Blue moon
you saw me standing alone
without a dream in my heart
without a love of my own
-’Blue Moon’ by Lorenz Hart
PRELUDE
If I told you everything about Lazarus Doyle, you’d be angry with me. You’d glare at me, half-crazy with fury and ask me, “Briony, how could you? How could you be with such a man?” Who knows why the heart chooses the ones it does. Or if it even chooses at all. My love with Lazarus was broken and wrong. It wasn’t until I was away from him that I could see this for myself. Even after all this time, our connection still confuses me.
My best guess? We’d known each other for a long time—since we were kids. And that’s the only answer I can give you.
CHAPTER ONE
You won’t believe me when I tell you where I woke up. I was lying in a tide pool—a big one, right at the water’s edge. I’d fallen off the boat during the night and somehow ended up on the shore.
I should have been frightened, alone in this strange place, but I wasn’t. Overcome with exhaustion, I could barely think at all. In my mind, my biggest problem was that I had nothing on.
I sat up in the tide pool and covered myself with seaweed. This place was close to home—a familiar combination of grey sky, grey water, and grey shore. The keen scent of the sea cut through me as I took a deep breath and tried to decide what to do next.
I thought I saw something in the water in front of me. There it was again. The creature swam closer. It looked like a seal, the black top of its head skimming the waves. The water was shiny and wrinkled in the sun—I couldn’t see beneath the surface.
The head emerged. There was another girl in the water. She was swimming towards me, slowly, and looking at me with a mischievous smile—one of those smiles you can’t resist. Without thinking, I grinned back at her and she came closer.
She stopped not far from the edge of the tide pool and smoothed back her hair with her hands. Dark heavy curls hung down over her shoulders.
“Hello,” she said warmly. “I’m Sylvie. Who are you?”
Her voice carried over the water and held my attention as I stared at her. Her skin was smooth, her features symmetrical, her tan deep and perfect. She was the sort of girl people noticed and she knew it.
I didn’t know what to say. Girls like her didn’t talk to me. They’d put out sidelong glances as they slid past, eyeing my ugly purse or latest disaster haircut. But maybe she didn’t know what kind of girl I was, relative to her.
“What’s your name?” she tried again, with another smile.
“Briony,” I told her clearly. I always made sure people understood my name the first time I said it.
“Really?” she asked.
I nodded.
She laughed.
“I’m sorry, it’s a beautiful name,” she said quickly, catching the offended expression on my face. “I can explain another time.” She waved her hand in apology, her nails delicate and pearly.
The silence grew awkward and she looked at me with hesitation.
“My voice is kind of strange, right?” she said.
I had never heard a voice like hers before.
“Are you okay?” she asked me, tilting her head to one side. I felt the tears starting to sting.
