"We're just hanging out tonight," Gregory said. "Want to hang out with us?"
Ivy forced a smile and flipped through the store receipts. "Thanks, but I've got a lot to do."
"We'll wait."
She smiled again and shook her head.
"Come on, Ivy," Gregory urged. "You've hardly been out in the last three weeks. It'll be good for you."
"Will it?" Ivy looked up, gazing directly into Gregory's eyes. "You're always looking out for me."
"And I'll continue to," he replied, smiling at her. There wasn't a hint of what he was thinking behind his gray eyes and too-handsome face.
"Teeth!" Eric exclaimed. "Look at these bloodsucking teeth. This is cool." He ripped open a plastic package and stuck the vampire teeth in his mouth, grinning at Gregory. His skinny arms dangled by his sides, and his fingers danced with nervousness. Ivy thought about the way Gregory had applauded Eric the night his friend conned them at the railroad bridges. She wondered how far Eric would go to amuse Gregory and win his approval.
"It's an improvement, Eric," Gregory said, "and some girls get turned on by vampires." He gave Ivy a sly smile. "Don't they?"
The last time Gregory had come late to the shop, he had dressed up as Dracula. Ivy remembered his insistent kisses and how she had given in to them.
Now her skin grew warm, and she could feel herself flushing with anger.
Her fingers curled into fists, which she quickly put behind her. I can play this game as well as he can, she thought, and tilted back her head. "Some girls do."
Gregory stared at her neck, his eyes glimmering, then focused on her mouth, as if he wanted to kiss her again.
"Ivy, what in the world are you doing?"
The question stunned her. It was Tristan's voice. She hadn't been aware of him slipping inside her mind, yet clearly neither Eric nor Gregory had heard him speak. Ivy knew her face was red, and she quickly dropped her chin.
Gregory laughed. "You're blushing."
Ivy turned and walked away from him. But she couldn't get away from Tristan.
"You think he wants to kiss you?" Tristan asked scornfully. "Strangle you, maybe! Ivy, don't be stupid.
These are tricks."
Silently she told Tristan, "I know what I'm doing."
˜Gregory followed her over to the counter and slid his hand around her waist.
"Gregory, please," she said.
"Please what?" he asked, his mouth close to her ear.
"Eric is here," she reminded him, and glanced over her shoulder. But Eric was on the other side of a rack, lost in a world of costumes.
"My mistake," Gregory said softly, "bringing Eric along."
"Get rid of Gregory," Tristan cut in. "Get rid of both of them and lock the door."
Ivy slid away from Gregory.
"Call security," Tristan continued. "Ask them to walk you to your car."
"Besides," Ivy said to Gregory, "there's Suzanne. You know Suzanne and I have been friends forever."
"Ivy!" Tristan exclaimed. "Don't you know anything about guys? You're setting yourself up. Now he's going to use one of those old excuses."
Ivy silently retorted, "I know what I'm doing."
"Suzanne is too easy," Gregory said, moving closer to Ivy. "Too jealous and too easy. I'm bored."
"I guess it's a lot more interesting," Tristan remarked, "to get it on with the girlfriend of the guy you murdered."
Ivy jerked her head as if she had been slapped.
"What's wrong?" Gregory asked her.
"Ivy, I'm sorry," Tristan said quickly, "but you're not listening to me.
You don't seem to understand-" "I understand, Tristan," Ivy thought angrily. "Leave me alone before I mess up."
"What are you thinking?" Gregory asked. "You're mad, I can tell." He smoothed her brow, then traced her cheek, his fingers lightly touching her neck. "You used to like it when I touched you," he said.
Ivy could feel Tristan's anger surging up inside her. She felt as if she was losing control. She closed her eyes, focused her attention, and pressed him out, out as far as she could from her mind.
When she opened her eyes Gregory was staring at her. "Out?" he said.
"Were you talking to me?"
"Talking to you?" Ivy echoed. Terrific. She had spoken aloud. "No," she told Gregory, "I don't remember saying anything to you."
He frowned at her.
"But you know me," she said cheerfully, "I'm just a little crazy."
He continued to stare at her. "Maybe," he said.
Ivy smiled and moved past him. For the next fifteen minutes she paid attention to Eric, helping him find parts of costumes, while keeping one eye on the shop door, waiting for security to pass by. When the guard did and pointed to his watch, signaling that it was well past nine-thirty, she called out to him. Since the mall was officially closed, she asked him if he'd show Eric and Gregory a door where they could exit.
Then she locked the shop door behind them and leaned back against it, limp with relief. "I'm sorry, Tristan," she said, but she was pretty sure he didn't hear her.
Tristan watched Ivy, her head bent over the store receipts, her curly hair a web of gold under the one light that now shone over the desk at the cash register. The rest of the shop was dimly lit, its corners receding into darkness.
He wanted to touch her hair, to materialize his fingers and feel the softness of her skin. He wanted to talk to her, just talk to her. But he remained hidden, still angry, hurt by the way she had thrust him out of her mind.
Ivy raised her head suddenly and glanced around as if she sensed his presence. "Tristan?"
If he stayed outside of her, she wouldn't hear him. But what did he have to say to her? That he loved her?
That she had hurt him. That he was terrified for her.
She saw him now. "Tristan." The way she said his name could still make him tremble. "I didn't think you'd come back. After putting you out like that, I didn't think you'd come to me."
Tristan stayed where he was.
"And you're not coming to me, are you?" she asked.
He heard the tremor in her voice and couldn't decide what to do. Leave her? Let her wonder for a while.
He didn't want to fight, and he had work to do that night.
If only you knew how much I love you, he thought.
"Tristan," she said silently.
He was in her mind now and knew the thought they had shared: If only you knew how much I love you.
Ivy was crying.
"Don't. Please don't," he said.
"Try to understand," she begged him silently. "I gave my heart to you, but it's still mine. You can't just come in and take over. I have my own thoughts, Tristan, and my own way of doing things."
"You've always had your own thoughts and your own way of doing things," he said. Then he laughed in spite of himself. "I remember how you were leading your guide around your very first day in our school-that's when I fell in love with you," he told her. "But you've got to understand, too. I'm afraid for you.
What were you doing, Ivy, playing like that with Gregory?"
Ivy slid off the desk stool and walked toward a dark corner of the shop.
Eric had left a pile of costumes on the floor. Tristan could feel their silky softness through Ivy's hands as she picked them up. "I'm playing Gregory's game," she said. "I'm playing the role he's given me-keeping him wondering and keeping him close."
"It's too dangerous, Ivy."
"No," she replied firmly. "Living in the same house with him and trying to avoid him-that would be dangerous. I can't hide from him, so the trick is never, ever to take my eyes off him." She picked up a glittering black mask and held it in front of her face.
"I have to know what he's doing and what he's saying," she continued. "I have to wait for him to slip up.
As long as I'm here-and I told you, Tristan, I'm staying here-it's the only way."
"There's another way to keep track of him," Tristan said, "and to keep a person bet
ween you at the same time. Will is his friend. You could date Will."
There was a long silence, and Tristan could feel Ivy cloaking her thoughts from him. "No, that's not a good idea," she said at last.
"Why not?" His voice came out too sharply. He could feel her searching carefully for the right words.
"I don't want to get Will involved."
"But he already is," Tristan argued. "He knows about me. He took you to the train station to help you remember what happened."
"That's as far as it goes," Ivy said. "I don't want you to tell him anything else." She started sorting through the costumes, shaking them out, then folding them.
"You're protecting him," Tristan said.
"That's right."
"Why?" he asked.
"Why put someone else in danger?" she replied.
"Will would put himself in any kind of danger for you. He's in love with you." As soon as Tristan said it he wished that he hadn't.
But certainly Ivy had already figured that out. Maybe not, he thought suddenly. He felt her struggling. He was caught in a swirl of emotions that he couldn't understand. He knew she was confused.
"I don't think so," Ivy said. "Will's a friend, that's all."
Tristan didn't say anything.
"But if it is true, Tristan, then it's not fair to use him like that.
It'd be leading him on."
°Would it really? Tristan wondered. Maybe Ivy was afraid to admit her attraction to Will.
"What are you thinking? What are you cloaking?" Ivy asked.
"I'm wondering if you're being honest with yourself."
Ivy walked briskly across the shop, as if she could walk away from him, hanging up the costumes, tossing misplaced objects into their bins. "I don't know why you think the way you do. It's almost as if you're jealous," she said.
"I am," he replied.
"You're what?" Her voice sounded frustrated.
"Jealous." There was no point in trying to hide it, Tristan thought.
"Who said that?" Ivy demanded.
"Who said what?" Tristan asked.
"Who said what?" a female voice echoed, the same voice that had sounded frustrated a moment ago.
"Lacey!" Tristan exclaimed. He hadn't seen her come in.
"Yes, sweetie?" Lacey was projecting her voice so Ivy could hear it, too.
Ivy glanced around the room.
"This is a private conversation," Tristan said.
"Well, her half was private," Lacey replied, still projecting her voice.
"When your chick speaks inwardly, I can hear only your part. Talk about frustrating! This year's romantic smash, and I'm missing half the dialogue. Ask your chick to speak out loud, okay?"
"Your chick?" Ivy repeated aloud.
"That's better," said Lacey.
"Is she that purplish blob?" Ivy asked.
"Ex-cuuuse" me?" Lacey said.
Tristan could feel a headache coming on. "Yes, that's her," he told Ivy.
"A blob?" Lacey spit out the word.
"That's how you look to Ivy," Tristan said. "You know that."
"How does she look to you?" Ivy asked Tristan.
He hesitated.
"Yes, tell us both, how do I look to you?" Lacey asked.
Tristan tried to think of an objective description. "Like… five foot something… with brown eyes, I think… and a roundish nose, and sort of thick hair."
"Good job, Tristan," Lacey remarked. "You've just described a bear." To Ivy she said, "I'm Lacey Lovitt.
Now I'm sure you can picture me."
Tristan could feel Ivy's mind searching, trying to remember who Lacey Lovitt was.
"The country-western star?"
A plastic turkey was hurled across the room. "And to think I bothered to come back to warn the chick."
"Why does she keep calling me the chick?"
"I guess it's movie star talk," Tristan said wearily.
"You were a movie star?" Ivy bent down to pick up the thrown turkey. "So you're pretty," Ivy said quietly.
"Ask Tristan," said Lacey.
"Is she?"
Tristan felt trapped. "I'm not a good judge of those things."
"Oh, I see," Ivy and Lacey said at the exact same time, both of them sounding irritated. Ivy paced one way, Lacey the other.
"How did you throw this, Lacey Lovitt?" Ivy asked, squeaking the turkey.
"Can Tristan do it?" Lacey snickered. "Not with any kind of aim," she said. "He's still learning to materialize his fingers, to make himself solid. He's got a lot to learn. Luckily he's got me as a teacher."
She moved closer to Ivy. Tristan could feel Ivy tingle when she felt Lacey's fingers resting lightly on her skin. Through Ivy's eyes he saw the long purple nails slowly appear on her arm.
"When Tristan slips back out of your mind," Lacey said, "he'll look and feel solid to me. But unless he materializes himself, like I just did, he'll be just a glow to you. It takes a lot of energy to materialize.
He's getting stronger, but if he uses up too much energy, he'll fall into the darkness."
"He'll look and feel solid to you?" Ivy repeated.
"He can hold my hand, see my face," Lacey said. "He can-well, you know."
Tristan could feel Ivy prickling.
"But he hasn't," Lacey said bluntly. "He's totally hung up on you." She picked up a hat and spun it on a fingertip, lifting it above her head. To Ivy she looked like a lavender mist with a mysteriously spinning top hat.
"You know, I could have a lot of fun haunting this place. I could get the old ladies some real publicity come Halloween."
"Don't even think about it," Tristan said.
"Forgive me if I forget that you said that," Lacey told him. "Anyway, I'm here to give you the skinny.
Gregory's picked up some new drugs."
"When?" Tristan asked quickly.
"Tonight, just before he got here," Lacey replied, then said to Ivy, "Be careful what you eat. Be careful what you drink. Don't make it easy for him."
Ivy shivered.
"Thanks, Lacey," Tristan said. "I owe you-even though you did sneak in and listen to what was none of your business."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I'm the one who owes you," Ivy said.
"That's right," Lacey snapped, "and for more than just that! For the last two and a half months I've had to listen to enough heaving and sighing over you to fill three volumes of bad love poetry. And I've got to tell you-" "Lacey's never been in love," Tristan interrupted, "so she doesn't understand-" "Excuse me? Excuse me?" Lacey challenged him. "Do you know that for a fact?"
Tristan laughed.
"As I was saying…" Lacey moved closer to Ivy. "I just don't know what he sees in you."
Ivy was stung into a moment of silence. At last she replied, "Well, I know what he sees in you."
"Oh, please."
Ivy laughed and picked up a top hat, spinning it on her own fingertip.
"Tristan's always been a sucker for girls with their own way of doing things."
Chapter 7
Tristan lay quietly, listening to Eric's breathing and conserving his own energy, watching the sky outside the bedroom window beginning to lighten.
The numbers on Eric's clock radio glowed: it was 4:46. As soon as Eric showed signs of stirring, Tristan planned to slip inside his mind.
He had checked on Eric Friday night, several hours after his visit to the mall, and Saturday night as well, after Eric came home from a drinking binge. Lacey had repeatedly warned Tristan about time-traveling in a mind confused by alcohol and bent by drugs. But it had been twenty-four hours since Eric's last beer, and Tristan was willing to take a chance to learn just what kind of dirty work Eric had done for Gregory.
He had lucked out when he arrived in Eric's room early Monday, discovering on one of his shelves an old book about trains. Materializing a finger, he had paged through the book, searching for a photo of a train that looked similar to those that ran through Stonehill's station. Now he wa
tched Eric sleep, waiting for his chance to show him that picture and slip in on a shared thought. With a little more luck, he could ride the thought into a memory, the memory of the night Ivy had been drugged and taken to the station.
He waited patiently as the digital clock flashed the passing minutes.
Eric's breathing was becoming shallow, and his legs grew restless-now was the time. Tristan nudged him awake. Eric saw the book on his pillow and pulled his head up sleepily, squinting at the picture.
Train, thought Tristan. Whistling. Slow down. Looks like an accident.
Wasn't an accident. Gregory. Blew it. Chick, chick, chick, who wants to play chick, chick, chick?
Tristan ran through as many thoughts as he could that were related to the picture. He didn't know which thought was his ticket in, but he suddenly saw the photograph through Eric's half-closed eyes. Eric seemed just alert enough to take a suggestion. Tristan pictured as clearly as he could a baseball cap and school jacket, the ones that Gregory had worn that night, the ones that he had insisted Eric find.
Tristan felt Eric tense. For a moment he felt suspended in timeless darkness, then he pitched forward with him, his fist glancing off something hard. He was swiftly thrown backward, making him lose his balance, then was pushed forward once more.
Every muscle strained-Eric was fighting with someone. A sharp punch to his stomach made him lurch. Eric twisted his head around-Tristan twisted his- and saw his opponent: Gregory.
Tristan saw the road, too, as he spun with Eric one way, then the other, beneath Gregory's blows. He thought he was about thirty yards from the entrance to the train station. As he struggled with Gregory his feet kept slipping on small stones at the side of the road. Something sharp bit into his hand. Tristan realized suddenly that Eric was clinging to a set of keys.
"You dumb-ss." Tristan felt Eric's words slur in his mouth. "You can't drive my machine. You'll crash us and you'll kill us both. It'll be you, me, and Tristan forever, you, me, and Tristan forever, you, me, and Tristan-" "Shut up. Give them to me," Gregory said, ripping the keys out of his hand, leaving his palm raw and bloody. "You can't even hold your head up."
Tristan suddenly felt as if he were going to be sick. Trapped inside the body of Eric, he leaned on the Harley, holding his stomach and breathing hard. Gregory fumbled with something on the back of the bike.
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