Magic Hour

She looks down at her hands and feet. Here in this oddly bright place, the ground is made of hard strips the color of dirt. There are no leaves or pine needles to soften her steps. Every movement hurts, but not as much as what will come.

She has been Bad.

Screaming is very bad. She knows this.

Out There are strangers and bad people. Loud sounds attract them.

Quiet, Damn You, she knows. As she approaches the bed, she lowers her head, then drops down to her hands and knees, looking as weak as possible. This she learned from the wolves.

“Al is?”

Girl flinches, closes her eyes. Not a stick, she hopes, hearing the whining sound in her own mouth.

At first the touch is so soft she doesn’t notice.

The mewl catches in her throat. She looks up.

Sun Hair is closer now, smiling down at her. She is talking—always, she is talking in that sunlight voice of hers; it sounds like a river in the last days of summer, soft and soothing. Her eyes are wide open, as green as new leaves. There is no anger on her face.

And she is stroking Girl’s hair, touching her gently.

“Is okayokaynohurt.”

Girl leans forward, but just a little. She wants Sun Hair to keep touching her. It feels so good.

“Comeherealis.”

Sun Hair pats the soft place beside her.

In a single motion Girl leaps up and curls next to Her. It is the safest she has felt in a long time.

When Sun Hair starts to talk again, Girl closes her eyes and listens.

JULIA SAT VERY STILL, ALTHOUGH HER MIND WAS MOVING AT LIGHT speed.

What was the story with the dreamcatcher?

Had Alice understood Come here?

Or had she responded to the bed patting?

Either way, the response was a form of communication . . . unless Alice had simply jumped onto the bed of her own volition.

Julia’s fingers itched to make some notes, but now was not the time. Instead she turned her attention back to the book and began reading where she left off.

As she finished the chapter, Julia felt a movement on the bed. She paused in her reading and glanced down at Alice, who had repositioned herself. Now the child lay curled catlike against her, Alice’s forehead almost touching her thigh.

“You have no idea what it’s like to feel safe in this world, do you?” Julia said, putting the book down for a moment. Her throat tightened; it took her several seconds to suppress the emotion enough to say, “I can help you if you’ll let me. This is a good place to start, with you beside me. Trust is everything.”

The instant the words were out of Julia’s mouth, she remembered the last time she’d said them. It had been a cool, steely day in the season that passed for winter in Southern California. She’d been in the two-thousand-dollar leather chair in her office, making notes and listening to another girl’s voice. In the sofa opposite her sat Amber Zuniga, all dressed in black, trying not to cry.

Trust is everything, Julia had said. You can tell me what you’re feeling right now.

Julia closed her eyes. The memory was the kind that physically hurt. That meeting had taken place only two days before Amber’s rampage. Why hadn’t she—

Stop.

She refused to follow those thoughts. They led to a dark and hopeless place. If she went there, she might not be able to come back, and Alice needed her. Perhaps more than anyone had ever needed her. “As I was saying—”