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Chapter 2
Tingling

Claire had no disturbing dreams that night. The next morning at school, however, she heard that senior student Vicki Donovan had been attacked by an animal during the annual Back-to-School party the previous evening. She frowned, her pulse beating a little faster. Then she remembered the first attack had also been in the woods. It was only logical that since it hadn't been caught, the animal responsible would go hunting again.

Work drove the matter from her mind. When her free period loomed closer, though, something else began nagging at her. The parent-teacher conference. More specifically, the part that concerned Jeremy Gilbert. Even though she was long acquainted with him, Claire didn't really know much about the boy. She knew that he had a good hand and a good eye when it came to art. He was a good kid, and he had talent, but he was skipping classes only three days in. Speaking to Jenna in her formal capacity might be the best option.

As if on cue, the woman in question appeared.

"Hey." Claire greeted her first.

Jenna paused near the door, eyes glinting. "Am I supposed to call you Ms. Duval now?"

Claire snorted in reply, her nervousness dissipating somewhat. "Have a seat, Ms. Sommers." She gestured at a chair.

Her face still lit with good humor, Jenna sat. It took her less than a second to grow serious. "So, how's Jeremy doing?"

Claire let out a breath, her stomach contracting once. She looked steadily at her friend. "He has a lot of potential, but he's skipped my class once already, and sometimes he seems distracted." She inhaled quickly and went on. "Of course, that may mean nothing. It's still early in the year, and . . . it's only been three months. Just . . . be aware of it."

Jenna frowned. Momentary silence hung between them. Then her expression smoothed. "Yeah, I will."

•

It was near the end of lunchtime when another knock came on the art classroom door. Claire looked up from the papers on her desk.

"Mrs. Lockwood." She succeeded in keeping the surprise from her voice. "How may I help you? The eleventh grade's parent-teacher conference isn't until tomorrow."

The mayor's wife gave her a gleaming smile as she came closer. "I know, Claire. It's just tomorrow I have errands to run and I thought I'd try coming today instead. The school secretary said you had a free slot." The smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

Claire made no comment, looking at the mayor's wife instead. When it came to self-convenience . . . Wordlessly, she swept a hand toward the tables and chairs of her classroom.

Carol Lockwood remained standing.

"I only have a few minutes."

Claire released the pen forgotten in her hand. These past two years she'd learned not to expect a lot of parents to show up at the beginning-of-the-year conferences, especially when it came to her junior and senior students. It did make sense, after all — if there was no major behavioral problem, what was there to really talk about when only just a couple or so days of the new school year had gone by? Carol Lockwood was an exception, however. She always came to these far-too-early parent-teacher meetings, always prompt and business-like and smiling for all the world to see.

"There is not much to tell about Tyler, so far," Claire said. "He attends class and stays involved." The good thing about students picking Art as an elective course was that they actually wanted to be there.

The mayor's wife seemed content with the answer. "That is nice to hear." She gave her another small smile. "How are your mother and sister?"

Claire was unprepared for the change of subject. "They are both well," she rallied quickly, "and Baltimore does agree with my mother."

"A loss for our community, but Maryland has gained a dedicated historian," Carol remarked. "We will continue to be seeing you at the Historical Society?"

Claire met the older woman's clear gaze. "Of course."

•

She was just finishing with her Art I class when the screen of her phone lit up. The bell rang. Claire waited until the classroom was empty and sat at her desk. She couldn't help the chuckle that rose in her throat when she read the text message.

Tanner's a real douchebag, Jenna had written.

Claire's fingers hovered over the screen, but before she could decide how to reply to Jenna's message, she got another text.

I have to see the English teacher and I'm done. Wanna grab a coffee?

Perfect timing.

Just finished my classes for the day. I'll wait for you in the parking lot, she wrote back.

Standing by her car almost half an hour later, Claire saw Jenna walking toward her.

"At least Mrs. Enders is more agreeable than Tanner," her friend said by way of greeting.

Claire hesitated. True, the history teacher could be very smug, but she wasn't going to discuss a colleague's flaws with anyone.

"Some people are better at interaction than others," she said at last, settling for a vague comment that she hoped would end that talk.

"Yeah, well, he should keep his issues to himself," Jenna returned. "Where are we going?"

"Not the Grill," Claire was quick to answer. "I want someplace more quiet. The Coffee Ground?"

"The Coffee Ground it is."

The small coffee shop wasn't far from the school, and so they walked there. On the way, Jenna filled Claire in on the meetings with Jeremy's other teachers.

"I still can't believe I missed the signs," she was saying as they sat at an outside table. "I know he still has difficulty coping, but . . . getting high?" She lowered her voice as a waiter came to get their order.

"Talk to him," Claire prompted when the girl left. "Find a way to help him unload." She paused. "A heart-to-heart usually helps."

Jenna was silent for a moment. She sighed. "I wish Miranda was here. She'd know just what to do."

Claire studied her. "Teenagers aren't easy. You're doing the best you can."

•

The next morning Claire was woken by something soft rubbing against her cheek. She heard the loud purr before opening her eyes and smiled. One of the kitten's sharp claws grazed her neck. She picked the animal up blindly and set him on the covers. She stretched, feeling excitement suddenly bubble up in her belly. The kitten watched her finger as it traced patterns on the plain textile, darting this way and that after a while. Then he struck out cautiously with a paw. Claire laughed quietly to herself but didn't withdraw her hand.

Her good mood lasted all seven-something hours of school.

"Someone's all chipper today."

Lisa Edwards' voice came so unexpectedly that Claire felt her heart stutter. Her humming was cut short.

"Boyfriend?" Lisa continued speaking, unaware of the fright she had caused.

Claire turned to see the Italian teacher gazing at her, dark eyes glinting.

"Nope," she replied, her pulse returning to its normal rate.

"The comet?"

The question made Claire look up sharply. Her breath hitched again. It took her a long second to remember that Lisa knew of her interest in the night sky, a fondness her mother had passed to her.

"Yeah," she agreed slowly.

"My husband's excited about it, too," Lisa went on. "Rare sight and all that. We'll see you tonight?"

"Definitely." This time Claire's answer was immediate.

•

She booked an appointment at the vet's in the afternoon. Cicero was quiet during the ride there, and once in the exam room, he relished the attention the veterinary nurse showered him with. Purring away, he promptly forgot about the sting of the small needle and resumed rubbing against outstretched hands. Like many a human infant after a vaccine, however, he was drowsy within the hour.

Claire left him to sleep it off and went down to the kitchen. When she next looked at the clock on the wall, it was a little before 7:30 p.m. She shut the art book she was studying and hurried to her bedroom, finding fresh clothes and heading to the shower. Afterwards, a taste of the evening air through the open window dismissed her initial notion of driving to the town square. Another brief look at the darkening sky had her reaching for a sketchbook and pencils. She stowed them in her backpack.

Leaving the house, Claire made a detour toward Maple Street. The lights on the porch of number 2104 were off.

It was several seconds before the door opened after her ringing the bell. Jenna appeared, a pen in her hair.

"Hey. Just wanted to see if you changed your mind."

Jenna sighed. "Would that I could. I feel that if I interrupt my flow now, I'll lose my focus."

Claire studied her. Jenna had said she wanted to take advantage of Elena and Jeremy's not being at home to get some work on her thesis done. Claire had hoped the good weather and the intrigue of a rare sight would persuade her to wrap it up early.

"Tanner's words about responsibility got to you?"

Jenna let out a huff. "I guess they did. I figured this is something I can control, at least." She paused. "If I get enough done, I'll let you know, and we can meet up."

Claire saw the apology in her eyes, heard it in her voice. She could understand how Jenna felt. "OK." She nodded. "Don't push yourself too hard."

Jenna's lip curled slightly.

Once the door was shut behind her and she turned in the direction of the town square, Claire got her phone out.

"I can practically feel you skipping." When Sheila picked up, Claire could tell the older woman was smiling.

"Can you, now?" she returned, the corners of her mouth curving upward.

"Mm-hmm." Sheila's non-verbal affirmation was tinted with amusement. "You going to see the comet?"

"Of course I am," Claire answered. "Coming?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Sheila replied. "I have to brush up on some facts for tomorrow."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "You, brush up on the Occult?" She heard Sheila give a short chuckle.

"Contrary to my students' belief, I don't know everything."

Claire caught herself grinning. "Alright, then. Have fun."

"And you enjoy yourself tonight." Sheila's voice was still faintly amused.

"I will." Claire's eyes were bright. It was a clear night, and that comet was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.

The town square was beginning to fill with people when she got there. Most were holding candles in plastic cups. Some had sparklers. There was light everywhere. Claire wondered just how visible the comet would be now that the night was made so artificially bright. In a corner of the square she caught sight of Lisa and her husband. They were manning the counter that held the supply of candles.

The Italian teacher was luminous, her all-white clothes contrasting her dark skin. She smiled and held out a candle.

"Thanks." Claire took it with a half-nod.

"That bag looks heavy."

She turned to John Edwards and hiked one strap of her backpack higher. "I thought I'd do some sketching."

"You'd better get a bench then, or soon you won't find a place to sit." John gestured toward the growing crowd of townspeople.

Claire followed the sweep of his arm, taking in the sight. He was right — it seemed that in a few more minutes the square would be full.

A woman came to stand behind her, so she said goodbye to the couple and went in search of someplace to settle. Claiming an empty bench nearer the road, she set her backpack beside her and looked up. The sky was almost black. Claire picked up her candle. She gazed at it for a moment and set it upright, her knees locking around it. Cupping the wick with both hands, she glanced about.

"Need a light?"

The woman's voice made her hands jerk back and her knees clench reflexively. Liz Forbes was standing beside her bench, holding her own lit white candle, her features soft.

"Sheriff, hi." Claire took a second to raise her arm and allow Liz to kindle her wax light. "No duty tonight?"

"Yes duty; just taking a break for five minutes," the sheriff replied, and Claire refocused.

Of course, she was in uniform. How could she have missed that?

Liz had drawn herself to her full height again. "Enjoy the celebration." She gave a tilt of her head and a slight upturn of lips and went on her way.

Claire watched her go and then secured her light source between two slats of the bench. She took out her sketchbook. Slowly, the blank page began to fill with the scene before her: people with candles, smiling young children holding sparklers, trees decorated with lights.

The sky had turned inky when she looked up sometime later. Touching pencil to paper for the last few quick strokes, she put everything away and simply studied the people around her. After a few minutes, she got up, gathering her things and heading toward the street.

She stopped in front of a tall brick building. The glass window-front read Soundwave Music Studio. Lifting her gaze to the roof, Claire considered it briefly. She produced her keys from her backpack and unlocked the door, securing it again behind her once she let herself in. She turned no lights on. Only the candle flame brightened the small foyer. Even if it were pitch dark, though, her feet would always know the way to the stairwell at the far side of the building. And even in complete blackness she could picture in detail the layout of both floors the way they had been only a few months ago. Beyond the foyer was the room where her father had taught piano, separated from the half-bath by a flight of stairs. On the second story were the rooms where guitar and voice lessons had been given.

This was the place where Claire had fallen in love with her father's art, watching him instruct his students. These memories were the reason the music studio still stood empty five months after Henri Duval's passing. She knew she ought to have rented or sold it, but the memories it held made her selfish.

Claire's feet had carried her forward on autopilot, across the foyer, up the stairs, and she now found herself on the building's roof. It was wonderfully quiet up here, away from the noise of the square below. Claire had a beautiful view of everything. In the calmness, the elation she had felt for most of the day began to return. She closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky, but her fingers tapped on the roof wall incessantly. Feeling the weight on her shoulders, she paused to set her backpack and candle carefully against the bricks. Catching herself humming, she fished her phone out of her jeans pocket and dialed her sister's number.

"Can you see the comet from Baltimore?" she asked when Diane picked up.

"I saw it," her sister said. "Quite something, isn't it? I felt as if my skin was tingling, made me wanna do . . . things." Her voice was becoming as excited as Claire felt.

"It's never too late," she returned, but even as she said it, Claire could sense her sister deflate.

"No." Diane had sobered instantly. "I don't want to get what happened to Mémé and Grandfather."

Claire sighed. She could understand why her sister didn't want to tell her husband. It was a big risk. Their parents had been lucky. "Yeah." Her own voice was no more than a pensive murmur. Then, touching the brick parapet, she smiled. "I'm on the roof of Dad's studio. Brought my sketchbook along. Do you remember when he used to dance with Mom in the kitchen?" She began tapping against the wall once more, the stately rhythm of a waltz.

"I do."

Claire could hear the fondness in her sister's tone. "He would've loved this. Would've probably taken Mom out to enjoy the sight."

"When we spoke this morning, she said she did go out last night," Diane said, "tried to find a dark enough place to watch the comet." She paused. "Speaking of dark . . . How are you going to sketch up there?"

"I have a candle and my phone," Claire was quick to answer.

"Well, get to it, or soon not even those will be enough."

Claire felt warmth spread through her at the concern in her sister's voice. "Yes, ma'am." A momentary smile brushed her lips. "Talk to you later."

After the line went dead, she realized she was still tapping against the bricks. She looked down at the phone screen. Her mother would still be in yoga class. She continued tapping. Soon, her feet began to follow the rhythm. Claire found herself waltzing, heat rising in her chest again. She could feel that tingling Diane had spoken of, but soon, another sensation was added to the bubbling emotion inside.

She abruptly stopped moving, her breath coming in short bursts. A quick look around confirmed she was alone. Still, that sudden feeling of being watched had been so piercingly real. Claire gave a mental huff. The only access to the roof was from within the building, and she had locked that door.

She went back to where she had left her things and set up for sketching, ignoring the dark sky. Her phone's beam was a decent light source. Human figures began to emerge on the paper, but where she had intended to sketch the town square from memory, she ended up with a kitchen, a man and a woman dancing in the empty space between the table and the sink. Claire studied the finished scene, brushing a feather-light finger above it. She got up and packed her things. The candle propped against the wall had melted to almost half its original size. The town square below was much more quiet than before.

Shouldering her backpack, she made for the roof door and blew out the candle.

Chapter 2 soundtrack
• Tail of the Sun, Stroke 9 — Claire and Carol Lockwood talk
• Uncertainty, The Fray — Claire and Jenna talk at The Coffee Ground
• Pocketful of Sunshine, Natasha Bedingfield — Claire wakes up on the day of the comet
• Blue and Yellow, The Used — Claire meets Liz Forbes in the town square and gets to sketching
• Until..., Sting — Claire waltzes alone on the roof of her father's music studio