Chapter One.

My dreams are indistinct, and I often wakeup in the morning, forgetting what I've dreamnt but soaking in the mood that that night's illusion left me with. It's a strange half-consciousness, where the happiness or fear of the night quietly seep out of your bones and into the bedsheets, where they stay. A bank of the unreal. The imagined.

When I first met Elijah, I was eighteen, and in my last year of high school. My favorite thing to do was to write in my journal, recording my thoughts about those dreams, or the injustices that can occur in classes and out of them, between my friends and I and the guys I wanted to be my boyfriend. I was never real successful with the last category...

I used to look at myself in the morning, taking stock of what I had to work with, my appearance, my good traits. Things I thought people liked about me. Things I hated about myself. Everything swirled around in my head, and I thought that if I could just find the right combination, that right balance, I would have the whole world open to me. But I was a safe I just couldn't unlock.

That's how it is for everyone, I guess, when you're in high school. No one ever understands, and you like to think you've pulled the wool over their eyes; you never do, though.

I lived my entire childhood and adolescence in a small, Maine town called Rosaline. Someone, during its founding, had thought it would be funny to name it after a Shakepearean character, particularly one that never mattered much. Obscure, like our town was.

Once a year, we had a huge festival that revolved around a staging of Romeo and Juliet, and it was always the biggest honor to get the part of Rosaline.

By all rights, you never should have seen her-she isn't shown once in the play-but the Founders included a small rewrite that added the wannabe nun to the party seen where Juliet first sees Romeo. Rosaline, as befits the only things we know about her, sits quietly, the picture of grace and faith, unattainability. In other words, a perfect example of what women were supposed to be in the late seventeen hundreds, when someone inserted that little addition.

It's ridiculous, but everyone waited for that curtain to pull aside, revealing the chosen girl for that year. Everyone of my friends since I was little wanted to be her. Almost everyone of them got to be.

I had the strange luck to be in the popular group at school, although everyone probably thought I was a hanger-on. The least noticable of the un-disguisable. The most studious of the least intellectual. My oldest friend was Rayanne, a curvy red head that had crushes on half the school, and whose most pressing concern was what she should wear that day. But she was fearless, and loved everybody she met.

Then there was Therese. She was born in the Islands, and moved here when she was about two. The only word to describe her was independent. Fiercely self-confident and with some of the most gorgeous straight black hair I'd ever seen, she was everything I wanted to be, and never in my opinion managed to become.

So when Therese got sick the day before the all-important performance, and Rayanne volunteered me as her replacement, I was too dumbfounded to say no. I found myself standing in the drama department of our school, being pinned into Therese's late-Colonial gown by the town tailor. I didn't really understand what had made Rayanne offer me up as the yearly sacrifice-then again, she did sort of relish the speaking roles: she was the nurse in the play that year.

Since Therese was a little bigger than I was, Susan was having trouble fitting the dress, and kept tugging the sleeve over my knuckles to make it drape the same way it would have on my friend. By the end of my session, she had stuck me at least five times in various places with her pins. I was sore, bodily and emotionally.

Rayanne picked me up that afternoon, still dressed as Juliet's boisterous servant, and drove us to the local tea house. We'd made a thing out of drinking tea the past year or so. It was old-timey, and atmospheric, and best of all, the tea came in one of a dozen or so iron pots decorated with patterns and flowers. Ray and I wanted to get a pot, and take some back for Therese so that she could convalesce in comfort.

The Darjeeling was located far up one of the older streets in town, a huge red-brick building that once was an orphanage. Large, antique wooden doors opened and closed with brass door knobs, and locked with latches instead of keys. To use the bathroom, you had to wind your way down a hall to what was once a closet, and pull a curtain for privacy. It was great.

Our regular table was occupied, and we stood for a while, waiting for the couple ensconced there to finish their tea and leave. Although there were seats at the long bar, we were too attached to our spot to let it go, and simply stood near the brass and wood counter bobbing on our heels. We ordered, and a short time later shuffled through the crowded room to our vacated seats.

From there, we could watch whoever came into the House, along with where they sat. I can't ever help myself from people-watching, and Ray was an avid indulger of my silent intrusion into our people's days. Pouring our tea, I let my eyes rest on a man sitting at the bar, speaking to someone beside him. He was dressed in a dark suit, with exquisitely shined shoes perched on the foot bar beneath their stools. The blond man next to him seemed to laugh a lot, while the first simply drank out of a small tea cup.

My hand was hurting me-the result of Susan's five pin-stabs, one of which had gone pretty deep. I let the gouged pad of my hand sit on the tea pot, letting the warmth drain the soreness out. Unhappily, when I finally pulled my hand away, I could see that I had left the tiniest smear of blood on the polished surface.

With a sigh, I licked the spot on my hand, and took a drink of my tea. Ray was busying herself with staring at the blond beside Shiny Shoes, making eyes at yet another conquest. I rolled mine, used to the years and years of high-spirited flirting that she could get up to. The Blond stared back, quirking a mischievious smile at my friend.

His lips had an odd quirk to them, as if he was almost snarling, or laughing perhaps, at whatever you found amusing. Soon, his conversation partner set his cup down with an audible click, and cocked his head in our direction, choosing to be more surrepticious in his observation. I wonder if they realized that the buxom girl that had caught Blond's eye was probably ten years their junior.

As I asked the waitress for a travel mug for Therese's tea, Ray smiled lazily up at her mark, who took a final swig of the beer his was drinking, and sauntered over, giving his friend a slap on the shoulder as he left. The dark-haired man only raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

"Hi," Rayanne stayed as coy as possible, bearing her brightest smile. Her copper-red curls shook, her cheeks turning rosy from the attention. "Hello, there." The man said, betraying a bit of an accent. English, I thought, though I had a hard time telling British and Australian apart.

"What are you lovely ladies doing here on a school day?"

So he did know. Okay. A little creepy, though, that he was still pursuing this, although notunexpected. Ray had the curves of a twenty-something, and the tight-fitting outfit she was wearing corseted her chest up to twice its usual, ample size. She offered her hand for him, a move I had seen countless times. It really bowled some guys over.

Unusually, the Blond didn't miss a beat, and shake it like other guys do when introduced. He kissed it, catching it gracefully and bringing to his lips as he bowed. "Class let out two hours ago," she informed him, beaming.

"Lucky for me," Blond said. "My name's Nik. Are you and your friend staying long?" He nodded at me, an afterthought.

Ray gave a small giggle. "I'm Ray. This is Noor. We were actually just leaving..." She indicated the container of tea I held up.

"Our friend's waiting for us." I don't know what made me say it like I did, so pointed. My inflection was unfriendly and hurried. I realized I didn't like how Nik was looking at my friend at all. Like she was something to be devoured. "We should get going," I added to Ray.

She wavered. "Oh, come on!" Our new aquaintance said, throwing an arm back to his friend at the counter. "My brother and I were just getting started on our own pot, you should join us. Elijah! Tell these lovely young women to make our day a little bit better with their presence."

I notived he didn't look away from Ray once. His brother-how unalike they looked, I thought-finally turned around and stepped away from his stool. Coming to his brother's side, he smiled swiftly and glanced from Rayanne to myself. "Of course," he answered in a voice smoother, softer in tone than Nik's.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." He offered his hand, and to my indignation shook Ray's, only to kiss mine when I reluctantly offered it. At the last moment, he flipped my hand, placing his lips on my palm. A move I remembered reading Casanova used on his women. It felt like the moment lingered, despite the cliche. His mouth was cool, and provided a surprising relief almost like the warmth of the teapot had.

"Eleanor." I said, shortly. He rose from his bow, and widened his eyes in careful attention. "My name's...Noor...is short for Eleanor."

I don't know whether I wanted to be off-puttingly formal, or just introduce myself correctly. He ignored my strangeness, and nodded, smiling slightly.

"See? Perfect!" Nik praised. "Elijah has met Eleanor. And I have met this ray of light, and now we can have a proper tea-time!" He began to usher us to his seat at the bar at the same time gesturing for a new table for the four of us. I stalled.

"I don't think I can-Therese is waiting for us. I should go and see how she is. She wasn't feeling as good today, I think." I looked at Ray, trying to plead with my eyes, Just leave this guy.

She already had a hand resting on Nik's arm. "Oh Therese will be fine! She's probably sleeping now, anyways." She smiled a little guiltily. "Come on, another round won't hurt." The arm went around her shoulders.

How many times had I seen this chain of events play out with Ray and some guy? Too many times, and with some real sketchy men. But for some reason, this time, it was different. More important to get her away, and not just let her make her mistakes. As Nik led her to the fresh table, and Elijah looked back to see if I would follow, I knew that it was a losing battle. She'd have her tea with this guy, and that would be it. Hopefully.

I needed to leave, though. No matter how soothing the brother was compared to his sibling...I watched his face fall, minutely, as I backed off and almost into another set of chairs. "Sorry," I murmured apologetically. To him, to the chairs.

"Ah. That's quite alright," he said. "A friend needs to be taken care of." He swept a hand at the tea I was holding onto for dear life. "Best get there while it's still hot. Re-warmed tea is very unsatisfactory." Against my better judgement, I smiled.

Yet his line about a 'friend needing taken care of' hit me someplace I didn't quite recognize. As I murmured an unconvincing "Nice to meet you, see you" to the two men and my friend, I saw Elijah pull out Rayanne's seat, and Nik watch as she sat down, his eyes drinking in her movement. I realized, walking out of the tea house, that what that phrase made me feel was guilty. For leaving one friend to see another-but mostly leaving one friend to spare myself.

What was so wrong there, though? So unsettling? Was it Rayanne's automatic trust of some guy she just met, or my own sense of relief when touched by another? I concluded, when seated with Therese on her couch, tea delivered, that it wasn't just unsettling, what I had felt. It was fear.