The nurse, when asked, only shook her head. No one other than Kayla and Elizabet had even called to check on Billy Johnson, except for an officer from the Detective Headquarters Division.
"Liane . . . that's your other friend, who ran away from the foster home with you and Billy?" Elizabet asked. "I think we should call the police to go pick her up, Kayla. It wasn't safe for the three of you, living on the streets together—it's far more dangerous for her, now that she's alone."
"You're right," Kayla admitted, and told her about Suite 230, the abandoned office building where they'd been living. She felt like a traitor, telling Elizabet about their secret hideaway, but just the thought of Liane alone, without Billy to protect her from people like Nick, was terrifying.
I just hope she's okay. . . .
Kayla was silent on the drive back to Elizabet's house, thinking about Liane and life on the streets. It had been so easy for her to get used to the idea of living in a house instead of a trashed office building, to hot showers and clean clothes and good food. Sure, they'd survived just fine on their own, but it wasn't anything she wanted to go back to. At least, not now.
Besides, she couldn't go back to what they'd been. She was different now, with this strange magic simmering inside her, twisting her mind with pain and power.
The sun was setting, turning the hills to shadowy outlines, as Elizabet drove into the driveway of her house. In the house, she went to the guest bedroom and sprawled out on the bed. In the other room, she could hear Elizabet dialing the telephone, talking to someone about Liane. Elizabet walked in the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to Kayla, watching her thoughtfully. "Want to talk about it?" she asked at last.
Kayla clenched the blanket in her fingers. "I hate this," she said. "I feel sick all the time, and people keep calling me 'witch' and worse, and I wish it would all go away."
"You know it won't." Elizabet shook her head. "No, all you can do now is learn how to live with this." She glanced at her watch. "I need to head off to work shortly, Kayla. You're welcome to go through my library while I'm gone, or watch tapes on the VCR. I'd suggest you call it an early night, though; you do still look exhausted from everything that happened last night. Is there anything you might need?"
"More milk," Kayla said promptly. "I finished almost all of it this morning."
Elizabet smiled. "I'd better make a complete shopping run on my way home—you seem to be working hard to clean out my refrigerator."
"I—I can eat less," Kayla said, suddenly alarmed. I don't want her to send me to Juvie!
The woman laughed. "No, that's not a problem. I guess I'll see you in the morning, child."
"Good night," Kayla said awkwardly, watching as Elizabet gathered up her blazer and briefcase and walked out to her car. She stood at the open door for a few minutes after Elizabet's car disappeared down the hill, then closed the front door and turned back to look at the room. She must really trust me, to leave me here all alone.
If I really wanted to, I could clean this place out before she gets back, be back in Hollywood in another two hours.
Back in Suite 230, eating canned chili and stolen sodas, just her alone now, unless she could find Liane somehow. No Billy to take care of them, keep the slimeballs like Nick away . . .
No. I don't want to do that.
She wandered to the bookshelf and took down an old hardcover book, something about dragons. In the guest bedroom, she made a small nest of pillows and blankets and curled up inside, opening to the first page of the book.
"Carlos, she's leaving. Without the girl."
Carlos sat up and stretched, looking out the car window. The black woman drove past in her convertible, obviously alone. "Good. Go tell the others, Ramon. We're going up to the house."
Kayla looked up from the book, hearing the sound of breaking wood. There was a sudden crash from the hallway; she was off the bed and through the door a half-second later. The first thing she saw was one of the glass dolphins, lying shattered on the floor. The fact that she was surrounded by a group of young men, all wearing jeans, plaid shirts, and bandannas, registered a split-second later.
"What's going on here?" she asked, and then she saw the switchblade in one man's hand. Kayla couldn't hear anything beyond the pounding of her own blood.
The man holding the knife smiled at her. He was very handsome, Kayla thought as he moved toward her. A dark-haired, dark-eyed Hispanic man, maybe twenty years old, very handsome and completely terrifying. "This is the girl, the bruja," he said to the others, gazing into her eyes.
Kayla backed up toward the window, into the arms of one of the other young men. She twisted to look at him, the youngest of all of the strange men. He held her by the shoulders, but she could feel the nervousness in him, the tension in his hands.