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of hot chocolate. Leaning against the sink, she took a cautious sip in an effort to keep from scalding her tongue. She caught herself thinking 30 LISA KESSLER
    about the man on the beach as she stared into the darkness. Kate wasn’t sure why the man had suddenly appeared in her nightmare but it was a relief to think about something other than the woman running for her life.
    She carried her drink back to the living room and set it on the side table as she sat on the piano bench. Kate tentatively touched the keys. She wished she had been a better student. She took lessons and managed to pass her requirement to complete her degree in music, but she never truly mastered the art of this instrument.
    When she played, it sounded methodical and choppy, not like concert pianists who had the ability to make the piano sing, cry, laugh, and scream with intensity. But right now her labored attempt at Beethoven’s “Für Elise” would have to suffice—anything to cover the deafening silence of the dark, empty house. She would have preferred something by Mozart, since most of his pieces made her smile, but his intricate sonatas were too difficult for her to play.
    Beethoven’s classic was one of the most demanding piano pieces she ever learned to play. The slow, almost liquid beginning never left her memory, or her fingers. Grateful for the company of the music, even if it was slightly labored, the melody eased her fears and gradually released her from the hold of her nightmare. Finally, with a hint of a smile on her lips, she gave up Beethoven and instead banged out a gorgeous rendition of “Chopsticks,” grinning as she held the final chord. She could almost hear her mother now, rolling her eyes and telling Kate that playing “Chopsticks” with two fingers was a waste of a piano.
    It felt good to smile when she remembered her parents.
    She took her mug back to the kitchen. Rinsing out the cup, she stared at the predawn darkness, lost in thought. What would happen to her mother’s piano? Would Calisto ever sit on that same bench, or touch the keys? She shook her head and turned off the water. She didn’t even know if Calisto played the piano.
    Settling back into her father’s easy chair, she hoped for a little more sleep. The warm beverage helped calm her nerves, and with luck her nightmare wouldn’t interrupt her again tonight. With a yawn, she Night Walker 31
    curled up and closed her eyes. This time there was no running and no thundering hooves. No, this time a scent like sweet jasmine and a white flower that looked like crushed silk filled her dreams. And in her sleep, Kate smiled.
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    1775
    The full moon glowed above the warriors whose pace Gregorio struggled to match. He wiped sweat from his brow though the cool, crisp air stung his lungs. They neared the cliffs and the treacherous climb to the opening of the Old One’s cave. Not only was the terrain steep, but instead of firm rock footing, hard sand formed the cliff. The farther they climbed, the more he slipped, scraping his hands until the skin was raw and bloodied. Never had he been so grateful for the sandals protecting the soles of his feet.
    By the time he reached the mouth of the cave, his heart raced.
    The warriors stopped, leaving him to enter alone. Torches rested inside carved holes in the side of the cave and lit a narrow pathway.
    Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he moved deeper into the cliff, his shadow flickering on the walls around him. The sight of the Old One beyond the final curve of the tunnel did nothing to ease his apprehension. In fact, the closer he came to the man sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire, the more his anxiety grew.
    The Old One’s long, white hair fell past his tanned shoulders, and although the firelight was not bright, the old man’s dark eyes seemed to glow crimson for a moment. A cold chill slid down Gregorio’s spine, and he squeezed his eyes closed to clear his vision.
    He bowed his head.