mood on the walk home. When he thought about Stephanie, her smile, her eyes, her small, firm breasts, he didn‟t have to think
about anything else. He didn‟t want to talk to anyone else.
Maybe now he wouldn‟t have to.
They barely had time for dinner before the movie started. Mom would be careful what she said in front of Emily, and
Morgan wouldn‟t be around. Not two nights in a row. Mom was careful about stuff like that, too, with the guys she dated—or
didn‟t date—since Dad died. She didn‟t want them getting ideas, or she didn‟t want him and Emily getting ideas about
anybody taking their father‟s place. She‟d made an exception for Morgan, but only because Morgan was Zack‟s . . .
Father.
He shook his head. Not thinking about that. Think about Stephanie instead, her sharp blue eyes, her red and black hair, the
smooth silver ring at the corner of her mouth. “ The next step is up to you, ” she‟d said.
Which took him back to Morgan and his mother. Shit.
He pushed open the front door, planning to escape to his room.
His mom was sitting where she always sat, in the corner of the couch by the reading lamp, cradling her open laptop. She
worked all the time, making patient notes or doing research. When his dad was alive, they would sit together, not really
talking. Every now and then, his mom would read something out loud about drug interactions or complications from herpes
and his dad would reach over and pat his mother‟s foot.
Good times, he thought sarcastically. But the memory, so ordinary, so clear, clogged his throat.
“Hey, Mom.”
She glanced up from her monitor, her face lighting in that way that made him feel loved and annoyed at the same time. “Hi,
Zack.”
He waited for the familiar litany of questions. How was your day, your lunch, the walk, your life?
When it didn‟t come, the tension leaked out of him like air from a balloon.
“Mom.”
She looked up again, her eyes dark and questioning.
Morgan thought he should tell her.
But he wouldn‟t. He couldn‟t.
He cleared his throat and took the coward‟s way out. “Is it okay if we eat early tonight?”
“Hungry?”
“Yeah.” He was always hungry, so that wasn‟t a lie at least. “Actually, I‟ve got to be someplace at seven.”
“Where?”
He hunched his shoulders. She was always after him to get out of his room, to go out. What did it matter where he went?
“Some movie. At the community center.”
Her face cleared. “Maybe you‟ll see Emily there.”
“Em?”
“She‟s going with a friend from day camp. His parents are taking her. Do you want a ride?”
Stephanie was sixteen. All the guys she dated probably had their driver‟s licenses already. Hell, they probably had cars.
“I‟ll walk.” He heard the sullen note in his voice and made an effort. “Thanks, though.”
“No problem. I‟d better get started on dinner, then.” Her smile flickered as she uncurled from the couch. “So you won‟t be
late.”
She set her half-closed laptop on the coffee table. A minute later he could hear her in the kitchen, banging cupboards,
opening drawers.
He hovered in the living room, caught between coming and going, between his past and his future, between what he had
and everything he wanted. He could follow her and talk to her. He could go upstairs and hide.
He flopped on the couch, thumbed the remote for the TV, and picked up his mother‟s laptop, prepared to dull his mind into
quiet.
His mom was still online. He ran his finger over the keypad to shut the application. Froze, with his finger raised and his
heart thudding in his ears.
THE FINFOLK OF ORKNEY, he read. These sorcerous shape-shifters of Scotland are frequently confused with the more