The Power of Love kbaa-2 Page 11

  How had she gotten so close to a guy whose friends were rich and fast? How had she come to rely on someone who, bored with what he had, took stupid risks? Why did she trust a person who played dangerous games with his friends, no matter who it hurt?

  Tristan had warned her once, before that night at the train bridges, before the night that Will was almost killed. But Ivy thought that Gregory had changed since then. In the last four weeks he'd— Well, obviously, she was wrong.

  She got up abruptly from the bench, spilling cappuccino down the front of her.

  Tristan! she cried out silently. Help me, Tristan! Help me get my head straight!

  She ran down the hall to the brighter area of the mall. She was hurrying for the escalator when she slammed into Will.

  The girl with him, an auburn-haired girl whom Ivy recognized from Eric's party, swore softly.

  Will stared at Ivy, and she stared back. She could hardly stand it, the way he looked at her, the way he could hold her captive with his eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" Ivy demanded.

  "What's it to you?" the girl snapped.

  Ivy ignored her. "Don't tell me," she said to Will, "you just had the feeling, you just thought— somehow you just knew—" She saw a flicker of light in his eyes, and she glanced away quickly.

  The girl with him was squinching up her face, looking at Ivy as if she were crazy; Ivy felt a little crazy. "II have to get to work," she said, but he held her still with his eyes.

  "If you need me," Will told her, "call me." Then he turned his head slightly, as if someone had spoken over his shoulder.

  Ivy brushed past him and hurried up the escalator, climbing faster than the steps moved, and rushed to the shop.

  "Oh, dear," Lillian said when Ivy burst through the door.

  "Oh, my!" said Betty.

  Ivy was panting, from anger as much as running. Now she stopped to look down the front of her pale green dress. It was mud-colored.

  "We should soak that right away."

  "No, it's okay," she said, trying to catch her breath, breathing slowly and deeply to calm herself down.

  "I'll just sponge it off." She moved toward the rest room in the back, but Betty was already going through one rack of costumes, and Lillian was gazing thoughtfully at another.

  "I'll just sponge it off," Ivy repeated. "I'll be out in a minute."

  Lillian and Betty hummed to themselves.

  "It's an old dress anyway," Ivy added.

  Sometimes the old ladies played deaf.

  "Something simple," she finally begged. Last time she had ended up as an alien — enhanced with batteries that made her blink and beep.

  The sisters did keep it simple, giving her a soft 'white blouse, gathered and worn off the shoulders, and a colorful skirt.

  "Oh, what a lovely gypsy she makes," Lillian said to Betty.

  "We should dress her up every day," Betty agreed.

  They smiled at her like two doting great-aunts.

  "Don't forget to turn out the light in the back, love," Betty said, then the sisters went home to their seven cats.

  Ivy breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad to be running the shop alone for the next two hours. It kept her busy enough to keep her mind off what she had just seen.

  She was angry — but at herself more than at Gregory. He was who he was. He hadn't changed his ways. It was she who had made him into the perfect guy.

  At 9:25, Ivy was finished with her last customer. The mall had become virtually empty. Five minutes later she dimmed the lights in the shop, locked the door from the inside, and started counting the money and adding up receipts.

  She was startled by someone knocking on the glass. "Gypsy girl," he called.

  "Gregory."

  For a moment she considered leaving him out there, putting back the glass wall that he had erected between them last January. She walked toward him slowly, unlatched the store door, and cracked it open three inches.

  "Am I disturbing you?" he asked.

  "I have to total the register and close up."

  "I'll keep quiet," he promised.

  Ivy opened the door a few inches more and he entered.

  She started toward the cash register, then turned back quickly. "I may as well get this out of the way now," she said.

  Gregory waited; he looked as if he knew something big was coming.

  "I saw you and Eric and the other guy — that dealer — making an exchange."

  "Oh, that," he said, as if it were nothing.

  "Oh, that?" she repeated.

  "I thought you were going to tell me something like, from now on, we were never to see each other alone."

  Ivy looked down, pulling and twisting a tassel on her skirt. It would probably be better if they didn't.

  "Oh," he said, "I see. You were going to say that, too."

  Ivy didn't answer him. She didn't honestly know.

  Gregory walked over to her and laid his hand on top of hers, keeping her from yanking off the tassel.

  "Eric does drugs," he said, "you know that. And he's gotten himself in deep, real deep, with our friendly neighborhood dealer. I bailed him out."

  Ivy looked up into Gregory's eyes. Against his tan, they looked lighter, like a silver sea on a misty day.

  "I don't blame you. Ivy, for thinking I'm doing the wrong thing. If I thought Eric would stop when he ran out of money, I wouldn't pay up for him. But he won't stop, and they'll go after him."

  He let go of her hand. "Eric's my friend. He's been my friend since grade school. I don't know what else to do."

  Ivy turned away, thinking about how loyal Gregory was to Eric and how disloyal she had been to Suzanne.

  "Go ahead. Say it," Gregory challenged her. "You don't like what I'm doing. You think I should find myself better friends."

  She shook her head. "I don't blame you for what you're doing," she said. "Eric's lucky to have you for a friend, as lucky as I am. As lucky as Suzanne is."

  He turned her face toward him with just one finger. "Finish up your work," he said, "and we can talk some more. We'll go out somewhere, not home, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Are you going to wear that?" he asked, smiling.

  "Oh! I forgot. I spilled cappuccino on my dress. It's soaking in the basin."

  He laughed. "I don't mind. You look… uh, exotic," he said, his eyes dropping down to her bare shoulders.

  She tingled a little.

  "I guess I'll have to find a costume for me."

  He started looking over the wall of hats and wigs. A few minutes later he called out to her, "How's this?"

  Ivy looked up from behind the register and laughed out loud.

  He was wearing a frizzy red wig, a top hat, and a polka-dotted bow tie.

  "Dashing," she said.

  Gregory tried on one costume after another— a Klingon mask. King Kong's head and chest, a huge flowered hat and boa.

  "Clown!" said Ivy.

  He grinned at her and waved his feathery stole.

  "If you want to try on a whole outfit, there are fitting rooms in the back. The one on the left is large, with mirrors everywhere. You get all angles," she told him. "I'm really sorry Philip isn't here to play with you."

  "When you're done, you can play with me," Gregory replied.

  Ivy worked a little longer. When she finally closed the books, she saw that he had disappeared into the back.

  "Gregory?" she called.

  "Yes, my sveet," he answered with an accent.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Come here, my sveet," he replied. "I've been vaiting for you."

  She smiled to herself. "What are you up to?"

  Ivy tiptoed to the dressing room and slowly pushed open the swinging door. Gregory had flattened himself against the wall. Now he turned quickly, jumping in front of her.

  "Oh!" she gasped. She wasn't acting; Gregory made a startlingly handsome vampire in a white shirt with a deep V-neck and a high-collared black cape. His dark hair wa
s slicked back, and his eyes danced with mischief.

  "Hello, my sveet."

  "Tell me," she said, recovering from the surprise, "if you put in your fangs, will you be able to pronounce w´s?"

  "No vay. Thees is how I speak." He pulled her into the room. "And may I say, my sveet, vat a lovely neck you have!"

  Ivy laughed. He put in his long teeth and began to nuzzle her neck, tickling her.

  "Where do I thrust in the wooden stake?" she asked, pushing him back a little. "Right there?" She poked him lightly where his shirt gaped.

  Gregory caught her hand and held it for a long moment. Then he took out his teeth and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. He pulled her closer to him. "I think you've already done it, thrust it straight through my heart," he told her.

  Ivy looked up at him, barely breathing. His eyes burned like gray coals beneath his lowered lashes.

  "What a lovely neck," he said, bending his head, his dark hair falling forward. He kissed her softly on the throat. He kissed her again and again, slowly moving his mouth up to hers.

  His kisses became more insistent. Ivy answered with gentler kisses. He pressed her to him, held her tightly, then suddenly released her, dropping down before her. He knelt in front of her, reaching up to her, his strong, caressing hands moving slowly over her body, pulling her down to him. "It's okay," he said softly. "It's okay."

  They clung to each other and swayed. Then Ivy opened her eyes. To the left, to the right, reflected in front of her, reflected from behind her — from every angle in the mirrored dressing room — she could see herself and Gregory wrapped around each other.

  She pulled herself free of, him. "No!" Her hands went up to her face, covering her eyes.

  Gregory tried to pull her hands away from her face. She turned to the wall, cowering in the corner, but she couldn't get away from the reflection of the girl who had been kissing Gregory.

  "This isn't right," she said.

  "Isn't right?"

  "It isn't a good thing. For you, or me, or Suzanne." "Forget Suzanne! What matters is you and me."

  "Don't forget Suzanne," Ivy pleaded softly. "She's wanted you for a long time. And I, I want to be near you, I want to talk to you, I want to touch you. And kiss you. How could I help it, when you've been so wonderful to me? But, Gregory, I know—" She took a deep breath. "I know I'm still in love with Tristan."

  "And you think I don't know that?" He laughed. "You've made it kind of obvious. Ivy."

  He took a step closer to her and reached out for, her hand. "I know you're still in love with him and still hurting for him. Let me help ease the pain."

  He held her hand softly in both of his. "Think about it, Ivy. Just think about it," he said. She nodded silently, her free hand toying with the tassel on her skirt.

  "I'll change my clothes now," he told her, "and we'll go home in our own cars. I'll take a long route so we don't arrive at the same time. We won't even see each other going up to our rooms. So—" He lifted her hand to his mouth. "This is my good-night kiss," he said, gently touching his lips to her fingertips.

  When Tristan awoke, only his soft glow lit the dressing room, shining back at him from each of the mirrors. But the darkness that he felt surrounding him in the empty room was more than the absence of light. The darkness felt like something real in itself, a soft and ominous shape, a presence that angered and frightened Tristan.

  "Gregory," he said aloud, and the scenes he had witnessed hours earlier flashed through his mind. For a moment he thought the room was lit. Had Gregory really fallen in love with Ivy? Tristan wondered. And was he telling the truth about Eric and the dealer? Tristan had to know, had to get inside his head.

  "You're next, Gregory," he said. "You're next."

  "Would you stop talking to yourself? How's a girl supposed to get her beauty steep?"

  Tristan pushed through the dressing room door into the shop, which was lit by two dim night-lights and an exit sign. Lacey was stretched out at the feet of King Kong.

  "I waited for you at your Riverstone Rise condo," she said, then held up a dead flower. "Brought you this. There were others, just as dead, forming a T on your grave. Figured you hadn't been there for a while."

  "I haven't."

  "I checked out Eric," she continued, "just in case you'd gotten lost in that fun house otherwise known as his mind. Then I checked out Ivy, who's not having a good night — so what else is new?"

  "Is she okay?" Tristan asked. He had wanted to follow her home and get the rest he needed there. Then he could have made sure that Ella was close by; he could have summoned Philip if she needed him. But he knew if he had gone with her, he'd have stayed up all night watching. "Is she okay?"

  "She's Ivy," Lacey replied, fluffing up her hair. "So tell me, what did I miss in this soap opera? Gregory's just as restless as she is. What's eating him?"

  Tristan told Lacey what had happened earlier that evening, as well as what he had experienced inside Eric's head — the memory of the scene at Caroline's house, with its overwhelming feelings of frustration and fear. Lacey listened for a bit, then paced around the shop. She materialized her fingers, and tried on a mask, turning to face Tristan for a moment, then trying on another.

  "Maybe this isn't the first time Eric's gotten himself in deep," Lacey said. "What if Eric used to hit on Caroline for drug money — the way he now hits on Gregory? And what if that night, when he needed a payment, Caroline didn't come through?"

  "No, it's not that simple," Tristan replied, a little too quickly. "I know it's not that simple."

  She raised an eyebrow at him. "You know that, or you just want to believe that?" she asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Seems to me you'd find it just a tiny bit satisfying to prove Gregory guilty. Poor, innocent, handsome Gregory," she said, baiting Tristan. "Maybe the only things he's guilty of are playing games with girls and falling for your girl — and your girl falling for him," she added slyly.

  "You can't really believe that!" Tristan said.

  She shrugged. "I'm not saying Gregory isn't a jerk sometimes, but other times, at least one time, he had a good enough heart to save the neck of his messed-up friend." She ran her tongue over her teeth and smiled. "I think he's rich, good-looking, and innocent."

  "If he's innocent, his memory will prove it," Tristan said.

  Lacey shook her head, suddenly serious. "This time he may throw you as far as the moon."

  "I'll take my chances, and I'll succeed, Lacey. After all, I've had such an excellent teacher."

  She squinted at him.

  "You were right. Eric was easier to slip into when he was sleeping lightly. I'm going to try the same thing with Gregory."

  "That will teach me not to teach you!"

  Tristan cocked his head. "It ought to get you some points, Lacey — angel points for helping me complete my mission."

  She turned away.

  "And those points might help you finish yours. Isn't that what you want?"

  Lacey shrugged, keeping her back turned to him.

  Tristan looked at her, puzzled. "Is there something I don't get?"

  "A lot, Tristan." She sighed. "What do you want me to do with this flower?"

  "Leave it, I guess. It was nice of you to bring it, but I'll use up too much strength trying to carry it. Listen, I've got to get going."

  She nodded.

  "Thanks, Lacey."

  She still didn't turn around.

  "You're an angel!" he said.

  "Mmm."

  Tristan hurried off and arrived in Ivy's bedroom just as die sky was beginning to lighten. It was so tempting to materialize one finger and run it along her cheek.

  I love you. Ivy. I've never stopped loving you.

  Just one soft touch, that's all he wanted. What would it cost, one soft touch?

  He left her before he gave in to the temptation and used up energy that he needed for Gregory.

  Gregory was sleeping restlessly. Tristan looked qui
ckly through his music collection and found a CD he was familiar with. Materializing two fingers, he slipped the disk into the player and turned the volume on tow. He nudged Gregory, then he began to follow the music himself, saying the words, concentrating on the song's images.

  But for some reason, Tristan kept getting mixed up. He'd thought he knew the lyrics by heart. He refocused, then realized his images were intermixing with other images — Gregory's.

  I'm in! Lacey, I'm in!

  Suddenly he could feel Gregory searching for him, reaching out blindly, desperately, the way a sleeper gropes for a clock when an alarm goes off. Tristan held himself still, absolutely still, and the music floated Gregory away from him.

  Tristan sagged with relief. How far could Gregory blast him from his mind? he wondered.

  But every thought like that was a thought different from Gregory's and would only alert him again.

  Tristan couldn't think about what he was doing but simply had to do it.

  He had chosen to focus on the floor lamp in Caroline's living room. The day he and Lacey searched the house, he had noticed it standing next to the chair where the police had found Caroline's body. The halogen lamp, with its long pole and metal disk at the top, was so common it wouldn't create suspicion, but it might trigger a visual memory of Caroline sitting in the chair on that late-May afternoon.

  Tristan focused on it. He circled it with his mind. He reached out for it as if he would switch it on.

  And he found himself standing in Caroline's living room. She was sitting in the chair, looking back at him, slightly amused. Then she suddenly got up. The color was high in her cheeks, long red fingers of it, rising as it did in Gregory's cheeks when he was angry. But there was also a victorious gleam in her eyes.

  She walked toward a desk. Tristan, inside Gregory's memory, stayed where he was, close to the lamp.

  Caroline picked up a piece of paper and waved it at him, as if she was taunting him. He felt Gregory's hands draw up into fists.

  Then she walked toward him. He thought she was telling him to look at die paper, but he couldn't hear die words dearly. His anger had grown so quickly, die fury in him was so great, that his heart pounded, his blood rushed through him, singing in his ears.