After a while Luce put down the book. The darkness made it impossible to fight off the images that crowded her mind. The black diver slipped from the boat again and plopped down into midnight water, Dana’s wounded eyes stared at Luce, and Nausicaa touched Luce’s cheek as she readied herself to swim away. The pictures jumbled and merged with one another until Dana’s eyes became the winking lens of the camera, until Violet spoke with Luce’s father’s voice.

Luce nestled her cheek against Dorian’s olive jacket, trying not to think about the long months of winter still ahead of her. It was only December now. The worst was still to come.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Why don’t they turn on the lights?” Luce asked. She couldn’t see anything, but somehow she knew that she was standing in a slick corridor with walls and floors of polished gray marble; maybe it was some kind of museum or a huge bank. Standing, Luce thought. That seemed peculiar, but then as she thought about it she couldn’t understand why it should seem strange to her. Her sneakered feet squeaked against the slippery tiles.

“They must have all burned out,” her father answered from somewhere beside her. “Lights burn out as quick as matches in these places. But I don’t know how you’re going to help me if we can’t see where we’re going.”

Luce squeezed her eyes tight and then opened them again. Now there was a faint dusk glow coming from somewhere up ahead. “Are they in there?” Luce asked. The glow revealed the hard, glossy planes of the hallway, but for some reason it didn’t allow her to see her father. She knew he was right there, though. She could feel him as a kind of warm shadow, invisible but somehow more powerfully alive than a normal person would be.

“That would be the place,” her father agreed. “I’m so glad you could come, Lucette. I’ve been trying and trying, but I can’t get them out.”