Kissed by an Angel/The Power of Love/Soulmates

by Elizabeth Chandler

  “Okay, I understand,” Ivy said, picking up the key.

  Beth’s hand closed around Ivy’s. Tristan could feel how cold and clammy it was. “Leave it with me till tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll give it back to you at school. Maybe something will come to me.”

  Ivy threw her arms around her friend. “Thank you. Thank you. I wouldn’t have asked you if it weren’t important.”

  A few minutes later Ivy headed home. “You’re still with me,” she said as she turned up the long driveway.

  The happiness in her voice warmed Tristan, but he could not throw off his weariness and a growing sense of dread that the darkness would soon overtake him. What if he was in the darkness when Ivy needed him most?

  “I’ll stay with you until you get to your room,” he said. “Then I’ll return to Beth’s.”

  As they passed a bush Ivy suddenly bent down. “Ella? Ella, come out and say hello. Your buddy is with me.”

  The cat’s green eyes glinted at them, but she didn’t budge.

  “Ella, come on, what’s wrong?”

  Ella mewed, and Ivy reached into the bushes to pull her out. She lifted up the cat, rubbing her in her favorite spot around her ears. The cat didn’t purr.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ivy said, then gasped. Tristan felt the shudder run through her as if it rippled through his own body. Ivy turned the cat over gently. Along her right flank was a stripe where fur had been roughly stripped away. Her pink skin was scraped bloody and raw.

  “Ella, how did this—” But Ivy didn’t finish the question. She realized the answer the same moment Tristan did. “Gregory,” she said.

  P3-14

  All night Ivy had dreams about Ella, long, winding dreams in which Gregory chased the cat and Ivy chased Gregory. Then Just as she got close, he turned on her. Ivy’s sleep did not grow peaceful until after the sky was light. Now, with eyes closed against the brightness, she counted the muted gongs from the clock in the dining room. They sounded a million miles away—five million, six million, seven million, eight million—

  “Eight!” She sat up quickly in bed.

  Ella, who had been snuggled close, pressed her body hard against Ivy’s, burying her face in Ivy’s side. As gently as possible, Ivy lifted the cat onto her lap. When she saw the wound again, tears came to her eyes. “Okay, girl, let’s clean you up.”

  She carefully lifted Ella off the bed and carried her toward the bathroom.

  “Ivy, Ivy, aren’t you ready yet?” her mother called from downstairs.

  Ivy turned and walked out to the hall, staying close enough to the wall to remain hidden from Maggie. “Almost,” she called down.

  “Everyone else is gone,” Maggie shouted back at her. “I’m leaving now, too.”

  “See you,” Ivy said with relief.

  She heard the click-click of her mother’s heels on the hardwood floors and the sound of the back door closing. Then she lifted Ella up to her face to look at the wound again. The cut was straight, as if made by a sharp razor.

  The previous night Tristan had had to use all of his powers of persuasion to restrain her from charging into Gregory’s room. This morning she knew Tristan had been right to hold her back. She’d confront Gregory, but when she was cool and calm. Gregory wanted to see her upset, and her anger would just encourage him.

  “Okay, baby, everything’s going to be all right,” Ivy soothed Ella as she reentered her room.

  The morning sun was high enough now to flood the room and stream across the top of her bureau, brightening every speck of dust and picking up flecks of gold paint in the frame around Tristan’s picture. Ivy gazed at the picture for a moment, then pulled back. In front of it were shavings of black hair—Ella’s fur. Ivy held Ella against her with one arm and reached out to touch the soft fur. Then she picked up a lock of curling gold hair.

  Her hair! Someone had cut a piece of her own hair.

  Gregory, of course. Ivy sank down into a chair next to the bureau and rocked back and forth, hugging Ella. When had he done it? How?

  Every night since the day Tristan had told her what he knew about Gregory, Ivy had locked the bedroom door that led to the hall. There was another entrance, however, through the bathroom that connected her room and Philip’s. Ivy had rigged the latch on that door so that Philip could push it open in an emergency, but not without a lot of effort and noise. Somehow Gregory had worked it silently. Her skin prickled all over, thinking of him holding a pair of scissors, bending over her while she was asleep.

  Ivy took a deep breath and stood up again. She cleaned up Ella, then wiped off the top of the bureau, her hands still trembling. Then on a sudden impulse she rushed into Gregory’s room, wanting to see for herself the scissors, the razor, the proof of what he had done.

  She started picking up and throwing papers and clothes and magazines. From between the pages of Rolling Stone a piece of art paper slipped out. It was folded in half and had dark printing inside. When Ivy opened it, her heart stopped. She recognized the handwriting instantly: the strong, slanting style was identical to that of the captions on Will’s cartoons.

  She read through the note quickly, then read it again very slowly, word by word, like a first grader surprised by each set of printed letters and what they meant. As she read Will’s note she kept telling herself that these weren’t his words—they couldn’t be. But he had signed it.

  “Gregory,” he had written, “I want more. If you’re serious about it, you’ll bring twice the amount. I’m taking a chance, I’m an accomplice now—you’ve got to make it worth it. Bring twice the money if you want the cap and jacket.”

  Ivy closed her eyes and leaned against Gregory’s desk. She felt as if her heart were being squeezed, transformed into a small stone. When all was done, there would be nothing soft left inside her, nothing left that could bleed … or cry.

  She opened her eyes again. Tristan had been right all along about Gregory and Will. But Tristan hadn’t guessed how Will would betray her—how he’d cover for Gregory and leave her vulnerable if paid the right price.

  Ivy felt beaten, not by Gregory’s hatred and dark threats, but by the pale heartlessness of Will. What was the point of trying? she thought. There was too much going against her. She slipped the letter back in the magazine. Then she saw a tattered book about Babe Ruth, one of Philip’s paperbacks, on top of Gregory’s pile.

  She had to keep going. Philip was in this with her.

  Opening the magazine again, she snatched up the letter, then hurried back across the hall to dress for school. Before leaving the house that morning, Ivy brought Ella’s water bowl and dry food up to her room. She left Ella there, locking both the bathroom and hall doors.

  Ivy had missed homeroom. When she entered English class with a late slip, Beth lifted her head. She looked tired and worried. Ivy winked, and Beth smiled a little.

  After class they walked together, trying to get away from the crowd of kids surging through the hall. Nothing could be heard over the talk and banging locker doors unless it was shouted. Ivy linked arms with her friend and opened the palm of her hand. Immediately Beth slipped the key into it.

  When they finally reached an empty room at the end of the corridor, Beth said, “Ivy, we have to talk. I had a dream last night. I don’t know what it means, but I think—”

  The school bell rang.

  “Oh, no, I’ve got a test next period.”

  “Lunchtime,” Ivy said. “Try for the table back in the corner,” she added as they parted.

  Two hours later Ivy got lucky. Ms. Bryce, the school counselor, let her out early for lunch, saying how pleased she was by Ivy’s progress, her fresh hope and positive attitude toward life. I guess drama club pays off, Ivy thought as she staked out the small table in the corner of the cafeteria. Beth joined her a few minutes later.

  “Will’s in line. Should I wave him over here?” Beth asked.

  Ivy chewed her sandwich quickly and swallowed hard. Will was the last person in the world sh
e wanted to see. But Beth still trusted him. She was already signaling to him.

  “Did you mention anything to Will about the key or our search?” Ivy asked.

  “No.”

  “Good,” Ivy said. “Don’t. I don’t want him to know about it—not yet,” she added, softening her tone when she saw the surprised look on Beth’s face.

  “But Will might have some good ideas,” Beth said, opening her lunch bag, pulling out her usual first course—dessert “I’m sure he’d want to help you search.”

  No doubt, thought Ivy. Who knows what he’d find that might be worth some money.

  “You know how he feels about you,” Beth added.

  Ivy couldn’t squelch her sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, I know, all right.”

  Beth blinked at her. “Ivy, he’d do anything for you.”

  And make some bucks while doing it, Ivy thought, but this time she spoke more carefully. “Maybe you’re right, Beth, but still, don’t tell him, okay?”

  Beth’s eyebrows drew together. She wouldn’t argue further, but she clearly thought Ivy was making a mistake.

  “Tell me what you dreamed last night,” Ivy said.

  Her friend shook her head slowly. “It was weird, Ivy, so simple but so weird. I dreamed the same thing over and over. I don’t know if it had anything to do with the key, but it was about you.”

  “Tell me,” Ivy said, leaning dose to her while keeping one eye on Will’s progress in the cafeteria line.

  “There were these big wheels,” Beth recalled, “two, three, I don’t know how many. Big wheels with rough edges, notches in them, like tractor wheels or snow tires or something. They were all turning one way. Then you came. There was nothing else in the dream but you and the wheels. You put out your hand and stopped them. Then you pushed, and the wheels all started spinning the opposite way.”

  She fell silent. Her eyes had a faraway look, as if she were seeing the dream again.

  “And?”

  “That’s it,” Beth said. “That’s all I dreamed, over and over.”

  Ivy sat back in her chair, puzzled. “Do you have any idea what it means?” she asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Beth replied. “Ivy, here comes Will. Why don’t we tell him and—”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  Beth bit her lip. Ivy looked down at the soggy layers of her sandwich.

  “Hi!” said Will, scraping back a chair and setting down his tray. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much,” Ivy said, avoiding his eyes.

  “Beth?”

  “Nothing much,” she echoed lamely.

  Will was silent for a moment. “How come you were late this morning?” he asked Ivy.

  She glanced up sharply. “How do you know I was late?”

  “Because I was, too.” Will tilted his head a little, as if he was trying to read her.

  Ivy looked away.

  “I came in just after you,” he said, then reached for her hand, touching her lightly, trying to get her to look at him again. She would not.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She hated the innocent and concerned tone of his voice.

  “Beth? Tell me what it is.”

  Ivy peeked up at her friend. Beth shrugged, and Will glanced back and forth between them. His face was calm and thoughtful, like that of a teacher patiently searching for an answer, but his hands gave him away, gripping the edge of his tray.

  Now he’s worried, Ivy thought, really worried, but not about me. He thinks we both know the truth about him.

  Will sucked in his breath, then said quietly, “Surprise. Here comes Gregory.”

  Ivy looked up, hoping to see Suzanne with him. If Suzanne put in her usual effort at snubbing her, Ivy would have an excuse to walk out. But Gregory came alone, striding confidently toward them, smiling, as if they were all good buddies.

  Will greeted him.

  “I didn’t know you were off this period,” Ivy said.

  “My history class is in the library,” he told her. “I’m doing research, can’t you tell?”

  Ivy laughed lightly, determined to seem as much at ease as he. “What’s your topic?”

  “Famous murders of the nineteenth century,” Gregory replied, pulling out a chair.

  “Learning anything?”

  He thought for a moment, then smiled and sat down next to her. “Nothing useful. Will, I’m sorry I missed you last night.”

  Ivy turned to look at Will.

  “How about getting together later this afternoon?” Gregory proposed.

  Will hesitated, then nodded in agreement. “Celentano’s,” he said.

  “Can I come?” Ivy asked. She caught both of them off guard.

  “Oh, I forgot,” she said with a casual wave of her hand. “I’m working today.”

  “Too bad,” Gregory said, but his and Will’s surprised expressions had told her what she wanted to know. This meeting was business. Gregory was going to pay off Will. At least Will was smart enough to make the exchange in the safety of a public place.

  Throughout the conversation, Beth didn’t say a word. She watched with wide blue eyes, and Ivy wondered if she could read any of the thoughts behind their faces. She had left her brownie half eaten in its tinfoil.

  “If you’re not going to finish that, I will,” Ivy said, struggling to find normal things to say, working to keep up the pretense that nothing was wrong and she wasn’t afraid.

  Beth pushed the brownie over to her. While Gregory and Will set a time to meet, Ivy broke off a piece, then placed what was left of the dessert in front of Gregory.

  “What time did you get home last night?” she asked him.

  Gregory looked at her silently for a moment and rocked back on his chair. “Let’s see … nine o’clock, I think.”

  “Did you hear anything strange outside?”

  “Anything like what?” he replied.

  “Whining or howling, a cat in pain.”

  “Did something happen to Ella?” Beth asked.

  “Something went after her,” Ivy told them.

  Will frowned. His old concerned look was getting to Ivy.

  “Scraped the fur off in a strip and drew some blood on her right side,” Ivy continued. “But there weren’t any bite marks. What kind of animal would have done something like that?” she asked, looking directly at Gregory.

  “I have no idea,” he said coolly.

  “Do you know, Will?”

  “No … no. Is Ella all right?” She heard the slight tremor in his voice, and it almost drew her back to him.

  “Oh, sure, she’s fine,” Ivy said, standing up, tossing her half-finished lunch into a nearby trash barrel. “Ella’s a tough little street kitten.”

  “Just like her mistress,” Gregory said, smiling. “Just like her.”

  P3-15

  Ivy couldn’t stop thinking about wheels. All day she drew circles with notches in them … in her math notebook, on a Spanish quiz, and on a handout in history. They became tractors, snowflakes, strange knobs on a door. Later, at ’Tis the Season, she noticed every item in the store that was round—Christmas wreaths, swimming tubes, and a pincushion made to look like a chocolate-frosted doughnut.

  Ivy tried not to think about what was going on at Celentano’s and was just as glad when Tristan didn’t answer her call. She didn’t have to tell him about the blackmail note, she reasoned. It wasn’t Tristan who had foolishly trusted Will.

  When Ivy got home from work that evening, Maggie and Andrew were out, and Philip was in the family room with Gregory watching a video.

  “Did you finish your homework?” Ivy asked her brother.

  “Yup. Gregory checked it.”

  Gregory, playing the role of good and helpful older brother, smiled up at her. Ivy returned the smile, though she tingled with fear at Philip’s growing attachment to him. What would Gregory do, she wondered, when he found out that they’d be legally sharing a father? For Gregory, money was status. It was how he
controlled the people around him. How would he react if he found out he and Philip might be sharing the Baines fortune?

  “Stay awhile,” Gregory said to her, gesturing casually to the seat next to him.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got stuff to do upstairs.”

  She started toward the hall, but Gregory got up quickly and stood in the path Ivy meant to take. “Your mother left a pile of laundry outside your bedroom,” he told her. “Maggie said she hoped you had a key. The bathroom door was locked too.”

  “I have a key.”

  He leaned close to her and lowered his voice. “She said she hopes you’re not doing drugs in there.” His mouth twisted up in a grin.

  “I’m sure you set her straight,” Ivy replied.

  He laughed, and she walked past him.

  At the top of the steps she pulled the key out of her purse. When she pushed open her bedroom door, she expected the captive Ella to spring out.

  “Ella?” She stepped inside the room. “Ella?”

  She saw a round lump beneath the quilt on her bed. Ivy dropped her books by the side of the bed, then pulled back the cover. Ella was huddled in a tight ball.

  Touching the cat gently, Ivy rubbed her with one finger in her favorite spot around her ears, then stroked her, studying the bare strip on her side. The scratches were beginning to heal.

  “You look so frightened, Ella.”

  The cat slowly got to its feet and limped to the edge of the bed. Ivy quickly reached for her, picking up the paw Ella wouldn’t use.

  “Oh, my God!” The pink pads on the bottom were pricked and striped with dark blood. When she touched them, they oozed fresh red beneath their drying crust. Ivy scooped the cat up in her shaking arms and huddled over her.

  “Oh, Ella, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She laid her face on Ella’s fur, hot tears rolling down. “I locked the door—both doors. I’d never have left you if I thought he could get in.”

  How did he get in? Ivy wondered. Her bedroom had been his once, so perhaps he had another key. Tonight she’d sleep with furniture against the doors. “Tomorrow when I’m at school, I’ll keep you in the car,” she promised Ella.