Pandora's Daughter

By Iris Johansen

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

PANDORA'S DAUGHTER. Copyright © 2007 by Johansen Publishing LLP. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address:

St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmardns.com

Design by Dylan Rosal Greif

ISBN-13: 978-0-312-36804-3 ISBN-10: 0-312-36804-6

First Edition: October 2007

PROLOGUE

VOICES.

Megan could feel the muscles of her stomach knot and she tried to block the fear. Don't let Mama know. She had been so happy and relaxed this afternoon. She didn't need Megan spoiling it for her.

"Why so quiet?" Her mother started packing up the picnic basket. "What are you thinking about?"

Voices.

Megan searched wildly for an answer. "I was just wishing that Neal could have come along. Did you invite him?"

"Heck, no. I wanted a mother-daughter time together. Neal tends to dominate the scene when he's around." She smiled teasingly. "He gets all your attention. Not that I blame you. The first time I saw him he reminded me of the portrait of a Renaissance prince I saw once in a museum in Florence. Very elegant and slightly intimidating."

Close out the voices. Lord, how she wished she could make them go away. "There's nothing intimidating about Neal. How can you say that?"

"Hey, I'm not attacking him. It's just an idle comparison."

Voices.

What had they been talking about? Megan wondered. Concentrate. That's right, Neal. "I like having Neal around. He's fun."

"When he wants to be. Though I'm glad that you like him. I do too. He's been a good friend to me." Her smile faded as she studied Megan. "You're not listening. What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Megan."

"Voices," Megan whispered. "I don't like it here, Mama. I hear the voices."

"Nonsense." Her mother quickly looked away from her. "I've told you that's your imagination." She tossed the plastic cups back in the basket. "And there's no reason for you not to like it here." She knelt back on her heels and gazed at the setting sun casting its red-gold glow on the waters of the quarry below them. "It's beautiful. We've had picnics up here on the hill a dozen times and you never mentioned those silly voices. Have you heard them on this spot before?"

She nodded. "But you don't like me to talk about them."

"Because they don't exist." She reached out and gently cupped Megan's cheeks in her two hands. "And you mustn't talk about things that don't exist. When you were younger, it wasn't as bad. But you're fifteen now and people pay more attention. We have to keep this between ourselves, baby."

"Or they'll think I'm nuts." Megan tried to smile. "And this can't be normal. Maybe I am nuts. Am I, Mama?"

"Of course not." She leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Megan's nose. "Who sets the rules? Who can really say what's normal? I've heard that some composers hear the music in their minds and everyone calls them a genius. You'll probably grow out of this."

"You said that when I was seven."

"And you don't hear them near as often now. Right?" Right.

"And you said they don't scream, they whisper?"

Megan nodded.

"See?" Her eyes were twinkling. "Progress. And by the time you reach your twenty-first birthday, they'll be gone entirely."

Megan frowned and said tentatively. "Maybe... I should see someone."

"No," her mother said sharply. "No doctors. We keep this just between us. Understand?"

Megan nodded but she didn't understand. She had never understood anything except that it made her mother unhappy for Megan to talk about the voices. Maybe she didn't want to admit even to herself that Megan wasn't …normal. Okay, let it go. It could be her mother's simple solution to her problem was correct. The last thing she wanted to do was make her mother unhappy.

"Stop frowning." Her mother's finger traced the two creases on Megan's forehead. "You'll get wrinkles like me."

"You don't have wrinkles. You're beautiful." It was true. Sarah Nathan was not conventionally beautiful, but her mother's brown hair shone in the sunset glow and her face was brimming with character and sparkled with warmth and vivacity.

"I have plenty of wrinkles. But if you laugh enough, they blend in with the laugh lines and get lost." She made a face. "That's what you should do, my solemn little mouse. You don't smile enough. You make me feel like a bad mother."

Megan shook her head. "You know better than that. No one is a better mother than you. And I'm not solemn."

"Okay, you're intense." She got to her feet and pulled Megan to her feet. "Come on, it's getting dark. It's time to get back to the cottage. You have school and I have work tomorrow." She handed Megan the picnic blanket. "Not that you need to worry about school. You're acing your classes. You know, I'd rather you concentrated a little less on your grade point average and a little more on having a good time."

"I have a good time."

"Well, work at it a little harder. The only time I see you light up and bubble over these days is when you're with Neal. You're young. Life has a way of passing so quickly you leave the good times behind before you know it." She smiled. "And you're going to have so many good times. Proms and good friendships and first love and all that other stuff touted on the Hallmark cards."

"Yuck."

Her mother ruffled her hair. "Brat. Show a little sentiment." Her smile faded as she started down the path. "Are the voices gone?"

"Yes," Megan lied. Well, it wasn't quite a lie. They weren't gone but they'd become a dull roar like the sea in the distance. There was no use making her mother upset when she wanted so desperately for Megan not to hear them.

"I told you that you were getting better." She linked her arm with Megan's. "Since I seem to be on a winning streak, remember what I told you about going for the gusto."

"Mama, I'm not—" She broke off as she felt her mother's body stiffen. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't the truth. Something was wrong. She could see her mother's expression and it couldn't be more clear.

Fear.

Her gaze followed her mother's to the line of pines at the bottom of the hill. A man was standing there, watching them. "Who is he? Do you know him?"

"Perhaps." She took a deep breath. "I'd better go and talk to him. Go back to the quarry, Megan." Megan shook her head.