Kissed by an Angel/The Power of Love/Soulmates

by Elizabeth Chandler

  She got up and closed her bedroom door, wondering if Gregory had been lurking outside and enjoying the scene. After cleaning Ella’s foot and side, Ivy cuddled her for a long time. The cat purred a little, slowly closing her eyes.

  When Ella was sound asleep, Ivy gently laid her in bed. As soon as she put the cat down, her hands began to shake again. She picked up a sturdy chair and positioned it under the knob of the hallway door. After making certain it was secure, she undressed. Maybe a long, hot shower would calm her down.

  Ivy locked the door between the bathroom and Philip’s room, then switched on the shower radio and turned on the water full blast. For the first ten minutes she was able to push everything out of her mind but the music But troubled thoughts kept circling at the edge. The wet string with the key hanging on it rubbed against her neck. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, but she kept seeing images of wheels and hand-printed words, the words of the blackmail note.

  At last she shut off the shower and stood still and dripping in the tub. She wondered if Tristan missed the feel of water running over his body. She missed the touch of Tristan. She tried to recall it, but her mind kept jumping back to Will. She focused on Tristan’s face, but her mind remembered how it had felt when Will held her hand the day they went back to the train station. She tried to remember how Tristan’s hand looked resting on hers, but again she felt Will’s touch when he had reached to get the mud out of her hair, when he had laid his hand on hers at lunch to make her look at him.

  Ivy thrust aside the shower curtain and stepped out of the tub. Instantly her foot stung as if a hundred small needles had been jabbed in it She fell back against the tub. Steadying herself, she sat on the edge and gingerly lifted her foot to examine it Splinters of glass protruded from her foot and sparkled on the bath mat

  Ivy’s mind raced, and she rocked back and forth, holding on to her ankle, squeezing it hard. Then she calmed herself and began to pick the glass out of her foot, removing all she could with her hands. After folding over the glass-covered bath mat and setting it aside, she checked the floor, then hopped to the cupboard to get a pair of tweezers.

  None of the glass had gone in deeply. It was just enough to make her sore—just enough to rattle her. Ivy made herself work calmly and methodically, then she put on her robe and lifted her foot to look at it again. It was striped and dotted with droplets of blood—just like Ella’s.

  Suddenly Ivy sank down on the floor. She drew her knees up to her chest “Tristan!” she cried out “Tristan, please come! I need you.”

  She began to sob uncontrollably. “Tristan! Don’t leave me alone now. I need you! Where are you? Please, Tristan!”

  But he did not come. At last Ivy’s sobs softened, her shoulders grew still, and she cried slow, silent tears.

  “Aa-hmm.”

  It was the sound of someone clearing her throat

  “Aa-hmm.”

  Ivy glanced up and saw a purple mist in front of the vanity mirror.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Lacey said in a brisk, businesslike tone. Then the shimmering purple moved closer to Ivy.

  Ivy tried to blink back the tears, but they kept coming. A tissue was plucked from the box and hung in the air in front of her, waiting to be taken.

  “Thanks … Lacey.”

  “You look terrible when you cry,” Lacey said, and Ivy heard the pleasure she took in that observation.

  Ivy nodded, wiped her eyes, then blew her nose hard. “I guess you looked pretty good,” she said. “Movie stars always do.”

  “But I never cried.”

  “Oh.”

  “Never sigh, never cry,” Lacey boasted. “That was my rule.”

  “And you kept it?”

  “During my life I did,” Lacey replied.

  Ivy heard the small catch in Lacey’s voice. She reached out, accepting another tissue, then asked, “How about now?”

  “None of your business,” Lacey told her. “Let me see your foot.”

  Ivy obediently held it up. She felt the tips of fingers gently probing it.

  “Does it hurt much?”

  “It’ll be all right.” Ivy lowered her foot and stood up, putting her weight on it slowly. It hurt a lot more than she wanted to admit. “Actually, I’m more worried about Ella. Her paw has been cut up.” Ivy told Lacey about the fur that had been shaved from Ella and the lock of her own hair that had been clipped. “By Gregory, I’m sure.”

  “What a clever guy,” Lacey remarked sarcastically. “I guess you got his message: What happens to Ella will happen to you.”

  Ivy swallowed hard and nodded. “Did you look for Tristan?”

  “At Caroline’s house. At Will’s. At his graveyard condo. He’s nowhere—maybe in the darkness again.” Lacey sighed, then caught herself doing that and tried to pretend she was clearing her throat again.

  “You’re worried,” Ivy said, opening the door and leading the way into her bedroom.

  “About Tristan? Never.” The purple mist passed Ivy and stretched out on the pillows across the top of her bed.

  “You’re worried. I can hear it in your voice,” Ivy insisted.

  “I’m worried he’ll fly off somewhere and I’ll get stuck with his job,” Lacey retorted.

  Ivy sat down on the bed, and Ella raised her head. “It was nice of you to come when you knew I needed help.”

  “I didn’t come for you.”

  “I know,” Ivy said.

  “You know,” Lacey mocked. The purple shimmer sprang from the pillow like the glimmering ghost of a cat. “And just what do you think you know?”

  “That you care a lot about Tristan,” Ivy said aloud. That you’re in love with him, she thought. “That you care so much, you’d help someone you absolutely can’t stand and wish would disappear, just to make it better for him.”

  For once Lacey didn’t say anything.

  “As soon as I see Tristan again, I’ll tell him you came when I called,” Ivy added.

  “Oh, I don’t need anybody scoring points for me,” Lacey said quickly.

  Ivy shrugged. “Okay, I won’t tell him.”

  Lacey came closer to the bed. Ivy saw Ella’s injured paw being lifted up.

  “Nasty.”

  “Lacey”—Ivy’s voice shook a little—“can you talk to cats? Can you explain to Ella that I didn’t know Gregory had a way of getting in? Could you tell her I would never have left her if I’d known, and that tomorrow I’ll—”

  “Who do you think I am,” Lacey interrupted, “Dr. Doolittle? Snow White? Do you see little birdies landing on my hands?”

  “I can’t even see your hands,” Ivy reminded her.

  “I’m an angel, and I can no more talk cat than you can.”

  Ella began to purr.

  “But I’ll tell you what I can do,” Lacey said in a softer voice. “What I’m gonna do. If it works,” she added. “It’s kind of an experiment.”

  Ivy waited patiently.

  “First, lie down,” Lacey commanded. “Relax. Relax! No, wait. Get a candle.”

  Ivy rose and searched through her desk drawers, at last holding up an old Christmas candle that Philip had given her. “Where do you want it?”

  “Somewhere where you can see it,” replied Lacey.

  Ivy set it on her bedside table and lit it. At the same time she saw Ella get up as if being prodded. The cat limped down to the other end of the bed.

  “Now lie down with your feet at this end, next to Ella,” Lacey said.

  Ivy stretched out on her bed as directed, and the bedroom light clicked off.

  “Look at the candle. Relax!” Lacey barked.

  Ivy laughed a little. Lacey wasn’t exactly a pro at making someone else feel comfortable. But after several minutes of staring at the warm and flickering flame, Ivy did begin to relax.

  “Good. Don’t fight me now,” Lacey said in a quieter voice. “Keep your eyes on that candle. Let your thoughts, your mind, your spirit float toward it, leaving your body behind. Leave it with
me so I can do my work.”

  Ivy watched the flame, watched how it shaped and reshaped itself. She imagined herself like a moth, flying toward the fire, circling it. Then she felt the sole of her foot growing hot. She felt as if a burning hand were wrapped around her foot, and she fought the reflex to pull away. Watch the candle, watch the candle, she told herself as the heat became more and more intense. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, the burning lessened. There was a cool touch, then a tingling feeling.

  “Done.”

  Lacey’s voice was so weak that Ivy had to strain to hear it. Even in the darkness, Ivy could barely see Lacey’s shimmer now. She sat up quickly. “Are you all right?”

  Lacey didn’t answer the question. “Turn on the light,” she said, her voice as thin as thread.

  Ivy got up to do so and, without thinking, stepped down hard on her injured foot. There was no pain, not even a tingling. She switched on the light, then sat down quickly and lilted up her foot. Her sole was smoother than the palm of her hand, smoother than the sole of her other foot, and without a trace of the cuts. Ella’s paw was also healed.

  “Yes! Oh, yes!” Lacey congratulated herself. “Lacey, you are good!” she said, but her voice still rasped like an old woman’s, and her purple shimmer lay low to the floor.

  “Lacey, what’s happened to you?” Ivy asked. “Are you okay?”

  There was no answer.

  “Talk to me,” Ivy demanded.

  “Tired.”

  “Tristan,” Ivy called softly on the outside, but loudly on the inside. “Please come. Something’s happened to Lacey. You have to help her, Tristan. Angels, help Lacey!”

  “Just tired,” murmured Lacey.

  “You shouldn’t have tried that. You did too much,” Ivy said, frightened. “I don’t know how to help you. Tell me what to do.”

  “Go. Gregory’s in Philip’s room now. Go.”

  Ivy didn’t move.

  “Take Ella,” Lacey said weakly. “Let him see. It’ll be fun.”

  “No. I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “I said go! Make it worth my time.”

  “Stubborn angel,” Ivy muttered. She picked up Ella and reluctantly started toward the door. As she passed through it she heard Lacey say softly, “You’re all right, Ivy, you’re all right.”

  “What did you say?” Ivy called back.

  But Lacey wouldn’t repeat it.

  Carrying Ella like a baby over her shoulder, Ivy walked into Philip’s room. When Gregory saw her standing in the doorway, his eyes brightened. He’s hoping I’ll scream like I’m crazy and accuse him, Ivy thought. She smiled at him and saw him glance down. His smile flattened when she padded in comfortably barefoot and without pain.

  “Ella wants to say good night,” she said. Ella was squirming wildly in her arms, wanting to get as far away as possible from Gregory.

  Though Ivy felt bad about restraining Ella, she knew that she could score some points against Gregory, psychological points that might keep her and Ella safe for a while. She purposely kept Ella’s shaved flank next to her. The wounds were healed, but the skin was still bare. Sitting on Philip’s bed, Ivy drew her feet up next to her so Gregory could see her smooth, bare soles.

  She saw the flicker, the momentary puzzlement in his eyes, and then the mask was back in place—the nice-big-brother mask he wore while putting Philip to bed. Of course, he could think of an explanation for her unscarred feet: she had known something was up, she had looked before she stepped out of the shower and avoided the glass.

  “I want to give Ella a hug,” Philip said.

  He reached for her, but Ivy held on tightly to the wriggling cat.

  “What’s wrong with kitty?” Gregory asked.

  “I don’t know. I think she wants to play.”

  Gregory smirked.

  “Is that it, Ella?” Ivy asked. “Feeling your oats, girl?” She flipped the cat on her back as if she were going to scratch her tummy.

  That’s when Gregory saw it, the small foot with its tender pads as pink and smooth as a kitten’s. His eyes flicked to Ella’s other feet, as if he thought he had forgotten which one he had hurt. Ivy kept the cat on her back, giving Gregory plenty of time to look at her paws. His breathing became shallow. The color drained from his face.

  “I want to give her a hug,” Philip said again.

  “Her, and not me?” Ivy teased, then set Ella in his lap. The cat was off like a shot, running back to Ivy’s bedroom, too fast for an animal with an injured paw, too fast for anyone to notice the bare strip of skin on her side.

  “Oh, well,” Ivy said, leaning over to kiss Philip. “Good night, sleep tight.” She brushed past Gregory. “Don’t forget to pray to your angels.”

  The next day Ivy put a box of litter and a pile of blankets in her car and took Ella to school with he. It was clear that whether or not her bedroom doors were locked, Gregory had a way of getting in. Maybe he had a key, or maybe he was good at picking locks. Perhaps there was another way into the attic, she thought, a trapdoor he could climb through that would let him come down again by way of her music room. In any case, she couldn’t leave Ella home alone.

  Ivy parked at the far end of the school lot, beneath a cluster of weeping willows. The trees would shield the car from both sun and rain, she reasoned, glancing at the clouds rising in the west. She lowered the windows to give Ella some air, but not far enough to allow someone to unlock the car.

  “That’s the best I can do, cat,” she said, and hurried off to homeroom.

  Ivy caught up with Beth first period, as they were going into English class. “Any more dreams?” Ivy asked her.

  “The same one, over and over. If you don’t figure it out soon, I’m going to go crazy.”

  They both stepped back as people pushed by them to get in the classroom.

  “I wish I could talk to Tristan,” Ivy said. “I can’t reach him.”

  “Maybe he’s working with Will,” Beth suggested.

  Ivy shook her head, certain that Tristan would not have asked Will for help, but Beth went on. “Will wasn’t in homeroom this morning.”

  “He wasn’t?” Ivy tried to stifle a new fear that awakened in her. Why should she worry about Will? He knew what kind of person Gregory was, and he thought he could handle him. He thought he could betray her with no consequences.

  “He called me from work late last night,” Beth went on. “He was supposed to help me with my computer today, but he said he was caught up in something and couldn’t meet me.”

  Oh, angels, watch over him, Ivy prayed silently. Had Will gotten himself in deeper? Was he working for Gregory now, the way Eric once had? Angels, protect him, she prayed in spite of herself.

  “Ladies,” Mr. McDivitt called out to them, “the rest of us are doing English. How about you?”

  Ivy spent English class, and every class that followed, drawing wheels with notches. And she continually tried to reach Tristan. Each hour of the day seemed to stretch, then collapse like an accordion: minute by minute, the hour dragged itself out, then suddenly was gone, moving them all one hour closer to whatever Gregory was planning next. Ivy longed to climb up on a desk and move the clock’s hands ahead, set the wheels in motion.

  Wheels … clocks, she thought. Clocks had gears—notched wheels—and old clocks, like the one that sat on the dining room mantel at home, had keys to open their casing. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? In Beth’s dream the wheels were spinning one way, then Ivy reached out and pushed them in the other direction—sending time backward, she thought, sending them into the past. In the past Caroline had lived in the house on the ridge. She could have hidden something in the mantel clock long ago.

  Ivy glanced again at the clock on the classroom wall. There were twenty-five minutes left in the last period of the day. She knew her mother would be leaving to pick up Philip from school, and Gregory should still be in class. This was her chance. As soon as written work was assigned, she carried her
books to the front of the room. “Mrs. Carson,” she said weakly.

  Ivy was excused immediately and didn’t make the required stop at the nurse’s office. Fifty feet from the school door, she made a dash for her car.

  A cool autumn rain had moved in and was misting the town. Ivy drove two blocks before thinking to put on her windshield wipers. Her foot was fast and jerky on the clutch, and she started and stopped, impatient with the traffic in the narrow streets. Ella kept trying to climb onto her lap. “Hang on, cat!”

  When she finally got to the driveway to the house, she raced to the top, yanked on the parking brake, and got out of the car, leaving the door open. No one was home—at least no one else’s car was there. Her hands shook with excitement as she unlocked the house door and turned off the alarm system.

  Ivy ran through the kitchen and into the dining room. On the mantel sat the two-foot-high mahogany clock with its beautiful moonlike face and gold pendulum swinging steadily behind painted glass. She had remembered right: there was a keyhole in its casing.

  Ivy lifted the string necklace over her head, then reached up with the key and inserted it in the lock. She turned it gently to the left, then the right. The lock clicked, and she opened the clock’s door.

  She expected to see something immediately. There was nothing, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. Someone has to wind the clock, someone else has a key—probably Andrew—so nothing’s going to be left in plain view. She cautiously reached out and caught the pendulum in midswing, then slipped her other hand in and felt around.

  She’d need a stool to reach all the way up into the clock’s works. Standing on tiptoe, Ivy moved her Fingers slowly up one side of the wood case. She felt an edge, a paper edge. She pulled it gently at first, afraid she’d tear it and leave part of it up in the clock. It was a thick folded edge, like that of an envelope. She tugged on it harder, and it came free.

  Ivy stared at the old brown envelope she held in her hands. Then she swiped a dinner knife from the silverware drawer and quickly slit it open.

  P3-16

  Inside the envelope Ivy found three pages. The first was a handwritten note that was barely decipherable, but Ivy recognized the signature at the end: Caroline’s. Beneath it was a letter from the office of Edward Ghent, M.D.—Eric’s father, Ivy realized with a sudden jolt. The third page looked like a photocopy of a technical report from a company called MediLabs.