"About Tristan? Never." The purple mist passed Ivy and stretched out on the pillows across the top of her bed.
"You're worried. I can hear it in your voice," Ivy insisted.
"I'm worried he'll fly off somewhere and I'll get stuck with his job," Lacey retorted.
Ivy sat down on the bed, and Ella raised her head. "It was nice of you to come when you knew I needed help."
"I didn't come for you."
"I know," Ivy said.
"You_ know,"Ì Lacey mocked. The purple shimmer sprang from the pillow like the glimmering ghost of a cat. "And just what0 do you think you know?"
"That you care a lot about Tristan," Ivy said aloud. That you're in love with him, she thought.
"That you care so much, you'd help someone you absolutely can't stand and wish would disappear, just to make it better for him."
For once Lacey didn't say anything.
"As soon as I see Tristan again, I'll tell him you came when I called," Ivy added.
"Oh, I don't need anybody scoring points for me," Lacey said quickly.
Ivy shrugged. "Okay, I won't tell him."
Lacey came closer to the bed. Ivy saw Ella's injured paw being lifted up.
"Nasty."
"Lacey"-Ivy's voice shook a little-"can you talk to cats? Can you explain to Ella that I didn't know Gregory had a way of getting in? Could you tell her I would never have left her if I'd known, and that tomorrow I'll" "Who do you think I am," Lacey interrupted, "Dr. Doolittle? Snow White?
Do you see little birdies, landing on my hands?"
"I can't even see your hands," Ivy reminded her.
"I'm an angel, and I can no more talk cat than you can."
Ella began to purr.
"But I'll tell you what I can do," Lacey said in a softer voice. "What I'm gonna do. If it works," she added.
"It's kind of an experiment."
Ivy waited patiently.
"First, lie down," Lacey commanded. "Relax. Relax! No, wait. Get a candle."
Ivy rose and searched through her desk drawers, at last holding up an old Christmas candle that Philip had given her. "Where do you want it?"
"Somewhere where you can see it," replied Lacey.
Ivy set it on her bedside table and lit it. At the same time she saw Ella get up as if being prodded. The cat limped down to the other end of the bed.
"Now lie down with your feet at this end, next to Ella," Lacey said.
Ivy stretched out on her bed as directed, and the bedroom light clicked off.
"Look at the candle. Relax!" Lacey barked.
Ivy laughed a little. Lacey wasn't exactly a pro at making someone else feel comfortable. But after several minutes of staring at the warm and flickering flame, Ivy did begin to relax.
"Good. Don't fight me now," Lacey said in a quieter voice. "Keep your eyes on that candle. Let your thoughts, your mind, your spirit float toward it, leaving your body behind. Leave it with me so I can do my work."
Ivy watched the flame, watched how it shaped and reshaped itself. She imagined herself like a moth, flying toward the fire, circling it. Then she felt the sole of her foot growing hot. She felt as if a burning hand were wrapped around her foot, and she fought the reflex to pull away.
Watch the candle, watch the candle, she told herself as the heat became more and more intense. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, the burning lessened. There was a cool touch, then a tingling feeling.
"Done."
Lacey's voice was so weak that Ivy had to strain to hear it. Even in the darkness, Ivy could barely see Lacey's shimmer now. She sat up quickly.
"Are you all right?"
Lacey didn't answer the question. "Turn on the light," she said, her voice as thin as thread.
Ivy got up to do so and, without thinking, stepped down hard on her injured foot. There was no pain, not even a tingling. She switched on the light, then sat down quickly and lifted up her foot. Her sole was smoother than the palm of her hand, smoother than the sole of her other foot, and without a trace of the cuts. Ella's paw was also healed.
"Yes! Oh, yes!" Lacey congratulated herself. "Lacey, you are good!" she said, but her voice still rasped like an old woman's, and her purple shimmer lay low to the floor.
"Lacey, what's happened to you?" Ivy asked. "Are I you okay?"
There was no answer.
"Talk to me," Ivy demanded.
"Tired."
"Tristan," Ivy called softly on the outside, but loudly on the inside. "Please come. Something's happened to Lacey. You have to help her, Tristan. Angels, help Lacey!"
"Just tired," murmured Lacey.
"You shouldn't have tried that. You did to much," Ivy said, frightened.
"I don't know how to help you. Tell me what to do."
"Go. Gregory's in Philip's room now. Go." Ivy didn't move.
"Take Ella," Lacey said weakly. "Let him see. It'll be fun."
"No. I'm not leaving you like this." "I said go! Make it worth my time."
"Stubborn angel," Ivy muttered. She picked up Ella and reluctantly started toward the door. As she passed through it she heard Lacey say softly, "You're all right, Ivy, you're all right."
"What did you say?" Ivy called back. But Lacey wouldn't repeat it.
Carrying Ella like a baby over her shoulder, Ivy walked into Philip's room. When Gregory saw her standing in the doorway, his eyes brightened.
He's hoping I'll scream like I'm crazy and accuse him, Ivy thought. She smiled at him and saw him glance down. His smile flattened when she padded in comfortably barefoot and without pain.
"Ella wants to say good night," she said. Ella was squirming wildly in her arms, wanting to get as far away as possible from Gregory.
Though Ivy felt bad about restraining Ella, she knew at she could score some points against Gregory, psyhological points that might keep her and Ella safe for a while. She purposely kept Ella's shaved flank next to her. The wounds were healed, but the skin was still re. Sitting on Philip's bed, Ivy drew her feet up next to her so Gregory could see her smooth, bare soles.
She saw the flicker, the momentary puzzlement in his eyes, and then the mask was back in place- the nice-big-brother mask he wore while putting Philip to bed. Of course, he could think of an explanation for her unscarred feet: she had known something was up, she had looked before she stepped out of the shower and avoided the glass.
"I want to give Ella a hug," Philip said.
He reached for her, but Ivy held on tightly to the wriggling cat.
"What's wrong with kitty?" Gregory asked.
"I don't know. I think she wants to play."
Gregory smirked.
"Is that it, Ella?" Ivy asked. "Feeling your oats, girl?" She flipped the cat on her back as if she were going to scratch her tummy.
That's when Gregory saw it, the small foot with its tender pads as pink and smooth as a kitten's. His eyes flicked to Ella's other feet, as if he thought he had forgotten which one he had hurt. Ivy kept the cat on her back, giving Gregory plenty of time to look at her paws. His breathing became shallow. The color drained from his face.
"I want to give her a hug," Philip said again.
"Her, and not me?" Ivy teased, then set Ella in his lap. The cat was off like a shot, running back to Ivy's bedroom, too fast for an animal with an injured paw, too fast for anyone to notice the bar strip of skin on her side.
"Oh, well," Ivy said, leaning over to kiss Philip. "Good night, sleep tight." She brushed past Gregory. "Don't forget to pray to your angels."
The next day Ivy put a box of litter and a pile of blankets in her car and took Ella to school with her. It was clear that whether or not her bedroom doors were locked, Gregory had a way of getting in. Maybe he had a key, or maybe he was good at picking locks. Perhaps there was another way into the attic, she thought, a trapdoor he could climb through that would let him come down again by way of her music room. In any case, she couldn't leave Ella home alone.