“Wear earplugs, then,” Rafe countered Aurora’s complaint. “I guarantee it’s gonna be too much for your tender Continental ears. Some of the bands have been going nonstop since they got here last weekend.”

“I know,” Aurora said. “I haven’t slept in two days. You’d think the rain would slow them down.”

From the safety of her bedroom, Esti made herself smile. Carnival held no appeal for her today, not after the tangled logic that now amounted to her own private jumbee hunt. Esti could not make herself believe that any type of silly dancing might have some effect on Alan’s existence, but she knew that the disturbing gestures on the street might be the tip of a more threatening iceberg. If she watched the moko jumbees today, maybe the locals would think she was cured.

Looking one last time in the mirror, she smoothed the purple sundress against her skin, then walked into the living room.

“Ooh, baby!”

She laughed as Rafe leaped from the couch. He’d been very funny and sweet since Christmas night, making sure that everyone on the island knew that Rafe Solomon had finally been caught. Esti didn’t have to pretend she enjoyed herself with him, and she instantly melted whenever Rafe kissed her at The Boardwalk or on the beach, or in the deep water of Manchicay Bay.

But yesterday evening her mom had asked if she knew whether Mr. Niles was doing Shakespeare again next semester. Esti had jolted upright in the middle of the night, Alan’s voice filling her with longing before she came fully awake. Desperately, hopelessly in love . . .

Fiercely shoving the memory down, Esti flung her arms around Rafe’s neck. She pressed herself against him as his warm lips touched hers, but he immediately pulled away to smile at Aurora.

“I’m glad to see your manners,” Aurora said. “I’ve been a little worried by the gossip, but Esti assures me that you’re good for her.”

“The safest guy on Cariba,” Esti said firmly, ignoring Rafe’s smirk.

“Her father always liked you, Rafe.” Aurora chuckled. “Your dads both joked about the two of you getting together someday, although Jayna said it wouldn’t be easy. The course of true love never did run smooth.”

Esti’s eyes widened. She hadn’t heard a Shakespeare quote from her mom since the diagnosis.

“For true,” Rafe said. “Esti isn’t easy.”

“But Rafe sure is smooth,” Esti countered automatically.

When Rafe winked, Aurora burst into laughter. “Sweetie, do you happen to have any earplugs?”

Esti was happily surprised by her mom’s lighthearted mood. Aurora seemed more relaxed today than she’d been in months. Maybe it had something to do with Rafe’s charm, or the fact that he was an old friend. Or maybe, Esti thought guiltily, it was because this was the first time she had really invited Aurora to come with her on a social outing.

By the time they walked downtown, Esti wondered if she should have brought something for her own ears. Dozens of semi trucks had arrived on the island, pulling huge flatbed trailers piled with giant speakers and live bands.

Deafening soca filled the air with incessant percussion threaded through lyrical songs of political satire and sexual double entendre. Reggae and calypso poured from the other trucks, each group trying to drown out the others with lilting refrains of love and lust. Costumed dancers followed every trailer, wearing masks and feathers, and giant colorful wings of wire and gauze.

Some of the dancers walked on stilts high above the crowds, moving with as much vigor and grace as everyone on the ground. Esti thought their shimmering costumes looked particularly bright against the cloudy morning sky. These moko jumbees danced between heaven and earth on their stilts, Rafe had explained, protecting the crowds from evil spirits. Although they looked impressive, Esti seriously doubted that a costumed stilt walker could ever scare a real ghost.

With a shiver, she forced herself to ignore the moko jumbees. She just wanted to go home. Alan would never show up at a giant public gathering like this, even if he was some kind of jumbee. Esti knew him too well to believe she could possibly summon him in full daylight.

Rafe held her hand, waving at Aurora to get her attention. “Follow me,” he shouted.

Esti barely heard him over the noise, but she grabbed Aurora with her other hand when Rafe began pulling her through the crowds. As he led them down a side street, she turned away from a woman crossing her fingers in a hostile gesture, almost tripping over a masked dancer dressed in black. The dancer ducked his head, his pale eyes brushing uncomfortably past hers. The black-garbed dancer was followed by a colorful stilt walker, who laughingly maneuvered his stilts over them all.

Black-wrapped dancers seemed to be everywhere, and Rafe shouted that these were the local jumbee dancers, inspired by the real black-clothed jumbee that haunted Manchineel Cay. “They only perform during Cariba’s parade, dancing between the stilts of the moko jumbees,” he yelled over the music. “People come from all over, especially to see them.”

The parade had already wound partway through town, and music from the giant pounding speakers vibrated through Esti’s body each time they passed a truck. She began wondering if she would ever hear properly again. The volume level hadn’t gotten any better by the time they ended up by the harbor. As they got closer to the picnic tables, Esti saw Carmen and Chaz at a table with Ma Harris and Rafe’s parents.

With a grin, Rodney held up a daiquiri for Aurora. “Rum is on special this week!” he shouted. “Help yourself.”

Lucia and her boyfriend danced at the edge of the parade nearby, Lucia tucking a stray dreadlock beneath Quintin’s bandanna with a deliberate, teasing look.

“Did you see Steve?” Carmen shouted into Esti’s ear. “I thought he’d left the island when he got kicked out of school, but I just saw him with one of the bands. He looked high as a kite.”

Esti couldn’t help a growing sense of unease as she looked around. She had no desire to see Steve, and she’d never experienced anything like the strange, uninhibited energy surrounding her. The occasional burst of rain wasn’t stopping anyone.

Perhaps Ma Harris was right. Maybe ghosts did appear at times like this, safely hidden in the throngs of costumed revelers. When several more jumbee dancers ran past them, Rafe pulled Esti behind him again.

“Let’s walk around,” he shouted into her ear.

The pulsating music was impossible to resist, and Esti felt herself moving in rhythm to it as she followed Rafe along the street. Everywhere she looked, she saw shaking hips and strutting feet and dark arms waving in the air. She watched a procession of solemn little West Indian girls dressed in matching silver leotards and twirling batons in perfect time. Although several small faces anxiously studied Esti and Rafe as they marched past, their batons didn’t miss a beat.

Another black-masked dancer walked by them, blue eyes staring at Esti slightly too long. Esti watched him walk away, wondering if he would make a sign warding off evil now that he had recognized her. Rafe wasn’t shy about returning the suspicious looks from all sides, and Esti was grateful for his protective arms, his strong body moving in perfect rhythm beside her.

“You de one talk to jumbee dem?”

A West Indian man stopped so close in front of her that she smelled the rum on his breath. Another man stood beside him, holding a beer. They both grinned as Rafe pulled her away from them.

“What you want, mon?” Rafe glared at the man with the beer.

“We hear dis white gyal does talk to a jumbee.” The man with rum on his breath gave Esti a look that made her skin crawl.

“Leave she be,” Rafe said.

“She limin’ wit Rafe Solomon,” the man drawled. “Sweet ting like fun-fun, eh?”

Rafe stiffened and edged toward the man. Esti’s heart began to pound. She grabbed Rafe’s shirt, pulling him to a stop.

“You go drink you rum,” Rafe said tightly. “An’ I don’t teach you a lesson today.”

The man shrugged and turned. As the other man walked by, however, he reached out to touch Esti’s face. “Jumbee gyal,” he cooed. “I show you some nice spirit, if you come wit’—”

Rafe slammed the man’s hand down, shoving him back so hard he stumbled against the people behind him. Shrieks and cursing rose above the blasting music as the man straightened. The crowd around him began muttering, several hands flashing into the air as they caught sight of Esti. Her heart sinking, she desperately yanked on Rafe’s shirt again to stop him, then stifled a scream as the drunk West Indian lunged at her.

A jumbee dancer darted between them, his foot gracefully snaking out to trip the man before he could reach Esti. As the drunk man fell, Rafe leaped furiously at him. The dancer grabbed Rafe, safely spinning him out of the way before he could start a fight. Esti caught sight of blue eyes again as the dancer glanced at her. Suddenly a policeman appeared, glaring at the restless crowd.

“You causin’ trouble, Rafe?” he demanded

“Dey have harass my girl!” Rafe exploded. The rum-breath man lurched to his feet, fleeing into the crowd with his friend. Esti felt her skin crawl as she realized the blue-eyed dancer had disappeared into the shifting horde of jumbee dancers.

“She mind she own business,” Rafe raged, “and I don’t let no one—”

“Keep you cool, Rafe.” The cop patted a nightstick attached to his belt, glancing at Esti. “You might see the inside of my police van today. I ain’t forget about last summer.”

Esti pulled Rafe close as he looked around for the two men. She couldn’t imagine what might happen if the police dragged Rafe away, leaving her alone here. The officer watched them without speaking, and Rafe finally looked back at him.

“You keep de badjohn away from my girl,” he said stiffly, “and I’s cool. Just do you job, mon.”

Esti felt the cop’s eyes on them as Rafe sauntered away, dragging her along behind him. She couldn’t help a shaky feeling that she had narrowly escaped disaster. If the jumbee dancer hadn’t tripped the drunk man; if he hadn’t stopped Rafe from getting into a big fight . . . She suddenly knew the dancer had been following her since she got here. Fragments of hope and fear began darting through her mind.

When they got back to the park, Rafe’s mom was pulling sandwiches from a cooler.

Esti stopped at the edge of the table, Rafe spinning her around in an expert move to the music. She grabbed his shoulders in surprise, just as she recognized a familiar curry smell. As she saw the wrapped roti chicken, she jerked away, tension churning inside of her.

“Babe, are you okay?” Rafe asked.

She nodded toward a group of moko jumbees passing by. “I’m not hungry yet. I’d rather watch them.”

Rafe grabbed a sandwich, grinning at the others. “Hey,” he yelled over the music. “She wants to dance with the moko jumbees!”

“Good,” she heard Ma Harris say.

With a chaotic surge of emotion, Esti pulled Rafe away and continued toward the street, ignoring the light mist of rain that had started again. She didn’t want to dance; she wanted to find the blue-eyed dancer and demand to know his name. What did his voice sound like?

The stilt walkers in front of them were some of the most graceful she’d seen, kicking their long, colorful legs high in the air and leaning back in impossible shimmies to the steel pan drums. On the ground, jumbee dancers darted between their stilts, somehow avoiding danger.

Esti walked past the pounding speakers, her eyes searching the shifting black dancers as she lead Rafe away from Ma Harris’s intense gaze, away from Aurora and everyone else. She wasn’t going to dance; she was going to ask Rafe about the guy who had helped him. Had the dancer said anything when he yanked Rafe out of the way?

Rafe followed without protest until she finally stopped. When he held up his food, she nodded. She would try to calm down while he finished eating. She pressed her hands against her temples as Rafe looked up at the high stilts, her skin twitching with anxiety.

Suddenly a breath of air brushed her neck, like a long, slow sigh. The scent of frangipani enveloped her, just as a white blossom dropped to the ground at her feet.

“I miss you.” Goose bumps crawled down her spine at the familiar deep voice in her ear. “I could teach you how to choose right, but then I am forsworn. So will I never be.”

She slowly turned her head. Rafe was eating his roti chicken, fully absorbed by the amazing stilt walkers beside them. The jumbee dancer had stopped on Esti’s other side, so close that she could see the turquoise shimmer in his blue eyes.

“So may you miss me,” he continued, his words more beautiful than music. “But if you do, you’ll make me wish a sin: that I had been forsworn.”

She almost couldn’t hear him over the pounding beat, but she knew the quote so well that he seemed to speak directly to her mind. His eyes blazed into her, burning themselves into her consciousness. Fifty years from now she knew she would remember every detail of those sea-colored eyes. Without thinking, she reached out with her free hand, her heart racing. As her fingers closed around his black-gloved fist, she almost grew light-headed.

She was not insane.

He seemed to stagger at her touch, and she tightened her fingers, terrified that he would disappear. “Beshrew your eyes,” he forced out. “They have overlooked me and divided me. One half of me is yours, the other half”—his expression softened, the look he gave her helpless—“yours. Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours. And so all yours.”

“Alan . . .”

“You talking to me, babe?”

She glanced up as Rafe turned to her, his eyes lingering on the stilt dancers. Although it took only a second, it was long enough for Alan to pull away before Rafe saw him. When she looked back, Alan was gone, lost in a swirl of black.

“No!” She shook off Rafe’s grasp and darted among the dancers, catching hold of the first black-garbed man she came to. Startled brown eyes looked at her, and she flung him away. She seized another man, barely avoiding the stilts beside her.

“She possess, for true,” someone yelled.

“Esti, come here.” Strong hands grabbed her, dragging her away from the dancers.

“No.” She yanked herself away from Rafe. “Alan’s here. I saw him.”

Rafe grabbed her again, then picked her up and walked back toward the curb. His arms tightened around her as she struggled to get away from him.

Although she felt the growing fear and suspicion from the people nearby, she couldn’t help herself. “Let me go! I have to find him.”

Rafe put her down, firmly holding her shoulders. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

“She hornin’ you, Rafe,” someone taunted. “She chase a jumbee dancer, mon.”

Rafe spun around. “Who said that?”

Esti looked frantically at the blur of motion beside them. “He was there.”

“His name is Alan?” Rafe demanded, forcing Esti to look up at him.

“Yes.” She tried to hide her exploding joy, but Rafe’s growing anger made it clear that she still wasn’t any good at lying.

“He doesn’t even have the guts to face me,” Rafe snapped.

Esti recoiled at Rafe’s fury. “He did! He kept you from getting in a fight.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s been following us ever since we got here.” As people edged closer, Esti tried to stay calm. “Didn’t you see him? He tripped that drunk guy, and then he—”

“That crappo has been hanging around you all morning?” Rafe stared at her like she was crazy. “And you didn’t bother telling me?”

“I didn’t know it was him until after he helped you.” She felt herself panicking at the anger in Rafe’s eyes, searching for words. “Look, he’s known about you from the beginning. He told me I should go to you, because he couldn’t—”

Rafe grew rigid in disbelief. “That’s the reason you’re dating me? Because Alan gave you permission?”

“No!”

“What does he look like?”

Through a brief pause in the music, she heard growing mutters from the crowd. “He was wearing a mask,” she said.

Rafe leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what your boyfriend looked like.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.”

“Stop lying to me!” Rafe grabbed her shoulders so tightly, she winced.

“I am not lying,” she said through clenched teeth. “And you’re hurting me.”

As he flung her away, he seemed to become aware of the restless mob around them. He instantly drew her back, but for once, the embrace wasn’t a loving gesture. “If you talk to him,” he snapped, “I’m going with you. I’ll make him apologize.”

“He already did,” Esti said stiffly, fear pulsing at the edges of her mind along with the crowd closing in.

Rafe glared at her. “When?”

“Just now. He quoted Shakespeare.”

“That’s a bunch of bull.” Rafe’s fingers tightened again, bruising her arms. “Why didn’t I see him?”

“Rafe, stop!”

His grip relaxed, but he didn’t let go of her. “What did he say?”

As his face came closer, she really began to struggle. She had never realized how intimidating Rafe could be. “Portia’s words, from The Merchant of Venice,” she whispered fearfully.

Hostility swirled through the air like a growing fog. “Tell me.”

“He said, ‘I could teach you how to choose right . . .’” She trailed off.

“He tells you who to choose,” Rafe said bitterly. “You went out with me because he told you to, and now you’re running back when he calls.”

“That’s not true.”

As Esti tried again to pull away from him, Lucia’s low voice cut in. “Leave she be, Rafe.”

Esti almost fell when Rafe instantly let go of her. Lucia stood in front of them, her arms folded sternly across her chest. Given that she was only a skinny fourteen-year-old, Esti thought in a daze, Lucia was easily the most imposing girl Esti had ever met. Behind her, Quintin hovered silently, his cold eyes on Rafe.

“She hornin’ me.” Rafe glared at Quintin, as if he thought Lucia’s boyfriend might somehow understand.

“You should be shame,” Lucia snapped. “Crawl home now, an’ leave we be.”

Slamming his fist into a nearby booth piled with tourist gifts, Rafe flung the table on its side, scattering cheap, colorful masks everywhere. He strode away without looking at Esti or anyone else. His departure was followed by a few gleeful expressions, but mostly uneasy faces turned back to look at Esti.

“Esti, come.” The crowd left them alone as Lucia calmly pulled Esti into the street, Quintin close on her other side.

She never could have guessed that Lucia—of all people—would end up rescuing her from Rafe. Matching her footsteps to the incessant percussion, Esti felt herself hovering on the edge of hysteria once again. Bazadee, for true; flung by the catapult out of Rafe’s life as quickly as they’d been thrown together.