She held him tightly. ʺI love you, Tristan. I will love you always.ʺ
ʺAlways, Ivy,ʺ he whispered, as he had that night.
ʺI canʹt bear to let you go again,” she said, and felt the deep breath he took.
ʺIvy, something is wrong. I donʹt know what happened between the time I said good‐bye to you as Tristan and the moment I gained consciousness as Guy — as Luke,ʺ he corrected himself, ʺbut something terrible is going on. I feel it in the deepest part of me.ʺ
ʺIn your soul?ʺ Ivy asked. ʺWhat are you, angel or human? Is it like before, when you spoke through Will and Beth?ʺ
ʺNo.ʺ He took a half step back from her and held out his hands. ʺLukeʹs face is my face now, his hands are my hands — and only mine. I donʹt know where Lukeʹs spirit is. His mind and soul arenʹt in this body, and I have no knowledge of his life beyond what others tell me. The bits and pieces Iʹve been gradually remembering are from my life as Tristan.ʺ
ʺDo you remember Gregory?ʺ she asked. ʺI mean, more than we talked about the other night?ʺ
ʺI remember how it was to come face‐to‐face with him. I remember his gray eyes. Sometimes they were cool and distant other times, when I caught him off guard, they burned with anger.ʺ ʺGregoryʹs back.ʺ
ʺBack?ʺ Tristan repeated. ʺIvy, if thatʹs true, youʹre in danger.ʺ
ʺEarlier tonight, Beth was trying to reach him through a Ouija board. The planchette spelled out Gregory is here.
And when I went downstairs—ʺ Ivy stopped, a chill going up her spine.
ʺYou opened the door and saw me. Later you found out that I was accused of murder, and you believed Gregory was in me.” Ivy nodded.
ʺWho else was in the house then?ʺ he asked. She didnʹt answer. ʺIvy, who else?ʺ
She looked over her shoulder, then turned toward the screen door, hearing voices outside. Beams of flashlights swept the garden.
ʺThe police are back,ʺ Ivy said, grasping Tristanʹs arm. ʺThey guessed that you would return. Theyʹre looking for you.ʺ
Aunt Cindyʹs voice rose above the others. ʺThis is an inn. I have guests who are sleeping. You cannot come onto private property like this—ʺ
Tristan wrapped his arms around Ivy. ʺI canʹt leave you with—ʺ
ʺThey know you only as Luke,ʺ she said. ʺThey think youʹre a murderer. You must go.ʺ
ʺWho else besides Beth was here?ʺ Tristan demanded. ʺCome on,” Ivy begged, dragging him toward the kitchen door. ʺGo, Tristan. Please go!ʺ
ʺYouʹre in too much danger, Ivy.ʺ
ʺYou canʹt help me from jail. Go!ʺ He pulled her face toward him, kissing her one last time, then slipped out the door. Ivy knew that if the police found her downstairs, they would guess that he had been there.
She hurried up the steps. ʺAngels, protect him. Angels, protect me,ʺ she prayed.
Then she looked at the bed across from her own. Beth lay sleeping, her face still and pale, her light brown hair feathered out on the pillow.
Swallowing hard, Ivy admitted to herself what she had been unable to say aloud to Tristan: the only other person in the house when the Ouija board had spelled out its frightening message was Beth — her best friend, the person she loved like a sister.
Ivy had attributed Bethʹs headaches to the accident, but thinking back, she realized they had started immediately after the stance. A natural medium, Beth had been the easiest person for Tristan to enter when trying to reach Ivy last summer.
Ivy shivered. Perhaps, the night of the stance, Gregory had discovered in her friendʹs mind the same open portal. Since then, Bethʹs behavior had grown increasingly strange. Ivy knew what that meant: With each passing moment, Gregory was gaining strength inside Beth.
ʺIvy Lyons!ʺ the policed called out, pounding on the cottage door.
Ivy almost laughed out loud. Their law and their guns were useless weapons against a demon who wanted only one thing: to destroy Ivy.
THANKS TO MY HUSBAND, BOB, WHO ALWAYS LISTENS and makes me laugh; to my sister, Liz, who explored with me her home turf, beautiful Cape Cod; to Karen, who made me so comfortable at The Village Inn; and to Josh Bank, Lanie Davis, and Emilia Rhodes for all their editorial work.