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but even so, I
know it's Latin. It appears you were praying to the moon to protect
you." She smoothed the paper and ran her index finger under the
words as she read, "O Mother Moon, Queen of the night, help me
now."
    Vanessa put
down her cocoa, unable to speak. She lifted her moon amulet with
trembling fingers and stared at it.
    "Mother
Moon," she repeated, then she
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    looked at Catty
and saw she was reacting the same way.
    "Freaky,"
Catty said.
    "Oh, it's
not so strange." Nothing ever seemed to surprise Kendra. "You
and Catty have always had a connection to the moon. I suppose you
could have seen this prayer in a book a long time back, memorized it,
forgot it, and then said it in panic. Now if the moon had helped you, that would be strange."
    Vanessa nodded,
but she was sure she had not read this prayer before. She stared at
the words she had written on the folded piece of paper. Why had she
prayed to the moon to protect her?
    68
    Chapter 8
    SATURDAY,
VANESSA waited impatiently outside her house for Michael. She wore a
pale green sundress and sandals that she had bought with her mother
in a boutique on Robertson Boulevard. Her mother had been thrilled
she had wanted to shop with her. Now Vanessa worried the dress looked
too desperate, with its thin straps, bare back, and short skirt.
    Too bad, she
decided. Why was she so worried, anyway? She enjoyed the silky run of
material over her skin.
    The sun's last
fiery rays dusted the tops of the palm trees with gold as a
Volkswagen bus
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    painted with
psychedelic pink-and-orange flowers like an old hippie van turned
onto her street. The headlights came on, and the van drove slowly
toward her. The van stopped in front of her and Michael leaned out
the window.
    "Hi,"
he said with a slow, lazy smile. She felt herself getting lost in
that smile, those eyes and lips.
    "Hi."
Her molecules buzzed slow and easy.
    He turned off
the engine, crawled out, and walked around to the passenger side
door.
    "You like
the van? My dad couldn't part with it, so he saved it for me,"
he said and opened the van door.
    "Nice."
She admired it, but her thoughts were not on the van.
    She climbed in
and settled nicely, her bare back pressed against the warm seat.
Inside smelled of spicy foods and beach tar. His surfboard lay on
wadded towels in the back.
    He hesitated
before he closed the door.
    "You look
pretty." But his eyes said she looked more than pretty. He took
her hand and kissed the fingers, still gazing at her.
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    Waves of energy
rushed through her, stirring her molecules into a risky dance. Her
hands and neck tingled. She took a slow easy breath. "Thank you.
    The van door
slammed.
    The thought of
being alone with him made an indolent smile cross her face. Her
stomach muscles tensed, skin tight. Her nervous fingers were unable
to stay still. She grabbed the sides of the seat to steady herself as
he got in the van.
    "I want to
take you to the Hollywood Bowl. Do you like music?"
    She nodded and
watched him look at her. His eyes said he wanted to devour her. Good,
she thought, and pushed Morgan's warning away.
    "L.A.
Philharmonic," she said as the van pulled away from the curb.
She let the wind rush through her hair.
    A purple
crystal hung from a black satin string draped over the rearview
mirror. Vanessa touched it. It felt oddly smooth and then it almost
seemed to move in her hand. She pulled her hand back.
    "It feels
alive, doesn't it?"
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    She nodded.
    "It was a
gift from my grandfather," he said, and seemed pleased she had
noticed it. "It's for courage and patience. A patient heart
needs courage to endure."
    "I wish
I'd known my grandfather," Vanessa commented. "It's just my
mother and me. My father died when I was five."
    "What
happened?" He spoke softly.
    "He was a
stunt coordinator on a movie," she explained. "Something
went wrong and one of the helicopters crashed. I remember seeing it
on the news, but I was too young to understand it was real. I thought
he was just making another movie.