Cay strolls up the stairs to her porch. The steps are lined with flower pots sprouting with miniature crimson suns. She pulls a stack of envelopes from the mailbox and pushes through the front door. 

Maggie shakes her head. "Doesn't anyone ever lock their doors around here?" She closes it tight behind her and follows Cay into the kitchen. She peers out the window above the sink. "No way! You have a lighthouse?" 

Cay throws the mail onto the counter top. 

Maggie leans over the sink, taking in the panoramic view. Lush green grass meets the edge of a cliff wall, where a lighthouse overlooks the sea. "I didn't even have a swing set growing up." 

Cay laughs. "It's one of the oldest in the country. My father bought the property when the lighthouse was retired from service, and then he renovated the light keeper's quarters into a home. He has a soft spot for old things." The top half of her body disappears into the refrigerator. 

Maggie's eyes drift to the envelopes scattered across the granite counter top, most of which are addressed to a Dr. Henry Banes. "Your father is a doctor?" 

Cay pulls a jar of mayo, a head of lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and deli meat from the fridge. "Yup." She spills the contents onto the counter.

"Aren't Drew and Charlie picking up pizza on their way over?" 

Cay pulls bread slices from a plastic bakery bag. "Knowing those two, it'll be gone before they leave the Pizzeria parking lot." 

Maggie can't argue with that one. Charlie's and Drew's eating habits could put an ogre to shame. 

Cay slides a sandwich over to Maggie. She holds out a bag of chips. "Want some?" 

Maggie scoops up a handful.

Cay chomps down her sandwich as she flips through the most recent edition of Teen Vogue.  "I have to take a shower before the guys get here." She scrunches her nose. "Mr. Wheeler made us run laps in gym today. I absolutely loathe sweating." She takes the last few bites of her sandwich and hands Maggie the magazine. "Make yourself at home. I won't be long."

Maggie's eyes brighten. She could easily peruse Teen Vogue on line, but there's something wonderful about the smooth feel of the pages between her fingertips, the boxy layout of the words, and the glossy pictures that capture her senses. She eagerly flips the cover and drags her finger down the table of contents:  

~ Ten Tips for a Ghostly Glow

~ Treat them with Tricks this Halloween

~ Fight, Flight or Flirt  

She tears a fragrance sample from a perfume add and lifts it to her nose. She breathes in the scent of citrus and vanilla. Her eyes drift to a picture on the refrigerator. "Dr. B?" she whispers. She plucks the picture from underneath a magnet. She stares at it. Dr. B and Cay are sitting side by side, smiling. Is he Cay's psychiatrist too? Why would she take a picture with her psychiatrist and hang it on her fridge? Dr. B never took a picture with me and if he did, I definitely wouldn't display it. 

Maggie returns the picture to its spot underneath the magnet. She turns her attention to the envelopes strewed along the countertop and lifts one addressed to Dr. Banes. She scans the picture, then the envelope, then the picture, then the envelope...Dr. B...Dr. Banes...Dr. B...Dr. Banes. Her breath hitches. Her eyes widen. Dr. B is Dr. Henry Banes! 

Thoughts scratch at the places where the questions live. How could she have gone this long without knowing that Dr. B is Cay's adoptive father? And Eli's foster-father? Living right here in Cayder Bay? It's a small island! It was just a matter of time before she bumped into Dr. B and Cay at the supermarket, or the café, or wherever – just walking out the front door, for goodness' sake. 

The itch inside her head spreads. It's just a matter of time now until Cay, Drew, and Charlie find out who she really is and where she's really from – a psychiatric patient, fresh out of the loony bin! 

Maggie paces down the hallway in search of ... she's not sure what she's in search of ... The incessant itch inside her head is consuming her. 

She ducks into a room off the hallway. 

Answers. Yes, that's it. She needs answers. 

She glances at the bare walls and empty shelves. She lifts the lid on a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. It's full of sketchbooks. Eli's room! She pulls a book from the pile.

"God only knows what's going on in that head of his," Cay had said. "He guards that book with his life." Maggie's shoulders slump. These sketches are images of Eli's innermost thoughts and feelings. It's not like her to intrude upon someone else's privacy. Besides, does she really want to know what's going on inside his head? 

The thoughts scratch. 

The itch burns. 

Answers. She needs answers. 

She opens the cover to his sketchbook.

It's as if she has traveled back in time to that day in the cemetery, to a more vibrant version of the scene. It's Eli's version of the scene, with images she did not – could not – see.

The sketch is of her running through rows of moss and stone. The monster Dread is at her heels, hunting her down like a wolf chasing deer. A mushroom cloud, dark and thick as mud looms above. Claws and horns reach for her from the darkness.

She turns the page. Eli is crouched over her, his body a shield from the onslaught of slices and stabs.

She turns the page. A lightning strike illuminates the dark cloud. The creature of fire and light swings its blazing sword. 

"What are you doing in here?" 

Maggie gasps. She spins around to face Eli's dark glare. The lump in her throat swells. "I need answers." 

He folds his arms across his chest. "I've already told you more than I should have." 

Maggie's fear mushrooms into anger. "More than you should have? Why didn't you tell me you're living with Dr. B?" 

Eli shrugs. "It never came up." 

She's heard that line before. "Never came up? It should have come up! Please Eli, no more keeping secrets from me." 

He glances at the floor and shakes his head. He holds out his hand. "Give me my sketchbook."

"These sketches are of me," she says tossing it to him. "You can't expect me to stop asking questions." 

His jaw clenches. 

"What are the creatures? What are the monsters? Are they ghosts?" 

"No, not ghosts," he huffs. "It's not like that."

"Then what?" 

He peers out the window at the lighthouse. 

Maggie touches his arm. "You can trust me, Eli." 

His body tenses. He stares at her hand on his arm. "You're worse than Briggs with a bone, you know that?" he says shrugging her off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You won't stop digging, and then when you do find what you're looking for, you won't let it go. You just never let things go." 

"I can't let it go." She returns her hand to his arm. "Please, Eli. Help me understand." 

He stares at her hand and then lifts his eyes to hers. He holds her gaze in silence as he inspects her face. 

"Please," she whispers. "I need to know."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "Fine." He bends down and shuffles through the sketchbook pile. He grabs one and holds it out to her. "Here." He lifts his chin. "Take it."  

Ink stains blot the cover. Its pages are folded and torn. Maggie opens the spiral-bound paper and runs her hand down the page. A young boy is sitting in an empty room. His eyes are closed, but he's not asleep. Monsters the color of soot and blood dance around him.

She turns the page. It's the creature of fire and light. Its eyes glow topaz. Its translucent wings encase the boy.

She turns the page. A single flame slashes through the monsters. They disappear into the light. The light engulfs the room and everything in it – including the young boy.

She turns the page. The young boy sits in an empty room. His eyes are wide open. 

Maggie points at the boy. "This is you?" 

Eli nods. 

"And the creature? The monsters?"

"For a long time, I thought they were psychotic hallucinations – a manifestation of my depression, like Dr. B told me." 

Maggie inches closer. "Thought?"

"Then someone told me she felt something that I drew. She even named it. I thought she was totally insane. But then she wouldn't stop talking about it, and annoying as that was, I got to thinking: What if she's telling the truth? What if I'm not psychotic? What if the beings I see and hear are real? What then?" 

Maggie's breath hitches. "And?"

"And I don't think they're hallucinations anymore." 

Maggie's eyes widen. "What do you think they are?" 

Eli sits against the windowsill so his eyes are looking directly into hers. He lets out a shaky breath. "Do you really want to know?" 

Maggie's mouth turns dry. She rubs her forehead. "I need to know." Her entire body stills. Every inch of her is waiting on his words. 

His voice drops to a whisper. "The books that are in Dr. B's office." 

"The books?" Recognition lights her face. "Angels and Demons?" 

Eli lifts his finger to his lips and shushes her. His dark eyes fix on hers. "Yes."

"Why do they battle?" 

Eli's voice is barely audible. His lips quiver. "A war for souls is raging." 

Tiny jackhammers blast away in Maggie's chest. "A war?"

Eli nods. 

"Dread is hunting me because he wants my soul?" 

"I think so." 

Maggie inhales a jagged breath and slowly lets it go. "The creature -- I mean, the Angel -- the one who battles Dread -- the one from your sketchbook. It's been with you a long time?"

"It has." 

"It protects you?"

Eli shrugs. "I don't know." 

"Why can you see and hear the battles?"

"I just can."

"That's it? That's all you got? You just can? There has to be more. There has to be a reason why." Maggie grasps Eli's hand, as if holding it will somehow let her in on the truth. 

He looks down at their intertwined fingers. He squeezes tighter. "I don't know."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"I've told you everything."

"Maggie!" Cay calls out from down the hall. "Where are you?" 

Maggie shoves Eli's sketchbook into his chest. "I have to go."

"Maggie, wait." He pulls her into him and presses his lips against her ear. The warmth of his breath tickles her skin. "Don't tell anyone what I've told you. Let it be our secret." 

A car door slams in the distance. Footsteps stomp through the front door. "Honey, I'm home!" It's Drew.

"I have to go, Eli. They can't see us like this."  

She's pressed up against him so close she can feel the pattering of his heart racing against her chest. Hers is racing too. 

"I trust you," he says. "Do you trust me?" He clasps his hands behind her waist. 

Her arms are entwined around his shoulders. The heat of his skin mixes with hers. She's heady with his clean, warm scent. It reminds her of how the air smells after a summer rain. "I trust you."

"Then tell no one. Not a soul. Some people are not what they seem." 

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