“So,” Albert began, feeling nervous. “Thinkmaybe we could go out sometime? See what things are like on thisside of the dirt?”

Brandy released a soft, smoky laugh. “Rightnow, Albert, I don’t want to think about life. I just want to gohome, take a hot shower and go to bed.”

“Oh.” Albert dropped his eyes.

Brandy watched his expression darken. “I’llsee you in lab tomorrow. Or…today I guess.” Their class was at ten,so she had time to grab a few hours of sleep before getting back toreality. But there was no way she was going to make it to her earlyclass.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” He forced himself tolook at her, forced himself to smile.

She stepped out of the car and kissed him,her arms around his neck, cigarette glowing in the fading shadowsof the breaking dawn. Her tongue slipped between his lips and aspark shot through him from his mouth to the very core of hisbrain. A moment later, when she pulled away, she said, “Ask meagain then, okay?”

“Okay.” He was stunned, unable to evensmile. He thought his heart might explode in his very chest, and heknew by her smile that she could see that in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Albert. Sweet dreams. I’ll seeyou in class.”

“Goodnight.”

Brandy returned to her car and drove away.Albert watched until she was gone and then walked home, his headspinning, his heart swelling. It had been one hell of a night.

###

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Read on for the entire first chapter of

The Temple of the Blind: Book Two

Gilbert House

Chapter 1

When she saw that eleven o'clock had come andgone, Andrea finally gave up on Rachel’s call. Bitterly, she turnedoff her cell phone and plugged in the recharger.

It didn't really surprise her that she washearing less and less from her best friend lately. After all,Rachel had a boyfriend now and a part time job at the movietheater. New acquaintances were requiring more and more of the timethat used to be reserved for old and that was perfectlynatural.

But the point was that Rachelpromised. She said she would call. She said they could talk.But broken promises were becoming the rule rather than theexception lately when it came to Rachel Penning.

It was just a stupid phone call. It shouldn'thave even mattered to her. What did she care if Rachel didn't wantto chat with her anymore?

But Andrea was feeling unusually lonelylately. None of her friends seemed to have any time for her thesedays. Boyfriends and jobs and new interests were apparentlycrowding her right out of their lives. No one could find the timeto visit or talk or even send her a quick text most days. And ithurt the most with Rachel, because Rachel had always been the bestof her friends, the one she trusted most.

She wondered if it was the loneliness broughton by her friends' disinterest that made her feel so emotionallately, or if she was only hurt so much by their disinterestbecause she'd felt so extraordinarily emotional. It wasdifficult to tell. Either way, she was sad. And it was becauseshe’d been feeling so sad that she’d pleaded with Rachel tocall her after work.

She logged into her e-mail account, hopingthat maybe someone wrote to her, but the only messages were threeforwards from Wendy Gavon.

Andrea regretted ever giving Wendy her e-mailaddress. She never actually wrote anybody. All the girl ever didwas forward chain letters and stupid jokes. Sometimes she senttwenty or thirty at a single sitting and just lately things thatshe’d already forwarded had begun to recycle themselves, suggestingthat either Wendy wasn’t actually reading the messages with whichshe was clogging other people’s inboxes anymore, or that she hadthe memory of a box of crayons.

She deleted all three messages withoutreading them.

She should have just gone to bed. It wasWednesday night and tomorrow was another school day, but she didn’tfeel like sleeping just yet. In fact, she was afraid that if shecrawled into bed right now, she would only start to cry.

She wasn’t sure why she felt so down. Surelyshe couldn't be this upset over some stupid missed phone call. Shewas ordinarily a very cheerful person. Perhaps it was simply thecommon hormones of a teenage girl, her body in perpetual motion,still trying to bridge that seemingly impossible gap between childand woman, physically, chemically and emotionally. This unusualdepression in a usually perky and optimistic personality wasperhaps nothing more than the emotional equivalent to the pimplesagainst which she and a cabinet full of facial cleansers had beenwaging war for the past six years.

She browsed the web for another twentyminutes, finding nothing that interested her in the least. Shesimply wasn’t in the mood for anything she could find on theinternet. Finally, she shut down the computer and stood up. Shecrossed the room and threw herself onto her bed, still feeling asif she might soon cry.

She lay there on her back for a long time,staring up at the ceiling in the harsh glow of the overheadfixture, not really thinking anything, but merely pityingherself.

Andrea Prophett was a petite girl, just a fewweeks past her eighteenth birthday, with a skinny, girlish body anda fair, heart-shaped face. Her hair, naturally a darker shade ofblonde, but currently dyed a light golden color, was cut just shortof shoulder-length and spilled onto her pillow as she lay,revealing every detail of her pretty face to her empty bedroom. Herskin was smooth and fair, free of blemishes because she worked hardto keep it that way. On most days, her blue eyes shined perkily andher smile was bright and warm. Tonight, however, her eyes shimmereddespondently and her pink lips were curled into a poutingfrown.

Unlike the other features of her face, whichwere all round and soft, her nose was straight, triangular, herfather's nose. The left side was pierced, a small gold ringencircling her nostril. Her right eyebrow was also pierced, and shewore an array of jewelry in both of her ears, seven in one andeight in the other. She also wore a ring in her navel, which wouldhave been made visible by her lifted shirt if there was anyone elsein her room to look upon her.

She had a fondness for jewelry and almostalways wore lots of rings, bracelets and necklaces. She owned ajewelry box filled with pretty things with which she regularlyredecorated herself. Rarely did she wear the same trinkets two daysin a row. Typically, the only items that remained the same from dayto day were her favorite watch, her class ring and a gold ring witha large topaz that once belonged to her late grandmother. Hardlyany of it was actually worth anything. It wasn't the physical valuethat she cared for. As her father always joked, she quite simplyliked shiny things.

And she wanted more. She fully intended toget her tongue pierced someday. And maybe her lip as well. Herother eyebrow was also an option. She also wanted to get a tattooas soon as she could talk someone into going with her. She hadn’tdecided yet where she wanted it, but she knew for a fact that shewanted one. Perhaps she would eventually have several, but for nowshe didn’t have the courage to go alone.

And what were the chances of anyone going toget a tattoo with her when she couldn’t even get her best friend tocall her on the phone?

When at last she turned and looked at theclock, she expected to find that midnight had come and gone and oneo’clock was quickly approaching, but it was not yet eventwelve.

With a mournful sigh, she sat up, crossed herlegs beneath her and began to remove her bracelets. She took offmost of her jewelry almost religiously each night to avoid breakingor losing them in her sleep.