"I wish she were wearing a tighter shirt," he said in his thoughts. "She's got such a body…Helena's crazy to say she's fat."

I didn't react. Well, yes, of course I reacted and the noise of my thoughts screaming, "I'll kill her!" drowned whatever Alex thought next. But outwardly I didn't move. I tried to force myself to calm down, but that just turned out to be my brain shrieking at my body, "Get calm! Relax! Loosen up, loosen up!"

Too bad I'd never studied meditation.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to relax for real instead of just going through the motions. It would have been easier if I could take my hand out of my pocket and shake myself loose; but that hand was staying put.

By the time my thoughts stilled enough to hear Alex again, he was fantasizing about kissing me. No technical details, not even a feeling of passion, just lips touching. In his mind my lips were very soft. And I responded, in my own imagination and in the dream Alex dreamed. My arousal doubled itself in a feedback loop, as I felt the desire, responded to the desire, felt my response echoing back and succumbed more deeply, desire feeding on its own echoes…

"What's this?" a voice whispered. A chill voice with a sharp edge that stabbed through all the fantasies.

Alex was still digging, glancing over at me from time to time. No one else was in sight.

"Have we got a visitor then?" the thready voice went on. "Someone peeking through the basement window?"

My own thoughts asked who is it, who? I could hear the chatter of my questions, even though other voices in my brain pleaded for silence, not to draw attention to myself.

"Ah, one of Alex's friends come to call," the voice whispered. "But he hasn't thought your name yet…."

Reflexively, I thought "Lyra." Horrified copies of my voice screamed, "No!"

"Lyra," whispered the voice. "I saw you this afternoon, milady. We sang together. Yes. Your beauty entices me. You have entered my heart, milady. Now I have entered your mind."

That's just a song, I thought wildly.

"There's no such thing as 'just a song,' milady. Song is a realm unto itself, separated from your world by the tiny thickness of an eighth note. Strange things live in this realm, milady. Wraiths. Ghosts with tattered hearts." The voice laughed, a laugh with claws of ice. "It's dangerous to enter this realm, milady. Once a song gets into your head, sometimes it's impossible to get out."

The thing's laugh gushed over me like glacier spill water. Blackness pooled in front of my eyes; the real world began to dissolve. Beneath the laughter, I could just make out a tiny voice, my own voice, murmuring, "Let go of the parrot, let go, let go." But my body was freezing up, heavy with ice. I couldn't remember what it felt like to move. Try to move, think of moving, focus on motion, any motion, the spasming dance I did for that cut on Trash and Thrash, sing the song: "Damn it, slam it, break it; don't give me your repercussions…"

Forcing myself against the stony cold, I moved my hand a hairsbreadth. I let go of the parrot.

My eyes snapped into focus: the hilltop, the stars, the silence. Shivering, shuddering, the memory of ice.

Then Alex touched my shoulder and pointed to the hole. "I've found something," he said.

I could barely keep my teeth from chattering. I wanted to scramble away screaming but could barely move—I felt divorced from my body, like waking up from a nightmare. Alex's grin melted to a frown. "Are you all right?"

"Uhh. Hmm." My mouth wouldn't work. "I just, uhh…I must have drifted off. Weird dream." I eyed Alex closely, searching for any sign of the Singer; but this was good old amiable Alex, sweet, even innocent. Maybe I had just been dreaming.

"Come see what I found," Alex said, holding out his hand. I took it without thinking. He pulled me up to my feet and didn't let go as he led me to the hole. I didn't let go either—I was grateful for human contact. I considered sliding closer to him and stealing a hug, but didn't know what he'd think of it. (I could use the parrot to find out…but no, I couldn't do that again. Never. Never. Not yet.)

At the bottom of the hole lay a rusty expanse of sheet metal, about a meter square. One edge showed a set of hinges and the opposite edge had a handle. "I think it's a lid," Alex said eagerly.

"I think so too." I leaned against him. His body was warm and solid.

"Can we open it?" he asked.

"We probably shouldn't," I told him. "Jerith would want to document everything first. The position of this thing in the hole, the depth, all that. And we don't want to damage whatever's inside. Didn't most of those Egyptian mummies crumble to dust when people opened the sarcophagus?"

Alex's face fell. "You mean I make a major discovery and I can't even see what it is?"

"It's up to you," I answered. "You wanted to impress Jerith, right? For that, you have to be meticulous." I squeezed his waist tightly. Very tightly. But I tried to make my voice sound playful. "If you open it, I won't tell anyone."

He whooped with elation and leapt, sliding down the loose dirt to the bottom of the hole. I knew Jerith would be appalled at what Alex was up to, but it certainly wouldn't be a serious blow to science. You couldn't walk thirty seconds in a straight line without tripping over debris from Caproche's war—the entire surface of the planet was heaped with the stuff. Given so much material to draw upon, Jerith's investigation would scarcely suffer if one artifact wasn't dug up with full pomp and circumstance. Besides, after my recent experience, my dream, whatever it was, I loved Alex's high spirits and didn't want to dampen them.

The box's handle was set too tightly against the lid, at least by human standards—it must have been built for an alien race with thinner hands, or tentacles—but Alex eventually wiggled his fingers under the bar. Down at the bottom of the hole, standing on loose dirt, he wasn't in a good position for lifting, so I got the shovel and slid down to help, jamming the shovel blade under the lip of the lid and levering upward. Together, we managed to break the grip of the rust holding the lid shut, and with protests from the hinges, the lid groaned open.

There was nothing inside: just an empty canister, divided into two compartments by a metal partition down the middle. Whatever the box once held, it was long gone.

I started to laugh—a bit too hysterically, but still, all that work for an empty box. Alex started to laugh too, and suddenly we were kissing, twining together. The kisses were hungry; I'd never felt so desperate. I'd been terrified by the Singer and now I was plunging for safety into the same arms…but they were Alex's arms, and Alex seemed like the only comfort on the planet.

Soon we were out on level ground again, stretched body to body beside the hole. For the flicker of an instant, I considered reaching for the parrot, to see what was going through Alex's mind. But I didn't want to let go of him; and I realized I didn't want to know what he was thinking. I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to hold him. Everything else could wait.

We agreed we shouldn't go back to camp together. Cool reason had replaced heat, and second thoughts were piling up in my mind. Helena. The complications of working side by side. Doubts and apprehension.

"You go on ahead," I told Alex. "I'll wait out here a while longer. Go on."

We kissed awkwardly. He gave me a smile, a sweet confused smile, and said good night. As he vanished down the side of the hill, he began whistling.

I laughed in disbelief. Was he happy, was he sad, was he just whistling because men get the urge to whistle? It was tempting to reach for the parrot. So I did.

"Do I confront her? Talk to her, woman to woman? Threaten her? Or just ignore everything?"

The voice I heard didn't belong to Alex. It was Helena, and she was close by. Close enough for her thoughts to drown out whatever Alex was thinking as he walked back to camp. Close enough that she must have seen whatever there'd been to see.