Hannah sat up in bed, gasping.
For several moments she didn't know where she was. Through a gap in her curtains she could see the
gray light of dawn-just like Hana's gray dawn-and she thought she still might be in the nightmare. But
then, slowly, objects in the room became clear. Her bookshelves, crammed with books and crowned
with one near-perfect trilobite fossil on a stand. Her dresser, its top piled with things that belonged in
other places. Her posters of Velociraptor and T. Rex.
I'm me. I remember me.
She had never been so happy to be herself, or to be awake.
But that dream she'd just had-that had happened to her. A long time ago, sure, but nothing like so long
ago as, say, when the T. Rex had been alive. Not to mention the trilobite. A few thousand years was
yesterday to Mother Earth.
And it was all real, she knew that now. She accepted it. She had fallen asleep and her subconscious had
pulled back the veil of the past and allowed her to see more of Hana's story.
Thierry, she thought. The people of Hana's clan tortured him. God knows for how long-I'm just glad I
didn't have to watch more.
But it puts sort of a different twist on things, doesn't it?
She still didn't know how the story ended. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. But it was hard to
blame him for whatever had happened afterward.
An awful feeling was settling in Hannah's stomach. All those things I said to him-terrible things, she
thought. Why did I say all that? I was so angry-I lost control completely. I hated him and all I cared
about was hurting him. I really thought he must be evil, pure evil.
I told him to go away forever. How could I have done that? He's my soulmate. There was a strange
emptiness inside her, as if she'd been hollowed out like a tree struck by lightning.
Inside the emptiness, a voice like a cool dark wind whispered, But you told Paul that he kept killing you
over and over. Is that justifiable? He's a vampire, a predator, and that makes him evil by nature. Maybe
he can't help being what he is, but there's no reason for you to be destroyed again because of it. Are you
going to let him kill you in this life, too?
She was torn between pity for him and the deep instinct that he was dangerous. The cool wind voice
seemed to be the voice of reason.
Go ahead and feel sorry for him, it said. Just keep him far away from you.
She felt better having come to a decision, even if it was a decision that left her heart numb. She glanced
around the room, focused on the clock by her bedside, and blinked.
Oh, my God-school.
It was quarter to seven and it was a Friday. Sacaja-wea High seemed light-years away, like someplace
she'd visited in a past life.
But it's not. It's your life, now, the only one that counts. You have to forget all that other stuff about
reincarnation and vampires and the Night World. You have to forget about him.
You sent him away and he's gone. So let's get on with living in the normal world.
Just thinking this way made her feel braced and icy, as if she'd had a cold shower. She took a real
shower, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, and she had breakfast with her mother, who cast her several
thoughtful glances but didn't ask any questions until they were almost finished.
Then she said, "Did everything go all right at Dr. Winfield's yesterday evening?"
Had it only been yesterday evening? It seemed like a week ago. Hannah chewed a bite of cornflakes
and finally said, "Uh, why?"
"Because he called while you were in the shower. He seemed..." Her mother stopped and searched
for a word. "Anxious. Worse than worried but not as bad as hysterical."
Hannah looked at her mother's face, which was narrow, intelligent, and tanned by the Montana sun.
Her eyes were more blue than Hannah's gray, but they were direct and discerning.
She wanted to tell her mother the whole story- but when she had time to do it, and after she'd had . time
to think it out. There was no urgency. It was all behind her now, and it wasn't as if she needed advice.
"Paul's anxious a lot," she said judiciously, sticking to the clean edge of truth. "I think that's why he
became a psychologist. He tried a sort of hypnosis thing on me yesterday and it didn't exactly work out."
"Hypnosis?" Her mother's eyebrows lifted. "Hannah, I don't know if you should be getting into that-"
"Don't worry; I'm not. It's over. We're not going to try it again."
"I see. Well, he said for you to call him to set up another appointment. I think he wants to see you soon."
She reached over suddenly and took Hannah's hand. "Honey, are you feeling any better? Are you still
having bad dreams?"
Hannah looked away. "Actually-I sort of had one last night. But I think I understand them better now.
They don't scare me as much." She squeezed her mother's hand. "Don't worry, I'm going to be fine."
"All right, but-" Before her mother could finish the sentence a horn honked outside.
"That's Chess. I'd better run." Hannah gulped down the dregs of her orange juice and dashed into her
bedroom to grab her backpack. She hesitated a split second by the wastebasket, then shook her head.
No. There was no reason to take the black rose ring with her. It was his, and she didn't want to be
reminded of him.
She slung the backpack over her shoulder, yelled goodbye to her mother, and hurried outside.
Chess's car was parked in the driveway. As Hannah started toward it she had an odd impression. She
seemed to see a figure standing behind the car-a tall figure, face turned toward her. But her eyes were
dazzled by the sun and at that instant she involuntarily blinked. When she could see again, there was
nothing in that spot except a little swirl of dust.
"You're late," Chess said when Hannah got in the car. Chess, whose real name was Catherine Clovis,
was petite and pretty, with dark hair cut in a cap to frame her face. But just now her slanted green cat
eyes and Mona Lisa smile reminded Hannah too much of Ket. It was disconcerting; she had to glance
down to make sure Chess wasn't wearing a deerskin outfit.
"You okay?" Now Chess was looking at her with concern.
"Yeah." Hannah sank back against the upholstery, blinking. "I think I need to get my eyes checked,
though." She glanced at the spot where the phantom figure had been-nothing. And Chess was just Chess:
smart, savvy, and faintly exotic, like an orchid blooming in the badlands.
"Well, you can do it when we go shopping this weekend," Chess said. She slanted Hannah a glance.
"We must go shopping. Next week's your birthday and I need something new to wear."
Hannah grinned in spite of herself. "Maybe a new necklace," she muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." I wonder what happened to Ket, she thought. Even if Hana died young, at least Ket must
have grown up. I wonder if she married Ran, the guy who wanted to "mate" her?
"Are you sure you're okay?" Chess said.
"Yeah. Sorry; I'm a little brain-dead. I didn't sleep well last night." Her plan for Chess was exactly the
same as for her mother. Tell her everything-in a little while. When she was less upset about it.
Chess was putting an arm around her, steering skillfully with the other. "Hey, we've got to get you in
shape, kid. I mean, first it's your birthday, then graduation. Isn't that psychologist doing anything to help?"
Hannah muttered, "Maybe too much."
That night, she was restless again. The school day had passed uneventfully. Hannah and her mother had
had dinner peacefully. But after her mother went out to a meeting with some local rockhounds, Hannah
found herself wandering around the house, too wound up to read or watch TV, too distracted to go
anywhere.
Maybe I need some air, she thought-and then she caught herself and gave a self-mocking grin.
Sure. Air. When what you're really thinking is that he just might be out there. Admit it.
She admitted it. Not that she thought Thierry was very likely to be hanging around her backyard,
considering what she'd said to him.
And why should you want to talk to him? she demanded of herself. He may not be completely and
totally and pointlessly evil, but he's still no boy scout.
But she couldn't shake a vague feeling of wanting
to go outside. At last she went out on the porch, telling herself that she'd spend five minutes here and
then go back inside.
It was another beautiful night, but Hannah couldn't enjoy it. Everything reminded her too much of him.
She could feel herself softening toward him, weakening. He had looked so stricken, so devastated, when
she told him to go away....
"Am I interrupting?"
Hannah started. She wheeled toward the voice.
Standing on the other side of the porch was a tall girl. She looked a year or so older than Hannah, and
she had long hair, very long hair, so black that it seemed to reflect moonlight like a raven's wing. She was
extraordinarily beautiful-and Hannah recognized her.
She's the one from my vision. That flash of a girl telling me that Thierry was cunning. She's the one who
warned me about him.
And she's the figure I saw behind Chess's car this morning. She must have been watching me then.
"I'm sorry if I scared you," the girl said now, smiling. "You looked so far away, and I didn't mean to
startle you. But I'd really like to talk to you if you have a few minutes."
"I..." Hannah felt strangely tongue-tied. Something about the girl made her uncomfortable, in a way that
went beyond the dreamlike weirdness of recognizing somebody she'd never seen in her present life.
But she's your friend, she told herself. She's helped you in the past; she probably wants to help you again
now. You should be grateful to her.
"Sure," Hannah said. "We can talk." She added somewhat awkwardly, "I remember you."
"Wonderful. Do you really? That makes everything so much easier."
Hannah nodded. And told herself again that this girl was her friend, and nobody to be hostile to or wary