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We meander and window-shop and eventually stop next to the exotic cars parked sideways along the curb. Rachel and Holden are the first to say good night, as they drift off toward her house. Bailey and Duffy are waiting for me because we’re walking home together, so I say good-bye to Dante and am about to head over when he catches my arm and pulls me against him.

“Can we not go for a drive?” he says, flashing a smile. Before I can answer, the door of the Lamborghini lifts like a silent black wing.

“I don’t know, Dante. It’s kind of late.” It’s a lame excuse but I don’t have a legitimate reason not to go. What I really want to do is crawl under my covers and die for a while.
Pity, party of one?

“But Wolfgang has an excellent idea,” Dante coaxes in a smooth tone. I look at Wolfgang and he gives me a dark grin.

“We need some
real
excitement in this town, don’t we, Sophia?” he asks like he thinks I’m bored here. Like I’m the Fast and the Furious type when actually I’m more of the Slow and the Slightly Perturbed kinda girl.

Wolfgang spins his key fob around his finger, running low on patience, I presume. Really I’m surprised he sat still long enough to watch a movie.

Dante slips an arm around my waist and gestures to the car. Bailey gives me a thumbs-up, so I sigh and mumble, “Yeah, okay.” Dante helps me inside before I change my mind.

I slide into the cockpit-like seat, and the door instantly closes, as though it’s eager to block my escape. Everything is smooth Italian, and hand-stitched. It smells of leather and cinnamon. Dante maneuvers behind the wheel and his door shuts, entombing us together. I feel like a pilot in a jet so I snap on the seat belt. Dante laughs but I don’t get it.

He pushes the start button and the engine roars to life. Then he taps a button on the glowing panel. “I believe I am finally mastering this thing.”

I don’t know if he means the Lambo or cars in general. So many times I have sensed that modern things are lost on him.

His hand hovers near the panel, waiting, and then grinding guitars from AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” blast from the speakers. He flashes a smile and grabs the gearshift. We accelerate at once, and I’m jerked backward against the seat. We shoot down the road and turn smoothly like we’re on rails.
Okay, so he has the driving part down
. I’m in a cocoon of black leather and glowing dials. It’s beautiful and powerful and intimidating.

As we head out of town, I motion to turn down the music so we can talk. Dante just grins and accelerates. I hang on. We bypass the access road to the highway, and I get a twinge of uneasiness. Dante forks to the right, heading down an unfamiliar road. When he checks the rearview mirror, I realize Wolfgang and Vaughn are close behind in the Bugatti Veyron.

My uneasiness is sprouting roots because Dante is driving a hundred miles an hour. We speed deeper into the black night, miles out of town, before he finally shifts down. I’m breathing like a scared rabbit, my nails digging into the edges of the soft leather seat.
That wasn’t so bad
. I glance over and force a tight smile.

Dante’s eyes are shining greenish yellow from the dashboard lights, and he lays a hot hand on my knee and squeezes. The music dies down. I want to ask what we’re doing here but Wolfgang pulls up next to us. The dark country road is pitch-black but for our headlights. We’re on a precipice, and I can’t see the bottom of the sloping road ahead. Dante looks over at Wolfgang. The engines rev, and I get an inkling of what they’re up to.

“Dante, what’s going on?”

“Ready for some
real
excitement,
cara
?”

I shake my head vigorously, and he laughs at my blatant apprehension. Music swells around me. It’s “Hell Yeah” by Rev Theory and it’s rising up to meet my raging heartbeat. Dante pops the clutch, making the car rock back and forth in rhythm with the beat. There is a feral look in his eyes and he sings along with the opening lyrics, and then laughs at my terror.

The engine roars, the music blares, and the car shoots off like a jet on a tarmac. My head snaps back and my lungs slam against my spine. I think my scream went backwards down my throat and turned into a demented laugh. My fingernails become part of the smooth European leather.

We sail over the edge and down the long diving road. We’re airborne for seconds and then drop to the ground with a hard bang. Sparks fly out. A canopy of trees shrouds us like a tunnel and white tree trunks whiz by in ghostly blurs. Each car fights for the lead, edging side by side down the road. Headlights catch the approaching hill, but neither car can make the dip at the bottom without tearing up the undercarriage. Dante and Wolfgang don’t seem to care. We plunge ahead with more power than imaginable. Taking the dip at full throttle, sparks fly out like flames. We climb and reach the top, and I thank God no one is coming from the opposite direction.

My relief dies a quick death. The road curves sharply to the right, and we aren’t slowing down.

“Dante! Stop!” I yell, but his face is dancing with excitement and shows no sign of hearing me. We approach the curve, neither car giving any ground. We bump against the Bugatti but Wolfgang holds steady and returns the hit.
I can’t believe these idiots are damaging their cars for a stupid race!

We take the curve hard, and I gasp and hold tight. Rear tires slide sideways, and Dante cranks the wheel in the opposite direction. We drift around the corner, nearly hitting Wolfgang. The Bugatti copies our move, only ten feet away. I squeeze my eyes shut and hear tires squeal and expect to slam into Wolfgang and Vaughn any second.

But we straighten out and cut into another curve to the left, and I’m thrown against the door. We drift with smoke-squealing tires, and I clench my teeth while every curse word I know bangs around in my head looking for an exit. The Bugatti slides into my peripheral vision and eventually overtakes us. It drifts hard around the next curve. Dante yanks the wheel, and we’re drifting blind into Wolfgang’s smoke. The haze is thick and endless, and time seems to jamb up. Everything moves in slow motion. I have the sensation that we are floating aboveground. Red lights flicker inside the smoke, and I see parts of a car slowly rotating end over end like a child’s toy. Throaty cries of terror and shattering glass claw at my eardrums. Metal scrapes and snaps, and then we are gradually tumbling upside down as the car rotates in a surreal unnatural spin. I’m yelling noiselessly in terror, and my hair rises like it’s floating in water; we are upside down and back again. I look at Dante but it’s not him, and I’m not me. I brace my hands against the window and see Michael outside watching in horror as we tumble by. And then I’m above the scene looking down as a gray Camaro and a white Charger spin uncontrollably
while four passengers churn like rag dolls in a dryer. Two are thrown through the sunroof. A guy in a red shirt has a broken collarbone and a collapsed lung. A girl in a blue dress has several broken ribs.

I scream and scream until my throat closes up and everything is black.

“Sophia! Sophia!” Hands cup my face and lift my head. The voice is familiar, one I’ve known for a very,
very
long time. It belongs to me, or rather, to the one who loves me. Somewhere deep inside, in a place kept secret from myself, I know the voice has always loved me, and me alone.

“Not yet!” the voice commands. “Not like this! Sophia! Open your eyes, at once!”

I hear anguish in the loving voice, and I don’t want to upset it. With great effort, I force my eyes open. A bright light makes me cringe, and I want to turn away but the hands hold me there. “Sophia,” he whispers. I blink and the car’s dome light comes into focus, and then pale green eyes.

I am shocked to see Dante’s face attached to the voice, to the loving emotions coursing through me. “What happened?” I whimper, disoriented.

Dante sighs with relief and releases me. I struggle to sit up and look around. We are in the Lamborghini stopped in the middle of the road. I remember where I am, and the visions hit like a tidal wave. I twist around in panic.

“Where are they?” I wipe moisture from the window. “Where are the other cars? Where are the two people in the ditch? Where is Michael?”

“What?” Dante’s snaps.

I scan the roadside. The black forest makes a jagged outline against the navy blue sky. The moon turns the grass in the ditch into gray fur beneath gnarled trees. No cars. No kids in the ditch. No Michael.

I look ahead at the Bugatti facing us fifty yards away. Through the dim headlights I see Wolfgang and Vaughn staring at us.

“Did you say ‘Where is Michael?’ ” Dante demands bitterly.

I look out the window where I swore I saw Michael watching the crashing cars. “Yeah, I saw him. I mean … I thought …” I look at Dante. “Didn’t we roll the car?”

Dante’s eyebrows rise indignantly. “No, I did not roll the car. I never lost control. You began screaming when we took the last curve.” He strokes my head and brushes hair from my cheek. “I think you fainted,
cara
.” The tenderness in his voice is unexpected, and I stare into my lap.

A million kinds of embarrassment wash through me. I’ve never fainted in my life, especially not from being too scared. This is so humiliating. But the visions seemed so real, so fresh. I can’t believe they didn’t really happen. I look out the window again but
there is nothing there.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, feeling like an idiot. Dante hugs me across the console and strokes my head. His affection reminds me of something. “Dante? What did you mean when you said, ‘Not yet. Not like this’?”

“Hmm?” He sits back and stares at Wolfgang in the Bugatti, contemplating. I repeat my question, and he shrugs. “Perhaps you had some kind of dream when you fainted. Hearing
and
seeing things that were not real.” He gives me a stern look that says he doesn’t like that I mentioned Michael.

I mull this over. It’s possible, I guess. I’ve never fainted before, so for all I know, people hear and see all sorts of things while they’re out.

Dante revs the engine and grips the gearshift. The Bugatti’s headlights flicker like a question. “Ready for more?” he asks with a spicy grin.

“Are you kidding?” I wail.

“I thought you were enjoying the ride before you fainted.”

“I was scared to death!”

“I knew you would like it.”

“I didn’t say I liked it.”

Dante laughs deep in his throat. “Oh, I think you did. Fear is an intoxicating emotion, no? But not to worry. It may be too soon to admit, but I think you have a dark side, Sophia St. James.”

I bristle at the strange compliment. How long ago was it that I’d had a similar thought? A similar fear?

That night with Steve … what I tried to do after he hit me
. What I would’ve done if not for Sundance’s interference. I’d had a dark, unnatural urge to kill.

I close my eyes and hope shutting down my vision will shut down my memory. I don’t want to think about that night or the dark thoughts that have risen in me since then. I don’t want to have a dark side.

“Sophia?” Dante squeezes my hand and there is genuine concern when he asks if I’m all right.

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“What? That you have a dark side? Ah. Yes, well, you only think that because you associate dark with evil.” He leans closer and pale green eyes dilate and draw me in. Warm cinnamon trickles along my senses.

“Isn’t that what you mean when you say ‘dark side’? An evil side?” I whisper.

“Evil is a relative term. Besides, it is not something you can contain. If you’ve got
it
—then it’s got you.” He tips my chin up to kiss me but I pull back.

“I don’t want to have a dark side.” My heart is racing but I feel unusually calm, almost numb inside.

“Whatever you have is already in you, Sophia. Do you not understand that? It is only a matter of bringing … it … out.” He is leaning in to kiss me but I look out the window. Dante sighs heavily, his frustration as palpable as though it’s another person in the car. I can’t believe how patient he is being; after all, it’s just a kiss. But he can’t know how upsetting his theory is. He doesn’t know about Steve and what I tried to do.

“Please take me home,” I mumble at the window. I feel his eyes on me but refuse to look at him. He kisses the back of my hand.

“Believe me, Sophia. I will take you
home
. If it is the last thing I do.”

Chapter 26

One Hot Dog, Heavy on the Miracle

It’s Saturday, the final day of the Harvest Festival. Rides and booths open at ten. The square is inundated with people from surrounding towns, schoolkids bussed in, and shuttles full of tourists; it is by far the busiest day of the celebration. Final competitions, trophies, and ribbons will be awarded. A decent band takes the stage and fills the air with cool music. Every few hours the bands rotate, and I capture photos of each. I’m forcing myself to keep busy. I’ll do anything to avoid thinking about last night and the car accident that never happened or the strange conversation with Dante. He hasn’t mentioned it and I am not willing to either.

By noon, I’ve maneuvered in and around the entire square numerous times. My memory card is nearly full. And Dante’s been at my side for the duration. He seems extremely patient, never bored or interested in anyone but me. Too interested sometimes. He keeps trying to kiss me, like he’s desperate to win a bet or something. I’m strategically keeping the camera between us.

It’s around five o’clock when I notice Dante’s reluctance to go near the Farmer’s Market where Mr. and Mrs. Patronus are working. Dante will follow me up to the wooden carts with colorful fruits and veggies, but when Michael’s parents approach, he turns on his heel and strolls away. This happens not once but three times, while I’m rearranging flowerpots for a particular shot. Michael’s parents haven’t spoken to Dante or given more than a stiff glance, but I can sense the tension, and it blooms into a full-fledged fascination for me.

Since I’ve taken most of the photos on Miss Minnie’s list, and because I’m overly curious, I decide to test my hypothesis.