The Stolen (27 page)

He disentangled himself from Sonya and reached for it. “Lemme see.”

Kerry jerked it away from his grasping hands. “It's very old,” she insisted, “and fragile.”

Dougie screwed his blunt, good-old-boy features into a mask of hurt. “Jeez, I wasn't gonna damage it,” he declared. “I just wanted to look at it.”

“Kerry's pretty protective of her stuff,” Sonya told him. Kerry noted her tone, as if she were talking about someone who wasn't in the room.

“Just the stuff that needs protecting,” she countered. “This journal is almost a hundred years old, and the paper is brittle. I can't let anything happen to it.”

“It's okay, Kerry—chill,” Sonya chided. “No one's going to mess with it. Dougie's just having fun.”

“More than you are, it looks like,” Dougie added. “Looks like you need a boyfriend, Kerry. You shouldn't be sitting around here on a Saturday night with some moldy old book.”

“You don't have to worry about me,” Kerry answered, wishing he'd just go away.
She sat on her bed and picked up BoBo, her old childhood rag-doll clown. “I'm fine.”

“Tell you the truth, Kerry,” Sonya said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial level, “we were kind of hoping you had gone out for a while, if you know what I mean.”

Sonya's meaning couldn't have been more clear.
But do I want to do her that favor?
Kerry asked herself.
Do I want to clear out of my own room so she and her horndog boyfriend can have their fun … and maybe paw through my stuff—even Daniel's journals—when they're done?

Resigned, she gathered up the things she'd need to spend an hour in the common area. For about the millionth time since the semester had started, she wished she had a private room.

By the time she had settled on one of the couches in the third-floor lounge, Kerry was fuming. Two girls she knew vaguely shared another couch and spoke in hushed tones about a project they were working on
together, but blessedly the TV was off and the faint smell of microwave popcorn that hung in the air when she entered dissipated quickly. She made it clear that she was there to study, not socialize, and she buried herself in the American history text that she should have been reading instead of Daniel's journal. The words seemed dry and lifeless to her, though, especially compared to the journals, or even more, to Daniel's voice, telling her things about her nation's past that had never made it into the history books.

Kerry was trying, really and truly, to immerse herself in school, to put Daniel and Season and the rest of it behind her. And Kerry was someone who did what she put her mind to—they hadn't called her Bulldog over the summer for nothing. So why couldn't she just focus on the work? Why did images of Daniel pop up, unbidden, every time her mind wandered? Why did she keep seeing Season in every blond woman on campus?

The whole situation was just incredibly frustrating. She turned back to the history text and tried to read about the landing at Plymouth Rock, but the words just turned to fuzz before her eyes.

Daniel was there, in her dream, looking just as he had in life. His long-sleeved white shirt was clean and crisp, tucked into faded jeans, the sleeves rolled back a couple of times over muscular forearms. His hair was long and windblown, and he was laughing, head thrown back, mouth open, teeth even and white, gray eyes crinkled at the corners and dimples etched into his cheeks. He stood on a hill, at a slight distance from Kerry; she couldn't reach him or even hear his laughter, which should have been booming.

She moved closer to him, or tried to. But for every step forward she took, the hilltop on which he stood seemed to move back. She tried calling out to him, shouting his name,
but even her own voice vanished before it reached her ears.

Then a fog rolled in, as if from offshore—thick and wet, blotting out the view, blocking Daniel, then the entire hillside. Within seconds Kerry was alone, an island in a sea of white mist. Then even she was gone, the mist breaking her body into ever smaller chunks until it had disappeared completely.

Kerry Profitt's diary, October 21
.

And again with the nightmares, now. All I need, right? Having gotten rid of them once—thanks, I am now convinced, to the appearance of Daniel in my life—they are back, and, it seems, with a vengeance. This one wasn't even all that scary in itself—I mean, the imagery wasn't—but the overall feel of it creeped me out big time. Especially the way that Daniel was there, and then he wasn't, and …

Oh, never mind. It's different from the dreams
I used to have, which I forgot as soon as they ended. And a year from now I won't remember what the dream was, and this entry will make no sense.

Which distinguishes it from the rest of my life how, exactly?

Now Sonya is sleeping hard and I am wide awake, pretty much giving up on the idea of sleeping tonight. Fortunately the laptop screen gives off enough light so I can type without turning on a light and waking her highness. And since it's fresh in my mind, I can't stop thinking about the dream.

Its meaning? Obvious, I think. I miss Daniel. He was taken from me. Duh. Bonehead psych, no brainer.

The part where I disappear? A little tougher, that. Losing my identity? Maybe.

And maybe I should e-mail Brandy for a more comprehensive analysis. She's the Doc, after all. I have her addy—we all have each other's, and have sent a few around since splitting up back in SD after the summer. But not as much as I thought we might, almost as if everyone wants to forget what
happened, wants to leave Season and Daniel and the summer of our discontent well behind.

And really, who can blame 'em for that? It pretty much sucked. Find a great guy, and he dies. Find out witchcraft is real and scarier than you ever imagined, and the baddest witch around has it in for your new BF. Find out he's been chasing her for almost 300 years, so you help him catch her, only to watch her kill him.

Yeah, summer means fun.

Okay, here's the thing. School is just not happening for me. Sonya … ditto. Aunt Betty and Uncle Marsh check in from time to time, but I could be gone from here for a month before they knew it. So really, what's keeping me here? Lack of someplace better to go?

Only, see, I have an idea about that too.

I've been reading Daniel's journals. That's just about the only thing that's held my interest, in fact. And Daniel is lost to me.

But that doesn't mean that part of my life has to be lost. Mother Blessing is out there, in the Great
Dismal Swamp. Season Howe is out there too, still at large, and now owing for yet another crime.

One that I take just a little bit personally.

So here's my theory. I find Mother Blessing, convince her to teach me witchcraft, and then I hunt down Season Howe and give her what she deserves.

Nothing to it, right?

But did I mention people call me Bulldog?

More later.

K.

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A series by Meg Cabot, writing as Jenny Carroll

She can run, but she can't hide.

Just because her best friend wants to exercise, Jessica Mastriani agrees to walk the two miles home from their high school. Straight into a huge Indiana thunderstorm.

And straight into trouble. Serious trouble.

Because somehow on that long walk home, Jessica acquired a newfound talent. An amazing power that can be used for good … or for evil.

Run, Jessica. Run.

From Simon Pulse Published by Simon & Schuster 3085-01

FEARLESS™

T
HE END OF AN ERA IS NEAR…. BE AFRAID
.

Y
OU'VE WATCHED
G
AIA BREAK LEGS
.

Y
OU'VE WATCHED HER BET HER HEART BROKEN
.

B
UT YOU'VE NEVER BEEN HER BREAK FREE QUITE LIKE THIS
.

G
AIA'S HIGH SCHOOL DAYS ARE NUMBERED
. A
ND ONCE THEY'VE RUN OUT
, G
AIA WILL MAKE HER MOST DANGEROUS CHOICE YET
.

DON'T MISS THE FINAL ADVENTURE IN THE BEST-SELLING SERIES:

A
VAILABLE
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OVEMBER
2OO4

A
ND COMING SOON:

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UBLISHED BY
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ULSE

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