Chapter 1 Scene 1

 CHAPTER ONE

I was walking my dog through the parkways when it happened again. Someone called me by the wrong name.

It has been happening ever since we moved here—a boy at the grocery store, a teacher-ish lady one night at my mom’s restaurant. Last week, two girls at the mall were so sure I was pretending not to be this Mikhaila person that they pulled me into the bathroom and offered me a cigarette. They were not happy when they realized I wasn’t kidding.

This time, it was dusk. The moms and dads had already taken their kids inside to have a bath and get tucked into bed. I could see them through the windows of the big houses. It was my favorite part of walking this time of day, seeing into those lives; dads cleaning up kitchens, boys on laptops at the breakfast bar, a little family eating popcorn, washed blue by the flat screen on the wall.

My dog King and I walk a long ways sometimes since we—mainly I—don’t have anything else to do until school starts in three weeks. My mom doesn’t like me to be out after dark, and if she knew I was out here right now, I’d be in big trouble. She’s afraid that whoever is snatching young girls will get me, but honestly, those girls must be idiots. I’m not worried.

When we first got here two months ago, I felt like I’d landed in some TV-Land version of suburbia. Briargate. It’s so tidy and green it doesn’t even look real, the houses all painted subdued colors so nobody will stand out too much. The park system loops between the houses for miles and miles, linking subdivision after subdivision across Colorado Springs. People jog and walk their dogs and bring their toddlers out to play.

Wholesome doesn’t even begin to cover it.

As long as you’re in by dark. There are some strange things out there at night, according to my dog. I tried walking him after dark a few times, because one of the few things that’s great about this place is that you can see the stars.

But every time, King starts growling and he startles easily, and the ridge on his back stands at full alert the whole time. It’s not worth it.

He was getting jumpy now, straining at the leash. We were almost home, coming around the last long curve, when I saw a guy sitting on a picnic table down by the basketball courts. A dog sat nearby his feet. He didn’t see us at first. His focus was on the dog, teaching it a trick.

For one long minute, I felt almost dizzy, like I recognized him or I might have dreamed about him. Against the dusk-purple sky, he looked a little otherworldly, with black hair that had gone too long without a cut, and that long, lean body I like so much. Not too jock-looking. Not one of the stoner kids I see in the park at night, either, or a Goth with all their chains and tattoos.

A loner, like me, maybe.

As I walked closer, he saw me and leapt to his feet. “Mikhaila!” he shouted, furiously.

I halted, ready to run, like the red dog that dashed away in fright. Only as it ran, I saw that it was a fox, unmistakable with that red coat and fluffy tail and pointed nose. King danced ecstatically, trying to chase him, and I had to put all my attention on holding him back. He’s big dog, a German shepherd-Malamute mix we rescued from the pound three years ago. He has shoulders to pull a sled across the Alaskan tundra, and he wanted that fox. I had to hold on to the leash with both hands, leaning backward to keep him in place.

“King, no!”

The guy stormed toward me. “Where have you been?”

I sighed. Not again. King had lost interest in the fox and instead took a stand in defense of me. “Hold it right there,” I said. For one second, the girls that had gone missing over the past six months, all more or less my age, came into my mind. “My dog will bite you.”

“Your dog? Since when do you—“

King growled and I wrapped his leash more tightly around my hand. If I told him to, he would attack. But for now, I just said with exasperation. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“You changed your hair. But you can’t honestly think that will fool anyone. I—“

King growled, most intent.

The guy finally halted. A street light came on with a buzz, casting him in an amber glow that caught on his high cheekbones and brow. He had a mouth like one of those old-time English rockers. “I know you don’t want this anymore than I do,” he said, “but we can’t risk—“

“Stop!” I said, holding up my hand, palm out. “I’m. Not. Her. I moved here two months ago from Brooklyn. I’m not this Mikhaila everybody thinks I am.”

He looked at King. At me. He narrowed his eyes.

I studied him in return. Such an arresting face, with those fluid lines. His pale eyes had a sort of cat-like look to them.

He made me a little nervous. But I was pretty good at sizing people up. You learned, growing up in the places I did. This was no sex offender weirdo, a teenager who tamed a fox.

No. Again that sense of recognition washed over me. I wished that I was wearing something besides an ancient pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt from the Bronx zoo that was approximately 900 years old.

After a minute, he asked, “What’s your name, Girl From Brooklyn?”

“Alia.”  I lifted my chin. “What’s yours, Boy Who Tames Foxes?”

“Oh, that.” He looked in the direction the fox had run. “That’s not what you think. I— never mind. My name is Bartholomew.” His posture eased ever so slightly. “Why don’t you sound like Brooklyn?”

“My mom is a chef. We’ve moved around a lot.”

“From New York to Colorado Springs,” he said with a little whistle. His mouth quirked, ever so slightly, and something in my solar plexus responded. “Must have been some promotion.”

“No.” I rocked back on my heels, up to my toes. “My grandmother has Alzheimer’s. We came back to live with her. Take care of her.”

He was very still for a moment, so long that I realized it was nearly full dark. Over our heads the first stars were winking into view. I thought of my mother, who would be so furious with me if I let somebody snatch me and killed me. “I should get home.”

“You have a few minutes,” he said, looking at the horizon. “It sounds as if others have mistaken you for Mikhaila.”

“That’s an understatement. It’s been happening constantly since I got here. But they always say, ‘you changed your hair.’”

“She is blonde,” he said, “but you really do look exactly like her otherwise. It is startling.” There was something musical about his voice, a depth and vibration that made me itch to play my cello, see if I could reproduce it. “I know her better than most. Much better.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No.” His mouth tightened. “Are you going to Liberty High?”

“Yes.”

“There will be a lot more mistaken identity coming. Be careful.”

“Of?”

“Be wary of a guy named Sebastian.” He stepped back, as if remembering something. “Do not come outside at night. Do not ever let your dog wander through the parks, and don’t come here without him.”

I thought of the girls who had disappeared. The reason my mother didn’t want me in the park at night. An icy finger ran down my spine, and I tossed my hair over my shoulder in defiance.

“Are goblins going to get me?” I joked. “Witches and warlocks having their ceremonies? Are vampires going to bite my neck?”

“Not even close,” he said, shaking he head slowly. “Go home, Alia.”

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