They did. She put them on and there she was, glidin high over the beach, watching Suzie strutting toward her car. The bitch!

Suddenly she was divin toward Suzie, beak open, screechin. She plowed into the back of her neck, staggerin the bitch. And then she was peckin at her head, cuttin her scalp and tearin out her teased blond hair in chunks.

Semelee was so surprised she dropped her shells. She watched the squawkin gull leave Suzie’s head and flap away while Suzie ran screamin for her car. The truth smacked Semelee right between the eyes then: She couldn’t just get inside things and look through their eyes, she could control them, make them do what she wanted.

This cool feelin of power surged through her. She wasn’t just a tiny bit special, she wasreally special.

But was she all that special with only one shell?

She clapped a hand over her left eye and focused all her will, all her concentration through her right. Something was coming into focus. A blade of grass, dry and brown, loomed huge in her vision, like the trunk of a tree.

“I’m there!” she cried. “I got one. Now I got to get another.”

And another after that, and another, and another…

This was going to take time and effort. Lots of effort.

“I got to spread myself around the old guy’s house and get in if I can.”

“You really think he has it?”

“Don’t know. But I’m gonna do my damnedest to find out.”

“And if he got it, then what?”

“We ain’t come to that bridge yet, Luke. When we do, we’ll figure somethin out.”

And maybe in the meantime I’ll just test this guy’s inner stuff, she thought. See if he’s worthy of me.

11

Jack’s head was spinning. Not from the wine he’d been drinking but from this damn game he was trying to learn.

He’d spent the latter part of the afternoon in his father’s hospital room with Anya—and Oyv, of course. No change in Dad’s condition—still the same random, involuntary movements and incomprehensible sounds. He’d been hoping to see Dr. Huerta and find out if Dr. Harris had contacted her. He figured he might be able to get her to tell him what the doc was hiding about his father’s pre-accident condition.

But she didn’t show, and finally he drove Anya and Oyv back to Gateways. She didn’t let up on his joining her for a drink, so after a shower and a call to Gia to reassure himself that she, Vicky, and the baby were fine, he ambled next door.

He found Anya outside on her front lawn, cigarette in one hand, wineglass in the other, reclining face up on a chaise lounge next to a big liter-and-a-half bottle of red wine chilling in an ice bucket. She wore huge sunglasses with turquoise frames. Her flat breasts were encased in a pink halter top over skimpy black shorts. She’d coated the exposed areas of her wrinkled, leathery brown skin with some sort of sun-tanning oil and lay marinating in the sun.

Oyv was curled up next to her. He barked once when Jack stepped across the line of dry brown grass onto Anya’s lush green lawn, then settled down again.

“I started without you, hon,” she said. “Pull up a chair and pour yourself a glass.”

“Chilled red wine,” Jack said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a wine snob.”

Jack shook his head. “A bit of a beer snob, maybe, but I wouldn’t know a cabernet from a merlot without the label.”

“Glad to hear it. You’ve probably had people tell you that the only wine you should drink cold is white or blush or rosé. Trust me, kiddo, they’re talking out theirtuchuses . This is a Côtes du Rhone. That’s French, by the way.”

“Really?”

“You probably expect an old broad like me to be a whiskey sour or Manhattan drinker, but as far as I’m concerned, on a hot summer day like this, a glass of chilled Côtes du Rhone or Beaujolais hits the spot. Try it and see if you like it. If you don’t, sorry, but that’s what we serve at Casa Mundy. You want beer, you’ll have to bring your own. I’m not into that fizzy hops-and-malt drek.”

So Jack poured himself a glass and damn if it didn’t, as Anya had said, hit the spot.

“Not bad.”

He pulled up a chaise lounge on the other side of the table with the ice bucket.

“How come you’re the only one visiting my father? Doesn’t he have any other friends?”

“He has lots. But they probably don’t know. I think I’m the only one who knows, and I don’t talk to many people.”

“How did you find out?”

“When I saw his car was missing Tuesday morning, I called the police and asked if there’d been any serious accidents. They sounded pretty suspicious until I told them why I was calling. They told me about your father so I went right over to the hospital to see.”

“Shouldn’t you let people know?”

“Why? So they can send dead flowers and come in and stare at him? Tom wouldn’t want that.”

No, he wouldn’t. Jack guessed she did know his father after all.

Together they sat and sipped and watched the sun settle in the west.

“Maybe we’d better go in,” Jack said as it sank below the distant treetops. He checked his watch. 7:10. “The Wehrmacht mosquito squadrons will be launching soon.” “So?”

“You like mosquito bites?”

“You like to deny those poor females their sustenance?”

“Females?”

“Only the female mosquito bites. The males suck nectar.”

“Male or female, I’m not keen on being a mosquito buffet.”

She waved a hand at him. “Not to worry. They won’t bother you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t let them.”

Ooookay, lady, Jack thought. If that’s what you want to believe.

But damn if they didn’t sit there well into the dusk without a single mosquito bite.

When the magnum of Côtes du Rhone was done, Anya draped a fuchsia blouse over her shoulders, rose, and faced him.

“Come on inside, hon. I’ll fix you dinner.”

Not having a better offer, Jack accepted.

He stopped short as he crossed the threshold. He’d thought the outside was lush, but inside was a mini jungle of potted plants and trees lining the perimeter and clustered here and there on the floor, with vines growing among them and climbing the walls. He could identify a ficus here, a bird of paradise and a rubber plant there, but the rest were a mystery: potted palms of all sorts—were those baby bananas on the big one in the corner?—and smaller plants with leaves mixing reds and yellows and even silver on a couple. Reminded Jack of one of the plant shops on Sixth Avenue.

Anya turned to him and said, “I’m going to change into something more appropriate for dinner.”

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“I want something morehaute couture ,” she said with a wink.

“Not necessary, but this is your party…”

As she threaded her way through the plants toward the master bedroom, Jack decided to take a look around. Oyv, curled like a cat on a worn yellow easy chair, watched him with his big dark eyes as he wandered the front room.

He realized that her layout was the mirror image of his father’s—whatever was on the right here, was on the left there. But where his father’s walls sported some artwork—mostly south Florida beachscapes—and some photos, Anya’s walls were bare except for the vines. Not a shell, not a fishnet, not a knick knack. Nada.

She’d said she had no family. Jack guessed she was right. But how about a painting ofsomething ? Even Elvis or a tiger on black velvet would say something about her.

And the furniture…a nondescript mishmash. Jack knew his talents for interior décor were on a par with his ability to fly a 747, but this stuff looked like secondhand junk. Fine if Any a didn’t care, but he was struck by the lack of personality. He’d been in motel rooms with more personal touches than this. It was as if she lived in a vacuum.

Except for the plants. Maybe they were her personal statement. Her family. Her children.

Anya reentered and struck a pose with one arm held aloft. “What do you think?”