It Begins (10 page)

She dabbed at the blood on her lip.

She took another survey of the crowd.

You’re imagining things. Enough’s enough. Pull yourself together, for crying out loud.

She was almost past the carousel when she saw him.

He was moving quickly, shoving his way toward her through the mob, and as she recognized his face, Lucy instantly turned and headed the opposite way.

“Lucy!” she heard him yell, but she didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge him, just kept walking.

“Lucy! Wait! We’ve got to talk!”

She thought she could outrun him, but Byron caught up with her easily, grabbing her arm and forcing her around. Dropping her apple, Lucy twisted furiously from his grasp.

“Haven’t you done enough already?” she exploded.

The look he gave her was grim, his voice low and urgent. “Come on, we can’t talk here—”

“You’ve had your fun, okay? Now leave me alone!”

“Fun? What
fun
? What is this—?”

“Those frat guys playing jokes at the cemetery—and you were there, too—that’s how you knew I’d come back! Well, are you proud of yourself?”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, but please, just listen to me—”

“I’ve listened to you enough. Now I’m going.”

With one smooth movement, Byron caught her shoulders and steered her over to a booth. Then, pinning her flat against the wall, he leaned down over her, his black eyes narrowed.

“There are things you need to understand.”

“No,
you
need to understand!” Lucy tried to break free, but he only held her tighter. “If you don’t leave me alone right now, I’m going to scream as loud as I can and have you arrested!”

“Look, I know you’re scared—you have every right to be. What happened last night was horrible, and you have no reason in the world to trust me. But you
have
to. You
have
to meet me tomorrow—”

“I’m not meeting you anywhere—”

“—the old church—nine o’clock—”

She opened her mouth to scream. She felt his fingers dig into her shoulders as he gave her a firm, quick shake.

“You saw something today,” he said. His lips moved soft against her ear; his voice dropped to a whisper. “When you touched the necklace, you saw something happen.
You
know it … and so do I.”

This time when she struggled, he let her go. Lucy bolted into the crowd, frantically shoving her way through, not caring where she ran, only desperate to get away.

She looked back once and thought she saw him following.

Instinctively she veered from the midway, cut behind the Ferris wheel, and raced down a narrow path between two busy picnic shelters. It took her a minute to realize she’d lost him. Another minute to catch her breath and get her bearings. She bent over, hands on knees, and took deep gulps of air, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal.

Then slowly she lifted her head.

That smell …

Frowning, Lucy glanced at her surroundings. It was darker back here, and though several groups of people had congregated nearby to socialize, the booths had thinned out, giving way to weeds and trash Dumpsters and a tall wire fence.
Great. I must be at the back of the fairgrounds.

The night seemed colder. Without the insulation of the crowds, Lucy felt the sting of the wind and tugged her parka tight around her. Even the air felt different, she realized—softer and heavier and mysterious somehow, ripe with the scent of woods and fields and deep lake waters …

And that other smell …

She could feel her heart quickening again in her chest. Her throat constricting. The blood chilling in her veins …

That other, familiar smell …

That sweet, lingering smell that had filled her room and her bed.

She had to follow it.

Despite the sick fear coursing through her, Lucy knew she had no other choice.

She had to follow it, and she had to find it.

But where?

It didn’t seem to be coming from one particular spot, or even from one specific direction, but rather permeated the air around her like a fine, invisible mist. Very deliberately this time, Lucy breathed it in … sweet like before … delicate like before … only this time stirring something deep within her, as though long-dulled senses were struggling to awake.

Several girls walked by and gave her strange looks. Didn’t they smell it, Lucy wondered?
How can they not smell it?
Such an unusual
fragrance … tantalizing … weaving its way through the festival, separate and distinct among the millions of other aromas hanging in the thick night air …

She didn’t go back the way she’d come. Instead she passed bumper cars and a petting zoo, and then she began walking faster, making her way behind a barn where an auctioneer competed with enthusiastic bingo players. She could smell fried chicken and fried pies, popcorn and cotton candy, and still,
still
, that heavenly fragrance, wafting just out of reach …

She turned a corner and walked faster. Past country singers on makeshift stages. Games of darts. Tables of homemade pickles and jams. The smell was getting stronger now—she could feel that it was close. As she broke into a run, she suddenly spotted a big orange tent ahead of her, with a huge display of scarecrows around it.

Scarecrows …

She could see the whimsical sign over the entrance—
PIN THE NOSE ON THE SCARECROW
—and the boisterous line of kids waiting to take their turns.
Isn’t this where Angela’s supposed to be working?

Mumbling apologies, Lucy pushed her way to the front. It didn’t make sense, but the fragrance actually seemed
stronger
here, more tangible than any other place she’d been so far, almost as though she could reach out and touch it and hold it in her hand. If only she could find Angela, she was sure her cousin would confirm it—how could
anyone
forget that curious aroma once they’d breathed it in?

“Hey, get to the end of the line!” A solemn-faced girl stopped her at the door, holding up one hand while trying to blindfold two squirming kids with the other. “Aren’t you a little old for this game?”

Lucy hurriedly identified herself. “Sorry, I’m Angela’s cousin—Angela Foster? Do you know where she is?”

“I thought you looked familiar—you were in some of my classes today.” The girl nodded, though her expression didn’t change. “Angela’s having a smoke.”

“I really need to find her.”

“Go around back. I just saw her talking to some guy out there a second ago.”

What a surprise.
“Thanks.”

Lucy didn’t waste any time. As she slipped around the side of the tent, she saw that it backed up to a fence, with just a narrow grassy space between. Thick woods pressed so closely from the other side that some of the trees hung over, their branches practically sweeping the ground. In spite of the festivities going on in front, it felt weirdly isolated here, shadowy and claustrophobic.

“Angela?”

Turning the corner, Lucy stopped. The light was dim at best … yet she thought she saw the glimmer of a cigarette at the opposite end of the tent.

“Angela? It’s me … Lucy.”

Without warning, something soft slid over her forehead … covered her eyes. With a startled cry, Lucy reached up and felt something like cloth—felt it being tied snugly at the back of her head—and realized it was a blindfold.

“Angela, cut it out! This isn’t funny!”

“Did you come to play?” the voice whispered.

Lucy stiffened. She could
feel
someone now, a body standing close behind her, someone tall,
someone strong, pressed lightly against her back.

Someone who
wasn’t
Angela.

“This isn’t funny,” she managed to choke out.
Kids playing pranks! Friends of Angela maybe—or just a case of mistaken identity
—that’s
it! They think I’m someone
else—
they must think I’m
Angela—

“I’m not Angela,” she said, more forcefully this time. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“On the contrary …” the voice murmured, “I’ve got
exactly
the girl I want.”

Her body turned to ice. Her mind fought for calm. There were people only yards away, yet she was alone. She could scream, but she doubted anyone would hear her over the noise of the fair. Should she scream anyway? Try to run? She could feel his body, the lean, firm length of it, touching hers, yet not forcefully,
not threateningly
, she realized with slow surprise.

He wasn’t even holding her.

He was only holding the blindfold at the back of her head, and as Lucy’s heart hammered wildly in her chest, she tried to keep her voice even.

“I think you’ve made a mistake,’ she said. “I’m not from here, and I don’t know anyone. I’m just trying to find my cousin.”

“But you haven’t. It seems you’ve found
me
instead.”

Again her mind raced. Had she heard that voice before? Did she recognize it—
anything
about it? He was talking so softly, as though his lips barely moved … a low whisper from deep in his throat … warm and resonant … thick and smooth as …
what?

Lucy’s breath caught.

His hand slid leisurely down the back of her neck … lingered upon her left shoulder. Every instinct told her to break away—to tear off the blindfold and run—yet her body felt strangely paralyzed.

“Where’s Angela?” she demanded. Her voice had begun to quiver, and she knew he could hear it, though she tried to disguise it with anger. “They said she was out here with someone—you must have seen her!”

Something brushed gently across her mouth.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

She’d forgotten the cut on her upper lip, but
now she felt it swell … felt the tender skin split open. A warm drop of blood seeped out and began to trickle down.

Lips closed over hers.

A kiss so tender that time faded and stopped … so passionate, it sucked her breath away.

Lucy’s senses reeled. Searing heat swept through her—pain and pleasure throbbing through her veins. With a helpless moan, she leaned into him and realized with a shock the kiss had ended.

At last she ripped the blindfold from her eyes.

The scent that had lured her here hung heavy in the night, though its fragile sweetness now held a trace of something more … something musky and faintly metallic …

Trembling violently, Lucy stared into the shadows.

But she was alone.

And she was cold.

It can’t be ten-thirty.

As Lucy paused outside the scarecrow tent, she shook her wrist, tapped her watch, then held it to her ear and listened. Yes, it seemed to be working fine …

But there’s no way it can be ten-thirty already!

“It’s ten-thirty,” the serious-faced girl said again. She was still trying to blindfold kids and maintain order at the same time, and as she frowned at Lucy, she added, “Did you have an accident or something?”

“Accident?” Lucy echoed. “No—what do you mean?”

“You’re white as a sheet. And your lip’s all swollen.”

Lucy put a hand to her mouth and immediately winced. The skin on her lip felt pulpy and
tender; she could feel a thin crust of dried blood.

“Are you sure Angela’s not here?” she asked weakly.

“I told you, she left at ten-thirty. She said she had to meet her cousin—you—at the car.”

“Right. Thanks anyway.”

Her knees had turned to rubber. She wasn’t sure she could walk three feet, much less the entire distance back to the parking lot. Her insides wouldn’t stop shaking; she felt strangely disoriented. She’d stepped right into a dangerous situation with her eyes wide open, and she’d simply stayed in the middle of it, simply allowed the rest to happen.
What in God’s name is wrong with me?

She was probably lucky to be alive. The stranger—whoever he was—could have done a hundred horrible things to her—
and what did I do? I stood there and let him—I let him …

Shame and confusion flushed through her. She could still feel his hand on her neck … on her shoulder … his body touching hers. And his kiss. That unexpected moment, senses reeling, his low whispery voice,
intimate somehow, almost as though he knew her …

Her memory groped back—searching, searching. Trying to recall someone—
anyone—
he might have been. The guys from the cemetery last night? Had they followed her here, intent on more jokes? It seemed highly unlikely, given the disciplinary meeting tonight. Some guy at school she didn’t know?
Byron?
Byron had a low, deep voice, but Byron had seemed agitated when she’d seen him earlier, he’d been tense and upset, and why follow her and frighten her when he’d already asked her to meet him secretly tomorrow?

And what about the smell?

Just thinking of that brought a fresh wave of panic. Because there
was
no explanation for it … none she could possibly think of … none that made any sort of sense. Before, she’d been almost willing to consider the air-freshener theory, but now …

As Lucy wandered out of the exit gates, she wished she had someone to leave with. The Festival was still in full swing, and only a handful of people were straggling toward the parking
lot. Within minutes they’d located their cars, leaving her to walk the rest of the way alone.

The lights grew dim behind her. The noise began to fade. Out here in the field it was eerily quiet.

Now where exactly did we park?

Lucy stopped, cursing herself for her horrible sense of direction. It had gotten her in
major
trouble last night; she wasn’t about to let it happen again. She glanced around, trying to find some sort of landmark, but all she could see was row after row of cars.

Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? Picked out a checkpoint to help her find her way back?

“Frustrated, Lucy went on, trying to dodge puddles and sinkholes in the dark. Maybe Angela was in the car waiting for her—hadn’t that girl at the tent said she’d already left?