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Heather tried to smile. “Something like that,” she whispered.

Uh-oh.
Ed took a closer look at her face. Something was definitely wrong.
This wasn't the usual, gorgeous, perfectly coifed Heather.
She wasn't wearing any makeup. Her eyes were red and puffy—and not from the cold.

“Did something happen to Phoebe? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she's fine,” Heather assured him distractedly. “ I mean, I installed her in a luxurious brown-stone on Seventeenth Street last night.”

Ed's eyes narrowed.

“So what's up?” “It's my dad.” Her gaze met his, then fell to the sidewalk. “He . . . ah, he lost his job.”

For a moment Ed just gaped at her. He knew he should say something. But he couldn't. This would have been an ideal moment for one of those grand gestures when a man sweeps the girl of his dreams into his arms and tells her not to worry about a thing.
Unfortunately, thirty pounds of plastic and steel stood between him and said
grand gesture.
He reached out and grabbed Heather's hand, hoping some brilliant witticism would pop into his mind, some pithy, Oscar Wilde–type phrase that would make everything fine. But all he finally managed was one lame word.

“Harsh.”

Heather laughed flatly. “Yeah. Harsh.” “Look, Heather, this isn't the end of the world. Things will work out—”

“No, they
won't
work out, Ed. My entire family—not to mention my life—is falling apart around me. I don't even know if I'll be able to go to college. I'm serious.” Her voice rose, but her eyes remained glued to the pavement. “I should probably quit school right now and get a job as a waitress at Hooters just to help pay the rent.”

Ed opened his mouth—then realized that this wasn't the moment to point out that Heather didn't have what it took in the chest area to work at Hooters. There was nothing funny about the situation. Nothing at all.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. It's just . . . you'll get through this, Heather. You're one of the strongest people I know.”

And she was. Aside from Gaia, Heather had more steel inside her than anyone Ed had ever met. He knew she wouldn't let her family's problems make her crumble. Just like he knew that as soon as they got to school, Heather would take off the ski cap, put on her
makeup, and slip into the czarina persona she used to rule the school. No one would ever guess that she had started the day in tears.

“It's funny; I don't feel strong,” Heather admitted. “That Prozac you mentioned is sounding better and better.”

“Well, how about we hang out tonight?” he suggested. “I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon, but after that, I'm all yours.”

She nodded, finally raising her eyes. “I'm glad you asked because I don't think I could handle meat loaf and microwave mashed potatoes with the parents tonight.”

“Good.” He reached out and gave her playful slap on the leg. “Let's go, Hooter.”

Heather sighed. “Why can't some uncle just die and leave me a couple of million dollars?”

Ed shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Never say never. Sometimes money comes out of nowhere.”

No Gray Area

WHAT IS IT ABOUT HEATHER GANNIS
that makes otherwise normal males act like lobotomy patients?
Gaia wondered. It couldn't be that she devoted herself to the latest fashion trends
with the same intensity that
Tibetan monks devoted themselves to a life of fasting and prayer.
So what, then? Okay, she
was
good-looking . . . at least in that glossy, fake,
People
magazine way. And she knew how to make people feel very small. That was always good for social status. But were teenage guys really that shallow?

Well, yes. Clearly they were.

Gaia had strategically positioned herself in a classroom doorway so that she could watch Ed and Heather from a distance without being seen. Being at school was bad enough. Gaia didn't want to completely kill the aftereffects of her awesome night with Sam by setting herself up for an unpleasant encounter with Heather. But it looked like Heather was never going to leave. Didn't she have to reapply her lipstick or pluck a stray eyebrow hair? It was almost as if Heather
knew
Gaia was waiting to talk to Ed—and was purposely dawdling in order to irritate her.

It wasn't as if Gaia wanted Ed to be sad and lonely and never to get any action. Not at all. But why did he have to be in love with the one girl who had made Gaia's life at this lame school a living hell from day one?
That was no exaggeration, either.
The first time Gaia had met (to put it nicely) Heather, Gaia had accidentally spilled hot coffee all over one of Heather's precious designer
sweaters. And the big brown stain that formed on Heather's sweater became a metaphor for their relationship.

“Bye, Ed.”

Finally.
Gaia struggled not to retch. After one last sloppy kiss Heather left Ed's side. Gaia waited until she was halfway down the hall, then trotted over to Ed's side and fell in step beside his wheelchair.

“Hey,” she said tentatively. She wasn't sure how he'd react to seeing her. Ed still hadn't responded to her e-mail. In the past he'd generally replied within the hour—if not the minute.

He glanced up. A surprised grin spread across his face. “Hey, yourself. It's the ghost of Christmas past. Where have
you
been?”

Gaia blinked.
Jeez, Ed
—
well, actually I've been running around having clandestine meetings with my uncle and fighting assassins, and I saw my foster mother get shot
—
but not until after we bonded in a totally inexplicable way . . . and oh, yeah, I also finally got together with Sam Moon, and now I might be leaving the country.

She shrugged. “I've been busy.”

“So I'd gathered.” His brow grew furrowed. “You look different.”

She hesitated. “How's that?”

“I don't know. You have that same look on your face you usually get when you're stuffing it with
doughnuts.” He smirked. “Are you happy about something?”

She could feel herself starting to smile. “I guess you could say that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ooh. Mysterious. Do tell.”

For some strange reason, Gaia felt a surge of warmth spreading through her. It didn't make any sense. Yes, she was happy to be finally having a normal conversation with Ed . . . but still.
It was no reason to throw a ticker-tape parade.
But ever since she'd kissed Sam, she didn't seem to have control over her emotions anymore. Was this what being in love with somebody was about? Turning into a goofy mess? She had to get out of here.

“Listen, Ed, I really need to talk to you tonight,” she said. “Can you meet me at Jimmy's Burgers?”

Ed shook his head. “No can do. I'm having dinner with . . .” He didn't finish.

Gaia frowned. He must have just remembered that Gaia's feelings for Heather basically matched the Montagues' feelings for the Capulets. Once again Heather Gannis stood between Gaia and a simple objective. Too bad Gaia had been taught not to use her combat skills on scrawny, porcelain-skinned brunettes.

“Whatever,” she grumbled.

Ed's face darkened. “Are you mad?”

She shook her head. “No, it's just—”

“Good,” he interrupted. “ 'Cause it's not fair for you to expect me to rearrange my entire life in order to eat a burrito with you. In case you forgot, there have been plenty of times when you've blown me off.”

Gaia swallowed. She couldn't argue with that. Then again, she'd always had reasonable excuses.

“I'll call you later,” he muttered.

With that, he went on his way. Gaia watched him roll down the hall. Well. There it was.
Spelled out in plain text. No gray area.
Ed Fargo no longer had time for her. And that ...hurt.It wasn't an emotion Gaia allowed herself to feel very often. It quickly translated into anger. She turned to the water fountain and slurped up a drink. Some of the water splashed on her face. The cool liquid felt good against her hot skin. There was really no reason for her to be here. Maybe she should just go back to Sam's dorm room.

“Hey, babe.” The voice came from behind Gaia's left shoulder. “I haven't seen you in a while. Why have you been hiding from me?”

Very imaginative,
Gaia thought dully. She turned and glared at the guy—and almost laughed. He was wearing a purple sweatshirt
.
He was also about forty pounds overweight. He looked like Barney the dinosaur on steroids. Someday the guy would end up as one of those construction workers who howled at women as they walked down the street. But now he was practicing on Gaia Moore. Big mistake.

“I'd like to take a drink out of you,” he said in a throaty voice that made Gaia want to puke.
Interesting,
she thought. But she had a better idea. She took a step away from the fountain, then faked a knee toward the guy's groin.

“Ahhh!”
he yelped, jumping back and covering his zipper with his hands.

A couple of kids passing in the hall laughed. Gaia smiled to herself. She loved the little things.

GAIA

Genetic
mutation. It's all the rage right now, according to
Inside Edition.
But I don't think yuppy parents would be so eager to engineer their blond-haired, blue-eyed children if they really knew what they were messing with. I'm an example of what can happen when nature goes awry.

It's not a birth defect. At least not in the traditional sense. I was born without the ability to feel fear. I am
never
afraid. Let me put it this way: When other little girls would scream and run from frogs, I would pick up the frog and wonder how it was able to hop. When other kids had nightmares after they saw
The Shining
on late-night TV for the first time, I sat up thinking about Jack Nicholson's acting technique.

But those are just trivial examples. When a normal person runs from someone with a gun or a knife, I'm compelled to jump in and fight. This doesn't mean I'm
stupid. I have an acute sense of danger, and I'm never rash. Imagine a human-shaped computer that happens to have all of the vital organs as well as the ability to feel shame, hurt, loneliness, happiness, and wonder.

That's me, in a nutshell.

I can't say I'm sorry I was born this way. I don't know any other way to be. It doesn't matter how many times I see fear on other people's faces or in their eyes or in their voices. I just don't know what they're experiencing.

There are a million clichés about fear. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Face your fears. Don't let your fear get the better of you. Read any self-help book, and the author's premise always goes back to the importance of overcoming fear.

None of that applies to me, though. I've managed to screw up my life all on my own.

His announcement was followed by one of Gaia's least-favorite sounds in the world: the cocking of a pistol.

 

THE WINDOW WOULD PROBABLY BE
expensive to replace. It was stained glass, and Gaia remembered Ella saying that she'd had it shipped$$$$ from Italy. But Gaia would send George money for it—if she ever had any. There was no other way to get inside. She'd left her key in the bedroom last night because she'd honestly thought she would never come back. And she couldn't get in the way she came out. Climbing
down
from her window was one thing, but she didn't feel like shimmying up a drainpipe.

Strident, Male Voice

She slipped off her parka and wrapped it around her right hand. Quickly she glanced over each shoulder to make sure some Officer Friendly or “helpful” neighbor didn't happen to be walking by. The street was deserted. The sun was low in the western sky, casting long shadows down the block.
Better get this over with.
She took a deep breath and punched her fist through the long, narrow window beside the front door of the Nivens' brownstone.

The glass shattered, falling to the hardwood floor of the foyer. Without wasting a second Gaia pulled her hand out of her coat and reached through the hole, groping blindly until her fingers hit the dead-bolt
lock. Bingo. It turned easily in her hand. She stood back and opened the door, then slipped inside.

Once again the empty, dusty house filled her with a odd sense of uneasiness.
But feelings didn't matter. She would be out of here soon. She was here for one purpose and one purpose only. As soon as her mission was complete, she would be gone. For good this time. Besides, it was a fluke that she'd come back at all. If Sam hadn't mentioned that chessboard . . .

But ever since this morning she'd been obsessing over it. She
had
to find it. Finding it would be like an exorcism, a way of purging herself of all the idiotic mistakes they had both made, of all the obstacles they had faced.

She opened the door to the front hall closet, remembering she had once spotted a gift-wrapped box in there, tucked way in the back. She had noticed it one day when she was grabbing her coat.
Of course, back then Gaia had never lingered in the front hall for fear of running into Ella.
It hadn't occurred to her to wonder what was inside the box—nothing about her life had made her believe it might be for her.

The little bit of sunlight that penetrated the house barely reached the closet door. She peered into the shadowy darkness. There was a light around here somewhere. . . . She felt for the switch on the wall.
There.
She flicked it. Nothing. She flicked it again. Still nothing.
Hmmm.
Maybe she should go find a flash-light. She bent down and brushed her hands over the shelves in the back until her fingers felt a piece of ribbon. Aha! The box was still—