Ninea grinned like a bright ghost as the light spun and they spun in a dimension they could not fathom, all light and motion. I dreamed of you; then later 1 came there when you—when you helped me, Ninea said. With the candles burning, you helped me. And we changed places once. Bethany could feel her laughter. You saw yourself through my mind, and you were afraid. Fear spun in Bethany again. And you came here, Ninea continued. Not always when I wanted you, though, sometimes you just came. But you wouldn’t give in, only that first time— You touched my mind and could see and feel through me, but you wouldn’t let go, you wouldn’t let your own self go, you never let yourself know all that I knew, you held back—
I couldn’t, I couldn’t, Bethany cried, and even now she held back, fearful. And then they were on the grass tower, the grasses dead still in the last twilight. And they could remember; Bethany could remember Ninea’s memory of running and running on the sand, could remember Ninea remembering kissing Jack! It was you! Bethany cried. You made me feel like that, wanting to kiss him! Why? It was your thoughts I got. Who are you?
We have to go back, Ninea said. I want to show you —oh! And they were falling away from each other. Try! Ninea commanded, and Bethany did. They fell, but pulling and twisting until they fell together, and in that swirling instant Ninea gave Bethany one more memory. She remembered climbing the back stairs to the old shut-off servants rooms above her own— Ninea’s own—room, remembered opening the door into Grandmother’s box room—Ninea’s grandmother —and searching among the trunks and cartons; remembered feeling in the lining of the black velvet evening bag, that hard, hidden object, remembered ripping frantically at the lining, listening to footsteps in the hall below, hearing Grandmother call. She had ripped open the lining and seen, in the dim light, the heavy, golden, two-headed eagle. It hung on a thick gold chain. Its wings were outstretched, and the two heads faced away from each other, one to the left and one to the right, with mouths open as if both were screaming. It looked old, was made by ancient hands, she knew, and the scrollwork on its back held her attention for a long moment before she slipped the chain over her head and dropped the eagle down the front of her blouse. She found a bit of loose wood on one of the rafters to stuff into the lining—she would come back later and sew it up, she thought. The cathedral bells were ringing, she could feel their vibrations in the wall as she hesitated with her hand on the closed door.
But what does it mean? Bethany thought, letting go Ninea’s memory; then Ninea stiffened slightly, and they were back in the room. Ninea began to move with determination between the groups of people, and though Bethany knew it was Ninea pressing through the crowd, yet she felt as if she were. Ninea slipped out through a little side door into the pantry and up the back stairs to the red bedroom, and there she stood facing the mirror, smiling, the white blouse and red skirt reflecting back sharply. She took up the box— Bethany could feel the wood in her hands, in Ninea’s hands—and slowly Ninea opened the lid. She looked up at her reflection. I’m Bethany! Bethany Light! Bethany thought wildly. Ninea smiled that little smile again —it was Ninea’s face there in the glass, not her own— then Ninea looked down at the empty box, and Bethany’s attention was riveted there.
Slowly, Ninea reached into the empty box and pressed on the bottom until it slid away, revealing a hidden compartment.
There it lay in the lamplight, its two heads screaming.
Its gold was rich against Ninea’s brown hand. She lifted it out and put the chain around her neck so the eagle lay glowing against her skin. And Bethany understood nothing about why it was important except that Ninea’s grandmother had kept it secret from her, and it had been Ninea’s father’s; Ninea herself knew no more.
But there are two boxes, Bethany thought with excitement; and she gave Ninea the memory of her own box. They drew away then, and were separate, as if their minds were whole again, and Bethany understood at last that what she had done, what she had seen in this room was a telepathy more real than anything she had known. It had been Ninea’s thoughts she had received, and it was Ninea’s thoughts now that showed her the reflection, showed her the room. She had never been really here, her mind had been drawn here by Ninea’s power, greater than her own—or perhaps a power they made together. But why did they look alike, what link was there if their powers did work together? And the boxes— There were two, two boxes alike, and what they proved hovered at the edges of their thoughts. When Ninea looked up into the mirror, it was as if they were facing each other, and the thoughts flamed between them, Why are we alike? And, If there are two boxes, could there be an eagle in the other? Could there be two eagles? And abruptly Ninea was gone, and Bethany was lying in darkness.
A small light burned near her, disorienting and confusing her; a cold breeze touched her. Then she became aware of the grass matted under her, and the light diffusing and feathering across the gently blowing grass around her, and she felt the solidness of the grass tower thankfully. She had been out of herself, so terribly out of herself; she lay feeling the wholeness of being herself; and she thought, I can’t do that again, never again, to let my mind be taken. She felt a great repugnance for the other one, whoever she was. Bethany knew she must withdraw from her further—though she was gripped with terrible curiosity now. She felt thankful in an entirely new way for her own reality, her own wholeness. She turned over to face the light, and there was Reid, looking down at her, cupping the flashlight away from her. The whole world was a nest of grass with Reid sitting close to her. She smiled at him, very thankful for him suddenly, in a way she could not have been before. She felt utterly protected and safe with him watching over her. Then she remembered the eagle and pushed herself up to stare at Reid, trying to speak and finding it impossible. “The box,” she said at last, hardly able to get it out. She didn’t know how to tell him without blurting it all incoherently. She had to tell him what had happened to her, but she could not speak of it, not yet. “We have to get the box,” she said slowly as if she were just learning to speak, and, seeing his expression, “We can’t wait for tomorrow}”
He studied her, trying to make sense of what she was talking about, trying to understand. “Justin’s pretty worried,” he said quietly. “When you didn’t come home— You went in on purpose, didn’t you? She was afraid you might have. She was going to come herself, but I— Come on, we have to tell her you’re all right.” He took her hand and pulled her up.
But she resisted, she had to make him see. “It won’t take long; it won’t take twenty minutes. The answer is there, Reid, I know it is. In the box—” She was pulling him, frantic now. “Yes, I did it on purpose.” She stopped and stared up at him solemnly. “But I never will again. Not ever. I felt— It was horrible, Reid. I felt as if I’d lost myself.” They stood staring at each other, Reid alarmed at her terror, and the world seemed to spin faster for a moment. Then they started down the grass tower, toward the village. Reid didn’t urge her to talk. There was no moon, and they walked by the light from his flashlight, a yellow circle before their feet. Her growing sense of Ninea as another, as an entity quite separate from herself, became stronger, so the feeling of displacement she had experienced faded a little; but her revulsion at having gone in on purpose, and worse, at never having resisted going, was beginning to make her feel quite depressed. It was as if she were less than her own person because of it, to have committed herself to those things, committed herself to Ninea. For it was her fault, she felt. She could have fought it harder. But it did no good to think of that now; and she was reluctant to think of the box and what might be inside, and what it might mean if there were two eagles. For objects, things, were the only real link she and Ninea had so far, the only link that could be looked at and handled and shown to other people, the only link that did not come from her own mind.