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The other reason it was good to find the apartment empty was that now her parents wouldn't see what she had bought.

Mary hefted the bags and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. She had just enough time to get her things together before going out to meet Gaia. If she was lucky, she might even squeeze in a call to Aunt Jen before she left, in case there was any news on the Gaia'sparents-mystery front.

She gave the shopping bags a shake. Even though most of her Christmas presents had been
of the ex-druggie-book variety
, there had still been some cash slipped in among the pages. Not as many bills as in previous years, but then, her parents were

probably afraid that if they gave her a big wad of cash, she would shove it up her nose.

Even the reduced cash supply had been enough to add some serious punch to Mary's wardrobe. She emptied the contents of the first bag onto her bed and studied the results. There were blouses she had liberated from Classics, a retro clothing store south of the park. There were some jeans that were
completely too squeezy
at the moment but that Mary hoped to wear as soon as she had battled off the holiday bulge. There were three pairs of shoes and a lace camisole in a violet so deep, it was almost black.

Mary smiled down at the pile. The clothes represented four hours of dedicated shopping, but they were definitely worth it. If you knew where to shop, a little bit of cash could buy
a big chunk of cool
.

She reached down, picked up the camisole, and carried it across to the mirror on her dresser. She held it up and was just imagining what her mother would say if she tried to wear it sans shirt when she heard a noise from the hallway.

Mary turned. "Mom?"

There was no reply.

"Mom? Are you guys home?"

For several long seconds Mary heard nothing. Then there was a soft creaking sound--
the sound of boards shifting under someone's weight
.

At once Mary's throat drew tight. "Mom?" she tried again, but this time it was only a faint whisper.

Slowly she let the camisole slide from her fingers and fall into a dark puddle on the floor. Moving as quietly as she could, Mary took a step toward the door.
Then another
. She peered out through the opening.

There was no sound from the hallway. No creaking boards. But there was a shadow. A man-shaped shadow. Just outside the limits of her sight, someone was standing in the hallway. Even without the shadow Mary didn't have to see him to know he was there--she could
feel
him.

She thought of making a run for the front door, then remembered the phone by her bed. Keeping her eyes on the hall, she slid toward the nightstand.

There was another noise, not so soft this time. A footstep, followed by the sound of something--of someone--brushing against the wall.

Mary's heart bounced in her chest. Fear ran through her body like strong acid. With trembling fingers she lifted the receiver of the phone and brought it up to her ear. In the silence the dial tone seemed impossibly loud. Surely whoever was out in the hallway would hear it. Surely he would know what Mary was trying to do.

Another footstep from the hallway. Louder this time.
Closer
.

Mary brought her fingers to the dial and pressed down on the nine. The tone was so loud, it made her jump. She had to close her eyes for a second and draw a breath before moving her finger over to press the one. She raised her finger to press the button again.

There was a sudden noise from downstairs. A clatter followed by the squeak of the door being shoved open.

"Mary, honey?" called a voice from downstairs. "Are you home?"

Mary felt a wash of relief so strong, she almost fell. "Dad!" she called out. "I'm up here." But as soon as she spoke Mary realized that her parents could also be in danger. "Watch out!" she shouted. "There's someone else up here!"

Footsteps sounded from the stairs. "What did you say?" called her father.

Mary let the phone drop and jumped to her door. "Stay back, Dad! There's someone--"

But there was no one. In both directions the hallway was empty.

Her father reached the top of the stairs. "Who did you say was here?"

Mary looked along the empty hall and shook her head. "I heard . . . I mean, I thought . . ." She paused, then shrugged. "Nobody, I guess."

Her father's face turned down in an expression of concern. "Are you okay?"

The tone of his voice
made Mary wince
. It was a tone she had heard all too often lately. No matter what the words, anytime her parents asked her a question in that tone, she knew what they were really asking--was she on drugs?

"I'm fine," Mary said. "Just fine." She backed into her bedroom and closed the door.

THERE HAD TO BE A BETTER PHRASE
than jet lag. Jet lag sounded so harmless. "Oh, I'll be okay in a little while. I just have a touch of jet lag."

A Little Piece of Paper

What Tom Moore felt wasn't jet lag. This was something more like jet flu, or jet attack, or
maybe jet coma
.

For almost twenty hours he had been on a series of planes. Moscow to St. Petersburg. From there to Munich. Munich to London. And finally on to New York. By the time the small government Starcraft jet taxied onto the tarmac at JFK, Tom had to look up at the sky to tell if it was day or night. He felt like someone had beaten him on the head with a rock or drugged his coffee. Or both.

As usual, there had been men in dark suits waiting as soon as he stepped from the plane. The debriefing had gone smoothly. Tom's mission in Russia had gone reasonably well--despite a few setbacks and that botched rendezvous right before he'd left. And despite the fact that the whole trip had been overshadowed by memories of the time he had spent there in the company of his wife. The agency people weren't interested in Tom's memories. All they cared about were the dry facts. They wanted to know about the contacts he had seen and the timetable of the assignment.

Tom stayed awake long enough to accept dry congratulations on the completion of the latest mission, then fell into the backseat of a bland government-issue sedan and gave the driver directions to his latest apartment. Before the car even started to move,
Tom fell into a gray haze
.

Even in the backseat of the sedan, his mind was haunted by images of Katia. Moscow had been her home and the place where she and Tom first met. Going back there left Tom with a heavy weight of memories that clung to him like cobwebs. He wasn't even sure he wanted them to go away. Katia was gone. Memories were all Tom had.

At least he could still see his daughter, even if it did have to be at a distance. Meeting with Gaia wouldn't be safe for either of them, but Tom
had
to

see her and make sure that she was all right.
See Gaia
. That thought cheered him as he climbed out of the car and walked the last couple of blocks to his apartment.

The apartment wasn't much, just a small one-bedroom place tucked above a corner fruit stand. It was far from fancy, but it provided an adequate base for Tom--especially since he was rarely in town. When he considered some of the other places he had called home over the last few years, it was practically paradise.

The fruit stand was doing slow but steady business. Tom waved at the owners as he walked around the building and made his way up the wooden stairs along the side. Even in December the air was scented by peaches and limes from the store.

Tom was nearly asleep on his feet
, but he wasn't so tired that he didn't check the door before he went in. Before leaving, he had placed a small scrap of paper at the bottom of the door. Nothing special, just a little piece of newspaper that he had torn off and wedged against the door frame. If someone wasn't looking for it, they would never know it was there. Which was exactly what Tom was counting on. If someone had opened the door while he was away, the paper would have fallen out. He had fancier methods of detection available, but Tom was a great believer in simple methods.

He bent and inspected the door. The paper was still in its place.

Tom smiled in relief. The bed, and eight hours of solid sleep, were waiting inside.

Except.

Tom had his hand on the doorknob before something started to
tickle at his brain
. For a half a second his tired mind tried to sort out what was wrong. As he did, his fingers continued to turn the knob.

The paper was still there, so everything had to be okay. Only it wasn't because . . . because . . .

Because the paper was turned the wrong way.

Someone had been there. Someone had gone inside, done whatever they wanted, and come back out. They had been careful. They had seen the little scrap of paper and put it back. Only not perfectly.

The doorknob clicked under Tom's hand, and the door cracked open. For the space of a heartbeat he stood there, staring into the darkness on the other side of the door.

Instantly the sleepiness and exhaustion he had felt since leaving Moscow vanished. Before his heart could beat a second time, he had started to turn away. Before a half second had passed, the suit bag had slipped from his left hand and he was at the top of the stairs.

The explosion came before he could take another

step. There was no noise because the force of the blast instantly
stunned his ears into silence
. It lifted him, stole his breath in white-hot heat, then flung him downward like a singed rag doll.

He hit the bottom of the steps, bounced, and was instantly forced against the wall by an inferno wind.

When it was over, Tom fell. He fell down into darkness. And silence.
And the smell of peaches
.

Even Gaia had her limits.

SAM PUT HIS FINGER AGAINST THE
pawn and shoved it forward on its rank. "It wasn't like I did anything."

A Smart Boy

"Yah." A black knight jumped in from the side of the board to trample the unprotected piece.

"I mean, sure, I thought about someone else. I'll admit that." Sam pushed his bishop toward the center of the board.

The black queen slid up beside the bishop. "Der is nothing wrong with thinking."

Sam reached for his one remaining rook
, hesitated, then drew back the bishop instead. "Okay, maybe I even kissed someone else," he said. "But that's not nearly as bad as what she did. Not even close."

"Yah, of course." The knight jumped again, and the rook left the field.

Sam scanned his diminished army and frowned. He shoved another pawn toward the opposite ranks. "And the first chance she gets, the very first chance--"

The black queen swept forward. "Dat is checkmate."

"It is?" Sam blinked and looked across the board. Usually he had a good grasp of the board, but now the chess game seemed as remote as another planet. He had lost. Again. He unzipped his heavy coat, fumbled in his pockets, and came out with a ten.

Zolov reached across the board and took the bill from his hand. "Thank you," said the old man. He stared down his long nose and studied the bill carefully, as if expecting to find a forgery. After the personal inspection Zolov held the ten up in front of
two battered Power Rangers
that sat beside the chessboard. "What you think?" he said.

Apparently the little plastic people gave their approval. After a few moments Zolov crumpled the bill and shoved it into the depths of his old tweed coat.

Sam shook his head and stared off across the frozen park. "I don't know. I thought maybe Heather really was the one. Now she's completely lied to me, and Gaia doesn't care if I live or not, so--"

"Be good to Ceendy, you," Zolov said suddenly. The old man's face reddened, and he waved
an ancient, arthritic finger
at Sam. "I like dat girl."

"Cindy?" Sam leaned back in surprise. "You mean Gaia?"

Zolov's bushy eyebrows drew together. "Dat girl, you should be lucky to have her." The old Russian glared at Sam for a few seconds longer, then picked up his chess pieces and began to put them back into position for a new game. "She is not like the others."

Sam tried to think of something to say. He couldn't be sure--maybe Zolov was thinking of Gaia, maybe he was thinking of someone else entirely. Maybe he was

thinking of someone who had been gone for half a century. Zolov was never very clear on much. Except for chess. When it came to chess, Zolov was still as sharp as ever.

The Russian finished arranging the pieces and looked over at Sam. If the old man had been angry before, there was no trace of it remaining on his face. "We play again, yah?"

Sam did a quick calculation. Considering the difficulty he was having concentrating on the game,
he was sure to lose
. Even on his best days he could rarely match Zolov. But he could afford to lose another ten, and he certainly had nowhere better to go. "Sure," he said.

Zolov held out his hands. Sam picked one at random. The Russian unfolded his fingers to reveal a white pawn. "So," he said. "You go first."

Sam started playing again, moving the pieces through a standard opening. He glanced across the board and decided to risk Zolov's anger. "What is it that makes Gaia different?" he asked.

Zolov snorted. "You not know that, you not know Ceendy, do you?" He jumped a knight over a rank of pawns.

Sam had to smile. He still couldn't tell if Zolov was talking about Gaia or just talking. But this was better than
sitting around brooding about Heather
. "I guess Gaia is special."

Zolov grunted and shoved a pawn forward.

Sam studied the board for a moment before moving in reply. Just because he knew he was going to lose didn't mean he wanted to make it easy. "It doesn't matter how special Gaia is. She isn't mine."

Zolov started to move, stopped, and looked across the board at Sam. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

The Russian shook his head. "Think he is a smart boy, but he doesn't even know."

"Know what?" Sam repeated.

"Doesn't know Ceendy loves him." Zolov looked down, pushed up his queen, and smiled. "Dat is check!" he cried.

AS EXPECTED, THE SNOW HAD WIMPED
out again. No more than a dusting remained along the hedgerows that bordered the park. The parks department, which had absolutely no appreciation for snow, had already completely cleared the main paths.
Still, Gaia couldn't find much to complain about
. The clouds had
broken, the day was bright, and she didn't have to spend it
(a)
going to school or
(b)
sitting around the brownstone with Ella.

Music from Mars

Gaia was due to meet Mary by the central arch in half an hour, which gave her plenty of time to cross the park. Normally she walked fast no matter where she was going, but now she strolled along the path at a leisurely pace, watching the people as they passed and the kids slipping down the metal slides on the playground.

She was near the center of the park when she heard a scratchy, warbling music drifting along the path. It was a strange sound. Gaia could make out a man's voice, but the words and the tune were utterly alien. Like music from Mars. She picked up her pace and angled toward the source of the weird sound.

A few twists in the path brought Gaia to a small group of people and a contraption just as strange as the sounds it was making. Mounted on what looked like a large version of a kid's red wagon,
the thing spouted odd, angled lengths of plumbing pipe
and a cone that looked like it might have come from a large desk lamp. At the heart of the mess Gaia could just make out a large--and very old--phonograph.

The record playing on the device wasn't any easier to understand from close up than it had been from far away. The singer's voice rose and fell, and alien words

poured out. Gaia couldn't tell what the man was talking about, but there was no mistaking the message. This song was sad. This song was lonely. The singer sounded like he had just discovered he was
the only person left in the world
.

Standing there in the park with her hands in her pockets and her face chilled by the cold breeze, Gaia knew how he must have felt. She'd felt that way for a long time. But instead of thinking of her mother, the image that appeared in Gaia's mind was Sam. What was he doing right now? Did
he
ever feel this lonely? Did
he
ever hear songs that made him think of
her?

Gaia wondered if she should walk over to the chess tables. She hadn't played in a while, and she really should keep in practice. She might get a chance to talk to Zolov.
She might even run into Sam
.

That was ridiculous, of course. Sam was with Heather. He was not only with Heather, he was sleeping with her. And Gaia should know: unbelievably, she'd witnessed them having sex not once, but twice. Although she could be a glutton for punishment, even Gaia had her limits. It was time to accept that Sam was never going to be part of her life. It didn't matter how Gaia felt about him because Sam didn't share those feelings.

"Is this song really that sad?" asked a voice at her back.

Gaia spun to find Mary looking at her. "You're early."

"So are you," said Mary. She tilted her head a little to the side and looked at Gaia. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Gaia was embarrassed to find there were tears blurring her eyes. The combination of the music and her own thoughts of Sam really had been getting to her. Gaia blinked away the tears and smiled. "How did your shopping trip go?"

Mary's lips turned up in
a wicked grin
. "Great, of course. I found exactly what I need for tonight."

"About tonight," said Gaia. "I don't know--"

"Oh, no, Ms. Moore," said Mary. "You're not getting out of this." She took Gaia by the arm and drew her away from the phonograph cart. "Come on, let's get somewhere we can talk without yelling."

Gaia followed as Mary led the way toward the north end of the park, where a re-creation of the Arc de Triomphe loomed over the people strolling the paths. The music from the weird phonograph faded until it was only
a melancholy hum in the winter air
. "Where do you want to go?"

Mary waved a hand ahead. "Doesn't matter. Somewhere we can continue our conversation."

"Which conversation is that?"

"You know." Mary gave Gaia a sideways look. "The conversation we were having about your mother."

Gaia stopped dead in her tracks. Mary was the first

person she had ever told about her mother's death. Sharing had made Gaia feel better than she expected, but she was definitely not ready to say more. "That wasn't a conversation," she said. "That was a dare."

"I know," Mary said. "But I thought it might help you feel better to tell me more about it. I'm here for you, Gaia."

"There isn't any more to tell," said Gaia. Images of snow and violence danced on her brain for a painful moment. "I told you everything."

"Everything?" Mary paced back and forth on the sidewalk. "What about your dad? And how did you end up with the Nivens? And why was your mother killed?" She shook her head. "You've barely even started."

Gaia started to answer, stopped, opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. The problem with most of Mary's questions was that Gaia didn't really know the answers. And even when she did know,
there were still things she wasn't ready to tell
. "The truth or dare game's over now," she said. "Let me catch my breath before we get into more."

Disappointment creased Mary's forehead, but she nodded. "All right," she replied. "It's just that it's all so . . . so . . . sad and . . . I wish I could help."

Sad
wasn't the first word that came to Gaia's mind when she thought about her own life.
Try tragic
.
Heartbreaking.
"Let's try another subject. Tell me what you found to wear tonight."

Mary raised her chin and struck a pose. "Only something perfect."

"How nice for you," Gaia said with a laugh. "At least one of us will look decent."

"That's the really good news," said Mary. She held up her left hand and revealed a small plastic shopping bag. She let the bag dangle from the tip of her finger and swung it back and forth. "Now for the even better news. I found something for you, too."

"You bought something for me?" Gaia looked at the bag and got a tight feeling in her stomach. "Something to wear?"

Mary nodded. "Something perfect for tonight." She held the bag out where Gaia could take it. "Come on. Take a look."

Gaia squinted at the bag suspiciously. "I don't know about this. I don't think I should even go."

"You promised."

"That's what you say," Gaia replied. "I don't even remember you asking."

Mary shrugged. "So you were mostly asleep. A promise is still a promise." She held up the bag and gave it a little jiggle. "Just look."

Gaia took the bag and peeked inside. "What is it, a top?"

Mary sighed in exasperation. "It's a dress, of course." She grabbed the bag back from Gaia, reached inside, and pulled out the garment.

Gaia's eyes went wide. "You're sure that's a dress?"

"Absolutely," Mary said with a nod. She shook out the dress and held it up against herself. "It's a little black dress. A genuine LBD. A staple of any decent wardrobe."

"Your wardrobe, maybe." Gaia shook her head. "I don't think that's my size."

"It's exactly your size," said Mary. She held the dress toward Gaia. "It'll look great on you."

Gaia took the dress from Mary and stared at it.
It made her feel a little queasy to think about wearing the thing
. Not that she didn't want to. Gaia could imagine what Mary or another girl might look like wearing the dress. A normal girl.

"You wear that tonight," said Mary, "and every guy in the place will be looking at you."

Yeah, it'd be a regular freak show. "This thing doesn't even have any straps." Gaia turned the dress over in her hands. "What's supposed to hold it up?"

Mary laughed. "You are."

The thought of that was enough to make Gaia want to drop the dress. "Thanks, but no." She started to hand the dress back, but Mary pushed her hands away.

"You're not getting out of it that easy," Mary said. "You're going to wear that dress, and you're . . . you . . . " Mary's voice trailed off, and she stared off into the distance.

"Mary?" Gaia turned and tried to see what had upset Mary, but Gaia couldn't see anything but a handful of people walking along a path. "What's wrong?"

Mary continued to stare for a moment, then shook

her head. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong." She raised one hand and pushed her red hair back from her face. "I'm seeing ghosts. That's all."

Gaia frowned. "You're not still looking for Skizz, are you?"

"No, I--" Mary stopped and shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know."

Gaia wasn't sure what to say. She knew that Mary had been afraid of the drug dealer. And Mary had been right to be scared. Skizz really had tried to hurt her to get back the money Mary owed for drugs. But there was no reason to be scared of the dealer now. Gaia wasn't proud of the beating she had given him, but there was no way he would be a problem to anyone.