“Did she say anything to you?” he asked. “Celeste? Did she know you were coming here, and did she say anything to you? Or say anything at all that you could tell me?” Something that would help him know how to help her?

“I only remember her saying one thing, but I didn’t know what it meant.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘I need him,’ and that was it. Just that she needed somebody. But Ms. Adeline told her that she was still too weak, and she needed to get stronger.”

“Did she say how long? How long until she’d be strong enough?” Dax asked.

“She said it’d be a few more days this time, and that made Celeste sad. I felt sorry for her because she really wanted to come with me. Maybe I could have helped her see whoever she needed to see, huh? Do you know who it is?”

Dax felt sick. “Yes, I think I do.”

“Oh, look, there’s my little sister with Mama and Daddy,” she said, turning her attention back to what was happening at her home. “I’m going to them now. Thank you for helping me, and I’ll see you at the show, right?”

“Yes, I’ll see you at the show.”

Dax watched her take a step toward the direction of her parents, then disappear. Then he let his head rest against the back of the settee in frustration while he looked at the ceiling and pondered why Celeste was so weak, and why no one, especially Adeline Vicknair, was able to help her through.

He swung out his arm and backhanded the tea service across the room. The pitcher clanged loudly as it pinged across the hardwood floor, as did the cups and the tray.

Placing his hands against his forehead, he scrubbed them down his face and embraced the aching throb overpowering his temples. It hurt like hell, and right now, it suited him fine.

He sat there in the stillness with his head cradled in his hands and realized that life really did suck. Then he heard a soft thunk on the table, then another, and another, and he moved his hands away and opened his eyes.

The tea service was back in place, the tray in the center of the table, pitcher perched on one side and two dainty silver cups on the other, as though nothing had happened at all. But something had happened.

He’d had enough.

He glared at the tray and contemplated tossing it again, but it would just find its way to the table once more. Even his anger couldn’t be sated in this damn room. “If you can’t send her back now, then at least help me figure out what’s happening to her, and how to help her stay.”

Then, while he stared, a small lavender card, similar to the one Adeline Vicknair had sent three nights ago, materialized in the center of the gleaming tray with his name written boldly across the top. Dax leaned forward, picked it up, flipped it over and read the single line of text, written in his grandmother’s definitive swirling script.

Patience, chère. I’m doing the best I can.

10

CELESTE PRACTICALLY jogged down the darkened path toward the middle. She hadn’t felt this energetic, this lively, this excited in a very long time, mainly because she knew that Adeline Vicknair would let her pass back through. Celeste had no doubt she was strong enough now. She didn’t know what had happened when she’d heeded the call of those voices, but whatever it was, it had strengthened her, and for that she was grateful. Plus, the crying had stopped, and she was grateful for that as well.

The only sound echoing from this passage now was her footsteps slapping against the cool stone as she ran. No sobbing. No screams. No pleading voices calling for her to come back. And the old saying was true-silence was golden-because their silence meant Celeste didn’t need to go back to them, not right now. Right now, she could go where she wanted, and where she wanted to go was…to Dax.

She entered the middle room to find Adeline Vicknair, glowing brightly, her long silver hair floating around her head.

The older woman clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth disapprovingly as Celeste entered, but her dark eyes sparkled. She wasn’t fooling Celeste; she was glad that she had returned, and she was almost as excited about letting her see Dax again as Celeste was excited to see him.

Celeste thought of him, the way he’d looked right before she’d been pulled away. His muscled body gloriously naked before her as he lay on the bed, the most tempting male she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, even broader because of his arms tied to the post. His chest, heaving with thick, ragged breaths as she crawled on top of him and kissed that part of him that was so hard, so ready and so deliciously responsive.

She’d never thought she would have the nerve to do that to a man. No, that wasn’t true. She’d dreamed of doing that to a man, if she ever found a man she wanted that much. But she’d had a fear, not of actually doing it, but of not doing it well.

She thought of Dax’s powerful growl through his release.

Oh, yes, she’d done it well. And she’d do it again.

She was going back through to him today; one way or another, she’d make Adeline let her through. She had to. It’d been, what, two days? Three? She wasn’t certain, having lost track of time when she’d rested down that other path, but she didn’t care how long had passed. What mattered now was how long she could stay this time.

“You’re stronger,” Adeline said.

Celeste nodded. “Much stronger.”

It’d nearly killed her when she’d found her way to the middle, saw the little girl-Angelle-on her way to see Dax, and wasn’t allowed to go with her. She’d still felt weak, but she’d thought if she could just get to Dax, she’d feel better. But Adeline hadn’t budged. Today, though, she would. Celeste would make sure of it.

“And your clothes,” Adeline said, nodding. “I like the change.”

Celeste looked down at the long, sage-green tunic. It was lightweight and sheer, with a feminine lettuce edging along the hem, and it was paired with a pair of winter-white capris that stopped at her calves. She was barefoot, like before, but her toes were painted a sparkling pink. Why had she changed from the white gown? How had she? She hadn’t done it intentionally.

“Oh, chère, I’m sorry. I assumed you’d already noticed the new apparel. Evidently you were doing much better.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they put you in regular clothes,” the woman said matter-of-factly.

“Who put-” Celeste stopped when a pinprick of light forced its way through the middle wall, then grew wider and wider. “No. I’m not going.”

“Oh, come over here, chère,” Adeline instructed, wrapping an arm around Celeste, then pulling her to one side. “It isn’t for you this time. Hurry. Several are coming.”

The light grew brighter and brighter, bigger and bigger, until it claimed the majority of the wall and Celeste had to shield her eyes, and then a large mob of people appeared. Adults and children alike bustled through. They chatted and laughed as they passed, apparently oblivious to the two women standing against the wall.

The light grew even larger, even brighter, then absorbed them all, before going away. The scene reminded Celeste of the day when she’d been in the bus accident that brought her here the first time, with Chloe and all of the other children and counselors that were on their way to camp. Back then, Celeste had felt a pull toward the light, but she’d fought against its lure in order to stay and help Chloe, who hadn’t wanted to go in until she saw her parents once more. Of all the times Celeste had seen the light, that time its draw had been the strongest.

She realized now that during every previous instance when she’d seen it, she’d felt some type of pull toward it, a desire to step closer and sink into it. But she didn’t feel that this time, and she wondered why.

“Plane crash,” Adeline said. “Red-eye flight. Most of them were sleeping and didn’t feel a thing. One minute, they were asleep, and the next they were here, but it was their time, and they didn’t have any unfinished business. If any of them had, I’d have needed to get some of the grandkids to help.”