"The envelope it came in had Caroline's name and address on it," Ivy said. "We've been searching her house but can't find what it goes to. Can you work on it? You know, keep it for a while and think about it and see if anything comes to you?"
Tristan saw Beth draw back. "Oh, Ivy, I-" "Please."
"She's afraid," Tristan said softly to Ivy. "You have to help her. Her own predictions have frightened her."
"I'm not asking you to predict anything," Ivy said quickly. "Just hold it and think about it and see what comes to you. No matter how strange or ordinary it seems, it may be a clue to tell us where to look."
Beth looked down at the key. "I wish you hadn't asked me, Ivy. When I do something like this, it stirs up all kinds of other things in my mind, things I don't understand, things that frighten me sometimes." She turned and looked longingly at the computer screen on her desk, where the cursor blinked, waiting for her to return to her story. "I wish you hadn't asked me."
"Okay, I understand," Ivy said, picking up the key.
Beth's hand closed around Ivy's. Tristan could feel how cold and clammy it was. "Leave it with me till tomorrow," she said. "I'll give it back to you at school. Maybe something will come to me."
Ivy threw her arms around her friend. "Thank you. Thank you. I wouldn't have asked you if it weren't important."
A few minutes later Ivy headed home. "You're still with me," she said as she turned up the long driveway.
The happiness in her voice warmed Tristan, but he could not throw off his weariness and a growing sense of dread that the darkness would soon overtake him. What if he was in the darkness when Ivy needed him most?
"I'll stay with you until you get to your room," he said. "Then I'll return to Beth's."
As they passed a bush Ivy suddenly bent down. "Ella? Ella, come out and say hello. Your buddy is with me."
The cat's green eyes glinted at them, but she didn't budge.
"Ella, come on, what's wrong?"
Ella mewed, and Ivy reached into the bushes to pull her out. She lifted up the cat, rubbing her in her favorite spot around her ears. The cat didn't purr.
"What's wrong with you?" Ivy said, then gasped. Tristan felt the shudder run through her as if it rip pled through his own body. Ivy turned the cat over gently. Along her right flank was a stripe where fur had been roughly stripped away. Her pink skin was scraped bloody and raw.
"Ella, how did this-" But Ivy didn't finish the question. She realized the answer the same moment Tristan did. "Gregory," she said.
All night Ivy had dreams about Ella, long, winding dreams in which Gregory chased the cat and Ivy chased Gregory. Then just as she got close, he turned on her. Ivy's sleep did not grow peaceful until after the sky was light. Now, with eyes closed against the brightness, she counted the muted gongs from the clock in the dining room. They sounded a million miles away-five million, six million, seven million, eight million-"Eight!" She sat up quickly in bed.
Ella, who had been snuggled close, pressed her body hard against Ivy's, burying her face in Ivy's side. As gently as possible, Ivy lifted the cat onto her lap. When she saw the wound again, tears came to her eyes.
"Okay, girl, let's clean you up."
She carefully lifted Ella off the bed and carried her toward the bathroom.
"Ivy, Ivy, aren't you ready yet?" her mother called from downstairs.
Ivy turned and walked out to the hall, staying close enough to the wall to remain hidden from Maggie.
"Almost," she called down.
"Everyone else is gone," Maggie shouted back at her. "I'm leaving now, too."
"See you," Ivy said with relief.
She heard the click-click of her mother's heels on the hardwood floors and the sound of the back door closing. Then she lifted Ella up to her face to look at the wound again. The cut was straight, as if made by a sharp razor.
The previous night Tristan had had to use all of his powers of persuasion to restrain her from charging into Gregory's room. This morning she knew Tristan had been right to hold her back. She'd confront Gregory, but when she was cool and calm. Gregory wanted to see her upset, and her anger would just encourage him.
"Okay, baby, everything's going to be all right," Ivy soothed Ella as she reentered her room.
The morning sun was high enough now to flood the room and stream across the top of her bureau, brightening every speck of dust and picking up flecks of gold paint in the frame around Tristan's picture.
Ivy gazed at the picture for a moment, then pulled back. In front of it were shavings of black hair-Ella's fur. Ivy held Ella against her with one arm and reached out to touch the soft fur. Then she picked up a lock of curling gold hair.
Her hair! Someone had cut a piece of her own hair.
Gregory, of course. Ivy sank down into a chair next to the bureau and rocked back and forth, hugging Ella.
When had he done it? How?
Every night since the day Tristan had told her what he knew about Gregory, Ivy had locked the bedroom door that led to the hall. There was another entrance, however, through the bathroom that connected her room and Philip's. Ivy had rigged the latch on that door so that Philip could push it open in an emergency, but not without a lot of effort and noise.
Somehow Gregory had worked it silently. Her skin prickled all over, thinking of him holding a pair of scissors, bending over her while she was asleep.
Ivy took a deep breath and stood up again. She cleaned up Ella, then wiped off the top of the bureau, her hands still trembling. Then on a sudden impulse she rushed into Gregory's room, wanting to see for herself the scissors, the razor, the proof of what he had done.
She started picking up and throwing papers and clothes and magazines.
From between the pages of_ Rolling Stoneø_ a piece of art paper slipped out. It was folded in half and had dark printing inside. When Ivy opened it, her heart stopped. She recognized the handwriting instantly: the strong, slanting style was identical to that of the captions on Will's cartoons.
She read through the note quickly, then read it again very slowly, word by word, like a first grader surprised by each set of printed letters and what they meant. As she read Will's note she kept telling herself that these weren't his words-they couldn't be. But he had signed it.
"Gregory," he had written, "I want more. If you're serious about it, you'll bring twice the amount. I'm taking a chance, I'm an accomplice now-you've got to make it worth it. Bring twice the money if you want the cap and jacket."
Ivy closed her eyes and leaned against Gregory's desk. She felt as if her heart were being squeezed, transformed into a small stone. When all was done, there would be nothing soft left inside her, nothing left that could bleed… or cry.
She opened her eyes again. Tristan had been right all along about Gregory and Will. But Tristan hadn't guessed how Will would betray her-how he'd cover for Gregory and leave her vulnerable if paid the right price.
Ivy felt beaten, not by Gregory's hatred and dark threats, but by the pale heartlessness of Will. What was the point of trying? she thought There was too much going against her. She slipped the letter back in the magazine. Then she saw a tattered book about Babe Ruth, one of Philip's paperbacks, on top of Gregory's pile.
She had to keep going. Philip was in this with her.
Opening the magazine again, she snatched up the letter, then hurried back across the hall to dress for school. Before leaving the house that morning, Ivy brought Ella's water bowl and dry food up to her room.
She left Ella there, locking both the bath-room and hall doors.
Ivy had missed homeroom. When she entered English class with a late slip, Beth lifted her head. She looked tired and worried. Ivy winked, and Beth smiled a little.