who had found Buddhism. "I'm here to see Tristan," she said, remembering to use his other name.

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure if he's available. Does he expect you?"

"No. Not exactly. I mean, he'll want to see me when he knows I'm here." She tried not to let him shake her confidence. Chin up, Joy. Look him in the eye. "Would you have one of your people let him know that I'm waiting to see him?"

"'One of my people.' I like that," he said, amused. "But of course all of us here are Melisande's people. And I think, you know, that she'd very much prefer that you not disturb her special favorite."

"Who says I'd be disturbing him? I know he'd be glad to see me."

"Hmm." He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers. For a startled moment Joy thought the gesture was meant for her: was she supposed to sit up and beg? But then one of the security guards stepped over to them.

"Give Miss Sumner paper and a pen," Raven told him, "and take whatever she writes upstairs to Tristan. Wait for an answer."

Joy knew nothing she wrote would be confidential, so she wrote only, "I'm outside and I need to see you--Joy," and handed the paper to the guard. Without a word he took it and walked into the house.

Raven lounged against one of the porch columns with his hands in his pockets, watching her. He didn't try to make conversation. Joy stood by her bike, noticing how secure the house was. Inside every window that she could see was the red eye of an alarm mounted on the wall. There was an intercom at the front door, and while she waited there two more security guards came into view as they circled the building. Security cameras were mounted above the doors and at the corners of the building. Melisande must be really worried about invaders--or escapees.

Sooner than she would have expected, the guard returned. He made as if to pause by Raven, who waved him past.

Joy accepted the note from him. It was the same paper she had written on, but underneath her message was written in a strong hand, "Go away." She recognized the writing from the note he had left with Jim all those months ago, but just for the hell of it she held it up where Raven could see. "I don't suppose this is Melisande's writing, is it?" she asked.

"No," he said, and he was polite enough not to gloat. "It's not."

She chewed her lip. She was running out of options. Drawing on her theater training, she let herself sway as if about to faint. "I'm feeling kind of woozy all of a sudden," she said breathlessly, giving him her most innocent, wide-eyed look. "Could I possibly come in out of the hot sun and have a glass of water?"

He drew his hand down over his beard as if making an effort to keep his patience. "Miss Sumner," he said, and his tone made her feel stupid for having made an attempt at subterfuge, "you need to stop pursuing Tristan. You'll only succeed in making an enemy of Melisande, and she is not a woman whose displeasure you should take lightly."

The words summoned a cold spot to the pit of her stomach, but she wouldn't let him run her off so easily. "Are you advising me, or threatening me?"

His eyes were unreadable. "I'm just telling you how it is," he said.

There had to be a way to get around these barriers and talk to Tanner. It wasn't like he was actually in prison. And even with prisons, sometimes there were ways.... She glanced around to make sure the security guards weren't within earshot, and lowered her voice.

"I know you could get me in if you wanted to. If there's a, you know, financial consideration, I've got some money--"

He chuckled. "Money. How touchingly naive. No, Miss Sumner, you will not seduce me with filthy lucre." His eyes moved over her again, more leisurely this time, and the intimacy of his appraisal made her cheeks burn. "I'm curious, though: are you prepared to use other means of seduction?"

Her disgust must have shown in her face, because his lips quirked. "Ah, so there are limits to the lengths you'll go to for the sake of your beloved. Don't worry, you're a little young for me anyway." He reached out suddenly to take her by the chin, bringing his face uncomfortably close. His eyes seared into hers. "I'll make this simple," he hissed. His grip on her chin was strong enough to make her eyes water. "With every moment you are here on Melisande's property, you are putting yourself, and Tristan, in greater danger. You're not going to win this, cupcake." He released his painful hold on her and straightened. "Now toddle off home on your bicycle like a good little girl, and don't let me see your face again."

The menace in his voice sent a shiver down her back. She longed to defy him. It was hateful to her that he should have the last word. But if her presence truly was endangering Tanner...

Under his piercing gaze she clambered back onto her bike. Without another word, she pedaled back to the main road. She would have to use sneakier means of contacting Tanner. The coded song was a go.

Since she was cut off from seeing Tanner, and the guardians had failed her, she devoted more time to research of her own. She needed to make sure she'd exhausted all possible sources of information. There was no telling what help one good clue might offer.

She acquainted herself with the library's microfiche and microfilm readers so that she could look through sources that hadn't yet been digitized. Often she was alone in the dim basement, huddled over the reader, and although she did have a moment's nervousness about who might step out of a time slip and startle her, she soon put the thought out of her mind. She focused on learning everything she could about her enemy.

She knew already that Melisande had had several tragic relationships, as they had been widely reported by the press: her first husband had supposedly been lost at sea, and her next long-term lover died in a plane crash. There were high-profile breakups when she was suddenly seen on the arm of a different man. That was before she became more circumspect about her relationships; for the last decade and a half she had been much more rigorous about keeping her private life private, except for her proteges.

Joy looked for a pattern that would link the men, but none was obvious. Her first husband was significantly older (or at least older looking) than she; the pilot who had died when his experimental plane went down was only in his twenties. Sometimes she went for American men, sometimes foreigners, like the Australian who disappeared during an outback expedition. More recently she had been taking on the position of mentor to a younger lover, as she had with Gareth and Tanner. The pictures of her with Gareth Godwin were heartbreaking: he was so young and hopeful, obviously dazzled by both his sexy mentor and his good fortune. Joy thought of the difference in the man she had met and determined all over again not to let that fate happen to Tanner.

When she finally found the pattern, it was simpler than she had imagined. She had been jotting down the dates that Melisande's men were reported dead or missing, and the pattern was there: every seven years, Melisande changed consorts.

Seven. And Tanner had been with Melisande slightly under two years. So he was probably in no immediate danger--unless he fell out of favor with her, such as by showing an interest in Joy or an inconvenient rebellious streak. His eighteenth birthday would bring his freedom, and then he'd be okay.

If he could stay alive until then.

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# Chapter 20

The night of the equinox came, and William and Tasha set out to entertain Melisande and her guests. Joy saw them off with their herbal charm bags and hugs for luck, and then immediately got on her bicycle and rode to the cemetery.

She knew she was ridiculously early, but she couldn't wait in her dorm room. Maddie was cautiously optimistic about the plan, but Joy felt she couldn't stand to be around even Maddie during the waiting. Now, as night fell, she turned on the electric lantern she had borrowed from Jim Brody and paced among the tombstones, too jittery to sit still. What if he didn't understand? What if he didn't come?

No, he'd understand. If she had made it any plainer, Melisande would have figured it out. Actually, if she had made it any more obvious, it would have been visible from space.

She thought of Tasha singing the words now, standing on the dais at Melisande's house. When would he first realize they were directed at him?

I walked among the gravestones

To seek some comfort there

The dead, they do not judge me

And tales they do not bear.

I once did have a sweetheart

A merry maid was she

She swore to be my true love

And follow only me.

Maybe now he would start to pay attention. "Merry" was as close to "joy" as she dared go, but between the graveyard setting and the talk of love, perhaps he'd be listening more closely now. And it was just possible he'd recognize the tune as one of Anna Merridew Sumner's.

We courted in the springtime

But parted in the fall;

For, restless, I did leave her

To follow Fortune's call.

A story of lovers parted; a dime a dozen in folk ballads. But the mention of springtime might pique his curiosity.

Another love did beckon,

And promises she made

Of riches and of greatness

Should I forswear my maid.

Skating too close? She wasn't sure if Melisande would see a resemblance there. But love triangles were also common in folk songs. It might not catch her attention.

But that I could not promise;

I turned my face toward home

To claim once more my true love

And have her for my own.

Nothing too distinctive there. Just the similarity (she hoped) between Tanner and the speaker, as to where their loyalties lay...

But when at last my footsteps

Had led me to her door

I saw the people gathered

And knew she was no more.

Okay, that was pure melodrama. Joy had no intention of dying. But it made sense of the graveyard setting. She could imagine Tasha's plaintive voice, her expressive face reflecting the sorrow of the words, and hoped that Tanner would understand that they were meant for him.

Now in that country churchyard

I found her there tonight

And spoke to my poor sweetheart

Alone in the moonlight.

A clunky last line, with the downbeat on "moon." But she had to get "tonight" in there, to give him a timeframe, and it had to have a rhyme. And then the final verse, to cap things off:

And on her grave I planted

The last gift I could give:

A wild white rose to honor

The life she'd never live.

So there was the last clue: the white rose.

Doubts still nagged at her. Maybe she had been too subtle; maybe she hadn't been subtle enough. Maybe he wouldn't be able to get away from the party. And, worst of all, maybe he wouldn't want to. She wondered if she was the dumbest girl who'd ever lived, waiting in a defunct graveyard for another woman's lover.

And then.

Tearing through the night, the most raucous and beautiful sound she'd ever heard: a Kawasaki Ninja.

Her heart beat rapidly in her throat. She stood at the gate, impatient for him to come into view, straining for the first glimpse of him.

The first thing she saw was a flashlight beam darting over the grass. Then he was there, as heart-stoppingly handsome as ever, in full evening dress with his helmet under his arm. "Joy?" His voice was eager, apprehensive.

"I'm here," she called, just as his flashlight caught her. In two strides he was through the gate and taking her in his arms. The helmet and flashlight fell to the ground as they held each other.

There was so much to say, but it had to wait until after they had kissed each other's doubts away. She knew at once that she had been right to believe in him, that his feelings for her had not changed.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she said at length, resting her head against his chest. The starched front of his shirt was scratchy against her face, but his hand was gentle on her hair. "Wouldn't, or couldn't. How did you get away?"

"I said I was bored and did she want to get out of there, and she told me to go. Joy, I've been going crazy wanting to see you. But I didn't want to risk you being on her radar. And I didn't know if you'd want to have anything to do with me anymore, when I was doing everything I could to drive you away." He took her face in his hands, trying to read her eyes. "You do know I was only trying to protect you, right?"

"It doesn't matter." She led him to a cracked marble bench and sat down, patting the seat beside her. "We've got to talk. There's something you need to know. More than one something."

But he didn't sit down. Before she could decide what to tell him first, he blurted, "Joy, I've got to tell you something too. I know it'll hurt you, but you deserve to know."

She went very still, thinking, He's dumping me. He stood before her with his eyes fixed on the ground, fists shoved into his pockets. In the lantern light the contours of his face were pure as marble sculpture, and her heart ached with his beauty and the dread that she was losing him.

"The way I feel about you hasn't changed," he went on, "and I want to be with you more than anything." She felt herself relax, until he mumbled, "But--sometimes Melisande and I still sleep together."

She managed an "oh."

"I'm sorry, Joy. I know it sounds like a cop-out to say I can't help myself. But it seems like all she has to do is touch me and--" He saw her wince, and searched for different words. "I can't say no to her, no matter how much I want to. I hate myself for being so weak. And it's not even... it's not the way it was with you and me." Remembering that night, his voice softened. "That was the first time it felt like, well, making love. With her it's like I'm being taken over or possessed or something, and I don't even have a will of my own anymore. Maybe that's what it's like being a junkie, only she's the drug. I hate her, I hate that I want her, but I can't seem to stop."

She tried to force back the mental images that brought a hollow ache to her chest. It was like Maddie had said. But he could conquer the addiction. Couldn't he?

He took her silence as skepticism, and rushed on. "I swear I'm not giving you some bullshit excuse. I want to be faithful to you--"

"Please shut up," she said. "I believe you."

He stared at her for an incredulous moment, and then his shoulders sagged as if she had lifted some great weight from him. "Thank god. Do you--do you mind if I tell you something else?"

A bit grimly, she said, "Go on." Thinking, I probably don't want to hear this.

"After she and I are together--you know what I mean?"

"Yes. I get it."

"It's like all of the energy has been drained out of me. Like I've aged fifty years. And I never feel like I bounce back completely."

She thought of Gareth, his ravaged body, and felt cold. And she thought again that Tanner was thinner than he'd been in the spring, his already dramatic cheekbones more sharply prominent. "It wasn't like that before?"

He shook his head, avoiding her eyes. "Not that bad. And I--I didn't know it wasn't normal before. Now... it scares me."

So it was part of a pattern, his lethargy at the open house when he had just left Melisande's bed. And it was escalating? She took a deep breath, tried to keep calm. "Tanner, she's draining your life away."

"I know she's no good for me. Believe me, I wish I'd never gotten mixed up with her."

"No, you don't understand. I mean it literally. She is actually drawing the life out of you and using you to stay young. When you and she--" She couldn't call it making love. As he had said, this was something different. "She absorbs your life force when she has sex with you."

His brow furrowed. "But that's not possible."

"I didn't want to think so either at first. I know it's hard to believe." She could see him trying to come to grips with the idea, and she pressed on. "You've probably never heard of Gareth Godwin, but he was one of her proteges before you. She totally wrecked him, used him up. You should have seen him. He was like an old man, and according to all the sources I can find he's only in his twenties."

"You spoke to this guy?"

She could tell from his voice that he wasn't sure whether to believe her. "He was terrified of her, Tan, even years later--and then he disappeared right after he talked to me." She blamed herself for that; what if she'd somehow drawn Melisande's attention to him? "Think about how many husbands and lovers she's gone through. She feeds off them as long as they can give her what she needs, and then when she's used them up she moves on to a new one."

Still he said nothing; maybe he thought she had lost her mind. "Remember the photos," she said urgently. "The ones you told me about, on her dressing table. Those pictures of her with those old celebrities weren't faked. That was her, all those years ago."

"How do you know?"

"I've gone back through the tabloid photos, and she hasn't aged in decades. It's more than Botox; it's supernatural."

His face was ashen in the lantern's light. "You mean she's not human?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. It's not normal, the effect she has on you. You said so yourself." He didn't argue; maybe she was finally getting through to him. "She's evil, Tanner, and your life is in danger as long as you stay with her."

At last he sat down on the bench beside her, and buried his head in his hands. "I knew there was something off about her," he whispered. "It's crazy, but in a way it makes sense. There's always been something about her that scared me."

Thank heaven, he believed her. That was the first step to getting him out of harm's way.

But that wasn't the direction his thoughts were taking. "And if she's that dangerous," he said now, "that's all the more reason to keep you out of it. She's already got you in her sights, thanks to me."

"What?"

"She knows I was with you on Beltane," he said, his eyes sad and grave on hers. "I was an idiot to think I could keep it from her. I lied and told her you didn't mean anything to me, but I don't know if she believed me. And we can't afford to take that chance now."

So Melisande knew about that night. That sent a chill through her, but she couldn't stop to think about it now; it wasn't the most urgent order of business. "Tan, listen. If you don't get away from her, sooner or later she will suck all the life out of you. She'll kill you."

He reached out to touch her cheek. "I never should have gotten you involved in this," he said quietly. "I shouldn't even have come tonight. But I couldn't stay away, once I knew you wanted me." His hand dropped away from her face. "I've screwed everything up."

This wasn't the Tanner she needed, defeatist and full of self-reproach. She needed rebellious Tanner, angry Tanner--even smartass Tanner, if only he would put up a fight against the doom closing in on him. "You didn't know what she was," she reminded him. "And I'm involved because I want to be. What's important now is figuring out how to make sure you don't end up like poor Gareth."

"I'm not worth worrying about. What's important now is keeping you safe." He hesitated, then said quietly, "This is the last time we can meet, Joy. It's too dangerous for you."

"Don't be ridic--"

"I mean it, Joy. I wish it could be different, but I'm useless at protecting you from her. Like the day you came to the house--I wanted so much to see you, but I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to hide it from her. She always knows somehow... I guess that's part of not being human."

Her heart sank as the realization broke over her that he couldn't be entrusted with the other thing she had come here to tell him. Melisande would get it out of him. And Melisande must not know about the baby. Somehow, the creature would use the knowledge against her and Tan.

She took his hands and held them tightly in hers.

"Listen to me," she commanded. "You've got to be on your guard. Don't let her dope you with any of her herbal potions. And especially try not to let her seduce you again. If you can just hang on until your birthday, you'll be free of her. She won't have any hold over you then." Please let me be right about that, she thought. What if Melisande was still working her wiles on him then? Could he bring himself to leave her?

Or what if she drained him before then?

He startled her by leaning forward, cupping her face in his hands, and kissing her lips with a gentle finality that pierced her. "I hope so," he said softly. "I hope I'll be free then and can come to you. But I can't let you put yourself at risk any more. I'm ending this."

"No. I'm not giving you up."

"You have to." He still held her face in his hands, studying her as this was the last time he'd ever see her--and maybe he meant it to be. "I won't let you keep putting yourself in danger. If she did anything to you I'd--I couldn't live. We stop this here, Joy."

"You don't get to decide that," she retorted. But there was no change to the finality in his face. Her mind groped desperately toward a solution. This couldn't be the end. There had to be a way--

"You shouldn't go back," she told him suddenly. "This is your best chance."

His brows knitted together. "What, make a run for it? Now? But I told you--"

"How much worse off could you be? You've got to try, and tonight." The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. "That house is like a fortress; once you go back, you're trapped." And from what he'd said, it might be too much to hope that he could hold out against Melisande's supernatural allure, as painful as it was for her to acknowledge that. "We can't take a chance on you being able to get out again. Just take your bike and go. Put as many miles between you and her as you can."

"Maybe you're right," he said slowly, adjusting to the idea. "But I don't have any clothes or money. I don't know how far I can get on just this tank of gas. Where can I go?"

"There are shelters for underage runaways. Do a web search on your phone and find the nearest one." She was already fumbling in her purse for anything that might be useful to him: money (not much), chewing gum, crackers (he didn't need to know they were for morning sickness). "Take my debit card," she said. "The PIN's my birthday, July 28. And you can stop by my house and get some of my dad's clothes. I don't know how well they'll fit, but they'll be less conspicuous than a tux. There's a key hidden under the flower pot next to the front door."

But doubts seemed to be creeping in. "I don't know, Joy. I don't have your strength--I'm not sure I can do it."

"Whatever strength of mine you need, it's yours. I'm with you, all the way." She kissed him fiercely, willing any toughness she had to enter into him, hoping that the force of her love would make him stronger. He could do this. He had to do this. "Go now," she urged. "I won't be able to stop worrying until I know you're safe hidden somewhere."

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but some of her energy had seemed to infuse him. "Okay, I'll do it," he said, with a reckless jut of his chin that made her heart lift. "You're right, it's our best chance."

She loved him for saying our. She gathered up the lantern, his helmet, and the flashlight, and they started down the path to the cemetery gate. "Maybe I'll head to Georgia or Tennessee and look for a shelter there," he added. "Being across the state line may help."

"That's a good idea." It was a hopeful sign that he could think about plans and strategy. She was finding it hard to think past the next twenty-four hours.

His motorcycle was parked close to where she had flung her bike down at the side of the road. It didn't take him long to get it started up. As she stood there ready to mount her bicycle, he held out his hand to her. She took it and held it for a second. Anything they wanted to say in these last moments would have to be said over the sound of the engine, and she didn't feel like shouting.

But every moment that she kept him here was time he could be using to get farther away from Melisande. She released his hand. He gave her one last long look before putting on his helmet. Then he kicked the bike into gear and sped out of sight.

Much more slowly, she pedaled back to campus. Hoping she'd done the right thing, hoping that the next time she heard from him he'd be somewhere safe, far away from Melisande.

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# Chapter 21

No word had come by Monday. She had told William and Tasha about the success of their plan, and had updated Maddie as to the latest developments. Even she, Tanner's severest critic, was concerned for him by now.

Joy was on edge, not knowing when to expect to hear from him; whether he'd call, or get in touch another way. When she checked her box at the campus post office after lunch, she knew not to expect anything--there wouldn't have been time for anything sent through the mail to reach her--but she nevertheless felt a moment of startled expectancy when she saw a blank envelope in her box.

"What is it?" asked Clark, who had no moral qualms about looking over her shoulder. "Is it from him?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, open it!" ordered Maddie, as shamelessly as Clark.

"I am." She slid a finger under the flap. There was no letter inside, and at first she thought the envelope was empty. Then she upended it, and something fell to the floor. When she stooped to retrieve it she realized it was her debit card.

Comprehension took a second to set in, and then the dismay was so great she could have cried.

"Why would he send--oh, no. It was Melisande, wasn't it? She must have found him." Maddie sounded a long way away. "God, that sucks. What are you going to do?"

Joy slipped the card into her pocket and crumpled the envelope. "I don't know," she said tiredly. "I can't think right now. I'm going back to the dorm."

"But what about English?" asked Clark.

"I don't care. I'm not going." She just wanted to curl up in a little ball and not think or feel anything. "Tell Mr. Berenger I'm sick."

The dorm was quiet; everyone else was in class. She encountered no one as she trudged through the lobby, up the stairs, and to her room. She opened the door gratefully, relieved to be alone--

But she wasn't alone. Inside, Melisande was waiting for her.

She was sitting on Joy's bed, where she had spread her overcoat out over the comforter as if protecting herself from the contamination of its touch. She was wearing luminous white, as usual: this time a short, clingy knit dress that showed off her superb figure. Her beauty made the rest of the room seem drab. "I think it's time," she said, "that we had a little chat."

Joy swallowed hard. Melisande was smiling, but malice rolled off of her like mist from dry ice. Carefully, Joy sat down across from her on Maddie's bed. "I assume this is about Tanner," she said. No point in pretending she didn't know.

"Naturally." Her silky voice was matter-of-fact. "I have to say I don't take kindly to your interference. It was extremely irresponsible of you to encourage him to run off."

"How did you find him?" she couldn't stop herself from asking. "Do you have a tracker hidden in his bike? Or did your goons just sweep the neighborhood until they found him?"

That received a pitying look. "I didn't have to find him. He came back to me of his own free will."

"He wouldn't!"

A gentle smile. "He would and did."

Depression settled over Joy like a blanket of lead. It was useless to fight this woman; there was no way they could win against her. Maybe that was why Tanner had gone back to her. Or maybe that misplaced chivalry had made him turn back--to prevent Melisande from taking his absence out on Joy.

Why didn't I go with him? she thought miserably. He had said he needed her strength, and yet she had sent him away alone...

But Melisande might not even be telling the truth. Maybe she was just trying to make Joy give up on him.

The crystalline voice of the vision in white broke into her fevered thoughts. "I haven't objected to your liaison before now because I knew he'd tire of you. You can't think you're the first such distraction to appear during his time with me. But he always comes back to me. He always will."

"Only because you have power on your side," Joy returned, trying to keep her voice as calm as Melisande's. "He doesn't stay with you because he wants to. You must know he doesn't love you anymore."

The sea-green eyes narrowed slightly. "Unless you've been a fly on my bedroom wall for the past two years, I don't think you're in any position to say what Tristan feels for me." She let her full meaning sink in, and then continued: "In any case, the real question is whether whatever he feels for you is stronger than his desire for me. Look at the two of us." She spread her hands in a gesture that took in Joy, plump with baby weight, and herself, supple and slender. "Which one of us do you think he truly desires?"

"He does desire me," she said. She knew she was rising to the bait, but she couldn't help herself. "In fact, we're lovers."

A reproachful look came into the smooth white face.

"You may be a momentary novelty, but that's all." Her eyes raked Joy's body. "You're a child still. I'm skilled in more ways of loving than there are hairs on your head. When he has sated this passing fancy, I think we both know what his choice will be."

Joy realized she was shivering. No wonder, with this human--no, inhuman--iceberg sitting across from her. She decided to take the plunge. "If you're what I think you are, you need a willing victim. That means he's no good to you. Let him go."

Melisande shook her head, making her waterfall of hair shimmer. "You're straining my patience, little girl. Tristan is willing to do whatever I ask of him. One touch from me, and I become his whole world."

"You only need him for the youth he can give you. But I love him." She had given up trying to match her rival's poise; her voice shook with emotion. "Doesn't that make a difference? You could have any guy you want. It doesn't have to be Tanner."

"Oh, but he's a rare soul, is Tristan." A faint gleam of excitement animated her face. "There's so much passion and conflict in him, more even than in most men his age. He is a remarkable specimen."

"He's not a specimen. He's a person, with his own life to live." Then an idea came to her that gave her renewed strength. "If you're so certain he'll choose you over me, why are you even here? If you were sure I'm not a threat, you wouldn't have come to try to intimidate me." Ha! Got you there, you harpy.

Melisande's eyes were hard as glass. "How dare you presume that you know my motives," she hissed. "I came here not because you pose any threat to me, but because you are a persistent irritation, like a pebble in my shoe. I have been patient, but I am no longer inclined to be so." Her lips curved in a thin smile. "I have come to rid myself of the pebble," she said.

Joy went for bravado. "That's all you've got?" she demanded. "That's your idea of intimidation? Lady, I don't know what kind of people you're used to dealing with, but I don't scare that easy. I don't care that you're a big celebrity. You can't hurt me."

"Oh, but I can." Melisande's eyes glittered, and for just an instant the green irises shifted to reveal utter darkness behind them, vast and empty, as if her eyes were windows into an endless abyss. A void that was the absence of a soul. "You have no idea what I'm capable of," she whispered, and the cold of pure horror poured through Joy.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she forced out the words. "Are you a vampire?"

Again the black nothingness looked out from behind her eyes. "Idiot girl. Nothing so common."

"What, then?"

Melisande leaned forward, her empty eyes fixed on Joy's fearful ones, and whispered to her for what seemed like a long time. Paralyzed like a rabbit by a snake, Joy listened as the creature made herself known. Outside, dusk fell and a shrill wind flung dried leaves against the windows, but the soft voice spoke on.

Long after Melisande had vanished--and Joy, her senses dulled, was not aware of when or how she left--the whispered words stayed with her, imprinted on her.

I was born of blood and earth, she had said. Beasts were slain and wine poured out on altars for me.

I arose from the sweat of greed, of men tormented by ambition.

I took form from the longing of men half mad with lust. Their desire branded itself into the earth and molded my body.

I do not age. I do not decay. I am as eternal as desire itself.

As long as there are acolytes to worship me, I shall endure.

As long as there are men to empty their essence and their hearts into me, I shall endure.

Fear me, child. Fear me.

Nausea twisted Joy's stomach. She lurched to her feet, stiff and clumsy from sitting immobile so long, and managed to make it to the bathroom before she threw up.

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# Chapter 22

"A succubus," said Mo. "It makes sense."

It was early the next morning, before assembly. As soon as she was able after Melisande's departure the night before, Joy had tracked Gail down and ordered her to call Mo. The three of them were in Mo's office now. He switched on the desk lamp to dispel the gloom; not enough early-morning light struggled through the high ivy-choked windows to permit him to read from the volume of the Compendium Maleficarum that he had drawn from his shelves. He had just been consulting its information on succubi.

Joy's terror had begun to recede in the comfortably messy surroundings, and she was intrigued to see that not all of the books and papers that crammed Mo's office were related to music; he kept some of his supernatural reference books there as well. Apparently he was unconcerned about anyone noticing them in the general chaos.

"She doesn't even really try to make it a secret," said Joy. "Look at this." She passed him a printout she had made earlier from a web page on succubi. It was illustrated with a nineteenth-century painting of a snake coiled around a voluptuous naked woman. "This is practically the same picture as that famous poster of her with the snake. It's like she doesn't care if we know."

"I wanted Joy to go to Dr. Aysgarth with this," said Gail, "but she felt that Eleanor wouldn't listen to her. I'm afraid I agree, Mo. I wasn't happy with the way the last council meeting left things."

"Neither was I," he admitted. He set the book on his desk with a thud, sat back in his leather office chair, and clasped his hands across his broad belly. His blazer was still missing the two sleeve buttons.

"Is Dr. Aysgarth the head of the council?" Joy asked. "At first I thought she was, but at the last meeting it seemed like Dr. Fellowes was in charge."

"That's actually a tricky question," said Mo. "Eleanor is nominal head, as the current principal. But in practice she tends to defer to Michael if he has strong feelings about an issue. She's not usually prone to waffling, but I think she's still a little intimidated by Michael, since he was principal when she was a student."

"So the whole council will fall into line with him?" asked Gail in dismay. "Even when it's a matter of a young man's life?"

Mo sighed. "It's possible they'd come around, but I suspect Dr. Fellowes will take the position that this is a private dispute between Tanner and Melisande, and that no one else has the right to interfere. He can be a real tight-ass sometimes," and Joy, worried though she was, half smiled at his bluntness. "They may also suggest that Tanner is a willing participant--that he's benefiting from this arrangement. His liaison with Melisande has certainly brought him publicity, money, business connections--"

"You mean they'll say that he asked for whatever happens to him?" Joy couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Mo held up his hands. "Whoa, I'm just looking at possibilities. But you have to see it from their side. The council is a pretty conservative group, after all, and they're wary of involving Ash Grove in anything that could damage the school's standing or otherwise put it at risk. Their responsibility is a fairly narrow one. They may even feel that with Melisande's attentions all focused on Tanner the school is perfectly safe."

"Until she kills him, and starts looking for new blood," said Joy bitterly. "Isn't there any way we can break her hold on him?"

"Not as such." He put his reading glasses on--they magnified his already prominent eyes to an alarming degree--and riffled again through the book. "There aren't really any foolproof devices for separating a succubus from her victim. Once she seduces a man, he pretty much stays seduced. I've only found one incident that offered an antidote, and it may not apply here." He read aloud:

A handsome youth made it known to the Bishop of Aberdeen that for several months a succubus had been visiting torments upon him. This demon, who possessed beauty surpassing that of mortal women, came to the youth at night despite his locked doors. She then enticed him into embracing her and lying with her. At dawn she silently departed. The youth said that he had sought in vain for a means of ridding himself of this terrible madness. The Bishop immediately counseled the young man to remove himself to a different place, and to apply himself to fasting and prayer. The young petitioner having done this, he was freed from the vile embraces of the creature.

He clapped the book shut and removed his glasses. "Not much help: fast, pray, and get away from her. Also, that assumes the succubus is a demon and is bound by Christian tenets, and we don't know that that's the case with Melisande. From what she told you, Joy, it sounds like she's a different sort of being--not one who found her way here from hell or from, say, another dimension, but one actually created by human desires and rites. That means she's an unknown quantity."

"Either way," said Gail, "it sounds like Tanner's best bet would be to put physical distance between them."

"Which is what I tried to get him to do," said Joy miserably. The painful thought that maybe he still found Melisande too alluring to leave her would not stop swimming into her mind. Maybe that was the real reason he'd returned to her.

It was a thought that the others had as well. "He may be too deeply in her thrall to leave her voluntarily," said Gail. "At this point about all he can do is somehow find the will to resist her--but I gather you already told him that," she added to Joy.

For all the good it will do, she thought. It wasn't that she didn't believe Tan wanted to be faithful; it was just that she had seen how powerful an effect Melisande had on him. And when he was to all intents and purposes Melisande's prisoner, she had every opportunity to put the whammy on him.

She thought again of the black nothingness she had seen behind the succubus's eyes, and shivered with a cold that went straight through her soul. This was what had Tanner in its grip. A thing with no conscience, no mercy. There had to be a way to get him out of her clutches. "What if we called the police and reported child endangerment?" she almost begged.

Mo made a dubious face. "They would probably be too intimidated by Melisande's celebrity status to follow up on it. And even if they did, would they remove Tanner from the household? I don't want to be the doomsayer, Joy, but it's exactly the kind of situation that could spend months tied up in red tape, without any move to extricate Tanner from her household."

"It's worth trying, though," pleaded Joy. "Even just on the off chance."

Gail gave a short nod. "You're right. I'll call during morning assembly. And now that we know what Melisande is, the council will want to keep a close eye on her at the very least and run her off if possible. Don't you agree, Mo? This is essentially the same as a pedophile moving in next door to a kindergarten."

"I'll talk to Eleanor." He got to his feet, signaling the end of the conversation. "I'll approach her alone and see if I can get her to be more proactive. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful, Joy." His hand rested heavily on her shoulder for a moment. "If I think of anything that might be useful I'll let you know."

"Thanks," she said dismally. It looked like she and Tanner were still on their own.

As predicted, the police were no help. At Gail's insistence, they went so far as to send a patrolman out to the house with a social worker, but they evidently saw nothing to worry them. Joy begged them to make a second visit, but they dismissed her out of hand. She didn't know if they had been snowed by Melisande's celebrity or simply assumed Joy was trying to involve them in some teenaged drama.

It was hard for her not to let her father see how depressed and anxious she was when they visited on Skype. He picked up on the fact that something was bothering her, but she just said, "Boyfriend troubles."

"With Tanner? He hasn't been stupid enough to break up with you, has he?"

She tried to smile. "Not exactly. It's complicated. But you don't want to hear all this. I know you want me to work things out on my own."

He was silent for a minute. "You're right," he said. "I can't have it both ways. Just... be careful, okay?"

It was a little late for that. "I've got it all under control," she lied, keeping her voice brisk. "He's in kind of a complicated situation is all, and we decided not to see each other for the time being."

"I wish I were there and could get a proper look at you," he said. "I can't tell if you're just fobbing me off with half-truths."

"Dad, you know I'm not a fobber," she said lightly. "When have I fobbed you before?"

His smile was wry. "Like fobber, like daughter," he said, but he let it go.

Perhaps the only good thing in her life right now was that her dad's health was stable. He said he had a new research project to keep him occupied between treatments, and he seemed to be stronger and more optimistic than she'd seen him in a long time. Joy was relieved beyond measure--especially since she knew she'd be giving him quite a shock in the not too distant future.

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# Chapter 23

On the day of Samhain, the sound of chainsaws disrupted classes on and off all day. Wood was being cut for the big bonfire that night. Joy, who was paying little enough attention in class these days anyway, found herself staring out the window at the preparations. The bonfire would be laid out on the playing field, well away from any of the buildings, and surrounded by great rocks; these had already been set out, and so had some of the rough seats cut from tree trunks. The campus looked festive with the rowan trees turned to their autumn shades of orange and red and yellow.

She wondered again what kind of security measures were being taken to protect Ash Grove on the one night of the year most vulnerable to evil influences. The traditional lanterns of turnips and pumpkins probably didn't help much; they were more for fun. And although centuries ago revelers had dressed in frightening disguises to fool the witches and demons into thinking they weren't human, Halloween costumes now were far more likely to be sexy or silly than scary. She wondered sometimes what Josiah Cavanaugh would make of a modern American Halloween. It was light years away from the ancient rituals of Samhain.

These days she was exhausted from worry, and being almost six months pregnant didn't help at all. She drifted through her classes numbly, when she bothered to go at all, and when she gathered with her friends they chattered away around her without disturbing her silence. Every now and then she'd catch one of them looking at her in concern. They knew what was on her mind--or part of it, at least--and although they were worried for her there was really nothing they could do to help. She had told them this so often that they had finally believed her. All except Maddie, who surreptitiously kept her provided with herbal tea, chocolate, heating pads, extra pillows, and anything else she expressed a hankering for. The others had noticed that she'd drastically reduced her caffeine intake, but she just told them she was on a health kick, and they were satisfied. Nobody except Maddie seemed to have discovered her secret.

Now, as she gazed out the window, she saw two figures emerge from the woods and start across the playing field. As they grew nearer, she could see that they were Sheila and Alissa. What had they been doing in the woods? No way would they have been helping to cut up wood for the bonfire.

But if they had been on the ridge where it overlooked Melisande's layout, perhaps they had been up to something there. Something that would allow Melisande access to Ash Grove that was usually barred her by protective measures like rowans and hollies. Maybe that was how Melisande had been able to get into the dorm and ambush her: she had allies on the inside.

Joy's mouth set in a grim line. If they had been up to something on Samhain of all nights, she would do her best to see that they wouldn't get away with it.

At dinner she was still preoccupied with this train of thought, and she didn't try to join in the conversation. Maddie was entertaining everyone with... not a boyfriend rant, exactly; she had scaled those down ever since William's blowup. She was reciting something more like an annotated bibliography of exes, while the others jogged her memory when necessary.

"Well, there was Blake, as I'm sure you recall," she said to Clark, who was now dating the guy in question, "and after that was Jeremiah. Then Eric, then Derek."

"Or was it Derek, then Eric?" William teased.

"Well, there was some overlap there, because Eric and I started talking about getting back together, and that kind of muddled things with Derek." She gave an exaggerated shudder. "I'll tell you one thing: never date two guys at once whose names sound so much alike. That's just asking for trouble."

"So you don't actually switch out boyfriends at the five-week mark?" That was Clark. "I thought you were better organized than that, Mads. Don't you keep a spreadsheet?"

"It's not like I have a scheduled rotation, Clark, even if it may seem that way." But she didn't sound offended. "Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if it's a kind of dating ADD. Maybe I can be medicated for--Joy? Are you okay?"

A horrifying thought had come to her with the mention of rotations. Melisande seemed to mysteriously lose a mate every seven years. But that didn't mean that she kept each one for that entire time. Sometimes her marriages or affairs only lasted a couple of years before the unlucky man disappeared--or worse.

And that meant that Tanner's time might in fact be up. Even though Tanner had been with her for less than two years, he seemed to be on track to be her next meal. Raven had even called him Melisande's "special favorite."

Worse, if she was going to finish him off, it would most likely have to be before he turned eighteen and was free of her.

"And his birthday is next week," she gasped.

Her friends were all staring at her now, worried and weirded out. "Joy, what is it?" asked William in concern.

She drew a deep, unsteady breath. "This is going to take a little while to explain," she said, "and it's going to be hard to believe. But the short version is that Tanner's in terrible danger, and I think Sheila and Alissa have something to do with it. And tonight--oh, god--tonight is Samhain, and that's the traditional time for blood sacrifices." Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. "You've got to help me save him."

"Well, duh," said Maddie. "Just tell us what we need to do."

"Yeah, you can fill in the backstory later," said William. "How can we help?"

She felt a rush of gratitude for her friends and their willingness to take her on faith. If she'd had to explain everything, answer their questions, assuage their skepticism, convince them of the nature of the danger, it would take goodness knew how long, and she was terrified that it was already too late. With the Samhain celebration starting within the hour, the school was in disarray, and she wasn't sure where to find the people who might be able to help.

"William, see if you can find Dr. Aysgarth or Mo and tell them that tonight Melisande is going to try to kill Tanner. Maddie, can you look for Gail? And call Tasha and ask her to come right away."

"What can Blake and I do?" asked Clark. "He'll help if I ask him to."

"Text him and ask him if he can find one of the security guards that are supposedly patrolling campus, would you? And I need you to go to Melisande's and make a scene. Get the security staff's attention and make sure they call her, and keep her tied up there if you can. Maybe rave about succubi and witchcraft and sacrificial rituals; that'll get her attention."

"Got it," said Clark. "What are you going to do?"

She set her jaw. "Find out what Sheila and Alissa have been up to."

They weren't in the dorm when she got there. Neither were the Brodys, Maddie reported when they met up in the lobby. "Down at the bonfire, probably," she said. "Gail's not answering her cell. I texted her and left a voicemail too. What do you think's going to happen, Joy?"

"I'm afraid that Melisande has found a way to get past campus security, and that she's going to use Ash Grove's supernatural force as an amplifier, so she'll get a bigger charge when she performs the ritual to suck the life out of Tanner," said Joy.

Maddie blinked. "Okay, I didn't understand any of that," she said. "But it sounded bad."

"I just wish I knew where," Joy went on. "I don't know where she's found a way in to campus. But I think Sheila and Alissa are helping her."

"Right," said Maddie grimly. "Let's go kick some ballerina ass."

The bonfire had just been lit when they got there. A large crowd of students had gathered already, and there was a cheerful hubbub. Some were carving jack-o'-lanterns, and a few of the music students had brought their guitars for the traditional sing-along. It looked cheerful and cozy and fun, and Joy wanted to shake every single person there until their teeth rattled and demand how they could be enjoying themselves so much when Tanner's life was at risk.

Sheila and Alissa were gathered with their usual crowd near the fire. One of the guys noticed Joy and Maddie approaching them and nudged Sheila. She took them in with a contemptuous look.

"God, Joy, you're getting so fat you look like a pumpkin yourself," she said. "What do you want now?" Then she shrieked in outrage as Joy grabbed her arm and yanked her forward.

"Tell me what you and Alissa have been up to with Melisande," she commanded. "You were sabotaging campus security to let her in, weren't you? Maybe cutting down a few rowan trees? Today of all days no one would think anything of the sound of a chainsaw."

"What the hell!" sputtered Sheila, and Alissa said quickly, "We weren't anywhere near the ridge."

"Who said anything about the ridge?" inquired Maddie, and Alissa's eyes went big as she realized her mistake.

"Tell me what you were doing." Joy let go of Sheila and shoved her away, because she was starting to slap at her. She didn't want any of those blows to land where they might hurt the baby. Where the hell were the faculty chaperones? Someone should be coming to break this up, someone who could get a rescue operation moving. "Tell me or--or I'll get my father to make some calls and get you expelled."

It was a complete bluff, but Sheila fell for it.

"You little troll," she snapped. "All right, if it's that important to you, we were up on the ridge where it overlooks Melisande's house. There's this guy in her entourage, Saxon, and he--he likes to go skinny-dipping in her pool. And with binoculars... well, what's it got to do with you, anyway?"

"All we did was look," Alissa put in. "No one even knew we were there."

"That's it?" Maddie and Joy looked at each other in consternation. Joy didn't know what to do now that her theory had been deflated. Where should she look now for Melisande?

At that moment, something in the angle of Joy's posture must have betrayed her. She heard Sheila give an incredulous laugh. "Oh my god," said Sheila loudly. "You're pregnant!"

The words opened up a great silence. Everyone seemed to be staring at them. She didn't know what to say; and Maddie, seeing this, stepped in to take the bullet.

"I am not!" she said, just as loudly as Sheila. "Just because I've gained a few pounds doesn't mean you have to be bitchy about it."

Sheila gave her a venomous look. "Not you. Joy."

"Wait, so now you're saying she's pregnant too? You must have, like, a fixation on pregnancy." Maddie was doing her best, but Joy felt the eyes still on her and knew it wasn't any good.

"Never mind, Mads," she said. "But thanks for trying." This wasn't the time to let herself get distracted. "Let's check out the ridge anyway," she said. "I want to see if everything's okay."

Head high, she broke through the circle of onlookers and set out at a fast walk, not looking back. Behind her she heard a yelp from Maddie and a voice saying, "Not so fast, Elvira. You and Sheila have some explaining to do."

She did look back then, and saw that Mrs. Minish, the history teacher, was holding each girl by the arm in a death grip. Maddie looked at Joy and mouthed, Go on! and waved her off with her free hand. Before Mrs. Minish could try to detain her, too, she set out for the woods at the fastest trot her ungainly figure could manage.

Her mind wasn't processing how she felt about her secret being out. She'd probably feel the force of that later, but right now she was just numb. All she knew was that she had to find Tanner and stop the ritual.

She had grown so familiar with the layout of the ridge over the past few months that it didn't take her long to find the stretch that overlooked Melisande's property. She tried to make her progress quiet, but dry leaves crunched loudly under the soles of her sneakers. So much for stealth. She could only hope that she wouldn't need the element of surprise.

She turned on her flashlight as she neared the overlook, and at first glance everything looked normal. There were no signs of trees having been cut down: no sawn-off trunks or sawdust. So either her theory had been wrong, or Melisande had found another place to breach the campus border.

Then she looked closer. There were pale gashes on some of the rowan trees as if someone had been hacking at them. Maybe someone had started to cut them down but had been interrupted before they could finish the job? She touched one of the raw places, traced it with her fingertips, and realized: the cuts in the bark weren't just blows from an axe or saw. They were symbols. She flashed her light around and saw that a whole row of trees had been deliberately marked that way. She had a feeling she understood what the nature of those symbols was, and she felt suddenly cold.

It was then that the voice came from behind her.

"You're worried about your snug little fence, aren't you? Well, it was standing in my lady's way, so it had to be removed. She won't find any barriers between her and Ash Grove tonight."

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# Chapter 24

Dr. Michael Fellowes's eyes looked odd in the beam of Joy's flashlight. It could have been the influence of a drug, but she knew that the truth was far worse. He was in thrall to Melisande.

"You let her in," said Joy, shocked. He must have found a way to get her onto campus that other time, too, when she ambushed Joy in her dorm room. "How could you endanger everyone at Ash Grove this way?" But she knew that all such concerns had vanished in his captivation by Melisande.

He took a step closer to her, and she stared in disbelief at the gun in his hand. "My mistress will brook no interference," he said. "She has let you live too long as it is."

Joy turned and ran. The beam of her flashlight jounced confusingly on her path. Her heavy belly slowed her down and threw her balance off, but she was younger than Dr. Fellowes, and more familiar with the terrain. And at least he wasn't shooting at her--yet. From the noise of his footsteps behind her she guessed he was not closing the distance between them.

If only she could find a place to hide. She was already getting a painful stitch in her side. She crashed on through the dry underbrush, trying to think of the best direction to take, the safest.

Suddenly she realized her footsteps had gone silent. She came to a stop, breathing hard, and cast her flashlight around her.

The woods had vanished, and she was in the rose garden. But it was no longer blooming.

The hedges were bare, the grass paths brown and dry. A flickering yellow light revealed the wicked-looking thorns on the stems and vines that grew in a tangle over the arbor.

She looked quickly behind her to make sure she hadn't been followed, but there was no sign of Dr. Fellowes. Behind her, all was dark; ahead lay the unknown.

As Joy stepped forward, her foot jarred something that gleamed. She stooped to see what it was, and found her mother's pendant on its chain. The chain was unbroken. So it must have been deliberately removed.

The source of the flickering light was torches held by the circle of people surrounding the arbor. Melisande's followers, all the handsome men and beautiful women she had seen at the open house all those months ago, wearing strange gauzy shifts that gave them no protection from the night air. They were facing away from Joy, toward the arbor. Her steps silent on the dead grass, she crept closer, trying to see what was happening within.

Melisande and Tanner knelt, facing each other, inside a tight circle marked on the ground with something that glowed like phosphorescent paint. Each wore a tunic so transparent that she could see strange symbols painted on their bodies in the same glowing substance. Tanner's head was bowed, and she could not see his face. Melisande held his hands in hers, and was chanting softly in a language Joy did not understand.

She shouted "No!" in a louder voice than she had known she possessed, and pushed aside those in the entourage who blocked her way. Forcing her way into the arbor, she flung herself down on her knees beside Tanner and threw her arms around him. "Leave him alone!" she shouted at Melisande.

The succubus gave her a level look. She looked as composed as ever, not a strand of her pale hair out of place. "I don't understand," she said softly. "Are you under the impression that Tristan is here against his will?"

"Of course he is! He'd never consent to this. Would you, Tan?" His head was still bowed, and she put out a hand to turn his face so that she could see it.

He shook her hand off.

"Tan, it's me," she said. "It's Joy." When he didn't respond, she took his hand and hastily wrapped the silver chain around his wrist. Perhaps without the rowan charm he was more vulnerable to Melisande's influence. "Tan?"

He flung the necklace off his arm as if he were shaking off a spider and raised his head. His eyes were strange in the dim light; hard, distant. "Leave me alone, Joy," he said coldly.

"You see?" Melisande's voice was a gentle murmur. "I don't think he wants you here."

"I don't believe that. Tan, come on. Let's get out of here. You don't have to go along with this."

"Will you get away from me?" he snarled. She had never seen this look on his face before. "Stop interfering in things that don't concern you."

Shaken, she grasped his arm. "This isn't you, Tan. She's influencing you somehow--"

He shook her off and rose to his feet, towering over her. "For the last time, Joy, get the hell out of here. I don't want to see you again. You've been nothing but trouble to me. Now fuck off and leave Melisande and me alone!" He was shouting the words.

She got to her feet with some difficulty. Melisande had not moved; she knelt there serene and smiling. Her hangers-on had not stirred or made a sound. They might have been drugged, or enchanted.

"I don't believe this is what you really want," said Joy, struggling to keep her voice steady. "She may have worn you down so that this is all you think you deserve, but I love you and I'm not giving up on you. Do you hear me?" She directed that at Melisande. "I am not giving up."

"It looks to me like you've already lost," the succubus said.

Joy ignored her. Tanner stood silent now; maybe she was getting through to him. "Come with me," she pleaded. "You've only started to live; don't throw your life away on her."

"It's not worth keeping," he said dully. "I'm no good to anyone. You just wanted to think I was something more than I am." He reached around her to Melisande, grabbed for her hands. "Let's get this over with."

"Tanner, listen!" Joy thrust herself between them, breaking their grasp and pushing Tanner back out of the circle. "I swear to you by everything I care about that you are worth saving. If you're such a waste of space, I'd have to be pretty stupid to care about you, and I am not stupid; I am goddamned awesome. And furthermore"--she took him by the shoulders and shook him hard, willing him to look at her--"you are not going to leave our baby without a father. Did you hear me? Our baby."

He stared at her as if the words had no meaning to him. She took his hand and guided it under her sweater to her navel. "She's in there, Tan," she whispered. "Our daughter. And she needs a father. She needs you. I need you. And I will not let you abandon us." Tears were running down her face; they fell on his bare arm as he stood there with his hand on her belly. This was her last card; if it didn't work, she had nothing to fall back on.

He blinked. His face seemed to clear, and he looked at her as if he were waking from sleep. "Our daughter?" he said wonderingly.

Joy nodded, gulping for breath. "And so help me, Tan, if you try to run out on us now--"

"No, never." He drew her into his arms and kissed her. "Never. I love you."

"I think," said the soft clear voice of Melisande behind them, "I've had about as much of this as I can tolerate."

In one graceful movement she was on her feet, a dagger in her hand. Her eyes had never looked as cold as they did now. Tanner tried to put Joy behind him to shield her, but she evaded his arm to stand with him side by side.

"It's no use, Melisande," she said. "The energy transfer only works if your victim is willing. And Tan's not willing, are you?"

"No," he said emphatically. "I am not. Melisande, I renounce you. I want you out of my life."

"Well, that's rather tidy," she purred, "because I want the life out of you." She advanced on them with cold purpose, and Joy's arm instinctively encircled her belly as they fell back. Melisande's face was so hard that Joy wondered how she ever could have thought her beautiful. "You betrayed me, Tristan. Traitors pay a harsh penalty. If you're not going to give me what I need, then I'll make certain no one else gets it either." A thin, humorless smile curved her lips. "Your trollop can watch as your vitality withers to a cinder before her very eyes." She brought the knife down in a shining arc, and as Joy and Tanner both flung their arms out to push the other out of the way, the point of the blade caught on his chest and dragged a scarlet line down his skin.

Joy screamed in rage and grabbed at Melisande, her fingernails leaving red tracks on the white skin. She forced the dagger out of her hand and flung it away. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tanner, still on his feet, but with a red tide spreading over his chest.

Melisande fought like a cat, biting and hissing. She got her teeth into Joy's shoulder, but Joy wrenched away. "Minions, wake!" shrilled the succubus, and the still figures that surrounded them stirred and began to advance with new purpose in their eyes.

"Oh no you don't," gritted Joy, and yanked Melisande's arm up and behind her back in a position that she knew was painful. "Call off your dogs," she commanded.

"You filthy little toad," spat Melisande. "You defile me with your touch." Struggling to free herself, she grabbed Joy's hair with her free hand, and a Joy gave a yelp of pain.

Too late she realized that she should have held on to the knife; the weapon would have given her leverage. But she was almost more worried now about the zombie minions. In glimpses as she struggled with the harpy she saw them closing in.

"Find the pendant, Tan," she shouted, clamping a hand over her enemy's mouth to forestall any more commands. "Protect yourself."

There was no reply. She prayed that he was still conscious, that his wound was not as bad as it looked. Then the succubus sank her teeth into Joy's hand, and unthinking instinct made her flinch away. At once, Melisande shouted, "Sven, Elijah, finish Tristan!"

"Call them back, you viper, unless you want your beauty spoiled." Joy's hand darted out to claw her face, and when Melisande jerked away from Joy's reach the two of them lost their balance and lurched over the phosphorescent line and into the circle in the middle of the arbor.

Joy wasn't quite sure how it happened. But she felt a burst of heat from Melisande at the same time that a dazzling light sprang up from the painted circle. For an instant the two of them were encircled by a wall of light as they struggled. Then the succubus uttered a choked cry and crumpled to the ground in a heap, and at the same instant Joy felt a tingling warmth in her belly. The baby seemed to wriggle inside her. Then all was still.

Her hands flew protectively to her belly, and she tried to catch her breath as she looked around for Tanner. He had slid to the ground, his back against one of the arbor supports. The top of his tunic was soaked with blood, but his eyes were open, and he gave her a thumbs-up when he met her eye. She saw the gleam of the silver chain in his hand and felt a flutter of hope.

The two young men she guessed were Sven and Elijah stood near him but seemed not to have laid hands on him. Both were staring in Joy's direction, and she felt a moment of panic. How would she and Tanner, wounded as he was, escape all of Melisande's coterie?

But they and the rest of the succubus's followers stood as if dazed. Some were gazing around blinking as if realizing for the first time where they were. They must have been freed from her thrall, Joy realized. Then, one by one, they stared in horror at the thing at Joy's feet.

She followed the direction of their gaze and recoiled. What was left of Melisande was a shrunken husk. Tufts of the pale glossy hair still clung to the desiccated scalp, but the sea-green eyes had turned milky. The flesh had withered away under a dry brown skin like dead leaves. It was no bigger than a bundle of kindling.

Then the thing stirred. It was still, somehow, alive. But it was scarcely moving.

Joy stepped quickly out of the charmed circle and went to kneel by Tanner. "Pressure," she whispered, and helped him bunch up his tunic into a compress and hold it to his wound. Their eyes stayed on the succubus.

It--for Joy could no longer think of it as a she--felt feebly around with twiglike things that must once have been hands. It seemed impossible that it should still have the power of movement. A raspy croak came: "Saxon? Come, help me."

The young man with the crown of dark curls started as if stung, and fell back several paces, shaking his head.

The thing turned its clouded eyes to another of the entourage. "Sven?" He, too, backed away, revulsion on his face. The hoarse, ruined voice grew desperate even as it lost strength. "Elijah?" it grated. All of her former followers were backing away or wandering off.

"Should we kill it?" Joy whispered to Tanner. Her skin crawled at the idea.

His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure we can," he said.

"It's not your place to dispose of it," said a new voice, and they looked up to see Dr. Aysgarth standing at the mouth of the arbor. Behind her were Mo and the Brodys. Jim Brody had a firm hold on Dr. Fellowes, who seemed on the point of collapse. He was staring stricken at the wreckage of Melisande.

"Michael," came a faint thread of sound once more from the husk. But the thing's voice dried up before it could issue any more commands. The tremor of its frail limbs stilled, and it was motionless. It might have been just a heap of sweepings from a dead garden.

"Leave it," said Eleanor Aysgarth. "I have members of the council on their way with the appropriate containment. We will deal with the succubus's remains and determine which of her followers need to be detained. But right now we need to get you two to a hospital."

Tanner looked embarrassed. He glanced down at the insufficiency of his tunic, wadded up against the knife wound on his chest. "Could we find me some clothes first?" he asked.

Dr. Aysgarth's lips twitched. "That might be for the best," she said.

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# Chapter 25

At the Clay County Medical Center, Joy and Tanner were separated, to the vocal displeasure of both, but soon enough Joy was able to join Tan in his room. She had been looked over and given an ultrasound, and both she and Rose-to-be were pronounced healthy. Tanner's wound turned out to be fairly superficial; he needed stitching up but no blood transfusions. They were keeping him overnight, however, given his state of exhaustion. Joy had stepped in before Melisande could finish him off, but the succubus had clearly already sucked much of his strength away in the days leading up to Samhain. The symbols drawn in herbal unguent on his body--now sponged clean--had further muddled his thinking.

"I've been feeling so woozy and lightheaded I could hardly think straight," he confessed.

"Well, obviously you weren't at a hundred percent, or you wouldn't have attempted suicide by succubus." She kept her tone light, but her heart still constricted whenever she thought of how close she had come to losing him.

He was silent for a moment. Lying in the hospital bed in a cotton gown, he looked depleted and vulnerable. "After I chickened out and went back to her that night after we talked, I figured you wouldn't want to have anything more to do with me."

"Why did you go back? Please tell me it wasn't to protect me."

"I can't even say now if it was that, or if it just seemed useless. But after failing you like that, I... I didn't think there was any reason to keep fighting her."

"But you know better now, right?" she asked anxiously.

He gave her a tired smile. "I should have known you wouldn't give up on me."

"That's a promise," said Joy, and snuggled closer to him on the hospital bed.

They were finally alone after the bustle of the last few hours. Dr. Aysgarth and Mo had seen them safely admitted before leaving with Dr. Fellowes, who was still looking shell-shocked and feeble. Joy guessed that he would be retiring from council duties, and Dr. Aysgarth confirmed that guess in a decided voice.

"In fact, I'd like to offer you his vacant seat on the council," said the principal. She held up her hand as Joy started to respond. "But you won't be taking it right away. I'm sorry to tell you this, Joy, but I'm going to have to suspend you. Your academic performance has gone all to hell this semester, and you've been blatantly cutting classes. And there's the matter of fighting with Sheila." Then she added with the suspicion of a smile: "But somehow I doubt that house arrest will be too arduous a punishment, now that you have such good company. You may even want to stay suspended until Baby Sumner is old enough to be left with a sitter."

Joy laughed and said that suited her just fine. As the principal turned to leave, Joy thought to ask, "You did take Raven in for questioning, didn't you?"

Dr. Aysgarth thought. "That's the dark saturnine one? I haven't seen him tonight."

When Joy thought about it, she couldn't remember seeing him in the garden either. "I wonder if he suspected things would go bad and bailed beforehand," she said, although that didn't jibe with what she had seen of him.

"We'll keep an eye out for him," Dr. Aysgarth promised. "Someone that close to Melisande must know where all the bodies are buried." Joy couldn't repress a shudder at the turn of phrase.

Gail and her husband stayed on after the principal had gone, sitting with Joy through her examination and little by little learning about the events she had experienced that night. "Who's with Tan?" she asked, and learned that her friends had all crowded into Tasha's car and insisted that she bring them to the hospital. Joy imagined Maddie and Clark interrogating Tanner and groaned. She hoped they'd be gentle with him.

When Joy was finished telling her side of the story, Gail began. "It was your father who's responsible for us finding you," she said. "He couldn't reach you, so he gave me a call and insisted that I find you. I talked to some of the girls, and--well--"

"They told you about the scene at the bonfire," guessed Joy, "and you sent out a search party."

Gail nodded. "Essentially, yes, although it was really when we found Dr. Fellowes that we started to realize how serious the situation was. He had this wild look in his eye and was going on about his 'pale mistress,' and Mo figured out what he meant. But he couldn't tell us where you were, and the track we found stopped short in the middle of the woods."

"Where the rose garden appeared," said Joy. "How did you get there?"

"Honestly, I don't think it was anything we did. We were just standing there wondering where to look next, and there was a flash of light, and all of a sudden we were there. It may be that Melisande had laid down some kind of cloaking spell, and it was broken when she lost her strength. Or it may be that she had nothing to do with it. We're still trying to figure out that part." Gail glanced at Joy's arms, protectively crossed over her stomach. "What did happen when you defeated Melisande?"

"I'm not sure myself," she said. "My best guess is that somehow the direction of energy transfer was reversed. Maybe the blood had something to do with it--maybe when I scratched her it made her vulnerable. But it felt to me like the life and youth and beauty she lost was absorbed into"--she patted her belly--"little Rose here."

"That must have been a terrifying feeling," said Jim. "I wonder what that's going to mean for her as she grows up."

Joy didn't say it, because she knew how bizarre it would sound, but when the baby had moved inside her at that crucial moment, it was as if Rose had been feeling delight. She thought about her two brief meetings with the teenaged Rose; how bright and friendly and pretty--and, yes, normal--she had been. "Somehow I think she'll be just fine," she said.

Now that she was alone with Tanner, she wanted to fill him in on her glimpses of their daughter's future, but she knew it could wait. "You get some sleep," she told him, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "I'll be right here. I'm not leaving you again."

"I don't know how I was lucky enough to find you," he said. "You saved my life in so many ways."

She hugged him, but carefully, because of the stitches and the IV attached to his arm.

"I hope I won't ever have to again. Don't scare me like that, okay?" She looked searchingly into his eyes. "I meant what I said. You may not believe in you, but I do. And you can trust me to know what I'm doing." Most of the time, anyway.

"You've convinced me," he said drowsily. His eyelids were starting to look heavy. "If you think so well of me, there must be something salvageable here."

"Damn right," she said contentedly. Then, "I can't wait for you to be released so I can take you to meet my dad."

That opened his eyes in a hurry. "Oh, god," he breathed. "He's going to kill me."

"No, he's not."

"Why wouldn't he? I'm the guy who knocked up his only daughter. And for that matter"--he struggled to sit up--"how am I going to support us? I don't even have a career anymore. Oh, Joy, I've really gotten you into a mess."

"Stop worrying. You can work as a musician, or get a student loan and go to college. And I can tutor in English until the baby is old enough for me to get a full-time job. Maybe I can even find work as a voiceover actress. It'll work out. Dad won't let us starve."

Tanner groaned. "Now I've gotten his daughter knocked up and I'm freeloading off him. Dr. Sumner will never forgive me."

"Who is this I'm never forgiving?" asked a familiar voice, and Joy's father stepped across the threshold.

"Dad!" cried Joy, and launched herself across the room at him. She wasn't sure whether she was happy or angry. "Why are you here? Isn't it dangerous for you? I can't believe you didn't tell me you were coming. Sit down, I'll get a doctor--"

He kissed her on the forehead and held her at arm's length. "Easy, kittycat. I've got my oncologist's permission."

He looked better than he had in ages. His color was good, and the glint of humor was back in his eye. In khakis and a denim shirt he looked younger than when he had set out for Oklahoma, even with the sprinkling of silver in his beard.

"I got into town early this evening, so I could surprise you tomorrow," he said. "Then when I talked to Gail and she told me what she was afraid was happening tonight, I had to come find you. I'm so glad you're all right." Then he got a proper look at her midsection, and turned to look at Tanner, who was doing his best to look like an upright, responsible young man who had never impregnated a teenage girl. "I gather that a lot has happened since I left," he said to Joy.

"Now, Dad, you told me you wanted me to be independent and handle things on my own," she said, with more bravado than she felt. "So I want you to meet Tanner, your future son-in-law and the father of your granddaughter. Don't kill him," she added. "Someone else almost did that already."

"Hmph," said her father, but he took Tanner's outstretched hand and shook it.

"Sir," said Tanner, who was looking pale, "I want to assure you that I have every intention of--"

Her father waved him to silence. "Joy is right. I told her to think for herself, and I can't start second-guessing her decisions now. In any case, her mother knew what she wanted from a very young age. I think Joy is just following her mother's example."

Joy beamed up at him. "I wanted to follow in her footsteps," she said. "I just didn't realize that this would be how I did it." Thoughtfully she added, "It beats the hell out of playing piano."

"Just don't make a habit of it, kid." Her father put his arm around her. "Granddaughter, huh? Well, maybe the second one will be a boy."

"We can name him Thorne," said Tanner, with a smile meant just for Joy. It drew her back to his bedside so that she could kiss him again.

Joy refused to let either of the men she loved out of her sight that night. In the end, the hospital staff brought in two fold-down chairs for her and her father to set up next to Tan's bed. Long after Tan had fallen into an exhausted sleep, she sat up telling her father of all that had happened.

Outside the hospital, Halloween night passed safely into the new month. At Ash Grove High, the bonfire died down and was extinguished, and students straggled to their dorms for a few hours' sleep before the morning. A breeze sighed through the woods behind the campus, meandered across the Hiwassee River, and finally wandered over to the old cemetery, where white roses bloomed out of season.

~ * ~

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# Bonus Content: Excerpt From Casting Shadows

Keep reading for an excerpt from Casting Shadows, the thrilling sequel to The Shadow and the Rose!

Copyright (C) 2012 Amanda DeWees

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# Prologue

December

The figure in grey stood at the back of the auditorium, a dot of stillness in the frenzy of the audience. The crowd was shouting, chanting, clapping in the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, but no creature known had a heart so huge. No mortal creature, at least, he thought with an inward smile. The noise was so great it was like a physical thing; he could practically feel the building throb with it, as if at any moment the walls might give way and the roof fly off.

He was glad he had brought earplugs. His master--no, he must remember to use the conventional parlance: his boss--might relish this kind of display, but it gave Reed a headache.

The steady chant erupted now into screams of delight. Their idol had succumbed to their incantation and had returned to the stage for an encore.

The other band members hadn't bothered leaving. They knew an encore was inevitable. But the young man everyone had come to see took plenty of time, making them wait, giving their excitement an edge of anxiety, before sauntering back out to pick up his guitar again. He wore an insolent grin and tight jeans that sat low on his hipbones, showing off a muscled torso, and the girls in the audience were shrill in their appreciation when he struck a few bodybuilder poses.

Reed shook his head impatiently. This ridiculous posturing was beside the point. The important thing was the music.

But at last, seeming to feel that he'd dragged out the anticipation long enough, the young man at center stage nodded to his bandmates and brought his hand down on his guitar in the opening notes of the first encore.

The roar of the crowd immediately doubled; even with earplugs, it made Reed wince. The air vibrated with their excitement. But over the wall of sound came the voice of the young man on stage, amplified by a sound system that could have taken a whisper across the state line.

"She keeps her options open wide," he sang, and the screams that rang out in response were like what Reed imagined Hell must sound like. He would have to remember to ask his boss if that was really the case.

"Always wants more and never less." He grinned as he sang, basking in the frenzy he was creating. The stage in front of him was now littered with more lingerie than Reed had ever seen outside a shopping mall.

"A little something on the side

Just get in line and she'll say yes."

The girls in the audience were saying "yes" now, screaming it. The star fed off their worship of him; Reed could see how it spurred him to sing more passionately, attack his guitar more powerfully. He was sweating, shining in the bright lights. Glistening drops flew off him as he flung his head back, eyes shut, his whole body taut as if an electric current were running through him.

Guitar solo.

This was where he really excelled, and the audience knew it. They punched the air and jumped up and down as the impossibly dexterous fingers tickled blazing notes from the guitar. Faster than seemed humanly possible, tempo and volume building, building...

Reed watched, fascinated, as veins began to stand out on the musician's arms and forehead. His chest was beginning to heave as if he was having trouble drawing enough breath to power this frenzied performance. Bassist and drummer exchanged worried looks: something was wrong.

The tempo increased. The star was playing faster than his bandmates could keep up with; one by one they dropped out, rhythm guitar, bass, keyboard, drums. The crowd was thrilled. Virtuosity like this was clear even to those whose musical appreciation was limited to drumming on the top of their school desks.

It was too much. He wasn't going to make it.

The solo built to its peak and soared over it. His bandmates eased back in as the music found structure again, raced toward the final power chords that would wrap everything up.

Fingers poised over the strings, the young man in center stage drew out the suspense just as much as he could without losing the thread of the song, before ending the tease with the final, resolving note.

And collapsed.

Some of the fans took this as more showmanship, roaring, waving their lighters in the air. But then some of the screaming took on an anxious edge. The bassist stepped over to the prone figure of his bandmate and touched his shoulder. He didn't move.

A black-clad figure in the wings spoke urgently into his headset. Roadies and security men ran onto the stage, laying the young man on his back, checking his pulse, testing his reflexes. The house manager stepped up to a microphone to ask everyone to disperse.

This part was all too familiar to Reed. He smothered a disappointed sigh and melted back into the wall as the hordes swarmed past. It was his single greatest skill, being inconspicuous. But at a time like this, he didn't have to make an effort to go unobserved. High on the mixture of adrenaline, excitement, and horror, the fans were gabbling to each other or tweeting the news on their phones, and paid him no notice.

"Reed here," he said quietly. Anyone paying attention would have assumed he was speaking to someone via Bluetooth, except that there was no device visible. "I'm afraid we'll have to keep looking. The new vessel has proven too weak." He seemed to listen for a moment. "Yes, dead or next door to it. He's of no further use to us." Then he smiled. "But our first choice may still be available. It's just a matter of finding the right bargaining chip, and with a young lady involved..." He listened again. "Yes, my lord," he said. "I'll return to Ash Grove right away. The next vessel is as good as yours."

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# Chapter 1

November 2

It wasn't standard procedure when a hospital discharged a patient for the entire female staff (and some of the male) to gather to say goodbye. Tanner Lindsey had spent less than 48 hours in the hospital, and was perfectly restored to health except for the eight stitches on his chest, but it wasn't often that Clay County Medical Center had celebrities in its care--especially (as one of the nurses said to Joy) any as gorgeous as he was.

Joy Sumner stood off to the side of the main hospital entrance, watching tolerantly as another group of nurses in brightly colored scrubs clustered around her fiance for a photo. This was her first real glimpse of the furor Tanner could cause. Without meaning to, almost everywhere he went he became the center of attention. A steady stream of nurses and PAs had come to his room throughout his stay, ostensibly to check his stitches or his IV, and Joy had finally started ordering them away so he could get some rest.

Her view of him was blocked as taller people jostled her out of the way. "Watch it," she said loudly. "Pregnant lady here."

But they didn't seem to hear or care. She realized that these weren't hospital personnel: bearing cameras and microphones, reporters had descended. She noticed a van with the local TV station's logo, and other vehicles, unmarked, presumably from wire services.

"Joy?" came Tanner's voice, and he pushed through the crowd to stand by her side. "Everyone, please give my fiancee some room."

"Fiancee?" demanded one of the reporters. "Did you and Melisande split up over your engagement?"

"The contract I signed with my agent expires tomorrow. It's purely for professional reasons that I'm moving on."

That was one way of putting it. The accurate way would be that Melisande, the legendary supermodel and Tanner's mentor, was a succubus who had tried to consume his life force and had almost succeeded in killing him. Thanks to Joy's intervention, the she-demon was now a shriveled bundle of bones and hair, and in no position to set the record straight--or to come after Tanner again, thank goodness.

"Were you surprised by Melisande's decision to retire?" another reporter asked.

"Retire?" said Tanner blankly.

"In a press release earlier this morning, it was announced that Melisande was retiring from public life due to health issues and would no longer be mentoring rising stars like yourself."

"Who announced it?" asked Joy. The creature had been physically incapable of making statements to the press even before being taken into custody by the secret council at Ash Grove High School for the Performing Arts, the hub of supernatural activity in this tiny corner of North Carolina.

The most persistent of the reporters answered. He was pudgy with a short beard, like the wacky best friend in a slacker comedy. "Melisande's PR agent, Raven, made the statement. He said that her cosmetics company would continue to operate, but that Melisande's role would be strictly behind the scenes from now on."

Joy and Tanner exchanged a troubled look. Raven was Melisande's right-hand man, and had not been present when the succubus had been vanquished. Joy wondered how much he knew about the fate of his employer, and what his intentions might be toward those who had defeated her.

"You didn't know about this, Tristan?" The reporters were pressing closer, intrigued by this hint of conflicting stories. "How did Melisande take the news of your engagement--and impending fatherhood?"

"Please, no more questions today," said Tanner. "My fiancee and I just want to have a quiet life out of the public eye."

"You're not leaving the business, are you?"

"Yes, I am. I'm not going to do any more modeling. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'd like to go home."

That brought another wave of questions. "Where will you be living now?" was the loudest.

"No comment." Tanner smiled to soften the words, and cameras flashed again, and there were cries of "Tristan, over here!" as the photographers angled for good shots as he and Joy made their way through the onlookers to the place where her father's car was parked and her friends William and Maddie stood beside it.

Few of the photographers seemed interested in her, and that didn't surprise her. Apart from the shock value of her visibly pregnant belly, she wasn't photogenic, and she knew they made an odd-looking couple: Tanner, a nationally famous print model under the name Tristan, had the build of an Olympic swimmer and the face of a Pre-Raphaelite saint, whereas Joy was short, freckled, a bit pudgy (not even counting the baby weight), with a whimsical face that a snide classmate had once compared to that of a Pekingese.

The bearded reporter trailed after them, cameraman and sound tech in tow. He called, "There have been rumors that Melisande was at the center of a religious cult and that your injuries were sustained when she tried to use you as a human sacrifice. Is that true?"

Tanner pulled up in shock. "Where did you hear that?"

The reporter grinned. "A source I can't reveal."

"Who do you work for?" asked Joy warily.

"I'm a freelancer. Name's Standish Billups. So, care to comment?" He edged closer and held out what Joy figured must be a digital audio recorder. "How did you end up in the hospital getting stitches, Tristan?"

Joy, seeing him hesitate, squeezed his hand. "No comment," she said for him.

William and Maddie were waiting for them in the pickup area with Joy's father's car. "Where's Dad?" asked Joy after she had hugged her friends and they had exchanged shy greetings with Tanner. They didn't know him well yet.

"He was looking a little frazzled, so we made him stay home and let us pick you up," said Maddie Rosenbaum. She had no problem bossing people around. She was in the drama track at Ash Grove High School, and perhaps because of her theatrical training she had a knack for projecting her voice and her personality. She and Joy had been roommates before Joy's suspension, and Joy already missed her--bossiness, sarcasm, and all.

"Don't worry," interjected William Russell. "He's fine, just a little tired from getting the house back in order." William knew that Joy would be concerned that her dad was overexerting himself after having spent the past year in Oklahoma undergoing cancer treatment. William thought of things like that. He was more soft-spoken than Maddie (not that that was saying much) and cute in a nerdy way, with a thin frame, an untidy head of dark hair, and glasses. He was one of the star students in the music track, and Joy knew it was only a matter of time before he became famous.

"So, Zoolander," said Maddie, sizing Tan up as they got in the car, "am I going to have to take it easy on you because you're walking wounded?"

He smiled. "I wouldn't want you to rupture something. Snark away."

"It's no fun if you give me permission," she complained, but without her usual energy. She craned around in the front seat to survey him where he sat next to Joy in the back. "It must be weird for you, settling down in small-town North Carolina after all your time in Hollywood and New York."

"Yeah, kind of. But I'm going to be much happier here."

"Are you going to keep on modeling, or do something else?"

"Maddie, come on," objected Joy. "You're worse than the reporters."

"No, I don't mind," said Tanner. "I'm definitely getting out of modeling. I don't want to have anything to do with that life again."

"I can see why you'd be burnt out on it," said William. "After all the weird stuff with Melisande."

"Yeah, it must have been freaky," said Maddie. "Joy told us how Melisande went bat-poo crazy and tried to kill you. She turned out to be some kind of cultist, is that right?"

This was the story Joy and Tanner had decided on for her friends--and the one that that reporter had somehow cottoned onto. Since the whole thing was over and done with, Joy didn't see the need to try to convince her friends that a supernatural element had entered their lives.

"Yes, she thought she had mystical powers," said Joy. "And she'd gathered a lot of people around her who thought so too. But let's not talk about that, okay? William, how are things going with Aerosol Cheese?" That was the band William and some of the other Ash Grove senior guys had started.

"Fine, I guess," said William. "We've got a couple of gigs lined up already this month, and hopefully we'll get picked for the solstice music festival in December. The guys and I are working on some originals so we don't have to stick to covers. Tanner, I hear you play guitar?"

"Used to. It's been a while, but I'd like to get back to it. What do you play?"

"What does he not play?" laughed Joy. "Guitar, piano, violin..."

"Trumpet," added Maddie. "Harmonica, cello..."

"Never could get the hang of drums, though," said William comfortably. "So much for my childhood dream of being a one-man band on the vaudeville stage. You should come rehearse with us, Tanner. We can always use another guitarist, especially if Eric ends up leaving to start a band of his own. Honestly, it would be kind of a relief. He's got chops, but he can be really obnoxious."

"Tell me about it," said Maddie. "I used to go out with him."

"Was he obnoxious before then, or was that just the effect you had on him?" asked Tanner, and William snorted with laughter.

"Yuk it up, Fabio," said Maddie darkly. "At least I've never driven any of my exes to try to kill me."

Joy stiffened. That was out of line. But Tan just said, "Give it time," and ducked as Maddie threw a pack of cigarettes at his head.

It was great to see him joining in the banter. Tan had lived the life of a celebrity toy boy for the last two years, and had been a self-confessed loner before that, so he didn't have a natural knack for being part of a group of friends. Joy was proud of him for making the effort, and grateful to her friends for making him feel like part of their group--even if that meant being subjected to Maddie's sharp tongue. Maybe this wouldn't be too tough a transition for him after all.

William pulled off the two-lane asphalt road running parallel to the Hiwassee River and turned onto the steep driveway shared by the Sumners and two other houses on the hillside. The little Craftsman-style house came into view, and when they pulled into the driveway Joy saw her father waiting for them on the front porch. As soon as William cut the motor and they got out of the car, she could hear the rushing sound of the river where it flowed at the foot of the hill, on the other side of the road, and her happiness increased. It had been almost a year since she had moved out of the house into one of the school dorms, and it was wonderful to be home again--and with the two people she loved most.

Gail and Jim Brody, longtime neighbors and friends, were waiting as well. Gail was watering newly planted pansies next to the front steps, and straightened with a smile. Not yet thirty, she had been almost like a big sister to Joy, helping to ease some of the loneliness after the death of her mother, Anna Merridew Sumner. Gail set down the watering pot, wiped her hands on her jeans, and pulled Joy into a hug. "Joy, you're getting so big! I swear you've expanded a month's worth in two days."

Jim, Gail's husband, wasn't much of a hugger. He just said with a shy smile, "I guess it's true what they say about pregnant women glowing. You're lit up like a plutonium Christmas tree."

Joy laughed. "My hormones and I take that as a compliment."

Dr. Steven Sumner reached out a hand to shake Tanner's. He definitely wasn't a hugger. "How are you feeling, Tanner?"

"Fine, thank you, sir." Tanner's sir-and-ma'am reflex was returning now that he was back in the South and out of the jet set. Joy was just as glad; she could tell her father appreciated being called "sir," even though he'd never dream of asking anyone to do so. "The stitches should be able to come out before too long."

She thought they were both a little constrained. Give him credit, her father had really been incredibly cool about accepting his daughter's baby daddy. But actually sharing the house with him was different from hospital visits. It was a small house, too; with the three of them sharing one bathroom and a tiny kitchen, she wondered how they would get along.

Evidently her father had been thinking along similar lines, because after showing Tanner around the house, he opened a door off the kitchen with a flourish. "And here are your new quarters, Tanner."

Joy stared at him incredulously. "The basement?"

"I thought it was ideal. This way Tanner has his own space and some privacy."

"But I thought he'd be sharing my room with me. This is like solitary confinement."

"Hey, it's fine," said Tanner. "It would have been crowded with the two of us in your room. The almost-three of us," he added lightly.

Joy suspected that even if her room had been the size of an airplane hangar, her father would have forbidden Tanner to share it with her. What was he afraid of? She was already pregnant, for Pete's sake.

Maddie must have had the same thought. "So do you get conjugal visits?" she asked with a rakish grin.

"Maddie, jeez," muttered William.

"No, it's a very good question," said Joy. "Well, Dad?"

Tanner spoke before he could answer. "Babe, let's try it this way, okay? I see where your dad's coming from."

"Thank you, Tanner," said her father, a bit formally. "Joy, I'm not trying to punish you and Tanner, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just not comfortable with the idea of my teenage daughter living like a married woman in my house. And speaking of comfortable, I'm sure your friends would prefer for this discussion to be continued in private."

William and the Brodys were in fact looking as if they'd rather be somewhere else. But Joy refused to be sidetracked; she wanted to get to the bottom of this.

"So what happens when we do get married?" she persisted. "Do I move into the dungeon with my husband?"

"We'll revisit the living arrangements then," said her father, keeping his temper. "At any rate, that's what, about six months off? Didn't you say you wanted to have the wedding in May?"

"May first," said Joy, and she and Tanner shared a private smile. It was a special date for her and Tanner, and her father may have suspected why, because he didn't push for a reason.

"That gives us plenty of time to figure things out. Why don't you come have a look, at any rate. Gail and Jim have worked quite hard to make it hospitable."

Joy heard the implied reproach and silently followed as Tan led the way down the basement steps to his new domain. She had to admit it was nice. A futon stood against one wall, with an end table alongside and a low bookcase. A recliner faced a TV set across a bright area rug, and a freestanding closet partially hid the space from view and offered additional privacy.

"Where did all the furniture come from?" she asked.

"Most of it's ours," Gail told her. "Jim and I had to put a ton of our stuff in storage when we moved onto campus, so it's nice that it'll get some use." Gail was the faculty resident or dorm mother in the senior girls' dorm.

"I do miss my recliner, especially during football season," said Jim. "Tanner, you'll have to promise to spend an hour in it every day so that I don't have to feel guilty for neglecting it."

"The books are Joy's and mine--overflow from upstairs," added Steven.

"And the weight bench?" Tanner indicated the equipment shoved in a corner next to the dehumidifier.

"That's mine," said Steven. "I haven't used it in years, though. We can get rid of it if it's in the way."

"No, it's great. Is it okay if I use it?"

"Well, sure," said Joy's father, surprised. "It's just been going to waste. So what do you think? Will it do?"

He was addressing Joy as much as Tanner, but she let him answer. "Sure," he said. "It's nice."

"We'll let you get settled, then," said Steven. "Take your time." He led the others back upstairs, but Joy stayed behind with Tanner.

She wasn't sure how to read him. "What do you really think?" she asked, taking a seat on the futon. It was more comfortable than she had expected.

He gave her a surprised look. "It's nice," he repeated. "Better than nice, actually. A lot homier than what I'm used to." He pulled one of the books from the shelves. "I can catch up on my reading, too. I've never read any Terry Pratchett."

"I know you're used to much more luxurious quarters."

"Joy, seriously, I like it." He sat down next to her on the futon. "You have really generous friends."

"I just want you to be happy," she said. "I don't want you to feel like you're making too big a sacrifice to be with me."

"The only sacrifice would be being apart from you," he said gently, drawing her close. Comforted, she nestled her head against his chest, but this brought a sharp intake of breath. "Careful, babe. Stitches."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Penitent, she touched her lips to his shirt where it covered the wound left by Melisande's dagger. The reminder of what Tanner had been through cast a shadow over her mood. "Do you think it's really over?" she asked. "I can't help wondering if you're safe."

"I don't know what to think," he said. "Not until the other shoe drops. I wish we knew what Raven's plans are."

Melisande's right-hand man had been conspicuously absent from the interrupted ritual, and they had seen no sign of him since. "I worry about that too," said Joy. "I wish we knew what he was up to. Whether he's staying out of it, or if he's going to come after you... maybe we should get an alarm system set up. We've never needed one before, but you're kind of cornered in here." The basement had no external door. Surveying the space, she grew irritated again. "It's ridiculous to separate us like this. We've been apart so much anyway, and I've really missed you. You know." She raised her eyes to his. "Missed you."

"I know," he said softly. "I've missed you too. More than you can imagine."

Their kiss was interrupted by the electric grumble of the dehumidifier coming to life.

"Everyone's a chaperone," said Tan, resigned.

"We can't go six months like this," sighed Joy. "I'll talk to him again."

"Let's let it go for now, Joy. I don't want to start off on the wrong foot with your dad. And I can see his point. I mean, I wouldn't want to have to hear my daughter having sex in the next room." He touched her belly gently. "Not that we have to worry about little Rose doing that anytime soon."

"I know, you're right." The thought of her father being able to hear them making love squicked her out. But she was still far from content. "So that's the plan, then? I lie awake upstairs while you lie awake downstairs? We say good morning with a peck on the cheek and good night with a warm handshake?"

"Something like that," he said. "With the occasional stolen rendezvous."

"Forbidden lovers," she said, and smiled. "That's kind of exciting." She raised her lips to his again, and his touch sent a delicious warmth through her body. She slid her arms around him, and his hands found their way under her blouse to caress her back, moving up to unfasten--

"Joy! Tanner! Come upstairs, there's someone here to see you."

They separated, breathless.

"I take it back," said Joy, straightening her blouse and accepting Tan's hand to haul herself up off the futon. "Forbidden lovers sucks."

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<<End of this preview. To read more, check out Casting Shadows in ebook or paperback! >>

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And make sure you don't miss out on new releases, book-related news, and fun extras

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# The Ash Grove Chronicles Continue

Don't miss the continuing adventures of Joy, Tanner, Maddie, and William in the Ash Grove Chronicles!

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# Also by Amanda DeWees

Join vivacious actress and spirit medium Sybil Ingram in her adventures through romance, hauntings, and mystery in the Victorian era!

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# Acknowledgments

The Shadow and the Rose benefited from the generous input of many people. Any errors, however, are mine alone.

The kind people of Hayesville and Murphy, North Carolina, were helpful and forthcoming (as well as forbearing!) during my research. I also benefited from the wisdom and support of several writing groups, especially the 5 a.m. Writers, Georgia Romance Writers (with special thanks to Emily Sewell), and Indie Romance Ink.

Lesley Cobbs and Robyn Meyer gave me a valuable education in motorcycles. Pamela Kipreos offered medical and parental insight. Diana Plattner was a wise and patient sounding board and technical advisor. Lisa Blackwell, Jeanna Cornett, and Heather Johnson graciously served as beta readers and were otherwise and in all ways indispensable. My family, as always, has been a loving and supportive presence.

My endless gratitude goes to Raven Hart, a.k.a. Susan Goggins, and Maurice Cobbs, who both offered unstinting encouragement, guidance, and support from the earliest days of my planning the Ash Grove books, and who have traveled every step with me through writing to publication. Thank you for all your help in bringing these stories to life.

Finally, I must acknowledge the distinguished fantasy writer Jane Yolen, whose retelling of "Tam Lin" first introduced me to the ballad of the doomed knight and the brave girl who rescues him. It is this ballad that, after haunting me for many years, inspired me to write The Shadow and the Rose.

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# About the Author

Amanda DeWees is from Atlanta, Georgia, and received her PhD in English literature from the University of Georgia. She likes to startle people by telling them that her dissertation topic was 19th-century vampire literature. Besides writing, her passions include movies, costume design, ghost stories, and sparkly things in general.

The Ash Grove books were inspired in part by the breathtaking scenery of North Carolina, where Amanda prefers to do her writing. Visit her at amandadewees.com or on Facebook as Author Amanda DeWees.

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# Books by Amanda DeWees

Cursed Once More: The Sequel to With This Curse

Sea of Secrets

With This Curse

Sybil Ingram Victorian Mysteries:

Nocturne for a Widow

The Last Serenade

A Haunting Reprise

"Christmas at Gravesend" (short story)

"Spectral Strains" (short story)

The Ash Grove Chronicles (YA paranormal romance):

"On Shadowed Wings" (Ash Grove prequel)

The Shadow and the Rose

Casting Shadows

Among the Shadows

Victorian Vampires novellas:

As Vital as Blood (Victorian Vampires #1)

As Strong as Earth (Victorian Vampires #2)

Shorter Victorian works:

The Heir of Hawksclaw (novella)

"Upon a Ghostly Yule"

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# Copyright Notice

The Shadow and the Rose:

Book One of the Ash Grove Chronicles

Copyright (C) 2012 Amanda DeWees

Lyrics to "Joy's Ballad" copyright (C) 2012 Amanda DeWees

All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the prior express written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by PhatpuppyArt.com; cover design by Bookish-Brunette.com

Visit the author at amandadewees.com and be sure to sign up for her newsletter so you don't miss out on sales, special previews, and other delights! 

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