(A/N): I realize this is a short chapter, but it didn't work to attach it to the following part of the story. Thanks for understanding and for all the support. It's wonderful. :)

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The Penderwick sisters were to meet Jeffrey at a small café in Manhattan, called Crumbs. He'd emailed them the address a week previously, so Rosalind had printed it and taped it to the dashboard of her miniscule Sedan. She did not wish to be caught off guard like that fateful car ride to Arundel so many years before, when Hound had devoured their map.

"Why tape the address to the dashboard?" asked Skye, squinting out the passenger window at the gargantuan buildings surrounding them. "Unless one of us has a psychotic break and decides to eat it ourselves, I can pretty much guarantee its safety."

"I don't want to risk it," said Rosalind. She edged her iced tea away from the paper for emphasis, drumming the fingers of her other hand on the steering wheel. She had a single Heartline on the underside of her slender wrist, as scarlet as the day it first appeared. Skye stared at it for a moment, thinking with rye fondness of the boy in question who, most fortunately, had had a matching one on his own forearm for ten years. Though she was largely a disbeliever in Heartlines, she approved of this particular relationship quite heartily.

"Look!" said Jane, hanging out her window to stare open-mouthed at a humongous billboard advertisement for Les Miserables. "How fabulous," she remarked. "Wouldn't it be spectacular if I was cast in the Broadway musical one day?"

"You can't sing to save your life," Skye pointed out. "The best part you'd get would be as an extra."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Skye."

Skye didn't apologize. With each passing moment, she became more nervous—to the point where she felt physically ill and tremendously snappish because all the blood in her body seemed to have congregated in her head, and then further aggravated because this had the unfortunate effect of turning her brain to mush. At the moment, her critical thinking could not rival that of an anteater. She was trying to focus herself, forget the sentimental nonsense, and see clearly again, but Rational Thought and Level-headedness had obviously absconded together for South America. Even as her sisters chattered around her, Skye's ability to comprehend what they were saying was close to nil.

Pitiful. Absurd. True.

In reality, she was far more nervous about acquiring a Heartline than of actually seeing Jeffrey, but the two events were related so closely in her mind that she actually found herself feeling a bit annoyed at her friend, despite the fact that he had done nothing to upset her.

"Hang on," said Rosalind, taking hold of the steering wheel with an iron grip. "I think we may be able to squeeze between those two taxis." She pursed her lips in concentration and stepped hard on the gas pedal; the Sedan jumped forward and its occupants found themselves in great danger of whiplash.

"Ouch!" yelped Batty, whacking her forehead against the seat in front of her. Jane grimaced sympathetically.

"Sorry, Batty," apologized Rosalind, rolling deftly into what seemed like the only vacant parking spot for blocks. "Any serious bruising?"

Batty borrowed Jane's makeup compact and peered at herself in the minuscule mirror. "None at all," she concluded, and Rosalind looked vigorously relieved.

Skye gave herself a fleeting once-over in the rear view mirror before getting out, seized with the desire to pull her hair back into its customary ponytail.

"Leave it," said Rosalind, starting Skye from her thoughts.

"How did you—"

"Twenty-one years I've known you and you still think it's difficult for me to tell what you're thinking?" Rosy laughed. "Piece of cake."

Skye poked her hair despairingly and clambered from the car, glancing around at the tableau of urban life. As always, there were street vendors with various wares—food, art, clothing accessories, souvenirs—throngs of men and women moving hastily along the sidewalk with bags and briefcases in hand, myriad shopaholic tourists, and groups of teenagers slinging crude jokes at one another and laughing boisterously. It was both intriguing and overwhelming.

Jane unfolded herself from the backseat and joined Skye on the pavement. She inhaled with relish, looking for all the world like a grizzly bear reacquainting herself with the world after a winter of hibernation.

"It smells like possibility," she sighed.

"Or pollution," said Skye, with a verbal eye roll.

"Or maybe both," Batty added, her dark curls catching on the low branch of a spindly cherry tree.

"Yes," said Jane, detangling Batty's hair. "New York smells like possibility and pollution. Oh, that's lovely."

Skye checked her watch. "We should get going," she said, her pulse chattering in her ears. They had less than five minutes to walk seven blocks; it didn't look promising. After a frustrating skirmish with their parking meter, the sisters were off, walking single file along the block. Skye's heart was pounding alarmingly against her ribcage and her insides were the consistency of jelly. Trying to pull herself together, she began reciting the digits of Pi in her head. She made it to forty before her concentration flew apart and she had to start over.

"I wonder how Jeffrey will look," said Jane, swiping on lip-gloss as she walked.

Skye frowned. "He'll look like Jeffrey, obviously."

"You know what I mean." Jane slipped the tube of lip-gloss into her pocket. "He always looks a little different. Older. Handsomer."

Skye blushed and looked away. I am in control.

I am always in control.

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