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"What is it?"

"My hideaway," he said with furtive eyes. "I used to come here whenever I was unhappy or just when I wanted to be alone."

I gazed through the doorway into a pitch-dark room. A whiff of cold, damp air came out to greet us.

"Don't worry, there's a light. You see," he said, entering slowly. He reached back for my hand. This time a tingle traveled through my fingers when they became laced with his. I followed.

"Most buildings in Cutler's Cove don't have basements, but ours, because it was built up here, does," he explained. "Years and years ago, when Cutler's Cove was just a rooming house, this was where the caretaker lived." He stopped and reached up through the darkness for a cord that dangled from the sole light fixture. When he pulled it, the naked bulb cast a pale white glow over the room, revealing cement walls and a cement floor, some shelving, a small wooden table with four chairs, two old dressers, and a bed in a metal frame. There was only a stained old mattress on the bed.

"There's a window here," Philip said, pointing, "but it's kept boarded up to keep field animals out. Look," he said, indicating the shelves, "there are still some of my toys down here." He went to the shelves and showed me little trucks and cars and a cap pistol quite rusted. "There's even a bathroom down here," he said and pointed to the right rear of the underground room.

I saw a narrow doorway and went to it. There was a small sink, toilet, and tub. Both the tub and sink had ugly brown stains, and there were cobwebs everywhere.

"Needs a good cleaning, but everything works," Philip declared, coming up beside me. He knelt down and turned the water on in the tub. Brown, rusted liquid came gushing out. "Hasn't been used for some time, of course," he explained. He let the water run until it began to clear up.

"So," he said, standing. "How do you like my hideaway?"

I smiled and gazed around. It wasn't that much worse than some of the places Mamma and Daddy, Jimmy and I had lived in before Fern had been born, I thought, but I was too embarrassed to tell Philip.

"Use it whenever you want, whenever you want to get away from the turmoil," he said as he walked over to the bed and flopped down on the mattress. He bounced on it, testing the springs. "I'm going to bring down some bedding and some clean dishes and towels." He lay back on the mattress, his hands behind his head, and gazed up at the beams in the ceiling. Then he swung his eyes to me, gazing intently, his full sensual lips open.

"I couldn't help thinking about you all the time, Dawn, even after I had found out about us and I knew it was wrong to think of you this way." He sat up quickly. I couldn't take my eyes from his. They were so magnetic, demanding. "I like to think of you as two different people: the girl with whom I had found magic and . . . my new sister. But I can't just forget the magic," he added quickly.

I nodded and looked down.

"I'm sorry," he said and got up. "Am I embarrassing you?"

I looked into his soft blue eyes again, unable to stop myself from recalling that first day at school when he had come to sit with me in the cafeteria, when I had thought him the handsomest boy I had ever met.

"How am I ever going to get used to the idea that you're my sister?" he complained.

"You'll have to." Standing this close to him made me shiver. Those were the lips that had pressed so warmly against mine. If I closed my eyes, I could feel his fingers traveling gently over my breasts. The memory made them tingle. He was right about one thing—our new relationship was so surprising and so new, it was hard to accept it yet.

"Dawn," he whispered. "Can I just hold you, just for a moment, just to—"

"Oh, Philip, we shouldn't. We should try to—"

He ignored me and brought his hands to my shoulders to pull me toward him. Then he gathered me in his arms and held me there against him. His breath was warm on my cheek. He clutched me as if I were the only one who could save him. I felt his lips graze my hair and forehead. My heart pounded as he held me tighter, my breasts brought firmly to his chest.

"Dawn," he whispered again. I felt his hands coming around my shoulders. Electric tingles seized madly up and down my arms, and all those nerves that a girl my age wasn't supposed to have burned with fire. I must stop him, I thought. This is wrong. I screamed inside myself, but suddenly he seized my wrists and held them against my sides. Then he kissed my neck and started to travel down to my breasts.

He let go of my wrists and brought his hands to my bosom quickly. As soon as he did, I stepped back. "Philip, stop. You mustn't. We'd better go." I started toward the door.

"Don't go. I'm sorry. I told myself I wouldn't dream of doing that when I was alone with you, but I couldn't help it. I'm sorry," he said.

When I looked back at him, he did look like someone in torment.

"I won't do it again. I promise," he said. He smiled and stepped toward me. "I just wanted to hold you to see if I could hold you the way a brother should hold a sister, to comfort you or greet you, but not . . . to touch you that way."

He bowed his head remorsefully.

"I guess I shouldn't have brought you here so soon." He waited, his eyes hopeful that I would disagree and want to forget the truth.

"Let's leave, Philip," I said. When his arms had encircled me and held me fast, I had become an instrument of desire for romantic fulfillment. Now I was scared, too, of what was inside me.

He reached up quickly and pulled the light cord dropping a sheet of darkness over us. Then he seized my arm.

"In the darkness we can pretend we're not brother and sister. You can't see me; I can't see you." His grip tightened.