I tried to be fair about it.  I even asked Rod on the ride home (and yes, he was more than ticked off at waiting so long) if he thought the cook who has worked for us for the last two years could be capable of such a thing. He’s never met this one, but he said sure, and that people are always capable of stupid acts of grotesque horror when acting in their own selfish interests. That wasn’t really what I was looking for, but it told me his frame of mind was no more reliable than mine. So I just shut up, petted sweet Scottie, and let the fury grow.

Once home, it took all of three minutes for me to lock Scottie safely in the far back screened-in gazebo, change into the dry clothes I had with me, and make it to my own front door. Which is where I am standing, gathering even more steam.

It is pretty easy to make a grand entrance through the front door, and not only because of the echoing marble foyer.  The door is hugely heavy—nearly double-wide and triple thick. So when you slam it, the whole freakin house shakes, including the chandelier that comes down from the center of the wide, spiraling staircase. It is impossible to slam the door on accident, so if it goes off, you know someone means business. Usually, it’s Dad making the display. I only get away with it when used exceedingly sparingly.

I take a whiff of myself, noting that even with clean clothes, I smell like seaweed and day-old clams. Good. I step inside and give the door the biggest shove I can. It slams so hard it makes even me jump, and I knew it was coming. I then follow it with my very best “DAAAAD!”

“Upstairs,” he yells down. The way he says it, like he’s already only half-listening, only makes me more determined to get what I want—now.

I can tell he’s in the sports room from the blare of the game. The upstairs room is smaller than the theatre downstairs, and has space for only one big screen and two plush chairs. Down stairs has three wide screens and seats 16, so you’d think it would be harder to deal with him in there. In actuality, the small room is worse, because it’s practically impossible to pull his attention from a screen that close to his face.

I storm the steps three at a time, and by the time I reach him, Sydney, a.k.a. Wife Four, has poked her head out of her “office” and started to pad her way down the hallway to see what is up. 

Lovely. Just lovely.

“Dad, you have to fire Mrs. Hamilton!” I insist from the doorway. If that doesn’t get him, I can always step in front of his line of view. But that’s a drastic measure, to be used only in case of an emergency.

“Why?” he says, not looking up.

“Dad!” I stomp on the gleaming hardwood floors.

Now he looks. “What? Why?”

“Mrs. Hamilton is poisoning Scottie. That why she’s been so sick. I want her fired.”

“I hired her,” Sydney interjects, her eyes flown wide and her voice all whiny like it would be if she had said: “I called the front seat first!”

No mention of how terrible for Scottie, mind you.

“Wait, wait,” Dad says, standing as if he is only now realizing what—and who—he’s in the middle of. “That’s a strong accusation, sweetheart.”

It would be a really good time to be smart.  To say; “Yes, father, I am your sweetheart, and I completely understand it is a strong accusation. But you see a witch-like hag across the river told me of this great horror, or rather her great-grandson who is the last in line to learn her magic did, and I feel such a kinship to them and the land they live on I’m sure they are right.”

Actually, that would be really dumb, now that I think it through.  But it doesn’t matter.  Because that magic that took root in my feet and traveled to my gut is has become some kind of raging wildfire, the kind that could do damage to a thousand acres in Colorado.

“Fire her!” I insist.

“Julie!” Dad insists back, his voice a perfect match to my own.

“I mean it. Fire her. She has been trying to kill Scottie. And I will not live in the same house with someone…”

“I want her to stay,” Sydney whines. “She’s the only cook who understands my dietary needs.”

I am speechless as I stare at this woman not even twice my age, but only half Dad’s.  I mean…Diets? Hello? Mrs. Hamilton is killing my cat and all she can say is that she needs a cook that understands her?

“Julie,” Dad says in a calmer tone, the kind that means he’s taking a different tack, “I can sure understand how you’d feel like this IF something like that were true, but…”

“It’s. True.” I spit the words out like two rusty nails.

I can almost see Dad’s mind whirling, thinking that as teens go, I’m usually pretty reasonable to be around. 

“Do you have any proof?” he finally asks.

My answer comes to me quickly, sort of just spilling out: “I can’t reveal my source. But it is a reliable source. And that source got Scottie well. She’s well, Dad. And I don’t want her sick again.”

I’d swear Sydney looks disappointed at the news of Scottie’s recovery. I’m telling you, if she has anything to do with….

And of course, as can always be expected in the most important moments of life, Dad’s cell rings. If he answers, I will know, surely, I am not a loved child.  I am allotted only my portion of his extra-curricular time and a mistake he made sure to never make twice. My heels are nearly rocking in fury as I watch him contemplate.

He takes it. Of course he takes it.

“Dad!” I yell. I mean right at him. This is so not what he is expecting of me.

“Excuse me a moment, Helene,” he says into the phone.

“This is Helene Bayless, Julie, I have to take it,” he says

“Who?” I demand, shaking my head, because something won’t fully compute.

“My silent business partner?” he says, his hand over the mouthpiece. He looks at me like I should know this. But when have I ever paid attention to who he does silent business with?

Yet I can almost hear the dominoes clicking in my head as one nugget of understanding topples into another. “Won’t you please pay a little extra attention to Mrs. Bayless?” I recall him saying before I began to take Anna for walks. Something else, too, about her daughter being important to the business….

The next domino crashes as I recall Bea saying Helene can turn lead to gold and that she does so to buy people. I hate to think my dad could be bought, but honestly, I really don’t know.

“Dad!” I say one more time, though he has turned away. Sydney is just looking at me like I got what I deserve.

Without waiting for a reply that won’t not come, I bound down the stairs feeling like my legs are on fire. I go through the main kitchen, down another set of stairs into the pantry kitchen to come face to face with Mrs. Hamilton. I don’t know if it’s my imagination, or some kind of vision like Jake said, but I can see her spooning something from a strange box into Scottie’s canned food. I see it like a movie screen in the front of my forehead, like I saw those lines running up from my feet.

Again I get a metallic taste in my mouth, just like I did when I was contemplating what was wrong with Scottie on the beach, before I even heard Jake’s accusation. Can you taste things, as well as see them, with their magic?

I enter Mrs. Hamilton’s personal space so fast, she doesn’t know what to do with me.  There’s a feeling between us, like I could shove her, just with the power in my stomach.  I’m pretty sure she’s aware of it, and more than a little surprised. Thing is, I don’t know what to do now. I just stare, wishing the magic could do something. Anything.

Out of nowhere, I hear a kind of crack, then a crash.

We both turn to look at a glass bowl on the other side of the room that has—what? Spontaneously combusted? Large hunks of glass are broken off around the bread that had been rising. If not for the towel over it, it might have shot bread bowl daggers at us.

Now Mrs. Hamilton is scared. I am too, but I’m not going to waste this moment. I make my eyes big and lean in to sort of say “Yeah, I did that and you better watch out.”

What I actually say is a little more sly. “Do you know that we have hidden cameras throughout the house?” It’s a lie, at least for the kitchen areas. But she doesn’t know that. “I can see what you feed Scottie.”

Mrs. Hamilton is speechless, backing herself into a corner. Or maybe I’m the one backing her into it, because I will not let up. I look deep into her eyes. Well, there it is, the truth right there. She knows exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe I wasn’t sure before, but this is not my imagination.

“Julie!” Dad bellows from behind me.  Well of course he’d show up now.

I turn to see Sydney has come along for the ride.

“I know what Mrs. Hamilton is doing,” I say to them both. “I know it.”

“Are you on drugs?” Dad asks, looking almost afraid himself, even though he was just a few seconds too late for the magic bowl trick.

My mouth drops open in disbelief, but it doesn’t take me long to get back on track. “No Dad, I’m not on drugs. I don’t even smoke cigarettes. I don’t drink, either, in case you were wondering. And while we are having this ever-so-private heart-to-heart, you will be glad to know I’ve never had sex. Not once. But I am not going to be a good girl and pretend I don’t know something I do when this woman has been hurting my cat!”

“Mrs. Hamilton,” Dad turns, ever the businessman, even though I can see he is getting pretty flustered, “is there anything you can imagine you have fed Scottie that might have led to this misunderstanding?”

I’d love to say Mrs. Hamilton turned to look at Sydney and their locked eyes confirmed a long planned and utterly devious plot.  But they don’t. And with all that energy spent on the bowl and backing her up, not to mention all this standing up to Dad, I’m suddenly and quickly feeling whatever was in my stomach spiraling down and right back out of me.  

“No Sir,” Mrs. Hamilton says, red in the face, “but if you have cameras on me, I’m not sure I want to work here.”

“We don’t have cameras in the kitchen,” Dad assures.

“Because I don’t like being spied on,” she says, glancing at the bowl, then me, then him. She’s trying to play it tough, but she knows I’ve got her in more ways than one.

“Of course not,” Dad says, looking at me like I’m the bad guy here.

So, well, there you have it. This is going to come down and land directly on me. It will be all my fault, and just wait, Dad will even want an apology. A few minutes ago, I could have handled it better.  But now I feel an empty pit in my stomach right where the magic was before it started seeping out all over the floor. My head starts to bang.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I lay out, using the last watts of energy in me. “You are all going to make this my bad, so why don’t we just chalk it up to me being a hormonal teenager? Then everyone can go back to their business like nothing happened and I’ll just be the fool.”

“I think an apology is also in order,” Dad pushes.
 
“But,” I insist, “from here on out nobody feeds, nobody pets, nobody even looks at Scottie but me. Got it?” I look to each of them with hard eyes.

It seems like they are going to take the deal, if only to have the whole incident put behind us. Nobody says anything, but everyone nods just enough to be seen.

I take a deep breath, send a quick squinty glare toward the bowl and Mrs. Hamilton just to make sure she doesn’t forget who she is dealing with, and then leave with a growl. Making my way up the stairs, my legs feel like they are nothing more than burnt charcoal, especially at the ankles.

Tomorrow, when I’ve had a good night sleep with Scottie purring happily next to me, I’ll gather my determination and my questions and go see Anna. If she knows all about dysfunctional families and magic that can break bread bowls with no one even touching them, she will surely know what I’m supposed to do next.

Two things have happened that I’ll never be able to fully explain to anyone else. 

One, Scottie is up and walking around, checking out the place like she hasn’t been sick a day in her life. The other is that I’m about to get my first lesson in real magic.

It all happened so fast. I just told Bea everything about Anna and how I came to find this place. I’ve never seen anyone listen the way that woman does. I swear, she was listening with her eyes, ears, fingers and toes. Maybe even the length of her spine. She got it all on the first take, no explanations needed. Even Jake seemed to need no further information than what I gave. It’s like they trust me, already. Or maybe would just know if I wasn’t telling the truth. 

So when I was done talking, and Scottie was handed to me with a “That should do it,” Bea just stood up and said we should get on with seeing if I could learn magic.  Since it was gifted to me, she said, it wasn’t a sure thing I would take to it, or even want it.  Better find out sooner rather than later, she said. So here I am, ready and willing, even if my gut is swirling in fear. I mean, Anna’s little fire blowing into my palm was pretty intense, and she seems lot more refined than Bea. 

“Start with your posture,” the bent woman says, looking me over once again.  I’m not sure if she means for me to stand up straight, like one of my step-mothers always used to always say I should, or throw out my chest, like another of them nagged. I do a little of both, which only makes Jake laugh.

I shoot him a look that says “Oh thanks, you are SUCH a help.” He smiles back at me with an arresting set of perfect teeth.

“Pay attention!” she says, using some kind of twisted vine-like walking stick to move my left foot a little more left. “Feet shoulder width apart. Shoulders back. Knees slightly bent.”

I do as I’m told, but it’s more than a little weird having Jake watch.  Or rather, gawk. He’s looking at me like I’m some sort of combination of a goddess and lunch. Couldn’t we do this in private?

“Now, tilt your pelvis forward.  No, no. Tuck your butt in.” She puts one hand on the small of my back, and pushes forward, and the other on my belly to make sure it doesn’t move. The white lightning goes through me, making me shiver. “Now your spine is straight, so you’re in a grounded position.”

“For what?” I ask.

“To blow the tarnations out of anything you want,” she says, cackling.

It makes you wonder: Is Bea is a good witch or a bad witch?

“We’re not destroyers,” Bea says, as if reading my mind, which is more than a little spooky right there. “But we’re not to be pushed around, either. Say here Jake is bothering you, pestering you like a little brother.”

Jake growls, which makes Scottie perk up in concern.

“Or anyone else getting in your way. You want some power to get ‘em out of the way, right?”

“Sure,” I say, adding an “anyone else, I mean” to comfort Jake.  You can tell he really wants to impress me. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to work that hard.  He’s pretty impressive, just standing there without a shirt. Then again, it’s kind of nice to have a guy like that working for it.

“Now, start breathing up the earth,” Bea says, breathing deep to show me, “deep, from inside the soles of your feet. Just like if your arches were lungs, only the air you’re pulling in is energy. If you use your real breathing to keep the rhythm up at the same time, it’s easier to imagine.  And you’ve got to imagine it, or it won’t work.”

I try to imagine breathing through my feet without feeling totally stupid.  I look to Jake to see if Bea is just pulling one over on me, but he seems to think this is perfectly normal.

“Don’t get distracted or the energy will go all over the place,” my new teacher warns sternly, “and that is a true mess.You want it all to go directly into your belly.”

Without trying, I can almost see lines running from the center of my feet to my stomach, and the earth running up it.  I swear, I’ve never in my life imagined such a thing. It’s strange, like I know this stuff. Only, of course, I don’t.

“That’s right,” she says, though I don’t know how she could know if I’m doing it right or not. “Now, pull the magic in.”

“What magic?” I dare ask.

“Same one that makes seeds sprout in the dark of the earth. What makes gardens grow and fruit pop out of a tree? Isn’t that magic?”

“I’ve never thought about it that way,” I say honestly.

“Well, think about it that way,” she sends back with a snort.

Again I do as I’m told. Though truthfully, I don’t feel an ounce of magic. But I do see the lines. That has to be something.

“Okay, that’s enough for today,” she says, thumping her twisted stick on the ground three times.  Like that, the lines disappear from my imagination. I’m left with one part of me feeling like an utter fool for even attempting to carry magic around in my stomach, and another part more sure than ever these old ladies have some real game going on.   
 
“That’s all?” I say.

Bea laughs, and Jake too. “Just see for yourself if ‘that’s all’ the next time you get mad at someone. Do that often enough, fill up that belly, and you’ll find you are a real force to reckon with.”

“Is that how you healed Scottie? With the earth through your feet?”

“My dear child, it’s a lot more complicated than that.  The magic we carry takes years to learn and perfect. This is baby steps. We are just testing the waters, to see how much of what I teach you, combined with what Anna gave you, can do.”

“Yea, so I don’t get that part,” I say, feeling an ounce more bravery in my so-called belly. “What does it mean that Anna gave me her magic? I mean, she needs it herself, if she’s going to get out of there, right?”

Bea sighs, looking truly disheartened. “She won’t get out of there. Not so long as Helene is alive.”

“But why would her own daughter want her in a nursing home? I mean, that’s so cruel. So totally, utterly cruel.” 

I feel my heart grow heavy, then angry. I don’t know if it has anything to do with the thing we just did with my feet, but it feels powerful. Sort of like Bea felt powerful out on the beach.  Well, not nearly so strong, but still…

“Have you ever heard the term ‘dysfunctional family?’” Bea asks.

She’s kidding, right?

“I probably have the equivalent of a PhD in the topic,” I say, as dry as I possibly can.

“Then you understand how little things can become big things, even in normal situations, when a family isn’t right?”

“Sure.”

“So think of that, then add magic. Add layers and levels and lifetimes of deceit, betrayal, jealousy and power. Add countries and continents, mythologies and cultures, religions and rebellions and fortunes won and lost. Add everything else you can imagine to complicate a family.  Helene’s taken it upon herself to end it all in the name of what is right and proper. To set us all straight by ending the magic—as if that could happen! She thinks she is being heroic, virtuous, and crafty, all at once.  She’s got help, too, because we were stupid enough to teach her how to generate gold from lead, and that buys anything money can buy, including unscrupulous people to help you.”

Her words hit me hard, like this isn’t a game and I was an idiot to think otherwise.

“Anna is where she is, and must stay where she is, to protect the only ones capable of continuing the succession of magic. Jake here, and in just a few years, Michael, too. Now, I’ll bet your friend is losing his patience waiting for you,” she says, nodding toward the beach. 

I’d almost forgotten Rod is waiting.  Even if he isn’t getting ticked off, which I’m sure he is, I get that this is my polite invitation to be heading out. Not only can I take a hint, I think I want to. 

I’d ask about coming back, but I want to talk to Anna before I do. It would be good to know more about what I’m getting myself into here. A lot more.

“Well then, thank you,” I say, but Bea is already turned to walk into her house.  She lifts a hand to wave without turning back and I remember she’s an old lady. Old ladies often do things like that, probably to say that time is too short to waste on the obvious.

I scoop up Scottie, still amazed and beyond grateful that she’s fine. And then I remember I don’t know what made her sick.

“Wait… Mrs. Bayless… Bea?” I call after her.

“Don’t bother,” Jake says, looking like he’s going to join me in my short walk back to the beach. “She can’t hear.”

“Why? It’s not like that house can be very well insulted.”

“She’s deaf,” he says.  

“I don’t understand.”

“She doesn’t hear,” he says, mocking deafness with dramatic faux sign language.

“But we just had an hour of perfectly normal conversation.”

He shrugs. “That’s the magic. She can hear when she wants to. But she’s still deaf. Literally.”

“You do realize how entirely insane that sounds, right?”

He laughs. “I guess. I’m used to things like that here.”

I stop and turn to him. I can’t say I’m not aware of his strong scent, which is some kind of musty male wow. But I can attempt to pretend I’m not.  

“What, exactly, are you used to Jake? I mean, what’s going on out here? What, in the context of the ‘Bayless Family’ is magic?”

“I wondered when you were going to get around to asking me that, instead of her.”

He steps nearer to me, like he’s the one I should get close to.  I remember what Bea just said about family politics and step back.

“That doesn’t answer anything.” My step back is not far enough. I take another, but this only gives me a better look at his six-pack and strong chest gleaming in the sunlight. I wonder if he got those from that feet and belly thing? It would make it worth practicing.

“Anna’s my Great-Grandmother and Bea is my Great, Great Aunt. I’m here because I started learning magic when I was eleven, which everyone says is way too young, but what choice did we have?  You heard her. I’m the last one to have a chance to learn it.  Well, there’s Michael, but he can’t yet.”

“Who is Michael?”

“A long story,” he says, moving closer but offering no more detail. I get a weird feeling in my stomach about Michael.  Even weirder than Jake.

“Okay. But what is the magic?  I mean, what kind of magic? Are you like witches and warlocks, because I have to say, that would just be too weird.”

“It’s not like anything you think you know about. But are you sure you want to know more?” he asks.  I swear his voice dropped, making him sound about ten years older. “Because just knowing does stuff to you. And once it starts, you really can’t stop.”

It sure does do something to you, I think, staring at him like I’m the hungry animal now.

How obvious of me. 

Wait, no, I will not be suckered in just because he’s a hot guy and I’ve never had a boyfriend. This has to be more important than that. I have to go slow here. I have to consider. What was the question? 

“See,” he says, “you’re not ready.”

“How do you know?” I defend. Who is he to tell me…?

“Because I live it, Mayden. I live the magic. You get power, sure. But that doesn’t make things easier. Not even close to easier.”

His words really hit me. I just stare at him, wondering what that could mean. What could it mean that you live magic and have since you were eleven, and you’re one of the last in line?  I start walking again. I need some time to think about it, on my own. I need to get away.

“I will tell you this,” he says, touching my arm. Another white-hot jolt goes through me, just like Bea’s. My stomach stirs like galaxies disturbed by a foreign star. Again I get the sense I know this stuff, and these people, from sometime or some place, maybe a million years ago and a million miles away. It’s more than liking him because he’s so… whatever. I’m sure of that.

“Tell me,” I say.

“You can trust Bea completely, as far as good intentions go. But she’s not always herself, and when she’s not, she’s not reliable. Sometimes she’s even dangerous. And you never know when that will be.”

I nod, remembering Anna said coming here could be dangerous. “Good to know.”

“As far as Scottie goes? It’s the cook at your house.”

“Mrs. Hamilton? What about her?” Already I’m thinking how does he even know we have a cook?  How many people have cooks these days?

“Whoever does your cooking is poisoning her. Intentionally.”

“What?” I nearly yell. No way. Then again, Mrs. Hamilton always has hated Scottie getting underfoot…

“The magic lets you see things,” Jake explains. “I saw that you wanted to ask Bea about it. And before that, when she was doing the work on Scottie, I saw the cook. You can test me on this. In fact, you should. If you’re going to learn magic, the most important lesson is to learn who and what you can trust…and who and what you can’t.”

Chapter One

Today, the old lady is going to talk. I just know it. I woke up knowing it. It could be desperation on my part, given how Scottie, my tabby cat, is as weak as I’ve seen her. But I don’t think so. I think Mrs. Anna Bayless really is going to give me enough information to find…whatever it is she has been trying to tell me I have to find, if I want to save Scottie.

I’m nervous as I reach for the buzzer at the main door. I shouldn’t be. After all, I’ve spent a lot of my life in old folks homes. The internationally recognized Sun Heritage Village community was probably my first babysitter. Exactly when it was that I started babysitting the old folks, instead of the other way around, is hard to say. It was a gradual thing that nobody really noticed.

I wait to announce myself. Not that they don’t know me, but the rules are the rules. It doesn’t matter who you are. Even Dad has to ring the buzzer and remind whoever is behind the desk that he’s the guy who own the place. He doesn’t have to mention that on last count he owned forty-five such places across the US, with another few in Mexico and Europe. Everyone who works here learns that on training day.

I look up into the security camera, feeling the red dot blink at me like a warning, or accusation even. Nobody knows what I’m up to today. No one could know. But you get paranoid when you are about to bend some pretty important rules.

What’s taking them so long?

I know they are just sitting there, watching me. I could stare back, and often do. Not today. I’ll just bore an imaginary hole into them, keeping my darting eyes to myself.

There are always two at the desk. It doesn’t matter which two, given the same type of women always apply for the job: Middle aged, slow and a bit lazy. The desk is a relatively easy job with decent pay and great benefits. Even so, turnover is high because, I mean, you have to admit the place is pretty depressing, especially over time.

Whoever is at the desk, I can just imagine the conversation going on as they watch me from their pseudo power-giving perch.

“It’s the big boss’ daughter again. Third time this week,” I imagine one saying.

“Yea,” the other will reply. “With money like they’ve got, why does she dress in torn black rags and an army jacket—in summer no less? And that hair! It looks like a packrat’s nest.”

“It’s some kind of style,” the first will attempt to explain. “It’s all the rage for teenagers. Hideous, but not cheap. They pay a lot to look that bad.”

“Crazy,” the other will say.

I can’t help it. I throw a big, fat, fake smile into the camera. Just let me in.

“Can I help you?” the speaker finally blasts, a little too loud. It makes me jump, then curse myself for letting my nerves show. I’ve got to keep it cool, like it’s a day no different than any other day.

“Julie Mayden. I’ve come to see Mrs. Bayless.”

I jump at the even louder buzz that lets me in. Unfortunately, I still have to go to the desk for a nametag and to have them record my volunteer hours. Some grant matches those hours with funding dollars, which creates more paperwork, which creates more rules, and on and on it goes. Stuff like that really makes you wonder why you want to grow up at all.

The unmistakable scent of a nursing home rushes at me the moment the sliding doors open. It’s a combination of bad cafeteria food, old people’s drool, pressed face powder and harsh cleaning supplies—because you just can’t have people getting sick and dying in here, now can you? I both hate the smell, for obvious reasons, and love it, because these places feel far more like home than any of the four gated mansions I’ve lived in during my short sixteen years.

I smile at the folks lining the hallway, out for their daily—sit. A few recognize me, but most don’t. This is the building for the worst off; those who can’t begin to care for themselves. I remind myself I could go to buildings where the people sitting in front of the checkers boards can actually play the game. But I’ve always been a bit of an extremist. Give me the hard cases, the lost causes.

Like Anna.

“This will be good for my community service hours,” I say to Jenny and Alice, the two women looking at me like I’ve come at an inconvenient time. Hardly—signing me in is one of the few things they will have to do before lunch gets underway. Then they will have the overwhelmingly strenuous task of getting on the loud speaker and announcing the menu to people who, quite frankly, even if they can understand, just don’t care.

“What did you do to have to complete community service?” Jenny asks, suddenly interested. Gossip is a rare commodity here, and highly prized. Even Alice lifts her eyes over her glasses to look directly into mine.

“Fifty hours a year are required to be in honor society,” I answer, deadpan, but smiling inside. I love to shock. That’s half of why I dress this way in the first place—just to put people off. I mean, I think I look great. But I’m well aware others don’t, and that suits me just fine. About the only person my attempts at shock value doesn’t work with is my father. He sees me as he has since I was probably three years old, when I came to live with him for the first time, as his beautiful fairy princess. “Just a little darker,” he jokes when I’m being really outrageous.

The two women’s faces deflate at my “honor society” remark. You can actually see the realization that I might be truly smart settle in on their faces. False smiles, dulled eyes. Not a morsel of decent gossip in that one, they seem to be saying as they say as they look at each other in disappointment.

Sorry ladies.

I am given my nametag, freshly spit out from the computer with a bad photo of me at about age twelve (when I still dressed according to what some would deem normal) and sent on my way. They know I know my way around. If only they knew what I was going to do with that knowledge in just a few minutes. Talk about an opportunity for gossip.

I keep my head down as I make my way through the halls. I know too many people, and today is not a day for polite chit-chat. Everything has been planned to a tight schedule. Not that I really know what I’m doing, I remind myself. It’s probably just one big crap shot, if I’m honest about it. Anyone else would say I’m delusional, or even more likely, just wishing on a lucky star.

I lift my head only when I’ve arrived at Room 214. I don’t care if it is a crap shoot. You do what you can, with what you have. Right? And if all I have is a hunched over old lady forever confined to a wheelchair to help me, then that’s what I’ll work with.

I knock on Miss Bayless’ fake wood door, but don’t wait for a reply. It’d be a long wait. She babbles mostly, at least until she knows it’s me. Even then, it takes a while for real words to form. The woods that line the property help, which is why we are going out today, just as soon as I can get her ready.

Yes, I say to myself, gathering my courage. I’m actually going to do it. I’m going to wheel her off the paved path that goes through that patch of trees and hope we don’t get stuck as we follow the trail deeper into the swampy forest. We’ll go as far as we can, and then I’ll hoist her from the chair to the earth and put the strange native-looking leather bag I found hidden in her suitcase around her neck. I’ll conveniently keep her out to near the very end of her eight-hour medicine cycle, and then see what happens.

Yea, it’s risky, and maybe wrong. But I have to. Scottie is my life.

Chapter Two

I’m stuck.

Not where I should be, out in the woods with Anna. But right here on the second floor, hallway B, of the Sun Heritage Village’s Pine Crest building. Dr. Garcia, who happens to be making a house call, stopped me on my way out the door. Since she also happens to have been a nurse here years ago, which is how her daughter came to be one of my two best friends, I kind of have to talk to her.

My hands are in a sweaty grip around Anna’s wheelchair handles. There’s a sick feeling in my stomach, and an urge to turn around. Dr. Garcia could be a witness, now. I get a flash image of Anna’s normally absent family yanking me into a courtroom for doing something terrible to their feeble old grandmother, with Dr. Garcia reluctantly standing up to testify against me.

Let it go. Just let it go.

“I’m so glad you still come to help here, Julie,” Dr Garcia says.

I nod and check out the wall clock. 11:32. I don’t want to talk to her now, but I can’t show it. She’s the type to guess something is up and even more the type to actually mention it to my dad. Anna shifts in her chair, as if she knows what’s going on, and is as impatient as I am.

“I sure wish Maria would volunteer here. I don’t know what keeps her so busy.”

Dr. Garcia is fishing for information, but I’m not going to be the one to tell her what Maria is busy with. Even I hardly ever see her, now that she’s got a boyfriend.

“I haven’t seen Rod in ages, either,” she says, still fishing.

Rod is the third in our trio. Or, what used to be our trio, when all our parents worked here. Rod’s dad is still the head administrator, but Rod’s hardly going to come to work with his dad on school vacation days. At seventeen, with a new car, nobody sees Rod much. I’m happy to get a text once or twice a week, and only then because he needs something.

“Me neither,” I say, then quickly add, “Well, I should get Mrs. Bayless to Bingo. It starts in just a few minutes.”

Actually, there isn’t Bingo today. Even if there were, it would not start just before lunch. But Dr. Garcia wouldn’t think about that, and she’s busy enough to appreciate the excuse to get on with her work. As she nods and walks by with the standard “it’s so good to see you” line, I try to keep my deep sigh of relief to myself.

I check my watch. 11:35. I have only a few more minutes to get out the door and beyond the part of the path you can see from the building, if this is going to work. I need enough time for anyone looking to take Anna to the main lunchroom to see my backpack on her bed, and assume I’ve already got her. This alone took weeks to arrange, given I had to set the stage for confusion at lunchtime repeatedly before they finally got past the panic of a missing patient. Now they all just assume that if Anna is missing, it’s because I have her and we were probably in the guest cafeteria, or maybe all the way down the block talking to some of the more coherent old folks at the Oak Ridge condo grill. If they catch me with her too close to time, though, they’ll ask me where I’ll be taking her today, and we’ll be done for.

You’d never guess a hallway could be so long. Or a sidewalk. Or even a well-manicured strolling path that takes you through a few small patches of woods.

“Don’t worry Anna,” I say aloud, though she probably has no idea what I’m saying, “we’re getting there.”

The clouds overhead, which were perfectly puffy and cheerful when I walked in the door today, are starting to loom thick. The sky is getting darker by the minute. I hope it’s not a sign. Not that I’m sure I believe in signs. But if signs are real, this would not be a good one.

I ask myself for the thousandth time why I’m doing this at all. I quickly feel for the piece of paper and pen I brought in the hope I’ll need to write down some truly useful information.

“Anna,” I say, “I want you to listen to me. I have written down what you’ve said to me so far, and it is starting to make sense. So I’m going to remind you, while we walk. And I’m going to talk to you like you know what I’m saying. Like anyone else, because I have a feeling you might be able to know, even if you can’t speak that well. Okay?”

Anna grunts, but it could be a total coincidence.

“So you said ‘Sister help Scottie’ about a hundred times one day. And when I asked if you meant Scottie, my cat, you said ‘Sister magic heals.’ The next week you kept saying ‘Forest not the governments’ and then ‘Clemmons’ Pier.’ Then you got on to saying ‘Potter Street and Poplar Leaf Drive’ again and again. So I checked on google earth. There is an old Clemmons’ Pier not too far from my house. It’s at the edge of a small forest. And on the other side, at the far opposite corner, is where Potter Street curves around into Poplar Leaf Drive.”

Again Anna grunts.

“But Anna, there’s nearly two hundred acres between the pier and Potter Street. I drove by the other day, and it actually is marked as government land. All kinds of no trespassing signs on it. You can’t even get to the pier without walking a few miles through the woods or crossing hip deep in water.”

Anna huffs, then coughs.

“So I really don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. Does your sister live near there? Are you saying she could help my cat? Because Scottie is really sick now. We’ve been to the vets a lot of times, but they don’t find anything. She’s only eight years old, so you know it’s not old age.”

I guess I’m just talking to myself. Besides, we are here. I look around, though hardly anyone from the Village comes out this way. Some joggers, sometimes, but that’s about it. No one in sight right now. I look to the soft, mushy ground. We could get seriously stuck, especially if it rains. But for now, it’s holding. And Scottie is not.

We’re only three feet in before the tires squish heavy into the mud. I tighten Anna’s belt and push on. I want to get her where she can, if nothing else, forget where she lives for a little while. She loves the woods, and has spoken more clearly out here than any day in the Village. Especially if she’s wearing that strange leather necklace bag I found hidden in her suitcase. The one with the bear on it, and lots of dangling beads.

I also hope it helps that her meds are running out. We have till 1 PM, when the after-lunch rounds are given. Being at the tail end of the cycle could be very helpful, especially because I googled the prescription names, and the stuff they have her on could knock out a horse. It might not help, but it couldn’t hurt.

The wheels get stuck again. Anna’s no lightweight. I swear, she must have been nearly six feet tall when standing. She’s not fat, but even hunched over those extra inches add pounds.

“Ethel Mai,” Anna suddenly says softly.

“What?” I stop to ask. I go around front and kneel down to see her face. Her normally glassy eyes seem clearer than usual.

“Lilian Luta, Martha Jane, Mary Kelly, Suzanne Mary, Sarah Ashlee…”

“Who are they? Anna, can you hear me?”

“Margaret, Rachel, sixteen hundred and ninety.”

“What are you trying to say, Anna?” I plead. Her voice is strange, and an even stranger chill goes up my spine.

“My medicine bag,” she says, lifting her eyes to my own. “I need my medicine bag.”

“A full sentence!” Chills run over me now, all around and up and down. She’s talking in full sentences!

“You have my bag,” she says, and I realize what she means. Her leather bag. “Yes, yes Anna, I have it. I hope you don’t mind me calling you Anna.”

“You always do,” she replies.

“Woa! You answered me.” I quickly find her leather bag and put it around her neck. I put it on her, and she sits straighter than I’ve ever seen her. It makes me all the more curious what’s inside the bag. I’ve never looked, because it felt sort of strange, and like it’s not the kind of thing you open without permission.

“Further in,” she says, and even lifts her hand and a long, bony finger to point us forward. She has never, ever, ever, lifted her hand and pointed toward something.

“Whatever you want, Anna,” I say, and go back to pushing. It’s not so hard now. In fact, I feel like I could lift a car if I had to.

“Ethel Mai, eighteen hundred and ninety five,” she says.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Quiet,” she says. “Lillian Luta, eighteen hundred and seventy six. Sarah June, eighteen hundred and fifty seven. Martha Jane, eighteen hundred and thirty eight. Mary Kelly, eighteen hundred and two. Suzanne Mary, seventeen hundred and seventy seven. Sarah Ashley, seventeen hundred and fifty two. Margaret Cole, seventeen hundred and twelve. Rachel, sixteen hundred and ninety.

Somewhere along her list of names and numbers, I realize what she’s doing. She listing people, and dates. Lillian Luta, 1876. Sarah June, 1857. She’s going backwards in time. Now we are at Rachel, 1690. She’s asked me to be quiet, so I just listen. But who are these women?

Her family, I suddenly realize. Though I don’t know how I could know that. I get more chills, the creepy kind.

“Yes,” Anna says.

“Yes what?” I dare ask.

“Yes, you understand. These are my ancestors. The women who begat me, and those who begat them. My mother, Ethel Mai, born in eighteen hundred and ninety five. My grandmother, Lillian Luta, born eighteen hundred and seventy six. Repeating their names aloud gives me strength.”

“Okay, this is freaky, Anna. I don’t mean about your ancestors names. I mean because I didn’t say that I thought they were your ancestors names.”

“But you knew.”

“Well, I figured it out, but I didn’t say that.”

“When understanding is present, it can be felt. I felt that you understood.”

Now I am completely freaked.

“This is good,” she insists. “Stop here and put me down on the earth.”

“So I suppose you knew I was going to do that, too?” I ask. Truth is, while it is freaky, it’s also kind of exciting.

“You said so, last Monday.”

“Wait! You can…you can hear me, I mean understand me, and know what day it is, even back there at the Village?”

“Everything,” she says, almost sadly, “I understand everything.”

I set her brakes, put out a blanket, untie her belt, and use everything I’ve learned about lifting an invalid from a wheelchair into a bed. This, of course, is not a bed. There’s a significant difference. But the same general rules must apply.

It doesn’t go well, and I nearly let her fall the last foot of the way. Maybe she understands everything, as she says, but she’s had no practice in actually using her limbs, and they are not magically strong. She doesn’t complain; so I stretch out her stiff legs (now I’m thinking it is good the ground is not too hard) and put my jacket under hear head to use as a pillow.

She looks to the ground at her left, and then her right, and starts to cry big, round, sudden tears.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

She laughs. “Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”

“But you’re crying.”

“I’ve missed the earth more than anything,” she says. “And seeing things up close. They took my glasses when I arrived, so the only things I can see are those that are right in front of me. There’s so much beauty I’ve missed. The moss and the leaves, and the soil! Everything is so vivid, so luminous, I think I might die of joy.”

“You can’t die of anything out here, Anna,” I insist. “You’re on my watch.”

“Yes, yes, we have to remember that, don’t we? Critical to the plan.”

“The plan?” I ask, hoping desperately that it has something to do with Scottie.

“Sit down with me,” she insists, reaching to pull me by the hand. “Come close so that I can see your beautiful young face. I’ll tell you all about it.”

Chapter Three

“You have a boyfriend,” Anna says, more a statement than a question, and as if she doesn’t really like the idea. Or maybe she’s just frowning at the small slug she’s got on her finger, pulled up close to her eyes so she can really see it.

Either way, I’m not thrilled to have her bring up the one topic I’ve been brooding about forever. No, I don’t have a boyfriend. In fact, I’ve never had a boyfriend. There, the cold hard truth. Not even a date at the mall. I realize this makes me a bit of a freak at age 16. But really, the vast majority of guys at school are idiots, and those that are decent like girls that are… well, not me. Not that I’m going to confess all this to an old lady.

“Not really,” I reply.

“But I’ve seen that brown boy around you,” she argues, her thin eyebrows squeezed as she squints at the slug and then peels him off of her finger.

“You mean Rod?” I ask. It would make sense, since he is part African-American and part Latino. But when would she have seen him with me?

“If that is his name,” she affirms, marveling as she brings up another handful of dirt and moss. “I don’t get names clearly. It’s amazing how much life is outdoors, isn’t it? Just lovely. Thank you, dear Mayden, for bringing me here.”

I could correct her about Mayden being my last name, not my first, but I want to stay on topic. “But Rod and I haven’t been together at the Village forever, I mean, a few years, at least. And you’ve only been here for 18 months.”

Anna smiles and turns her face to mine. “I didn’t mean I have seen him with you. I mean I have seen him around you.” She waves her hand in the air, like she means something more esoteric than literal.

“Oh,” I say, feeling another wave of creepy wash over me. It’s weird enough she’s talking. Now she wants me to believe she sees things around people?

“He’s a friend, not a boyfriend,” I correct

“I see,” she says, as if that changes things. In fact, she seems pretty happy about it. But why would she care? I mean, she’s pretty old. Eighty-eight years old, according to her chart. She could be prejudiced I guess. But that doesn’t seem right. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Scottie does.

“You said there was a plan?” I urge.

“Oh yes, very much so. Your friend Rod will be needed.”

“For what?”

“My dear your cat is ill, very ill,” she says, like it’s news to me.

News or not, I feel a thud land in my gut. It’s one thing to know it, and another to hear it spoken. Especially by someone who claims to ‘see’ things. “But the other day, you said your sister could help.”

“Oh indeed, Bea can help. She will, so long as I’m the one sending you. She’s my twin, and we were very close. You know the location already.”

“The woods by the pier? But that’s government land, despite what you said, and…”

Anna laughs outright. “It is not government land! That’s our trick, to get people to stay away. Even government people stay away, thinking it is all taken care of by someone else. Bea’s brilliant plan from years ago. I was so delighted you found it with my cryptic instructions. What is google earth, anyway?”

“Never mind…I mean, I’ll tell you later, but about Scottie. Is she a vet, or something?”

“Not exactly. But if anyone can help, she can. Be assured of that. So here is our little plan. You’ll go to the pier. Cross from the water. I know you could go through the woods, but she’ll find you right away, and I don’t want your encounter to happen too close to public roads. The water isn’t deep.”

“I don’t care about getting wet. So I should take Scottie with me?”

“No,” she says, sounding alarmed, “not at first. That is why you’ll need your friend. At first, he will need to keep Scottie. You’ll have to win over my sister. Once she understands, she’ll make it safe to have Scottie come near.”

“Safe? Why wouldn’t it be safe?” Suddenly that thud in my stomach is in my throat.

“Things are not what they seem, Mayden.”

No kidding.

“Um, it’s Julie, actually. Mayden is my last name.”

“No,” she says. I wait for her to explain, but she doesn’t. Again her attention wanders to a handful of leaves she’s brought up close to her face.

In the back of my mind, I’m already wondering how I’m going to get Rod to help on short notice. I mean, he owes me, but that may mean more to me than to him.

So how will I find your sister? Will she know I’m coming?”

“She’ll smell you,” Anna says matter-of-factly, like that’s as normal as everything else happening out here.

“Okay, this is getting a little too strange, even for me, and I like strange things. I mean, I can live with ‘things are not what they seem,’ and all that. And I don’t have to know how you can suddenly talk out here in the woods. But this is my cat, my very best friend in the world, and I have to know…”

“I’ve always been able to talk,” she interrupts. “At least on the days I don’t take the medicine they hand out. I’m aware enough to become fully aware when I need to. Like today. And smart enough to know not to give myself away.”

Ah! She’s bouncing around so many topics my head is starting to hurt. “Why would you do that—pretend you’re out of it, when you’re not?”

Anna sighs. “There are things going on you can’t imagine, and wouldn’t want to. If I told you what you would encounter at the water’s edge with my sister, you wouldn’t go. Already you’re thinking you might not. But you’re also thinking you have to, because what other option is there, for your Scottie?”

“How do you know that?” I plead to know. I like to think of not quite so easy to read. But she seems to see right through me.

“I’ve lived a life of magic,” she says, wistful, “and my time is nearing an end. But the magic will live on—must live on—and so we must both prepare and protect those who will come after us. I chose you because you have the markings of one the magic is fond of. The things you see at night? The voices you hear? That is the magic trying to reach you. You’ll go to see my sister today because you love your Scottie, and maybe because of me. But mostly you’ll go for reasons you don’t know. Reasons none of us know for sure. Reasons the magic has in mind.”

I don’t understand, even though somehow, I do. Not only does my pulse race so fast I can feel it surging in my veins, my heart starts to hurt. Like she’s talking about something really, really sad, only I don’t know what it is.

“To be honest,” she continues, “I don’t know if my sister will teach you. Probably not, since you are not in the family. But I promise you’ll feel more at home on that bit of land than you have ever felt anywhere. That may seem hard to believe, because I can see that you have made many long journeys in your short life. You have traveled this world, crossed the ocean many times, and you have not felt at home anywhere. But you will find a home, if my sister will let you onto the property. And for that, I must send my signature with you.”

I hardly know what to think, but already I’m fumbling for my pen and paper.

“No, Mayden,” she says, starting to struggle to sit up, “not that kind.”

I help her, bracing her from behind.

“I’m stable,” she says. “Now, come around and give me your hands.”

I move to kneel in front of her and put my hands up close, where she can see them well.

“Shhh!’ she says suddenly.

My heart surges yet again, beating what seems a thousand times a minute, as I hear a jogger coming near. We are far enough not to be seen, but we could still be heard. It’s an interminable minute as the jogger comes and goes.

Finally, Anna takes my hands in hers. She cups them, like I’m going to hold something, and brings them close to her face again. Slowly, she takes a deep breath, then blows into my hands.

I brace myself as it gets hot, nearly burning. Finally, I have to jerk back. A red color glows from within my hand, like a hot coal that has gotten a blast of oxygen.

“It’s alright,” she says, pulling my hands back and cupping them again. This time, she blows three short breaths. Each time, the fire in my hands glows bright. It’s so hot, I’m tempted to pull away again. Any hotter, and I would have to. But I can take it.

When she is done, she puts her forehead into my hands and immediately they cool to normal.

“I’ve put my scent into you,” she says, her words sounding like some kind of proclamation.

“What does that mean?”

“It means my sister will catch wind of you long before you see her. Be steady when she approaches, for she is not to be spooked. She won’t trust you at first, but hold out your hands. You must be still, and you must be unafraid. Once she has confirmed it is actually I who have sent you, she will help you.”

“Okay,” I say. I mean, what else is there to say?

“Now, you’ll need to return me to my room before you get into trouble.”

Again I feel that heavy sadness sit on my chest.

“I am sure you can understand that there can be no mention of this,” she says as I get things set in the right direction. “I’ve trusted you with sacred information. The magic will keep us both safe so long as we keep silent. I’ve chosen you because it is in your nature to be silent. I only speak this now to be sure we understand each other.”

“I understand. I can’t tell Rod. That’s fine. But does it mean I can’t talk to you, I mean really talk, back at the Village?”

“Absolutely not. Lives are at stake if you break this facade.”

I want to ask a thousand questions, a million questions, but I’m not really sure I want to know too much. Like she said, I might not go, and I know I have to. I help her back into her chair, this time a bit more gracefully, and shove her wheels through the mud. It kills me to think she’ll go back in there, pretending to be some old invalid, without her glasses, or anyone to really talk to. It kills me even more to think how long she’s been living like that. I’d go insane.

It starts to sprinkle and thunder rolls in the distance. There will be hell to pay if she comes in wet. I push as fast as I can, wondering about the magic. I can live with this being all mysterious, and not understanding all the things she has said. Still, there’s one thing I really want to know. Maybe it’s selfish, but maybe I’ll never have the chance to ask again.

“Anna?” I say, just before we reach the main path.

“Yes?”

“With your magical abilities, um, do you ever see the future?”

She nods. “It happens.”

“You said you saw Rod around me, but he’s not my boyfriend. So…Do you think…? Do you see…?”

“Love?” she asks. “For you?”

“Yea, I mean, even a really strong ‘like’ would be awesome. I mean…someday.”

“Right around the corner,” she says, “if I have anything to do with it, which I intend to. Now, we must shush.”

Chapter Four

People probably think I don’t think much, because I don’t talk much. But they would be wrong. So very, very wrong. I think about everything, from every angle, over and over again until it’s like I’ve eaten three meals at once and would practically want to barf my brains out—if I could only get myself to move. I feel like that now, waiting for Rod, watching the rain through the screened in breezeway that attaches the main house to the six-car garage, wondering if the water will be too high to get across to the land Anna says her sister lives on.

Anna. That’s the big mind jam. Ever since leaving her in what now feels like an abysmally lifeless nursing home room, with her playing out her hidden identity (dulled eyes, slumped back, and mumbling nonsense like a pro), I’ve been Rubik’s-cubing my brain to try to make sense of each and every aspect of what she said, including what she didn’t say.

What could she have meant, I wonder for the billionth time, that if anyone could help Scottie, it was her sister? How, if she’s not a vet? She talked about magic, but does she really expect me to believe in that? I mean, hocus pocus is all well and good, and I’m al for learning it. With Scottie’s life is at stake. Don’t I need a little more than that? And anyway, how could the magic keep us safe? From what?

She said I have the markings of “one the magic is fond of” and she knew about the things I’ve been seeing at night, and the voices. Am I really going today because of “reasons the magic has in mind?” What could that mean?

And what does it mean her sister, Bea, will smell me coming? Why did Anna blow her scent into my hands—I mean, seriously? I look at my hands, still confused, still wondering if they really did turn red hot. I mean, I think they did.

More scary, what is too dangerous to take Scottie across the water when I go? And why would Bea care that I’m ‘not in the family?’ Is this some magical mafia? Does chanting out her ancestors names and birth years really give her power?

And how did she know about Rod? Or was it just a good guess? And her seeing me with a boyfriend, a real one, just another guess? Why would she want to have a say in the matter? Why should she care? Even so, that one gets my heart racing. A magical boyfriend, or even just a boyfriend that came by way of magic? That could be so very, very cool.

Best not think of that one right now.

Maybe the biggest why of all—why is she there, pretending to be sick, when she’s not? How does she stand it, how has she been able to stand it for more than a year? It must be important. Really, really important. I mean, for that, it must be life or death important. Right?

“Hey,” Rod says, out of nowhere, making me jump a mile.

“Where did you come from?” I ask, frowning, embarrassed, and spooked. I don’t normally think in terms of life or death.

He turns and points to his car just outside the garage, which I did not notice him drive up in even though we have a nearly half mile long driveway.

“Alabama,” he jokes, supposedly with an Alabama accent.

I give him a smirk. He’s not from Alabama. He was born right here in Annapolis, Maryland, same as me.

“What’s this about?” he asks. “Is it really a Code Lilly?”

Lilly was the code word we used back at the nursing home when we needed each other to do something truly important, usually a cover up, without asking questions. Named after Lilly, the woman who made us crazy with rules that were not important. We watched out for each other, like the time I stole my dad’s ID to get into his private office to see if he really was talking to a private school in Switzerland about my junior high school career, which his second wife threatened me with just before Dad booted her out the door. I didn’t want to ask him, but with the kinds of wives he chooses, I didn’t totally put it past him. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if someone hadn’t….

“Yo, Julie,” he insists, loudly, “what’s the Lilly?”

“Sorry,” I say. “Like I said, it’s a Lilly. Can’t tell you.”

“What’s wrong with Scottie?” he asks, poking a finger through the travel cage. It’s not good if someone can see the problem even through the mesh. Not that I don’t know it’s not good. I just don’t know how to face it not being good, so I keep pretending it can’t be that bad, even though it is. And then someone like Anna, and now Rod, remind me.

“She’s sick. That’s part of it. I need you to take care of her while I do something…and then I’ll come get her.”

“What? This is cat duty?” he protests.

“Hey—how long has it been since I’ve called a Lilly?” I ask, leaning in to him with attitude. “And how many times have you called me with a Lilly in the past six months alone?”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. That’s fair.”

“It’s more than fair.”

“Okay,” he agrees, this time more emphatically. “So where are we going?”

“Just drive, I’ll direct,” I say, covering Scottie’s cage with a towel.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to her, even though I don’t know that. I just know it has to be, somehow. And if it does turn out all right, it will be a miracle—using magic or not. I’ll owe Anna everything.

Rod’s car is spotless, and I can tell the idea of a cat, even a caged one, riding in it is making him nervous. Too bad.

I point the way and he tells me all about his life. I don’t really listen. Nothing much I don’t already know, probably about a girl, and if you just substitute Linda with Lydia or Linnea or Lori. Probably that she’s wonderful, hot, totally into him. He’s cool, interested but not too much. Keeping it real, which is to say being the player. The kind of guy I would never go for, nor would ever go for me.

But friendship is like that, I think as he rattles on, and the rain begins to truly hammer down. If you get in when you’re young, you hang with all the crap that comes later, and just hope they outgrow it. After all, Rod outgrew putting his dirty socks in my face to make me mad. Which is very good, though I liked the part about the socks that made me think I had something close to a real brother.

It makes me wonder about Anna and Bea. Eighty-eight-year-old sisters. Twins, Anna said. They must have seen each other through a lot. And now, knowing they will probably die before too long—at least with what Anna said—and being okay with that? How could you be okay with that? What would it be like if one died before the other, which is most likely…

“So I was thinking,’ Rod says after making a sharp turn and putting his hand on my thigh, which he has never once done before, “maybe, you and I ought to go out sometime.”

His words jar me to the conversation, enough to also make my jaw drop and my tongue practically hang out of my mouth. There’s no way I heard that right. “What?”

“I was just thinking, we know each other. We like each other. You’re hot, I’m hot.”

I totally have to work to not laugh. First, I am not hot. Second, he is not hot. Well, he is, but not my kind of hot. Third, us, together? Suddenly, I can’t help it. I bust a gut. “You…” I can’t even finish the sentence.

“What?” he says, pulling away his hand. “I like you. You like me. And you know you want a boyfriend.”

“I…I…I can’t even begin to say why that would be so not workable.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t date girls because you like them. You date them to say you’re dating them. And dating me would be nothing to tell anyone. Already your friends don’t get why you hang with me sometimes.”

He looks at me like I’ve insulted him. But he knows how whacked this idea is. He has to.

“Don’t give me that look,” I say. “I’ve got a Lilly and you are messing with my brain.”

“My mom and dad are getting a divorce,” he blurts out.

Suddenly, I feel like I’m pinned to the back of the seat. Like the air bag just smacked me back and I don’t really know what hit me. I look at Rod, really look, while he looks ahead, both his hands in a tight grip on the wheel. He’s not kidding. But his dad, his mom? I know them. They know me. They love me.

“They can’t do that,” I say with what little wind is left in me.

“Yea, I know. But they say they are.” You can see this is killing him. Really, really killing him.

“They love each other,” I insist. “It’s not like my dad. You expect him to get married to bimbos and get divorced a few years later. Your parents are different. You’re a family.”

“I guess not anymore,” he says, soft but angry.

I don’t blame him. But I also don’t know what to say. I just want this pain in my chest to stop squeezing the life out of me. I just saw his dad yesterday, and now it’s like, it’s been going on all this time, it must have, because things like this don’t happen overnight, and I didn’t even know. I stare at Rod, who keeps staring at the road. It hits me he’s messed up, right now, like I’ve been even when it was just bimbos pulling the rug out from under me. But I know how to get through it. You learn.

“Look, you don’t want to date me. You just don’t want to be alone… or, I don’t know, something. But I’ll be here for you. Really, I will. This is it, turn here.”

“The pier?” he says, pulling into the small dirt parking lot.

I look out at the end of the pier, going straight out into the bay water, but also branching off with a side pier that reaches toward the land beyond and to the right. Then I look at the ten feet span of water I’ll have to cross. With the rain, I’m going to get wet either way. It makes me wonder if Bea will come out in the rain, and if she doesn’t, how far in I’m willing to go to look for her. Suddenly, it’s spooky. Hansel and Gretel spooky.

I’m torn between talking, actually being there for Rod like I just said, and doing what I have to do for Scottie.

Rod seems to get it, because he unlocks the doors for me. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, we’ll talk more later.”

“Sure,” he says, almost like he regrets saying anything. My brain wants to scramble, but it can’t. Not now.

“So I have to cross the water, and go into the woods. I’ll be back for Scottie as soon as…as soon as I can.”

“Why don’t you just go in from the other side?”

I can’t exactly say it’s because an old lady might catch my scent too close to the road, and that would be dangerous. But I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Code Lilly,” I remind him, still feeling that sinking, pinned back feeling, and all the worry about Scottie, too. Rod will make it through, that much I know for sure. But Scottie…

I look to the land, and see something. Just a flash of something dark that catches my eye. Through the trees, just a few feet into the woods. Someone is already watching me. They are low to the ground, hiding, I think. Or maybe it’s some wild animal… Could I possibly describe the chill going over my body?

“Any guidelines here,” Rod asks, “like ‘if I don’t come out in five minutes’ kind of thing?”

“No,” I reply flatly. “I’ll just be back for Scottie as soon as I can.”

I get out of the car, putting my jacket over my head. It is both to protect me from the rain and protect the jacket from the steadily flowing stream. I follow the pier out, feeling the water beneath me giving just a hint of sway to my footing, then take the offshoot to the end. I look down, feeling nothing but doom. No way to really know how deep it is, given the rain and mud. But I can swim, if I have to. If I had a handful of leaves, I’d toss them to see how fast the current is going. But really, how fast can it be?

I take off my shoes and start to make my way down the few steps at the side of the pier ladder, grateful I don’t have to jump, and comforted that people use this as a platform to swim from—which means it’s not like I’m going where no one has ever gone before.

The water is cold and no more clear up close. My jeans get heavy quick as I sink down. I feel for the bottom, and when I find it, I’m in up to my chest. Guess the tide is high. But the current isn’t bad. Nothing I can’t brace. No, really, this is fine.

It’s not long at all before the worries of the water disappear. In their place, all the worries of what will or won’t be found on land begin to come into far greater clarity. I put out my hands as best I can, to let Anna’s “scent” ride the rain-dampened breeze.

Maybe it’s total crap. But maybe it’s not.