When I notice Jai asleep, I put the book on my lap, take a deep breath, and try to face the pain that has been pulsing under my skin since I stepped on the porch. I look around the cabin. At the pictures on the tables, the shelves of her books, the basket of games we played, and my heart constricts.

What I'm I doing here?

Surrounded by memories, I think I'd rather face Mali, Smith, and his gun than these reminiscences. I've kept such a tight leash on my emotions since May, but here they seem to be oozing out of me and crashing into me simultaneously from every direction.

I have to force myself to get up and make the beds upstairs. The narrow stairs open to a small room with two twin beds on each side under a sloped pine ceiling. The next room, also small, has a double bed in the center. I pause before going in the room while remembering sneaking in and snuggling with my mother when I was young. Jai will have to sleep in that bed because I can't.

Chapter 40*Envy.

The bathroom's serene except for the sneering woman in the mirror. She tears a plant in pieces and sneers at her reflection. The wrinkles have become permanent. Her face droops with deep lines. Her hands are webbed with age. Brown spots dot her skin.

Time has run out.

Even her magic can't fix the tangle her skin has become.

But soon she'll have the girl.

Inside a bowl, she pulverizes leaves with a pestle. This will be the last time she makes the drug. It will soon course through the girl's veins and prepare her for the transformation. Her knuckles scrape the side of the bowl and blood drips to the counter.

Anger has her smearing the liquid across her reflection. She can still see the webbed grooves. Still see age's curse.

Giving into rage, she uses the pestle to smash the mirror.

Chapter 41*Snow.

Jai slides his queen forward.

I glance at his wooden expression then at the board. Why did he have to pick chess? With nothing to do, but stare at each other-which would so not be a good idea for me-I suggested a game from the basket. Why couldn't he have picked Monopoly or checkers or anything but chess? I only got the game because of the Looney Tunes figures. I never wanted to be a chess champion or anything. I silence my internal whining and concentrate. My fingers hover over Sylvester, the knight of the set. I focus on the board instead of the dark eyes on me. Ah, he is after my bishop, Wiley Coyote. I move it.

He grins at the move and captures my Wiley.

Dang, I fell right into his trap. My lip curls as he sets the coyote to the side next to three Tweety pawns. "This is so unfair. You're like a master and I suck."

Jai's long fingers pushed a pawn forward. "Improvement takes practice and patience."

I glare at him in the shadowy light from the oil lamp. My angry look doesn't help. Several moves later, most of my characters are on the side of the board and Jai says checkmate with a grin. Ignoring him and his smugness, I pack the game up in silence.

It's getting late. Through the living room window, the snow-covered mountains aren't even visible in the blackness of night. Jai loads up the fire with more wood while I go to the kitchen and get his pills. For once, he doesn't argue about taking his painkillers. Not ready to face the memories upstairs again, I curl back into my favorite chair and we both stare at the fire.

Pops, whistles, and orange flames are not as interesting as TV. Jai grabs another book since he already finished the first one. Though I stare at the fire, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His dexterous fingers turn pages. His forehead scrunches every now and then as he reads. Sometimes his toe taps silently against the braided rug. Studying him, I can't believe I thought him dangerous. Well, I suppose if you attacked him or owed money to the Tong he'd be far from harmless. But he's proven to me that he's the complete opposite of danger by saving me more than once and refusing to kidnap me. I can't help wondering why he didn't.

"How much were they going to pay you for kidnapping me?" I blurt the question without even realizing I planned to ask it.

Jai's gaze snaps to me. He slowly closes the book. After a long look of contemplation he says, "They offered my mother if I brought you to them."

I blink. "Your mother?"

Sighing, he sets the book behind him on the table. "My mother is an illegal immigrant from the Fujian Province of Southern China. So when circumstances forced her to become..." he crosses his arms, "well almost like a slave, she had no recourse."

My brow furrows. "How does a person become a slave in this age and in this country?"

Jai's chuckle sounds sad. "Leave that to my father. I'm not sure what she saw in him, but my mother loved the hell out of him. Though a mix of Italian and Irish, he was always in Chinatown." He shrugs. "The thugs across town probably didn't want anything to do with him. They never married. He came and went. She worked. I went to school. Drugs and gambling, those were the things important to him. Remember that room in the basement?"

I nod. He's referring to the room full of cards and smoke.

"By the time I was eight, my father was in heavy debt, enough for death to be threatened. A deal was made. My mother would work off the loan. I lived with him, or you could say alone for a little less than a year before he took off."

I can feel astonishment on my face. "Who took care of you?"

His gaze returns to the fire. "Xing, a man who owned an herb shop on the first floor of our building, took me in. I worked for him during the day stocking shelves and cleaning. During the evening I studied and learned Kung Fu." His lids droop over eyes cloudy from pain medication. "For almost six years my life was stable. I did see my mother a little then, but I haven't seen her in over two years."

Sympathetic words build under my tongue. Pity burns in my chest. However the way he talks about it, these are just facts to him. This is just his life. He's not asking for compassion. I know him enough to realize he wouldn't appreciate the sentiment.

I control my emotions, my tone, before asking, "So how did you end up in the basement?"

"Xing wanted to go home, and unlike most people, he smuggled himself back to China. He offered to take me. I didn't want to go."

"Why not?" Without parents, I'm astonished he wouldn't go with someone who took care of him for so long.

Like his chuckle, his smile is sad. "What do I know of China?" Ah, living in the unknown. Understanding-his feelings echo my thoughts of New York-I nod. "But Xing did set me up with Feng Lu before he left." Jai yawns, stretches, and lies across the couch. His feet hang over the end. "So it all worked out."

My mind spins at the thought of his missing mother. "That story about butterflies your mother told you that?" He nods while I remember the love I heard in his voice when he told that story. "So why didn't you trade me for her?"

His dark gaze meets mine. "I almost did." His profile faces the ceiling. His eyes close. "Though a victim of my father's addiction, she agreed to the deal." His words have become soft and slurred. "I decided that day...in the elevator. Her freedom wasn't worth blood on my...hands. Wasn't worth ending the...spark in ... your blue eyes."

I stare at the even rise of his chest. The spark in my eyes? I've been spark-less since my mother died. Except around him. I face the facts. I'm obsessed with this practically homeless boy. He makes me feel alive. He makes me feel like me. In some ways, he has brought me back to life. And I'm aware my feelings are growing past infatuation. Beyond his striking appearance, he fascinates me. His resilience awes me. His sense of honor and his care for others has gained my respect. I sigh and let the rush of sentiment go. With our lives at stake, my feelings for him seem beyond silly.

After watching him sleep for a while, I decide to bring blankets to him rather than try to get him up the stairs. I cover him with a sleeping bag and stuff a pillow under his head and another under his leg then fill the wood burner in the kitchen.

Upstairs, I crawl into a twin bed. I pull on the now offensive Mali bracelet stuck to my wrist while my mind wanders. My mother's memory stirs from the opening of the other room. Would I have been able to give up the chance to be with my mother again, even for someone else's life or safety? Guilt bubbles then lodges in my chest because I don't know.

Chapter 42*Snow.

Jai sits in red underwear on the edge of the closed toilet seat. "This bathroom is awesome." I press on the tape around his wound while trying to ignore the rest of him. Since the stitches curve around to the back of his leg, I'm checking the waterproof pad the hospital gave him.

"Yeah, it's the reason my mother bought the cabin." I press the edge one last time.

"I can't believe it stays heated."

Solar," I say and roll back on the balls of my feet. Wobbling, I reach out for his leg. The skin of his inner thigh is smooth and warm, soft over hard muscle. I snatch my hand away as if his skin is on fire and teeter toward the floor.

"Whoa." Jai catches my shoulder. His gaze meets mine and my skin flushes. His dark eyes hold mine for what feels like forever-though it must have been a few short seconds-until he asks, "Are you done?"

I nod and jump up. "The towels are on the shelf." In the kitchen, I slam the door and lean against it. I'm acting like an idiot again, going all hormonal anytime I get too close to him. When the door opens, I stumble backwards then forwards. I find my balance by gripping the butcher-block counter.

He watches me. "You okay?

"Sure," I say, bracing myself against a cabinet to appear nonchalant while he stands in his underwear and his skin stares at me. I concentrate very hard on keeping my hormones in control.

He clears his throat. "Ah, I was wondering if you could grab my clothes and toothbrush."

"Your clothes?" I echo stupidly. "Oh, in the car, yeah, sure, of course." Idiot.

With one last narrowed look at me, he shuts the door with a quiet click.

Snatching the keys from the table by the door and a sweatshirt off the hook above it, I can't help thinking about his skin. Outside in the cold reality returns and I force the image out. Once I've tossed his clothes in the bathroom-without looking in-I go and fold the blankets on the couch.

Yesterday, he slept most of the day. This morning, he wolfed down three helpings of reconstituted eggs for breakfast and had been adamant about a shower. He's gaining his strength back, which means we can leave soon. But where can we go? What can we do? The running has to stop. Sooner or later, Smith always catches up.

Done folding the blankets, I tug my sketchbook out of my backpack-drawing calms me, helps me think-and fall onto the couch. I'm shading the curve of a tail and trying to contemplate a way out of the mess-both Mali and my hormones-I'm in when Jai strolls through the doorway.

He's wearing his normal black t-shirt and his hair is damp. As usual he looks real good. I concentrate on shading. He stops in front of the fire. Stands there for a long moment. His gaze at me is intense. His tone is light when he asks, "What are you writing?"

I flip the cover closed. "I'm drawing."

He throws a log on the fire before sitting next to me. "Drawing what?"

For some reason, even though my work has been in contests, in my old school newspaper, and even in art galleries, I'm nervous about him seeing it. "Nothing. Does your leg feel better?"

He stretches and his leg brushes mine. "Yeah it's good."

His scent, soap and shampoo mixed with the smell of the fire, assault my nose. Why is he sitting so close? There is an entire couch. With a quick flick of his wrist, he flips open the sketchbook.

"Hey," I snap and try to push him away.

He gently grabs my hand and holds it down between our thighs while he stares at the drawing. Three monkeys-the main characters of my future cartoon-sing like the Three Tenors in front of a floor to ceiling curtain. A lizard orchestra plays a variety of instruments below.

"Wow, this is good," he says. "From your t-shirts it's evident you like cartoons, but wow," his eyes travel over the picture again, "you're like a pro."

I grow warm. Does my talent wow him? Or he is surprised that I have it? "Um, thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome." He flips the page to monkeys in Venice then to a beach scene. "These are really awesome." I can't help smiling at the compliment. "Should we leave today?" he asks, leafing through the drawings. His fingers have let go of my hand and now caress the skin of my palm.

Unsure of what to do I try to ignore the sensation of his touch. "Where can we go?"

"Somewhere with melting snow," he says with a grin.

His fingers trace the veins of my wrist. "That-that sounds good." His touch is turning me into liquid jelly again.

His fingers continue their light caress. "We lost too much time in the storm."

"Uh-huh," I say.

"Too much time with my leg."

"Ah...true," I mumble. His caress has struck me dumb.

"Nivi?" he asks, pulling away my sketchbook.

"Hmm?"

"I need to tell you something."

His tone, both nervous and reckless, slightly wakes me from my stupor. I lift my chin and meet black, velvet eyes. "What?"

His eyes search mine as his fingers wrap around my neck. My throat tightens. He tugs me closer. I feel like I'm about to jump off a cliff. "This," he whispers against my lips as the fire snaps.

My eyes grow round before closing. At the touch of his mouth, the world shifts sideways. My heart pounds in my ears. His breath tastes minty, feels warm. Under his spell, I curl my hands into his hair and kiss him back. His mouth breathes life into me. Awakens me. With each soft movement, a torrent of colors burst through my mind and body. Blues mixed with reds create shades of warm, rich purples that pulsate under my skin. I'm languid and fervent all at once.

He slowly pulls away.

I open my eyes. The mush of my brain coagulates. Inches away, he stares at me and I blink not sure the kiss was real. "What did you want to tell me?"

"That."

"That?"

"I've wanted to do that for quite some time."

"Since when?" I ask, confused by the kiss and the statement.

He grins. "Since you opened the door wearing Sponge Bob." I laugh. Hard. Apparently, his kiss has sucked every ounce of intelligence from my brain. He gives me a look. "What's so funny?"

Stifling my giggles, I bury my face in his shoulder. "I felt the same way when I opened the door." Against his muscles, the words come out muffled. I'm stunned. I'd been hiding my feelings, so afraid he'd find out and dismiss them, all the while he was feeling he same.

"Really?" he asks into my hair.

"Shut up." I dig my face in deeper. "I couldn't have been more transparent."

He shakes his head. "You weren't. Well most of the time. In fact, I recall you telling me you didn't like me, that we were only acquaintances."