'Nice try,' she said. 'But Beth is your radio to the one you're messaging. You have to do it yourself. That's just the way it works.'
'It never seems to work the way I want it to,' he complained.
'You've noticed that too,' she remarked. 'I assume you know how to get up to your lady's bower.'
Tristan led the way to Ivy's bedroom. The door was open a crack. Ella, who was still following them, nudged it open and entered; they passed through the walls.
Suzanne was sitting in front of Ivy's mirror, rifling through an open jewelry box, trying on Ivy's necklaces and earrings. Ivy was sprawled out on her bed, reading a sheaf of papers-one of Beth's stories, Tristan figured. Beth was pacing around the room.
'At least get yourself a jewel-encrusted pencil,' Suzanne said, 'if you're going to continue to wear it in your hair like that.'
Beth reached up to the knot of hair wound high on her head and plucked out a pencil. 'I forgot.'
'You're getting worse and worse, Beth.'
'It's just all so interesting. Courtney swears her little sister is telling the truth. And when some of the guys went back to the chapel, they found one of the girls' sweaters hung high up on a sconce.'
'The girls themselves could have thrown it up there,' Suzanne pointed out.
'Mmm. Maybe,' Beth said, and pulled a notebook out of her purse.
Lacey turned to Tristan. 'There's your entrance. She's thinking about this morning. Couldn't have been laid out easier for you.'
Beth rolled her pencil back and forth between her fingers. Tristan moved close to her. Guessing that she was trying to picture the scene, he recalled the way the chapel had looked, moving from the bright light outside into its tall shadowiness. He saw the girls settling themselves in the altar area. Beth's stories always had a million details. He recalled the crumbling debris on the floor and imagined how the damp stone might feel beneath the girls' bare legs, how their skin might prickle if a draft came through the broken window, or how they'd twitch if they thought they felt a spider on their legs.
He was in the scene, slipping out of himself and into- Whoa! She didn't slam down like Philip, but he was pushed back swiftly and firmly. Beth stood up, moved several feet away, and looked back at the spot where she had been writing.
'Does she see me?' Tristan asked Lacey. 'Does she see my glow?'
'I don't think so-she's not paying any attention to mine. But she knows something's going on.
You came on too strong.'
'I was trying to think the way she would think, giving her some details. She loves details.'
'You rushed her. She knows it doesn't feel right. Back off a little.'
But Beth started writing then, describing the girls in the circle. Some of his details were there-whether by his suggestion or her own creation, he wasn't sure-but he couldn't resist pushing further.
'I warned you,' said Lacey.
'Beth, you are as nervous as a cat,' Suzanne said.
Ivy looked up from her story. 'As nervous as Ella? She's been acting really funny lately.'
Lacey shook her finger at Tristan. 'Listen to me. You've got to go easy. Imagine Beth is a house and you're a thief breaking in. You have to take your time. You have to creep. Find what you need in the basement, in her unconscious, but don't disturb the person living upstairs. Got it?'
He got it, but he was reluctant to try again. The strength of Beth's mind and the directness of her blow was much greater than Philip's.
Tristan felt frustrated, unable to send the simplest message to Ivy. She was so close, so close, yet… He could pass his hand through hers, but never touch. Lie next to her, but never comfort.
Say a line to make her smile, but never be heard. He had no place in her life now, and perhaps that was better for her, but it was life in death for him.
'Wow!' said Beth. 'Wow-if I do say so myself! How's this for the first line of a story: 'He had no place in her life now, and perhaps that was better for her, but it was life in death for him.'' Tristan saw the words on the page as if he were holding the notebook in his own hands. And when Beth turned to gaze at the picture of him on Ivy's bureau, he turned, too.
If only you knew, he thought
''If only,'' she wrote. 'If only, if only, if only…' She seemed to be stuck.
'That is a good beginning,' Ivy said, setting aside the typed story. 'What comes after it?'
''If only.'' 'If only what?' Suzanne asked.
'I don't know,' Beth said.
Tristan saw the room through her eyes, how pretty it was, how Ella was staring at her, how Suzanne and Ivy exchanged glances, then shrugged.
If only Ivy knew how I love her. He thought the words as clearly as possible.
''If only I freed-'' She stopped writing and frowned. He could feel the puzzlement like a crease in his own mind.
'Ivy, Ivy, Ivy,' he said. 'If only Ivy.'
'Beth, you look so pale,' Ivy observed. 'Are you okay?'
Beth blinked several times. 'It's as if someone else is making up words for me.'
Suzanne made little whistling sounds.
'I am not cuckoo!' said Beth.
Ivy walked over to Beth and looked into her eyes; she gazed straight in at him. But he knew she didn't see.
''But she didn't see,'' Beth wrote. Then she scratched out and rewrote, reading aloud as she went:
''He had no place in her life, and perhaps that was best for her, but it was a miserable life in death for him. If only she'd free… him from his prison of love. But she didn't know, didn't see the key that was in her hands only-' Beth lifted her pencil for a moment. 'I'm on a roll now!' she exclaimed.
She started writing again. ''In her gentle, loving, caring, caressing, hands, in hands that held, that healed, that hoped-'' Oh, come on, thought Tristan.
'Shut up,' Beth answered him.
'What?' said Ivy, her eyes opening wide.
'You're glowing.'
Everyone turned to look at Philip, who was standing outside Ivy's door.
'You're glowing, Beth,' Philip said.
Ivy turned away. 'Philip, I told you I don't want to hear any more about that.'
'About me glowing?' Beth asked.
'He's into this angel stuff,' Ivy explained. 'He claims he sees colors and things, and thinks they're angels. I can't stand it anymore! I don't want to hear it anymore! How many times do I have to tell you that?'
Hearing her words, Tristan lost heart. His effort had taken him well past exhaustion; hope was all that had been sustaining him. Now that was gone.
Beth jerked her head, and he was outside of her once more. Philip kept his eyes on Tristan, following him as he joined Lacey.
'Gee,' said Suzanne, winking at Beth, 'I wonder where Philip learned about angels.'
'They've helped you in the past, Ivy,' Beth said gently. 'Why can't they help him now?'
'They didn't help me!' Ivy exclaimed. 'If angels were real, if angels were our guardians, Tristan would be alive! But he's gone. How can I still believe in angels?'
Her hands were curled into two tight fists. The stormy look in her eyes had become an intense green, burning
