As I get closer to the lighthouse I move more slowly. The rain stops, but the cedar fronds bob and drip. In the clearing at the edge of the cliff the sun has dropped right out of the clouds. Worry tugs at me. I turn around and look at the path darkening behind me. Through the trees I see something spark in the distance, back near the school. I freeze. Is it Tuffman with a flashlight? Is it a cougar with glowing eyes? I take a breath and stare hard. The flashes are coming from the north-wing turret. Of course. Dean Swift has lit the Fresnel lens again. I squint, one hand shading my eyes, and the light swings at me, pouring through the tiny windows in the turret. Even the bricks of the building are glowing, like the light is coming through them, too, somehow. The beam drenches me. The light flickers in me like flames. It flows through me like waves. Fear and wonder quiver up my spine. That light makes me feel as if I’m wolf and boy at the same time. I’m wearing my two skins at once. The blood in my veins is thick and hot.
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