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.