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the shadows, but I knew how silly that would have sounded and so I said nothing.
     
    ~
     
    I stared at my reflection in the dark glass of my bedroom window. My face looked almost normal, as if there wasn't a stain on my skin. It looked . . . soft. I wasn't used to seeing myself like that. Self-conscious of my glaringly obvious birthmark, I'd learned a natural defensiveness, a kind of lofty reserve, which made me seem unfriendly. People tended to assume I was a snob, or so Joy had once informed me, and I couldn't help but hate them for it. I silently judged them as I imagined they judged me. But I really just wanted to protect myself.
    This was how I would draw myself, I decided, adjusting the sketchbook in my lap. I'd exclude the birthmark altogether. I drew only the right side of my face, filling in the nose and mouth and only one eye. The left side of my face would be only partially defined. If Miss Bell didn't like it, she could give me a bad grade. It wasn't like I cared.
    Glancing at my bedside clock after I'd finished my portrait, I saw it was late. I had to be up for school in a few hours but I didn't want to go to sleep. I wasn't sure what I wanted. Many things, to be sure. A clear face. A boyfriend. A lot of money. A clue. An idea.
    My mind wandered to Ahaziel and a shiver of delicious fear raced up my spine. Thinking back, I couldn't believe I'd almost gone to meet him at the caves. I must have lost my mind that day at the lightkeeper's house. I wasn't overly cautious, but I'd always thought I had more sense than to go anywhere alone with a mysterious stranger. Even one who compelled me as much as Ahaziel did.
    So stupid , I chided myself. Don't do it again.
    As I put away my sketchbook and climbed into bed, I promised myself I wouldn't.
     
    ~
     
    On Friday I was exhausted, having spent half the night awakened by inexplicable terror. I'd never had a nightmare before in my life, so the sudden appearance of them was unsettling. I sat numbly through the critique in art class, not contributing my opinions of my classmates' artwork and barely listening to the opinions of others. I hated crit days. It pained me to talk about my work in front of everyone.
    "Lilly?" Miss Bell prompted when it was my turn, much too soon.
    I squirmed on my stool and tried to remember the words I had rehearsed in my head before class, but I couldn't make them come out properly. "Um . . ." I began lamely. "I used technical pens . . . on bristol paper . . . Instead of a mirror I used a window, and that's how my reflection looked." I drew a deep breath. That had been unpleasant.
    "Hmm," Miss Bell said, contemplating my drawing. "Do you think it's missing something?"
    "No," I replied immediately.
    "What does everyone else think?"
    "It doesn't really look like you," one boy commented.
    I could feel my face burning. He meant I hadn't included my birthmark in the drawing, and everyone knew it.
    "It doesn't capture your essence ," someone else said.
    I nodded silently, pretending to agree. Usually when someone attempted to defend their own drawing, they ended up sounding upset about the criticism.
    "I think it's kind of nice," one girl said. I turned to look at her. She had shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. I couldn't remember her name. "It's very spare," she continued, "and the lines are sophisticated. If you get up close, you can see how delicate the line work really is."
    "Thank you, Mirain," Miss Bell said. "Lilly, this is a very good effort. In the future, however, I would like to see some emotion in your work. I would like for us to see you in your drawings."
    I stewed about that until the end of class, which couldn't have come soon enough. I barely kept from dozing off in English, revived myself for lunch, then zoned out in government. After I'd successfully made it through the day without slipping into a coma, all I wanted to do was go home and nap, dreaming about not having class again until January. However, I found my brother,